“I have no idea, Jim,” I said. “And I’m not in the mood to play Twenty Questions. It’s been a very upsetting twelve hours. Not exactly the second honeymoon I was expecting. Poor Charlie.”
Jim’s face clouded over. “You’re right, Carol. I wasn’t thinking about how this mess has affected you. After all, you knew Charlie far longer than I did. But…”
“Yes, Jim? But, what?”
“I just came from an interesting meeting with that female deputy sheriff. She’s pretty sharp. She checked with the Fairport Police, and was very impressed with what she found out. She’s asked us to let her know immediately if we hear anything that could be helpful to her investigation. Isn’t that something?”
Without giving me a second to absorb this information and come up with one of my usual zippy comebacks (such as, “She meant me, not us,”), he went on, “So, here’s where we’ll start. I want you to…”
I stiffened. No way was my dear husband going to be the captain of this sleuthing team, no matter what he thought. I was still in charge.
“You know, Carol,” Jim went on, oblivious to my reaction, “I never understood before how exhilarating going undercover could be. I’m sorry for all the times I criticized you for getting involved in police investigations. I was wrong.”
I was wrong. Three little words that I’d never heard Jim say before. This was a golden moment for me. I wanted to savor it as long as possible.
But just to be sure I understood Jim correctly, I asked, “Are you admitting that I’m right and you’re wrong? That my so-called female intuition usually leads to a solution to a mystery that’s stumped the police? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know anything about feminine intuition,” Jim said.
You got that right, buster.
“But I do know that it’s our civic duty to assist the authorities when we’re asked to,” Jim continued. “I’m not giving you a free ticket to poke your nose in where it’s not wanted, so don’t get any ideas.”
“Understood, Jim,” I said. Of course, I didn’t agree with him. I’m sure that comes as no surprise to any of you.
“I’m glad we had this conversation so we could clear the air,” Jim said, giving me a kiss on the cheek. He checked his watch. “Larry and Mack will be here any minute. We’re going to have a brainstorming session about this case. The television show pilot is on hold until further notice, in case you hadn’t heard. So you have the day all to yourself to sit by the pool and work on your tan. Have fun.” On that note, my husband, the Great Wannabe Detective, practically pushed me out the door.
Now, if you’ve known me for a while, you know how I usually deal with situations like this. I either burst into tears, carry a grudge until it hurts, or come up with a devious plan to do what I want without Jim being the wiser. And if you know me REALLY well, you’ll have no trouble at all figuring out which method I chose.
But, first things first. I was still hungry. Starving, actually, and I think much better on a full stomach. In fact, I’m known to be positively brilliant if my tummy is happy. So off I went to the hotel dining room, hoping against hope that I had timed it correctly and lunch service was about to start. The place was empty, except for a few servers clearing off the remains of breakfast from tables and re-setting them for noontime.
Onward to the pool area, even though I was sure my chino slacks and pullover cotton sweater were bound to get some curious looks. Dressed for Florida sunbathing, I was not. I comforted myself with the knowledge that what I was wearing covered mostly everything up, unlike several other sunbathers, both male and female, who obviously hadn’t checked themselves in a full-length mirror before heading out into the bright sunshine.
I squinted against the sudden glare, hoping to find a food service cart. No luck. Maybe this forced dieting would result in an immediate weight loss.
I heard someone call my name, and I shrank back in the shadow of the doorway. No way did I want to talk to anyone now, especially someone from The Second Honeymoon Game. I needed a quiet corner, caffeine, and something to write on so I could jot down everything that I had seen last night before I forgot it completely.
“Carol! Over here!” the person said, holding up a carafe. “Want coffee? I scored a fresh pot. You look like you could use some.”
“Claire!” I said, scurrying to the shady side of the pool deck. “You’re a lifesaver. But where’s Nancy? The last time I saw her, she was on her way to your villa.”
“Nancy’s dealing with some real estate emergency back home,” Claire said with a disapproving sniff. “As if we don’t have a real emergency to deal with right here. I assume you heard what happened to poor Charlie.”
