I frowned, irritated at myself. “Guess I need to rent a hall and give lectures to the public. Sorry I ran off at the mouth like that.”
“Surely the review committee will rule that you shot in self-defense. Surely you’ll be reinstated on the force.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But either way, I’ll know I’m capable of shooting another person. That’s hard knowledge to live with. I’ve disgraced the family as well as myself. ‘Thirty-four years on the force and I never fired my gun.’ That’s what Dad said after he retired. If I heard him say it once, I heard it a hundred times. How can I go on being a cop—even if the review committee allows me the chance?”
“You can do it because it’s the right thing to do and because you’re a strong person, Kitt. You’re not going to let your spur-of-the-minute reaction to a threat to your life ruin the rest of your years on this earth. You have lots to offer today’s society. Think about your future.”
“Sometimes I think I’ve lost my future. With one shot I lost everything—everything of value.”
“Not so. You’ll always have Rex and me.”
“I’ll also have an all-knowing God.”
“And an all-loving God,” Janell said. “Never forget that.”
“Sometimes that’s very hard to remember. And I’m not sure I’m deserving.”
Janell refilled her coffee cup before she spoke again. “What do you really want from life, Kitt? What are your long-term goals and dreams?”
I didn’t spout a glib reply, and I wished she’d stop prodding me for answers to questions I didn’t want to face—or to share. I waited moments before I spoke again, wondering how I could change the subject, but I saw Janell lean forward. I felt her pushing me for a reply.
“I wanted to have a career like Dad’s—unblemished. I want my life to count for something. I want a husband and children and a family life, but I’m thirty-two and the clock’s ticking. I hate the thought of Shelby Cox. Where’s he disappeared to all of a sudden? Some friend! I feel like my life ended with that gunshot. I have little hope of ever getting it back on track again.”
Janell didn’t speak, and I followed her gaze when she looked over her shoulder. A big burly woman opened the garden gate. I squelched my inner vision of a female wrestler, but I welcomed the end of our discussion.
“Hella,” Janell called. “Good morning.” Then turning to me again, she whispered. “Have hope, Kitt. We’ll talk again later. Right now, I want to introduce you to our B&B guest.”
Hella looked like a mountain of muscle—a big-boned person who captured me with her direct gaze. She wore her hair in a thick brown braid that hung down the back of her cream colored shift. TUESDAY. The name of the day was embroidered on the sleeve. Did she have a different shift for each day of the week? The tan fanny-pack belted loosely around her waist matched klunky leather shoes that gave her avoirdupois firm footing as she headed toward the poolside patio.
“Hella,” Janell called again. “Do come meet my sister. Kitt, this’s Hella Flusher. Do sit down and join us for a few minutes.”
Hella and I exchanged greetings while Janell filled a coffee cup and pushed the plate of rolls toward her. Hella chose the chair next to me, and I jumped, startled when I saw movement in the straw tote bag she set on the patio beside her.
“Relax, child. It’s just Voodoo.” A black cat with startling green eyes peeked over the edge of Hella’s tote then ran, disappearing into the tropical greenery at the side of the pool.
“Voodoo?”
Janell laughed. “A neighborhood cat.”
“Belongs to the family next door who recently moved here from Louisiana,” Hella said. “I sometimes take Voodoo with me on my morning stroll. Cats are good company for old ladies.”
All the time the three of us sat visiting, I wanted to ask Hella where she’d been last Friday afternoon. She had the muscle and probably the opportunity to overcome Abra Barrie, but I could think of no motive.
“Janell tells me you’re from Iowa,” Hella said.
“Right. Very cold up there right now. Snow. Ice. Slush. I’m lucky to be here in the sunshine.”
Hella nodded and smiled. “I know all about Iowa winters.” She gave a mock shudder. “As a child I lived in Des Moines. And castles are hard to heat in Iowa even on a fairly warm day.”
“Castles? You lived in a castle? In Des Moines?”
“Right. Years ago, of course. Balmoral Castle. Some folks claimed it was haunted.” Hella looked directly at me, waiting for my response.
Janell raised her eyebrows. “Hella likes to tease.”
