Old Bones Never Die

by Lesley A. Diehl

  The night I got back from the funeral I tossed and turned in my bed, looking for an answer to this dilemma: how to divide myself into enough parts to go around. Knowing that sleep would not come, I got up around three in the morning and went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. If I was going to find an answer to my problems, I might as well be wide awake and not simply in a state of anxious sleeplessness.

  The coffee did the trick so well that my caffeinated brain added another item to my already overcrowded list. I wanted to call Nappi, and I should do it soon. The coffee failed in other ways. It didn’t keep me awake or aware, and I was startled into consciousness when Grandy came into the kitchen at seven the next morning.

  “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable sleeping in a bed than face down on a table?” she asked.

  “Here’s my problem …” I began, deciding I should run all the issues by her to get her input.

  Before I could continue, Grandy gave me a puzzled look. “You never run things by anybody, girl. Why now?”

  “Now it’s clear even to me that I’m trying to do too many things. I need help.”

  “Well, you’ve got help. Max and I are here, and we’ll do anything you need us to do in the shops. And you might want to involve Shelley more. She’s eager to become more of an asset to you and Madeleine. As for the other, that’s up to you to work out, but maybe you could put Crusty on hold for a while.”

  For a moment I was tongue-tied. So Grandy had figured out how Crusty fit into my life. “I already decided to do that.”

  She gave me a wry little smile. “Good. Now get yourself into that shower and head on out to West Palm this morning for merchandise to sell while I mind the shop. You and Sammy can do your snooping this afternoon.”

  “Madeleine—”

  “I’ll call her and tell her you’re back and that everything is taken care of.”

  I got up from the table and grabbed Grandy around her waist. “I owe you big time.”

  “Yes, you do. And I’m going to give you a piece of advice I know you won’t follow, but since you asked for my help, you have to listen.”

  Oh, boy. Now I remembered why I didn’t usually seek out the input of others. People who love you often tell you things “for your own good,” and in my case that meant things I already knew but was too stubborn to admit I knew.

  “First of all, don’t you drag Sammy into your snooping. You know that man will do anything for you, even when it gets him into trouble. And second, I like Nappi Napolitani as much as you do, but leave him out of this thing. In fact, you might want to take yourself out of it too. And finally, if you need a partner in your usually not-well-thought-out detecting schemes, I’m your gal. That’s all.”

  “I’m only going to give Nappi a call,” I said in my defense.

  “Then he’ll be coming up here to talk with you, and we’ll find ourselves doing something on the far side of legal.”

  “You’re just jealous I might choose someone other than you as my sidekick.”

  “Damn right I am.” She shoved me toward the bathroom.

  Chapter 7

  I had a plan. It wasn’t one I had developed, but one Grandy laid out for me. Of course, she’d also given me advice I had no intention of following, but the rest of what she said made good sense. I put the top down on my convertible and sped down the Beeline Highway toward West Palm. If I located enough merchandise today, I might be able to stock the motor home store and let Grandy drive it to the coast this weekend. Madeleine and I offered a special service to our consignors: for our regulars who lived out of the area in places like West Palm or even Stuart and Wellington, we picked up from their houses, making it convenient for them to consign with us rather than with another shop. There were plenty of other places they could take their used clothing and other items. The problem today was that I might find more merchandise than I could carry in my car. Oh well, then I’d have to make another run, maybe tomorrow. If I could find the time.

  Sammy and I were scheduled to meet when I got back today and visit the pawn shops. I passed through Indiantown, halfway to my destination, and decided to pull into the McDonald’s there to get myself a coffee and an Egg McMuffin. My appetite had returned, and I couldn’t take the risk of not keeping up my strength as I attempted to fit everything into one morning’s work.

  As I turned into the parking lot to proceed to the drive-thru lane, I noticed a black SUV turning behind me. On the driver’s side, I spied the Gator Construction logo. The windows were tinted too dark for me to see who drove it, but after I ordered my food and was heading for the window to pick up and pay, the driver of the SUV rolled down his window and stuck his head out. It was the construction company’s lawyer, Danny.

  “I thought I recognized you. Eve, isn’t it? We met the other day.”

  “I remember,” I said. What did he want?

  “Got time to pull in, so we can have our morning coffee together?”

  Of course I don’t, said the part of me that wanted to accomplish my errands and get back home. Why not, said the curious part. I pulled into a parking space. I was about to get out of my car and go into the restaurant when he motioned me over to his car.

  “I’ll leave the air conditioner running and we can talk. It’s so darn noisy in there.”

  I liked his idea. Every time I sat in a fast food place, I ended up smelling like a burger and fries.

  I wasn’t aware we had anything to talk about, but what the hell? He was associated with the construction project and came to the site soon after Frida and I were called to look at the bones. Maybe he knew something I should know … I mean, maybe he knew something Frida should know.

