Dead Silent (A Jettine Jorgensen Mystery, Book 1)

by S. L. Menear

  Clive raised a glass of Ruinart Blanc de Blancs Champagne. “To Liz, Gwen, and Jett, the three most beautiful women in the room.” He turned to his niece. “How is your case progressing?”

  “It isn’t. Not a good way to launch my detective career.” She scanned the room. “Have you seen my designer friend, Cam Altman?”

  Liz smiled. “Yes, dear, he’s floating around the room, fussing over all his clients.”

  “Isn’t that Marjorie Wentworth Peabody, the mayor’s widow, seated at the next table?” Jett stood. “Please excuse us. Gwen and I need to have a word with her.”

  Gwen stood. “Right. We have questions she might be able to answer.” She led Jett to the grand dame of Banyan Isle and made the introductions.

  Marjorie stood and offered her hand. “Jett, dear, I owe you an apology for my late husband’s appalling behavior in your home.”

  “What happened has been far worse for you. How are you holding up?”

  She adjusted her full-skirted royal-blue renaissance gown. “The worst thing is the police suspect me for the murder. Can you imagine? A far worse punishment would have been to divorce him and cut off his lavish lifestyle. Our prenup was airtight.”

  “We were hoping you could help us with something that happened two years ago on the night before you flew to New York to see Cats on Broadway,” Gwen said.

  “Oh, my, that was a long time ago.” Marjorie smoothed her perfectly coiffed, golden-blond hair. “What do you wish to know?”

  “Did Phil take your speedboat out that night?” Gwen asked.

  Marjorie’s face paled. “You think he killed that pregnant girl, Lola Brown? I worried he might have done that, but he assured me he was alone on the boat, destressing from a trying day.”

  “One more thing,” Jett interjected. “Did you or Phil happen to speak to my parents at the airport the next morning?”

  “I didn’t because I stopped in the ladies’ room, but I saw Phil talking to them when I came out. They left before I had a chance to say hello.”

  “Thank you, Marjorie, you’ve been a big help.” Gwen led Jett back to her relatives’ table.

  Jett leaned close to her. “It sure seems like the mayor killed Lola and maybe my parents, but what if I’m missing something?”

  “You’ll figure it out. Oh, look, here comes Pierce looking debonair in his tuxedo.” Gwen nodded in his direction. “You should dance with him.”

  Moments later, Pierce said, “Good evening, ladies. You look smashing in those gowns.”

  “And you look hot in a tux.” Gwen kissed his cheek. “Where are you sitting?”

  “My parents roped me into sharing a table with them and the Berendsens, who just happen to have their unmarried daughter with them.” He shook his head. “I wish they would stop playing matchmaker.”

  “Maybe you should deter them by dancing with Jett.” Gwen nudged her forward.

  Pierce offered his hand. “May I have this dance?”

  Jett smiled and followed him onto the dance floor. Meanwhile, Gwen peered around, hoping to spot Clint. She knew he usually attended the Palm Beach charity functions, but it was difficult to find him among three hundred people. Weaving through the crowd, she greeted many of her parents’ friends.

  An hour later, Gwen refreshed her lipstick in the ladies-room mirror before returning to the table. Her relatives had disappeared, no doubt circulating among the many guests. They were quite the social butterflies. She scanned the room and spotted Cam Altman gliding toward her, dressed like eighteenth-century royalty.

  “OMG, Gwen, your aunt and uncle are divine! I’d love to get my hands on that extraordinary antique brooch and matching ring the duchess is wearing. I’ve never seen anything like them‍—gold and crystal with rubies and sapphires.”

  “Aunt Liz wears them everywhere.” She hugged him. “You look striking in that period ensemble, Cam. What’s new in the fashion world?”

  “Oh, you know, the other designers kiss my face and stab my back‍—business as usual. My antique-style jewelry and renaissance gowns are all the rage.” He pointed at a woman in a satin-and-lace cream gown. “That’s one of my creations. Isn’t it fab?”

  “It’s lovely. Did you design the matching pearl-and-diamond necklace and earrings?”

