The Key Lime Crime

by Lucy Burdette

  “Maybe if we bang pots and pans, he’ll pull over to the side to see what’s making the racket. And then we burst out of the back and run,” said my mother-in-law.

  “Do you have a gun?” I asked her. “Because he probably does. I’m not sure it’s better to die by getting shot down than by throwing ourselves out on the road and bashing our heads on the concrete.”

  She sighed. “I did have one, of course. He took it away.”

  Of course she did. She was from a law enforcement family in which owning a gun did not feel more dangerous than not owning a gun, as it did in my family. Nathan had asked if he could buy me a weapon after we’d gotten engaged, but so far I had refused.

  “Let’s think through how he would react if he heard a lot of banging back here,” she suggested.

  “At first, he might just look through the little window from the cab,” I said. “So if we either stay in the cupboard or press against the wall, he would see nothing. Except maybe he’d notice all the stuff that’s been knocked to the floor. Though we didn’t do that—his erratic driving did.”

  “You know your mother’s kitchen,” said Helen. “Is there anything in her drawers we could use as a weapon?”

  I closed my eyes and tried to visualize what I’d seen when Mom and Sam gave me a detailed tour—delighted with their purchase and proud of the improvements they’d made. “She’s got a couple of serious carving knives, unless she already took them into the party. Which I’m afraid she might have, because Sam had to use them at his carving station, didn’t he?”

  “Beats me,” said Helen. “I tune out when there’s too much discussion about food.”

  I grinned, but it hurt my lips where I’d ripped the tape off. I tried to picture each of the drawers and cabinets around us. “There is a rolling pin,” I said suddenly. “It’s a whopper. The kind a serious pastry chef would use on pie crust if she’s rolling out a lot of dough. And we have an endless supply of piping-hot mashed potatoes.”

  We quickly settled on a plan: I’d wield the rolling pin while she grabbed a pan of potatoes. When the door opened, she would smash the hot vegetables in his face, distracting him enough that I could knock him down with the rolling pin. It sounded ridiculous, but it was all we had.

  We crawled out of the cabinet and grabbed the biggest pots and pans hanging from hooks in the ceiling, then took two large metal spoons from one of the drawers.

  “He’s going to be frantic about getting to the mainland,” I said. “Because every burglar and bad guy knows there is only one way off the Keys. Once my mother realizes the van is missing and makes one call to the police and they alert the sheriff’s department, then he gets pulled over and dragged off to jail.”

  “He may be frantic, but we are determined,” she said, and I could see the intensity in the grim set of her lips. She nodded, and we began to bang the pots and pans and spoons against the steel of the van, the places my mother had asked Sam to cover with corkboard. Lucky for us, he’d been too busy to make any further cosmetic changes. We flattened ourselves against the wall between the passenger cab and the cargo area and banged and banged and banged.

  I could feel the van slow, then take a sudden turn to the right and begin to bump across an unpaved surface.

  “Ready?” she asked. “We are strong, we are brave, and there are two of us and one of him.”

  We picked up our weapons and I gave her a quick nod of reassurance, ignoring the pounding, hammering, throbbing of my heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “You think someone killed her to keep her quiet?” Vera licked her fingers to pick up the crumbs from her plate and the surrounding table.

  —Ann Cleeves, Silent Voices

  We crouched low on either side of the back door of the van, me wielding the rolling pin and my mother-in-law with a large foil tin of hot potatoes. The van jerked to a full stop. Helen stumbled, and the pan of potatoes flew out of her hands and splattered across the floor and the wall. She froze where she’d landed on her knees, probably thinking the same thing I was: with only one rolling pin between us, we didn’t stand a chance against a man with a deadly weapon.

  I finally noticed that the tool we’d used to distribute hot glue on those silly corsages was still plugged in. “Grab the glue gun,” I hissed.