“I not only heard about it, I was there,” I replied, taking a welcome sip of piping hot coffee. “Man, does this taste great.”
“What do you mean, you were there?” Claire demanded, taking away my cup and setting it back on the saucer. “Not another sip until you tell me everything.”
So…I went through last night all over again. But this time, because Claire has become super anal in her advancing years and doesn’t travel anywhere without a notebook and pen, my whole nightmare was consigned to paper. Claire, of course, was the scribe. All my friends know that my penmanship is atrocious.
When I had finished talking, I grabbed my cup of now tepid coffee and took a welcome swallow. Then another. I waited for Claire’s reaction.
“I don’t know how you do it, Carol,” Claire finally said. “You always seem to be involved with something tragic these days.” She shuddered. “I suppose you’re used to discovering dead bodies by now. You’re probably immune. Better you than me.”
“I didn’t actually discover a dead body this time, Claire,” I said frostily. Trust Claire to make me feel defensive. “When Jim and I went to the beach last night, witnessing a car explosion was not exactly what we had in mind. And remember, it was our car. We could have been killed, instead of poor Charlie. I could use a little sympathy and support from you for a change, instead of criticism.”
“You didn’t say it was the Mercedes you and Jim drove to the beach that exploded,” Claire said, looking chagrined. “I’m sorry. That must have been very scary.” She scribbled something additional in her notebook, then circled it.
“It was,” I said, mollified by the apology that I felt I had coming to me.
“Of course, one white Mercedes looks just like all the others,” Claire continued. “How was I to know it was yours unless you told me? There could have been more than one in the parking lot at the time.” Claire hates to be wrong; she only admits it if she absolutely has to.
Hey, wait a minute. That sounds too familiar for comfort. But I’d never tell anybody else that, so mum’s the word, okay?
“Let’s not argue,” I said. “The question is, where do we go from here? The television show pilot is on indefinite hold, and both Charlie’s daughter and the deputy sheriff assigned to the case have asked for my help in figuring out what happened last night.” I sat back and tried not to look smug. But I hoped Claire got the point that I was now “officially” on the case. To my complete annoyance, Claire didn’t even react, except to make another note.
“Deputy Armstrong is the chief investigating officer on the case,” I clarified, “and just happens to be Detective Paul Wheeler’s cousin.”
Claire raised her eyebrows at that one. “Paul Wheeler from Fairport? His cousin asked for your help? Are you sure? Paul Wheeler thinks you’re an interfering busybody, if I remember correctly.”
“Thank you for reminding me,” I said sweetly. “But as it happens, the two cousins can’t stand each other. And Deputy Armstrong is a ‘she.’ ”
“Now, that’s interesting,” Claire said.
“I’m so glad you think so,” I said with just a touch of sarcasm. “Hey, wait a minute. What are you doing?”
Claire was squeezing my right arm so hard that it hurt. She leaned over and hissed in my ear, “Do you see who jus
t came out to the pool? It’s Gene Richmond. I just love him. I never missed him on Funtastic Trivia. I’m his biggest fan. OMG, this is so thrilling.” My normally unflappable friend was trembling with excitement. She reminded me of Lucy and Ethel when they see me go for the box of Milk Bones.
“If you let go of my arm, I’d be glad to introduce you,” I said. “He’s the host of The Second Honeymoon Game. I know him well.”
Just a tiny exaggeration. But forgivable, right?
Thank goodness Gene remembered to wear his hairpiece this morning. I figured he was afraid of getting his head sunburned.
I waved and, to my embarrassment, Gene ignored me. Instead of heading in our direction, he settled himself on a chaise at the opposite side of the pool and opened a book.
“I can tell you know him very well,” Claire snorted. “That’s why he came right over to say hello.”
Well! I wasn’t going to take any more nonsense from Claire. Why was everybody on my case today, anyway? First Jim, and now Claire. So I marched over to Gene’s chaise and smiled as sincerely as I could. “Good morning, Gene,” I said. “Although it’s not a good morning for any of us on The Second Honeymoon Game, right? With dear Charlie’s tragic death?”
