by Ali Brandon
“Psst!” Nattie called, and motioned her and Hamlet over. “I think I see the runabout headed this way. And look, she’s slowing it down.”
She looked in the direction Nattie pointed. Sure enough, there was the sleek craft with a silver-haired pilot at the wheel. Darla shook her head and gave Nattie an admiring look. It was obvious where Jake had inherited her knack for solving crimes. For all her endearing if annoying habits, the old woman was—what had Jake called Detective Martinez?—quite the smart cookie.
That, or she simply knew how to think like a criminal.
Tino was trotting down the ramp toward them, putting his phone back into one of his cargo shorts’ oversized pockets.
“Hey, I just called Ana again,” he told Darla as he crouched beside them. “She’s still about five minutes away, but she’s trying to get someone here now. What do you think we should do in the meantime—jump the old lady when she gets off the boat?”
Darla shook her head and pulled out her own phone.
“We can’t risk it; she’s got a gun. And you and I need to make sure Nattie doesn’t do anything crazy, like try to confront her. I say we hide and wait for her to walk up the ramp. If we’re lucky, the cops will get here before she reaches the street and stop her. But if not, we can hop back in the cab and follow her, and she’ll never notice.”
Swiftly, she dialed Jake again. This time, the PI answered, her voice barely audible.
“Where are you? Can you see Mildred’s boat?” Darla asked without preamble.
“We’re just passing that mansion with the red, white, and blue guest house . . . remember, the one we saw on the water taxi tour?” Jake said over the sound of Ricko’s dual outboards and the splashing of water. “And I can still see Mildred’s runabout, though she’s a few minutes ahead of us.”
Then, her tone growing suspicious, she added, “Why?”
“We want to make sure you don’t lose Mildred when she tries to ditch the boat. She’s headed toward a private launch ramp not far from where you can cut off the Intracoastal and head up the New River. The launch is behind a big clump of mangroves between two of the houses.”
“And you know this because . . . ?”
“Because we’re hiding behind that clump of mangroves, watching Mildred steer her boat in our direction.”
She winced and held the phone away from her ear as Jake let loose with a few bad words that might have shocked even Ricko.
“What are you doing there?” the PI demanded when the first curse storm had passed. “You’re supposed to be at Billy Pope’s place!”
“Yes, but Nattie was sure she knew where Mildred was headed, so we had Tino drive us over here. We figured we could intercept her in case she got away from you. And don’t worry, Officer Garcia and the other cops are on the way. We’re just going to keep an eye on Mildred until they get here. Sorry—gotta go!”
Darla hung up before Jake could continue exercising her vocabulary and then turned her attention to the water. Even to her untrained eye it looked like Mildred was bringing in the small craft a little faster than was safe.
She said as much to Tino, who agreed.
“Unless she throttles it down, she’s going to tear up that boat the minute she hits the ramp. If you don’t want to be hit by flying shrapnel, we’d better ditch plan A and go take cover in the cab.”
That was enough to convince Darla. Wrapping Hamlet’s leash securely about her wrist, she grabbed Nattie’s sleeve and tugged the protesting old woman back up the ramp.
“You can watch her crash from the taxi,” Darla told her. “Now, come on. We need to get out of sight. You keep forgetting she’s armed.”
“Eh, she probably couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with that peashooter,” Nattie said with a snort. Still, she climbed into the backseat of the cab alongside Darla and then joined her, kneeling onto the floor mats and carefully peering over the top edge of the door.
Unfortunately, their view of the launch was blocked by the wall of greenery, so that any witnessing of a crash would be limited to the audio. To that end, Tino turned the key and rolled down the taxi’s windows partway. They heard the sound of the runabout’s engine growing louder as Mildred drew nearer, and then a sudden silence as she cut the engine. Then came the sound of water lapping at the concrete launch as another boat’s wake preceded hers.
All at once, Darla heard an alarming scrape and thud as the runabout hit the ramp and presumably skidded up onto the concrete.
“Now that is going to cost Mr. Pope some money,” Tino observed in a low voice.