  When the door was thrown open, I was so surprised not to see David Sloan that I almost forgot to swing my makeshift bat. But Helen didn’t hesitate, shooting a stream of hot glue into Christopher’s eyes. He screamed, and I gathered my wits and walloped him with all my strength. He sank to the pavement, clutching his head, and I hit him again, this time on his right forearm. The gun in his hand skittered across the road, discharging a round into the scrub palmettos on the other side of the ditch. He fell to the ground, moaning with pain.

  “You make one move and I’ll bash your head in the next time.” I brandished the rolling pin, practically growling with anger so he would realize I meant every word.

  While I stood guard over him, Helen scrambled back into the van and emerged with the roll of duct tape.

  “Put your arms behind your back,” she told him.

  “She broke my arm,” he squawked. “It’s killing me.”

  I gave him a light whack on the back, and he did what she’d told him. Each time he tried to squirm away, I rapped him again with the rolling pin to let him know we meant business. Within minutes, he was hog-tied exactly the way he had left us. Helen slapped an extra piece of tape over his mouth.

  “There is nothing we care to hear from you,” she said in a fierce voice. “I have half a mind to jam him in that little closet,” she said. “See how he likes that claustrophobic space. Meanwhile, where is his phone?” She sorted through his pockets until she found his cell phone.

  “Call 911 and tell them where you think we are.” She handed the phone to me, and I called. Then we stood guard, waiting for the authorities to arrive and take over. Finally my mind slowed down enough to react to what I was seeing.

  “Christopher?” I said, feeling puzzled. “What the heck is he doing here? I was sure it was David Sloan or even Paul. Or for that matter, Bee. This guy never crossed my mind—he was so polite and helpful.” His eyes were wide and wild and he was trying to talk through the duct tape I’d slapped over his lips.

  Helen’s face looked stony and she kicked at him. “If he killed Claudette, he’s also the one who took my daughter and ruined her life. We wondered if it was someone who moved down here recently. I bet he followed her here, planning to keep her from revealing his identity if needed.”

  Christopher struggled on the ground, grunting through the duct tape. It sounded like he was trying to say, “I can explain …”

  “You keep your mouth shut unless you want Hayley here to bash your brains in with that rolling pin,” Helen barked at him, then scrambled into the ditch along the road to retrieve the gun he’d lost. Once back on the side of the road, she parted Christopher’s hair with the barrel of the gun to show me the dark roots. His eyes went wide as she pressed the barrel of the gun against his temple.

  “I have half a mind to shoot you dead right here,” she said. “I know for sure that Hayley, being married to a cop, understands the Florida stand-your-ground statute: a person is justified in using deadly force if she reasonably believes such action will repel imminent death to herself or another.”

  She glanced over at me, and though I felt sick to my stomach, I nodded. I couldn’t imagine not telling the truth when the police turned up—I doubted that shooting him when he was trussed up like a spring lamb would fit the stand-your-ground bill. But he deserved to be terrified. Nor was I going to argue with my mother-in-law in this kind of a mood. If she shot him here in cold blood, I was sure Nathan would find her the best lawyer in the state.

  I heard the whine of sirens in the distance, and several cars had begun to pull over behind us, their occupants running up to see how they could help. Helen kept the gun trained on Christopher and instructed the bystanders
to stand back until the cops arrived. I saw several of them using phones to film Christopher on the pavement, who was wild-eyed, flopping from side to side, and trying to yell through the duct tape.

  A sheriff’s department SUV screamed to a stop alongside us, and two deputies leaped out with weapons drawn.

  “Ma’am,” said one to Nathan’s mom, “put the gun on the ground and step back with your hands in the air.”

  She did as she was told, I dropped the rolling pin and raised my hands too, and the deputies patted us both down. While we were explaining what had happened, a fire department ambulance screeched up behind us, and finally the vehicle I’d been waiting for—Nathan’s. He darted over to us with a look on his face that I hoped to never see again: fear, rage, and anguish. He had pulled his gun out of its holster as he ran, and now he trained it on Christopher.

  “If you hurt either one of them, I swear I will shoot you dead on the spot.”

