by Ron Base
“I can’t,” Tree said.
“Why not?”
“Someone stole my car.”
“Why would anyone steal the Beetle?”
“It’s a long story,” Tree said.
“It always is.” Freddie issued a sigh. “I don’t want to leave Clinton here alone, and I don’t think it’s safe for any of us in the house right now.”
“I’ll meet you at the corner in half an hour,” Tree said. “That’ll give me a chance to change into some dry clothes.”
“What are you doing in wet clothes?”
“Part of the long story,” Tree said.
_________
After Freddie hung up, Tree stripped off his damp clothes, showered, and began to feel slightly more human as he toweled himself off. He had just finished dressing in a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt when there was a knock on the front door. It was at moments like these, he thought, that he wished he had a gun.
Or maybe it was better at moments like these that he didn’t have a gun.
Another knock, much more authoritative this time. When he opened the door, Detective Cee Jay Boone said, “Good evening, Tree. How have you been?”
With her was another detective, Owen Markfield. Tree groaned inwardly. These were the two people he least wanted to see right now.
“The cream of the Sanibel Island police department right here on my doorstep,” Tree said, putting on his best game face.
“You have a few minutes to talk to us, Tree?” Cee Jay said this in a way that did not leave a whole lot of choice. A handsome African-American woman, she had lost considerable weight since the last time he had seen her—the newly trimmed Cee Jay, lean and mean and ready to give Tree more trouble.
They had a complicated history together, beginning with her attempt to kill him. She denied the attempted murder charge, and in fact the court had thrown out the case against her. Since then, perhaps out of some deep-seated sense of remorse, she had arranged to help him out on a few cases. But she had also arrested him on more than one occasion. Thus he was never sure at any given time whether she was going to be an ally or an enemy.
“I was just on my way out,” Tree said.
“We won’t take long, Callister.” Owen Markfield, he of the youthfully smooth, sun-burnished skin, the perfectly coiffed blond hair, the expensive aftershave—Owen Markfield was another matter, entirely. He most definitely fell into the enemy category, loudly vowing to destroy Tree in retaliation for perceived past criminal acts. Nothing to those acts, of course.
To most of those acts.
So far Markfield had failed in his quest for vengeance.
So far.
“Come in,” Tree said, stepping back to allow the two detectives to enter.
When Cee Jay saw the look of the place, she came to a stop and turned to Tree. “Are you renovating?”
“We’re in the process of making some changes,” was the way Tree framed the lie. Right now, he did not want to deal with a B and E investigation that would only raise more questions than he had the inclination to answer.
“It looks like someone broke in,” Markfield said.
“What can I do for the two of you?” Tree said.
“The Fort Myers police have asked us to assist them with an ongoing murder investigation,” Markfield said, producing the notebook he always seemed to have on hand when he encountered Tree.
“The investigation of whose murder?” Tree asked.
“Come on, Callister, don’t start out like this.” Markfield already sounded fed up, and he was barely in the door. “You know damned well whose murder we are talking about.”
“It’s Edith Goldman, Tree,” Cee Jay interjected gently.
“I’m afraid there’s not much I can help you with,” Tree said. If Owen Markfield was already irritated, Tree thought, it might have something to do with the fact that, as usual when he was around, Tree barely opened his mouth before the lies began to tumble out.
“You found her body,” Cee Jay said.
“So you know that my wife and I both gave statements to the Fort Myers police.”
“Your name is also on her calendar,” Markfield interjected. “She had you down for a meeting the day before she died. Also, you are listed on her phone log a few days before that.”
“Yes, like I told the Fort Myers police, we talked about a possible assignment.”
“What kind of assignment?” Markfield asked.
“No idea,” Tree said. “We never got that far.”
“Why not?” Markfield, demanding.
“Because I told her I was retired, that I wasn’t taking on any more clients.”
Markfield looked at him, failing to hide his surprise. “You retired?”
“That’s right,” Tree said.
Markfield snorted derisively and made a notation in his notebook. Cee Jay said, “When did this retirement happen?” She too sounded dubious.
“I recently moved out of my office at the Chamber of Commerce,” Tree said, a statement that at least approached the truth.
“It appears Edith was mixed up with some pretty unsavory characters,” Markfield said.
“Well, she was a criminal defense lawyer in Lee County,” Tree said. “I don’t suppose she was getting a lot of calls from Harvard Business School graduates.”
“We believe that one of her clients was a Montreal, Canada, gangster by the name of Vic Trinchera,” Cee Jay said. “Does that name mean anything to you?”
Tree managed to look her straight in the eye when he said, “Why should it?”
“Shortly before Ms. Goldman’s death, Vic Trinchera was murdered in Miami.”
Tree didn’t say anything.
“In her calendar, Edith Goldman penciled Trinchera’s name beside yours.” Markfield had picked up the thread of the conversation.
Tree made a show of looking confused. “I don’t know what to say about that.”
“You could say something like, ‘I find that peculiar,’” Cee Jay said.
“Okay. I find it peculiar.”
“You are certain you don’t know this guy,” Markfield said.
