Falafel Jones - Max Fried 02 - Payback's a Beach

by Falafel Jones

  Snyder stopped dancing but he held his finger in his other hand and looked panicked, “I broke my finger. Where’s the hospital?”

  I took out my cell phone and said, “Don’t sweat it.” I pointed to the ground. “Have a seat. The police will see that you get medical attention.”

  Snyder let go of his finger and held up his good hand. “Don’t. Please don’t. Just a misunderstanding. Don’t call.” Then he looked both ways and ran to his car. I watched him leave and after a few minutes when I was sure he was gone, I drove home.

  I walked in my front door and found Mariel parked in front of the big screen TV in our living room. As usual, this time of year, she was watching the Mets on MLB Extra Innings and yelling at the TV. This particular game must have been important because she was swinging a white sweat sock in the air while she expressed her displeasure with the opposing team. I knew this sock and its history. It wasn’t pretty.

  Years back, one of the Mets who will remain nameless attended spring training in Port St. Lucie and rented a condo from my brother-in-law’s parents. When training ended, the player left behind that missing sweat sock. My brother-in-law took possession and gave it to Mariel knowing how psycho she was about the team. He and Mariel’s sister have since divorced but the sock remains the same.

  Mariel looked up from the TV. “Max, what happened?” She dropped the sock and came to meet me at the door. She reached up to touch my forehead and then stopped short. “Does it hurt?”

  “It’s a bit sore. Am I still bleeding?”

  “No, not now.” She looked at me from the left and then from the right. “You’ve got a lump there. What happened?”

  I told her about meeting Snyder and then the doorbell rang.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Mariel said, “Wait,” went to the kitchen and came back holding a frying pan.

  I smiled at the sight and she said, “Yeah, yeah. I know. You never saw me use one before.”

  She assumed a batter’s stance and nodded towards the door. I opened it and saw Maddie standing there. Maddie looked at Mariel holding the pan. Then she looked at my forehead and said, “Who knew? I figured you guys to be happily married.”

  Mariel asked, “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in jail?”

  Maddie shrugged. “Bucky posted bail. Can I come in? I want to hire Max.”

  Mariel lowered the pan. “Um, sure. Come on in.” Mariel disappeared into the kitchen and I led Maddie into the living room where she sat on the couch and looked up at the TV. “Oh, the Mets. What’s the score?”

  I was about to say, “I don’t know,” when Mariel yelled, “Three to one bottom of the eighth.”

  Maddie nodded solemnly and Mariel came back into the room. “You like the Mets?”

  Maddie shrugged, “Who doesn’t?”

  Mariel nodded towards me. “Him.”

  “What? He doesn’t like the Mets? What is he? A Yankees fan?”

  “No,” I said, “I don’t follow baseball. Why do you want to hire me?”

  “Oh, that. The police think I killed Fisher as payback for dumping me. I want you to prove I didn’t kill him.”

  “That’s easy. I just spoke to him.”

  Maddie looked at me as if I were crazy. “What? You spoke with Drew Fisher?”

  “The dead guy wasn’t Fisher. He was a boat captain Fisher hired to bring the boat south.”

  “Who?”

  “Some guy Fisher called Cappy.”

  “Aw, that’s a shame. I knew Cappy. Poor guy. See, if I were the killer, I’d have known it wasn’t Fisher. I’m innocent, well, maybe not innocent but I didn’t kill anybody.”

  Maddie picked up the sweat sock from the couch and held it out to Mariel. “Hon, you left your laundry.”

  Mariel opened her mouth and I expected she would start telling Maddie the story about the sock so I said. “Later.”

  Mariel looked disappointed but went back into the kitchen where she could eavesdrop and keep an eye on Maddie.

  I gestured towards the door. “Since Fisher’s alive, their payback theory is no good.”

  Maddie remained seated. “Your lips to Torres’s ears.” She grinned. “That would be an entertaining sight.” Then she waved her hand in front of her face as if to dissipate heat and her smile faded. “Look, they’re still going to come after me for the killing. They’ll just make up a different motive. I had the murder weapon.”

