“Morning, everyone,” said Palamina, the magazine’s co-owner. In honor of Fantasy Fest week, she’d changed her hair color to platinum blond with a metallic blue streak beginning from her right temple. And she was wearing sparkly gold leggings and a boxy patchwork top made out of shirts from past years’ festivals. Only Palamina could piece together a quilt out of ugly jersey T-shirts and come up with something that resembled the cutting edge of fashion.
“Let’s hear what everyone’s got for the Thursday issue,” Wally said.
“The takeout article is going well,” I said. “Though I’m sorry to say we were slowed down by Garbo’s Grill.”
“No good?” asked Palamina. She tapped her lower lip with a pink pen. “With all the great press they’ve gotten recently, that would surprise me.”
“Too good,” I said, grinning. “We couldn’t do the Paradise Pub justice. Which worked out okay, since they lost our order. The chef was so mad—based on the cuss words we heard, I thought he might have the head of the waitress right back in the kitchen. We decided not to wait—I’ll go another day.”
“He has a French name, doesn’t he?” Wally asked. “But the food is pubbish. I went once last year and was not that impressed.”
“I’m always hopeful,” I said. “Lots of the locals love the place and the chef will be the new owner, so he can make lots of menu changes if he likes. But meanwhile, I’m working on a piece on the zombie parade—mostly fun photos.”
Wally rubbed a hand over his sandy hair until it stuck out like a hedgehog’s. “Didn’t someone die in the zombie parade?”
Danielle blanched.
“Yes, a woman did,” I said. “Maybe a heart attack.” If the bosses didn’t know yet how close we’d been to the action, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell them. “But just in case, the police are holding a press conference about the incident this afternoon. Hoping to smoke out some leads in case it was foul play. In case they have some helpful witnesses, and before they drink so much their memories are wiped clean.”
“I’ll cover that,” said Palamina, slapping her pen on the desk. “What else?”
Danielle stammered something about creativity and costumes, which Palamina dismissed as too vague to use. “Come back to us when you have your angle worked out,” she said, ignoring the stricken look on my friend’s face.
“I’ll help you narrow it down,” I said, patting Danielle’s knee. “What about trends in body and face painting, though?” I asked. “I have a body paint artist to interview. And we could do some man-on-the-street bits about how they choose their look and what’s behind the effort.”
“And while you’re at it, find out why anyone wants to prance down the busiest street in town with no clothes on?” Wally asked. “It’s not like the old days when you could do that and suffer no consequences. The way social media works, people are sharing sights with the world that should remain in the darkness of their bedroom.”
“Go for it,” Palamina said to me. “And don’t be a prude,” she added to Wally, softening the words with a grin. “Let’s all check back in here this afternoon? Say in a couple of hours, after the press conference? This week is churning like a riptide, and I don’t want Key Zest to be gawking on the sidelines while everyone on the island reads the news in someone else’s magazine.”
When the meeting was over, I motioned to Danielle to follow me down the hall to my office. “Let’s think things through,” I said as she perched on the folding chair I keep behind the door for my occasional visitors.
She glanced around the tiny room. The slanted wall sloping into my desk was papered with some of my favorite articles from Key Zest along with other local publications. I’d included photos of iguanas and gravestones from the cemetery, tropical flowers, and wonderful meals. On my desk, I had a photo of our houseboat at dusk, Miss Gloria and my mother standing in front of it, each holding a cat. It made me smile every time I saw it.
Danielle heaved a sigh. “Your place is so cute—it shines with your personality. I still haven’t gotten used to the changes she made out there.” She hooked her thumb toward the main office space, now decorated in the world according to Palamina—textured burlap, Asian-style arcing fish, and photos that looked as though they’d been mass-produced for tropical hotel chains.
