On this particular Tuesday morning, the Café was busier than usual with locals stopping by for conversation along with a cup of coffee, a pastry or a breakfast sandwich. The gruesome discovery at Pilar’s house was the morning’s topic of discussion. The newspaper report was sketchy, and the morning television news wasn’t much better. The customers heard the information from neighbors and friends through Mariposa Beach’s active grapevine connection. People who rarely came in for coffee stopped in to hear the story directly from Libby. By ten o’clock, she had told the story at least two dozen times.
The CNN news anchors flashed across the wide-screen television on the wall across from the brown faux leather sofa, as two female college students in shorts and tank tops spread textbooks and notebooks across the table by the window. At the counter along the wall opposite the television, a young man with a long dark ponytail was checking e-mail at one of the desktop computers.
The four elderly men that Libby and Mimi lovingly called “The Company” had their gray, balding heads together at their table by the front window. They called them “The Company” because Libby was sure they were all ex-spies – CIA, FBI, KGB, or some other alphabet agency.
Libby and Mimi were behind the counter enjoying a cup of coffee and a lull in the morning rush.
“You asked ‘where’s Pilar’ and all the detective said was that’s a good question?” Mimi asked, shaking her blond ponytail, her crystal blue eyes sparkling, as Libby filled her in on Detective Seiler and the events of the previous evening.
It had been late when Libby was finally allowed to leave the crime scene. Not wanting to wake the household, she did not stop at Mimi’s on her way home.
“Yeah, and then he shooed me back outside so the crime scene guys could do their thing,” Libby replied. “Soon after that, they took my fingerprints. Then he came out and said I could go home, but he’d be in touch.” Libby made air quotation marks with her fingers and rolled her eyes.
Mimi and Libby met three years ago, after Libby left Ohio, moved to Florida and was living about thirty-five miles north on Longboat Key with her Aunt Julia. Opening a café was Mimi’s business plan. With a degree in hand from the Culinary Institute of America, Mimi had always wanted to open a café. A chance meeting brought the two women together, and what started out for Libby as a short-term diversion from her demons, turned into a close friendship and business partnership.
“Are you all right?” Mimi asked.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Libby replied. “But, honestly, I never thought I would see a crime scene like that ever again.”
“It’s hard to believe that you ever did that kind of job,” Mimi commented, referring to Libby’s job at the county prosecutor’s office in Ohio.
“It seems like a lifetime ago,” Libby wearily remarked as she leaned against the counter. She smiled as another customer walked up to the counter. Here we go again.
As the breakfast crowd thinned out and Mimi was in the kitchen checking on the chicken gumbo, the lunchtime soup du jour, Libby wiped down the tables by the side door.
The café entrance faced south on Mariposa Boulevard, the main street that dead-ended at the public beach just two blocks west. The doors on that side of the building opened onto a courtyard where black wrought iron tables with brightly colored umbrellas provided customers outdoor seating. Beyond the tables, a fountain spouted a circular stream of water into a blue basin. Tiled mermaids with bright green tails danced around the outside of the bowl.
Directly across the courtyard, Denise was unlocking “The Butterfly Patch,” an eclectic gift shop. Next door, in “Accessories, Accessories,” Maria turned over the “Open” sign. An art gallery occupied the full-width of the back side of the courtyard, except for a small hair and nail salon in the far-right corner next to a passageway that led to the parking lot behind the buildings.
The morning was starting to heat up, so the courtyard tables were empty. When a movement next to the fountain caught her eye, Libby stopped wiping the tables.
“Oh, my goodness,” she said as she opened the sliding door. “Ida Sullivan, what are you and Zsa Zsa doing out on a hot day like this?”
Ida Sullivan was about seventy-five years old and lived across the street from Libby, two blocks from the cafe. She was dressed all in pink including a pink baseball cap with rhinestones in the shape of a star. She pushed a wheeled walker with a thermos and her Maltese dog, Zsa Zsa, in the basket. Zsa Zsa wore a matching pink doggie hat, her white furry ears sticking out on both sides.
Libby pulled out a chair for Mrs. Sullivan and then opened the umbrella to give her some shade.
“I heard about your adventure last night,” Ida said, as she sat down in the chair Libby offered. Lifting the thermos out of her basket, she added, “I thought you might need a drink.”
Libby opened the lid and sniffed. “It’s a bit early for margaritas, isn’t it?” She asked and laughed.
“It’s cocktail time somewhere, I always say,” Ida cackled. “Heard it was quite a sight, blood and dead bodies all over the place.”
“Apparently, the Mariposa Beach grapevine is in full swing,” Libby said. “Just one body, and Pilar is missing.”
“Missing? Where the hell did she go?”
“Don’t know. The police are looking into it.”
“She’s a cute little thing with those big brown eyes. Maybe she was fooling around with someone’s old man, and the wife caught them and went into a wild, jealous rage.” Ida said and winked.
“Ida, you have such an imagination.”
“Libby,” Mimi called from the doorway. “Detective Seiler is on the phone for you.”
“Maybe they found the bodies,” Ida said. “By now, bet they’re gator bait.”