  “We’ve got this,” said the sheriff’s deputy. He held a beefy hand up to my husband and stared at Nathan hard until he holstered his gun.

  I ran over and flung myself into Nathan’s arms. “I’m okay. Your mom is okay.”

  He hugged me so tight I could barely breath, and then walked over to hug his mother, and then pulled both of us into his strong embrace. He rocked us, back and forth, whispering soothing words. “I’m so sorry. You’re okay. He’ll never hurt anyone else.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A party without cake is really just a meeting.

  —Julia Child

  It was late when the hospital staff finished checking us over and the cops wrapped up our initial interviews. Nathan drove me home to the houseboat, where I slept like the dead for seven hours. I heard nothing—not Nathan leaving before dark after grabbing a few hours of rest, not Evinrude clamoring to be let out in the early morning, not the caterwauling of a cat fight with our new kitten facing off against the other two, Ziggy yapping on the sidelines. Miss Gloria had left a note on the counter describing all that, and added that she had gone off to a New Year’s Day brunch but would be back midafternoon.

  Your mother texted to say that she and Sam are bringing dinner over here at five. She couldn’t wait any longer to hear the whole story. She’s bringing your mother-in-law, of course. And Nathan insists he’ll be here too.

  That left a couple of hours of free time. I desperately needed a large café con leche, and something to eat. I drove my scooter to the Cuban Coffee Queen near the harbor and put in my order for coffee and cheese toast. Too restless to eat on the bench by the water, I gobbled half of the sandwich as I strolled down Greene Street. This neighborhood was again packed with tourists, some bleary-eyed from their New Year’s Eve celebrations. I paused in front of Claudette Parker’s little bakery, Au Citron Vert, intensely curious about what I’d find. More than likely a Closed sign, and possibly even one that read For sale or rent.

  The shop was not open, but the lights were on and I could see a man working at the counter. I cupped my hands around my eyes and leaned against the glass to look more closely. It was Paul. I tapped on the window. He shook his head and pointed to the Closed sign on the door. I tapped again and held up my index finger to show that I only needed a minute. His shoulders drooped, but he crossed the room, unlocked the door, and let me in.

  “Thank you so much for opening—”

  He cut me off. “I have nothing to sell today.”

  “Oh, I understand,” I said. “I just wanted to be sure that you knew they arrested Claudette Parker’s killer.”

  His eyes went wide.

  “Christopher. He worked at the library. It’s a long story, but he kidnapped me and my mother-in-law last night, and we were able to get away, and then the police and sheriff’s department showed up and all is well.” My voice was a little shaky. “I felt bad about pressing you about her death. You had enough trauma working here.” I paused for a minute, wondering how much to say. I didn’t suppose it mattered. “Cheryl told us that you stopped by Claudette’s house the night of the murder.”

  “I wish we’d ended on a better note,” he said sadly. “I hate for an argument to be the last thing I remember. The good news is, I found another investor and it looks like I’ll be able to buy the shop and continue her work.” He sighed. “And show off some of mine.”

  “Wonderful! Do you mind saying who?” None of my business, but I was intensely curious.

  “David Sloan,” he said, watching my face for a reaction. “Obviously he and Claudette were oil and water, but he’s willing to try to work with me. And he knows a lot about Key West and certainly knows a lot about selling key lime pie. And this is where I want to be, and I’m sorry it all happened because she died, but I don’t suppose it matters to her now.”

  “I don’t suppose it does,” I said. “I wish you all the best. There’s likely to be lots of publicity about this shop when this latest news hits the papers.”

  “I’m planning to open tomorrow morning,” he said, flashing the first smile I’d seen.

  “Maybe someone from Key Zest can stop by and report on the new owner’s plans,” I said, matching his grin.

  * * *

  I went to the office to work for a bit, tweaking my article about key lime pie in Key West and drafting a teaser about the new chef-owner of Au Citron Vert. I returned to the houseboat by four. Nathan was already there, along with Helen and Miss Gloria and my mother and Sam. They buzzed around me for a few minutes, insisting I take the best lounge chair and bringing me a lap blanket and a glass of wine.

