Conch Shell Murder

by Dorothy Francis

  Towers. Bay windows. Dormers. Sculpture columns. Hibiscus House evoked impressions of past grandeur, and as Katie paused at the steps, Beck and the enticing fragrance of Cuban coffee greeted her. Looking like a picture from Southern Living, Beck strolled across the wide veranda in a sea-blue jumpsuit, adjusting the pink hibiscus blossom tucked behind her left ear. If such a thing as sleepy alertness existed, Beck Dixon had it.

  “Dear child, I hope you can tolerate a late lunch.” Beck pulled out white wicker chairs and they settled themselves at a round glass-topped table protected from the wind, where pristine napkins folded into fan shapes surrounded more hibiscus blossoms floating in a milk glass gravy boat. “I wanted to wait until the crowd had thinned so we could talk privately.”

  “Any time is a good time to be at Hibiscus House. I’ve been looking forward to our lunch all morning. It sounds enticing on such a blustery day.”

  “Crab salad is the specialty of the day.”

  “Sounds wonderful.” Katie felt her mouth watering as a waitress served their salads along with steaming cups of coffee and a basket of warm rolls.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’ve invited you here.” Beck sipped her coffee then continued. “Diane told me on our early walk this morning that you had agreed to investigate Alexa’s murder.”

  “Right.”

  “I know dawn can break without my being there to sweep up the pieces, but as I told you the other night, I want to help. Maybe if I fill you in on my impressions of the Chitting family, it will benefit you. I’ve known them for years.”

  “I’d appreciate your help.” Katie felt wary of Beck’s eagerness to impart gratuitous information, although she had no reason to suspect any ulterior motives. Diane had told her that in the past Beck frequently offered a sympathetic ear but that she seldom offered advice unless asked.

  “You haven’t asked me where I was the night of the murder.”

  Katie blinked at Beck’s bluntness. “Okay. I’ll ask. Where were you?”

  “Right here in the tearoom. I played hostess to an evening meeting of the Preservation Group’s Ways and Means committee. I can give you names. Grace Benton. Gladys Southard. Maud Peariford. They’ll all vouch for me:’

  Katie jotted the names in her notebook. “Thanks. I’ll check with them.”

  Beck changed the subject abruptly. “I’ve known the Chittings for years, and of course I knew Alexa long before Diane was born. I can give you a fresh perspective. Children sometimes have distorted views of their parents.”

  “I suppose that’s true.” Katie added a bit of salt to her salad and waited.

  “Alexa and I were childhood friends. She was Alexa Morgan then, but after we left high school, we seldom moved in the same social circles. I earned straight A’s all through school, but I couldn’t afford college.”

  “And you wanted to go?”

  “Yes, I did. Instead, I settled for taking some correspondence courses in English and business as I made the most of my talent with food. I went to work as a cook at Casa Marina while Alexa flew to attend Vassar.”

  “What was the source of Alexa’s wealth?”

  “Alexa’s grandfather was a ship’s captain—a wrecking captain.”

  “I understand that the salvaging of wrecked ships was a regulated industry years ago.”

  “Yes. Between the eighteen-thirties and eighteen-fifties, the population of Key West grew from five hundred souls to twenty-seven hundred, and most of these people were New Englanders or English Bahamians involved in the wrecking business.”

  “Sounds rotten—people profiting from the misfortune of others.”

  Beck shrugged. “The law made wrecking a legal business. Millions of dollars’ worth of salvage cases involving ships wrecked on the reefs went through the Key West courts. The general rule was that the first captain to reach a distressed vessel owned salvage rights to that ship.”

  “He got everything?”

  “Oh, no. The cargo was brought to shore and sold right here on Key West docks. The wrecking captain received a percentage of the sale on everything he and his crew had salvaged.”

  “Some deal.”

