Conch Shell Murder

by Dorothy Francis

  “Air Sunshine. May I help you?”

  “Katie Hassworth calling. May I speak to Mel Loring, please?”

  “One moment. I’ll see if he’s here.”

  She listened to the line hum, hoping Mr. Loring worked a morning shift.

  “Mel speaking.”

  “This is Katie Hassworth, Mr. Loring. I’m Mac McCartel’s associate and I’m calling to ask a favor.”

  “Shoot. I owe Mac a couple.”

  “I need to know if Elizabeth Wright boarded an early morning flight to Naples a week ago last Monday—that would be January seven, returning on Tuesday afternoon January eight.”

  “One minute, please. I’ll have to do some checking. That’s Elizabeth Wright of Community Affairs notoriety.”

  “The same.”

  “Want to hold, or want me to return your call?”

  “Will holding tie up your line too long?”

  “No problem.”

  “Then I’ll hold, thanks.”

  The line hummed for over three minutes before Mel returned. “Still there?”

  “Of course. I appreciate your taking the time to check on this for me. Any luck?”

  “Yes. Miss Wright left Key West International on the early morning flight, January seven. Seven o’clock. She returned on a mid-afternoon flight the following day, arriving at three thirty-five on January eight. Does that help?”

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “You and Mac investigating the Cayo Hueso project?”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not free to say right now.”

  “Well, if you’re taking votes, mark me against it. The island’s about to sink under the weight of tourists as it is. We need more people down here like the sea needs more sharks.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. And I’ll tell Mac you helped me out. I appreciate it.”

  Now what? She had hoped to find a hole in Elizabeth Wright’s alibi. Wishful thinking. She started to cross Wright’s name off the list, then stopped. She couldn’t have been in two places at the same time, yet something about her pat alibi rang false. Katie closed her eyes, recalling the woman’s cavalier manner, her smirky tone as she reeled off her alibi. Had she memorized it for the occasion?

  She called information, jotted down a number in Tallahassee, then dialed.

  “State Department of Community Affairs, Miss Hall speaking.”

  Katie identified herself. “I need to see the blueprints and any contracts or records concerning the Cayo Hueso housing project here in Key West. Those are public records, are they not?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. They are. I have copies of the papers here in this office, but the original documents are in the Key West office. Miss Elizabeth Wright is in charge there. If you contact her, I’m sure she’ll be glad to provide the information you need.”

  “Thank you.” Katie replaced the receiver and stared at the telephone, thinking. So Wright had lied about the whereabouts of the papers. Reason enough to keep her name on the suspect list. Why was she keeping public documents from the public? Katie grabbed her shoulder bag and set out on foot for the Office of Community Affairs.

  “Do you have an appointment with Miss Wright?” the secretary asked.

  “No, I haven’t. But I need to speak briefly with her.”

  “One moment, please. You’re Miss Hassworth, right?”

  Katie nodded.

  The secretary thumbed a button on the intercom.

  “Miss Hassworth to see you.” The secretary listened a moment, then turned to Katie. “Would you please state the nature of your business?”

  “I’ve come to see the Cayo Hueso documents.”

  Suddenly the door to the inner office opened and Elizabeth Wright stood framed in the doorway. “Miss Hassworth, I’ve told you that the project documents are not here at this time. If it’s important that you see them, you’ll be welcome at the Tallahassee office.”

  “I’ve just telephoned that office, and Miss Hall informed me that copies of those papers are available at both offices. I would like to see your copy, please. It would save me the trip to Tallahassee.”

  Elizabeth Wright inhaled deeply as her face flushed and her eyes narrowed. “Will you please get the documents for Miss Hassworth, Claire?”

  The secretary rose and approached the steel file cabinets behind her desk. After several moments of searching, she looked up. “The file is gone, Miss Wright. I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what has…”

  “That’s all right, Claire.” Elizabeth looked at Katie. “Now do you believe me? The documents are not here. If you’ll excuse me now, I have work to do.”

