“Perhaps that might be possible. But there’s nothing of Abra Barrie’s for me to touch. The police came. Then her parents arrived and took everything of Abra’s with them. There was nothing belonging to her left in that room. Nada. I checked it out. Nada.”
Hella seemed to enjoy using the word ‘nada.’ “Okay, Hella, here’s my plan B. Could you hold something belonging to each person working at The Poinsettia and perhaps see something about that person that might link him to the murder?”
Hella sat in silence. The dove moaned again. A coconut plunked to the ground—a coconut Phud had missed. Good thing nobody was standing under it. Hella cleared her throat.
“Holding a possession of another person might tell me something about that person. True. It might.”
“So will you do it? If I bring you a glove, a bandana, a shirt—will you hold the object and see what you can see?”
“Yes. I’ll do that. But you must promise not to be too disappointed if I see nothing.”
“It’s a deal, Hella. I’ll see what I can find to bring—something the person won’t miss. I don’t want to be accused of petty theft.”
“Start with the men first, please. I cannot believe a woman did this murder. I think a man did it, a strong man, but perhaps a man we don’t know, a stranger—nobody connected with The Poinsettia.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Hella and I returned to the patio, watched the dancers, listened to the combo, but all the time I was studying the men, trying to figure out what I could borrow that they wouldn’t miss. What could I take to Hella tomorrow, or even yet tonight, that might give sight to her third eye?
The next morning Janell and I had already carried breakfast trays to poolside where Rex and Hella now enjoyed coffee and rolls when Ace parked his pickup in the tow-away zone and let himself in through the garden gate.
“Care to join us?” Janell called to him.
“Thanks,” Ace said. “but I had breakfast at the raw bar.”
“Raw oysters for breakfast?” I blurted, then felt myself blushing.
Ace laughed and joined us at the table. “Decided on toast and coffee this morning—no oysters.” Then he looked at Rex. “I’ve come to ask a favor. One of my motors is konking out as if it’s not getting enough gas. I usually make my own repairs, but nothing I do helps and Jeb’s gone to Miami—best trouble shooter on the rock. I was hoping you might have time to come take a look at it. Didn’t you have a similar problem with your boat a few weeks ago?”
“Right, I did. Could be the fuel pump, or an alternator but I’m sure you’ve already checked those things.”
“First thing I did. Didn’t help.”
“I’ll go to the dock with you and take a look-see. There are some wires that may have worn through their casings. I’ll be glad to see what I can do.”
“Hoped you’d say that. Come on over anytime you’re free.” Ace picked up one of the rolls Janell offered, tasted it, rolled his eyes in pleasure.
“How about right now?” Rex asked.
“Fine with me.” Ace finished his roll and looked at me. “Kitt, ever been aboard a working shrimp boat?”
I shook my head. “One of life’s pleasures I’ve somehow managed to miss.”
“Come along with us and I’ll give you a tour of The Ace while Rex takes a look at the motor.”
“Wonderful, Ace.” Hiding my elation, I tried to act only moderately pleased. Here was my chance to pick up something of Ace’s that he wouldn’t miss and take it to Hella for close scrutiny.
“I’ll go on ahead,” Ace said, “before the cops tow my car. You and Rex come whenever it’s convenient.”
“It’s convenient now, right Kitt?”
I nodded and we finished the last of our rolls and coffee. Rex took a refill on the juice before he stood.
“Rex, may I drive you in the Prius?”
“Sure thing. I’ve been dying for a ride in that car ever since I saw it. Want to come along with us, Janell?”
“No thanks. Kitt gave me a ride in it yesterday when we went to the beach. I have plenty to do around here this morning.”
Rex and I helped carry our breakfast trays to the kitchen before we got into the car. I explained briefly to Rex about the gas to electric capabilities of the Prius as we eased into traffic and headed for the shrimp docks.
