Killer in Control

by Dorothy Francis

  “Police.” Rex spat the word after he broke the phone connection. “They want to see me at headquarters one more time.”

  “What for this time?” Phud asked.

  “That’s okay, Rex.” I spared him from having to answer Phud’s nosey question. “No problem. We can drive to Marathon another day—maybe tomorrow or the day after.”

  “Hate to change the Marathon plans,” Rex said. “The lady and her husband plan to leave on vacation tomorrow. She didn’t say when they’d be returning. I really wanted to contact her today before…Kitt…”

  I knew what he had in mind, and I wanted to say no, to refuse to drive to Marathon with Phud. But when Rex asked, I couldn’t refuse without sounding unsympathetic and unpleasant. A rotten way for a houseguest to sound. Janell and Rex trusted Phud. Why couldn’t I?

  “Kitt, would you be my emissary? Would you go to Marathon and talk to her? I’ll give you a blank check and a note telling her of my need for the painting. Try to keep the price under two hundred if you can. Negotiate. Haggle a bit. But try to bring that painting back this afternoon.”

  I swallowed a sigh and a quick refusal. “Okay, Rex. I’ll go ahead with our plans. But do you think I have a chance to persuade Mrs. What’s-her-name to sell me her painting? I’m not the kind of buyer who likes to negotiate and haggle.”

  “Mrs. Reitz. That’s her name.” Rex ignored my self doubts.

  “I’m sure you could make a more persuasive plea, Rex.”

  “You may be right,” Rex sighed. “Maybe I’d better phone her and explain the situation—and hope for the best.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Rex.”

  But I’ll call her after you’ve left Key West, tell her why I had to change my plans, and ask her to be expecting you.”

  Phud grinned. “Surely it’ll be hard for her to refuse if you offer more than she paid for the painting.”

  “Knowing Kitt’s made a special trip to her home to pick up the picture should help my cause, too.”

  “Maybe I could talk to her, too.” Phud winked at me, and I looked out the window to keep from scowling at him. “Friends tell me I have a way with the ladies.”

  Rex and I both ignored Phud’s offer and his comment. “How do I find her house?”

  “Got the address right here.” Rex pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket. “Follow the highway to Marathon and turn Oceanside onto Seabreeze Blvd. She’s at 1009. You should have no trouble finding it. Or if you do, someone at the post office will be able to direct you.”

  “Shall I drop you off at the police station?”

  “No. I’ll ride my bike.”

  “Got a flat, remember?”

  “I’ll inflate it. Got a hand pump in the shed. Want to keep a low profile with the police and your Prius isn’t a low profile car. If you drove me, I’d have to ask for a ride home. Don’t want to ask them for favors.”

  “I can understand that.” Phud smiled and shook his head. “Best to keep plenty of distance between you and the PD.”

  Phud and I waited until Rex brought the air pump from the shed and inflated the bicycle tire before we eased into traffic and left for Marathon. I felt the air inside the car crackle with unspoken words. Mine? Phud’s? Maybe both. I couldn’t be sure. At last I broke the silence.

  “There’s an owner’s manual in the glove box, Phud. If you’ve questions about the car, you can probably find answers there. I’m no authority on the workings of any car, especially this Prius. I just know that it conserves gasoline.”

  “Okay. I’ll take a look.” Phud opened the glove box, removed the manual, and began paging through it.

  From the side of my eye, I could see he wasn’t reading it, only flipping casually through the pages like a child searching for the illustrations in a picture book. We’d only driven a few miles before we reached Big Coppit Key. I hung a left and parked in front of a furniture store—Fred’s Beds.

  “Problem?” Phud asked.

  “No problem. I remembered a lamp I saw in here and I’ve decided to buy it as a gift for Janell.” I planned to purchase the lamp and pay by check so the clerk might remember me in case anyone stopped by asking about me later. Paper trail. Maybe I could stop at other stores and leave more checks. That idea bit the dust when I picked up the lamp and my purse and returned to my car.