  Katie left, wondering why Elizabeth Wright was lying. Or was the state department lying? Or perhaps the file was in Rex’s office. Maybe some city council members had checked it out for perusal. When she returned to her office, she dialed Rex.

  “Sorry, Katie. The papers aren’t here and I have no idea why Elizabeth would object to your studying them.”

  “Thanks. See you later.”

  So much for that flawed theory. After lunch she spent the afternoon reviewing and typing the notes she had taken concerning the Chitting case. Sometimes reworking old material gave her new insights. But that didn’t happen today. She felt her brain threatening to congeal into apathy by the time Rex arrived.

  “Hard day?”

  “Not too bad. My conscious mind has decided to put the case on hold and let my subconscious work on it overnight.”

  “Good idea. I hate sharing you with a murderer.”

  “What’s our mysterious destination?” She settled into the Corvette as they headed north.

  “We’re driving to Big Pine Key to see the miniature Key deer. I’ll bet you’ve lived in the area for two years without eyeballing those creatures.”

  “You’re right. I have.” She squelched a sigh. She didn’t know what she had expected, but certainly not a wildlife tour. “What’s so special about these critters?”

  “Their size. Some of them are no bigger than a large dog and they’re an endangered species. If we arrive around dusk, we may see a few feeding along the roadside.”

  “Have we brought anything for them?”

  “Lots of people do bring tidbits, but that’s taboo. When motorists feed them, it tends to coax them to the highway. Many are killed by vehicles every year.”

  “And nobody’s doing anything about it?”

  “Conservationists are trying. They’ve set aside land as a Key deer refuge. They’ve placed a thirty-mile-an-hour speed limit on the road cutting through the refuge.”

  “And it hasn’t helped?”

  “Who can say for sure? They’ve also posted a sign near the Winn Dixie tallying the number of deer killed. Motorists can hardly help noticing it, but there’s still a lot of speeding on that road.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “That sign tends to be misleading, though,” Rex said.

  “In what way?”

  “It leads people to think that people today are killing off deer that have run in the wild for ages and that’s not true. When explorers first discovered these deer, there were only a few dozen of them present.”

  “So it’s due to humans that they have increased in number, right?”

  “Right. It is, and it’s something to think about. I drive up to see the deer every now and then and I thought you might enjoy them, too.”

  “I’m glad you thought of it.” She grinned at him. “The facets of your personality seem endless. Bat towers. Abandoned piers. Key deer. Salt ponds. Abused trees.”

  “You’re poking fun.”

  “No. Not at all.” Again she puzzled over Rex as they drove along in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Last night she had seen the hedonist who liked people, but who thought nothing of denying two families yard space so he could have a larger tropical garden and a pool. Now she was seeing a man who’d drive miles for a “maybe” chance to see some wild deer.

  Once they crossed the bridge to Big Pine Key, Rex slowed the car, tur
ning left when they reached Key Deer Boulevard. They had just passed the Winn Dixie supermarket on their right and several churches on their left, when he pulled the car to the shoulder.

  “There. See him? Behind that palm on your right.”

  Katie peered in the direction Rex was pointing until she saw the tiny deer whose coat blended with the brown ground cover and tree trunks until it was almost invisible.

  Its head was down as it grazed, then suddenly it froze, stared directly at them and bounded away, its white tail like a retreating flag.

  She leaned back into the car seat. “They’d make cute pets, wouldn’t they? I’ve seen bigger dogs.”

  “Look to your far right. I see another one half hidden behind that Sabal palm.”

  Leaning forward, she looked, but only in time to see the creature bound into the thicket. Rex drove slowly along the road, but they saw no more deer. On their return to the highway, they stopped at an abandoned gravel pit the conservationists had named the Blue Hole, but even the resident alligators were hiding from the chill air.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  “Yes. Tonight could be my turn to cook. I have some grouper fillets in my freezer. We could thaw them quickly in the microwave.”

  “I’ll take a rain check on the grouper. There’s an open-air café near here. Very rustic, but the lobster’s great.”

