“Alone.” Janell added. “Maybe I should drive to Iowa with you and fly back. I’d like to see the old home place again.”
“No way, Janell. I’d love to be able to enjoy your company on the trip, but winter’s no time to be visiting Iowa. Think about June or July. Besides, you’re needed here. I’ll be fine.”
“So let’s drive on over to Searstown, Kitt.” Rex stood, popped another sweet roll into his mouth, and walked toward my car.
I didn’t feel as comfortable with Rex as I had before I discovered the glove that had upset Hella belonged to him. But neither could I believe he was guilty of murder. And what could happen to me between here and Searstown? I stood, ready to follow Rex to my car.
“Shall we leave the juice and goodies on the table for a while in case Hella shows up?” I asked Janell. “She always enjoys breakfast and I’m guessing she’ll join you before long.”
“I’ll cover the rolls and leave the juice, but I’m not waiting around any longer.” Janell stood. “I’ve things to do inside this morning. When I see Hella come out, I’ll join her for a second cup of coffee.”
“Good.” Rex turned to me. “Ready to go?”
“Let’s do it. I’ll have to go inside for my car keys.”
After I returned to the garden, I tossed Rex the keys. “Want to drive? I’ll open the gate.”
Few people were out and about this early on Saturday morning and Rex grinned at me as we turned toward Highway One. “Let’s take the scenic route past the beach, okay?”
“Sure. I won’t be seeing any beaches in Iowa until summertime.”
Rex drove slowly. The guy selling parachute rides waved to us. Even at this early hour, teenagers were using two of the volleyball courts, and closer to the water, a boy tossed a yellow Frisbee to a brown lab who caught it and returned it to him. Near the curbside, a vendor prepared breakfast for early risers. The fragrance of frying bacon made my mouth water even though I’d just eaten.
Farther on toward the airport, an old man stood knee deep in the sea, flying a kite shaped like a pirate’s flag—white with black skull and crossbones. Nearby a teenager opened a shed, set out a FOR RENT sign, and began lining up beach chairs and umbrellas for his future customers.
“Great day for the beach. I hate leaving all this behind, Rex.” In the back of my mind, I thought about Ace and admitted that I’d miss him, too. But I didn’t mention that to Rex.
“Didn’t see you spending much beach time this past week. One afternoon with Janell. Think we kept you too busy.”
“I’ve enjoyed every minutes of my stay. Every minute.”
“Remember it, Kitt. I know facing your job, your friends, is going to be a tough scene when you get back to Iowa. Never forget that you did the right thing. The only thing. And whenever you need a break from the police force, you can come back here. We’ll be glad to have you.”
Rex’s words were a comfort, but I welcomed the three-day drive I faced. I’d have plenty of time to plan just how I’d greet my old friends and neighbors as well as the guys on the force.
In a few minutes Rex turned toward the main highway and drove on toward the Searstown mall. Shopkeepers were unlocking and raising the grillwork across their store entrances, and people were already carrying their weekend groceries from Albertson’s. Rex stopped in front of the Sears automotive area and cut the motor.
“You wait here, okay? I’ll go inside and see if I can talk to the mechanic on duty. Even on a Saturday people can count on Sears.”
I sat in the car for a few minutes, then I got out and walked around the parking lot, gazing at the gulls perched on coral rocks in the shallow bay across the highway. When Rex returned, I knew the news wasn’t good.
“They can’t take the car until early Monday morning. Thought the guy might be eager to look under the hood of a Prius, but no. Well, yes, he was eager to see your car’s engine. But no. He had no time to work on it until Monday.”
“That’s okay, Rex. I’ll still have plenty of time to make it back to Centerville before my week’s leave is up.”
When Rex tried to get back onto the highway we heard sirens and stopped to look and listen. Police car. Ambulance. Fire truck. More police cars.
“Someone’s getting lots of help,” I said. “Suppose they’re headed for Mallory Dock? I can’t see if they’re turning toward Old Town.”