  “Why me?” I asked.

  “I want somebody local. There are only four private investigators in New Smyrna Beach and you’re the only one already familiar with the case. You got Brenda off. I want you to get me off.” She looked nervously towards the kitchen and said in a louder voice. “I mean get me off the hook, not get me off.” She waved a hand in the air. “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m sorry, Maddie. I can’t help you. It’s a conflict of interest. I’m already representing Brenda on this and I’m the one who found the murder weapon on your boat.”

  “I got a lawyer working on the drug thing and if they charge me with murder, he can handle that too but I don’t want to let it get that far. If you can find the killer, the police won’t charge me and I can nip this in the bud.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help but aren’t you also concerned about an attempted murder charge for drugging the booze?”

  Maddie reached into her bag and pulled out a cigarette. “My lawyer doesn’t think I have to worry about that.”

  “Why not?”

  She put the cigarette in her mouth and started fumbling in her purse. “Says it might muddy the waters when they charge Fisher’s, I mean Cappy’s killer. If two people want the guy dead, it could create reasonable doubt. He figures that either the police will charge me with his murder or they won’t. No charges for attempting. Besides, while I may have had something against Fisher, Cappy and I got along just fine.” She looked up from her purse. “Got a light?”

  “No, we don’t smoke.”

  Maddie took the cigarette from her mouth. “Oh, sorry. Well, I can light this in the car. Call me if you change your mind.” She stood and offered me her hand. I shook it and then I saw her to the door.

  Mariel came back from the kitchen and asked, “Fisher’s really alive?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So, now we know it was probably Fisher who used his credit card at the Gas and Go.”

  “Yeah and I’m been tracking the wrong guy.”

  “So, now what?”

  “Well, most murder victims have some connection to their killers. Even if they never met before, even if it’s a random murder, there’s usually something about the victim that connects to the killer.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Even if someone is killed walking in the park, the victim made choices about where to be and when that somebody else didn’t.”

  “So, I’ve been following Fisher’s movements when I really should be following Cappy’s.”

  I left Mariel watching her ballgame in the living room, went to my office, and dialed my phone. If Mike was a captain out of East End, New York, Douglas at the yacht club might know him.

  “East End Yacht Club, This is Douglas. How may help you?”

  “Douglas, Max Fried.”

  “Oh, hi Mr. Fried. Did you and Mr. Snyder find each other OK?”

  “Huh?”

  “Mr. Snyder called. Said he was in Florida to work a case with you but he lost your address. I told him I didn’t have it and oh boy, there I go again. He told me not to say anything ‘cause he was embarrassed about losing it. I should have kept quiet. You won’t tell him, will you?”

  “No, I won’t say anything, but we never hooked up. Do you know where he’s staying? I can meet him there.”

  “No, but he complained about road noise from the Dixie Freeway. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yeah, it’s not too far from here. Thanks. Douglas, while I’ve got you on the phone, you know a guy called Cappy?”

  “
Cappy? You mean Captain Mike Kramer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “A couple of years back, he used to run charters until he got fired for being a drunk. Why?”

  “Don’t cancel Fisher’s membership. Turns out he’s alive but Captain Mike is dead.”

  “Ouch. That’s a shame.”

  “I hear Cappy and Maddie knew each other. That true?”

  “Sure, they each had monogrammed barstools in our club.”

  “Really?”

  “No, but now that I think of it, that’s not a bad idea. I can charge a premium for personalized barstools. Like director’s chairs. Print Captain So and So on the backs.”

  “How did they know each? What was the basis for the relationship?”

  “They were drinking buddies, plus Kramer captained our sunset cocktail cruises once a week. Maddie never missed those.”

  “Did they get along?”

  “Oh yeah, Maddie got along with everybody, except for the other women. Well, and except for some parents who had teenaged sons. Let’s just say all of the men loved her and a lot of them, literally.”

  “Know anybody who had it in for Kramer?”

  “No, oops, got another call. Gotta go. Put in a good word for me at the Coronado. I can start at any time.”