We turned at the sign that marked Land’s End Village, passing a row of tourist shops that lined the narrow road to the docks. Plenty of slots in the parking lot this early in the morning, and I chose one close to the water. Dozens of pleasure crafts bobbed on the greenish brine near a planked walkway, and I followed Rex as we walked toward them. A trade wind fanned my cheeks and I tasted salt on my tongue and lips and also felt the humidity curl wisps of my hair.
The live-fish smell of the sea filled my nose, even the back of my mouth. For a moment I held my breath then let it out slowly, trying to accustom myself to the strong odor. A flock of gulls rose from the water and flew screaming overhead.
Rex laughed. “Don’t look up.”
Many of the docks were empty and I guessed the boat owners were already out fishing, but Rex pointed to Ace’s shrimp boat and grinned. “There it is.”
Pelicans and gulls greeted us, leaving deposits aft of the wheelhouse as they soared lower and lower, hoping for a handout. And they got it. Ace stepped forward and threw a bucket full of shrimp overboard. The birds wheeled and screamed, fighting over the tidbits.
“You threw good shrimp overboard?” I asked.
“Probably trash,” Rex said.
“No. I saw fish swimming away from the boat.”
“Trash,” Ace called. “To a shrimper anything he nets that isn’t a shrimp, he calls trash. You may have seen grunts or blue runners that escaped his net.”
“Oh.” I was glad the trash had caught the attention of the gulls, giving us time to board The Ace without getting in their line of fire. We paced the length of the short catwalk to the boat, and Rex grabbed a dock piling for support. I waited until he stepped over the gunwale and then turned to offer me a helping hand.
“Welcome aboard!” Ace ducked his head to avoid the doorjamb as he strode from the pilothouse and across the deck to greet us.
Above our heads, heavy iron outriggers were pulled up to form a black V against the blazing blue of the morning sky. I reached up to touch a rough pink substance dangling from the bottom of a net.
“That’s chafing gear.” Ace answered my unasked question. “Saves wear and tear on the nets as they drag across the ocean bottom. Some of those nets are over sixty feet long. It takes a lot of bread to replace them. Pays to keep them in good repair. When I bought the boat, I had to replace all the nets.”
“Former owner hadn’t taken care of them?” I asked.
Ace smiled and nodded. “This’s an old boat. The former owner abandoned shrimping to take part in the Mariel Boat Lift. Old timers tell me lots of shrimpers left their nets and went to Cuba to bring back refugees.”
“For money, I suppose.”
“At $2000 a head, that job paid a lot better than shrimping. All kinds of boats, not just shrimpers, left Garrison Bight by the hundreds and returned to Key West with thousands of people.”
“Where did the authorities put them?” Rex asked. “That happened years before Janell and I moved here.”
“The Truman Annex docks filled beyond capacity with homeless Cubans. Later officials sent them to Homestead and Miami—until President Carter realized he’d made a mistake and called a halt to his Open Arms, Open Hearts policy. We didn’t need any more mentally ill thieves and murderers. That’s who Castro allowed to escape to America. He’s probably still laughing his head off.”
I tried to avoid thinking about the desperate people who had been aboard this boat years ago. As if ready to forget about old times, Ace pointed toward the sky.
“Look up, and you’ll see my radio antenna.”
The antenna towered above the rest of the rigging like
a stark white finger pointing at the sun but due to the brightness of the sky, we gave the antenna only a casual glance. Rex followed as Ace showed me inside a tiny cabin where the crew slept. Four bunks, a built-in chest of drawers, and four lockers to stow gear. Ace also gave us a quick tour of the galley and the captain’s quarters before he offered me a map and a seat in the wheelhouse.
“You might enjoy locating the nearby keys on the chart while Rex and I tinker with the motor.”
“Thanks, Ace.” I studied the chart until the two of them disappeared into the hold to check on the problem there.
And here was my chance. I laid the chart aside. Ace had left a pair of cotton work gloves near the wheel. I took one of them. Or maybe Rex had left the gloves. But no, Rex had come to work on the motor. He’d have pulled on his gloves. If Ace missed one, maybe he’d think he’d lost it somewhere. I could take it to Hella, get a reading, then drop the glove at The Poinsettia—maybe beside the pool. When his glove turned up again, Ace would think he’d been careless and dropped it.
