Mistletoe & Missing Persons

by Teresa Michael

  Buddy turned away and took a few quick puffs of his cigarette before he flicked it into the water opposite his boat.

  “I don’t listen to the news much. The old Hobson store in town, you say?”

  “That’s right,” Libby said. “Do you remember anything?”

  “As I said, that’s a lot of drywall jobs. But forty years ago, I was starting out working for my old man. At first, I was doing go-fer stuff, you know go for this, go for that.” He laughed and ran his hands through his greasy gray hair, which made it stand up even more. “Then I learned drywall and painting. I might have done some work at that site.” He paced back and forth for a few minutes, rubbing his whiskers and nodding his head. He stopped and lit another cigarette. “Come to think of it, I do remember something. I was supposed to go do the drywall at that job site, but when I went to work that day, it was already done.”

  “What do you mean?” Libby asked, her stomach tightening as if she’d been given a swift punch in her gut.

  “Are you deaf? It was already done. When I got there to do the job, somebody else had already completed it.”

  “Do you know who might have done that?” Fletcher asked.

  “No, and I didn’t care. I was supposed to have drywalled that place the day before, but I skipped out early to go party with my friends. I came back the next day, and it was done.” Buddy paced in front of the boat puffing on his cigarette, running his fingers over his face and through his hair. He suddenly stopped, his face changed, becoming one with a look of recognition or remembrance, as though a thought or a long lost memory suddenly came into view.

  “What is it?” Libby asked. “Do you remember something? Do the names Melanie Cooper or Jeannette McDonald mean anything to you? What about Lynette — ”

  “No, I don’t know those names,” Buddy interrupted. “And I don’t remember anything else. You’ve got to go.” He began to shoo them, like chickens, back to the parking lot. “You all get outta here. I’m done answering your fool questions. I don’t know nothing about no skeleton in a wall.”

  “But, Buddy…” Libby spoke to him over her shoulder. “I have a couple more names. Please.”

  “No buts about it, no more questions.”

  Buddy continued to shoo them back to the parking lot. He pushed forward and must have caught his foot on Ida’s walker. He turned his ankle, hit the deck and appeared to bounce right into the water of the empty slip across from the Lilly Belle.

  He came up sputtering. Fletcher leaned down to help him out of the water, but he pushed away his hands and pulled himself up onto the pier.

  “Get the hell away from me,” he growled. He threw his arms up and shook like a dog, throwing droplets on all of them.

  “I’m so sorry, and thank you for the information.” Libby continued to guide Ida back down the pier.

  Ida was grumbling under her breath.

  “Yes, thank you, and I’m sorry about all this,” Fletcher said.

  “I’ll be damned. Now you got me in trouble with the harbor master.” Buddy gestured toward the walkway.

  An official looking man was coming towards them at a trot, but it was the next man that gave Libby pause.

  “Holy Mother of God, am I in trouble now.”

  Detective Jack Seiler was following the harbor master down the walkway.

  • • •

  “You three should be glad that Mr. Brown did not press charges for assault.”

  They were standing in the parking lot next to Libby’s SUV. Apparently, the harbor master had had enough of Buddy’s shenanigans, as he called it.

  Buddy said he’d stumbled and fell into the water. No problem. His visitors were leaving. He climbed into his boat, grumbling with every step.

  His curse words were the only words Libby had understood during the exchange.

  “Assault? It’s not our fault he was drunk off his rocker.” Ida straightened to her full, five-feet-eight inches.

  “What are you three doing here anyway?” Jack asked, in a tone such that none of them could miss his irritation.

  “Ida found Buddy’s name in an old Rolodex of her husband’s.” Libby stood across from Jack, between Fletcher and Ida.

  “I never had the heart to throw Sid’s stuff away,” Ida said. “I found a name under contractors and called the number.” Ida explained how she got Buddy’s number from the current owner.

  Jack shook his head and turned to Fletcher. “Mr. Smith, I am surprised that you let these two pull you into this.”

  “I couldn’t let them come by themselves. Besides, I had nothing better to do today.” Fletcher was as calm as the glassy water of Sarasota Bay.

  “He’s our back-up. He has enhanced interrogation skills,” Ida said.

  Jack returned his gaze to Fletcher, who shrugged and smiled. “I took the course.”

  Turning to Libby, Jack asked, “And you, Miss Marshall. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Well, Detective, how else are we going to find out the identity of that poor girl in the wall?”

  “You need to leave this to law enforcement.”

  “Law enforcement? How much time are you and Sam spending on a forty-year-old cold case?” Libby pointed at Jack, her voice louder than she intended.

  Jack shook his head and looked away. “There are more recent cases I need to work on.”

  “You know as well I that the likelihood of solving this case and getting justice for that girl and her baby is next to nothing. What else can we do?”

  “He knows something,” Fletcher said. “He became quite agitated, even more so when Libby mentioned those names. Though, he did seem to have quite the hangover, and three strangers showing up asking questions could make a person upset.”

  “What names?” Jack looked from one to the other, resting his gaze on Libby.

  Libby averted her eyes.

  “Names of missing persons,” Ida said.

  “Libby?”

