“Keep your eyes on the road or we’ll hit something,” I said.
I was in a crummy mood. The cervical collar made my neck itch, and I couldn’t see anything except what was straight ahead. I reached up and yanked it off. That was better.
Madeleine made no comment. She knew I’d do what I wanted, but she continued to glance from the highway to me. “I know you met with Nappi, and I know Grandy was there. That’s just bad chemistry. The three of you could get into trouble. Last year you broke into a house trying to find clues to a murder.”
“You were with us, so technically you’re a felon also.”
“It wasn’t voluntary on my part. Alex made me do it.”
“Whatever.” I turned my head to look out the windows as we breezed by the subdivisions outside West Palm. I didn’t want to pursue the conversation. It was bad enough Alex was suspicious of me and mad, too. I didn’t want Madeleine to worry.
“I wonder if anyone has threatened Darlene the way they did me, with a truck grill in her trunk or maybe a sharp instrument at her throat. She was Winston’s partner. She had to know what he was doing.” I paused to let my line of reasoning sink in. “I believe Darlene will be holding the after funeral get-together, and I was wondering—”
“What? No. Don’t you think Frida already considered all of this? Can’t you let her do her job?” Madeleine gripped the wheel with white knuckled fingers as she blew by a sanitation truck going the speed limit.
“That damn purse of hers the day of the murder? I wonder what she had in it. I’d like a chance to look around the condo. Maybe you could distract her for a bit while I—”
“What?”
“Really. There’s nothing illegal about this at all. I’ll just wander off looking for the bathroom while you engage her in talk.”
“Talk about what?”
“Clothes or something like that. Or makeup. Or hair.”
“This is a funeral, Eve. Not a kaffeeklatch.”
“Okay. Never mind. I’ll think of something else.”
“Please don’t. And put that collar back on before you do permanent damage to your neck.”
At the funeral parlor, Darlene wore huge dark glasses and a Jackie Kennedy pillbox hat to match. The black dress she chose was elegant, although the neckline showed more cleavage than was appropriate at a funeral. Although the glasses hid her eyes, her mouth was turned down in an expression of fatigue. She was flanked by two people, a man and a woman, also sporting sunglasses but looking more like the president’s secret service people than mourners. They too wore black—the man a black suit, white shirt, black tie shoes. The suit and shirt looked expensive, but the shoes might have been made of shiny cardboard. As for the woman, she was thin, thin, thin, but muscular, stringy muscular. The cords in her neck stood out like tendons on a stripped turkey leg. I guessed the dress to be Ralph Lauren. Their bearing was ramrod straight, and they surveyed the room as if scanning for possible assassins.
“These are Winston’s children, Sophia and Boris. His niece, Eve, and her friend, Maddy.” Darlene’s look defied Madeleine to correct her.
“I had no idea Winston had children.” I shook hands. Well, strictly speaking these weren’t children. They were adults, adults whose military bearing suggested that, given the choice, they would have preferred marching through Lenin Square than standing in the receiving line at Winston’s funeral. They certainly didn’t look anything like my uncle; no evidence of his fun-loving nature on their stern faces. They both seemed more uncomfortable in the setting than saddened by it. Sophia held Darlene’s arm as if she feared the woman would topple over.
“There’s a lot you don’t know, my dear. You were absent from his life for many years. Never called or visited. It just broke his heart. I can’t imagine why he …. Never mind.”
I hated it when someone guilted me even when they were right and I deserved it, but I sucked in my angry reply and patted Darlene’s shoulder.
“I’m so grateful he tracked me down in Florida and came to visit, so I could see him once more.”
“Lot of good that did. It got him killed, didn’t it?” Darlene dabbed at her eyes.
So much for guilt. Now I was mad. She made it sound as if I was responsible for his death. I was about to snap back at her, but Madeleine interrupted me.
“You were as gung ho to go on that airboat ride as he was, Darlene.”
