Murder in Mariposa Beach

by Teresa Michael

  “Thank you, Cousin Frank, for teaching me how to pick a lock.”

  Stepping inside Pilar’s house gave her momentary pause. With just a glance towards the bedroom, she shook off the chill, slipped on latex gloves and headed straight for Pilar’s office.

  Once inside the office, she picked up files scattered across the floor. Not finding anything helpful on the floor, she pulled open the top drawer to the filing cabinet. She flipped through the files until one of the labels caught her eye. There was a file for the nail salon and the attorney’s office vandalized during the same time frame. Using her phone, she took a picture of the invoices and other documents included in the files.

  Just as she began looking for an address book or business notes, her phone began to vibrate. She knew it was Mimi and that she had to get out. She put everything back the way she found it, ran through the living room and out the back door, making sure she locked it on her way out.

  Once through the lanai door, she pulled off the latex gloves and stuffed them into her pocket. As she rounded the side of the garage, she saw Mimi and Skipper coming down the block and Pilar’s red Mustang parked in the driveway. Libby had always admired that car, so she stopped to take a look inside.

  “Nice car isn’t it?” The man’s voice startled Libby, and she swung around to face a tall man about forty. “Do you know if the family is going to sell it?”

  “The car?” Libby stammered. “I...uh...I don’t know.”

  He stepped closer to the car. “You’re the lady that found the body, and you’re one of the owners of the coffee shop, aren’t you? I saw you here on Monday night with the cops.”

  “Yes, that’s me.” She pushed the gloves further down into her pants pocket and stepped back towards the car.

  “I saw you checking out the car, so I thought you might have heard something about whether the family may be going to sell it.” He moved closer and looked inside. “It’s in great condition.”

  “I’ve always admired this car.” Gesturing towards Mimi as she approached the driveway, she added, “I was out walking with my friend when I thought I’d take a look.”

  “Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “You’re interested in buying the car, too?”

  “Maybe.”

  “If you hear anything, will you please let me know? I’m Jeff Gibson,” he said as he turned to leave. “I live next door. I would love to buy this car,” he told her, emphasizing the love.

  “I will surely let you know if I hear anything.” Libby started towards Mimi but then turned back towards Jeff. “Did you hear anything Sunday night?”

  “No, I didn’t hear a thing. Her boyfriend’s white Honda was here on Sunday evening, but it was gone on Monday morning when I went to work. That wasn’t unusual in the past couple of weeks.”

  “On Sunday night, were both cars in the driveway or just the boyfriend’s?” Libby asked.

  “Just the boyfriend’s Honda. Pilar almost always kept the Mustang in the garage. I didn’t think much of it on Monday though. I just figured he had already gone to work.”

  “The Mustang was the only car here on Monday night. I wonder what they did with the Honda?”

  “Who knows?” He started towards his house but then abruptly turned back to Libby. “But, I just remembered that our dog started to bark, and I thought I heard Pilar’s garage door open.”

  “Do you know what time that was?”

  “I have no idea. I was sound asleep.” He shrugged his shoulders and added, “The dog stopped barking, so I rolled over and went back to sleep. My wife didn’t wake up at all.”

  “That must have been the killers. They probably would have wanted to load up the computers they stole inside the garage, just in case someone was out and about. It would have been fairly easy to back out the Mustang and pull in the Honda.”

  “You’re right. It would look suspicious carrying computers out of the house in the middle of the night.” He ran his fingers through his short cropped hair. “I can’t believe this happened right next door.”

  “Did you tell the police about this?” Libby asked.

  “No, I just now remembered it.”

  “You should tell them. The cops are trying to nail down the time of death.”

  “I will,” he said. “Let me know about that car, okay?”

  Libby nodded and said, “Sure.”

  Libby turned to see Mimi standing at the end of the drive, eyes wide, leash in hand, as she watched the interchange between Libby and Jeff. As Jeff walked back towards his house, Libby joined Mimi on the sidewalk.

  “I thought sure you were going to get caught. I was trying to decide whether to run up the drive or keep walking.”

  “That was exciting.”

  “Exciting? You almost gave me a heart attack.” Mimi took a deep breath as she continued her brisk walk towards home. “We were so nervous. I don’t even think Skipper did his business.”

  “I’m sorry, should we walk slower so Skipper can finish his duty?” Libby laughed. Excitement ran through her with a rush of adrenaline. It felt so good just to laugh.

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Yes, part of it. Pilar was the account manager for all three of the vandalized businesses. The robbers must have been looking for something, but they didn’t know what Pilar did with it. They didn’t find it in her house so they must have figured she hid it at one of the businesses. That means it’s a computer file. That’s what we’re looking for.”

  “But the police have all the hard drives from all of our computers. If something was hidden in our network or on our computers, then the police have it.”

  “It seems so.”

  “My heart is still racing,” Mimi said.

  “Come on, Meems. Let’s drop off Skipper and finish loading the Jeep for the concession stand. We’re off to the theater.”