“Good morning, Ida. I see you and Zsa Zsa are out for your morning walk,” Mimi said.
“Yes, and she brought us cocktails,” Libby said, shaking the thermos as she handed it to Mimi.
As Libby walked through the door, she heard Mimi say, “Thank you very much, but I think we’ll save this for later.”
“Well then, give it back,” said Ida. “It’ll be all watered down later.”
Libby picked up the phone behind the counter. She hesitated, took a deep breath before putting the receiver to her ear and uttered what she thought was a professional, “Hello, this is Libby.”
“Miss Marshall, this is Detective Seiler.”
“Good morning, Detective.”
“The body of a young Hispanic woman was discovered last night,” he said, getting to the point.
Libby let out a short gasp. “Is it Pilar?”
“We aren’t sure. The girl appears to be about the right age and similar body type, but the photo we found at Pilar’s house isn’t a very clear likeness. I need you to come to the county morgue and identify the body.”
“Shouldn’t a relative perform the identification?”
“Normally, yes,” he said. “But I’m not sure she’s Pilar and, at this point, I don’t want the Montoyas to come all the way to Sarasota if there’s not yet a need. You could really help us out if you have the time.”
She thought his explanation sounded reasonable but also suspected he wanted to ask her more questions. Although she didn’t relish the idea of making the identification, she needed to know if this dead girl was Pilar. “When would you like me to come up to Sarasota?”
He suggested they meet at one-thirty. Libby agreed, and Seiler gave her directions to the county morgue located on the grounds of Sarasota Memorial Hospital.
“What did he want?” Mimi asked as Libby hung up the phone.
“They found a body last night.”
“Do they think it’s Pilar?
“They’re not sure. Detective Seiler wants me to go up to Sarasota and identify the body.”
“Jeez, Libby. That sounds horrible.”
“I said I could be there by one-thirty. I figured you and Louisa could handle the afternoon without me. I should be back before you h
ave to get your kids at three-thirty.”
“That’s no problem. The sitter can stay late, but I need to go home and get them dinner so we can come back for David’s Open Mic Night.”
“Oh my God! How could that have slipped my mind?”
David Bailey, Libby’s cousin, taught at the local magnet school for the performing arts. He was conducting a high school summer camp in musical theater. That night, in the café courtyard, they were performing a short preview of Grease, their summer project. The play was scheduled to open the coming weekend.
“You found a dead body. That would shake me up to no end.”
“The show must go on,” Libby said, smiling weakly.
“Libby, is he cute?” Mimi asked.
“Who, the dead guy?”
“The detective. Is he cute, and most importantly, is he single?”
“Mimi, I can’t believe you. I’m going to the morgue to identify someone who perhaps was…is…our friend and you are wondering if the detective is cute?” Libby shook her head, but couldn’t help a little smile.
“Well, is he?” Mimi grinned as she leaned onto the counter.
“Well, yes,” Libby admitted and smiled. “In that dark, mysteriously hot sort of way.” Libby pushed a strand of hair that had fallen out of her ball cap behind her ear and looked at Mimi. “Yes, I found the body, which makes me involved in this case, but I don’t go out with cops or lawyers. So, no matter how cute or charming he is, he’s off limits. No matchmaking.” Libby pointed at Mimi and said, “I mean it, Mimi. No matchmaking. Remember the last time you tried to fix me up? What a loser.” She walked around the counter and began to clear the tables.
“I apologized for that,” Mimi called after her. “And I meant it…sort of,” she added under her breath.
• • •
Detective Seiler hung up the phone and looked across the desk at his partner, Sam Stacey.
“So?” Stacey asked. “What’s your plan?
“She agreed to meet me at the morgue to take a look at the girl,” he said, shifting in his chair. “What about Chen’s parents? Did you reach them?”
“Yes, they’re driving in from Jacksonville this afternoon.” Stacey rolled his pen between his fingers, trying to keep his hands busy so he wouldn’t give into the urge for a cigarette. “What did her old boss say about her?”
“He said she was a good investigator, and he would hire her back in a New York minute. He said she was wasting her time working in a café, and he couldn’t believe she’s lasted this long pouring coffee for retirees. Those are his words, not mine.”
“No wonder she seemed to know her way around a crime scene.” Stacey paused and twirled the pencil even faster. “What did he say about why she moved down here?”
“She was injured on the job. Shot during a stakeout. I guess she screwed up some sort of mob deal, and there was concern they might retaliate. He didn’t go into many details and told me to ask her.”
“So, are you going to casually mention to her that you spoke with her old boss?” Stacey asked, keeping the pressure on his partner. “You could see how she reacts.”
“Probably. We’ll have to wait and see how this identification and interview go.”
“She’s hiding something,” said Stacey. “I’d bet a pack of cigarettes on that.”
“Yes, I know she’s hiding something. But what is it and does it have anything to do with this case?”
“A good-looking redhead with a backstory.” Stacey said and laughed. “Just your kind of girl.”
Seiler shook his head. “You’re getting pretty good with that pencil. Pretty soon, you’ll graduate to twirling a baton.”
“Bite me, Seiler.”