I’d never heard of a castle in Des Moines. Hella had dark eyes that seemed to look right into my soul. I fought a desire to squirm under her gaze. Was this woman a liar? If I hadn’t left my computer in an Iowa shop for repair, I’d have looked up Balmoral Castle at my first chance.
“Tell me about your castle.”
“Over a hundred years ago, a self-promoting doctor built it in the style of Scotland’s Balmoral Castle. Later, a senator bought it. His son died there and people say it’s the son’s ghost that still haunts the castle. I lived there when new owners converted it in to apartments.”
“And did you ever see the ghost?”
Hella looked directly into my eyes for several moments before she spoke. “Perhaps I did. Perhaps I didn’t. Doesn’t matter a lot one way or the other. People always doubt what a clairvoyant says.”
Questions sizzled inside me, but Hella stood and changed the subject before I could ask more about the castles, ghosts, or clairvoyants.
“Janell, I see that you’ve brought your croton bush back from death.” Hella stepped off the patio onto one of the flagstones that decorated the garden. “It’s looking much better than it did last week.”
I looked at the plant Hella had stooped to touch. Its colorful multi-colored leaves looked healthy enough to me—reds, yellows, greens, pinks. I wished I knew more about tropical plants.
“I’ve really been babying that croton,” Janell said. “It’s hard to get rid of mites and mealy bugs, but I’ve developed a new pesticide. And just in the nick of time. Those pests were destroying the plant.”
“You telling all?” Hella asked. “Or are you planning to patent your new formula?”
Janell grinned. “I’ll tell all. It’s really a simple remedy—my own variation on an old stand-by. I take three cigarettes and soak them in water overnight, instead of just for an hour or two, in a pint of tepid tap water. The next day I strain that water through a sieve, add it to a pint of warm soapy water, and spray or wipe it onto the underside of the croton leaves. So far, it’s been working like magic.”
“You and Phud both have green thumbs,” Hella said, “but don’t tell Phud I gave him a compliment.”
Janell laughed. “You and Phud need to bury the hatchet. Don’t know what we’d do around here without him—or you, Hella. But Kitt, now would be a good time to see inside the B&B—now while there’s an empty apartment. I’ve placed an ad in The Citizen, and I hope to have it rented soon.”
The B&B had flower boxes attached to the front windows that overlooked the pool, each box boasting an array of brightly blooming petunias. The entry to the apartments opened on the back of the unit and I followed Janell inside the room Abra Barrie had rented. I’d expected only 1 room, but there were 2—a tiny living room big enough for a couch and a TV, and a bedroom with a bath attached. Janell had applied her usual Southern Living touch to the rooms with pastel colored walls and big windows that could be left open to catch the ocean breeze and the sunlight, or closed for privacy with vertical panels on a pull cord.
“It’s lovely, Janell. Wouldn’t mind renting it myself—maybe for the rest of my life. Are the units alike?”
“No. Each has its own decorating scheme.”
I hoped Hella might offer to show me her unit, but no. When we left Abra’s rooms, Hella stood firm in front of her doorway. She didn’t budge. It was almost as if she were daring us to ask to enter.
&
nbsp; We didn’t ask.
“It’s been nice meeting you, Hella. Maybe we’ll be seeing more of each other before my stay comes to an end.”
“That’s quite probable.” Hella let her dark probing eyes meet mine in a long gaze. “People never meet by accident, Kitt. There’s a purpose. Maybe we’ll have time to discover what it is.”
Chapter 6
Rex rode his bike into the garden and on toward the carport moments before I saw a tall man wearing a camouflage jumpsuit and a navy blue tam approach the tool shed at the back of the Cummings’ lot, entering on foot by way of an alley and a small opening in the fence.
“Who’s the stranger?” I touched Janell’s arm to get her attention as she headed toward Rex.
“Oh, Phud’s here!” she exclaimed. “Let me introduce you. You two can get acquainted while I go hear what Rex learned from the police.”
