Dead in the Water

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “Okay. Now spill it.” I tapped my foot as an additional threat factor.

  It was as if Darlene just gave up. Her face fell into a picture of utter despair. She shook her head and looked up at me, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I just couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t stand the memories. I got rid of everything of Winston’s.”

  Boris and Sophia repeated their earlier, to my eye, ineffectual attempts at comforting her. Hand pat. One-armed hug, not so close that one body touched another.

  Darlene fended them off. Being around her swift changes in emotions was making me dizzy. “You wouldn’t understand. You didn’t care like I did. You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

  Well, actually I did know. It was an insensitive remark on Darlene’s part. If she was so close to Winston, he had to have told her about my parents. I also couldn’t relate to her form of mourning. When I lost Mom and Dad in the boating accident, I wanted to keep everything as it was so I wouldn’t lose the memories.

  “There’s not much of yours here, either. What about that?” I asked.

  “It’s the house. The memories of how happy we were in our little place. I moved in with his children.” She wiped a tear from her cheek and held out her hands to Boris and Sophia. They, too, looked confused by her emotional U-turns, but with a heave of her shoulders, Sophia dropped onto the couch beside her. Boris remained standing yet distant.

  “She’s having a hard time with this.” Sophia put her arm around Darlene, this time hugging her close, genuine concern for Darlene on her face.

  I shook my head. None of this made much sense to me.

  “I’m—” Before I could say the word “sorry,” Grandy interrupted me.

  “Since we’re on the subject of mourning Winston, I have a question.”

  “Go ahead,” Darlene said.

  “I don’t remember Winston having a family, and I kept pretty good track of his life, even though we rarely saw each other.” Grandy’s gaze settled on Sophia and Boris.

  There was silence for a moment before Sophia spoke up. “We are the children of Winston’s wife. We’re stepchildren. Winston helped bring our mother over from Russia, and we followed the next year. Our younger sister is, uh, up north right now. Mother died several years ago, but we think of Winston as our father. He took care of us.”

  “Well, that’s news to me.” Grandy still looked skeptical.

  “I hope you don’t want us to prove it.” Sophia shot a look of anger in Grandy’s direction. Those gray eyes were like a wind out of Siberia.

  “Of course not. Grandy just means it’s odd he kept the marriage a secret from us. I mean, from Grandy and me. We’re family too.”

  “He did not get around to telling you, but he would have eventually,” Sophia told us.

  I glanced at Boris. He’d been so quiet. “Would you like to say anything?”

  He didn’t look back at me, merely shook his head.

  Madeleine leaned in close. “Does he not speak? Or is it some kind of a tradition in Russia that the women do all the talking?”

  “I don’t think it’s tradition anywhere that women do the talking,” I whispered back to her.

  “I hate leaving you here alone, but the shop needs attention. We’re down in new arrivals. I’ll stop by some of our clients in West Palm on the way back from the lawyer’s.” I’d taken off the cervical collar with Madeleine’s blessing, so driving was possible again.

  It was the day after the funeral and Madeleine and I were taking stock of our store’s merchandise. The rounds and racks were only half-filled.

  “What are we going to do if the stock market continues to climb? Those women trying to make a little money by selling last season’s fashions here won’t be interested.” Madeleine looked as if she was going to cry.

  “Don’t worry, honey. They’ve found a way to take in some money without their hubby’s knowing. The easy money is too inviting for them to quit us now. Besides, they like the idea of slumming in the swamps of Florida, eating BBQ at the Burnt Biscuit and dancing with cowboys. It’s addictive. Even the very rich like to have fun, especially if it’s on the sly and not too fattening. Doing a little two-step can really burn off those beer and barbecue calories.”

  Poor Madeleine, I thought, as I drove my rental car down the Bee Line Highway. She worried so much. Maybe that was the source of her clumsiness. I’d read somewhere that tension made your muscles cramp up and your movements jerky and awkward. I hated leaving her responsible for the store today, but Winston’s lawyer had summoned all of Winston’s family—including Darlene—for the reading of the will. I had no idea how much money Winston had accrued over the years, but it had to be a substantial sum if his condo was any indication. The source of his income was from working for the mob, of course, but how should one view mob money, once it was invested and became stocks, bonds, treasury notes, and real estate investments?

  Well, I wasn’t worried that I’d have to consider what to do with anything Winston might leave me. It had been so long since we’d been in touch—as Darlene had pointed out many times—that she and his children would have to make a judgment about whether they wanted tainted riches or not. If Madeleine had heard me say any of this, she would have snorted and told me Darlene wouldn’t refuse money hidden in a pig wallow.

  I don’t know what I expected, but Winston’s lawyer looked quite respectable, not as if he had any “connections” of an unsavory nature at all. Grandy had driven up from Key Largo again today. I’d asked her and Max to stay with me last night, but they wanted to get back to the boat. A storm was coming in overnight, and they needed to check lines and ready the craft for a hard blow.

