by S. L. Menear
She leaned in. “Your parents flew out in a corporate jet, right?”
“Yes, from a private terminal over at Palm Beach International.”
“Then the answer is simple.” She smiled a smug little smile. “Before they boarded their jet, they ran into someone they knew who also had a jet. One of them probably made an innocent remark about having seen him the previous night on his boat with Lola.”
Snake set his cup down. “She’s right. Later, when the news stories came out, he realized he’d have to eliminate them before they returned and exposed him.”
I leaned forward. “They probably made small talk, like people do, and told him where they were going and when they’d be back.”
“If the guy has a jet, he’s rich, which means he could afford to hire a pro to make their deaths look like an accident.” Sophia pulled out her cell. “If a hitman was used, my family might know about it.” She took a stroll on the lawn while she made the call.
I picked up my cell. “I’ll ask Mike to stop by. He’s been with the Banyan Isle Police several years, and he’ll know about the murdered girl.” I made the call. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“What’s the deal with him?” Snake asked. “It’s obvious he’s into you.”
“He was my boyfriend until I joined the Navy. Then he stopped speaking to me until the mayor’s murder. I don’t know where his head’s at now.”
My cell rang. Pierce’s father was calling. “Good morning, Mr. Lockwood, and thank you for getting back to me so fast.”
“Please, call me Niles. Your parents were dear friends for many years. I called because a man named Carl Rowan was convicted of embezzling four hundred thousand dollars from Jorgensen Industries five years ago. He was their VP of Finance until he was sentenced to five years in prison. Said he needed the money to pay gambling debts.”
“What did that have to do with my parents?”
“He blamed your father for destroying his life because he pushed the D.A. to prosecute the case instead of just firing Rowan. His wife divorced him and took the kids.”
“But he was in jail when my parents’ jet crashed, wasn’t he?”
“I checked with a cop friend. He was released three years early, about six months before they died. Rumor has it he handles the books for a major drug dealer in Miami now, but nothing has been proven.”
“Thanks, Niles. I’ll ask the police to check him out. Anything else?”
“I suggest you set a meeting with the CEO of Jorgensen Industries and look into whether anyone else had a beef with your father. I knew about the embezzling case because I handled the corporate law account for Jorgensen Industries.”
“All right. Thanks for the call and give my best to your wife, Nancy.” I hung up feeling shocked and concerned. My parents hadn’t told me about any problems within the company.
The dogs cocked their heads, barked once, and stared at me.
“Mike must be here. I’ll be right back.” I breezed through the terrace door with the puppies on my heels.
I returned with Mike the same time Sophia finished her calls. We all sat together and passed around the coffee pot.
Mike took in our group. “I gather you’ve learned something new since last night?”
I filled him in. “What can you tell us about the Lola Brown murder?”
“Not much. She was choked and thrown into the ocean. The medical examiner said she’d been in the water approximately two days. We checked the marinas to see if anyone saw her go out on a boat. No luck there.”
“Someone must’ve known who she was dating.” Snake bit into a cinnamon bun. “Did you get a name?”
“Her roommate said she was seeing someone but insisted on keeping it secret. Lola told her she’d reveal his name after they were engaged,” Mike said. “Obviously, that never happened.”
Sophia pursed her lips. “Sounds like her lover was married, and she was waiting for him to get a divorce. Any chance it could’ve been the mayor, you know, the guy who was murdered here?”
“Talk about irony.” I shook my head. “I guess anything’s possible. He was married to a super-rich woman, and a pregnant girlfriend would’ve ruined the luxurious lifestyle his wife provided.”
“That’s probably why he switched to middle-aged married women,” Mike said. “Less risk.”
“Did Mayor Peabody have a boat?” I grabbed a cinnamon roll.
“The Peabodys have a huge yacht with a live-aboard captain and crew, a mid-sized sailboat, and an ocean-going speedboat.” Mike took a bite out of a cinnamon bun. “We assumed he took her out on the speedboat, but no one remembered seeing him leave the harbor with Lola the night she disappeared.”
