Chapter 23
When I stepped onto my porch, I knew something was not right. I always left a light on in the living room. It was a habit of mine, one I never broke. I was convinced it made it look as if someone was home, a deterrent to burglars. Alex said anyone surveilling the house would figure out it was a ploy. I did it anyway. It made me feel safe.
I was too tired and too sad to play heroine if my house was being burgled, so I did something all my friends had wanted me to do from the beginning of this murder/kidnapping case. I called Frida on my cell, inserted my key in the lock and stepped into the darkened living room. No one had to tell me who was there. I knew immediately from the earthy, moldy smell of the swamps.
“Did you manage to hang onto your money, Boris? Or was it gone with the wind, back into the swamp?” I reached for the switch inside the door and flipped it on. Nothing. Did I feel like an idiot! The bulb must have burned out. No. Wait a minute. I flipped the switch to turn it on. If the bulb had burned out, the switch would already have been in the “on” position.
“I get it now. You unscrewed the bulb. I know you’re here, Boris.” I heard someone take a deep breath from across the room.
The table lamp beside the chair in the living room came on.
“You think you’re pretty smart, but you’re just another spoiled American woman. I have a passport, and I will go home with money. I come to take the money Darlene hid.”
Now, how did he know it was here? Or did he?
“I followed Darlene here the other day and then to your boyfriend’s house. She wasn’t carrying the bag she arrived here with. It has to be the money bag.”
I glanced around the room. It hadn’t been searched yet, so Boris must have just arrived.
“You’re lucky to be alive.”
“I’m a strong man. No bunch of snakes or a swamp can do me in.”
I thought about that old Russian joke, “Strong like bull, smart like tractor.” I smiled.
“You think this is funny? I will give you your life if you give me the money.”
I wanted to stall him more, but I could tell he was impatient to leave. I wanted to believe he would spare my life, but I couldn’t count on it. I hoped the call I made to Frida had connected and that she was hearing the conversation. The one time I reach out for help, there’s no one there. Where the hell was she? Where else? Home in bed, sleeping soundly, secure in the knowledge that the case was wrapped up.
No one was coming to rescue me.
“The money is in the bedroom,” I said.
He gestured with his gun to indicate I should lead the way.
The only light in the bedroom came from the moonlight through the window, not enough to see well. I walked into the room and turned on the bed table lamp. “It’s in the closet. In the duffel.”
“Get it.”
I went to the closet and fumbled around on the floor.
He came and stood over me. “Turn on the light.”
“The bulb is burned out.”
Boris reached up and pulled the cord. Nothing happened.
“It’s in here someplace.” I felt around among my shoes and boots until I located the bag, then zipped it open only an inch or so.
He heard the zipper. “Leave it. I’ll look for myself.”
I stepped back as he leaned down to get the bag.
“What is this, another one of your jokes?” He pulled out the rubber snake, shook it and threw it across the room. “You think that scares me?”
“It was worth a try.”
He remained bent over and unzipped the bag its entire length.
“This might bother you more.” I reached to one side, grabbed the bed table lamp, and slammed it down on his head. He dropped to the floor in a heap. Was he dead? I could only hope so. I heard sirens in the distance. I stooped over and picked up Boris’ pistol, then spoke into my phone.
“What took you so long?’
Frida sounded put out. “The last time I came dashing to your rescue, you let the bad guys get away. You’d better have something for me this time.”
“I gave you a bad girl. Call an ambulance. I think this one needs medical attention.”
Boris had a mild concussion from the lamp. The base was solid brass. The lamp had been one of Grandy’s from her house in Connecticut. I’d asked for it when she and Max moved onto the boat. Boris’ head had put a sizeable dent in it. I was sure Grandy would understand and forgive me for using it as a lethal weapon, and it would remain on my bedside table as a reminder of the evening’s events.
Here I was again, down at the station, explaining to Frida why her prisoner was in the hospital for the night.
“You called me, sure, but you should have waited until I got there.” Frida wasn’t happy I’d taken things into my own hands.
“If I had waited, he would simply have bolted out the back way and been on his way to Mother Russia by now. You’d never catch him. We don’t even know what the name on his passport is.”
There was a ruckus in the front of the station. Sophia swept by two officers and rushed over to me. “You. You are a crazy woman. You’ve got it in for my family. You break my sister’s nose and almost kill my brother. Arrest this woman.”