  Chapter 17

  Friday Evening

  Opening Night

  The opening night production of Grease by the Musical Theater Summer Camp Troubadours was a sellout, as was most of the concession fare supplied by the Mariposa Beach Cafe catering service. During the twenty minute intermission, Libby and Mimi were busy selling cookies, brownies and mini-cheesecakes. Once the second act started, and after taking a short breather for an iced tea and a snack, they began to pack the remaining baked goods into plastic containers for transport back to the café.

  “With what we have left, and what’s back at the cafe, do you think we have enough for Saturday night and the Sunday afternoon matinee?” Libby asked.

  “I think so,” Mimi said. “But if we don’t, I’ll get up early Sunday and bake a couple of quick batches of cookies.”

  “I can’t believe we were so busy tonight,” Libby said, closing the lid on the boxed up cookies in the last container.

  “I’ll help you carry this stuff out to the car, and then I’m going to sneak into the back row to watch the show. Paul saved me a seat.”

  “You go ahead,” Libby said. “I’ve got this.”

  “Are you sure?” Mimi asked.

  “Of course.” Libby scanned the area for anything they may have left behind. “I’ve seen it a few times.”

  “I love this show, and the kids are doing so well. David has done such a great job!”

  “He’s a natural, and that Broadway experience sure helps,” Libby said picking up the last box. “You go ahead. My car is right there, and then I’m going to sneak backstage for the finale.”

  Parked in the first row of the well-lit parking lot, Libby set the containers down and opened the Jeep’s hatchback. As she packed the containers into the car, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Even though the day’s humidity had lingered well into the evening, she felt a chill slink up her spine. The sensation of being watched turned her arms to gooseflesh.

  She leaned to the left side of the car and could see no one between the parking lot and the gas station on the corner across the street. She turned to look behind her
but saw only the rows of parked cars under the pale yellow glow of the streetlights. She closed the car, checked the locks and walked, with purpose, back to the theater entrance. When she reached the door, she turned to give the parking lot one last glance but saw nothing suspicious.

  “Girl, you are getting way too paranoid,” she muttered.

  As Libby entered the lobby, the woman in the Will Call office looked up with a quick smile. “Tonight’s a great night. A sellout crowd and a good take on the concessions. What more could we ask for?”

  “Wonderful.” Libby stopped at the window and saw that the woman, whose name she didn’t remember, was sorting tickets and counting money. “Everybody should be happy with that.” The woman nodded and went back to her work.

  Libby slipped through the lobby, past the ladies’ room and through the stage door that opened off a small hallway. Inside, actors were running around backstage getting ready for the last scene. It was a small community theater and space was tight. David was standing in the wings stage right, script in hand, listening to the dialog on stage.

  Libby stopped just inside the door, well away from the action, but close enough to see onto the stage. She loved the theater. The air was electric with tension and excitement.

  She and David had grown up in community theater with two of the stagiest stage mothers in Southern Ohio. Being backstage on opening night brought a tug on her heart and many fond memories.

  The show was in the last scene of the last act, the actors playing Danny and Sandy, the show’s leading characters, were singing their final song. Libby was absorbed in the activity on stage when she felt something drop onto her head. She looked up, and a splash of cold liquid hit her square in the face. She gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth.

  She looked about to see if anyone had heard her, realizing that the music and the applause masked any distracting noise she might have made. She looked up, wondering if someone were on the catwalk above.

  The song ended, the curtain came down and the kids ran off stage, hugged David and then promptly began lining up for their curtain call. David saw her and made his way through the hopping and giggling teenagers, grabbing her in a desperate bear hug.

  “Thank God, it’s over!”

  “For tonight anyway,” she said stepping back. She could feel the dampness of his shirt.

  “Sorry, I’m all sweaty,” he said releasing her. “Your hair’s wet. Is it raining?”

  “I don’t know. I got dripped on from above.”

  “I hope there’s not a leak in the roof. Oh, gotta go. Curtain call.” He pushed his script into her hands, ushered the actors onto the stage, waited in the wings and then joined his cast to bask in the glory of an opening night hit.

  Libby looked above her head and wondered what someone was doing up there with water because it hadn’t rained in days.

  • • •

  David and Libby were the last to leave, along with Miranda, the woman from Will Call, to whom David introduced Libby on the way out the door. The young actors were giddy with excitement, and their parents’ faces were frozen wide in the proudest of smiles. Someone noticed that the local newspaper critic was spotted in the audience with a smile on his face as well.

  “Go home and get some sleep,” Libby called as she opened her car door. “We have to do this again tomorrow night.”

  Libby followed David out of the parking lot and down the side street to Tamiami Trail. When he took a right at the light onto the Ringling Causeway that would take him over to Longboat Key where he lived with his mother, she waved. Libby knew Julia would be waiting up to hear all about opening night. Julia, Mr. Mendelson and a group of retirees from their condo association had tickets for Saturday night.

  Libby had about thirty-five miles to Mariposa Beach, so, in keeping with the theme of the evening, she turned the radio to an oldies station and began to sing along with the Four Seasons. Before she reached Nokomis, she realized the same car had been following her for some time, though she didn’t remember exactly when she first noticed it.