  “Alexa’s grandfather, or maybe great-grandfather, became extremely wealthy from the wrecking business. He also doubled as a minister and when he preached, his wife watched the reef from their widow’s walk. There’s a story that during one sermon this wife sent a sealed message to her husband telling him that a ship had foundered on the reef.”

  “I suppose that broke up church for the day.”

  “Not so. The minister ended his sermon quickly, gave the benediction to the bowed worshipers as he walked the aisle from pulpit to the rear door of the church, then ran to his ship, getting a head start to the distressed vessel while his parishioners were still saying their Amens.”

  “It must have been a colorful era.”

  “From what I’ve heard and read, it was. The men wore silk top hats and the ladies, dressed in satins and lace, served tea on fine china—even on gold plates.” Beck rose, went to a dining room cupboard, and returned with a silver teapot. “This is a piece of salvage rescued by my great-grandfather.”

  Katie held the heavy pot, admiring its sheen, its intricate design. “I feel as if I’m holding history in my hands.”

  “It’s the only heirloom I have from the salvage days. Through the years, hard times forced my family to sell the other pieces. I’ve heard there were diamonds and pearls along with a gold-plated coffee pot.”

  “I suppose the coming of the steamship ended the salvage business.” Katie set the teapot aside.

  “Yes. That, along with the building of reef lighthouses.”

  “Did you keep in touch with Alexa after she went to college?”

  “Very casually. She’d come home for holidays and for summers, and sometimes we’d get together for lunch or for a sunset picnic on the beach. Alexa enjoyed the Morgan millions and she’d bring college friends to Casa Marina for dinner, always requesting the most expensive dish on the menu—my special crab-stuffed lobster.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t choose to live in the East,” Katie said.

  “Some Conchs find it hard to shake the sand from their shoes. Alexa and I loved this island. It didn’t surprise me when she chose to live here. She captivated Porter Chitting and brought him with her, and her family set him up in business—Chitting Marina. Of course, it’s always been Alexa’s money that’s kept the enterprise going.”

  “Nice for Po.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it marked his downfall. He had won some literary prizes at Yale.” Beck shrugged. “Who knows what might have been? At any rate, I grew tired of cooking at Casa Marina, and when I mentioned it to Alexa she offered to set me up in my own business.”

  “Just like that—a your-wish-is-my-command sort of thing?”

  “Yes. Very much like that. Conches tend to take care of their own. I snapped up her offer. But the tearoom was no gift. Get that straight. I had inherited this house from my parents, but it took a lot of money to modernize the kitchen and remodel the downstairs to accommodate luncheon guests.”

  “A grand home like this, yet you couldn’t afford college?”

  “My dad inherited the house from his father. It was built in the Bahamas, torn apart and shipped here when the focus of the wrecking business shifted to Key West.”

  “Torn down and shipped?” Katie asked. “Sounds impossible.”

  “Many houses back then had no nails. Their joints were fitted together. Guess the place came apart like a puzzle and went back together the same way. Granddad was a good businessman, but Dad wasn’t. After several unfortunate ventures, the house was all he had. We were a poor family.”

  “It’s a lovely place. Your hard work and impeccable taste have worked together to make the tearoom a success.”

  “Thank you. It’s been my life. And a good life at that. I repaid Alexa every cent—with interest, and nowadays, although I seldom do the cooking anymore, I�
�m usually still around to play hostess. Alexa always brought her friends and business associates here for lunch. Her support never lagged.”

  “You knew her well. And you must have liked her.”

  “Yes. I did like and respect her. Some people called her tough-minded and hard, but she dealt fairly with business associates and with the public. Other people snipped at her morals. I made no judgments.”

  “Live and let live.”

  “Right. I never had any problems with her. As we grew older we both began working in the Preservation Group. Neither of us wanted to see Key West develop commercially to the point that it turned into a miniature Miami Beach.”

  “I can understand that.” Katie bit into another roll, enjoying its yeasty warmth, forgetting the calories.