Gene looked up from his book and acknowledged me. Finally.
“Hello, Carol. Please forgive me for being so rude. It’s just that Charlie’s unfortunate demise has been such a shock, I thought I’d come out here by myself and try to make some sense of it. Then I saw you, and I wasn’t up to talking. I’m so upset.”
Truthfully, Gene didn’t seem upset at all. Instead of looking at me while we were talking, his eyes kept darting around the area, checking out everyone else who was there. I hate people who do that. How rude! It’s like I’m not important enough to focus on when someone more interesting might be available.
And, by the way, if Gene was so upset about Charlie’s death, why didn’t he just stay in his own villa and hang a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door so he could mourn in private? Unless he wanted to mourn in a public place, in front of an audience. I wondered if he’d been questioned by Deputy Armstrong, and what he’d told her.
I snuck a quick peek and saw that Claire was now standing, her eyes fixated on Gene and me. I knew she was dying to meet her idol, and I couldn’t bear it if Gene was rude to her. So I played the flattery card.
“Your biggest fan is coming this way,” I said, beckoning Claire to join us. “Her name is Claire McGee. I just know that meeting you in person will be the highlight of her trip to Florida. Maybe, even the highlight of her life!”
Okay, I was laying it on a little thick. But Gene immediately responded, just as I thought he would. He plastered a huge smile on his face and smoothed his hair. I mean, hairpiece. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Carol. I’m always delighted to meet a fan.”
I just bet you are, and I’m sure it doesn’t happen to you very often these days, you old has-been. I didn’t really say that out loud, of course.
“Claire was also one of Charlie’s grammar school classmates,” I said as Claire approached. “His death has been a huge shock to her, too. She and her husband Larry were going to be contestants on the pilot. I don’t know what’s going to happen with that now.”
“Oh, the show will definitely go on,” Gene assured me. “It always does. That’s an old show business tradition, you know.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I countered. “At least, I bet it won’t go on until the authorities are convinced that Charlie’s death was an accident. What do you think about the explosion, Gene?”
I know. I know. Subtlety is not my strong suit.
I could swear that Gene had that “deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming car” look, just for a millisecond. But it was gone so quickly that I could have imagined it. I do that a lot. Imagine things, I mean.
Claire came up behind me and hissed in my ear. “Introduce me.”
“You must be Claire McGee,” Gene said, taking Claire’s hand and making my usually composed friend blush. “Carol has told me all about you. The pleasure is all mine, lovely lady. In fact….” He broke off mid-sentence and dropped Claire’s hand like the proverbial hot potato.
“Something has come up. I have to leave.” Gene immediately vanished in the direction of the dining room, abandoning Claire and me without a second glance. Or an apology. What a jerk.
Chapter 31
If God wanted me to touch my toes, He would have put them on my knees.
“I’m beginning to get a complex,” Claire said. “First, Larry abandons me to meet Jim, then Gene Richmond runs away from me like I’ve got a communicable disease.”
“I wouldn’t take it personally, Claire. Something obviously came up that Gene had to deal with right away. Probably something to do with the television show.” My voice trailed off. I wasn’t very convincing, even to myself. I had also caught a quick glimpse of the person Gene went rushing off to meet. I just couldn’t figure out why it would be so urgent for Gene to talk to Bernardo, the ever helpful concierge.
Unless there was an emergency at Gene’s villa. Maybe the air conditioning wasn’t working, and Bernardo had arranged for a repairman. That may be why Gene was doing his mourning for Charlie poolside, instead of in the privacy of his villa. Yes, that had to be it. I just love it when I can figure things out so quickly. Especially since it doesn’t happen to me that often. Besides, I couldn’t think of any other reason why Gene would abandon an adoring fan for a hotel concierge. I doubted that Bernardo was a longtime fan of Gene’s, and he certainly had nothing to do with the television show.
