Second Honeymoons Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 6)

by Susan Santangelo

  While part of me appreciated the compliment, another part of me was suspicious. Why was Deputy Armstrong buttering me up, as my late mother would have so quaintly put it?

  “I can see that you’re wondering why I’m talking to you this way,” Armstrong said, correctly reading my mind. “So I’ll get right to the point before Lewis gets back with the coffee. I want you to be my unofficial eyes and ears in this investigation. You know these television people. I don’t. I need somebody connected with the show to feed me information. But this is strictly between us. I’d lose my job if this got out. So, are you game?”

  “Whoa,” I said. “Stop a minute. I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re not suggesting that somebody deliberately rigged the car to explode, are you? Jim drove the same car to the beach an hour before, and nothing happened to us.” Oops. I didn’t mean to let that slip. Oh, well.

  “It’s still early in the investigation, Mrs. Andrews,” Armstrong replied. “The lab has to examine what’s left of the car to see if the source of the explosion can be identified. The explosion could have been caused by a mechanical malfunction. But we’re not ruling anything out. And I can tell already from preliminary conversations with the television show staff that they’re not going to be as forthright with me as they could be. That’s where you come in. I just want you to keep your ears open, and if you hear anything that you think I should know about, contact me immediately.”

  Armstrong fixed me with a hard stare. “Let me be perfectly clear. Under no circumstances are you to start asking questions on your own. Just listen, and share anything you think could be relevant with me right away. Wrapping up such a high profile case quickly would go a long way toward improving my image in the Sheriff’s Office.”

  “Your image? What do you mean?”

  “You must be one of the few people who didn’t hear about The Big Rug Fiasco. Our headquarters went through a major renovation last year, and part of the job included purchasing two new area rugs for the lobby. The rugs were supposed to have been printed with the seal of the department and the words ‘In God We Trust.’ Unfortunately, one of the rugs said, ‘In Dog We Trust’ instead. I had signed off on the rug purchase, and never noticed the typo. Unfortunately, a reporter from one of the local papers came in to do an interview several months later and saw the typo. He wrote a story about it, including a picture of the rug and of me; the story went viral, and I’m now the laughing stock of the office. I want to solve this case ASAP to get back my cred. I’m tired of people snickering behind my back.”

  That made sense to me. I figured that being a female in what’s traditionally a male-dominated profession would be hard enough. To be ridiculed by her male colleagues for what was an honest mistake must be super embarrassing.

  I thought about Armstrong’s request for about half a second. I bet you’re surprised it took me that long, but that little annoying voice that pops up now and then (it sounds a lot like Jim’s) yelled, “No, Carol! Don’t do this.”

  Of course, I ignored that voice as I have for years, and said, “I’m in. And I already have some information for you.”

  “I knew this was a good idea,” Armstrong said. “Go on. What do you know?”

  “When I was on my way out of The Flamingo Room, and stopped to talk to Carrie King, she asked me to do pretty much the same thing you are.”

  Armstrong raised her eyebrows so high that they practically disappeared into her hairline. “She asked you to snoop on other members of the television show production team?”

  “Well,” I said, “not exactly. She asked me to find out who was responsible for her father’s death. I think her exact words were, ‘Why did my father die?’ ”

  “Interesting,” Armstrong said. “But why would she ask you that? I didn’t realize your reputation was so well-known.”

  “My son, Mike, suggested it,” I said. “He’s the good-looking young guy who was sitting right next to Carrie,” I added with a touch of maternal pride. “They just met yesterday, but apparently have really hit it off, if you get my meaning.”

  “Even more interesting,” Armstrong said. “Maybe he can be of some help in this investigation, too.”

  “Oh, no,” I said in alarm. “Please don’t get him involved. Jim will have a fit if he finds out what I’m doing, but he’d be apoplectic if he thought Mike was involved, too.”

  “But he is involved, Mrs. Andrews. From what you’ve told me, your son is Carrie King’s alibi.”