Darlene snatched the dark glasses off her nose and leaned toward Madeleine. “What are you saying, little girl? You take that back. Make her take that back, Eve.”
Madeleine might be a sweet person, but saccharine lies are not part of her character.
“Now, Maddy, let’s play nice.” I loved it when Madeleine got attitude. I couldn’t resist kidding her for her comment. She delivered a withering look in my direction. But her eyes twinkled so I knew she didn’t take my remark seriously.
Someone tapped me on my shoulder.
Grandy. And Max.
“Oh, honey, we’re sorry we’re late. This must be Darlene.” Grandy took Darlene’s hand and held it. “Sorry, my dear.”
“Thank you. You’re so kind. It’s nice to see someone around here has manners.” Darlene shot a look of defiance at Madeleine, who smiled her angelic smile in return. The exchange was interrupted by the appearance of the minister, who signaled for us to take our seats.
Darlene, Boris, and Sophia moved toward chairs in the front while the rest of us followed. Grandy’s hand on my shoulder stopped me before I could sit down beside them.
“Who are the toy soldiers next to Darlene?” Grandy whispered so they couldn’t hear.
“Oh, I thought you would know. His children, Sophia and Boris.”
Grandy rocked back on her heels for a moment, then leaned forward.
“Winston never married. He had no family aside from you and me, Eve.”
Chapter 6
I caught my breath.
“Maybe you just didn’t know about his kids. He was a pretty closed person, and neither of us saw him for many years.” I couldn’t believe Winston would hide his family from us, from me, but it was a possibility.
“Those kids are as old as you, Eve. Maybe they’re stepchildren,” Grandy said.
“Will you two sit down and stop chattering?” Darlene gestured toward the minister, who was staring at us. Everyone was staring at us.
“Sorry.” I took my seat beside Darlene with Grandy, Max and Madeleine to my right. I turned my head to look around the small room. There weren’t many people in attendance. A few older folks, probably from the condo complex in which Winston lived, took seats behind us. Standing at the back of the room were two beefy fellows wearing suits cut too tight to hide bulges beneath the jackets. Ah. The mob was here to check out the situation. To their right, Frida was standing and checking them out. Madeleine was correct. Frida was doing her job. A well-built man dressed in a dark sports coat stood at her side. He leaned over and said something. She smiled up at him. Had Frida brought a date? Her work schedule must have been rough if she had to tuck a social life into attending the funeral of a murder victim.
I was surprised to see the airboat captain and his brother slip in and take chairs in front of Frida and the goons. They were pretty far from home. Hmm. Maybe I should revise my opinion of the Hardy brothers. They did have some social graces. Of course, they were wearing ball caps with their suits, so no fashion sense, but I was impressed they’d attend. I also wondered why they were here.
The minister had just begun speaking when the back door opened. We all turned to see who was arriving now. Well, well, Sammy Egret and his grandfather. Were the folks around the Big Lake just nosy or did they have some hidden agenda? I shrugged. Maybe they just had more manners than I gave them credit for.
The minister took up his canned speech where he’d left off.
“You’d think he could have embellished some on the information I gave him.” Darlene sniffed and waved her hanky in front of her face. “I paid him good, too,
and he’s just reading what I wrote.”
Finished with the scripted eulogy to Winston, the minister asked if any of us wanted to speak.
Darlene stood and approached the podium. “He was a wonderful man. We’d only been together for a year, but no one was closer to him than me. He mentioned marriage, but we never got around to it.” She paused and gave a dramatic sigh, choking on her tears. “And now this.”
After the minister’s droning monologue about my uncle, I thought I should say something more personal about him, but his children gathered round Darlene and tried to comfort her with awkward pats and mechanical-looking hugs. From her tears and shaky sighs of grief, it was clear Darlene wanted her comments about Winston to be the final words of the occasion. I looked at the urn of ashes sitting on the table in front of the podium. Winston was in no shape to care if I spoke about him in public. I let it go. His visit made me regret the years we’d been separated. We should have tried harder to stay in touch. I should have tried harder. I loved him. Words wouldn’t bring him back, but tracking down his killer might bring me some sense of satisfaction. I owed him that.
