An Appetite for Murder

by Lucy Burdette

  The more I could find out about Kristen, the better chance I’d have of identifying her killer. And hadn’t Miss Gloria mentioned talking to the cops just the other day? Now I wondered if she was referring to a second visit.

  I sat at the kitchen table and started a list on my laptop.

  At the end, I wrote: Who could have baked the poison key lime pie?

  Everyone and anyone, that’s who. There were a million purveyors of pie in our town, and probably plenty of amateur cooks who were proud of their recipes as well. But not all of them would stoop to that bilious green color that I’d seen on the knife in the police department. Especially not a professional chef with a reputation riding on their production. Then I remembered reading the recipe for a Weight Watchers pie that consisted of sugar-free lime Jell-O, lime yogurt, and low-fat Cool Whip.

  What could be more disgusting? And green?

  15

  “Envy dulls the appetite.”

  —Christine Muhlke

  At twenty to five, I motored down Southard Street to meet Chad’s secretary, Deena, at the pier. A half dozen dogs and their owners were already strolling along the water, which lapped against the concrete barriers ten feet above the Navy Mole harbor. Others were wrestling and playing with Frisbees and balls on the triangular grassy space in front of the Mills Place condominiums. The grass petered out to just a tail at Harbor Place, Chad’s condo complex. If I kept walking, I’d end up a stone’s throw from the Harbor Place pool and gardens. Only this time I’d be on the far side of the chain-link fence that separated property owners from riffraff.

  Off in the distance, I recognized Deena, dressed in tight white jeans and black heels, walking a medium-sized yellow mutt. Even dressed for dog-walking, she looked gorgeous: her black hair curling past her shoulders over a sparkly gold lace top; her face perfectly made-up. I went over to give Ginger a pat and Deena a hug, which she returned without her customary warmth.

  “Thanks for talking to me,” I said. It would have been polite to make some small talk, ask about the office and whether there was anything new in her love life. But I didn’t have it in me and she didn’t seem interested. I added: “I don’t expect you to take my side on anything. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this. I’m a whisker away from being arrested for Kristen’s murder.”

  “You can’t be serious,” said Deena with a frown. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “You’re telling me,” I said.

  Deena threw a tennis ball and the dog scampered off to chase it down. The dog brought the ball back and dropped it in front of Deena’s feet, panting.

  “Good girl.” She offered her a tiny dog biscuit and threw the ball again.

  “So you were saying that Kristen and Chad were seeing each other before he met me? I have to say that floors me. I guess I wasn’t paying attention to anything but hormones.”

  She tucked her arm around my waist and squeezed. “I’m sorry about all this. I know it’s hard to absorb. But honestly, it was more than casual dating, Hayley. I was waiting for an engagement announcement—which is saying something if Chad’s involved.”

  “An engagement announcement?” I pulled away from her, trying to make sense of this latest bit of shocking news.

  She accepted the slobbery ball from Ginger a second time and repeated the treat and throw routine. She had a better arm than I would have predicted for such a feminine-looking woman—the ball went long and straight.

  “You thought they would be getting married? Married,” I repeated dully. “Chad and Kristen.”

  “Yes. I mean, he seemed more serious about her than any of the other girls he’d gone out with before. And I’ve seen a lot of them come through in the ten years I’ve worked for him.” She flashed a rueful smile and gathered her hair into a ponytail with a gold scrunchie. “You know yourself he makes a very good impression.”

  I sighed. “I can’t understand why I never heard about this. It’s so embarrassing. My friend Eric knows everything that happens in this town and he never said a peep. If he’d known, surely he would have warned me.”

  But would he have warned me? What if the information he’d heard had been told to him in a confidential session, like whatever he seemed to know about my lawyer? He certainly hadn’t encouraged me to fly down and move in with Chad. How many times had he urged me to take my time and get to know Chad before I took such a major step? This whole line of thinking left me feeling light-headed and a little queasy.