  “Alibi? What do you mean? Surely you don’t think that Carrie would want to harm her own father? That’s just crazy.”

  “As I said before, this is very early in the investigation,” Armstrong replied. “For all we know, she had a huge fight with her father. Maybe he told her she was off the show. Who knows? Anything is possible.”

  I shook my head. No way.

  “It’s important that we get a timetable of King’s movements last night,” Armstrong said. “And why he went to the beach.”

  “I may be able to help you with that,” I said. Nancy was going to kill me, but I heard myself saying, “I think he spent some quality time with my best friend, Nancy Green. In case you didn’t know, Nancy, Charlie and I all went to grammar school together, and we reconnected after all these years because of The Second Honeymoon Game.”

  And I bet that Nancy and Charlie really reconnected. But I didn’t say that out loud. Of course.

  Our conversation was interrupted by a tap on the door, followed by the reappearance of Deputy Lewis bearing three cups of coffee in a carryout box. “Sorry I took so long,” he said, looking embarrassed. “I took a wrong turn and got lost finding my way back here from the pool.” For a split second, Armstrong and I shared a knowing look.

  Men never ask for directions.

  Chapter 29

  My husband and I have an unspoken pact. He pretends not to notice my thickening waistline, and I pretend not to notice his thinning hair.

  Instead of going back to The Flamingo Room to rejoin the rest of The Second Honeymoon Game production staff, I took a detour and headed straight toward our villa, snagging a sweet roll and fresh coffee on my way. I had some serious thinking to do before I faced anyone else. Especially my husband, who could read my face like the proverbial book when I didn’t want him to.

  This was a lot more serious than my usual list of sins, which included snapping up a bargain or two (or five) on things I never realized I needed but now that I’d seen them, I absolutely had to have. Maybe a few of you can identify with that situation. Hey, if any of you have tips on how you deal with your husbands, email me privately, okay?

  Jim was probably next on Deputy Armstrong’s interview list. I was betting his questioning wouldn’t take nearly as long as mine did, so I figured I had half an hour tops to get my act together. Despite what you may think about me, I do not like to lie to my husband. (Especially when there’s more than a fifty percent chance that I’m going to get caught.)

  Lucy and Ethel, clearly in vacation mode, barely acknowledged my presence. I envied them. Maybe in my next life I’d come back as an English cocker spaniel.

  I was just settling myself at the desk in the living room when there was a loud banging at the door, accompanied by a familiar voice that was verging on hysteria. “Carol, are you there? Let me in! I have terrible news!”

  It was Nancy. Rats. From the way she was carrying on, she’d just found out about Charlie’s unfortunate demise. “Calm down, Nancy,” I hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the villa before anyone else heard her.

  “Calm down?” she said, her voice shaking. “How can I calm down? The man of my dreams is dead. Oh my God. What am I going to do?”

  Good heavens. This was too much, even for Nancy.

  “The man of your dreams?” I asked. “Has something terrible happened to Bob? Your husband,” I added, just for the sake of clarification.

  I know, I know. I shouldn’t have said that, because, of course I knew who Nancy was cryin
g about. But when Nancy slips into her drama queen persona she risks bringing out my evil twin, who sometimes takes over my usually sweet and caring BFF persona.

  “No, not Bob,” Nancy said, scowling at the mention of her occasionally two-timing husband. “Since when is Bob the man of my dreams? I’m talking about Charlie King, for heaven’s sake. He died last night. I just found out about it. There’s nothing wrong with Bob.”

  “Well, you and Bob are still legally married, in case you’ve forgotten,” I said. “I believe you called it, ‘married but dating.’ And you said the arrangement was working out great. You can’t blame me for being confused.”

  “Oh, pish,” Nancy said. “Leave it to you to pour cold water on my fantasy life.” Then, she burst into tears. “But Charlie and I were just starting to get reacquainted after all these years. I felt such a cosmic connection with him, and I could just tell that he felt the same way. And now, he’s gone. Poof! Just like that.” Nancy snapped her fingers for emphasis. “I had to come and tell you right away.”