Darla shushed him and raised herself up a tiny bit more, hoping to get a better look at what was going on. She still couldn’t see anything, but she heard the frantic rustle of branches. Mildred tying the boat off, she assumed.
“Here she comes,” Nattie said with a sharp elbow to Darla’s ribs.
Darla bit back a reflexive oomph and ducked a bit lower. Mildred couldn’t have known that they’d guessed her destination, or that they were driving around in a cab. Even if the old woman spied their ride, surely she wouldn’t think anything of it. That was, assuming she didn’t glimpse a shock of hennaed hair bobbing in the window.
“Get down,” Darla whispered and tugged Nattie out of the window just as Mildred came limping up the ramp.
Darla counted to twenty, waiting until she was sure the old woman had had enough time to pass them; then, gingerly, she rose up again and took a peek.
A furious Mildred stood outside of the taxi’s window glaring back at her.
NINETEEN
AT THE UNEXPECTED SIGHT, DARLA GAVE A REFLEXIVE LITTLE cry. Nattie gave an answering scream of her own while even Tino, crouched on the front floorboard, uttered a startled yelp.
Mildred, meanwhile, grabbed the passenger-side handle and yanked the taxi’s door open. “What are you doing here? Get out, all of you!” she shrieked, waving the pistol like she was directing a band.
She looked quite the worse for her boat ride. Her glasses were splattered with water spots and her helmet of gray hair was raked by the wind in all directions like Hamlet in midgrooming. Her pants were soaked to the knees from where she must have stood in the water tying off the runabout, while her once-white blouse boasted several streaks of dirt.
But the pistol still gleamed with businesslike authority, so the three of them hurried to comply with her demand. Fearful for Hamlet’s safety, however, Darla left him on the floorboard of the cab. She gave him a whispered “Stay here, Hammy” before climbing out.
“I told you we should have jumped her when she got off the boat,” Tino murmured in dismay as she lined up along with him and Nattie. “Bad move, hiding in the cab.”
Nattie was the first to regain her composure.
“Guess you forgot I knew all about this launch, too,” she said with a self-congratulatory air. “Now, why don’t you give it up? The cops are on the way, and my Jacqueline and that good-lookin’ Haitian fellow are gonna be here any minute, too.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mildred clutched her handbag to her chest, her grip on the pistol steady now. “I’m not going to wait here like some doddering old woman. I’m going to make a break for it, and you’re coming with me as collateral.”
Nattie crossed her arms over her narrow chest and gave her friend a look of challenge. “No, I ain’t.”
Mildred’s eyes began to water behind the steel-rimmed glasses, while her expression grew more frustrated. “I’ll shoot you, then, and I’ll take Darla with me, instead.”
“Eh, why don’t you take Tino? He’s got a taxi, so he can drive you right outta here.”
“Hey, bad idea,” the young man protested before Mildred could reply. “I get real nervous driving if someone’s pointing a gun at me. Oh, and the boss is gonna get really ticked at me if I get stiffed on this fare.”
“No, no. That’s a ve
ry good idea,” Mildred said with a thoughtful nod. Then the sound of a fast-approaching siren set her off again. “You, cabbie, get inside,” she exclaimed, waving the pistol again.
With a look of resignation, Tino started around to the driver’s side.
“Now, you two girls stay here,” Mildred demanded as she reached for the passenger door. “And, Nattie, don’t you even think about trying to follow me again.”
“Okay, but can I at least have my car keys?” the old woman shot back. “I’m gonna need them when I go get my Mini from Billy’s place.”
Mildred gave her an annoyed look but with her free hand reached into her shoulder bag and dug around. She made a little sound of distaste as she pulled out the keychain with its dangling zebra-striped heart.
“Here you go,” she said, and tossed it toward Nattie. Pulling open the passenger door, she added, “And if I see you or Darla trying to follow me this time, I’ll—eeeek!”
It happened almost simultaneously. Mildred opened the taxi door, and Hamlet launched himself from inside it like—as Darla later described it to James and Robert—an Olympic gymnast executing the perfect vault. He stuck the landing literally, front paws wrapped around Mildred’s neck and rear claws digging into her chest.