  “The news of Alexa’s cancer devastated me, but it comforted me to know that she could afford the best doctors available.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “Sloan Kettering, back East. Her illness angered her and she never hesitated to verbalize that anger. She raged. Sometimes I think she blamed her family for her illness, or perhaps resented them for being healthy.”

  “And she made no secret about changing her will?”

  “No secret at all.”

  “That must have caused a lot of talk around town.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t hear something of it.”

  “Wasn’t paying attention, I guess. Mac and I’ve been working very hard to make the agency go. Our work involves some travel at times. Guess our attention was on our clients and our cases.”

  “I can understand that,” Beck said. “That’s why I want to fill you in on the Chitting family. You need to find out what happened on that Monday night, and you need some background details to help you.”

  “Let’s forget the family for a moment. You mentioned Rex Layton as a suspect. How do you read him?”

  Beck thought for a moment. “Oh, Rex thinks big. He’s never been a detail man, and although he can charm the fish from the sea, he’d have to hire someone else to clean and cook them. He has lots of big plans for Key West, including the Cayo Hueso project, but he needs practical help in implementing those plans.”

  “He had a lot to lose if Alexa’s new will had gone into effect?”

  “Dear child, it could have meant his job. He’s an elected official, and the business community wants to see Key West expand.”

  “So if Rex can’t bring about that expansion, this bloc of businesspeople may back a candidate who can, right?”

  “Right. Expansion means more money for them. I get angry just thinking about some of the things the city council has allowed to happen to this island.”

  “I suppose you’re thinking about the big cruise ships docking at Mallory.”

  “I certainly am. For years both the locals and the tourists have enjoyed strolling on the dock at sunset and watching the street performers. You know what’s happened to all that. Builders cut the dock in size as they readied it for the cruise ships. Now it’s so minuscule that there’s barely enough room for the jugglers, the tightrope walker, the dancers to perform. Many of them have moved elsewhere. The plaza at the Hilton Hotel offers performing space for a few.”

  “The tourists miss them. I hear talk about that, but at least the cruise ships move during the sunset hours.”

  “And well they should.” Beck’s face flushed. “Who wants to see a cruise ship between himself and the sunset? I abhor them, but the businesspeople see only the dollars those cruise passengers pour into the tills.”

  “So we have cruise ships.”

  “And we have high-rise condos. The council tried to restrict them to four stories, but the builders and their smart lawyers worked around that limitation by designating the ground level as parking area. They claim the first floor starts above that. Lots of people who once had sea-view homes now have backside-of-the-condo-view homes.”

  “Do you know Elizabeth Wright?”

  “I’ve met her.” Beck sniffed as if she smelled something unpleasant. “Frankly, I don’t like her.”

  “Any special reason?”

  “Dear child, surely you’ve seen the woman! Her and her sexy air of aloof sophistication! She turns heads or stomachs, depending on whether her audience is male or female.”

  Katie smiled. “At one time she was in agreement with the mayor about the Cayo Hueso project being built at the salt pond location. So I’m wondering what changed her mind. Did you and Alexa influence her?”

  “Don’t think we didn’t try.” Beck gave a pettish thrust to her lower lip. “At first Rex was more influential with her than we were. He’s a charmer, but then Elizabeth changed her mind, refused to sign the necessary papers, and came up with several ideas of why the project should be dropped. Alexa and I cheered her decision.”

  “Why? I need to know why she changed her mind.”

  “Maybe you’ll have to ask her personally. I don’t have the answer.”

  “And then she changed her mind a second time, again ready to support Cayo Hueso at the salt pond location. Why?”

  “Another something to look into, dear child. I said I could tell you about family. I didn’t say I could figure out Elizabeth Wright and her motives.”

  Katie sipped her tea without replying, again wary of Beck’s volunteer help. She wanted to ask more about Po, about Mary Bethel, about Randy Dade, but she held back. As if Beck could read her mind, she spoke up.

  “Sooner or later you’ll hear talk about Randy. It’s not rumor. It’s truth.”

  “And?”