  I handed Nancy a paper napkin to dry her eyes—leave it to her to have the foresight to wear waterproof mascara so her makeup still looked perfect—and made a quick decision to keep my big mouth shut for once and let Nancy talk. Big surprise, right? I am nothing if not spontaneous.

  “We had such a lovely time last night,” Nancy said. “I never suspected it would be Charlie’s last meal.”

  “I’m sure he didn’t suspect that, either,” I said. “I hope he had dessert.”

  “You are just awful,” Nancy said, swatting me with the now-soggy napkin. “For your information, Charlie did have dessert. Key lime pie, which he shared with me. Claire and Larry had their own.”

  “Claire and Larry? They were with you?”

  “Of course they were,” Nancy said. “Charlie was thrilled to see Claire again, and he insisted that the four of us have an early dinner together and talk about old times.” Nancy frowned a little. “I’m afraid Larry was a little bored by all our reminiscing, but he was a good sport about it.”

  Nice change for Larry. Usually he was the boring one. Maybe now he knew how the rest of us felt when he went into one of his dry as dust legal monologues.

  “We were all having such a good time,” Nancy continued, smiling at the memory. “Charlie was, well, charming. A perfect host. But then, he got this text, which seemed to really upset him. He excused himself, jumped up, and raced out of the restaurant. That was the last I saw of him.” She dissolved into tears again.

  My brain ramped up to warp speed. This was important information. Now, if I could figure out who’d sent Charlie that text, I could solve the riddle of Charlie’s untimely death. (I’m never comfortable with using the word “murder.”) Piece of cake. Because there had to be a connection. Somebody sent Charlie a text, lured him to the beach on some pretext, and then, bam! Bye, bye, Charlie.

  “And before you ask me, Carol, the answer is no. I have no idea who sent Charlie that text.” Nancy’s eyes filled with tears again and threatened to spill over.

  I poured a little of my now lukewarm coffee into another cup and handed it to Nancy. “Here. Drink this. Maybe it’ll help.”

  Nancy grabbed the cup like it was a lifeline—she’s a caffeine junky, too—and downed it in one quick gulp. “Are you going to eat that sweet roll?” she asked. Wordlessly, I passed it to her. The mark of true friendship, right?

  Nancy broke off a tiny piece of the roll and popped it into her mouth. “You’re right, I do feel a little better now,” she said. “Thanks.” And then, instead of polishing off the rest of the roll, she began shredding it into a million pieces. My sweet roll! Which I hadn’t even tasted yet!

  “Nancy,” I said, “that’s my breakfast you’re demolishing.”

  “Huh?” she asked, then looked down at the mess on the desk. “Oh, sorry. Here.” She pushed the crumbs toward me. “You know I always play with my food when I’m nervous.” She looked at me with the laser vision that only one BFF can have for the other, and said, “You’ve got a funny look on your face all of a sudden, which means something’s up. What is it?”

  To tell, or not to tell. That was the question. On the one hand, Nancy’s always been a key member of my sleuthing team, and I can never keep a secret from her. (Unlike Jim. I’ve been keeping secrets from him for years.)

  On the other hand, I was pretty sure Deputy Armstrong told me not to advertise my collaboration with the sheriff’s office. Didn’t she? Or, did she just tell me not to ask any questions? Maybe if I told Nancy what I knew, I could get her to ask some questions for me, so I couldn’t get into trouble. That’s the kind of thinking that would even impress St. Thomas Aquinas. I knew that course in logic I took back in college would one day come in handy.

  On the other hand, well…I only have two hands. So, thanks to St. Thomas Aquinas, I made my decision.

  I took a deep breath, then said, “Jim and I were at the beach last night when the car exploded. But I didn’t find out about Charlie’s death until this morning at the program meeting. Deputy Armstrong from the county sheriff’s office made the announcement. We were all in shock.”