“Eeek!” she shrieked again, though this time her scream was muffled by Hamlet’s furry head against her mouth. The pistol fell with a clatter onto the stone drive, and Nattie swooped down to pick it up.
“I told ya, Millie, give it up,” she said with a cackle, training the weapon on her former friend. “I got yer gun, so don’t you try running off.”
Glasses askew and looking like she had a fur stole draped about her, Mildred nodded gingerly and raised her hands. Hamlet, apparently satisfied that the humans could take it from there, released his grip on Mildred and dropped lightly to the ground again. Leash trailing behind him, he strolled over to where Darla stood and looked up at her with his patented I’m a good kitty expression.
Yes, you definitely are, Darla silently told him as she reached down to catch hold of his leash.
Not that the feline would have heard the words even if she’d said them aloud, for sirens blared now at the top of the ramp. She could see blue lights flashing through the surrounding foliage as well, while the sound of numerous car doors opening and slamming again filled the air. Apparently, the cavalry—meaning Garcia and company—had finally arrived. Even better, Darla could hear the sound of Ricko’s boat approaching the launch.
But her relief was short-lived when, as soon as the sirens cut off, a man’s voice barked through a bullhorn, “Police! Drop your weapon now! Drop it!”
Five uniformed officers, guns drawn, were slowly marching down the boat ramp toward them. The one with the bullhorn turned out to be Officer Johnston, while Officer Garcia led the other four. All of them had their weapons trained on Nattie, who was still enjoying her moment in the sun playing Annie Oakley.
“Nattie, they mean you! Put the gun down and get away from it!” Darla shrieked in sudden panic, visions of the old woman falling in a hail of gunfire rushing through her mind. She’d read about innocent bystanders being shot down by mistake while the police were sorting good guys from bad. And the fact that Nattie happened to be wielding a weapon at the moment tended to put her into the latter category.
“Officer Garcia, please don’t shoot!” Darla shouted when the old woman remained unmoving. “That’s Jake Martelli’s mother. She disarmed your suspect just as you and the other officers arrived.”
“Hey, Ana!” Tino shouted. “She’s right—don’t shoot! It’s this loca old lady in the glasses you want!”
“Eh, keep yer pants on,” Nattie called as, seeming to snap from her momentary paralysis, she bent and set the gun on the ground. Then, arms raised high, she took a few steps back, and said, “Look, no gun.”
Garcia edged forward, her own pistol still at the ready. Motioning one of the other officers to retrieve Mildred’s weapon, she waited until it was safely out of the way before moving in closer. Her gaze swept Darla, Nattie, and Tino, the latter of whom gave her a big grin and thumbs-up.
“Hey, prima, glad you got here. This loca lady”—he pointed at Mildred—“she tried to kidnap me!”
Garcia shot her cousin an annoyed look. “Don’t worry, Tino. She would have gotten sick of you and tossed you out after a couple of blocks.” Then, turning her attention to Darla, she said, “Nice to see you again, Ms. Pettistone. I assume that’s the famous lost cat, Hamlet?”
She nodded, remembering that the cop had yet to see the famous Karate Kitty in person.
“Officer Garcia,” another, familiar voice called from the direction of the launch. “It’s Jake Martelli. I was in pursuit of Mrs. Fischer by boat and followed her here. May I approach?”
“The more the merrier, Ms. Martelli,” Garcia replied, though her displeased tone belied her welcoming words. “Come up where we can see you, and make it fast, if you don’t mind.”
Jake, soaked to the knees just as Mildred was, came sloshing up the ramp. Garcia looked at her. “Were you in that boat alone?”
“No. I convinced a local fishing guide to play taxi for me,” Jake said. “He had customers waiting, so he dropped me here at the launch and took off again.”
Darla suppressed a knowing smile at that. She figured that the prospect of losing paying customers wasn’t Ricko’s reason for bailing. More likely it was his reluctance to get near the local constabulary.
Garcia motioned Jake to join the rest of them. The PI gave Darla a look that said, We’ll talk about this later, and then stood beside Nattie. Though she put a protective arm around her mother’s shoulder, Darla suspected that Jake was more in the mood to wring Nattie’s neck.