I stuffed the glove into my shoulder purse, hoping Ace wouldn’t miss it before we returned to The Poinsettia.
Chapter 12
“Enjoy the shrimp dock?” Janell asked with a laugh. “I practice holding my breath whenever I go there.”
“Smells like money to Ace, I guess. Ace was really relieved that Rex could fix the motor. Janell?”
She turned to look at me. “What is it?”
“Any word at all from Iowa? Any news about the perp?”
Janell stepped close and gave me a hug. “Nothing, Kitt. No calls. But remember the old cliché. No news is good news.”
“I hope you’re right. I suppose I could call the chief and ask. Or maybe call my partner. Shucks, Hank may already have been assigned a new partner. Can’t expect them to wait for me to return.”
“Try to forget Iowa for now, Kitt. We’ve plenty to do right here in Florida.” Janell thrust a yellow postum bearing a name scrawled in green ink toward me.
“Gloria Bishop.” I read the name. “Ace’s girlfriend, right?”
“Right. She lives on Stock Island. But she waits tables on an early morning shift at Pier House.”
“You’ve already talked to her?”
“Yes. Caught her at home before she left for Old Town. She’ll be reporting for her morning shift today, and she’s agreed to talk to us during her break at ten. Says she’ll meet us at the outdoor dining deck that overlooks the ocean and the beach. Can you be ready in a few minutes?”
“Sure. I need to freshen up. I feel like my clothes have a shrimp dock aroma.”
“Take your time. I’ll be on the patio. Need to rearrange things in the refrig before I add new sandwiches.”
I helped carry sandwiches to the patio and when Janell started working in the cooler, I slipped away to the B&B. For some reason, I didn’t want her to know I’d asked for Hella’s help. Would Janell laugh at that? It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to give her a chance to laugh, at least not right now. Plenty of time to tell her about Hella’s willingness to help once Hella had discovered something pertinent to our investigation. I waved casually to Phud who was busily mulching some plants near the tool shed, but I didn’t stop to chat, and he didn’t try to detain me.
“Hella?” I called as I knocked on her door. “I need to talk to you. Can you spare a minute?”
Hella opened the door so quickly I knew she must have been watching my approach. Or maybe she was watching Phud.
“Come in, child.” She opened the door wide, and I stepped inside.
I wondered if I’d passed some sort of a test that had won Hella’s trust. A day or so ago she’d been secretive about her apartment, yet now she was opening the door wide and calling me ‘child.’
Stepping inside, I was surprised to see Zodiac signs decorating the stark white walls—silver and gold cutouts of the ram, the goat, the bull. I guessed that all twelve symbols were there somewhere. No curtains graced the windows, and white mini-blinds were open to let in the light. A buff-colored rattan mat covered the floor and a white wicker couch and two matching chairs holding jewel-toned cushions all but filled the small room.
The décor surprised me. I had expected pale walls, low-key tones suitable for a brooding psychic—tones that matched her somber caftans, her Birkenstocks, her dark silences. Hella was a surprise package. Every time I met her I discovered something new and different. She hadn’t invited me to sit down, so I remained standing while I reached deep into my shoulder bag and pulled out the purloined glove for her inspection. It was a working man’s glove, cream colored body, blue knit cuff, slightly stained with grease and dirt. The thumb was almost threadbare and held some mustard-colored stains, but the fingers showed little wear.
“Whose is it?”
“Ace’s. Or maybe Rex’s. I picked it up from the wheelhouse of Ace’s shrimp boat this morning while he and Rex were working on the boat motor. I thrust the glove toward her. “What do you think, Hella? Do you think you might be able to tell something about the owner from holding his glove?”
“It’s possible, child. But don’t be disappointed if I get nothing from the glove. I make no promises.”
“But you’ll try? That’s all the promise I want, that you’ll try.”
“You have that promise.”