  Phud now sat behind the wheel as if he owned the car. What nerve! I didn’t intend to let him get by with that. Scowling, I strode toward the driver’s door and yanked it open.

  “Out!” I spat the word and pointed to the ground. Phud didn’t budge, nor did he show any surprise at hearing my order.

  “Out!” I spoke more firmly this time. “Phud get out of my car. Now. This minute. Out!”

  Phud responded by trying to jerk the door from my hand and slam it shut. I stood clutching the car key. He couldn’t start the engine, but it infuriated me that he wouldn’t budge from behind the wheel. Did he think I’d play passenger and let him drive to Marathon? No way.

  “Phud!” I stood back, again jerking on the car door.

  A bearded man driving a vintage red Caddy pulled close beside us and lowered his passenger side window. He studied my new car. I studied his old car. For a moment we bonded as car lovers. “You have a problem, lady? Is this guy in your car bothering you?”

  Phud laughed and opened the car door, thrusting a camera toward me. “No problem here, Sir. I wanted my friend, Kitt, to snap a pic of me sitting behind the wheel of her car—a joke, you know. Wanted to con a friend back home into thinking I owned it. You ever seen a Prius before?”

  Phud’s easy-going manner, his laugh, and his reference to the car, distracted the stranger from his original mission—offering me help if I needed it. Men and cars! What chance did a woman have!

  “No, I’ve never seen any car like this one.” The old man left his Caddy with the motor running and the driver’s door open and began walking around the Prius, giving it a visual probing. “Great looking vehicle.” He returned to where I still stood beside the driver’s door. “Why don’t you let me snap both your pictures sitting in the car? That should settle your dispute. Okay?”

  “Okay, if I’m sitting behind the wheel,” I said.

  “Spoil sport.” Phud grinned and winked at me as if we were sharing a joke before he eased from the car and re-entered on the passenger’s side. I slid behind the wheel. The man snapped a shot and returned Phud’s camera to him. And that was that.

  I felt like asking Phud to leave my car. He could call a cab for a ride back to Key West. But how would I ever explain that to Janell and Rex without sounding foolish, without sounding overly-possessive of the car? I could hardly expect them to believe that Phud had tried to commandeer the Prius. I could barely believe it myself. Had I blown the incident out of proportion? That was possible, given my feelings toward Phud—and my car.

  We said little on the drive to Marathon. Phud offered no apology for his behavior and I demanded none. I just wanted this trip to end as soon as possible. We passed Sugarloaf Lodge, Coco’s Cantina on Cudjoe, Ramrod Key.

  “We’re coming into Big Pine,” Phud said. “To your right you can see the launch that carries passengers to Little Palm Island.”

  I felt no interest in casual conversation or in Little Palm Island.

  When we reached the stoplight on Big Pine, I waited for a red to green change.

  “Use your turn signal,” Phud said. “We need to take a left here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you told Rex we could stop at the library.”

  In my anger over the who’s-going-to-drive incident, I’d forgotten about that promise and now I regretted having made it.

  “Hang a left and take the left fork in the road—and then a right into the Winn Dixie Plaza. It’ll only take me a few minutes at the copy machine to get what I want from their book.”

  “Okay.” I felt like a parrot trapped in a cage. If I refused Phud’s request, I’d have to make excuses for my behavior t
o Rex and Janell later.

  “The library’s right next door to the Artist’s Co-op,” Phud said. “You might want to take a look at the paintings while you wait.”

  I pulled into the U-shaped mall and drove down two streets in the crowded parking lot before I found an empty slot near the library.

  “I’ll wait in the car.” I snapped the words.

  I had no intention of letting him slip behind the wheel again. Phud had already slammed the passenger door, by-passed a long ramp, and climbed the steps to the library when I realized how silly I must sound to him. Silly and afraid. No reason I should sit here and wait. If I locked the car, there was no way he could get inside and commandeer the wheel as long as I had the key.

