by Gwen Mayo
Shirley must have recognized some of the other youths, because she was sloshing over to a group of them with Teddy in tow. Introductions were made, and the chattering began. Cornelia thought that her teeth would join in.
She was surprised when Teddy made an early farewell and withdrew from the group. She waded back to Cornelia.
“Let’s go check on Uncle Percival,” she said.
“Did the water finally get too much for you?”
“No,” she said, “but I think Shirley might be acquiring an admirer her own age.”
Cornelia glanced back, and saw a young man speaking to their friend. “That was an excellent decision, Teddy. She deserves someone better.”
They headed back to their encampment, where Percival and Anna hadn’t moved from their seats.
“The Gainesville place was the best,” Anna said. “We all gathered around the fire to heat up our food. Afterwards, we sang songs. Shirley was scarce sixteen and they all doted on her. It was a one-way trip for us, so we used a car tent, but the regulars had housecars in all shapes and sizes.”
They must be talking about the Tin Can Tourist Camp, Cornelia realized. She remembered the housecars, most of which were either cars with trailers permanently attached or trucks that had been modified in outrageous ways. Uncle Percival had been driving, and he’d followed the line of homemade rolling shelters into the campsite. She and Teddy feared that they would never get him back on the road. The professor wanted to know all the details of the modifications, and the owners were, of course, so proud to share them.
“I’m glad you’ve come back,” her uncle said. “I want to test the water myself, and a short scene of us enjoying the ocean would be a good addition to the film.”
Cornelia obliged her uncle by once again setting up his camera and filming the group. This time, she was happy to be behind the camera. The last thing she would want was to be captured on film in her bathing costume. She pulled her beach robe tighter around her waist just thinking about it.
Teddy procured a copy of the Evening Independent before they went down to dinner.
“Miss Hornbuckle’s version of the story,” she said. “‘Ansel Stevens thought he was racing against his daughter’s suitor, but little did he know that he was racing against Death as well,’” she read aloud.
“A florid beginning,” Cornelia commented.
“Builder Harry Brockman issued his challenge in seamanship on Friday, after Stevens caught his daughter Violet strolling in the park with the younger man. The loser would have to leave town—Brockman without his prize, or Stevens, with his daughter. It seemed that Stevens would win either way. Instead, he collapsed near the end of the race, ramming his yacht, the Nittany Nob, into the pier currently under construction near the Vinoy Hotel. The conclusion of the police: poison.”
“Do they say why, or which poison this time?” the professor inquired.
“We’ll see,” Teddy said. “‘When Stevens was examined by the doctors, they discovered a rash across his forehead that conformed to the band of his cap. At first, they assumed that the rash was caused by his sweat, since the cap was damp. Once they suspected poison, however, they alerted the police, who are having the item analyzed.”
“Ah, we are still left in suspense,” Cornelia said. “Now, about dinner—”
“There’s more!” Teddy cried. “We have since learned that the cap was already on the yacht Sunday morning, having been delivered to the Nittany Nob sometime since their last sailing. There was a card from the Saint Petersburg Yacht Club with the cap, and it bore the burgee of the Club, but the Club’s officers say that they sent no such gift. There are no named suspects, but of course there is the vexed Mr. Brockman, Miss Theodora Lawless, an aggrieved former fiancée’—how in the world did she learn that? ‘—of Ansel Stevens, only son N. McKinley Stevens, who stands to inherit the business, and, of course, any number of rival builders who would benefit from Mr. Stevens’ unfinished contracts.”
“She took a swipe at everybody,” the professor said. “Now, is that the end?”
“It is.”
“Then let’s have dinner. Swimming makes me hungry, even when I’m merely watching it.”
When the trio returned to their room, they discovered Detective Knaggs and Sergeant Duncan leaning against the wall outside their hotel room, waiting for them.
Knaggs straightened and stuck his notebook back into his jacket. “We need to have a word with you three again. Something needs clearing up.”
“Of course,” Uncle Percival said, unlocking the door.
