If luck were on her side, the bad guys probably didn’t do their homework and only knew her as Libby Marshall, Sarasota café owner, and not Mary Elizabeth O’Brien, former prosecutor.
• • •
Mimi clicked off the phone and looked out the window into her backyard. The sun was coming up, and it glowed a bright red between the trees separating her yard from the neighbor’s house.
“Who were you talking to?” Paul asked as he came into the kitchen wearing boxer shorts and a T-shirt.
“It was Libby.”
“What did she want so early in the morning?” He poured a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter.
“She got a call from Pilar, and she’s going to get her.”
“She what?!” He set his cup on the counter, sloshing hot coffee down the cabinet and onto the floor. He took his wife by the shoulders and turned her around to face him. “Where’s she going? Did she call the police?”
“No, I don’t think she called the police.”
Paul swiped back her white blonde hair and took her face in his hands. “Where did she go?”
“I’m not sure. She said something about the Ft. Myers Airport and then something about Key West. I was so stunned that she had heard from Pilar I don’t think I was quite comprehending what she was saying.”
“What exactly did she say?”
“Pilar called her last night. The kidnapper said that Libby needed to bring a flash drive to him in twenty-four hours and they would let Pilar go in exchange for it.”
“What flash drive?”
“I don’t know for sure. It must be what Pilar hid on Libby’s computer.”
“Where did they want her to go?” He asked.
“Maybe Key West.” Mimi picked up a dish towel and wiped the spilled coffee off the cabinet and the counter. She looked back at Paul, dropping the towel on the floor. “Oh my God! She’s going to get herself killed! She said she thought someone should know where she was in case something happens.”
“That’s why she called you?” He asked. “Was there a time frame involved as to when we should start worrying?”
“She’s changed. Since this happened…she’s changed.”
He took her in his arms and held her tight to help curb her shaking.
“The old Libby would have never broken into the murder house or taken off on her own. I’m so scared that something’s going to happen to her.”
“Mimi, I think you should call the police. What’s that detective’s name again?”
“Detective Seiler.” She released Paul and picked up the dish towel. “I think I have his card.”
“Call him. If you don’t want to, I will.”
“No,” said Mimi, standing straight. “I’ll do it.”
“Did you say you two broke into the murder house?”
Chapter 21
Monday Morning – Gulf of Mexico
The Boat Ride
Libby selected a table on the ferry just past the bar. She placed her backpack on the seat closest to the window and slid in next to it.
There was an announcement that the snack bar would open once the boat was underway. She checked her watch. This trip warranted at least one or two mimosas and, besides, she wasn’t driving the boat.
As the passengers began to pour in, she wondered about Pilar. She’d been gone a week. She wondered if she had been in Key West the whole time. Where was she? Was she all right? What had happened? Besides being serviced by the same computer company, was there anything else that the Mariposa Café had in common with any of the other businesses on the list?
Libby couldn’t resist taking a look at the files before downloading them onto the flash drive. There were four different files contained in the folder that Pilar had loaded onto Libby’s laptop.
One file looked like accounting. There were columns of numbers with dollar amounts in the column next to them, like debits and credits. However, the associated entries were in an alpha-numeric code, probably a different code for each client. There was no key to explain what the codes meant. The next file was the chart that Jack had shown her the previous night at the beach. There was another file that looked like lines of computer code she didn’t understand. The last file was the executable. She knew that because the file name extension was .exe.
Pilar was very direct in her instructions not to open that file. Pilar wondered what would happen if she double-clicked that file. Would it start a virus that would destroy the files as well as all the files on the computer, or was it the key to all the codes?
As she shut down her laptop, she wished she had time to send the file to Ray-Ban.
By eight o’clock, the ferry was starting to fill up, though the Monday trip to Key West was less busy than the weekend trips, especially this time of year, the off-season for Florida. She anticipated the Monday return trip was the busier trip of the day, full of long weekenders heading home after a few days of partying in the Conch Republic.
The engines started up promptly at 8:30 AM, and the ferry slowly started to move away from the dock.
“And we’re off,” she said to the window.
“What?” The young woman asked sitting across the table.
“Oh, nothing really,” Libby said. “Sorry, I was talking to myself.” She smiled. “I think I’m going to order something,” she said, sliding out of the booth.
When she returned with a toasted bagel and a mimosa, the girl across from her said, “Hi, I’m Britney. I’m going down to meet some friends for a bachelorette party.”
She looked to be in her early to mid-twenties and had that cute turned up nose that Libby had always admired. She was pulling her long, light brown hair into a ponytail as they spoke. “Have you been to Key West before?” She asked, winding an elastic around the ponytail.
“Hello, I’m Mary Beth, and this is my first trip.” Libby smiled. The girl’s exuberance was wearing off on her. “A bachelorette party sounds like fun.”
As she twirled her ponytail between her fingers, Britney proceeded to tell her all the “really cool” places to eat and that she must, absolutely must, see the sunset at Mallory Square. After a while, perky was wearing thin, and Libby was relieved when the girl finally quit talking and dozed off, her head leaning against the window.