  Mr. Sandimore, the lawyer, seated all of us around a conference table in his office and proceeded to get right to the point. He explained that the will had been updated less than a year ago. I assumed the only reason I was here was Winston had left me some small remembrance, a piece of jewelry or statuary. The sooner this was over, the sooner I could get out of here and visit my clients to see if they had any apparel for the shop. My mind wandered away from the immediate company, and I mused about the days Winston and I skied together, went horseback riding and …. Suddenly I realized the room had gotten very quiet. The lawyer had stopped reading, and all eyes were turned on me.

  Attorney Sandimore removed his glasses and set them on his desk. “I guess you didn’t know anything about this? Your uncle said nothing to you on his recent visit?”

  “What?”

  “Ms. Appel. Did you know your uncle left his entire estate to you?”

  No, I did not.

  Chapter 7

  Grandy walked me to my car. “Can you drive?”

  “Of course. Why would you think I couldn’t?”

  “That was quite a surprise.”

  “Yep. Now I have to decide what to do with money made in ways even I can’t imagine, not even in my worst nightmares.”

  “You’ll figure it out.” She hesitated. “I could follow you home.”

  “Go take care of your boat. And Max. I’ll call you as soon as I get there.”

  I didn’t remember much of my drive back to Sabal Bay or of my conversation with Grandy because I was still focused on the astonished looks on the faces of everyone in the lawyer’s office. And then there was my own shock. Of course Winston has left money to Darlene and a small sum to his stepchildren. Grandy received some pearls that had been in the family for a few generations, but the bulk of the estate—estimated at over one point five million dollars—went to me.

  I did recall the children and Darlene stalking out before Grandy and me, their faces purple with rage. Mr. Sandimore told me he’d be in touch about the details, but I didn’t want to know any details. I worried they might outline how each dollar had been obtained. This one was part of the payment delivered to Big Donnie Giovanni for the hit on Sonny Capri, but this one came as the result of the Rigatoni family’s burning of Sal’s pizzeria in Bay Side. We deliver, Winston see
med to be saying. Yipes!

  I didn’t feel like going back to my empty house to be further haunted by Winston’s voice describing his career path. I checked my watch. Madeleine should still be at the store.

  “I’m cleaning. This place needed sprucing up.” Madeleine wore a bib apron and had covered her hair with a white scarf. “So what did you get?”

  “I got a migraine headache, the undying enmity of at least three people and a lot of money obtained mostly through illegal ventures.”

  “What?”

  I tossed my purse on the counter and told her about the afternoon.

  “So, no clothes?”

  “Come on, Madeleine. The last thing I was thinking about was the shop.”

  “Sure. I get it. Now that you have all that bread, you’ll probably quit our business and take Alex on some fancy vacation and then retire to the Caribbean.”

  I was shocked she would think that. Then it hit me. She was scared—worried I’d do just that, leave her alone with the shop.

  “Do you really believe I’d abandon this business after what we went through to build it up? And do you really believe I want that disgusting moola? I’ll find a way of giving it back.”

  “You can’t return money to a dead man.”

  She had a point there.

  “Don’t be too hasty in throwing it away. We’ll figure out something to do with it,” she said.

  “Like what? Who would want the money if they found out how it was obtained?”

  She sneezed. “Let’s get out of here. It’s time to close anyway, and I’m sick of breathing in dirt and dust. We can work on this better if we have a cold margarita, don’t you think?”

  Madeleine always had the best ideas, and when she had a little booze in her, she could problem-solve like a corporate CEO.

  Three margaritas apiece and some salsa and chips in the local Mexican restaurant didn’t yield much in the way of good ideas. But we felt better. I insisted upon sitting near the window so I could keep an eye on my rental car. I’d lost my red Miata to a fire bomb last year in this very lot, and I wanted to make certain no one tampered with this car. Besides, I hadn’t taken the extra insurance when I rented it.

  Madeleine watched me survey the lot outside. “When do you get your convertible back?”

  “The repair garage said sometime the end of this week.”

  My cell trilled.

  “It’s Sophia,” I mouthed to Madeleine.

  “Is she calling to warn you she’s about to trash your car?”

  I signaled Madeleine to hold her comments.

  The call was brief. In what I had come to recognize as her customarily brisk manner, Sophia asked to meet me, well, she told me she’d meet me later tonight and recommended the canal lock at the Ridge. I thought about the isolation of those locks late at night, the tall, cold concrete walls and the dark water beneath. Creepy. I countered with the Burnt Biscuit. Something about Sophia made me uneasy, and I wasn’t going to take a meeting in an isolated location with someone who thought I’d stolen the family’s money

  “Come alone.” She hung up.

  “The general has issued her orders.” I reported her words to Madeleine.

  “I don’t know. I think she’s weird. You need someone to watch your back.”

  “Well, how many cowboys do I know who hang out at the Biscuit? I think I’m safe.”

  “No. You need to call Nappi or Alex,” she stopped in mid-sentence, “or someone closer, someone around here.” She looked at me with expectation in her eyes.

  “I’m not calling on Sammy.”

  “Why not? He likes you. A lot.”

  “What would Alex say? Weren’t you the one who thought Alex might be upset about Sammy’s interest in me?” Or my fascination with him?

  “Sure, but this is an emergency. No one else can get here in time.”

  “She’s just a girl.”