  “All right. I have a few names of missing persons around the time the building was empty. Buddy admitted he was on the crew that did the remodel. He said he was supposed to do the drywall, but when he went to work, the job was finished.”

  Jack leaned into her, basically, in effect, cornering her, as her back was now up against her SUV.

  He very deliberately asked, “Where did you get these names, Libby?”

  “Uh. I have a guy.”

  “That guy? That guy that got you intel last August?”

  “Yes, that guy. The same guy that gave me valuable information that helped your case.”

  Jack backed away, turned to face the marina and took a breath before he turned back to continue the conversation.

  “Will you share those names with me?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll text them to you.”

  “Detective, are we free to go, or do you have other questions?” Fletcher asked.

  “Yes, you can go. Just be careful, and don’t get arrested. I don’t want to have to bail the Three Amigos out of jail.”

  Libby opened the lift gate. Jack folded up the walker, and Fletcher helped Ida into the car.

  “By the way, what are you doing here?” Libby asked, under her breath.

  “One of those more recent cases I was telling you about. A young woman was found dead on the far side of the park early this morning.” He slid the walker inside the SUV and hit the button to close the gate. “I was here to get some information from the harbor master.”

  “Oh my! I didn’t hear anything about it. I’m sorry.”

  He opened the car door for her. She climbed in. He leaned into the car and said to Fletcher, “Enhanced interrogation techniques, huh?” He waved at Ida, then pointed at them, one at a time. “You three, stay out of trouble.”

  Before he shut the door, he whispered to Libby, “I’ll see you later.”

  “I’m counting on that.”

  Chapter 13

  Later that Afternoon

  Accomplices

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p; Jack strolled into the station to find Sam clearing off his desk, ready to call it a day.

  Jack collapsed into his chair. “Where are you going? It’s not even five o’clock.”

  “I have a date.” Sam jiggled his keys. “Did you get anything good from the harbor master?”

  “Not really.” Jack laid back in his desk chair. “You know the story. Nobody saw nothing.”

  “Did you walk the scene?” Sam slipped his keys into his pocket.

  “Yes. I think it was a body dump.” Jack sat up and leaned forward onto his desk.

  “I agree. Does it look familiar to you?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, that girl back in August, found out at Myakka,” Jack said, referring to a nearby state park.

  Sam nodded, sat back in his chair, pulled his keys out of his pocket and twirled them around on his index finger. “I was thinking the same thing. Do you think the smugglers are back in business?”

  “You read my mind, partner.”

  Sam clenched his keys, started to get up, but then turned back to Jack. “What took you so long. I’ve been back from the scene for awhile.” He leaned across the desk. “Did you stop at Mariposa Beach for a little afternoon delight?” Sam winked.

  Jack rolled his eyes. “It gets even more interesting. You’ll never guess who was at the marina.”

  Sam thought for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. “No. You’re kidding. Libby?”

  Jack nodded and ran his hands through his hair.

  Sam leaned back in his chair and laughed. “That girl turns up in the most unlikely places.”

  “She wasn’t alone this time. She had company.”

  Sam leaned forward. “Who was with her?”

  “Ida Sullivan and Fletcher Smith.”

  “What were they doing there?” Sam was obviously enjoying this.

  “Ida had a lead on the skeleton in the wall.”

  “Ida, the older woman who lives across the street from Libby? The one with the yappy dog?”

  “Yes. They were talking to an old guy who lives on a boat at the marina. They were questioning him, and somehow, he ended up in the drink.”

  Sam leaned back and let out a roaring laugh. “This just gets better and better.”

  “It’s not that funny.” Jack’s phone signaled the arrival of a text message.

  Sam wiped his eyes. “What ‘cha got there?”

  Jack read the messages and picked up a pen and scribbled the names on a notepad. “Libby has four possible IDs for the remains in the wall.”

  “No way?” Sam leaned back over the desk. “Where did she get them?”

  “She has a guy.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  “No. It’s a guy she used to work with back in Ohio. He must be some kind of hacker or something because she won’t tell me who he is.”

  “Where’s that list we ran?” Sam asked. “We were looking at it the other day. There were at least twenty, thirty names on that list.” He came around the desk and started going through the papers in a tray on Jack’s desk. “Here it is.” He held up a list of names.

  “Here’s Libby’s list. The first one is Jeanette McDonald. Ft. Myers.”

  Sam sat on the edge of Jack’s desk and ran his finger down the list. “On the list.”

  “Melanie Cooper from LaBelle.”

  “She’s on here.”

  Jack read the remaining two names – Lynette Watkins from Tampa and Georgia Nielsen from Venice.

  “They are all on the list.” Sam dropped the paper on the desk. “She has someone who can run the analysis to narrow it down and eliminate the ones that don’t fit. Wow!”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “And she won’t share?”

  “No.”

  “You should have arrested her and kept her in jail until she gives up his name.”

  “I thought I was going to have to arrest all three of them.” Jack laughed. “Ida looked like she was going to run me over with her walker. That’s probably how that old guy ended up taking a bath.”

  “You have your hands full with that girl and her accomplices,” Sam said, shaking his head.