  I needed to prove to him, and to myself, that I wasn’t afraid of him. I’d enjoy looking at paintings while he copied his information, and then we’d drive on to Marathon as planned. If all went well I’d buy the painting Janell wanted and we’d drive back to Key West.

  Entering the co-op, I stood admiring the pictures lining the north wall. Hibiscus blossoms in a porcelain vase. Frigate birds in flight. An old fishing shack. I inhaled the pleasant fragrance of oil paints and turpentine and walked farther into the shop. The artists had painted the scenes at hand. A flock of gulls huddled on the sand facing into the wind. A green parrot in a frangipani tree. After I’d been observing for a few minutes, a volunteer wearing a paint-smudged smock rose from behind her easel and approached me.

  “May I help you? We offer both original art and prints.” She nodded toward the wall and then pointed to a display rack of unframed prints. One of our artists also does matting and framing, if you’re interested in that.”

  “Thank you, but I’m just looking today.”

  “Make yourself comfortable.” She pointed to an easy chair. “Stay as long as you please.” She nodded toward a coffee urn and some cups on a small table. “Help yourself to a cup of coffee.”

  “Thank you, but not today. My brother-in-law tried to buy a painting in here a few days ago, but he was too late. Someone had already bought it. I thought I might find something similar although I’d have to check with him again on dimensions.”

  “What was the subject matter of the painting?” the woman asked.

  “Of course I didn’t see it,” I said, “but he described it as a typical Key West scene—a dock with a pelican perched on three posts that were roped together to form a dock piling.”

  The woman smiled. “The Pelican. I think I have a surprise for you. Follow me, please.”

  I followed her to the far end of the display wall on the other side of the narrow room.

  “Does this look like the painting your brother-in-law described? And is your brother-in-law Rex Cummings?”

  For a moment I couldn’t speak as I stared at the painting Rex told me had been sold. Driftwood frame. Title on a tiny brass plate. What was going on here? Why had Rex lied to us about the painting? Maybe he was the one I should be suspicious of rather than Phud.

  Chapter 19

  “But…but…I thought the painting had been sold.” My mind whirled and I sickened at the thought of Rex’s lie, its ramifications. Why had he sent me to Marathon on a useless quest? And with Phud! Were he and Phud in cahoots?

  “A customer from Marathon did buy The Pelican last week. I was gone from the co-op for a few days, but earlier this morning she returned it. Said it didn’t look quite right in the location she’d chosen for it.”

  Could the volunteer see relief turn my knee joints to Jell-O? “And you accept the return of sold paintings—no questions asked?”

  “I did this time.”

  “Maybe the buyer was the kind who wanted to show it off to friends at a special party before she returned it. Maybe she didn’t really want to own it.”

  The volunteer smiled. “I took it back and refunded her money without even calling the artist to discuss the return. I knew I could sell it again immediately.” She walked to the business desk and pulled a scrap of paper from a drawer. “Rex Cummings. Key West. Your brother-in-law, right?”

  I nodded. “But…”

  “He came here asking about the painting a few days ago. I tried to phone him this morning to tell him it was available again and waiting for him. But I received no answer.”

  “He’ll be delighted to know this news. I was on my way to Marathon to try to talk the buyer into selling it to me.”

  “Would you like to deliver it to Mr. Cummings personally? I can bill him later. It’d save him a trip.”

  “Yes, I’ll be glad to take it with me.” I didn’t offer the blank check Rex had given me. No point in haggling now.”

  The woman removed the picture from the wall, and since it was to be a surprise for Janell, I asked her to wrap it in opaque paper. When she finished with the wrapping, she carried it to my car, and I helped her lay it flat on the back seat.

  “Thank you so much,” I said. “I’ll have Rex call you to let you know the painting arrived safely.”