Libby stared out the window and wondered where Pilar was being held captive, if she were all right and exactly what Key West had in store for her.
The boat docked in Key West right on time at twelve-thirty. Having only her rolling backpack and no checked baggage, Libby was one of the first passengers off the boat. She picked up a tourist map in the terminal lobby and spread it out on the counter. When she located her hotel on the map, she realized it was only a few blocks from the ferry terminal, so she decided to walk.
As she exited the terminal, she heard someone calling for Mary Beth. She almost ignored it but then realized the girl was calling to her.
“Mary Beth. Hey, Mary Beth,” Britney called to her. “If you are down by the Southernmost Point Hotel, just stop by and ask for the Melissa Bernstein party. Tell them that you’re with Britney. It’ll be fun. You look like you could use some fun.”
“Okay, I’ll remember that.” Libby laughed. “And you’re right. I could use a little fun.”
Britney flipped her ponytail and opened the taxicab door. “Need a ride? We can share this cab.”
“No thanks, I’m going to walk. My hotel is near here.”
Britney waved, got into the taxi, and the driver pulled away from the curb.
Libby was tired and really wouldn’t have minded a ride, but she was worried that the kidnappers would call while she was in the car and didn’t want to have a conversation with anyone else within earshot.
Libby walked the five blocks along Caroline Street until she got to Duval, where she turned left and went two blocks to the LaConcha Hotel. There were some hotel and credit card points in Mary Beth’s name that Libby cashed in for a two-night stay. With the café still closed for renovations, she d
idn’t want to dip too far into her savings. Since the points were on Mary Beth’s credit card, she thought it made sense to redeem those points. If she had to be in Key West for two nights — the ferry didn’t run on Tuesdays, so Wednesday was the next opportunity to get home — she might as well stay in a nice hotel.
After checking into the hotel, Libby spent the hot Florida afternoon wandering around Key West waiting for the phone to ring. She’d arrived in Key West within sixteen hours of the twenty-four-hour timeline. She ate lunch at Kelly’s and then strolled by the Hemingway House. She did some window shopping in the boutiques on Duval Street, succumbing to a couple great deals, buying capris and a matching tank top with Mary Beth’s credit card.
By late afternoon, not knowing what the evening might bring, she decided to head back to the hotel for some rest. Thinking she was taking a shortcut down a street that would lead her to the back entrance of the hotel, she found herself across from The Blue Pelican Saloon. She paused on the corner. The name sounded familiar to her.
As she turned down a street that, according to her map, would take her back to Duval Street, she realized where she had seen the name. It was on the list of businesses in the file on her laptop as well as on the list that Jack had shown her.
She crossed the street and peeked inside the window. The doors and windows were open so that the bar flowed onto the sidewalk. There were tables by the windows, both outside on the sidewalk and inside. It was a cozy neighborhood kind of bar. Music posters, concert notices and musical instruments adorned the walls. There was a large, dark, rectangular bar in the middle of the room.
A thin blonde bartender wearing a tight, black tank top with a big blue pelican on the front was wiping down the bar and talking to two men with half-empty glasses of beer. Their backs were toward Libby so she couldn’t tell if they were young or old.
There was a stage to the right of the window where Libby was standing. On the stage was a placard on an easel that said “Playing Tonight: The Max Holden Band.”
Libby turned and walked back to the hotel deep in thought. As she walked through the lobby, a man was suddenly at her elbow, his breath hot on her neck.
“Mr. Montoya sent me.” He nudged her towards the lobby bar. “Let’s have a drink.”
She allowed him to guide her to a table by the window. He sat across from her, and she removed her sunglasses so she could get a good look at him. He was not much taller than her five feet six inches. He was small and wiry with black hair that fell forward onto a crookedly handsome face. He wore sunglasses and a Key West baseball cap so she couldn’t see his eyes.
“You want a drink?” He asked as a young waitress with an eyebrow ring stopped at their table. “I’ll take a Corona with lime,” he said to the waitress.
“I’ll take the same,” she said. Once the waitress was gone, she asked, “How do I know for sure that Mr. Montoya sent you?”
“Yeah, Tony said to tell you ‘hello.’” He smiled. “I even saw your wedding picture.” He clicked his tongue and added, “You clean up real nice.”
She rolled her eyes as the waitress returned with the beers. Libby squeezed the lime into her beer and took a long drink.
“So, have you heard from the kidnappers?” He asked, keeping his voice low.
“No, not yet.”
“I see you’ve been shopping.”
“I’m supposed to be a tourist. Tourists shop.” She took another drink. “So, what’s the plan?”
He pulled out a burner phone and dropped it into her shopping bag. “When they call you, you call me. Let me know the plan. We got your back.”
“We? So there’s more than just you.”
“Yeah, there is. I can call in more if we need help.”
“So, you’re the cavalry?”
“Something like that. I’m here to make sure we get Pilar back and that you both get out of this in one piece.”
“What’s your name?”
“Mario.”