“Sorry, Eve,” Frida said. “I called her earlier when we arrested her sister and Darlene. She just got here from West Palm.”
“Did you explain everything to her?”
Frida nodded. “I think she’s in shock.”
Yep. That would be Sophia’s version of shock.
“Sit down.” I shoved her back into a chair. As quickly as she had gone on the offensive against me, she deflated like a balloon and slumped into the chair.
“Your uncle was a good man,” she said. “My mother loved him. I loved him, and I thought my brother did, too. Darlene, I didn’t like so much. I thought she was after Winston’s money. She told me he was leaving everything to us, but she knew that wasn’t true, right?”
“Yes. And that’s why she and Boris and your sister decided to stage the phony kidnapping to get his money. Then, when it was lost in the swamp, they came after me for money.”
“It’s my fault. I taught my sister how to shoot.”
“Yeh, but you didn’t tell her who to shoot.”
Sophia looked up at me with something close to tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I hadn’t expected this from the ice queen. Was I seeing the spring thaw?
“It’s okay.”
“No, I mean I’m sorry that Uncle Winston didn’t leave us more money. Maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”
Sophia’s version of the crime. It only differed from her brother and sister’s by the fact she didn’t kill anybody for money. She may have loved Winston, but she was angry he didn’t leave his estate to them.
“Take this away with you, Sophia. I didn’t get any money from Winston. Nobody got any money from Winston.”
She squared her shoulders and stood. “There’s still his money in the swamp. What if someone finds it?”
“I think this time it’s gone for good. But if it’s found, I don’t want it.”
She looked peeved at my moral stance on the money. “You Americans are so goody-goody about things.”
“Would you take it? Darlene said you were a letter-of-the-law person. It’s money he made by working for the mob.”
“I’d have to think on that.”
“I’ll call you if it floats in.”
She gave me another look and strode out of the room.
“And she’s the innocent one,” Frida said as she rose from her chair and stretched.
“C’mon. I’ll buy you breakfast,” I said.
She put her arm around my shoulders and walked me to the door. “You mean like a real breakfast—bacon, eggs, pancakes—not just a stale pastry and lukewarm coffee in our break room?”
“Real, big breakfast.”
Chapter 24
Several weeks went by before Alex finished his case in Pensacol
a. We talked several times each day by cell, and he came home on the weekend. The snake was located under the living room chair and returned to Grandfather Egret. I talked with Nappi, and he lectured me on going it alone into dangerous situations with only an old Indian and a bag of snakes as back-up, but he forgave me, then apologized for being out of touch. He broke down and gave me his cellphone number, but I suspected it was a burner and if I called it next month it wouldn’t connect with him. I did appreciate the gesture.
The reason I couldn’t contact Jerry that night was that he had given me the number of a burner phone he’d tossed that afternoon and forgotten to tell me the new one’s number. There was no way I could have gotten in touch with my mob posse to assist me. Nappi told me he was punishing Jerry for his thoughtlessness by making him do the yard work on Nappi’s West Palm condo. Anything that caused Jerry to break a sweat was anathema to him.
It was rumored that the Hardy brothers’ airboat operation was being taken over by a local. Nappi refused to discuss what happened to the Hardy brothers once he turned them over to their bosses, but I suspected the brothers were sweeping the floors of some casino in Las Vegas.
Frida called me frequently to lecture me on the same topic, adding a mini-lecture on endangering Madeleine’s life by not letting the authorities know about her kidnapping.
“And don’t push this one off on Nappi. You know better than to take advice from a mob boss.”
Did I?
Between billing and cooing on the phone, Alex also lectured me about my propensity for getting myself into trouble and for thinking I could take on ersatz Russian mob members. Then he verbally flagellated himself for not being available to come to my aid. As quickly as he began blaming himself, he’d return to reprimanding me for my foolhardy behavior.
“And you took some crazy old Indian out into the swamps to meet with gun toting thieves? What were you thinking, Eve?”
Even Sammy lit into me about dragging Grandfather into this mess. But Grandfather put a stop to that.
“You weren’t home to help. Anyway, I’ve never had so much fun in my life. Made me feel right frisky. Better than selling dresses to old ladies at your shop.”
“Not all of them are old, Grandfather. And my customers liked you the days you were there. Madeleine and I are thinking about hiring you part-time. What do you think?”
He puffed on his pipe for a moment, then looked up at me. “How much do you pay?”