Cornelia had another bad feeling in the stomach. The pair of officers didn’t sit down, and the one had his notebook out again.
Her uncle didn’t sit, either. His hearing device was in his ear and his face had the calm expression he wore when he was in the middle of tricky negotiations. “You said you needed clarification, gentlemen. How may I assist you?”
“Professor Pettijohn, we have made inquiries since our last visit,” Knaggs said.
Duncan broke in. “And you want to know what we found out? She ain’t your niece.” He jerked a thumb towards Teddy. “You’re not related to her at all.”
Knaggs made a quieting gesture at Duncan. “Why would you say she was your niece, when she’s not? She came from Colorado with your real niece, so why didn’t you just say she was a friend of your niece? More importantly, why are you paying for her to stay in this hotel?”
Cornelia held her breath. Teddy had no good reason for being with them outside of friendship. What Knaggs was implying was scandalous, but the truth was illegal.
The professor didn’t blink. “Really gentlemen, you look like men of the world.”
He walked over to Teddy and put a protective arm around her shoulders. “I’m sure I can rely on your discretion. I claimed she was my niece to avoid gossip. You see, gentlemen, Miss Lawless and I are engaged to be married.”
Shock forced Cornelia into a seat. She listened, speechless, as her uncle continued.
“I realize that Theodora is perhaps twenty years younger than me, which would make us subject to talk. We wanted to avoid that while we shopped for a honeymoon cottage and made all the necessary arrangements.”
Twenty? More like thirty or thirty-five, Cornelia thought.
“If you have done a thorough checking, you will discover that she and I have been looking at rentals to live in whilst we search for our cottage in Paradise. I assure you that she has been staying with my niece, her maid of honor, in the other side of the suite to avoid the appearance of impropriety before the ceremony.”
Teddy, teary-eyed, took the professor’s arm. “Oh, sweet Percival, I’m so sorry. I told you we should have eloped.”
He patted her hand fondly. “Nonsense, my dear. You deserve a proper wedding with all the trimmings. Before you came along, I took for granted I would die a bachelor. You have made an old man very happy.”
All the color had drained from Cornelia’s face. She clung to the arms of the chair and did her best not to gape. Insane, both of them.
Knaggs harrumphed. “Well, that does explain a few things, sir. Were you aware that Miss Lawless’ former fiancé was in Saint Petersburg before you traveled here?”
“Absolutely not,” Professor Pettijohn said. “If I had known, we would have chosen Naples or perhaps Marco Island for our nuptials. I want no distraction from our future happiness.”
“A pity that you didn’t elope,” Knaggs said. “It would have saved us some time.”
“My apologies,” Cornelia’s uncle said. “Can you forgive a romantic old fool for making your job harder?”
Once the officers were gone, Cornelia’s shock turned to anger. She bounded out of the chair and rounded on her uncle. “Now look what you’ve gotten us into. Engaged? That preposterous lie is going to come back on us. Then what?”
“It seemed to be the best explanation,” her uncle said.. “It stopped them from asking more personal questions. An engagement rather neat
ly explains why we’re traveling together. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.”
“I can’t believe you thought of it at all,” Cornelia snapped. “You realize that now people will expect the two of you to marry, and sooner rather than later.”
“Hmm.” The professor rubbed his white-haired chin. “We can always break the engagement if we need to.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Teddy said. “One broken engagement is bad enough. Another one will make people think I’m a shrew.”
“They already think you’re a murderess,” Cornelia said. “How much worse could the gossip get?”
“A woman can have any number of good reasons to kill a man, but getting jilted twice makes her sound like an ugly spinster.”
Cornelia smacked herself in the forehead as she sank back down in the armchair. They were both hopeless. “You are a spinster. Just not an ugly one.”
“That’s hardly the point. I’m already suffering from public humiliation.”
“I can’t fake my death again; you can only get away with that once. I could simply marry her,” Uncle Percival said. “Then we could argue that she wanted Stevens alive, so he could see that she’d found a better prospect.”