“Is Tony here?” She asked, looking out the window before taking another sip.
“No.” Mario laughed. “He doesn’t do this type of work. He’s in management at one of the hotels.”
She shrugged. “Tony doesn’t like anything too messy.”
“No, he doesn’t.” Mario laughed and drained the bottle. “I’ll be around.”
“Thanks,” she said as he stood. “I’ll call.”
He raised two fingers to his cap in a little salute and was gone.
Chapter 22
Monday Afternoon – Key West
The Blue Pelican
Libby rushed back to her room, tossed the shopping bags onto the bed and plopped down among them. She laid back, watched the ceiling fan slowly turn clockwise and thought about what had just happened. She wondered how many people Mario had at his beck and call. Exactly how was Tony involved? Mario had brushed it off when she had asked about Tony, but Tony was still on parole. Would involvement in something like this impact that?
“What exactly is this?”
She got off the bed and pulled bottled water out of the small refrigerator. She twisted the cap and, as it helped her sort things out, started to pace. After almost draining the bottle, she looked out the window onto the parking lot below.
Her thoughts switched to the Blue Pelican. She remembered the bar was on the list of businesses Jack had shown her when they were at the beach. She fished her phone out of her pocket and selected the number from her recent calls.
“Ray-Ban, it’s me,” she said when he picked up.
“I was thinking about you,” he said. “I was planning on contacting you tomorrow if the information I’m waiting on comes through.”
“Did you track down who’s controlling the money?”
“Not exactly but I’m a bit closer to finding out who owns the accounts in the Caymans.”
“Does the name Max Holden show up anywhere in your research?”
“Yes, I think it does.” She could hear him clicking across his keyboard as he initiated the search. “Why do you ask?”
“I came across the name and wondered if you could look him up in your super-duper, top-secret databases.”
“Of course you did,” he laughed. “By the way, where are you?”
“Key West.”
“I should have known. The guy has a bar there. The Blue Pelican.”
“I know. I’ve been there. He’s also the front man for the house band.”
“Really?”
She imagined him scrolling through the results displayed on his computer screen and moving the windows across his many monitors as he found more information to view. She had only been in his place once. He had eight monitors stacked two high on an old wooden dining table. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he brought up information and threw it up on one of the monitors. She was amazed at how fast he could comprehend what he read on the screens and then move onto the next item in his search window.
“Okay, here we go.”
“What did you find?” She asked.
“Brian Maxwell Holden born in Wilmington, North Carolina at New Hanover Memorial Hospital, eight pounds ten ounces, to Maxwell George Holden and Eleanor Louise Grant. Hefty little bugger, I’d say.” He laughed. “He was thirty years old this past May.”
“Does he own The Blue Pelican?”
“It’s his name on the deed and the super-size mortgage.”
“What else did you find?”
“He graduated from Duke University School of Music and then went on to have some music-related jobs. He did a few tours on a couple of different cruise ships, worked a resort in St. Thomas for a while, then ended up in Key West where he played gigs all over town until about five years ago when he ended up working almost exclusively at The Blue Pelican.”
“Where did he get the money to buy The Blue Pelican?”
“Tax records show he was barely squeaking by and then it appears that he bought the place from the previous owner four years ago. Jeez, he even ha
d a fifty percent cash down payment.”
“I wonder where that money came from?” Libby asked. “What about his parents? Could they have given him a loan?”
“His parents are purely white collar folks. His mom is a schoolteacher, and his dad is an administrator at the hospital where he was born.”
“It sounds like they live comfortably, but not well enough to bankroll a bar in a pricey location like Key West.”
“That’s not all,” he said. “Two years ago he bought a house in Old Town Key West and apparently did a lot of renovations. Guess how much it’s worth now?”
She could hear the excitement of discovery in his voice. “I don’t know, tell me.”
“It’s worth almost two million dollars! How do you think someone could go from living paycheck-to-paycheck to being worth well over four million dollars with his house and businesses?”
“Good question, my friend. Thanks for your help. I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 23
Monday Evening – Key West
The Band
By seven o’clock that evening, Libby was pacing her room, again.
She’d tried to take a nap, but she was too jumpy and unable to turn off her mind. Her conversation with Ray-Ban kept replaying over and over.
How does Max Holden fit into all of this? Does he own the accounts in the Caymans? How could someone go from being a music major at Duke University to running a money laundering scheme? How did Pilar get involved? Who was this Mario? Could she trust him? How was Tony involved?
She flipped through the television channels but could find nothing to hold her interest. Monday afternoon television was full of reality shows, talk shows and reruns of prime time serial television programs.
Finally, she decided she could no longer continue sitting in the room without going berserk. She needed some dinner and a beer or three.
After showering and dressing in her new outfit, she took four twenty dollar bills out of her purse. She had a small wallet with a zipper and a side pocket. She put the money in the wallet, zipped it closed and put the Mary Elizabeth O’Brien credit card and driver’s license in the side pocket. She took the hotel key card and added it, and then placed it in the cargo pocket of her new capris.
Murder in Mariposa Beach Page 13