  Now, it was my turn to turn on the waterworks. “It was horrible last night, Nancy. Seeing the car explode and burn, and now finding out that Charlie was in it. I’ll have nightmares about it for a long time.”

  Nancy passed me back the soggy napkin. “You need this more than I do now.”

  “There’s more,” I said. “Mike spent the night with Carrie King.”

  Nancy raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows at this bit of news. “So what? He’s over twenty-one. They both are. Don’t tell me you have a problem with that, Carol. You’ve just got to get over this hang-up you have about…”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake, Nancy,” I said in exasperation. “I don’t care about the overnight part. As everyone I know keeps pointing out to me, my two kids are adults now and what they do with their lives is none of my business. Mostly. But when Carrie found out that her father was dead, Mike told her about my amateur sleuthing career. She wants me to find out what happened.”

  Nancy’s eyes, so recently filled with tears, now sparkled with interest. “Of course, you said, yes, right? And I’ll help you. Like I always do. So will Claire.”

  I held up my hand. “I’m not finished telling you what happened, yet. There’s more.” I told her about Deputy Armstrong, her relationship to Paul Wheeler, and the request she’d made of me.

  “This is exciting,” Nancy said. “It’s the first time anyone actually on a police force has asked us to get involved. So, how do we start the investigation, chief? Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Oops. I had to be very careful with what I said next. If you think I’m the queen of jumping to conclusions, wait’ll you see how Nancy operates.

  “Tell me everything you can remember about the text Charlie got last night,” I said. “It might be a clue.”

  “Wow, I had a clue and didn’t even know it,” Nancy said. Was that a trace of sarcasm I detected in her voice?

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “Of course I’m not,” Nancy said, wrinkling her brow in concentration. “I don’t know much. Charlie got a text, read it, then jumped up and ran out of the restaurant like his pants were on fire.” She clapped her hands over her mouth when she realized what she’d said. “Ooooh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put it that way. But you get the picture, right? He was in a big hurry.”

  “Did he mention a name?” I asked. “Was there anything that might tell us whether the text was from a man or a woman?”

  “Nope,” Nancy said, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. Maybe Claire or Larry would remember something. Claire was sitting the closest to Charlie.”

  Aha. Now we were getting somewhere.

  “Have you seen them this morning?” I asked. “Maybe we should track them down. They may not even know about Charlie yet.”

  “Good idea,” Nancy said. “Just give me a sec to
fix my makeup. I like to look my best all the time. You ought to know that. I never know who I might meet.” With that, my recently distraught BFF gave me a wink and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Honestly, that Nancy.

  Chapter 30

  At my age, “getting lucky” means walking into a room and remembering why I went in there.

  You’ve heard the old saying about the best-laid plans, right? That they always go astray. Or life is what happens when you’re making other plans. Etc. etc. Nancy and I had just started toward Claire and Larry’s villa when an excited Jim came barreling our way and headed us off.

  “Whoa, Carol, where are you and Nancy going? I need to talk to you. Right away.” He shot Nancy a look that translated to, “Alone, please.”

  Now, Nancy is almost as adept at reading Jim as I am. And since we had already made a plan (sort of), she gave us a wave, and said, “I’m off to see if Claire and Larry want to have some breakfast. See you later.”

  Darn it. Nancy was going to have all the fun. I just hoped that, if she found out anything important, she remembered it. Like me, her short-term memory sometimes fails her.

  Jim grabbed my hand and propelled me back to our own villa. I swear, the guy was so excited I thought he might explode himself. (I know. Slap me for that one.)

  “I just came from talking with Deputy Armstrong,” Jim said, once we were safely inside and away from prying ears. Lucy and Ethel don’t count—they never reveal any of our secrets. At least, I hope they don’t. “And you’ll never guess what! Go ahead, guess.”

  I surveyed my husband of thirty-plus years. I hadn’t seen him this energized since he found out there was a BOGO sale at our local supermarket. Except for…never mind. That’s none of your business.