“I know who he is now,” Tree said, skirting an outright lie.
“So you do know who he is.”
“His death was all over the news,” Tree said.
“There’s also something else,” Cee Jay said.
“Yes?”
“We received a report of an abandoned car in Coral Gables.”
Tree didn’t say anything, but the muscles in his stomach began to tighten.
“A 1980 Volkswagen Beetle,” she continued.
“Registered to you, Callister,” Markfield said.
“Yes, as a matter of fact my car was stolen in Miami earlier today.”
“So then why didn’t you report it stolen?” Cee Jay said.
“I guess I didn’t have the time,” Tree said.
Markfield jerked his head up from his notebook. “Your car was stolen, and you didn’t have time to report it?”
“I’m having trouble getting my head around why two detectives on Sanibel Island would be so interested in a banged-up old Volkswagen stolen in Miami,” Tree said.
Markfield issued one of the smirks Tree had come to recognize as a prelude to trouble. “Exactly. Why would two busy detectives like us ever be interested in a rusted-out old Volkswagen in Miami? Can you explain that?”
“I’m the one who’s asking, Detective.”
“Maybe it has something to do with the fact that there was a body in your car, Tree,” Cee Jay said.
Markfield shot Cee Jay a dark look that suggested his punchline had been robbed from him. Then he addressed Tree. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Whose body did they find?”
Markfield’s eyebrows shot up in amazement. “What? Depending on whose body it is you might know something about it?”
“I don’t know anything about a body,” Tree said.
Cee Jay said, “The Miami police
have identified the dead man as a local artist named Crimson, although they say his real name is André Manteau.”
25
Freddie chose that moment to come through the front door. She reacted with surprise when she saw the two detectives. “Like old times,” she managed to say.
“Yes,” said Markfield. “Complete with us asking Tree about dead bodies.”
Freddie looked even more amazed. “What dead bodies?”
“There’s only one,” Tree said.
“Actually, there are two,” Cee Jay said.
“So far,” Markfield amended.
“Let’s be fair,” Cee Jay said. “Only one body was found in Tree’s Volkswagen.”
“The car was stolen,” Tree said, speaking to Freddie as much as anyone. “I have no idea how the body got there.”
“But you know who Crimson is,” Cee Jay said.
Before Tree could indicate she shouldn’t say anything, Freddie blurted, “Crimson’s dead?”
“So you do know him,” Markfield shot back.
“I know his work,” Freddie said with impressive speed.
“Then it would just be coincidence that he ended up dead in your husband’s Volkswagen.”
“I just arrived home from work, so I’ve got some catching up to do here,” Freddie said.
Cee Jay addressed Tree. “This André Manteau in addition to his pursuit of art, was also president of a Montreal-based biker gang.”
“Is that a fact?” Tree said.
“This is all very interesting,” Freddie said. “But it’s late, and I’ve had a long day, and I’m not very interested in hearing about dead Montreal bikers.”
“Even if that biker’s body was found in your husband’s car?” Cee Jay said.
“Whatever it is, we can talk about this in the morning,” Freddie said.
Markfield addressed Tree, giving him a hard look. “So you know nothing about this, is that what you’re saying?”
“Freddie’s right. It is late. Let’s talk about this when I’ve had a chance to gather my wits,” Tree said.
“You mean as soon as you come up with another set of lies to explain how you’re involved with yet another dead body,” Markfield said. He was having a hard time keeping the anger out of his voice.
Cee Jay turned to Freddie, presenting herself as the voice of reason: “Ms. Stayner, obviously something’s going on here. Someone has broken into your house. A dead body has shown up in your husband’s stolen car. You’re probably in some sort of danger. The police can help, but only if we know what’s going on.”
“You’ll forgive me, Cee Jay, if I don’t look at you or Detective Markfield and see two people particularly interested in being helpful,” said Freddie.
“Have it your way,” Cee Jay said.
_________
When the two detectives were gone, Tree turned to Freddie and said, “Where’s Clinton?”
“I’m going to take you to him,” Freddie said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to stay here, seeing as how someone has now broken in twice.”
“Where are we going?”
“Never mind that. Just get packed—and tell me what’s going on.”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Only so I won’t be quite so surprised the next time the police show up at the door.”
As quickly as he could, Tree told Freddie about the day’s chaotic events: the drive to Miami to see Crimson aka André Manteau; following him into downtown Miami to an abandoned hotel; the attempt on his life; Tree driving Crimson across Alligator Alley only to be abandoned on the side of the road.
“How did you get home?”
“Kelly drove me.” Tree tried to make it sound like this was the most natural thing in the world.
Freddie looked at him. “Kelly Fleming drove out to Alligator Alley and picked you up off the side of the highway?”
“I was trying to get hold of Rex,” Tree said.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I didn’t want to bother you at work.”
“Tree, when you are in trouble, it’s okay to bother me at work.”
“I’ll keep that in mind in the future,” he said.
“Good grief,” Freddie said.
In silence, they collected toiletries and a change of clothing and stuffed everything into an overnight bag—actually, Freddie neatly folded business clothes into a sleek Louis Vuitton overnight bag.