I leaned into him. “Was there a record of him taking the boat out that night?”
“His boat was seen in the inlet heading out to sea, but it was too dark to recognize who was at the helm.” He glanced at me. “If Mayor Peabody killed Lola, I should be looking at her family to find his killer.”
“Wait a minute.” Sophia crossed her arms. “You said Dolores Delgado killed him.”
“That’s changed. A day after we charged her with both murders, her son came forward and admitted he poisoned his stepfather to protect his mother. He handed over the evidence he’d been hiding in a friend’s garage.”
“What about the mayor’s murder?” I asked.
“She’s probably innocent, like she says. After you gave me the pictures you took at the restaurant, Dolores admitted she was also having an affair with Andy Carrigan.” Mike lifted his hands. “No reason for her to be angry the mayor was playing around when she was doing the same thing. It doesn’t look like she was serious about Mayor Peabody.”
I turned to Sophia. “Did your people know anything about a hitman hired to kill my parents?”
“They thought the crash was an accident.” She frowned. “If a hitter was used, it wasn’t anyone they know or they would’ve heard about it.”
I nudged Mike. “What about Carl Rowan? Will you ask the Miami PD to check if he has an alibi for my parents’ murders?”
“Yes, and I expect you to stay out of it.” Mike checked his watch and stood. “I have to run. I’ll call if I find any leads through Lola’s family or Rowan. Be careful. Your parents’ killer knows you’re looking for him.”
I called and made a late afternoon appointment with my company’s CEO, Frasier Collins.
Twenty-Three
Snake and I decided it wouldn’t hurt to double-check the boat traffic from two years ago, assuming anyone could remember that far back. Our first stop was the Banyan Harbor Inn Marina. Seagulls squawked and dived over a fish-cleaning station on the docks. Boats rocked gently in their slips, and lines clinked against the masts of sailboats as a warm east breeze flowed across the Intracoastal Waterway. We stopped at the dockmaster’s office.
A man in his fifties with tan, leathery skin, white hair, and hard eyes greeted us. “Jim Jansen, dockmaster. What can I do for you?”
My flirting skills were almost non-existent, but I gave it a shot. I smiled and tossed my hair. “Hi, I’m Jett and this is my friend.” I didn’t want to put him off by saying Snake’s name. “I’m not sure if you can help me. Were you working here two years ago?”
“Yep, been here sixteen years. What do you need?”
“My friend, Lola Brown, went missing two years ago the night of January 15th, and her body was found in the ocean on the 17th. She might have gone out on Phil Peabody’s speedboat the night of the 15th. Any chance you saw her that night and remember who she left with?”
“We don’t have a lot of crime here.” He frowned. “I remember that murder. Like I told the cops back then, I saw Peabody’s speedboat leave the harbor, but it was too far away to recognize who was at the helm.”
“Did you see a woman on the boat?” Snake leaned against the railing by the water.
“No, but she could have been below. That boat has a huge cabin belowdecks.”
“Were
you here when the boat returned?” I hoped he’d seen her or Phil.
“No, the man on night duty relieved me at ten, and he quit over a year ago. Sorry.”
We thanked him and drove to the island’s other marina, which was on the western curve of the crescent about mid-way between the north and south ends of the island.
As we strolled down to the docks, Snake said, “We’re probably wasting our time here.”
“It’s possible the mayor left from the other marina and returned to this one or he picked her up here in his boat.” I surveyed the vessels, most over sixty feet.
The dockmaster had recently moved here from Maine and didn’t know who we should ask about events two years ago. “We have a lot of turnover with the dock workers. Most of them don’t last more than six months before they move on to something better.”
We talked to a few dock hands, but they had all been there less than six months. Another dead end.
We hopped into my dad’s Bentley sedan, drove over the bridge, and eventually connected with I-95 South to the airport.
The private aircraft terminal at Signature Aviation on the south side of Palm Beach International Airport was the next stop in our fact-finding mission. The curved glass exterior resembled a modern two-story sculpture.