The evening Alex returned to town for good, we decided to go to Stuart and have dinner in one of the restaurants on the water.
“Dress up real sexy. This is going to be a night to remember.”
Alex showed up at my door as I was getting dressed. I answered the doorbell in bare feet.
“I’ll be ready in a jiff. I’ve got to find a pair of shoes to go with this dress.”
Alex handed me a red rose and then swallowed. “You look good enough to take to bed.”
“So do you, but if you don’t stop ogling me like that the drool will stain your shirt front.”
He did a pretend wipe of his mouth and grinned.
“Hey, buster, I paid a lot of money for this dress. I’ve just been looking for the right occasion to wear it. This is the night. C’mon with me. You can help me find the shoes I want to wear.”
“It’s a black dress, what there is of it. Won’t any pair of black shoes do?”
I turned to look at him, shocked. “You’ve known me for over a year. Hasn’t any fashion sense rubbed off on you yet?”
He had the good sense to lower his eyes and look repentant.
“That’s better.”
We both got down on our hands and knees on my closet floor.
“Wouldn’t it be a lot easier if you replaced that bulb? Then you could see your shoes.”
“I don’t have a new bulb.”
“They sell them everywhere.”
“I know, but …. The shoes are a black pair with a wedgie front and five inch heels. I bought them last year and haven’t worn them yet. I wasn’t sure if the wedge would hit, fashion-wise.”
“You were worried about whether you’d be ‘in’? This is Sabal Bay, not New York City.”
“I know, but …. Here’s one of them.” I reached farther into the closet. “And here’s the other one.”
I stood up and stuffed my toes into the shoes. “Ouch.”
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s something in the toe of the shoe. What the hell?” I took off the shoe and pulled a folded piece of paper out of it. When I opened it up, it was one sheet with writing on it and signed at the bottom: Uncle Winston.
I scanned it, then handed it to Alex. He read it aloud. “Dear Eve, If you found this note then I’m dead. I wouldn’t leave this for you otherwise. I don’t know why I feel this way, but maybe as an old made man, my instincts are finely tuned to picking up on the possibility of death. I think someone will try to kill me. I’ve arranged with your friend and now mine, Mr. Napolitani, for me to leave the mob by doing a final job for them. I don’t know if it will work, and I’m guessing you will be shocked to find that I have left everything to you in my will. Perhaps I’m just being paranoid, but I do not want my dead wife’s children to inherit it, nor do I want to give it all to Darlene. Her past with men is too shaky. I know you will not want this dirty money, so I’ve arranged to make it “disappear” for a good cause. I’ve kept an eye on you since you were little and I am proud of what you’ve accomplished, having come through your parents’ death and then that horrible marriage. Jerry isn’t the man for you, but I hope you find someone who is. Forgive me for doing things in such a contorted manner, but it’s just my way. Your loving Uncle Winston.”
He handed the paper back to me.
I wiped away the tears that streamed down my cheeks and smiled. “I wonder what ‘the good cause’ was?”
“Have you read today’s paper?”
I shook my head.
“Let me get it.” Alex ran into the living room and came back with the Sabal Bay Journal. He showed me the headlines.
“Miccosukee Tribe Given More than a Million Dollars: Money Earmarked for Education.”
“That is a good cause. I’m so proud of him. And he has such good taste.”
“You mean giving it to education?”
“No, I mean hiding the note in a pair of shoes he knew I’d only wear on a special occasion.”
“It’s all about shoes for you, isn’t it, Eve?”
“It must run in the family.”
* * *
Creations in Fotografia by Rafael Pacheco
Lesley retired from her life as a professor of psychology and reclaimed her country roots by moving to a small cottage in the Butternut River Valley in upstate New York. In the winter she migrates to old Florida—cowboys, scrub palmetto, and open fields of grazing cattle, a place where spurs still jingle in the post office, and gators make golf a contact sport. Back north, the shy ghost inhabiting the cottage serves as her literary muse. When not writing, she gardens, cooks and renovates the 1874 cottage with the help of her husband, two cats and, of course, Fred the ghost, who gives artistic direction to their work.
She is the author of a number of mystery series and mysteries as well as short stories. Dead in the Water follows the first book in the Eve Appel mystery series, A Secondhand Murder.
Visit her on her website: www.lesleyadiehl.com
Dead in the Water Page 22