  Douglas really came through for me. He confirmed Maddie and Cappy had no beef and he gave me a lead on Snyder. Cappy wasn’t going anywhere, so I decided to deal with Snyder first. I needed to know what he knew about the New York group.

  In New Smyrna Beach, the Dixie Freeway is located on the mainland. Also known as A1A, the freeway boasts seven budget motels. Most are left over from the days when tourists drove side roads in cars without air conditioning, ate at burger stands, and slept in bungalow type lodging a few yards from the street. Each motel was built around a parking lot. Some shared the paved area with a pool. Some didn’t. Either way, it was easy to see the patron’s vehicles as I drove down the street.

  After passing three motels, I spotted Snyder’s Ford in the parking lot of the Dixie Flower Motor Lodge. Luckily, the Dixie Flower offered guests parking directly in front of their units and his car sat in front of unit number five. I drove around the back of the motor lodge to check out any exits. Snyder’s unit didn’t have a back door and the bathroom window was too small to crawl through. That meant the only way in or out was through the front door or the window next to it.

  I parked in front near Snyder’s car and looked through his driver’s side window. Discarded burger and burrito wrappers covered the passenger side floor and a 32-ounce plastic cup sat in one of the cup holders. I stepped onto the concrete walkway in front of the units and knocked on the door to number five. A voice muffled by the door called out, “Who is it?”

  He wasn’t going to be able to leave the room without me knowing it and the large window next to the door made it pointless to hide my identity so I said, “Max Fried.”

  “Go away.”

  “No.”

  “Go on. Get out of here.”

  “Or what? You’ll call the police? Tell you what. You wait there. I’ll call them for you. They charge an arm and a leg for local calls at this motel.”

  “Wait.”

  I heard a shuffling sound and then the door opened a crack. The security chain was still attached. “What?” he asked. “What do you want?”

  “Answers. Open the door.”

  “You gonna hit me?”

  “No.”

  “Shoot me?”

  “No.”

  He paused and looked me up and down as if that would reveal my true intent. After a moment, he said, “Okay.”

  The door closed and then opened. Snyder sat down on one of two single beds. He stuck his right hand in a cardboard ice bucket labeled “Courtesy Cooler” and his index finger looked purple. I said, “If that’s broken, you should see a doctor.”

  Snyder said, “I was afraid to go. Thought the police would be waiting for me.”

  “Don’t sweat it. I didn’t call.”

  He brightened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, you know, lost my temper.” He looked at my forehead and with his good hand pulled a piece of ice from his bucket. “You want some for the lump?”

  “No thanks but I’d like some information.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Whaddya want to know?”

  “Tell me about Bucky, Drew and the money.”

  Snyder nodded, “OK, Maddie convinced Bucky to invest a half a mill with Fisher. Then Drew blew Maddie off. She got mad and got Bucky to withdraw his investment, but Fisher didn’t have the money.”

  “What hold does Maddie have on Bucky.”

  Snyder laughed. “You kidding? Have you seen her? Seen him

  “But what about Drew? Wouldn’t Bucky want him out of the picture?”

  “Nah, he didn’t care. Geez, he didn’t want to marry Maddie. He just wanted to have some fun and Maddie didn’t let her relationship with any one guy interfere with that.”

  “OK, so tell me about the money.”

  “That’s my gig, man. I can’t tell you about it. I’ve got too much invested in it.” He looked down at the floor. “That’s why I lost it and hit you. I’m broke. I sunk a lot of money into finding that gold. Then Bucky just blows me off and hires you. I should have seen that coming. Now, I don’t know if I’ll even have enough money to pay my license renewal fees.”

  I felt bad for Snyder. He was seduced by money and got in over his head but that only gave him a motive for killing Captain Mike. Add Snyder’s temper and he looked good for the killing. I moved him to the top of my list but then I remembered the fingerprints on the fishing net.