  “She’s obsessed with finding out the identity of the girl in the wall. She wants justice for that girl and her baby.”

  “I hope one of these leads works out,” Sam said. “But I gotta go. I have dinner plans.”

  “Are you going out with what’s her name that works in dispatch?”

  “I’m having dinner with Donna.” His keys were in his hands again.

  “Donna? As in your ex-wife Donna?”

  “Yeah.” He twirled his keys. “You think that’s a bad idea?”

  Jack threw up his hands. “She broke your heart and stomped on it. What do you think?”

  Sam flipped his keys and turned to go. He stopped and said over his shoulder, “You’re probably right.”

  Jack watched Sam’s back as he wound through the cubicles, tossing his keys in the air and catching them as he ambled to the exit.

  Chapter 14

  Saturday Morning

  Shame, Embarrassment, and Guilt

  Holiday shopping had picked up and, as a result, the café was exceptionally busy this Saturday morning, a couple of weeks before Christmas.

  Mimi attributed the added business to the opening of The Mariposa Mystic, the discovery of the skeleton in the wall and the newspaper article hinting at the possibility that the new gallery could be haunted. Whatever the reason, locals and tourists were making their way to Mariposa Beach to shop in the village, have lunch at the café and end the day with drinks at The Veranda Bar at the Inn.

  Mimi and Louisa were hard at work in the kitchen, while Lisa and Libby worked the front of the café.

  Libby was packing a box of holiday cookies when Lisa leaned in and said, “That older guy over by the window would like to speak to you when you have a minute.”

  Libby surveyed the front of the café. Considering the demographics of southwest Florida, ‘that older guy’ was a fairly broad description of a good portion of the male population. Her eyes rested on a cleaned-up version of Buddy Brown eating a piece of pumpkin pie.

  Libby closed the box, collected payment and thanked the customer. She wiped her hands on her apron, took a deep breath and picked up the coffee pot.

  “Can I refill that for you, Mr. Brown?” she asked.

  “Yes. Call me Buddy.” He gestured toward his cup. As she filled it, he asked, “Do you have time to sit and talk for a few minutes?”

  “Yes, for a bit. We’ve been super-busy today with holiday shoppers.” Libby pulled out the chair and sat across from him.

  He finished the last bite of pie and glanced up at her. “That’s really good pie.”

  “Thanks. I’ll tell Mimi.” She crossed her arms on the table and waited.

  Buddy wiped his mouth on his napkin, laid it on his plate, took a sip of coffee and finally, his rheumy brown eyes met her gaze. “You girls have done a really good job of fixing up this place. Are those pieces of wood part of the old bar?”

  “Yes, we found them in the attic, and when we remodeled, we wanted to use what we could salvage.”

  “That’s a pretty piece of wood.” He shook his head and smiled. “We had us some good times in this place back when it was a bar. I got thrown out that side door once.” He pointed at the door to the courtyard and laughed.

  “We’ve heard some of the stories. This must have been the hot place in town.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It was that.” He grew quiet, then said, “I reckon you’re wondering what I’m doing here after what happened the other day.”

  Libby nodded. “You do look much better today, Buddy.”

  “First of all, I want to apologize for my behavior.” He shook his head but wouldn’t look at her. “I had had a bit too much of the hair of the dog that morning. If you know what I mean.”

  “I do, first hand.”

  He gave her a sideways glance. “I’m not sure if I believe that.”
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  She smiled. “A story for another day. I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk about hangover remedies.”

  “None of ‘em seem to work anyways.” He shuffled around in his seat. “I don’t know who finished my drywall job that day. But the names of those girls did sound familiar.”

  She waited, arms crossed in front of her.

  He blew out a breath, glanced around the room and spoke under his breath. “Jeanette McDonald worked at the Mariposa Inn for awhile back in the late seventies. We dated a bit back in the day. But as far as I know, she’s alive.”

  “Why is she still listed as missing?”

  “She got into a little trouble, so she ran away before the cops arrested her. She changed her name and started over some place else. She lives off the grid.”

  “Okay.” Libby knew a little bit about starting over with a new name and a new life. “You said both names. What about Melanie Cooper.”

  “There was a guy, a painter, who worked for my dad on and off for a lot of years. His family owned a tomato farm out in LaBelle. In the off season, he’d come and work for us. When the tomatoes came in, he went home and helped with the harvest.”

  Libby’s outward appearance remained calm, but her heart rate quickened. Ray Ban’s information said that Melanie Cooper was from LaBelle. Could this be the same family?

  “He had a younger sister who came with him one year. Pretty girl. Blonde headed, big blue eyes. A real looker.”

  “Did you date her, too?” Libby hoped to steer him in another direction and not go down the rabbit hole of how attractive she was.

  He cackled. “No. She was too good for me. She had her sights set much higher.”

  “What did she do here?”

  “She got a job at Hobson’s supermarket out by the highway. She also worked for the catering company that was part of the market. I know that because she would come by the work site to see her brother in between jobs. I remember she wore a uniform with an apron.” Buddy stopped to take a drink of coffee. Then he continued. “Coop, that’s what we called her brother.”