“Could be a problem anywhere in the harbor,” Rex guessed. “Few emergencies worse than a boat on fire. Especially a fiberglass boat. Fiberglass goes up like tinder.”
“Think Janell read in the paper that a cruise ship was due to dock early today. The Costa line. Oh, Rex! What if it’s caught on fire? Or what if some passenger’s had a heart attack?”
“No use speculating. How about turning on the radio? You’re more familiar with the knobs than I am. We’ll know what’s happened soon enough.”
I snapped on the radio, but I couldn’t find any news broadcast. No special bulleting. Cars and RVs seemed to come out of nowhere to try to bull their way in line behind the emergency vehicles.
“I’m waiting until the traffic thins,” Rex said.
“Good idea. We’re in no big hurry.”
Rex had to wait several minutes before the traffic let up enough to allow him to make a left turn and join the throng. As we grew closer to Garrison Bight, cops on foot motioned drivers to turn left, to stop following the crowd. We turned.
“I hate to get into traffic like this,” Rex said. “It’s a good place to get a new car scratched or a fender dented.”
I saw a twinkle in his eye and knew he was trying to get a rise out of me.
“You’re joking, right? Or maybe not. I’m glad someone’s getting the emergency help they need from the ambulance crew and the cops, and I intend to take my Prius home scratch and dent free.”
“Worry not,” Rex said. “I’m teasing.”
We followed the diverted traffic to Duval and then on to Whitehead. At last we managed to turn toward Caroline Street. Then we both reached the same realization at the same time when we saw motorcycle cops in the distance clearing the way for the police cars.
“Rex! They’re going to pass right by The Poinsettia.”
“Wrong. They’re not passing by. They’re stopping.” Rex hit the brakes. Cops were directing the sight-seeing drivers to move on, to leave the area.
“Keep it moving, buddy,” an officer shouted. “Move it! Give the emergency crew room to work!”
“I live here, Officer. Rex Cummings. I own this place.”
“Tough luck, buddy. You’ve got a problem, but get your car off the street. That’s an order.”
“I’ll get the gate.” I jumped from the car and opened the gate while Rex drove into the garden. I closed the gate and started to follow him to the carport, but I stopped when I saw two officers unrolling yellow crime scene tape and attaching it to the front fence, then pulling it in place around the house, the patio, the back fence and the shed.
Janell saw us and ran toward us with tears streaming down her face.
Chapter 28
Rex leaped from the car and Janell rushed toward us screaming.
“Hella’s dead. Dead! She’s been murdered!”
I stiffened my spine, lifted my chin, and started running toward Janell. Rex reached her first and she flung herself into his arms. It chilled me to realize I’d known what Janell was going to say even before she spoke. I’d had that sinking feeling in my stomach that, for me, prefaces bad news. My heart began thudding as if it might leave my chest. I took deep breaths to try to control it.
The clues had been in place. Hella, an early riser, hadn’t shown up for breakfast. Voodoo had been hanging around waiting for the tidbits she usually offered. The blinds across her windows had remained closed in spite of the noise of our voices, the scraping of chairs against concrete. We should have knocked on her door. But no. We would have been too late, but at least that action would have spared Janell from being left alone to find Hella’
s body.
“Janell!” Rex kissed her forehead and clasped her to him. “Are you all right? Were you in danger? Do you know what happened?”
I suddenly felt icy cold in spite of the warmth of the sunny day. Gooseflesh rippled along my arms and thighs and I had to clamp my teeth together to keep them from chattering.
“Hella’s dead. Hella’s dead.” Janell repeated the words again and again, sounding like an old-time phonograph with a needle unable to go on to the next groove.
“Who found her?” Rex whispered as if he didn’t believe what Janell was telling him. “Were you the first to…”
Before she could answer a man joined us, barking orders and urging us toward the house. Detective Lyon. No uniform today. Plain clothes. I hardly recognized him. But he was the same tawny-haired guy who’d brought me home from the lighthouse museum in his squad car yesterday. Today the trade wind blew his neatly styled hair askew as he yanked the back door open, stepped behind us, and ordered us to enter the kitchen and then the living room as if he owned the place.