  “Nice car,” I said, sliding into the passenger’s seat and noting the soft, black-leather seats. “The company offers its employees fine rides, I guess.”

  “Not everyone gets a ride like this. The construction foreman drives a truck, but all the other executives have use of a car. The company owns a line of identical SUVs.”

  “Yes, well I noted that your back-hoe operator didn’t drive one of these, not even a truck.” Of course I knew the laborers wouldn’t be given cars, but I loved making a point of it. He seemed so smug about his ride.

  He ignored my comment. “Sad about the back-hoe operator. The foreman told me he was good at his job. A tragedy. Hit-and-run, I understand. I guess the cops haven’t found who did it yet? No clues at all.”

  Was he trying to pump me for information? It seemed like it.

  “You wanted to talk?” I said.

  “Just being friendly. I thought maybe we could get together for dinner some night.”

  What an arrogant so-and-so. I was about to say no, when I considered that fishing for information could go both ways.

  “Look, I have to get on the road—I’ve got client to meet—but here’s my card. Call me.” I handed him one of the cards from the shop and got out of his car and into mine.

  I backed out of my parking space and turned onto the main road. He tooted at me, and I waved.

  Something about that man bothered me. Maybe I just didn’t much care for lawyers. I’d made a comment once to Sammy that most lawyers’ pictures made them look like felons, and Sammy said in his opinion they were. I knew it was unfair of me to feel that way. I’d met only one lawyer I liked. He’d been recommended to the Egrets by my friend Nappi. Someday I might need the help of an attorney—probably would need one with my propensity for sticking my nose into things that were none of my business and engaging in behavior that skirted the wrong side of the law. Speaking of which …. I picked up my cellphone, pulled up the list of my contacts, and chose one.

  The phone rang once and then Nappi’s smooth voice spoke my name. “Eve, my dear. I haven’t had the chance to tell you how sorry I am about Alex.”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I could use some help.”

  I needed the name of a pit bull attorney. Who better to ask than Nappi?

  I told Nappi I was heading down to West
Palm, so he invited me for lunch at a brew pub in City Place.

  “I’ve got just the man for you. I’ll see if he can meet us there,” he said when I asked him about a legal representative.

  I looked at the deep-fried pastry I’d purchased at McDonald’s. I loved their fry pies, but I decided to leave room for lunch, a meal I determined would be neither fried nor fatty. I considered tossing the pie—without its wrapper, of course—onto the side of the road to feed the wildlife, but decided they shouldn’t eat that much cholesterol either. I wrapped it carefully and tossed it on the passenger’s seat. I pressed on the accelerator and let the wind ruffle my hair and the sun warm my face. Nothing better in Florida than a convertible with the top down.

  My visits to several West Palm matrons who consigned with our shop were so successful that I had to put up the top and stash the clothes and a few household items like two Tommy Bahama side tables in my backseat. I was only a few minutes late to the restaurant, but Nappi and another man were already seated at a booth in the back near the glassed-in area that held the fermenter and brewing vats. They’d worked their way halfway down the dark ale in the glasses in front of them.

  I slid into the booth across from them and apologized for my tardiness. Nappi reached for my hand and planted his usual gentlemanly kiss on it.

  “No problem,” said Nappi. “I took the time to fill Nathan in on your situation. Nathan Hardy, this is Eve Appel. Eve, Nathan.”

  We nodded at each other. Nathan appeared to be younger than Nappi, if his unlined baby face was any indication, but his youthful visage was offset by silver hair. It made him look like a child playing grownup, but when he spoke, his voice was deep and authoritative with the touch of a Southern accent, perhaps Georgian. He did not look like a felon at all, although knowing Nappi must have put him in contact with many who broke the law, I wondered if he had done so himself a time or two. I wasn’t being prejudiced. Come on. He was a mob lawyer.

  I sneaked a peek at my watch and got right down to business. I needed to be back in Sabal Bay to go pawn shop hopping with Sammy.

  I told him what I needed: a tough, smart lawyer with enough connections to make it possible to get a young kid off a murder charge.

  “Pardon me for saying this, Ms. Appel, but you don’t look like the kind of person who hangs out with gang members, even young ones. Do you really think this is something you want to get involved in?”

  “I was hoping it was something you might get involved in,” I said. “This kid was coerced somehow to kill a friend of mine. I suspect his family was threatened by the gang. I want the best deal you can make for him, preferably no time in either a youth facility or prison, and for you to make certain that being back home with his mother doesn’t expose him to consequences from the men who put him up to the killing. I’d like it if you could manage to get them some jail time, preferably long sentences.”

  He tapped his buffed and trimmed nails on the wooden table top and looked at Nappi, who nodded.

  “Can do,” he said.

  “I’ll pay you whatever you need,” I said.

  He again looked at Nappi, who shook his head.

  “My secretary just this morning told me I haven’t done my pro bono work for the month, so it’s all taken care of.”