  “If it makes you feel any better, they didn’t make their connection obvious,” said Deena. “They went to dinner once in a while and attended a few benefits as a couple last winter in the high season, but she didn’t move in with him. And you know how he is about public displays of affection.” She raised her eyebrows and wiggled them.

  “Too well,” I admitted with a weak chuckle. “He seemed different down here than he did in New Jersey. Less affectionate. More constrained. It sure makes sense now.”

  “When he came back from visiting his mom and informed me that any calls from you were to be put through immediately—that was a shocker,” Deena said, rubbing her dog’s ears and tossing the ball again. “And I was completely blown away when he said you were moving in. Everyone was surprised when you moved down—probably no one more than Chad himself. I don’t mean anything bad by this, but after you and I talked a few times, I couldn’t imagine you two were much of a match. You’re so sweet and he—” Her words trailed off.

  “He was so . . . ?”

  “Not.” She laughed. “Oh, Hayley, stop. There’s no point in torturing yourself with the whys and wherefores. Kristen was never going to be as much fun as you are. You lightened Chad up—most likely that’s why he fell for you. There he was, away from the pressures of the office, and you looked as though you could be part of a different life. He probably didn’t believe that you’d actually come. Or think through whether you’d fit in.”

  She took a tissue from her tiny black-and-gold-checked purse and wiped the dog goo off her fingers. “I doubt he even thought about whether he’d be happy with such a big change in his life—I suspect he and Kristen had had a spat before he went up to visit his mother. But in the end, he’s driven and ambitious. Period. Did he ever talk to you about the case he was working on over the last couple months?”

  I shook my head. Seemed there had been a lot he didn’t mention.

  “He represented the husband—you know he prefers male clients. He says he can’t stand hysterical, angry women, unless they’re in court ranting about the settlements he’s won against them. That, he kind of enjoys.” She pulled the scrunchie off and shook out her hair. “Anyway, he wiped his client’s ex-wife out. Took everything, including the dog. She couldn’t afford a big-shot lawyer and she paid for it. See, Kristen could relate to something like that. She understood winning. You, on the other hand, would only feel sorry for his opponent.”

  “So you’re pretty definite that I broke them up, not the other way around?”

  She frowned, gripped my shoulders, and gave me a little shake, looking me dead in the eyes. “He dumped her for you. And then he dumped you for her. Now, is that the kind of man you want to go moping around town for?”

  “Not really,” I said. “I’m trying hard not to mope.” I managed a small smile. “Did you know that Chad had a relationship with Kristen’s sister before he started going out with Kristen?”

  “That’s a new one on me,” she said. “Not that he tells me everything. But it’s hard not to hear more than I want to, sitting right outside his office.”

  Then I asked the question I’d wanted to ask right from the beginning. “Why do you stay with him?”

  She rubbed the fingers on her right hand together. “For this island, the pay is outstanding. He relies on me—and he knows it, so he treats me like a queen. He couldn’t bear having me hired away. You saw a little of how ugly divorces can be. I’m pretty good at heading off the hateful exes and would-be exes.”

  I no
dded. I’d heard her side of a couple of these conversations, and she was a master at managing chaos and deflecting it away from Chad.

  She flashed a crooked smile and patted her dog. “You’re better off without him.”

  “Rat bugger,” I said.

  After Deena left with her panting dog in tow, I continued down to the end of the pier where a group of men were talking, some with fishing lines bobbing in the water. And one dressed like Elvis. From the other side of the fence, when I’d been relaxing by the condominium pool, I’d often seen them in the morning and again at sunset, but I’d never gotten close enough to chat. Not that I would have anyway—they tended to clump together, looking somewhat ominous and often loaded.

  “Miss Hayley!” called a familiar twangy voice. Tony emerged from the group, wearing his battered cowboy hat and jeans with more holes than denim. “Whazzup?”

  “Same old, same old.” I waved and started to turn back toward town.