  She switched lanes. Then the car behind her switched lanes.

  Instead of taking the normal route that would bypass the Venice Business District, she took the turn-off that went through town. The car followed.

  When she turned right at the next light, the car followed.

  She wanted to speed up, but they were on a two-lane road, and there was someone in front of her who believed in going the speed limit, exactly forty-five miles per hour — not a mile over or under.

  When she stopped at her turn at the light at Mariposa Boulevard, her heart was pounding. What if this car followed her right to the café?

  She had to stop and store the cheesecakes in the refrigerator. There’s no way, she could leave them in the car overnight, and she didn’t have enough room in her small fridge. They would be ruined. She wondered if she should go to the café or drive straight to Mimi’s house where she wouldn’t be caught alone. She wished she had taken Mimi up on the offer for some company on the drive home.

  By the time the light changed, Libby had decided to go to Mimi’s house and call the police from there. So, she turned right. She watched as the car continued straight through the intersection. She breathed a sigh of relief and chided herself for being so paranoid. She continued down Mariposa Boulevard, turned on Shell and immediately into the café parking lot, thankfully without the familiar headlights behind her.

  After she unloaded the car, she placed the cheesecakes and brownies in the refrigerator and left the cookie container on the counter. When she was ready to leave for home, she slowly opened the back door and peeked outside. The parking lot was empty. The light over the back door, in concert with the light on the pole, illuminated her car in an oblong halo of light. The remainder of the parking lot was dark except for another light at the far end of the lot behind the art gallery. She could hear the music at Buster’s Beach Bar two blocks away. The night noises felt familiar, and her breathing and heart rate calmed. She locked the back door and hopped into her car, locking the door before she had barely settled into the seat.

  Libby turned left onto Shell and drove the two blocks to the stop sign across from her house. Everything looked normal. The street was empty, and she could see no one in either direction. It was a quiet neighborhood. Most of the residents were over fifty, and it was after midnight. Except for Ida Sullivan, most of her neighbors were not night owls.

  As she turned onto her street, she did notice a light in Ida Sullivan’s living room.

  Libby pulled into her driveway, triggering the motion light as she stopped as close to the back door as she could without running into the steps. She turned off the ignition and stared into the backyard until her eyes stung, reminding her to blink. She looked in the rearview mirror and could see no one on the street.

  Remembering a long ago self-defense class, she threaded the keys between her fingers in preparation for whoever might jump out at her. She slung the car door open, hopped out, slammed it shut, took the two steps in one leap and slid the key into the lock in almost one fluid motion.

  Once inside, she shut the door and flipped on the kitchen light. She released the breath she realized she was holding, leaned against the door and took a few cleansing breaths. After a few moments, her racing heart returned to normal rhythm.

  She decided the car following her was just a coincidence, probably someone in Sarasota for the play or dinner in town. She tossed her keys and purse onto the counter and locked the back door. All the tension and anxiety had made her hungry, so she opened the refrigerator and surveyed the contents. She pulled out a Corona, opened it and took a long drink.

  “Man, I needed that,” she said aloud. She set the beer on the counter and returned to the refrigerator. She retrieved ham and cheese from the drawer and added them to the beer on the counter, allowing the refrigerator door to swing shut. As she turned to get the bread, she heard a clanging noise as if someone had bumped into her trash cans.

/>   “Oh God, not again!”

  She stopped and listened.

  She heard nothing but the sound of the refrigerator and the air conditioner kicking on. She shook her head and decided it must be the neighborhood raccoons looking for a snack. She took another drink of beer and returned to assembling her sandwich.

  Then, there was a scratching sound under the kitchen window.

  Deciding to take matters into her own hands, she reached for the Louisville Slugger baseball bat from her pantry in the corner of the kitchen.

  She leaned over the sink and looked out the window into the backyard. She could see the porch light on the house that backed up to her yard and a glow from the light on her neighbor’s house to the left. She thought she saw a shadow slip along the edge of light towards the opposite side of the house.

  “Pretty damn big raccoon,” she said, peeking behind the shade on the back door. She didn’t see the shadow, so she figured he must have continued to move towards the opposite side of the house.

  She slowly slid off the deadbolt and turned the doorknob. The click of the lock sounded like a cymbal crash in the silence of her kitchen.

  She inched the door open, trying to silence the squeak that she kept forgetting to fix.

  She opened the door about halfway and slid out onto the first step. She raised the bat and stepped sideways down the next step and then onto the ground. She was between the steps and the car door, as she began to move towards the corner of the house and into the backyard.

  Her hands were sweaty on the bat. As she rolled the bat in her hands, she saw the man’s shadow coming towards her. She raised the bat higher and bent her legs into a batter's stance. She stepped slowly and quietly towards the shadow creeping along the edge of the house and raised the bat to strike.

  “No, Libby, No!” Someone grabbed her around the waist from behind. She struggled against his grip as the other shadow turned and shined a flashlight in her face. “Libby, its Simon Jones and Karl Strauss. Stop kicking me!”