Dead in the Water

by Lesley A. Diehl

  “He helped me do it.” I leaned back into Alex, and he put his arms around me.

  “She would have called you without my advice.” A few kisses and Alex had good things to say about me.

  “Yeah, but she would have done it next week.” Frida took the phone, winked at me to let me know she was kidding, and left.

  “Where were we?” Alex turned me around in his arms so that we were facing each other.

  “I think we were about to make up.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Tell them to go away.” Alex always had great ideas.

  “Go away.”

  “It’s Jerry. I need to talk to you.”

  “Go away.” Alex and I spoke in unison.

  “I thought you’d like to know they released me from the hospital. I wanted to thank you.”

  “At this hour?”

  “Hospital? Jerry was in the hospital? What happened?” Alex threw open the door. “Jerry, old man, are you okay?”

  “Eve didn’t tell you?” Jerry’s face was black and blue and his mouth puffy.

  I groaned. This was not going to be a night of fun.

  Madeleine and I arrived at the shop the next morning within minutes of each other.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take off a few days? Take some down time and recover from that awful experience. I can cover for you.” I hugged her and unlocked the door.

  She shook her head.

  As we readied the shop for opening, we talked about her kidnapping and the events leading up to it.

  “I think I blew it with Alex last night, but I was certain you would keep him abreast of what was going on. You didn’t tell him a thing, did you?” she said.

  “No. I always want to, but he gets so mad when I insert myself into anything he thinks will be dangerous. It’s not as if I look for trouble, you know.”

  “Don’t you? Sometimes I wonder, when you have an appetite for adventure, if you’re bored with the life you have here. In business. With me.”

  “No. Don’t say that. I love working here with you. You know how I feel about fashion and a bargain.”

  “How does it compare to murder?”

  Opting not to answer that, I changed the subject. “Guess what I found in my couch?”

  I told her about the burner phone and what it was used for among mob folks.

  “A clue?” Madeleine’s eyes danced with delight.

  “Maybe. Or there could be nothing on it.”

  “Did you and Alex make up last night?”

  “Kind of, at least we were trying until Jerry showed up. Again he hadn’t arranged for a motel room and there’s that mud bog racing thing in town. Alex took him home with him to his apartment.”

  “You and Alex get all the breaks.”

  “And how did your date turn out? He sure is a hunk of a man—tall, muscular, dresses well, too. You met him on that Internet dating site, right? He’s handsome and he seemed nice when we met at the restaurant.”

  Madeleine’s eye started to twitch, and she turned her attention to one of the skirt rounds. “We should put some of these items on sale this weekend, don’t you think?”

  “Okay, honey. What happened?”

  “Oh, Eve. What’s wrong with me? We were having such a great time! Then he asked me to dance. We were doing a slow dance, and he looked down at me as if he was going to kiss me. I panicked.”

  “Panicked? How?”

  “I thought to myself, this is just silly. We’ll date for a while, get attached to each other, and then I’ll do something to hurt him somehow. I pulled away and told him I didn’t want to see him again.”

  “Madeleine Boudreaux, how could you? Letting something that hasn’t happened stand in the way of something that might be good.”

  “I’m jinxed. You know that.”

  Well, yes. I knew she was jinxed, but things could change. At least I hoped they could. I told her so, and she seemed to perk right up.

  “Maybe I should call him tonight and talk,” she said.

  “Good idea.”

  We gabbed though the morning, reestablishing our old camaraderie. Nothing could come between us—not a murder, not a kidnapping, not her clumsiness or my lack of social sensitivity. We loved each other like sisters. For the first time since my uncle died I felt as if everything would turn out just fine.

  Then Darlene showed up.

  At first I didn’t recognize her, which I guess was the point of her costume. She wore a brown, long-sleeved sweater, slacks in another shade of brown, brown shoes, and a brown wig made of polyester hair.

  “It’s me.”

  “What is this? You’ve come out of mourning and wearing black and now you’re in your brown period?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, kind of like Picasso’s blue period. Oh, never mind.”

  I’d alerted Madeleine earlier to Darlene’s impending visit. She’d declined my offer to accompany us to lunch.

  “Someone needs to tend the store. You two girls have fun.” Madeleine stood in the shop door and waved us goodbye. When I turned at my car to look back at her, she rolled her eyes and put her finger down her throat in a gagging gesture. Still didn’t like Darlene, I guess.

  We settled into a back booth at the Burnt Biscuit and each ordered a chef salad.

  “I know it’s too early to think about dating again, but I want to keep my figure.” Darlene ordered her thousand island dressing on the side, poured all of it onto her salad and ordered two more portions of the dressing.

  “Now what’s all this about someone trying to kill you?” I wanted to get right to it. I wasn’t going to spend one more minute with this woman than was necessary. I knew my uncle was fond of her, but I didn’t have to be.

  She looked around the restaurant, then leaned forward and whispered across the table to me. “I’ve been seeing a black SUV roll by the apartment several times a day. Someone’s watching me.”

  I shrugged. “SUVs are pretty common.”

  “I’ve been getting hang-ups on Winston’s cell. You know Frida returned it to me the other day. Nice of her, don’t you think?”