  I snorted in disbelief. “You think I can’t pay my bills?” I directed this to Nappi.

  “I know you can, my dear, but you needn’t worry.”

  “Nappi, I love you, you know that, but it’s against my moral principles to owe too many favors to mob bosses. I am already in your debt. Let’s not put me in the poor house.”

  He grinned.

  The lawyer chuckled and took the last swallow of his beer. “I’ll send you a bill.”

  “You’ll need my address.” I started to pull a card from my purse, but he put up his hand to stop me.

  “I know where to find you,” he said.

  Spoken by someone who didn’t have his pleasant manner, his words might have been considered a threat, but I took them the way he meant them, as a friendly reassurance.

  The waiter, sensing we had finished transacting our business, approached the table to take our lunch orders.

  “Not that your company isn’t wonderful, but I’ve got to be in Sabal Bay shortly, so I’ll take my order to go.”

  My luncheon partners waved away my apology.

  As I left the restaurant with my turkey club, I heard Nathan Hardy ask Nappi, “Don’t you think it would have been wise to talk her out of getting into a gang-related matter?”

  Nappi’s reply made me smile. “You don’t talk Eve Appel out of anything when she has that determined look on her face.”

  It was good to have friends who understood you.

  I planned to drop the household goods at the store for Grandy and Shelley to tag and put out on the floor and also to sort the clothing into the items we would sell here and the ones that would go into the RV for the weekend flea market at Stuart. I was surprised to find Madeleine nursing the twins in the backroom of the shop.

  “Hiya, Eve,” she said as she expertly handed one baby to Grandy and accepted the other from Shelley’s arms. How did women learn all this stuff? Or was it hardwired into their girlie brains? Was this stuff in my head, too, just sitting there waiting to be tapped into until the right moment came along? I tried to envision myself with a baby in my arms. Nope, couldn’t do it. Maybe something was missing in my genetic programming.

  Madeleine gave me one of her looks, the one that expressed her worry for my wellbeing as well as her judgment that I wasn’t in touch with my inner feelings. “How are things?”

  “I’m fine, just fine. I attended Alex’s funeral and met the woman he was seeing in Miami. She’s a great gal. I think they had something wonderful going.”

  Grandy settled one of the twins on her shoulder—the girl, I guessed, because of the pink trim on the little shirt. God, babies were tiny. I worried that they might break if you jostled them too much. And then that little bundle of pink flesh let out a cry. Maybe babies weren’t as delicate as I thought. This one had the lungs of a bull alligator.

  “Did you accomplish what you wanted in West Palm?” Grandy asked, shifting the yowling babe and rhythmically rocking her in her arms. Little Eve quieted.

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked. “Did Nappi call you?”

  Grandy has mastered the innocent little old lady look, blue eyes all round and wide, mouth pursed in a tiny smile. She gave me that look now, but I wasn’t deceived. Nor was she.

  “I know you’ve got your fingers in the case against that boy who shot Alex. I just don’t know exactly how.”

  I tried the Grandy innocent look.

  “Why are you doing that funny thing with your face?” asked Madeleine as she held the other baby out to me.

  “I’m not too good with babies,” I said. As soon as David Jr. was in my arms, he looked up at me and began to cry. “See? I told you.”

  “He needs burping. Put him over your shoulder and pat his back.”

  I did. He burped up something foul smelling on my shoulder.

  Madeleine got up and took him. “Sorry about that.”

  I saw Sammy’s truck pull up in front of the store. “Gotta go. I’ll be back to close up shop.”

  Grandy came back from the bathroom and held out a wet cloth. “Better clean off the baby burp.”

  I did the best I could with the cloth, then raced out the door and jumped into Sammy’s truck.

  “What’s that smell?” he said before I could fasten my seatbelt.

  Jumping back out of the truck, I ran into the store, past the clothes’ rounds and into the backroom. I pulled out a woman’s shirt hanging in the small closet at the rear of the store. Balling up the shirt I was wearing, I tossed it on the closet floor to be retrieved later and pulled the other shirt on. It was missing several buttons, which I had intended replacing but hadn’t found the time. It would have to do for now. Back out the door I dashed and jumped in
to the truck. Out of breath, I panted, “Let’s go.”

  Sammy gave me a look. “Not until you button up your shirt. You’re showing more cleavage than usual.”

  “No buttons.” I showed him. “Don’t worry. It’ll work in our favor when we question people. You can scare them while I seduce them into giving us information. It’s a new version of good cop, bad cop.”

  Sammy seemed amused at my description. He shrugged and shifted into gear. “Renfro Pawn is our first stop. The shop should have reopened after the older Mr. Renfro’s funeral.”

  It was open for business again. The man behind the counter listened to Sammy describe the watch, but since his father had owned and operated the shop until his death, we had little hope the son could be helpful.