Chapter 5
Tuesday Afternoon - Sarasota, Florida
The County Morgue
Libby pulled into the only remaining parking space in front of the county morgue, located off Arlington Street behind the white buildings of Sarasota Memorial Hospital.
Detective Jack Seiler leaned against the same county-issue sedan he had been driving the previous evening. Libby assumed he had just come from court because he was wearing a charcoal gray suit with a pale blue shirt and striped tie. As he walked towards her car, she noticed the breeze blow his black hair onto his forehead.
Libby had always appreciated a handsome man in a suit and was glad she had taken a moment, at Mimi’s urging, to change out of her work clothes of shorts and a Mariposa Café T-shirt, ball cap and apron into a V-neck top and capri pants. Free of her ponytail, her auburn hair fell around her shoulders.
Too bad he’s a cop. She couldn’t swear to it, but she may have sighed.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Marshall,” he said, opening her car door.
“I’m happy to do whatever I can to help with your investigation,” she said as he motioned towards the ramp leading to the entrance. She looked up the ramp and then back to Seiler, her apprehension reflected in his sunglasses.
“I realize that coming to the morgue can be unsettling. I appreciate you doing this.”
“Let’s get this over with,” she said as she started up the ramp.
Once inside, Seiler led her into a small viewing room. He said he would be right back and shut the door behind him. While she waited, she paced in front of the curtained viewing window. This was not the first time she had been in a morgue, not the first time she had seen a dead body and not the first time she had to identify a victim of foul play.
But that was her old life, and that old life wasn’t supposed to invade her new life.
Her heart was beating so fast, and she felt sweaty even in the over-air-conditioned room. She was still pacing in front of the window, her back to the door, when Detective Seiler’s sudden return caused her to turn toward him with a jump and a gasp.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He touched her shoulder, and she instinctively moved towards him, but then, after a small hesitation, she backed away.
“That’s okay. I’m a bit jumpy, I guess.”
“Are you ready?” He asked.
When she nodded, he tapped on the window with the knuckles of his right hand. Libby took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It’s not her. It’s not her. It’s not her.
“Miss Marshall, do you recognize this woman?”
Libby opened her eyes. On the other side of the viewing window, a young, dark-haired woman lay on a metal gurney; a sheet pulled up to her shoulders. Libby could barely see the dark stitches from the autopsy incision peeking out from the edge of the white sheet.
“It’s not her.” She looked up at Detective Seiler. “Pilar’s still alive.”
“Do you have some time? I have a few things I’d like to clear up.”
• • •
They were standing in the parking lot next to her car. Libby felt so much better being outside, even though the sun was beating down on the asphalt, and the nape of her neck was already getting moist.
“There’s a place on the next block,” he said.
“All right. I’ll follow you,” she said getting into her car.
Libby watched him walk across the parking lot. He removed his jacket, opened the rear driver-side door and carefully laid it across the back seat. He opened the driver’s door and glanced over the car towards her before sliding into the seat. As she started her car, she tried to remember how long it had been since her last real date.
The server at Knick’s, a small restaurant on the street behind the hospital, was a young woman with a platinum spiky bob. She greeted Seiler by name, seated them at a table against the wall and placed menus in front of them.
Libby noticed he took a chair with a clear view of both entrances. A cop thing, she thought. Her father did the same.
Since it was well-past the lunch hour, there were very few occupied tables. A lone man sat at the bar watching ESPN between bites of his lunch.
“Hey, Kat, I’ll take a cheeseburger, fries and an iced tea.” Seiler rolled
up his shirt sleeves, and to Libby, he said,” I hope you don’t mind. I haven’t had lunch.”
“Of course not.” To the server, she said, “I’ll have an iced tea, please.”
When the server left, Detective Seiler pulled out his notebook and met Libby’s eyes.
“Thank you again for coming up here,” he began. “As I said, there are a few details I’d like to clear up.”
“Where’s your partner?”
“He’s meeting Richard Chen’s parents at the morgue as soon as they get in from Jacksonville.”
“Have you talked with Pilar’s parents? Have they heard from her?”
“Yes, I spoke with her father early this morning. No one in Miami has heard from her. Have you heard from them?”
She shook her head. “No, I haven’t.”
“Don’t be surprised if you do. Javier Montoya is an important member of Miami’s Cuban community. Please let me know if you do hear from anyone in Pilar’s family.”
“I will,” she said. “I do have another question.”
“Of course you do.”
“Was any of the blood in the room Pilar’s?” Libby asked.
“The preliminary findings indicate there are two blood types in the room. The blood on the walls and the floor match Richard Chen, and we’re assuming, at this time, so does the seminal fluid found in the bed. There was another blood type on the bedside table and lamp.”
When the server placed their iced teas on the table, he stopped talking. After she left, Libby looked up, and Seiler asked, “When exactly did Pilar call you about the dinner meeting?”
“As I told you last night, it was Sunday mid-day.” Libby opened a package of artificial sweetener, sprinkled it into her tea and stirred before taking a drink. “Mimi has Sundays off to spend with her family, so I was working. Pilar called and asked if we could meet for dinner on Monday at The Jetty. She said she had something important she wanted to discuss with me.”
Murder in Mariposa Beach Page 3