Naturally, Claire blamed me for Gene’s abrupt departure. “Honestly, Carol,” she said, as we headed back to our shady table, “was it too much to ask for you to arrange a few minutes for me to talk with a man I’ve admired for so long? What did you say to him to make him leave so suddenly?”
Oh, for Pete’s sake.
“I asked him to meet one of my dearest friends, who’d been a fan of his for years,” I said. “You came over, said hello, and then he left.”
“Well, now I understand,” Claire said. “When you said I’d been a fan of his for years, you insulted him. You all but called him an old man. How could you do that? I barely got to shake his hand.”
“You are completely ridiculous,” I said. “Gene Richmond’s been a fixture on television for decades. That’s not insulting. It’s a fact. You should be thanking me for introducing you instead of blaming me. Gene was rude.”
I paused to digest Claire’s accusation and realized there might be a grain of truth in it. Darn it.
“You know, you may be right,” I said. “I’ve learned that these show business types are very sensitive, and they have huge egos. Maybe I did insult him. But I certainly didn’t mean to.”
I gave Claire a few seconds for what I hoped she’d interpret as my apology to sink in. I was much more interested in Claire’s take on Charlie King’s sudden departure last night from dinner than Gene’s vanishing act today. Despite her tart tongue (aimed at me far too often), her powers of observation are excellent. Which is why she’s always been such an important part of my sleuthing team.
I needed to get her back on track, so I sighed. Deeply and loudly.
“I feel so terrible about Charlie,” I said. “What a horrible way to die.”
To my surprise, Claire’s eyes filled with tears, which rarely happens. Like, never. “Larry and I were just getting to know him last night,” she said. “We were having such a nice time.” She paused, then added, “You know that Larry isn’t much for small talk.”
A minor understatement. Larry’s idea of making social chit-chat bores most people to tears. I didn’t really say that, of course.
“I love my husband,” Claire went on, “but I know he’s not that good at making friends. All the friends we socialize with are my friends, like you and Jim. Maybe that’s because Larry always sounds like he’s giving a lecture or a presentation to a jury.
I’ve reminded him that he really doesn’t know everything about everything. I’ve even suggested that people get turned off by his know-it-all attitude, and a lot of what he talks about is really boring, even to me. I try to take an interest but…”
“But it’s hard sometimes,” I finished. “I understand exactly what you mean. It happens in my house, too. It really galls me when Jim takes over some of the household tasks I’ve been doing for years. He thinks he knows everything and I know nothing. As a matter of fact,” I stopped, remembering Jim’s usurping of my Great Detective mantle, “Jim now fancies himself the next Sherlock Holmes. Deputy Armstrong asked him to keep an eye out for any information that could help in the investigation about Charlie’s death, and to pass it along to her. When I pointed out that the deputy had asked me to do the same thing, Jim just brushed me off, and said he doubted we women would have much to contribute to the investigation. Can you imagine? He called a meeting of his so-called detective brain trust—Larry and Mack Whitman. That’s why Larry and Jim got together today.”
I could feel my blood pressure shoot up. The longer I thought about Jim’s attitude, the madder I got.
“That’s downright insulting,” Claire said. “What do they want us to do? Go to the hotel kitchen and bake an apple pie?”
“I figured you’d agree with me, Claire,” I said. “If you, Nancy and I put our heads together, we can probably figure out this whole thing before the guys get fitted for trench coats and fedoras.”
Claire looked at me, puzzled. “You lost me.”
“Humphrey Bogart as Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon,” I clarified. “Now, tell me everything you can think of about your dinner with Charlie last night. Especially, about the text he got. Nancy said he read the text and then bolted out of the restaurant. Do you have any idea who sent it? Did Charlie say anything? Could you see a name or a number on his phone’s screen?”
Claire shut her eyes tight and seemed lost in concentration. Finally, she said, “When Charlie read the text, he muttered something that sounded like, ‘No way.’ ” She shook her head in frustration. “I’m sorry, Carol, I know that’s not much, but it’s the best I can do. I never realized it would be so important. Too bad I didn’t pay more attention.”
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