  “Open air? We’ll freeze.”

  “Not so. Trust me.”

  “Okay.”

  On Summerland Key Rex parked at Monty’s and they crossed a roofed porch to sit at a pine table that tilted when touched until Rex folded a napkin and slipped it under one leg. Roll-down plastic sheets blocked the north wind, but the waitresses wore sweaters as they took orders and served steaming cups of coffee. In spite of the cold front, tourists and locals crowded the place.

  “I think the locals have a secret affection for bad weather,” Rex said. “In small doses, of course.”

  “Maybe it’s fun to talk about later—how rotten it was, and all. We used to do that a lot in Iowa after a big snow.”

  “Yeah, we did that in New York, too, lying about whose car was stuck the longest and who had the deepest drifts in his driveway. Seems like a long time ago.”

  As the place grew more crowded, they shared their table with a couple from Illinois who regaled them with information about that state’s drought and poor corn crop. Rex shared facts concerning fishing bans on king mackerel. Katie tried to look interested, but she wished she and Rex were alone. Corn crops. Weather. Fish. Those were topics discussed by people who really had no common interests. The small talk made the lack of interests more palatable. She ate lobster and coleslaw until she was sure she had gained at least five pounds, then after the meal, she relaxed as they drove back to Key West and stopped in front of Rex’s house.

  “Forget where I live?” she asked.

  “Thought we’d stop for a drink. I have some delicious after-dinner liqueur.”

  “Sounds good.” She followed Rex inside, sitting in the warmth of the kitchen as wind howled across the patio. He poured their drinks then turned the hi-fi to soft music and joined her at the snack bar.

  “It’s lovely here, Rex. I feel sorry for anyone who lives north of the Boca Chica Bridge.”

  “Agreed.” He rose and shoved a small dining table to one side. “Care to dance?”

  She slipped into his arms easily and willingly, and unmindful of stove and sink, they danced slowly to golden oldies—“Stardust,” “Begin the Beguine,” “Night and Day”—as if they were discovering the magic of music for the first time.

  “Stay here tonight,” Rex said when the music died. He molded his hands around her hips, holding her to him as he blew his warm breath into her ear. “Don’t leave me, Katie.”

  He took her hand and she followed him upstairs to the bedroom where they discovered a different kind of magic. And she stayed the night because he wanted her to and because she wanted to.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  At first, when she began to waken on Saturday morning, she lay with her eyes closed, snuggling more comfortably into the warm curve of Rex’s body, feeling his moist breath against her neck, breathing in the male scent of him. She smiled, remembering their lovemaking that had lasted into the early morning hours. That was how sleeping with a man should be. Rex had given her a sense of rightness—of wholeness and belonging—so different from the feeling of fragmentation and inadequacy she had felt with Chuck.

  “Awake?” he murmured into her ear and brushed her cheek with a kiss.

  “Almost. I’ll open my eyes if you’ll promise not to disappear.”

  “Promise.”

  She opened her eyes, seeing the morning’s dull gray light illumine a jute-covered wall, a brown leather chair, the polished floor. Her big toe touched the smooth mahogany of the four-poster bed. A man’s room.

  “Glad you stayed?” He raked his fingers through his hair in the familiar gesture she knew so well.

  “Very glad.” Reluctantly, she sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She groped for her shoes, her clothes.

  “For one who’s so very glad, you seem in a hurry to leave.” He pulled her into the curve of his arm. “I’ll make breakfast. It’s Saturday and we have the whole weekend ahead of us. How would you like to spend it?”

  “Don’t tempt me.” She kissed him lightly. “A detective working on a case can’t afford to think in terms of free weekends.” She hoped she sounded sincere. Nothing would have pleased her more than to spend Saturday and Sunday with him, yet she held back. He had made it clear that he was avoiding commitments and she had announced that she didn’t want to be involved in a relationship at this time. Yet when she slept with a man she tended to feel involved. Deeply involved. Rex’s lovemaking, his total approval, affected her like a narcotic. She wanted more. Before she became totally hooked, she needed to distance herself from him—to be on guard. Her life had changed and she wasn’t sure she liked the direction it had taken.