  “I design all the jewelry for my unique gowns. My clients love dressing like Old-World royalty.” He touched his finger to his lips as he gave her the onceover. “I could make you look like a princess in a rose gown with a tiara made of diamonds-and-rubies with matching earrings. The corset bodice would accentuate your robust cleavage and help you snare a rich husband.” He nudged her. “We should do something soon, girlfriend. At twenty-eight, you’re rapidly approaching old-maid territory.”

  “Thanks, Cam, but I don’t want to blow my trust fund on diamonds and rubies. My new job is my top priority. I’ll focus on catching a husband after I collar some major criminals.”

  “Oh, Gwennie, I know who you’re hunting. He’s long gone, dear. Forget him and enjoy life. Your parents would want you to move on.”

  “And let him destroy more families? I’ll get him. You’ll see. But first I have to catch the person who killed Denton Donley and Binky Worthington. I don’t want to fail on my first case.”

  Cam shook his head and scanned the room. “Here comes the duchess. I’ll have another chance to gush over her jewelry.”

  Liz beamed and clasped his left arm. “Cam, darling, you simply must design a gown for Gwen. Your creations are superb.”

  “We were just discussing that very thing. Unfortunately, your niece is more interested in catching criminals than a husband.” He focused on her brooch. “Your jewelry fascinates me. May I remove your brooch for a closer look?”

  Liz placed her hand over the large antique pin. “Sorry, darling, Lloyds of London has strict rules. It must remain on my person or locked in my safe if I wish to keep my insurance. This piece is a centuries-old heirloom.”

  Cam peered over Gwen’s shoulder. “Hottie alert. Check out Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dashing behind you.”

  “That’s Clint Reynolds,” Liz said as Gwen turned. “He’s a detective with the Palm Beach Police. I met him earlier this evening. Would you like an introduction?”

  “Yes, indeed.” Cam grabbed Gwen’s hand. “Come along, Queen Guinevere, and meet your Sir Lancelot.”

  “Geez, Cam, dial it down a few clicks. You’re salivating.” She pulled her hand free. “He’s probably here with a date.”

  Liz turned to her. “I checked. He’s solo.”

  Cam grinned at Liz. “Well done. I love a woman with an eye for details.” He shifted his glance to Gwen. “FYI, I can have your dress ready in time for a June wedding.”

  She rolled her eyes, but inside, her heart was pounding. “Let’s get this farce over.”

  Just then, the object of Gwen’s desire smiled at Liz.

  She stepped forward. “Clint, darling, I want to introduce my niece and her friend.” She half-turned to Gwen. “Detective Gwen Stuart, meet Detective Clint Reynolds.”

  Gwen extended her hand and gazed into his intense eyes. “Pleased to meet you. I’ve been meaning to catch you at the police station.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes piercing her like twin laser beams. “The pleasure is mine. I heard you were promoted recently. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to connect with you at work.”

  Cam cleared his throat and looked expectantly at Liz.

  “Clint, I’d like you to meet Cam Altman. He’s with the fashion police.”

  The men shook hands as Cam said, “I’d arrest you for stealing James Bond’s fabulous tux, but you look better in it than he did.”

  “Thank you, I‍—” Clint pulled out his vibrating cell phone and read the text. “Excuse me, duty calls. It was a pleasure to meet you both.” He smiled and strode to the exit.

  Cam smirked at Gwen. “That smile was for you, girlfriend. I’m thinking satin and antique lace with lots of pearls for your wedding g
own.”

  Her gut told her his call was connected to her case. “I’m going after him.”

  “You go, girl.”

  She rushed outside and spotted him heading for the oceanfront walkway that ran along the seawall behind the hotel. He followed the brick path north sixty feet and stopped at a bench where a man sat slumped against the seatback, a whisky and a cigar beside him. Two uniformed officers were taping off the area.

  She caught up with Clint. “Check his neck for a tiny puncture wound.”

  He spun around, clutching his electronic tablet. “Excuse me? You’ve been a detective for maybe five minutes, and you’re telling me what to do? This is my case. Go back to the ball.” He turned away.

  “Is he a wealthy man who escaped prosecution and appears to have died of natural causes?”

  He hesitated before facing her again. “What if he is?”