I felt uncomfortable—wary of being left alone with the yard man, but I knew Janell wanted a few minutes of privacy with Rex, so I smiled and followed her toward the tool shed. The caretaker towered a few inches above both of us, and with his height and the fringe of salt-and pepper hair peeking from beneath his tam, he looked distinguished even in his casual work attire. I’d always pictured artists in tams, but maybe this guy was an artist with plants and flowers. His piercing blue eyes and aquiline nose gave character to his face and his cleft chin reminded me of my dad. Janell had chosen a handsome yard man.
“Kitt, I want you to meet Dr. Whitney Ashby. He knows his way around plants and trees and lots of my friends are on a waiting list for his landscaping services. Phud, meet my sister, Kitt.”
I extended my hand and he responded with a firm handshake. “Pleased to meet you, Dr. Ashby.”
“The pleasure is mutual, Kitt. Janell’s told me a lot about you—all good, of course. Do feel free to call me Phud. Dr. Ashby sounds far too formal for a guy who spends his prime time digging in the dirt.”
“Thank you, Phud.” The name didn’t become him, and I could hardly say it without laughing.
“If you two will excuse me, I need to talk with Rex. Help yourself to a roll and a cup of coffee, Phud. Or maybe you prefer orange juice. Think there’s still a little in the pitcher.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” He smiled at Janell as she left us, then turned to me. “Before I start whacking down coconuts—my goal for this morning, I’d like to check on my starter plot of double impatiens. It’s back beside the tool shed. I’m hoping they’ll soon be ready to transplant.”
“Where will you plant them? Your home garden?”
“No. I live in a condo in the Truman Annex. No room for more flower beds there. I’ve promised to design a flower bed on the grounds of the Lighthouse Museum in front of the entryway, a sort of colorful welcome to visitors. That’s the place I’ve planned for the impatiens. They were thriving yesterday and sometimes they seem they grow overnight.”
“You must have a magic touch.”
“These plants are my current pride and joy. You a flower person, Kitt?”
“I enjoy looking at them, but my thumb is more brown than green. I admire people who can get plants to grow and bloom.”
“Your eyes make up for any small deficiency people might find in your thumb.” He smiled when he looked into my eyes and it was easy to smile back. I noticed his slight limp when I followed him to the plot of loamy soil he had staked off as his impatiens bed.
“Look as if they’ll be blooming soon. There are lots of buds.”
I’d expected to hear Phud agree with me, but he’d stooped to grab a clod of earth and hurl it toward the backyard fence. In the next moment I saw Voodoo take a flying leap and land hidden in the greenery of the garden across the alley.
“That d— cat!” Phud took a threatening step toward the fence before he stopped and turned toward to face me again. “Insists on using my impatiens bed as a litter box. Someday…” He sighed. “I never manage to hit it, probably don’t come close or it wouldn’t keep prowling here. But at least I scare it off temporarily.”
“Does it really damage your plants?”
“Smashes them flat. Takes them a day or so to recover. And sometimes it even claws them from the ground.” Phud scowled, peering toward the spot where Voodoo had disappeared. “Think Hella coaxes him here, but of course she denies that and I’ve never actually caught her at it. Neighbors ought to keep the nuisance on a leash.”
“So tell me about your gardening goal for today. The coconuts?” I tried to change the subject from Hella and Voodoo, but I wondered if what he said about her coaxing the cat was true.
“Going to cut the coconuts from the palms that border the sides of the property. Those out front are date palms. Nothing to do out there.” Phud stepped inside the tool shed and returned wearing a pair of cotton work gloves and carrying a long-handled machete and a cardboard box. “I’ll drop the coconuts into the box and set them in front of the house. On Tuesdays, Cubans cruise the neighborhoods in pickup trucks and haul them away for us.”
“They take them and pay you, or do you pay them for the cleanup?”
“No pay.” Phud laughed. “We’re glad to get rid of them before they fall and hurt someone or damage other plantings. The Cubans are glad to get them.”
“And what do they do with them?”
“Sometimes they sell them to local craftsmen who paint or carve them into souvenirs they sell at art fairs. You’ve probably seen plenty of those.”
“Right. In fact, Janell sent me one that I use as a doorstop back home.”