To my disappointment, Hella tried the glove on, studied it for a moment, and then laid it aside. I’d hoped she would clasp the glove in both hands right this minute. I wanted to see her in some sort of psychic action. I’d thought she might press the glove to her forehead as she peered into the distance with glazed eyes. Or maybe she might hold it to her heart while she paced the room.
She did neither of those things. Our police chief back home had at one time called on a psychic for assistance, and although she helped turn his investigation in a different direction, he kept very quiet about it. It never made the newspaper. And he never called on her help again. If Hella had success in spotting a murderer with this glove, maybe I could vouch for the benefits of extra sensory perception. He might use a psychic again. I’d think about that, once I returned to Iowa—if I still had a job.
Janell stood waiting for me once I returned to the house, but she asked no questions. I did a quick change of clothes and we took off in the Prius to meet Gloria Bishop. I doubted that Gloria would have any earth-shaking information about Abra Barrie’s murder that she hadn’t already shared with the police, but I was eager to meet her. I wondered what sort of girl Ace would choose to date, what sort of girl would he consider so important he’d borrow a boat to take her out?
Pier House was only a few blocks away and when we drew closer to it, Janell despaired of finding a parking place anywhere near.
“We should have walked from home, Kitt. It’s not all that far.”
I slowed the Prius to a near stop when we came in sight of the Pier House grounds. The white building rose pristine above the palm trees. I came to a complete stop at the gateway into the parking lot where a wine-colored velvet rope held would-be parking seekers at bay.
“No place for us here,” Janell said. “See the sign? This lot’s reserved for hotel guests only.”
“I’ll pull into the edge of it anyway, turn around, then head back to the street.” I glanced at my watch. “By the time we go back home and walk here, Gloria’s break time will have ended.”
“May I help you, Ma’am?” The parking attendant approached, circumvented the velvet rope, and leaned toward my open window.
“Any chance of us parking here for a few minutes while we talk to one of the hotel employees?” I asked
“Just drive on away,” Janell advised, sotto voce. “He’s not about to let us park here.”
“Take that spot right over there.” The attendant lowered the rope and pointed to an empty slot. “Belongs to a friend of mine. You can use it for…say twenty minutes. Would that help?”
“You’re a doll,” Janell said, opening her door and leaving the car befor
e the guy could change his mind. I parked the car and joined her.
“Mr. Nice Guy will expect a big tip,” Janell said. “Be warned.”
I grinned. “Or maybe he’ll tip us for letting him examine the Prius up close and personal for a few minutes.”
Janell turned and we watched the attendant gently kicking the front tire and running his hand over the fender as he looked through the window at the dashboard. “You may be right,” she agreed.
We walked on a narrow cement path through tropical greenery, past an aviary of exotic parrots and finches that chattered to us as we passed. We didn’t stop, walking on along a section of walkway lined with hibiscus bushes, elephant ears, aloe plants, and ferns I couldn’t identify. At last we smelled the aroma of coffee and reached the steps to a rough-planked deck surrounded by a white safety railing where signs warned us not to feed the birds.
Water lapped under the deck and the aroma of coffee and frying bacon made my mouth water. Round umbrella tables shaded mid-morning guests. The tanned waitresses, apparently unaware of melanoma and too-much-sun, wore white shorts, tennies, and silk shirts in a fabric that matched the umbrellas.
“We have an appointment with Gloria Bishop,” Janell said to the hostess.
The girl looked around then smiled. “She isn’t here at the moment, but if you care to wait, I’ll show you to a table.”
“Thanks,” Janell said. “We’ll wait.”
We followed the hostess to the only unoccupied table which was in the sun and only partially shaded by the umbrella. When a waitress approached, we ordered iced coffee. Red heads don’t do well in the sun and when I felt my face flushing, I wished I’d worn my sun hat. We’d waited only a few minutes before a woman stepped onto the deck, paused, then headed toward us.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Gloria and you must be Janell and Kitt, right?”
Tall and willowy, Gloria towered above us until we offered her a chair. I approved of Ace’s taste in women. Even dressed in her work uniform, Gloria could have passed for a fashion model. Her chin-length ash-blonde hair set off her blue eyes and her flawless complexion.
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