“Thanks, but she was right to update the office. It’s more businesslike for the front of the house where people get their first impression of our magazine,” I said, not wanting to foment ill will toward the boss. “Good for when advertisers stop by, or sources. I would hesitate to bring someone back here. It’s like a little window into my brain—scary.” I laughed but she didn’t.
“Did you see that Palamina had the article about the fight between me and Druckman right there in her folder?” Danielle’s face puckered and I thought she was going to break into pieces.
I leaned forward and took one of her hands. “Forget Palamina. Let’s think about what the cops might want to know. It’s better to be prepared than have them surprise you with questions. I found that out the hard way.” I laughed again, desperate to lighten the mood. “Can you think of any of your supporters who might have played a prank on Caryn Druckman? I know you weren’t involved,” I reassured her. “But I also know how these things go. Someone close to you might have realized how hard you worked and got worried that this other candidate would win in the final moments. Suppose they felt protective and went too far. Anything like that?”
Danielle burst into tears.
I bit my lip and paused for a moment. “Okay, let’s back up a bit. Tell me about who worked on your campaign. Who might have had a lot invested in you becoming queen of Fantasy Fest this year?”
Daniel grabbed a tissue from the box on my desk and dabbed around her eyes, carefully so as not to disturb her mascara and sparkly eye shadow. She sniffed. “My family, of course. My mother was very active in recruiting people to attend the parties. She got a lot of our conch neighbors and friends to come to things, so it wasn’t just the same group of snowbirds and wealthy folks that come out for all the galas. She won the title of queen of Fantasy Fest back when I was a little girl. So you can imagine how excited she was when I decided to run.” Her eyes widened and grew shiny with tears again. “She did not pressure me one bit, honest. It did not mean that much to her—she isn’t like one of those beauty pageant mothers or anything. She would never have hurt that woman.”
“Of course it wasn’t your mom,” I said. “Who else worked on the campaign?”
“Her sister,” Danielle said. “Her twin. We three are having lunch today at Louie’s Backyard. Maybe you could come along and talk to both of them at once.”
Torrence had told me to stay out of things. Easy for him to say. But not so easy for me to do when my friend was an obvious suspect and in such terrible distress. The least I could do was chat with her relatives over a fish taco. A girl had to eat anyway.
“Absolutely,” I said. “How about the other royalty candidates? Did they get along with Druckman?”
“Nobody was feuding with her or anything,” Danielle said, and I nodded my encouragement. “Seymour Fox ran for king and won. He works at the Green Parrot. Maybe he’s a part owner too. I can’t think of any problems with him. And John-Bryan Hopkins was the guy running against him. He’s an outsider too, like Caryn was. He’s a food blogger and a social media king. As far as I could tell, he was having a ball.”
“Anyone else?”
“Kitty Palmer,” she said. “She teaches tennis. I can’t see that this is getting us anywhere.” She slumped into her chair, a pout on her face.
“Better for me to ask the questions than the KWPD, though, right? We’ll talk more at lunch.”
9
It’s a lucky carrot that ends up in Ms. Kong’s kitchen; rarely is the vegetable lavished with so much attention.
—Pete Wells, “Cooking as They Go Along,” The New York Times, March 25, 2015
At eleven forty-five, I knocked off my work and rode
over to Louie’s, on the Atlantic side of the island. Though the food in this restaurant is good, the real draw is its outside deck and bar perched directly on the ocean. Sitting at a table, listening to the water slosh onto Dog Beach and gazing at the sailboats and Jet Skis on the horizon, you could have a plate of sawdust in front of you and feel perfectly satisfied. Visitors go nuts for it, but the locals love it too. This would be exactly the kind of place that would feel special for a regular lunch date between sisters.
A hostess met me at the front desk and delivered me to the table where Danielle was sitting with two other women. Danielle’s mom, Mary, looked exactly as I imagined Danielle would look in twenty-five or thirty years: She wore her gray-blond hair in a swooping chignon. Her dark tan suggested happy hours on a boat or beside the pool, and a blousy sundress skimmed the extra fifteen pounds that she’d probably been trying to shed for years. Her twin sister had the same rounded cheeks and Roman nose, though her hair was short and she wore sparkly reading glasses dangling from a chain around her neck. Even with makeup, she looked a bit older than Danielle’s mom.