  “I’m fine,” I finally said. “All this attention is lovely but completely unnecessary. Let’s all sit down and hear about the murder case. Who was Christopher, really, and what was his connection to Key West? And why did he kidnap those girls in the first place?” I threw an apologetic look at Nathan’s mom, but hoped she wanted to sort out the rat’s nest as much as I did.

  “I’ll take the easy part first. He didn’t come down with any plan in mind. The draw wasn’t Key West per se,” said Nathan. “He was watching Claudette. He managed to get accepted into your private Facebook group under an alias.” Here he cast a fierce look at his mother. “He must have gotten worried about how much she knew about him and that she had planned to take her information to the police. He talked enough this morning that we can put some of the pieces together.”

  He glanced at his mother for reassurance—did she want to hear all this? She nodded for him to continue.

  “From the spreadsheets we found on her computer, we believe that Claudette had spent years tracking him down. And finally she figured out that he was her sister’s killer. We don’t know whether she’d figured out that he followed her to Key West.”

  “So he killed her because she knew too much?” I asked.

  “So it appears,” Nathan said.

  “How could he possibly have known ahead of time that not only would we take that Conch Train Tour, we would go back and look more closely and notice Claudette’s body?” Miss Gloria asked.

  She had the little orange kitten on her lap, and he was purring so loudly I could hear him from across the deck. Sparky watched balefully from behind a potted plant.

  “I don’t think the connections match that perfectly,” Nathan said. “I think it was an ugly coincidence that you three discovered Ms. Parker’s body.”

  “It wasn’t coincidence,” I protested. “It was your mother’s Spidey sense. She felt in her gut that something was terribly wrong.”

  He rolled his eyes a little.

  “Claudette hacked into some DNA databases that weren’t available back when her sister was murdered,” said Helen. “And she made the mistake of talking in the group about how she was on to him.”

  “We’ll know more details when we finish sorting through both of their phone records and computer logs,” Nathan added.

  He squeezed my hand and kept talking. “He was a lethal killer intent on not being found out and put in jail or executed. So when he unde
rstood that Claudette was on his heels, he had to kill her. I suppose he thought he’d gotten away with it, because we had so many good suspects.” He let go of my fingers, frowning. “Once he realized that Hayley and Helen were close to figuring out the murder, he had to kidnap them as well.”

  “But how in the world did he know they knew?” Miss Gloria asked.

  I looked at Nathan’s mom and gulped. “Unfortunately, he overheard us talking about whether I’d told Nathan about all our theories.” I glanced at Nathan. “I’d been meaning to send you a text earlier, but the past few days were insane. We talked everything over while we were working on the wedding—that was the first time I had the chance to think things through. And he overheard some of what I dictated in my text to you.”

  “Maybe he hoped we hadn’t told the police what we knew yet,” said Helen. “If that was true, he would still be in the clear. If he got rid of us.” Her voice trailed off. We were all quiet for a minute, listening to the slap of water on the hull and the tinkle of Mrs. Renhart’s wind chimes.

  “Do we know why he killed that poor teenager in the first place?” asked Miss Gloria. “Why he kidnapped your daughter?”

  Helen focused a steady gaze on my roommate’s face. “He was an angry, sociopathic young man, overindulged by doting parents who could not believe there was a problem. My Vera managed to get out of the situation alive because he shut her in his trunk and she was smart enough to pull the tab that popped the lid.”

  “Claudette’s sister was not so lucky,” Nathan added.

  “But why take another girl?” Miss Gloria asked.

  Nathan shook his head, his expression steely. “We may never know. He may not understand it either. But he won’t do it again. I’ll make sure of that.”

  “Cheryl finally admitted to seeing Paul in Claudette’s neighborhood the night of the murder,” I said. “I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that David Sloan had been there too.”