  A number of possibilities about the hang-up calls ran through my head: police surveillance courtesy of Frida, Nappi’s brand of psychological warfare, Winston’s mob family, the Russians …. Any of these.

  “Good afternoon, ladies.” The voice drew me out of my musings.

  “Mr. Napolitani.” I started to get out of my chair.

  “Don’t get up, my dear.” He reached for my hand and kissed it. My gallant mob guy.

  He turned his attention to Darlene. “Ms. Banks, I believe.”

  Darlene looked as terrified as a preteen watching Halloween 25: Jason Returns from the Dead.

  “Oh, my. I have another appointment. I must leave.” She grabbed her purse, but before she could get up, Nappi placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “But you’re just the woman I wanted to talk to. Isn’t it fortunate you’re here?” Nappi smiled, a toothy, malicious grin.

  She shot me a look of anger.

  “I didn’t tell on you. I’m as surprised to see him as you are.” That was the truth, but I knew Nappi’s appearance was more than happenstance on his part. He had something planned for Darlene.

  “I thought we could talk about that day—the day of Winston’s death. You know I went out of my way to make things right with his family?” Nappi said.

  She gulped and nodded.

  “So whoever took the money that was meant for the mob really did a disservice to me as well as to Winston. And to his family.”

  “Yes.” She squeaked out this single word.

  “I know you’ve gone over and over this with the police, but now I’m asking personal-like. What do you think happened to that money?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Do the children?”

  “No.”

  “Here’s the problem for all of us. I’m mad,
yes. So is Eve here. So are the police. But his family? Those mob folks? You know about mob families, don’t you, Darlene?”

  She nodded and grabbed her glass of water, took a gulp.

  “They can be patient, but they’ll find out who took it. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  He continued to look at her with his black eyes, then leaned back in his chair and put his hands in his lap. “You said something about an appointment?”

  She jumped up from her chair and ran out of the restaurant.

  “Madeleine’s right about that woman. Darlene is a real pain in the you-know-what,” I said.

  Nappi tilted his chair forward. “I think she may be a killer.”

  “Likely. And now she’s a frightened killer, the worst kind. She may decide she needs to cover her tracks.”

  “That’s fine with me.”

  “Have you been watching her apartment? Or calling and hanging up?”

  “Not me.” His smile was all innocence, which meant it could have been him.

  “But someone wants to make her bolt.”

  “Care for dessert, my dear?”

  Chapter 18

  I passed on dessert, as did Nappi, since the restaurant was all out of Florida Sunshine Cake—the orange-flavored, five layer cake with the orange zest butter cream frosting. Nothing compared, not even double whammy chocolate brownies with chocolate chips and dark chocolate ganache. As we finished our coffees, I told Nappi my plans for tracking down Madeleine’s kidnapper.

  “I’ll sneak that in early because Alex and I need some together time. I’ve been neglecting him.”

  Nappi nodded. “He’s a fine man, but a bit insecure when it comes to you and other men. Even me.” He looked across the table.

  “I know.”

  “I also have a full evening.”

  “Do you?” I waited, hoping he would reveal his plans, but he seemed reluctant.

  “I’ll keep Jerry busy tonight.” He winked at me.

  Nice of him.

  There are only two chain markets and the large supercenter in Sabal Bay. The center carried most items at lower prices than the other two stores, and guessing that the person I was searching for was probably frugal out of need, I headed to the cheapest place. The town had the largest population in the county, yet it seemed small to me because I was acquainted with so many people, if not by name, then by sight from my store or the cowboy bars Madeleine and I frequented to get our fix of country bands. Those I hadn’t met knew me as that “Yankee with the spiky hair whose car blew up in front of the Mexican restaurant last year.”

  The assistant manager of the supercenter was on duty and had a minute to talk, so I told her about the person I was searching for.

  “Oh, yeah. That guy comes in here at least once a week. He buys the largest jar we have. He’s got a real craving for it.”

  “Any particular days he comes in?”

  “No schedule that I know about, but he hangs out at the Busted Boot, you know, that biker’s bar out near Deer Mound.”

  On my way out of the store I called Madeleine.

  “Here’s a perfect opportunity for you to make up with that guy you dumped. How do you feel about a little two-step tonight?”

  “Dancing? I’d probably trounce all over his feet.”

  “Maybe not. Give it a try.”

  We agreed to meet at the Busted Boot at nine. Whether Alex wanted to or not, our evening together would include Madeleine and Dan Hostel, the fellow she’d rejected last night. He was more than eager to try again with her. If we got lucky, we’d be dancing to the band called the Alone Rangers, one of my favorite groups. They played a lot of slow tunes, guaranteed to make Alex happy, at least on the dance floor.

  I reconsidered. I’d better not get pushy with him. I’d let him choose what we did tonight.

  At the door when he arrived, I put my arms around him, slipped my hands down to his tushy and gave it a squeeze.

  “How about some sexy music and a little bump and grind?”

  He stepped back from my embrace and looked me in the eye.

  “What are you up to now?”

  Why didn’t anyone trust me?