“Sit down, please,”
“Look here, fellow,” Rex said. “You’re trespassing. This’s my property. You’re trespassing in my home. I don’t need you to order me to sit down in my own living room. You’re…what’s the meaning of this?”
“Sit down, please.” Detective Lyon repeated his order. And he waited.
Rex took Janell’s hand and led her to the living room couch where he waited until she sat before he took a place beside her. They seemed to have forgotten I was there, but Lyon motioned for me to take the chair at the side of the couch.
“Your name, Sir?” Detective Lyon looked directly at Rex while he pulled a dog-eared notebook from his pocket and waited, ballpoint poised, ready to jot down an answer.
“Rex Cummings…Sir. You do realize that this is my house? That I’m the owner?”
“I realize that,” the detective said. “And your name, please?” He looked at Janell, wrote down her name when she replied, then turned toward me. “We’ve met before, I believe. Kitt Morgan, an Iowa visitor at the Cummings home, right?”
“Right.”
He faced Rex once more. “Your wife called 9-1-1 a few minutes ago to report a death on your property. Where were you at the time she made this call?”
“Do I need a lawyer?”
“You’re not under arrest, and you may call a lawyer if you so desire. My questions at this time will be informal ones. I believe the victim, Miss Hella Fuller, is a renter here at your inn.”
Hella! Dead! I could hardly believe it. Why Hella? Why a spinster retiree playing out her golden years in the Florida sunshine? I looked at Janell as if the answer might be written on her face. By now she had managed to stop crying, but her face was still so red and blotched I could hardly tell were skin ended and hair began. Redheads are seldom beautiful when they cry. But why were such crazy thoughts racing through my mind at a time like this!
“Who found Hella’s body?” Rex asked.
“I’ll ask the questions if you don’t mind.” Lyon stood as if memorizing our faces for a few moments, before he spoke again. “Janell Cummings found the body. Janell made the 9-1-1 call. Under ordinary circumstances, the person who finds a corpse is of special interest to the police, but in this case…” Lyon’s voice trailed off into the silence of the room.
“Why in this case?” I blurted, in spite of knowing it was not my place to try to take over the questioning.
“Because the body was badly mutilated. Mutilated in a manner I don’t believe Mrs. Cummings is physically cable of doing.”
Looking out the window, I saw a photographer with camera at the ready striding past the pool and the B&B as he headed on toward the tool shed and the back fence. I guessed the man following him to be the medical examiner. Nothing much would happen until those two finished their work.
Detective Lyon stepped between me and the window, blocking my vision of anything else that might be taking place in the yard. I guessed he had done this on purpose.
“Who was present at this address last night?” Lyon asked, directing his question at Rex.
“Many people, Sir. Our café and dance patio are open to the public until ten o’clock. We had a large crowd yesterday evening, and we don’t ask for names, addresses, or other types of identification.”
Lyon did not change his expression. “I understand that, Mr. Cummings. I’m more interested in your employees than in your customers. What employees were present?”
“Hella Fuller, for one,” Rex said.
“She works here?”
“Part time every night. Full time if our regular drummer has asked for the evening off.”
“Please give me the names of all your employees—either full time workers or part time.”
Rex responded with the names, giving no further information.
“I understand your establishment was involved in another recent murder. Is that correct?”
“It is not.” Rex ran his hand over his head.
“Abra Barrie.” Lyon spat the word. “She was murdered while renting one of the rooms at your inn? Is that not correct?”
“She was not murdered on these premises,” Janell said. “Strangers found her body washed up on the beach. She was not murdered here.”
“I stand corrected.” Lyon tucked his notebook and ballpoint back into his pocket without any words of apology and without taking his gaze from Rex and Janell. “I want all three of you to remain in this room until I or another officer grants you permission to leave. Is that understood?”
“Is that really necessary?” Rex asked. “We operate a business here. We have work to do.”