Officer Garcia, meanwhile, holstered her gun. And while Johnston and the other officers still remained on alert, they also put their weapons away, much to Darla’s relief. The last thing they needed was for everyone to go O.K. Corral there.
“Mrs. Fischer,” the cop said to Mildred, who had been huddled near the taxi clutching her purse, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Ted Stein, as well as for numerous counts of kidnapping and attempted kidnapping. Now, I’m going to handcuff you and search you, and then I’m going to read you your rights. You’ll cooperate with me, right?”
“Yes, yes,” Mildred replied in a small voice, body hunched and looking suddenly a good decade older than her true age. “Maybe Billy will help me pay for a lawyer,” she added, the comment drawing a disgusted snort from Nattie.
Mildred straightened and obligingly moved away from the taxi as Garcia approached. Then, before any of them realized what was happening, Mildred took a few running steps toward the vehicle and dove for its hood, doing a handspring that sent her up and over the cab and landing on the ramp beyond it. From there, she took off at a run toward the water, presumably intending to take off in the runabout again.
Darla stared after the old woman, aware that her mouth was hanging open. Did I just see what I think I saw? Mildred may have once been a high-level gymnast, but she was over seventy now. Still, the undeniable proof that her abilities were largely undiminished lay in the set of small handprints that marred the dusty hood of Tino’s taxi.
Darla wasn’t the only one to question what she’d just witnessed. The sight of a septuagenarian performing such a stunt held the cops in stunned silence for a few crucial moments while the old woman put distance between her and them.
Only Nattie shook her head in resigned satisfaction. “I told you she was a gymnast,” she reminded Darla.
Then Garcia gave her head a hard shake and broke into a run.
“Stop!” she shouted after Mildred, rushing that same way. The other cops leaped to attention as well, joining Garcia in the foot race.
But Mildred’s string of luck abruptly changed from good to bad. Before she could get more than halfway down the ramp, some
thing plummeted from the palm trees above the old woman. A heartbeat later, Mildred lay prone on the ground, as if felled by an unseen fist.
Garcia reached the spot where the old woman sprawled and bent over her for a quick look. A moment later, she straightened.
“Quick, call the paramedics,” she shouted to Johnston.
Nattie, meanwhile, was staring in satisfaction at her unmoving friend. To no one in particular, she remarked, “I told you ya gotta watch out for those falling coconuts. One hits you on the head, and it’s lights out, permanent-like.”
* * *
“IT BASICALLY BOILED DOWN TO THE MONEY,” JAKE EXPLAINED THE NEXT morning as she, Nattie, and Darla ate a late breakfast on the deck of Porto del Sol diner. Hamlet curled comfortably under the table, waiting for an errant bit of egg or ham to fall his way. So far, he’d been disappointed.
Taking another bite of what was listed in the menu as the Hot, Hot, Hot Omelet (made with three different kinds of peppers), the PI went on, “Sam wasn’t willing to tell me much more, but I got some of it from Garcia. Plus I paid a little unofficial visit to Alicia and Cindy last night, as well. Apparently, Mildred was gunning for both Ted Stein and Billy Pope, and Alicia didn’t realize it until too late.”
“So Billy Pope was involved in the lien situation after all?” Darla asked. “But, I thought he was a multimillionaire.”
She glanced again at the front page of the morning paper that she’d brought along to breakfast. Next to an account of a national political scandal was the headline Former Olympic Hopeful Arrested in Murder. But that was already yesterday’s news. That morning, one of the headlines on Darla’s favorite news sites now proclaimed, College Prostitution Scandal Broadens. A subheading suggested this was a Possible Tie to Cat-Show Murder.
“‘Was’ is the key word,” Jake replied to her question. “When the real estate boom went bust, so did Billy. He managed to keep up appearances for a long while, but things were getting tight. Ted was just a greedy opportunist who saw a chance to make some easy money. You saw the copy of that letter that went out from the condo board. Mildred missed a payment on her association dues, and Billy and Ted were threatening to foreclose and sell the place right out from under her.”