  “I’m not so sure.” Madeleine signaled the waiter for another margarita. “As for you, you’re not having another one. You need to be sober.”

  Well, that was no fun.

  I chose a table in the back, the same one Grandy and I had taken when we met with Nappi. The Biscuit’s light was dim, but I thought Sophia’s eyes looked red-rimmed. Had Ms. Grim and Stoic been crying?

  She sat down and began talking. The waitress approached the table, but Sophia waved her off. Good thing I had my libations earlier.

  “We were upset when we heard Winston gave you all the money that he should have given us, but now we’re over it.”

  Wow, talk about a quick bounce-back.

  She held up her hand to prevent me from saying anything.

  “No. Do not interrupt. This is hard for me to say, but we need you, so I must apologize for our bad manners leaving the lawyer’s office in, what do you say here, a ‘huff’?”

  No, not a huff. It felt more like a bomber circling to take another run at the target. Why did I feel like the target?

  She still held her hand up, palm toward me. I didn’t want to risk her working herself up into yet another huff, so I listened.

  “So I am forced to apologize and ask you for that money.”

  What? I could not comprehend where this conversation was going.

  Tears spilled out of her gray eyes. Here was a woman unused to showing emotion and forced to divulge family secrets to someone she felt had cheated her out of her inheritance. I began to feel for her.

  I reached across the table to pat her hand. She removed mine. Now I wanted her to hurry the story along so I could say no and get the hell out of here and never see her again.

  “My sister, my little sister, I think Darlene told you she was up north?”

  I nodded.

  “She is in the United States, but some bad people, actually part of the Russian Mob, have kidnapped her and are holding her for what you would call ransom. They contacted Winston, and he took money out of his accounts. He was supposed to leave it in the swamp.”

  “He did, but I thought that was for the mob?”

  “There are two mobs, the one that Winston worked for and the Russian Mob. I don’t know about the mob money. I just know someone took the ransom money. When the Russians were sent to pick it up, it was gone. Now they are saying they will kill my sister or,” she paused and gulped, “something worse. We need your money to get her back. So you’ll give it to us.” She hesitated, then reached out and touched my hand. “Please?” A tear worked its way down her cheek.

  The storyteller didn’t do the tale justice. I’d read about the Russian Mob, and I knew they were ruthless. This was just the sort of thing they did—kidnapping young women and bringing them to the United States or other countries to be sold into slavery, used as prostitutes. Killing this young woman would be more merciful than the life she would face as a sex slave.

  So yes, as much has I didn’t like Sophia, I would try to help her. Her stoicism made sense to me. She had to hold herself together until she found a way out of this dilemma. Winston was dead, so who else could she turn to? Winston had tried to help. I could honor his memory by following through on his plan. What better way to use his money?

  I knew not to suggest Sophia contact the police. But guess whose name jumped into my head? Nappi was a contact I’d keep to myself until I discussed the situation with him.

  We were both silent as we stepped out of the restaurant and headed to our cars. Heavy clouds obscured both the moon and the stars, leaving the night inky black. The smell of sugarcane fields lit on fire earlier in the day in preparation for harvesting made the air smell burnt and sour. I coughed once to clear my throat. Sophia lit up a cigarette as soon as she hit the parking area.

  She grabbed my hand as I opened the car door to leave.

  “Why can’t you give it to me now?”

  “I don’t have it now. The will takes time, legal stuff and all. I’ll get in touch with the lawyer and try to hurry things along, but—”

  “She might die.”

 
“Delay them. Tell them what’s happening,” I said.

  “They won’t listen to delay.”

  “Then you’ll have to go to the police.”

  Her face turned white. “No, no. They said no police. Okay. I’ll delay. Somehow.”

  I got into my car, rolled down the window to ask her how I could get in touch, but she did an about-face and marched across the parking lot to a car sitting underneath the large cypress tree. Sophia got in the passenger’s side and the tires threw gravel as it sped out of the lot.

  I assumed brother Boris was driving. I was so intent upon watching the car I wasn’t prepared for a touch on my arm. I whirled around, the sound of my racing heartbeat loud in my ears.

  “Sorry, Evie.”

  The only person who ever called me Evie was my ex-husband, Jerry.

  “What are you doing here? You almost scared me to death.”

  “Nappi sent me. He’s tied up with another job, so he asked if I would drop by and give you an update. I was more than happy to.” He smiled at me and stroked my shoulder.

  “Okay, Jerry, here’s the thing. Don’t call me Evie, ever. Don’t smile at me like that. Don’t stroke me, anywhere. And say what you have to say, then leave. Quick.”

  Jerry and I had a relatively amicable divorce. I signed the papers willingly, thinking he had gotten Nappi’s daughter pregnant. Not knowing Nappi well at that point, I didn’t want to make things difficult for Jerry or me by delaying the wedding of a mobster’s daughter. As it turned out, there was no pregnancy and no wedding. Everyone seemed relieved, except perhaps for the daughter, who seemed to love him for reasons I couldn’t fathom after having been married to him for ten years. I guess it was a matter of taste. I’d demonstrated mine by divorcing him and she hers by wanting to trap him in marriage.