Darlene and Winston’s condo wasn’t far from the funeral home. Most of the mourners piled in their cars and followed Darlene and the children to the gated community where it was located.
“Nice digs.” Frida came up behind me on the walkway in front of the two-story building.
I agreed. My gaze travelled over the complex behind me. Tropical landscaping, brick walkways, not a weed in any lawn, and I could just make out a large building at the end of the block, which must have been the club house. Behind it, the blue waters of a pool sparkled in the sunlight. Very classy. Winston’s unit was an end one—more lawn, more windows. Mob money must have been good over the years.
Darlene certainly had the event under control. Catered, no less. Young women and men in white shirts and black pants carried trays of champagne glasses and finger foods and roamed the large living area that opened into a small garden beyond. From the abundance of libations and snacks and the number of servers, she must have expected at least a hundred guests, yet there had been only twenty or so at the service.
In the next hour the room began to fill with people, most of them men, all dressed in suits tailored to accommodate guns in shoulder holsters. Tasteful silk blends in muted colors. I almost believed they were business associates. They were, if you counted family with a capital “F” as a corporation. They gave Darlene warm hugs and began to mingle with the other guests. They appeared relaxed, comfortable with their roles as mourners, and appropriately sympathetic to Darlene. She knew them all. Several of them took my hand and offered their condolences. These had to be the men Winston worked with over the years, and because of their friendly demeanor, I gathered they were not the bosses for whom he worked. The bosses would send less accommodating representatives, more like the two who appeared at the service, their intention clear. They’d be looking for their lost money. I glanced around the room, but the muscle from the funeral home was not here.
It was just an after-funeral event like any other—food, drink, a few tears, no guns in sight. I caught Frida’s eye. She bit into a stuffed mushroom while keeping an eye on all the firepower in the room. She gave me a “nothing to worry about” wink. Darlene was busy talking with Winston’s friends. I spotted the others I knew in the garden. It was time for me to take a closer look at the place.
“Excuse me, but I have to find the powder room.” I nodded to the man I’d been talking to—the one in Bermuda shorts, white socks and wing tips—and spotted the staircase to the second floor. He smiled and waved his empty champagne glass at one of the servers as I headed off.
There were four doors leading off the upstairs hallway. One was open—the bathroom. The others had to be bedrooms or perhaps an office and two bedrooms. I opened the door on my right. As I guessed, it was an office, but there was no point in searching it. It held a chair and a desk—no filing cabinets, no laptop on the desk, no other furniture. I opened the desk drawers and found them empty. It was as if no one had ever used the room. Odd.
The second door led to a small bedroom. Like the office, it was sparsely furnished: two twin beds, nightstand between them, and a small bureau across the room. I opened the closet door. It too was empty, with the exception of a single wire hanger swinging abandoned on the clothes bar as if someone had just pulled a garment off it. When I tried the drawers in the nightstand and bureau, they yielded empty space. It appeared that Winston’s grown children did not live with him, or if they did, they traveled light.
The third room had to be the master bedroom—my last chance to find anything of interest, my final attempt to unearth Darlene’s purse or the remnants of my uncle’s life.
I opened the door. This time the room was not empty. Instead I found someone with the same idea as I. The Hardy brothers turned in surprise as I entered. Their search techniques were sloppy. Clothes lay strewn around the room, drawers pulled open, their contents tossed on the bed.
“Here I thought the two of you were being sensitive, attending my uncle’s funeral like civilized people. Instead you came here to rifle through his stuff, seize the opportunity to steal whatever you could find. You’re just common thieves.”
“We’re here to find—”
The smaller brother, the one who managed the produce stand and sold us the tickets, was cut off by his brother.
“Shut up, Digby.”