  Once the volunteer headed up the ramp to the co-op, I followed her and walked on to the library. The room emitted the typical library smell of paper and ink. Women in sundresses stood in line at the check-out desk. Old men sat around a table reading newspapers. Pre-schoolers with their grandmas and mamas laughed and giggled as they shoved their way to the children’s room for afternoon story hour. Three patrons sat at desks using computers. No Phud. I looked in both rooms and up and down the rows of stacks. No Phud.

  “May I help you?” a page asked.

  “I planned to meet a friend here. Dr. Whitney Ashby. A tall man. Silvery hair. Navy blue tam…”

  The page began shaking her head and I continued my description.

  “He’s a gardener and he was wearing work clothes—a camouflage-type jumpsuit. He intended to ask to use your copy machine and a reference room book on foliage plants—a book that must remain in the building.”

  The page shook her head. “I’ve seen nobody of that description in here this afternoon, Ma’am.”

  “Perhaps he talked to another librarian.”

  “Don’t think so, Ma’am. Just two of us on duty. Sorry I can’t be of help. You’re welcome to have an easy chair and wait. Perhaps your friend’s been delayed.”

  “Thank you, but I’ll go on and perhaps return later.”

  “And Ma’am?” The page’s questioning tone stopped me and I turned to face her. “We have no plant books in the reference room that can’t be checked out by any patron with a library card. Tell your friend to bring the book of his choice to the check-out desk. If he has a card, it’s good in all five of our county libraries. He can take the book with him. No problem.”

  My head began to throb and my next thought was for the safety of my car and Rex’s painting. Had Phud figured out some way to open the car door, hot-wire the ignition, leave me stranded 30 miles from Key West? I ran down the library ramp, my stomach in knots, my lungs feeling like over-inflated balloons. Then I relaxed. The Prius sat unharmed where I’d left it. I peered through the rear window and saw the painting still lying on the back seat.

  After unlocking the door I slid behind the wheel, trying to calm myself while I waited for Phud to return. Why had he lied to me about going to the library? It made no sense. I had no reason to object to his going to the library. I waited for over fifteen minutes before he returned, carrying a tan cardboard box criss-crossed with yellow tape that held it shut.

  “Sorry to have taken so long,” Phud apologized, opening the rear door and sliding his purchase inside on the floor. “But, hey! What have we here? A painting on the back seat?”

  “Right. The painting. The Pelican

  “By what means of magic did you locate it?” Phud pulled at the paper wrapper until he could see inside the package.

  “Pure luck.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I gave him a short version of what had happened, and I sensed he was hanging on my every word and tossing in a question now and then i
n an effort to distract me from the fact that he hadn’t been at the library. When I finished my tale, I looked him in the eye, forcing him to hold my gaze.

  “Where were you, Phud? It took me quite a few minutes to find the picture, get it wrapped and into the car. Since you weren’t here, I went to the library to inquire. The librarian said she hadn’t seen you in there.”

  “You probably asked for Dr. Whitney Ashby, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “They wouldn’t have recognized my name.”

  “Why not?” I knew he was lying and I wanted to see just how far he would go to cover his tracks—explain why he hadn’t made the library scene as planned.

  “You see, I asked a friend of mine who has a library card from this library, Duane Baxter, to take the book to the director’s desk and put it on hold—an extra precaution in case someone else wanted to look at it at the same time I did. That way I could stop and, using Duane’s name, get use of the book and copy the material I needed.”

  I said nothing for a few moments, waiting to see if he’d spin more lies. His story was so full of holes I couldn’t believe he thought I’d fall for it. “Why don’t you go copy your material now, Phud? I’m sure it must be important to you. And we have plenty of time since we no longer have to drive to Marathon for the painting.”

  I thought my question and my offer to wait for him might throw him, but he handled the situation deftly.

  “Maybe you have the time, but I prefer to get on back to Key West. I’m lucky to have been able to purchase some supplies I’ve been needing. That’s my major accomplishment for today. I’ll return to the library another time.”

  “All right, Phud.” I didn’t make an issue of his lies. I’d let him think I believed his every word. “We’ll leave right now. I’m ready to go.”