Danielle made the introductions and they greeted me warmly. “I’m Marion,” said the twin with glasses and spiky hair. She put her arm around her sister and grinned. “Our mother was into M names, as you can see, and without a lot of creativity. We think she was so stunned when two of us showed up that she split the difference.”
The waitress arrived and we all ordered fish tacos and iced tea.
“Thank you for helping Danielle,” said Mary, her face settling into worried lines. “We couldn’t be more distressed about what’s happened this week. My daughter worked so hard in this contest, and to think that anyone imagined she would hurt someone or cheat … It breaks my heart.” Two big fat tears began to zigzag down her cheeks.
“It doesn’t mean they think the worst of her. They have to look at everything,” I said, patting the back of her hand. “Of course, we know Danielle did nothing wrong, but the police have to investigate all the possibilities, even if they’re unlikely.”
“The stakes are too high when someone dies,” Marion agreed, nodding soberly. “The cops can’t just stand around at Smathers Beach looking at girls in bikinis and chewing the fat.”
I cringed. Torrence and Bransford would despise that description, even if it seemed she was joking.
The waitress approached with a tray of iced tea in tall glasses and set them on our table along with a bowl of lemon wedges and another with miniature packages of brown sugar and fake sugar. I doctored mine with a double dose of lemon and sugar and then asked: “Tell me more about the contest over the past month or so. Was everyone getting along, or were there problems between some of the contestants?”
The sisters exchanged glances, which made me wonder whether I’d be getting the whole story with all three Kamens at the same table.
“Honestly, between us, that woman was a pain right from the beginning,” said Marion, sliding her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
“You mean Caryn Druckman.” They nodded in unison. “A pain in what way?” I asked as I reached for a breadstick and began to slather it with butter.
“I don’t think it’s right to speak ill of the dead,” said Mary. “And I wouldn’t talk about this except that Danielle was so close to the situation. And we’re scared to death that she’s going to be blamed for something that she didn’t do.” She bit her lip, waiting for me to nod before she continued. “This Caryn was supercompetitive. I mean, she would have given anything to win. For gosh sakes, it was supposed to be all about raising money for charity, but she behaved like she was running for Miss America.” She looked at her sister. “Am I being too harsh?”
“That’s what it reminded me of too,” Marion said, then glanced at Danielle. “It reminded me of when you ran for the prom queen during your senior year. Remember that awful girl who was in your court? She was certain she was going to be the winner. When she lost, she became vicious. She posted nasty things on Danielle’s locker and spread awful rumors. And the funny thing was, she was a gorgeous woman.”
“More glamorous than Danielle,” Mary added. She reached over to touch her daughter’s hair. “Though certainly not as pretty.”
“For heaven sake’s, Mother,” said Danielle, her face and neck now pinked with embarrassment, “that was years ago.”
“Not that long ago,” said Mary. “And besides, the feeling is the same. People saw through her fancy facade and voted for the girl who was kind. That’s the sort of thing you’re after, isn’t it, Hayley?”
I nodded vigorously. “Go ahead and tell me more about it. Because if the high school girl was intense in the same way that Caryn was, it might help us understand what happened to her. Who she was underneath the surface and why she might’ve died. Was Caryn born and raised in Key West?”
“No,” said Danielle’s mom. “And maybe that was part of the issue. It’s annoying when people think that this is their island when they’ve barely arrived. Worse yet, if they act that way too. Never mind that the rest of us hardly make it off the rock once we land.” The twins laughed.
“We’re not total hicks; we did go to college in Gainesville,” said Marion. “But you get the idea—we belong here in a way these newcomers never will.”