Digby? His name was Digby Hardy. I almost laughed at the thought of it and would have, but the airboat captain pulled a snub-nosed revolver out of his suit pocket.
“That’s improper attire for a funeral,” I said.
“Look who’s talking.” He gestured at my cervical collar.
“Let’s boogie. There’s nothing here anyway.” Digby headed toward the door, but before he could walk out, Sammy Egret entered and blocked Digby’s exit. His body language was loose, arms hanging at his sides, as if he had wandered into the room by accident; yet his mere size seemed to threaten the brothers. I was certain the subtle threat was exactly what Sammy intended. It worked. Digby backed up. Captain Hardy eyed him warily. Behind Sammy stood Frida.
“Having trouble, Eve?” she asked.
“These two were searching the place. Arrest them. They’re thieves.”
Airboat captain Hardy lowered his gun.
“You have a permit to carry that, I assume.” Frida crossed the room and took it out of his hand.
“You bet. And we’re not thieves. We was just lookin’ around.” The airboat brother allowed Frida to take the weapon, but the defiant look on his face said he wasn’t afraid of the law. Digby was less sure of himself. His eyes darted around the room. I thought he might jump through the window.
“Empty your pockets, you two, and let’s see what you’ve got in them, unless you’d prefer to have me arrest you here and do a thorough search down at the station.”
Both brothers complied with her request, dropping change, a few dollar bills and a set of truck keys on the bed.
“See? Nothing.”
“You’re right, Mr. Hardy. You got a driver’s license in the truck?” Frida tried to hide her smile, but one side of her mouth twitched as she watched the brothers’ jittery expressions.
“What’s going on here?” Darlene stood in the doorway.
Frida took a set of cuffs from her belt and clapped them on the bigger brother.
“Here, let me help you with that.” The man I’d seen Frida standing with at the funeral came up behind us. He reached under his jacket and withdrew a set of cuffs, which he snapped on Digby.
“What did they take?” Darlene watched Frida and her companion lead the men from the room.
“They didn’t take a damn thing, Darlene. They just made a mess of this room searching it. Curious. There’s nothing much in this place to steal. Why is that? I think you’ve got some explaining to do,” I said.
By this time, Madeleine had joined our little group and heard w
hat I said to Darlene. She nodded her head in agreement, but unlike Frida, she made no attempt to hide her smile of satisfaction.
“So why are you arresting them?” Darlene followed Frida into the hallway.
“Driving with no license.”
Pilot Hardy stopped and faced Frida. “You’re arresting us for that? That’s no felony.”
“I didn’t finish. And for vandalism.”
“You don’t have the authority. This is not your jurisdiction.”
Why did he not sound so much like a good ol’ boy now?
A look of concern crossed Frida’s face. “Oh gosh. I forgot. I guess I’m just a cop abusing my power.”
He smirked, which did nothing to improve his looks.
“But my friend here has authority.” Frida gestured to the man leading Digby down the stairs. “Meet Detective Murphy of the West Palm Beach Police Department.”
“Thanks for the help, Frida. Let’s get these two out to my cruiser, and I’ll do a check on them for outstanding. I’m guessing it’ll be interesting reading. If you want to accompany me to the station, I’ll return your cuffs.” Detective Murphy continued down the stairs with his charge.
“Don’t worry, Dig. Our lawyer will get us out by dinnertime.” The airboat captain shot me a dark look. “I was just paying my respects. Nice company you keep.”
His southern accent seemed less pronounced, and his comments about felonies and a lawyer didn’t sound so down home in the swamps now. Maybe he just watched too much television.
The appearance of Frida and her detective companion leading two men in cuffs out the front door erased the mourners’ need for snacks and drinks. Everyone except for those I knew found a reason to leave. I sat Darlene on the couch, handed her a glass of water, and looked down on her, my arms crossed. With my height and porcupine’s hair, I can be very imposing.
Dead in the Water Page 6