  Since he was a New York PI, Snyder’s prints were already in the system. If the prints on the murder weapon were his, Torres would have had a hit. I was about to rule out Snyder as the killer. Then I remembered the box of latex gloves I kept in my closet and realized Snyder might have a box too. He went back into my suspect pool and I asked him, “When did you get to New Smyrna Beach?”

  “Saturday morning. I drove straight down from New York.”

  I wasn’t sure I could believe him but as I got up to leave, Snyder looked so beaten and dejected, I felt I had to give him something. I said, “I searched the Amante with an XRF analyzer. I have news for you. I didn’t find any gold. There isn’t any.”

  Snyder looked surprised. “Sure, there is. I followed Fisher. I heard him talking a lot about a golden rod. Then one day, he went to his bank and visited his safe deposit box. From there, he drove to a store where he bought a graphite crucible, tongs, and an acetylene torch. After that, he visited one of those gold shops, went back to the yacht club, and locked himself up on his boat. The next day, this other guy arrived, Fisher left and then the Amante departed for Florida. If the golden rod’s not on the boat, somebody moved it.”

  I left without saying anything else. I knew that once someone became a true believer, they never let facts get in the way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Somebody killed Cappy on Friday night and pinned it on Brenda. It was going to be tough solving Cappy’s murder without knowing more about him but I believed his killing had to connect to Drew Fisher and the New York crowd. Until I could learn more about Cappy, I threw all the New Yorkers into the pool.

  I was already at Snyder’s motel so I decided to start with him by determining when he actually arrived in Florida. He told me he didn’t get to town until the Saturday morning after the killing and I needed to confirm that. I knew the motel records would show when Snyder checked in but I didn’t expect the desk clerk would simply tell me what I wanted to know.

  I needed a plan and after some thought, came up with one. I wouldn’t ask for the information. I’d simply tell the clerk I was there to settle the bill for Snyder’s room. Snyder looked broke enough to skip out without paying, so I didn’t expect any argument from the clerk. Ed could afford it and the receipt would tell me all I needed to know.

  I entered the office at the Dixie Flower Mo
tel. A bell hanging from the door announced my presence but no one showed up to greet me. I waited quietly for a minute or two and when nobody came to the worn Formica counter, I called out. “Hello?”

  No one answered so I leaned over the counter to look through the doorway behind it. All I saw was an old kitchen table cluttered with a newspaper and a coffee cup. I called out again. As I waited for someone to appear, I noticed the computer on the other side of the counter. If no one was around, I could probably find out on my own the date Snyder checked in. If he checked in after the murder, it didn’t necessarily mean he was in the clear. He could have stayed somewhere else in town before checking in. On the other hand, if he lied about checking in on Saturday, he’d move up on the suspect list.

  Just as I stepped behind the counter to access the computer, a man came through the office door from the parking lot and said, “Hi, I’d like a room please.”

  I had no idea how the motel’s reservation program operated. I could probably figure it out if I took time to play with it, but delaying the guest while I did would probably give me away as an impostor. I wondered if the penal code included a specific charge for impersonating a desk clerk and decided to gamble that it didn’t.

  I shook my head. “Sorry, we’re fully booked.”

  The guy pointed to the sign in the window that read “Vacancies” and said, “Besides, I have a reservation.”

  I stepped in front of the computer. “Didn’t get a chance to change the sign yet. Name?”

  “Lewis. L-E-W-I-S.”

  “How many nights?”

  “One.”

  The computer displayed a text box labeled “Guest name.” I suspected completing this field might lead me to Snyder’s check in information but didn’t know if I could get to the reservations screen from here. I didn’t want to select a different menu option for fear I’d be unable to get back to this screen. So, instead of “Lewis,” I typed “Snyder” into the box and hit the enter key.

  I got lucky and Snyder’s reservation came up. I clicked “print,” and took a key from the rack behind the counter. As I handed the man a key labeled “3”, I heard a noise through the wall behind me followed by the sound of a toilet flushing. My time was running out. I grabbed the print out, said, “Need more toner,” and left the office. Behind me, I heard a new voice say, “Welcome to the Dixie Flower. Do you have a reservation?”