“They’ll think she’s a gold digger.”
“Nonsense, they’ll think I’m an old fool.”
“They’ll think both,” Cornelia snapped, “and they’ll be right about you.”
Chapter twelve
The trio had breakfast at a table that provided a splendid view of the water and the distant beach. Despite the hour—and, more importantly, the cool morning air—there were young men and women splashing in the surf.
“That water must be freezing. They’ll catch their death,” Cornelia said.
“But they’ll look good for one another while they’re doing it,” Teddy replied. “The mating dance pays no heed to weather.”
This morning, Uncle Percival was able to have the Eggs Benedict, a new favorite of his. Teddy had been too amused by the engagement story to take more than her standard medicinal dose of alcohol.
“So, what do you think of the concoction?” Cornelia asked after the professor tried it.
“I’ve always loved the dish, but their version is very good,” he said. “A little rich to eat regularly, but pleasant as an indulgence.”
He extended a hand and casually rested it on the morning newspaper, which he’d placed next to Cornelia. His fingers wiggled, and she glanced down. The police department had a new chief of detectives. Is that why Knaggs and Duncan were being so aggressive? Then, she saw the article beneath it. Mitch had provided an update on Ansel Stevens’ death.
“Mystery Woman Delivers Death Cap to Stevens,” bold lettering said. Below it, in smaller lettering: “Police Confirm Nicotine Poisoning.”
Cornelia moved her tea cup onto the newspaper, blocking Teddy’s view. The poor thing was just coming out of her state of melancholy. There was no need to put her back in it. She took another bite of her eggs, and followed this with a sip of tea.
On Saturday, marina employees saw a woman climb onto the Nittany Nob, carrying something wrapped in tissue. Suspicions of imminent theft were alleviated a few moments later when she descended sans the item. This item is now believed to be the captain’s cap.
After cautious examination of this cap, police determined that a liberal dose of nicotine, possibly from an undiluted insecticide, had been applied to the interior band. Also, the burgee of the Yacht Club had been sewn onto the cap by hand. Nicotine deaths are rare, but they can happen.
“This was no act of impulse,” Detective Joseph Knaggs said. “This was ruthless murder.”
The woman was described as white, slender, and approximately five feet and a half tall. wearing a stylish dress of either blue or green. Her hair was concealed by a dark hat, but is believed to be light, perhaps blonde or bleached.
Anyone who knows or suspects the identity of this woman should contact the police.
Well, with that description, it could be half of the women in Saint Petersburg. Maybe not half; the mystery woman was closer to her height than Teddy’s, and Cornelia had been the tallest nurse in her class.
The professor, who had been studying the Real Estate pages, turned to Teddy. “Since we are now publicly engaged, my dear fiancée, I have a suggestion for the day. They’re promoting some waterfront property in Tampa Shores today, and I think we should go see what’s available.”
“Tampa Shores?” Cornelia took up the cue. “Where is that in relation to the Vinoy?”
“It’s not as far as Tampa. The town is better known as Oldsmar, named after the car manufacturer. He invested in some of the land there.”
“I see,” Cornelia said. “Do they sell the cars there, or actually make them?”
“The local product appears to be tractors. It’s a farming community.” He shrugged. “Where would an old mechanical engineer feel more at home?”
A farming community appealed to Cornelia, but Teddy looked a little disappointed. “Waterfront. Does it have a beach?”
“It is advertised as having one,” Uncle Percival said, “but we’ve all seen how land agents exaggerate. Why don’t you two go upstairs and freshen up, while I make a few phone calls?”
Teddy headed for the elevator, but Cornelia lagged behind and turned so Teddy couldn’t read her lips. “Wouldn’t Mac and his father have smelled nicotine?”
“They would have. Unfortunately, it smells like fish,” the retired professor from the Agricultural and Mechanical College of Kentucky informed her. “Not an unusual smell in a marina.”
Arthur had finished his own breakfast and was preparing to leave for work when the phone rang. It was Evelyn.