“Other times they haul them to a processing plant near Miami, market them there to workers who turn them into something edible. Coconut meat. Coconut milk. Palm oil. Whatever.”
“Maybe I can help you.” I thought about his limp and wondered if gathering coconuts made his leg hurt. “I could pick the nuts up and toss them into the box for you if that would help.”
“If you care to do that, I’d welcome the help—not that I can’t do it myself. Do it every few weeks.”
“Be glad to assist.”
“Okay, but stand back several feet while I whack,” Phud warned. “The nuts usually fall straight down, but I wouldn’t want one to fly astray and hit you.”
I watched until he had slashed three coconuts from the tree nearest his shed. He worked deftly with the machete, taking careful aim and bringing the nuts down on the first whack. If a dead frond blocked his aim, he whacked it down, too. It was no big deal for me to toss the coconuts into the box.
What were you doing last Friday afternoon, Phud? Any other use you’ve found for that machete?
My questions died in my mind, unasked when I saw Janell on the back steps, near the café motioning me toward her.
“Got to go now, Phud.” I nodded toward the house. “Nice meeting you. I’ll tell Janell I think her garden’s in good hands.”
Phud winked at me. “Janell knows.” He turned back to the palms and continued harvesting coconuts.
His wink left me feeling off center. He had winked at me, hadn’t he? Or maybe I’d imagined it. I followed Janell into the café where Rex stood with his cell phone to his ear, shouting, ‘can you hear me now?’
“He’s talking to the guy from Strunk Lumber about supplies,” Janell said. “But he wants to tell us both about his visit with the police. Doesn’t want to have to tell it twice.”
“Good news or bad?” I asked.
Janell shrugged. “Don’t know yet.”
“What are all the rolls of plastic for?”
“Side curtains,” Janell said. “Customers like the open-air ambience of the café, so the plastic hooks to the side framework so we can raise and lower the curtains against chilly winds. Most of the time we don’t need them, but when a cold front moves in, they help protect our customers.”
“You lost the curtains last fall in the hurricane?”
“Right. For a long time Rex had trouble getting supplies. Everyone on the island needed building materials. Now that
Rex has the plastic, he has trouble finding time to tack it in place.”
When Rex pocketed his phone, Janell and I both stepped closer to him. “What happened at the PD?” Janell asked. “What did they want? Blood sample?”
“No blood. They wanted to hear my alibi one more time.”
“Wonder why they didn’t want to hear mine again.”
“Guess they figured there was nothing you could say that would give yours more credibility. You were at West Martello talking to tourists. No way could the police expect you to locate transients for corroboration.”
“So what did they say to you?” Janell asked.
Rex met her gaze. “I’ve got a confession. I lied to them that first time they talked to everyone, Janell.”
I swallowed a gasp and forced myself to keep looking at him without changing my expression. Rex a liar?
“You lied?” Janell asked. “What were you thinking? On Friday, you were at Strunk’s looking at catalogs, going over a list of supplies you’d ordered and not received, weren’t you?”
“No. I wasn’t. Lying’s never been my style, but I thought I might get by with that little white one. I’ve been in and out of that lumberyard so often since September I thought some clerk might vouch for my presence by mistake, believing he had seen me there on Friday. When an officer went to Strunk’s to check on my alibi, they could find no clerk there who’d vouch for me. No fault of Strunk’s. I’ll be first to admit I did a dumb thing.”
“Okay, Rex.” Janell took a step away from him. “I want the truth. Where were you on Friday afternoon?”
Janell stood tapping her toe on the concrete floor, and I hoped I wasn’t about to witness a family quarrel. I looked toward the door and took a step in that direction, but Rex called me back.
“Stay here, Kitt. I want you to hear this. I lied for a good cause—at least it seemed like a good cause at that time. The officers had said the questioning was informal. Janell, you remember that painting you saw at the art fair on Whitehead Street last week?”
“Of course I remember it. A lone pelican perched on a dock piling. Beautiful work. Such a typical Key West scene. We both liked it, right? But I thought it was too expensive for our pocketbooks right now while we’re buying so many repair supplies. I passed it by.”
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