  “Not too long ago he flared up at Alexa for trying to persuade Diane to send their kids up north to a private boarding school. Randy said he’d see Alexa dead before he’d let her interfere with his family.”

  “Did you hear this threat?”

  “No, but I know people who did hear it. I never took his words literally. Randy has a temper, but basically, he’s easy-going, and I can’t imagine him murdering his mother-in-law or anyone else.”

  “Why are you telling me about this rumor?”

  “I wanted you to hear it from me before you heard it from someone else. Try to imagine it, Katie. It must have been hell being Alexa’s son-in-law, loving Diane and having to listen to a lot of guff from her mother. For the most part I think Randy handled their relationship very well.”

  Katie glanced at her watch then scraped her chair back. “Thanks so much for the lovely lunch and for all your help.” She rose. “I have another appointment now, and I’ll certainly bear in mind all you’ve told me. I appreciate it, Beck.”

  “You’re welcome, and I wish you all success.”

  As she left the tearoom, she wished she didn’t have the feeling, the hunch, that Beck was spoon-feeding her only what she wanted her to know, that she was holding back important facts. But how could she complain? She was lucky that Beck was willing to give her any information at all. She sat in her convertible jotting notes about the case before she drove back to her office.

  The mail had arrived and in it she found a large manila envelope bearing Attorney Addison’s return address. She removed photos, looked at them quickly, then slapped them face down on her desk. She read the report carefully, trying not to gag at the graphic descriptions of Alexa’s body.

  One by one she looked at the grisly photos again. Could that mangled mass of flesh and bone once have been a living, breathing person? She recalled a poster she had hung on her school bulletin board: Life is fragile. Handle with care. She shuddered as she reread the police report that mentioned nothing about a bullet hole in the wall hanging. The hole in the black border would have been easy to miss. Even if the police had looked behind the hanging, they would have seen nothing of interest on the wall. She guessed that Alexa’s body and all the blood and gore caused by the conch shell attack had distracted the officers. The thought of a gunshot probably never entered their heads.

  TWELVE

  When Katie left Beck Dixon, the day had grown eve
n more chilly and foreboding. Evidently the weatherman was going to be right about the weeklong cold front. She closed her office window against the dank air, then telephoned Mary Bethel. Great luck. Mary was in and she agreed to see Katie immediately. Maybe she was eager to get the questioning behind her.

  When Katie arrived, Mary was standing in her office doorway, again wearing black. A slim woman stood talking to her. Thirtyish. Power-dressed for success—if a linen suit, stiletto heels, and a heavy gold chain designated success.

  Katie watched the woman adjust the thin strap of her sleek leather bag into a more comfortable position on the shoulder of her chocolate-brown suit. Her dark hair, thick and wedge-cut, contrasted dramatically with her white silk blouse, and when she turned slightly, Katie recognized her. Elizabeth Wright.

  “I’ve come to speak to you about my boat,” Elizabeth said, her tone supercilious. “I want to berth it here at the marina for another month.”

  “You’ll have to make arrangements at the dockmaster’s office.” Mary frowned, her voice as cold and forbidding as the day. “You’ll find it downstairs and to the left on the first level.”

  “But…”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help you here.”

  Katie looked at the boats in their slips as if averting her gaze would make her deaf to the conversation, to Mary Bethel’s proprietary tone. Elizabeth Wright. Had the murderer returned to the scene of the crime? Katie couldn’t imagine so elegant a lady bashing Alexa Chitting with a conch shell. In the next moment the woman departed, her heels clicking as she headed for the stairway.

  “Please come in, Miss Hassworth.”

  Mary Bethel’s voice sounded only a few degrees more cordial as Katie turned and entered the office. Again, Mary’s black hair and dress contrasting with the white silk walls lent her a fragile silhouette quality. She motioned Katie to a chair and took her usual position behind her walnut desk. A green cursor blinked on the blank computer screen, and Mary typed a staccato command that cleared the monitor.