  “You stayin’ out of trouble? Anything new in the murder case?”

  “Not that they’re telling me.” Or that I would necessarily tell him. He’d been sympathetic and all, but . . .

  But then it occurred to me that one of these fishermen, with their clear view of Chad’s condo, might have caught a glimpse of the murderer delivering the pie last Tuesday. They weren’t likely to talk to me about it, but they might tell Tony.

  “Actually, I could use your help. It seems that someone at this complex”—I pointed to the whitewashed condominium building—“told the cops they’d seen me here the morning that Kristen Faulkner was murdered. It’s not true, but the problem is, I have no way to prove it.”

  “Bummer,” said Tony. He lit a cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke. Then he pointed at me and grinned. “You need another witness—someone who isn’t making crap up.”

  “I sure do.”

  “Wait here. Lemme ask around.”

  “Thank you so much. It was Tuesday morning. It was raining, if that helps,” I called after him as he shambled back to his buddies.

  I lowered myself to the cool cement and sat with my legs hanging off the edge, not wishing to get any closer to Chad’s building. All I needed was him out on his balcony with a pair of binoculars, jumping to the conclusion that I was stalking him.

  The multistory cruise ship docked at the far side of the Navy Mole sounded three blasts on its horn and pulled away from its mooring, the cruisers crowded out on the decks to see Key West off. I felt a sharp surge of yearning for that kind of simplicity—my life dictated by a pleasant even if touristy vacation itinerary.

  I was struggling to digest Deena’s news. I believed everything she’d told me—why would she lie? But if Chad was seriously involved with Kristen, why in the world had he hooked up with me? Was he so panicked at the thought of getting engaged that he’d chosen to blow the relationship to bits? Jumping off the cliff with me certainly derailed his prospects for marriage. He knew how to be direct with his clients, but maybe talking about his deep inner feelings with a girlfriend was not a skill he’d mastered.

  Tony ambled back over and squatted down beside me. He smelled a little of the beach and cigarettes and old beer and a little of something fried—maybe the lunch that had been served at the soup kitchen this morning.

  “None of these dudes was fishing Tuesday. But I’ll letcha know if I hear anything, okay?”

  “Sure, thanks for trying,” I said, disappointed.

  I scrambled to my feet and headed across the pier toward my scooter, trying to push my mind away each time it pinged back to Chad. Revving up the bike’s engine, I pulled on my helmet and started up Southard. Once past the Truman Annex gatehouse, I turned left down the little road behind the post office and right onto Fleming, thinking about dinner and filling Eric and Connie in on the latest. Dusk was rolling into darkness and it felt chilly, like more rain was coming. I wished I’d worn my fleece and some heavier socks. My teeth were chattering by the time I reached the marina and settled the bike on its kickstand in the parking lot.

  Our finger of the dock seemed unusually dark. Had we had a power outage? Even Miss Gloria’s houseboat was blacked out. Odd that she didn’t have her Christmas lights on—she must have gone out this afternoon, I thought as I passed her place. Maybe one of her kids was visiting and had taken her out to supper. Did she have kids? I didn’t remember her ever mentioning her family.

  Halfway up the walk to our boat, I noticed a heap on the planks, as though someone had dropped a sack of something right in the middle of the dock where anyone could trip over it. Annoyed, I picked up my pace. When I moved in, Connie had stressed how important it was to the community that everyone pitch in to keep the place clean. Shipshape, she called it. Don’t worry about whether you dropped it or not. Just pick it up.

  Only five feet away, I realized the heap was Miss Gloria, left in a pile like yesterday’s garbage. My heart began to hammer and my hands felt slippery with sweat. I ran up to her, yanking the phone from my pocket, and punched 911. “It’s Hayley Snow. At the Tarpon Pier Marina. Something’s wrong with my neighbor.” I crouched down next to her, smoothing a strand of white hair from her forehead.

  “What kind of trouble is she having?” asked the operator.