I cringed a little, because I could probably be accused of the same thing. Shortly after I’d moved down, Key West seeped into my system like a sweet poison, and now I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. And I probably bragged about how lucky I was to be on this island more than I should. “Say more about it,” I said. “How long has Caryn been around?”
“Maybe she came ten years ago or so?” Marion asked, glancing at her sister for confirmation.
“Probably closer to seven. Like the other people who can afford it and have a place where they can escape, she would leave for the hot summer months and go somewhere on Long Island,” said Mary. “A mini mansion, if you believe the stories.”
“And most annoying,” said Marion, slapping her palm on the table, “she had this huge social media campaign—Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, you name it—with all the Key West news that she felt was worth printing. And when the news wasn’t about her, it was about the ‘high-society’ people, not the rest of us schlumps slaving away in the trenches.”
“If I read one more Facebook post ending with love and sundrenched kisses from your friend Caryn, I thought I might puke.”
“Stop it. You’ll make Hayley think we’re awful people,” said Danielle.
Mary laughed. “I forgot, we’re not speaking ill of the dead.”
“They’re really not usually this bitchy,” Danielle whispered to me. “But sometimes they get this twin energy going, and then you’d better get out of the way. It’s like feeding chum to the sharks.”
I grinned. “So Caryn thought she was going to win the Fantasy Fest contest, like that girl in your high school thought she’d win prom queen.”
Mary nodded. “And like I said, the high school girl may have been prettier, but she wasn’t nice to people the way Danielle is. And with this woman Caryn, it was similar. She had access to the people with the most money and she should have blown us out of the water with all those connections and the social media to spread her gospel. But in the end Danielle’s earnestness and humility won out.”
Danielle shook her head with a chagrined smile. “It’s nice to have them on my side, but embarrassing too.”
I grinned. “It’s sweet; you should run with it. There was one other queen candidate too, right?”
“Yes, Kitty Palmer. I got the feeling she was pushed into running, because she ran a halfhearted campaign.”
“She was busy though too,” said Danielle. “She teaches at Bayview and she has to cram in as many lessons as she can while people are in town.”
The twins spent a few minutes describing how they would have increased attendance at Kitty’s parties had they been in charge.
“If you don’t mind,” I said to Danielle,
“tell us again exactly what happened on Duval Street in front of The Bull and Whistle. How did the fight get started? What seemed to really set Caryn off? You told me it was a mini meet and greet along that section of Duval?”
Danielle wrapped her hair around her hand and pinned it away from her neck with a pink barrette. “At first it wasn’t a problem because she was snubbing me, as if I wasn’t there at all. Not that easy, when I was the so-called queen and she was in the court.” She flashed a lopsided smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “But that didn’t bother me because it only made her look small. Of course, people on the streets were a little tipsy, if not completely drunk. And some of them started hollering out ‘hail to the queen’ and ‘long live the queen’ and ‘locals rule, visitors go home’—silly stuff like that.”
Danielle heaved a big sigh and sank lower in her chair. Her neck was flushing a deep pink that spread like a stain up to her cheeks. “And then Caryn just boiled over, that’s all I can say. Her face got purple. And she made this little huffing sound. And it looked like she was going to blow. Even the other royal court members noticed it. That John-Bryan who ran for king and lost tried to take her arm and chat with her and calm her down. He reminded her that they were off duty for the next year, while Seymour and I would have a million events to attend. And the fact that local people had won this year was probably a good thing for the island.”
“Was your king involved?” I asked. “What is he like?”
“Seymour seems like a nice guy,” Danielle said. “I don’t know him super well. We campaigned as individuals, not as a couple.”
“Was he trying to help contain Caryn too?”
“No,” she said. “He kept his distance. I think he was afraid of her.”
“So what finally pushed her over the edge?” I hated to keep hammering at her about this, but the picture was still fuzzy. “Was it something you said?”
Killer Takeout Page 6