  But he agreed, thinking I was trying to help out Madeleine with her boyfriend issues. His choice.

  The assistant manager at the supercenter didn’t have a name for the guy I was trying to track down, Madeleine’s kidnapper, but she had a description. He was shorter than I, had shoulder-length, greasy hair, eyes that sat close together, and a low forehead. Oh, and bad breath.

  When Alex and I entered the bar, half of the patrons there fit that description. All of them stopped what they were doing and stared at us. I always seem to look out of place.

  “I’m trying to find someone.” I thought I should forewarn Alex.

  “You’ve got someone,” he said.

  “I mean, someone else.”

  “Eve.”

  “Don’t worry. This is harmless.” That was one of my versions of the truth—not the whole truth or even half of it.

  I walked up to all the short, greasy-haired, gorilla-browed men, smiled and said hello. I did this about twelve inches from their faces, watching for an expression of both recognition and fear. No one appeared to have played bumper boats with me, but I inhaled enough beer breath for a contact high.

  Some of them thought I was coming onto them, others thought I wanted to fight. I dragged Alex with me, but kept between him and the fellas to make certain no one assumed they could throw a punch his way. It was his choice to come here, but I felt responsible for his safety somehow.

  I was about to give up for the evening when I spotted a skinny guy leaning against the pool table. He fit the description and was sporting a bruised face. Hmmm.

  “How about a game?” I put two quarters on the table.

  He looked shocked. Not a telling enough reaction to convince me he recognized me and had reason to be suspicious, but he acted surprised all the same. He could as well have been stunned that a woman wanted to play him. There was nothing about him that signaled “I’m a babe magnet” and he knew it.

  I broke and sunk two stripes, but missed my next shot. When I moved around the table to get close to him, he scooted away.

  “I cain’t shoot with you hanging over me.” He took aim and missed; it was evident he couldn’t shoot regardless of whether anyone was near him.

  This game of keep-away continued for several minutes, neither of us doing well at our shots, although I was better than he was by a slim margin. He finally had a straight line at the pocket, but as he set up to sink it, I could see he wasn’t going to use enough backspin, meaning that the cue ball would follow into the pocket.

  He was as bad a pool player as he was a thug, and this was taking far too long. I moved up behind him and leaned into him. “Here. This is the way it’s done.” I touched his hands as if to guide him. He turned his face to me in surprise. Bingo! He exhaled beer and ….

  Two strong hands pulled me off him.

  “What are you doing, Eve?” Alex did not seem pleased.

  At that moment, I spied Madeleine, entering the bar with Dan. I waved her over while my pool buddy continued lining up the ball and … missed.

  “What did you say your name was?” I smiled at him as he backpedaled down the length of the table. By now he knew something was up other than chasing balls around on a felt surface with some crazy broad.

  “Bradley.” He laid his pool stick on the table. “Uh, I got somewhere else to be.”

  “Bradley, you just settle down. I want you to meet a friend of mine.” I pulled Madeleine over and nudged her toward him.

  Alex seemed to sense something was up. He stepped behind Bradley blocking his path to the exit and preventing him from putting any distance between himself and Madeleine.

  Good. Alex had the way out covered.

  “Go on, Madeleine. Shake hands with Bradley.” I pushed her forward.

  Trapped between Alex and Madele
ine, Bradley began to sweat, nervous sweat that did nothing to improve his aroma.

  She moved within two feet of him and stopped. “It’s him.”

  Yup, the old beer and peanut butter lie detector works every time.

  We walked him out to the parking lot to continue the discussion.

  “This your truck, Barkley?” It was locked. I held out my hand. “Key, please.”

  “It’s Bradley.”

  “Sure.” I wiggled my fingers at him.

  He looked at Alex, then at me and decided the two of us, given our heights, were not to be messed with.

  I unlocked the door and got in. The entire truck smelled as if Smuckers, Jiff and Teddy’s were holding a peanut butter convention. It didn’t take me long to locate what I was looking for tucked into the space behind the seat. I moved several empty jars out of the way and extracted the bag.

  “What’s this?” I held up the satchel Nappi and I had stuffed the twenty-five thousand dollars into for the Madeleine’s ransom. I unzipped it. Empty.

  “You’ve got no right to search my truck or that. You need a warrant.” Bradley crossed his arms and looked triumphant.

  “That’s for cops. But we’re not cops,” Alex said. Nice touch, I thought.

  “We just have a few questions, and then we’ll consider what we’re going to do with you.” What could we do with him? I wondered. We hadn’t informed the authorities of a kidnapping, so technically no crime had been committed. But Bradley didn’t know that, did he?

  He hung his head. “Okay.”

  “We know you didn’t set up the kidnapping. You’re working for someone,” I said.

  “I never seen their faces. Never.”

  “But you talked with them on the phone, right?”

  He nodded.

  “So what did they sound like?”

  “Huh?”

  “Their voices. Did they have a foreign accent?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Do you think I have a foreign accent?”

  “Sure. You talk like all those other snowbirds.”

  I was tired of dancing around with this cretin. I grabbed him by his collar. “What did they sound like?”