  I described Miss Gloria’s pallid face and then—oh my God—the bloody gash visible through the fine white hair covering the top of her skull.

  “Is she breathing?” the dispatcher asked. “Does she have a pulse?”

  I held my hand in front of her lips. “I can’t tell,” I moaned. “She’s so frail.”

  “Keep her warm and don’t move her. We’ll send someone right over.”

  I hung up and screamed for help.

  16

  Part of the secret of success in life is to eat what you like and let the food fight it out inside.

  —Mark Twain

  Mr. Renhart emerged from the cabin of his boat wearing torn jeans and a tan T-shirt that read “Habitat for Insanity: Fantasyfest 2011!”

  “Jesus, Hayley, what’s all the screeching about?”

  “It’s Miss Gloria—she’s hurt. Can you bring me a blanket?” I crouched beside her, ready to take him on if he insisted we move her somewhere else. I’d overheard enough of his arguments with his wife to know that he always believed he was right.

  But he ducked back inside and then sprinted over carrying a brown wool army blanket that smelled of must and fish. Wrinkling my nose, I took it from him and tucked it around Miss Gloria’s limp little form. Oh dear Lord, what if she died?

  “She must have fallen,” said Mr. Renhart. “She’s too old to be living in a place like this all by herself. Wouldn’t you think her kids would care enough to move her into a home?”

  “She didn’t fall,” I said, tamping down the urge to snap his head off. “How the heck do you think she’d get a gash on the top of her head from falling? Unless she was leaping or somersaulting. What are the chances of that?”

  Probably she had fallen. But I hated to think of her being forced to move away from the marina she loved. And it wasn’t fair to lash out at him, but the more minutes went by without seeing the rise and fall of her chest, the more hysterical I felt.

  “Did you just get home? Did you hear anything?” My questions came out wobbly and shrill. “What if someone hit her?” I stood up and peered into the darkness, listening for someone running. “What if they’re still around?”

  “Don’t you think I would have come out if I’d heard something?” he asked, his voice defensive. “I’m working the night shift this week, so I sleep all day. This is the first I’ve been outside.”

  We both perked up as the wail of an emergency vehicle’s siren drew near. Then whirling red lights cut through the darkness and an ambulance pulled into the parking lot followed by a police car, its red and blue lights flashing. Two paramedics and two cops burst out of the vehicles and trotted down the dock toward us. I stood up, waving, and pointed to Miss Gloria. “Right here.”

 
; “What happened?” asked Officer Torrence. I cringed as a look of recognition crossed his face.

  “I was on my way home and I noticed this heap. And it turned out to be Miss Gloria. She’s our neighbor. This is exactly how I found her,” I said. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “Step aside and let us take a look.” I backed away and two paramedics, a burly, bald man and a thin guy with a ponytail, knelt down and began to examine her. They conferred in low voices and the big guy trotted back to the ambulance and unloaded a gurney from the back.

  “Name and address?” asked Torrence.

  “Her name is Miss Gloria. She lives in that first little boat on this finger.” I pointed to her cheerful yellow home.

  “Gloria what?” asked Torrence.

  “Do you know her last name?” I glanced at Mr. Renhart. He shook his head.

  “We can get that from the dockmaster on the way out,” said Torrence to the other cop, a young guy with a white-blond brush cut. “Does she have a history of falls?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m fairly new here, but she’s always seemed sturdy enough to me. Is she breathing?” I asked the men working on her.

  “Barely,” said the paramedic with the ponytail, as he slid an oxygen mask over her head. He jostled it into place over her nose and mouth and pulled the elastic snug. Then he fastened a collar around her neck, and the two men loaded her onto the stretcher. “We’re going to get her to the hospital. Next of kin?”

  I shrugged helplessly. “She never mentioned any family. Should I come along?”

  “Not necessary. Not unless you’re related. Right now you’d only be in the way. You can call or visit later and find out how she’s doing.”