When the packing was finished, Tree said, “You still haven’t told me where we are going.”
“We’re hiding out,” Freddie said.
“Where are we doing that?”
“When you’re on the run, you don’t answer questions like that,” Freddie said.
“Are we on the run?”
“Tramps like us,” replied Freddie, “baby, we were born to run.”
26
They weren’t running all that far, as it turned out.
About ten minutes off the island to Gulf Harbor, the gated community on the Caloosahatchee River where Rex Baxter was now keeping his boat, the Former Actor Too. They were expecting the fugitives at the gatehouse entrance, thus Freddie was able to drive straight into the vast enclave.
They drove along a brick roadway divided by an island containing carefully tended shrubbery, into a parking lot adjacent to the main clubhouse. Freddie turned off the motor and ordered Tree to bring along their overnight bags. Together, they made their way past darkened tennis courts, down to the docks. Pleasure craft that never seemed to move huddled beneath tarps, ghost boats bathed in moonlight. The Former Actor Too, Rex’s sleek thirty-two-foot Cobalt, was a replacement for Former Actor, the craft that had blown up off Useppa Island. It was berthed in one of the end slips, outlined in soft light.
Rex was on the rear deck holding a beer. Kelly Fleming worked up a welcoming smile from her perch on the stern boat seat. Next to her, Clinton leapt up, gave himself a good shake, and then started his tail flailing away as Tree came aboard. He jumped happily up on Tree, and Tree rubbed his ears, relieved to see him.
Rex said, “You don’t get this emotional over me.”
“You don’t jump up on me every time I walk in the door,” Tree said.
“If I had any brains, I’d run the other way,” Rex said.
“We really appreciate you looking after him for a couple of hours,” Freddie said.
Kelly watched closely as Tree embraced the eager Clinton. He could imagine her trying to gauge what importance the dog might have to the story she hoped was her ticket back into the Chicago television market. If only she knew, Tree thought. Or more to the point: if only he knew.
“Would you like something to drink?” Rex said.
“No, thanks,” Tree said.
Rex said, “I wasn’t talking to you. Freddie, how about it, would you like a glass of wine?”
“I could use one,” Freddie said.
“Coming right up,” Rex said. He ducked below deck.
“Tell me what’s happening.” Kelly studied the two of them with a gleam in her eye that Tree knew only too well—Kelly’s ambition unleashed.
“Thank you for retrieving my stranded husband this afternoon,” Freddie said.
“I’ve had occasion to pick Tree off the side of the road before,” Kelly said.
“As I told you, Kelly. Someone stole my car.”
“Is that why the two of you are staying on the boat?”
“Our house was broken into earlier,” Freddie said. “The place is a mess. Neither one of us feels like staying there. I phoned Rex, and he was kind enough to offer the Former Actor Too.”
“Hey, this is the third-safest community in the United States.” Rex was in Chamber of Commerce-booster mode as he returned with Freddie’s wine. “If we can ever persuade Tree to move off the island, it’s certain to become the very safest.”
By now Tree had seated himself with Clinton nestled beside him, his head on Tree’s lap. Tree stroked his ears while Kelly watched,
eyes agleam with suspicion.
“I don’t know,” she said. “There’s something going on here that I’m missing.”
“With Tree, I’ve discovered, it’s just as well not to ask too many questions,” Rex said.
“You sure the two of you aren’t in trouble?” Kelly said. “Maybe you should talk about it.”
“We’re fine,” Freddie said smoothly. “Right now what we need is a good night’s sleep.”
“Make yourselves comfortable here for as long as you like,” Rex said. “There are fresh towels down below and fresh sheets on the bed, so you should be fine, at least for tonight.”
“We really appreciate this, Rex,” Tree said.
“Come on, Kelly, let’s get out of here, and let these people get some rest.” He pointed a finger at Tree. “And you stay out of trouble.”
“I’m retired, remember?”
“I’m trying to keep that in mind,” Rex said. “However, you’re not making it easy.”
Kelly was on her feet smiling down at Tree, the glitter still in her eyes. “You’ll never retire, Tree.”
“You don’t think so?”
She shook her head. “You’re capable of many things, but I don’t think retirement is among them.”
“When we were married I used to think sometimes that when you were talking about me, you weren’t talking about me at all.”
“Who was I talking about?” Kelly asked.
“You were talking about yourself.”
Kelly produced another icy smile and said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
________
“Can I be honest with you?” Freddie said as they walked Clinton along the moonlit strip of beach that ran through the spit of land beyond the Gulf Harbor boat docks. The moonlight tipped the lapping waters of the Caloosahatchee. The scene called for Dorothy Lamour in a sarong with a ukulele.
“You certainly can,” Tree said. “After all, we are married.”
“I’m not certain I like your ex-wife.”
“You’re not seeing Kelly at her best,” Tree said.
“No?”
“She’s fighting for her professional life, and she thinks I can help her.”
“What are you supposed to do?”
“She has this idea that I’m her ticket back to Chicago television. Except she thinks I’m holding out on her.”