“Probably not as much work as you think,” Lyon said. “Crime scene tape will be in place until a police investigation of the scene is complete. Your business may be closed for tonight—perhaps closed for the next few days. State police will be called in. Maybe even the F.B.I. if they think this murder may be in any way connected with what may be a rash of serial killings in Florida and Georgia. I’m ordering you to remain right here in your living room until you have official permission to leave.”
Nobody spoke for a few moments after Detective Lyon left us alone. I was afraid if Janell began weeping again I might join her. Who? Why? I kept asking myself questions that had no answers.
“I’m sorry you were the one to find Hella’s body.” Rex eased toward Janell, taking her hand in his. “A terrible thing. How…can you bear to tell us what happened? “
“I knew things weren’t right,” Janell said. “The orange juice was getting hot sitting there in the sunshine. In spite of the plastic wrap, the sweet rolls had to be drying out. I thought Hella might have decided not to try working with the items we gave her last night—thought she might be reluctant to tell us, to disappoint us. So I decided to talk to her. I walked around the B&B toward her door, and…”
“Don’t relive the horror,” Rex said. “Sorry I asked. Try to block the scene from your mind.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” I stood and headed toward the kitchen. “Coffee? Juice? Piece of toast?”
“Thanks, Kitt. But no. I may never be hungry or thirsty again. Not ever.”
“Who do you think could have done this?” Rex looked at both Janell and me as if we might be privy to answers withheld from him.
“We know it wasn’t one of us,” I said. “So that leaves…”
“That leaves everyone in Key West,” Rex said. “Nobody can say the murderer is someone who was present last night, someone who works here. Our gate’s never locked. We built the fence to beautify our property, not to repel criminals.”
“I hate being a prisoner in my own home.” Janell rose and began to pace. “I hate realizing that two people closely associated with The Poinsettia, two people that we liked and whose company we enjoyed, are now dead. Rex, one of us could have been a victim. Nobody is safe around here anymore. We’re all in danger. We have no idea what enemy might be targeting one
of us next.”
Janell’s voice shrilled and Rex went to her, pulled her back to the couch.
“Don’t panic, Janell. We have to keep level heads.” For a few moments he rubbed Janell’s wrists with a brisk touch, and then he brought her a cup of coffee which she set on the coffee table without tasting.
Rex had leaned over her, urging her to sip the drink when Detective Lyon knocked on the door and then entered the house uninvited.
“The ME has tentatively set the time of the victim’s death at shortly after midnight last night.”
Nobody spoke. I shuddered when I saw 4 men carrying a stretcher holding a body covered with a blanket toward the ambulance, sliding their burden through the open rear doors, slamming the doors.
“You’re free to go wherever you choose at this time,” Lyon said. “But don’t leave the city without police permission. I’m the detective assigned to this case. My partner Detective Brooks and I can be reached at police headquarters should you need help or want to make an additional statement. Do not plan to open for business tonight.”
“We have nothing more to say,” Rex said. Janell and I nodded, backing up his words.
“I’ve called a meeting for two o’clock this afternoon here in this room,” Lyon said. “I’m getting in touch with your employees. You and they will be asked to answer general questions concerning last night’s murder. You will be read the Miranda warning. You may refuse to answer our questions or you may have a lawyer at your side—or both.”
Again, nobody spoke. Lyon let himself out of the house unassisted.
Chapter 29
Rex glanced at his watch. “We have an hour to prepare ourselves for this question and answer event. I’m surprised that Lyon would leave us alone—free to discuss this tragedy, free to agree on our story—if we felt a need to concoct a story other than the truth.”
“How dare that man plan a question session here in our own home without asking our permission,” Janell said. “Is that legal, Kitt? Is that how such a thing would happen in Iowa? Why not question everyone at the police station? Isn’t that where suspects are usually questioned? Rex, they kept calling you back to police headquarters for questioning about Abra Barrie. What do you think, Kitt?”
Killer in Control Page 21