  “I’m working the Denton Donley/Binky Worthington cases‍—wealthy alleged criminals with no obvious causes of death. Both men had pinpricks over their right carotid arteries.”

  The medical examiner arrived, and Clint said, “Check his neck for a needle puncture near a carotid artery.”

  The M.E. examined the man’s neck with a bright light and a magnifying glass for about a minute. “Yep, found a puncture over his right carotid. Are you thinking poison?”

  Clint gazed at Gwen.

  She shook her head. “No poison. His condition mirrors two recent murder victims. They both had non-lethal doses of sleep sedatives in their bodies.”

  The M.E. arched an eyebrow. “Who are you?”

  “Detective Gwen Stuart, Palm Beach P.D.”

  “All right then.” The M.E. checked the body. “No injuries or signs of a struggle. Liver temp indicates he died about an hour ago.” He bagged the man’s cocktail glass and cigar. “I’ll check these for toxins. Is this a high-profile case?”

  “He’s Barrett Branson, a wealthy Palm Beacher and alleged pedophile. He escaped prosecution several times by buying off the parents. Somebody did the community a big favor here.” He turned to her. “Eh, Gwen? Sorry about earlier. Looks like our cases are connected. Let’s meet after the autopsy and compare notes.”

  She stared into his handsome face for a long moment, giving him time to regret his earlier snap judgment of her, then pulled her personal card from her purse. “Apology accepted. Call my cell when you’re ready.”

  Gwen walked back to the ball feeling superior for the first time since she’d made detective. She told Jett all about it on the way home. Maybe she’d solve the case and impress Clint.

  Twenty-Eight

  JETT

  Sophia and I enjoyed breakfast on the terrace. A gentle ocean breeze carried the scent of the sea as we basked in the early-morning sun. The January temperatures were perfect. Cool nights and mid-to-upper 70s during the days.

  “Find out anything new last night?” Sophia poured coffee into my cup.

  “The mayor’s wife confirmed he took the boat out the night before my parents left and that he talked to them at the airport. She was concerned he might’ve murdered Lola Brown.”

  “What’s your problem then? He was our prime suspect, and it looks like we were right about him.” Sophia poured herself another cup of green tea and stirred in a dollop of honey.

  “If someone hadn’t blown up the dive boat, I’d consider this case closed.” I stared out at the ocean. “I have this nagging feeling there’s another killer lurking in the shadows.”

  “Right, the hitman the mayor hired.” Sophia patted my hand. “He’s probably long gone by now.”

  “What if there never was a hitman?” Without thinking about it, I handed each dog a piece of bacon. “What if it wasn’t the mayor on the boat with Lola, and someone else killed her and my parents?”

  Sophia set down her teacup. “Everything points to the mayor, but if it was someone else, then he’d want you to die in an accident, and if that didn’t put a stop to the investigation, he’d arrange for Hunter to die too. Or… maybe the mayor killed Lola, but Werner Dietrich hired the hitman who killed your parents.”

  The dogs’ ears perked up. One quick bark from them preceded the doorbell booming.

  Sophia laughed. “No wonder all your friends knock instead.”

  “Dad bought that doorbell as a tribute to his great-grandfather.” I jumped up. “I’ll get the door.” The puppies followed me.

  The dogs started wagging their tails before I peeked out and spotted my uncle. I opened the door and hugged him. “Hey, I’m glad you’re here. We have a lot to discuss.”

  He leaned down and ruffled the fur on Pratt and Whitney. “Sorry about the doorbell. You didn’t hear me knock. I have the gate code and a door key, but I’ll never just let myself in. Wouldn’t want Sophia mistaking me for an intruder. I decided to swing by and check on you now that Snake’s gone.” He whispered, “Did you two hook up?”

  “No, I didn’t want to get involved with someone I’d hardly ever see. Snake understood.”

  “Got any coffee brewed?”

  I took his arm and walked with him through the foyer and great hall. “We have some on the terrace. Have you had breakfast?”

  “Much earlier.” He opened the door for me. “Coffee will be fine.”

  Sophia grinned. “Oh, joy, my favorite man has arrived.” She reached for him. “Give an old lady some sugar.”

  Hunter scooped her up and planted a soft kiss on her lips. “Now I won’t need sugar in my coffee.” He set her down.