“They’re headed for Oldsmar today,” she whispered. “Can you believe our luck?”
“What? Why are you whispering?”
“Because the old man hasn’t gotten on the elevator yet. He and the concierge are busy with something. Are you coming to get me, or should I take a taxi there?”
When they arrived in Oldsmar, Cornelia was impressed with the thoughtfully laid out streets that led from the downtown area to the bay. The beach itself was small and unimpressive, but the enclosed bay was a turquoise jewel flanked on the far side by the trees of Safety Harbor. Gentle waves lapped at the sand, and Cornelia felt that if the vacant lot they were standing on were empty of people, it would be a lovely place to sit and enjoy the view.
Unfortunately, the beach was full of would-be homeowners who had been invited to a “Gold Rush” by Mr. Prettyman, a local land agent. He wore the straw boater and jacket that seemed to be the dress code for selling real estate in Florida. His assistants welcomed the would-be homeowners to the lots being sold, spreading them out, and handed each a trowel or child-sized shovel. Their host extolled the virtues of the area, wheedling the women with the nearby farms, restaurants, and library, and the men with the excellent crabbing and fishing to be had in the rippling bay.
“Home construction will be handled by the Oldsmar Land Development Company, which will be more than happy to tailor your future home to your needs.”
“I thought this was Tampa Shores,” one of the other customers asked in the Maine accent they’d become familiar with at the hotel.
“This area is still in the process of being developed,” Prettyman assured him, “and is currently referred to as Tampa Shores.”
Because the name is more attractive to tourists, Cornelia surmised.
The land agent answered a few more questions as the remainder of the lots filled, then announced that the Gold Rush was ready to begin. “On my signal …”
He blew a whistle. “Dig!” his assistants shouted.
Sand flew as the buyers, none of whom had likely seen the business end of a real shovel in their lives, scraped the ground and flung their burdens in all directions. There were many loud complaints.
“Keep digging!” Prettyman urged them. “There’s treasure everywhere in Tampa Shores.”
Teddy stabbed her patch with her shovel a few times, then knelt in the sand and began sifting it like a prospector. Cornelia bent and used the inexpensive trowel she’d been provided, not particularly surprised to find more sand underneath the surface sand. The professor simply rested on his cane and watched the people dig. He looked from the crowd to the plat displaying the lots, smiling slightly. He’s probably entertained by the fools here, Cornelia, who had no faith in real gold lying under the ground, thought.
“Look!” Teddy cried, holding up two golden coins. “I found some! Do I get to keep them?”
The agent grinned. “They’re yours, young lady. Now picture a fine new home here, with the lovely vista you see around it. Add a chaise-lounge for the inside, a sturdy Olds Chair for the outside—product of the local mill—and you’ll have many pleasant evenings to watch the water.”
Teddy closed her eyes briefly. “It sounds relaxing, but I bore quickly. What sort of social life flourishes here?”
“All your lovely heart desires,” Prettyman assured her. Cornelia found his flattery stomach-turning. “There’s a Woman’s Club that’s responsible for the local library. If you’re seeking entertainment, a casino is going up not far from here, and Tampa Downs will be opening later this year.”
The tourists would follow. Why, Cornelia wondered, were people so hell-bent on improving places that needed no improvement? The ocean and lush vegetation of Oldsmar were beautiful, so of course the land had to be paved over and the water crisscrossed by bridges. The live oaks of Safety Harbor, which stretched gracefully over a bay almost shallow enough to wade across at low tide, would fall to the axes of developers too blind to see that they were destroying what made this place valuable.
“Murderess!” a voice screamed, jolting Cornelia out of her grumblings. She turned quickly to see who had shouted.
It couldn’t be … but there they were: Arthur Downs, with a somber expression on his face, and Evelyn Stevens, who was the accuser. She was clad in black from head to toe, including a velvet cloche trimmed with black felt flowers and a net veil. It was stylish, but hardly suitable for digging on a beach.