  She dressed quickly as he watched from his cocoon of blankets, then he rose.

  “I’ll drive you home.”

  “Let me walk. I need to walk.” She kissed him and tried to leave, but he held her.

  “Have dinner with me tonight?”

  “It’s a deal. I’ll cook the grouper.” She kissed him once again, then let herself out of the house. He didn’t stop her. The short walk through the gusting wind refreshed her, and nobody noticed her quiet entry into her apartment. The children were watching TV cartoons, and she heard Randy and Diane talking in the kitchen.

  She had barely reached her room, showered, and changed into fresh clothing when her telephone rang.

  “Dear child, I need to talk to you right away. Could you run over for a cup of coffee?”

  “Of course, Beck. What’s up?”

  “Tell you when you get here. The coffee’s on.”

  Katie ran a comb through her hair, grabbed her shoulder bag, and left the apartment as quietly as she had entered, walking through the garden gate to Hibiscus House where Beck waited in the doorway.

  “Hope I didn’t waken you.” Beck thrust her hands deeply into the pockets of her lavender jumpsuit as she watched Katie climb the steps to the porch.

  “I’m an early riser.” She felt her face flush. Had Beck called earlier? Had she seen her come in just now? No matter. “What’s the big news? Have you learned something important about the case?”

  “Perhaps.” Beck led her to the kitchen and they sat at a round oak table next to an industrial-sized stove. “Weather’s not fit for a sea urchin today, but it’s cozy in here. My cooks won’t arrive for an hour or so.” She poured their coffee from a blue china pot then offered Katie a pineapple-filled sweet roll.

  “Just coffee, thanks.” Katie sipped the brew and felt herself gradually coming to life.

  “Katie, didn’t you tell me that Elizabeth Wright was in Naples on business at the time of Alexa’s murder?”

  “Yes. That’
s what Elizabeth told me—that she left on that Monday morning and didn’t return until Tuesday afternoon. I checked with Mac’s friend at the airport. He confirmed her story from airport records.”

  “That’s very strange. I talked again with Angie. I had mentioned nothing about Elizabeth Wright. We were discussing Angie’s visit to Miami.”

  “Recent visit?” Katie asked, puzzled as to where the conversation was heading.

  “On the morning of Alexa’s murder, Angie was in Miami seeing a gynecologist. She suspected she was pregnant so she avoided visiting a local doctor. In this town nothing stays a secret very long.”

  “Nothing except the identity of Alexa’s murderer.” She cupped her hands around her coffee cup, enjoying its warmth.

  “Angie was embarrassed because she almost ran face-to-face into Elizabeth Wright in Miami.”

  “Where did they meet? A gynecologist’s office? Elizabeth’s not preg…”

  “They didn’t exactly meet. Angie stepped into a bank to write a check so she could pay the gynecologist in cash, and she saw Elizabeth in the bank lobby. She recognized her because she had waited on her many times—sometimes here at Hibiscus House and sometimes at Rico’s. She didn’t think Elizabeth would recognize or remember her, but she wasn’t sure.”

  “Then they didn’t speak.”

  “No. Angie ducked from Elizabeth’s sight, got her cash, and left the bank.”

  “Interesting.” Katie sipped her coffee. “Wright buys a round-trip ticket to Naples, yet she’s seen in Miami.”

  “Why?” Beck poured them more coffee. “If she was going to Miami, why wouldn’t she have bought a ticket to Miami?”

  “Good question. Why? I’ve kept her on my list, and I’ll look into this bit of subterfuge—if that’s what it is.”

  “Your list?”

  “The list of suspects you suggested I make.”

  Beck laughed. “I’d forgotten all about that.”

  “Well I did make a list and Wright was on it. Her alibi seemed convincing on the surface, and airport officials corroborated it, yet something about her puzzles me. I feel warning vibes every time I think of her.”