  She grinned at me. “Any chance he could move in with us?”

  “I wish, but we’d put a crimp in his bachelor lifestyle.” I poured him a cup of coffee and filled him in on everything I knew.

  “Sounds like you might’ve solved the case.” He took a sip. “Better make sure the hitman is gone.”

  I expressed my suspicion about Dietrich hiring the hitman.

  He took my hand. “Maybe it’s time to let go. If there is a hitman, it would be almost impossible to catch him anyway.”

  “That’s why I think maybe there wasn’t one.” I gazed from him to Sophia. “Think about it. Why draw attention to his existence by blowing up our dive boat? If he’s a pro, there wouldn’t be any evidence pointing to him personally. Hence, no reason to come after us, unless Dietrich wants me dead so he can buy my company.”

  Sophia agreed, “She has a point.”

  “But then Dietrich would have to deal with me as your heir, and I won’t sell either.” He turned to me. “And the mayor’s wife told you Peabody took the boat out the night Lola disappeared and that he talked to your parents the next morning.” He poured another cup. “What am I missing?”

  “Yes, he told her that, but she didn’t see him do it, and he’s lied before. And maybe the real killer also talked to my parents the next morning. I should’ve asked Marjorie if anyone was with the mayor when he spoke to them. Peabody could be innocent of all the murders, or he might’ve had an accomplice. Or Dietrich had my parents killed. Ugh!”

  “Forget about Dietrich for a minute. Are you speculating that a close friend of the mayor’s killed him and your parents?” Sophia asked.

  “It’s possible, especially if the mayor knew his friend had borrowed his boat to take Lola on a date.” I tried to imagine the scenario.

  Hunter shook his head. “If you’re right, why did his friend wait two years to kill him?”

  “I don’t know, but the first step is to find out if someone borrowed the boat and also talked to my parents at the airport. Once I have his name, I can figure out the rest.”

  “How do you intend to get his name?” he asked.

  “I’ll talk to Marjorie again and also check with her pilot to see if he saw anyone else talking to my parents that morning.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” He patted my hand.

  “Come with me to the pet shop. I’d like to get two or three huge bags of dog food and fill the dry-food hamper without throwing out my back. The pu
ppies are eating like bears who just came out of hibernation.”

  “As I recall, your dad bought the Bentley a month before the plane crash. Is that right?”

  “Yes, why do you ask?”

  “Mind if I drive it to the pet shop? A friend asked me about the newer sedans. He’s thinking of buying a used one and wanted my opinion.”

  “No problem. The trunk is huge. Plenty of room for forty-pound bags of dog food. Want to go now?” I stood.

  “Right after we help Sophia clear the table.” He stacked plates and grabbed the coffee pot.

  Sophia smiled. “Could he be any more perfect?”

  We deposited the dishes in the kitchen and headed for the garage. I handed him the keys.

  After a quick drive to The Pampered Pet, we headed home with a trunk full of dry dog food. We had just turned onto Ocean Drive when a white toy poodle ran into the street. Hunter hit the brakes and stopped short of her. He switched on the emergency flashers.

  “Help me catch her.” I jumped out and eased around the passenger side while he came around his side.

  There wasn’t any traffic as the chubby little dog turned and trotted down the middle of the street. We ran after her. A hundred feet from the car, an explosion slammed us forward onto the pavement. We landed on our forearms and knees inches from the stunned dog.

  Hunter grabbed the poodle, turned, and sat on the road. “Someone blew up your Bentley. Still think there isn’t a hitman?”

  Flaming car parts and thousands of singed kibble pellets covered the street in every direction. Flames engulfed the remainder of the vehicle, and searing heat radiated outward as sirens approached.

  He tapped my shoulder. “You okay? We’d better get off the street.”

  My body trembled every bit as much as the poodle he held in his arms.

  He guided me to a bench on the sidewalk under a giant banyan tree. Branches over the car were burning. My hands and forearms were scraped and bleeding. So were my knees. Hunter had worn jeans, but blood seeped through over the knee areas. His hands and arms were scraped like mine.

  The little poodle buried its face in Hunter’s arms. He petted it, trying to soothe her. “This dog saved our lives.”