I opened the car’s center console. “We’d better leave the handguns here.” I put mine in and closed it after Snake deposited his pistol. “Any other weapons on you?”
He grinned. “Jett, darlin’, I am a weapon.”
Focusing on his broad shoulders and hard torso, I momentarily forgot why we were there. I grabbed my handbag. “You certainly are. Let’s go.”
We approached the reception desk where a tan young woman in her mid-twenties greeted us. “Welcome to Signature. I’m Marni. How may I be of service?”
Snake, looking hunky in snug jeans and a white polo shirt that hugged his muscles, poured on his Texas charm. “Good mornin’, Marni. Do y’all keep records of departures and arrivals at this facility?”
She beamed at him. I may as well have been invisible.
“Yes, sir, Homeland Security requires records of all flights, passengers, and crews. Are you expecting someone?”
He thumbed at me. “This here’s Jettine Jorgensen. We’re lookin’ into the last flight her parents took.” He turned to me. “What day was it they left in the Gulfstream G650?”
“Victor and Atsila Jorgensen departed here at 10 a.m., January 16th, two years ago in Gulfstream November-One-Juliet-India,” I said, reciting the aircraft type and tail number. “We’d appreciate it if you’d give us a printout of all the aircraft arrivals and departures on that day.” I gave her my warmest smile, not that she noticed. Her radar was locked on Snake.
A deep voice behind me said, “Jett, is it you?”
I turned and faced Jorgensen Industries’ chief pilot, Dan Duquesne. A little taller than me, slim, and fortyish with graying temples and penetrating hazel eyes, he wore a navy-blue uniform with the company logo above his gold wings and four gold stripes on his sleeves.
I hugged him. “Dan, good to see you. It’s been ages. This is my SEAL friend, Snake.”
He shook Snake’s hand and turned to me. “Flying somewhere?”
“No.” I explained what we needed but not why. “Will you please assure Marni that I have a legitimate right to the information?”
“Marni, Miss Jorgensen owns Jorgensen Industries, and her company keeps four corporate jets here. She’s my boss, so please give her whatever she needs.”
“Right away, Miss Jorgensen.” Her fingers raced over the keyboard. Seconds later, the printer behind her hummed to life and spit out the page I needed. Apparently, her radar only locked onto handsome men and wealthy customers. She handed me the paper.
I scanned the page and concentrated on maintaining a poker face when a certain name caught my eye. I took Dan’s arm and eased him away from the desk. “Got a minute?”
“Anything for you. What’s up?” He led us into the pilots’ lounge.
I handed the paper to Snake and asked Dan, “Do you know the pilots who fly Gulfstream November-Two-Mike-Whisky-Papa that belongs to Marjorie Wentworth Peabody?”
“Steve Winters is the captain. We’ve been friends for years.”
“How long has he had that job?” I tried to keep my tone casual and friendly.
Dan thought a moment. “About three years. He flew copilot for us before he took the captain seat in the Wentworth jet. We play golf together on our days off. Is there a problem?”
“No, but I might want to talk to him about something he may have seen here two years ago that could help me with a personal matter. Sorry I can’t say more right now. I promise I’ll fill you in when I have all the facts. It has nothing to do with flight crews. Please ask him if it’s okay for you to give me his phone number.”
“I’m sure he won’t mind. I’ll give it to you now.” He pulled out his cell and texted me the number.
“Thanks, Dan. We won’t keep you. Have a good flight.” I waved goodbye.
Snake and I headed back to the car. He stopped me under a shade tree and gently pulled me against him. Looking into my eyes, he said, “Woman, you’re wound tighter than the seat springs on my daddy’s old farm tractor. Let me help you with that.”
He gave me a sensual kiss that curled my toes and melted my nether region. All the tension drained from my body as my heart pumped at the maximum rate, sending blood into every muscle.
He released me and smiled. “Dang, I’m good.”
I licked my lower lip. “Can’t argue with that. I think I need to sit down now.” I pulled out my key fob and clicked open the door locks.
He slid into the front passenger seat and pulled the paper out of his pocket. “This took an unexpected turn. Looks like Sophia was right about your parents running into the mayor before they flew out. What do you want to do about this?”
I started the engine and let the air conditioner run while I recovered from Snake’s kiss and the revelation that Mayor Peabody might have been responsible for killing my parents.
“The Russian Mafia is big in South Florida,” I said. “I wonder if there’s a safe way to find out if Peabody hired a Russian hitman.”
“Let’s go somewhere for lunch and discuss it. Know a place that serves a good steak?”
“You’re in for a treat. Okeechobee Steakhouse is the oldest steakhouse in Florida, and it’s not far from here. They have a ribeye that will make you think you’re in Heaven, and I owe you a steak anyway.” I took Southern Blvd. to I-95 and exited west on Okeechobee Boulevard. We pulled into the parking lot ten minutes after we left the airport.
Once we were settled at a table, Snake with a cold Cobra beer and me with a Pahlmeyer Merlot, we relaxed. We ordered ribeye steaks with the bone in. I planned to give the leftovers and bones to Pratt and Whitney.
Snake took a long pull on his beer. “Too bad your Bentley has center consoles in the front and back seats. We need a place to spend some quality alone time. How about a bedroom at your next-door neighbor’s house? Gwen won’t tell.”
“I told you before, I’m not ready for romance.” I took a big sip of wine.
He grinned smugly. “That’s not what your body said when I kissed you.”
“Fine. I’m human, so shoot me.” I crossed my arms.
“I’d rather do something more pleasurable. It’ll be our little secret. The government trusts me with bigger things than this, and SEALs never tell.”
“Wrong.” I arched my left eyebrow. “You tell your teammates everything. Besides, I need to concentrate on solving my parents’ murder.” I took another nervous sip.
He gently squeezed my hand. “What if we already solved it? If Mayor Peabody had them killed, what can you do? He’s already dead.”
“I can nail the guy who sabotaged their jet.” I drained my glass.
“Baby, if you ask the Russian Mafia about a hitman, you’ll end up with a bullet hole in your pretty head.” He to
ok another slug of English beer. “Face it, we’ve reached the end of the road on this quest.”
“Oh yeah? What about Carl Rowan? And who blew up our boat and why?” I waved at the waiter for another round.
“Forgot about that.” He drained his mug. “I guess we’re not done after all.”
A server delivered our steaks, plated with baked potatoes and broccoli. The meat was so tender and flavorful it almost melted in my mouth. I gazed across at Snake as he swallowed his first bite.
His eyes closed momentarily. “This is the best steak I’ve ever tasted. My stomach’s about to have a foodgasm.”
“I knew you’d love it. Steaks are their specialty, and they only use aged Angus beef.”
I waited until we’d finished most of our meal before I steered the conversation back to the murders. “What if the killer isn’t a hitman? Might’ve been Rowan. There has to be a reason our boat was destroyed.”
“Call Hunter and see if his investigator in Freeport has uncovered anything about the attack.” He took another pull on his beer.
I called my uncle. “Hi, I’m having lunch with Snake, and we’re wondering if you have any news about the boat explosion.” I put the phone on SPEAKER.
“The captain was also the owner. He was well-liked on the island, and my investigator couldn’t find any evidence that the skipper was the target. There were no witnesses to the incident. Bottom line, we were the targets. Any luck on your end?”
I filled him in on everything we’d learned. “But the mayor is dead, so is Rowan targeting us? Or could it be a hitman hired by the mayor or Rowan?”
Hunter took a moment. “What if the hitman killed the mayor to eliminate a loose end, and now he’s trying to eliminate any evidence that points to him sabotaging the jet? If he takes us out in what appears to be an accident, our investigation stops. Problem solved.”
“Or Rowan could be targeting us to prevent us from finding evidence of him sabotaging the jet. We’d better pay close attention to the condition of our vehicles and your airplanes,” I said. “And add extra security measures to your hangar.”