Alive After Friday (Sandy Reid Mystery Series)

by Rod Hoisington

  “Of course not. I didn’t expect you to.” She took another sip and leaned toward him. “It is interesting that a man of the world, such as you, is thinking of settling down so young. I assumed you’d be saving yourself for some European Countess or whomever.”

  “I’ll say this, although she needs no defense, Judy certainly isn’t beneath me. I’d be fortunate to connect with her. Having said that, Marriage isn’t in the works for us. She has her hands full of parenting, and I’m not ready.”

  Her martini glass slipped. Fortunately, it was half-empty and she caught it short of disaster. “I should have played the lottery today,” she said aloud and straightened in her chair. “So, if no marriage plans, then no commitments, if I may be so bold.”

  “Makes sense to me.” No point in denying any of it.

  “You’re forcing me to be honest. You seem a bit sullen, yet you didn’t discard my pushy overture to have drinks with you here.” She studied his face carefully for a long moment. “You guys just broke up, didn’t you? No need to answer, it’s written on your face—and in all probability in the stars.” She raised her glass. “A toast to the stars.”

  “You can lower your glass. As romantic as it sounds, I don’t subscribe to any writing in the stars theories. The fault dear...Vicki...is not in the stars but in ourselves.”

  “Julius Caesar...I forget which act, and I don’t remember Shakespeare mentioning the ‘dear Vicki’ part.”

  “That’s what you get for missing class.”

  “Okay, so we’ll skip the stars. Even so, Martin, do you believe that fate plays an important part in our lives?”

  “I’d feel uncomfortable toasting fate, also. Fate is providence not luck. Let’s use the word chance instead. I believe that chance plays an important part in our lives.”

  “And I’m here tonight in living proof of that,” she said. “How about adventures?” She raised her glass again. “Let’s drink to that, as well. We town insiders know about a couple of your...adventures. No doubt there are others. So, I know you’re not faint of heart.”

  “They didn’t start out to be adventurous. Just nature taking its course.”

  “Three cheers for nature.”

  In truth, he was attracted by her exceptional good looks and curious about her personality. Beyond acknowledging all that, he wasn’t of a mind to consider her further. He finished his drink.

  “I’m sorry, Martin, I’ve been blithering on. Trying to act sophisticated to hide my nervousness. You’re more clued-up about women than I imagined. They don’t intimidate you at all, do they? And I’m not fooling you one bit.” She held the cone-shaped glass to her lips to inhale the lingering essence and then downed the last of the luscious martini. “I felt especially daring, putting myself together to come here tonight. I was hoping you might be...accessible. Might be open for something a little off center. I thought you deserved one last hot fling, before things got unquestionably serious with Judy. I never imagined I’d be sitting here with the one who got away. Now, I see I don’t have to worry about you.”

  “So, you came here thinking of my needs.” Another long martini sip for him, while he marveled at her cool blue-green eyes.

  She locked eyes with him. “No, I’ve been thinking of my own needs, ever since I first saw you in the courtroom.”

  He looked at her steadily, as she had expected after delivering what she thought was a killer line. She was somewhat stunned by what he did next. She had just boldly laid herself open to him, and he had reacted by pushing his empty glass away and placing his napkin on the table. Had she entirely misread his mood and unspoken messages? The evening was over, she feared, for now he signaled the waiter.

  “Raimond, you know that quiet table for two back near the palms, with the unobstructed view of the cellist?”

  “I’m familiar with your favorite table, Mr. Bronner. And what would be Mademoiselle’s preference in flowers?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning, Sandy made the trip from Park Beach on Florida’s east coast across the state to Sarasota, Florida on the Gulf of Mexico, to meet with the mother of Calvin Boyd. Once away from the east coast populace, she drove past acres of orange groves and through the much less developed land in the center of Florida until she came back into the population centers along the Gulf Coast.

  With the top lowered and a blue sky, she didn’t mind the three-hour drive. Her Miata MX-5 convertible was her refuge. Her hands on the steering wheel gave her the feeling of power, not the power of the vehicle, but the power of freedom. Freedom to escape the world, at least temporarily.

  The only cloud on her horizon was the real possibility that she was pursuing unattainable information—where Boyd had been living. Assuming he was indeed Dick, then where had he been, and what had he been up to the past two years? If he wasn’t Dick, then she had no idea how to start chasing Dick and Jane. She didn’t have a Plan B.

  She arrived at his mother’s house about noon. She had waited until the Park Beach police had advised the mother of her son’s death, so Sandy wasn’t the bearer of sad news. When they spoke on the phone, Mrs. Boyd assumed that Sandy was part of the police investigation and wasn’t reluctant to meet with her. She’d be home; she worked evenings as a hostess in a resort hotel.

  The woman who greeted Sandy at the door seemed to have already moved beyond the heavy tears and sorrow. She talked easily about her son at first. Calvin had been a lovely child. He grew to be a strong kid and was good at sports in high school. She’d been so proud of him and watched him play football on Friday nights, when she didn’t have to work. No, she didn’t have any recent photos of him.

  Those were good years, she explained. Just the two of them, of course. Sure, he was a handful. You know how it is. Boys that age are all mouth and muscle. Never studied much but always seemed to get by. Very popular boy. Always seemed to have a girlfriend around. Funny, how those years are gone in a blink of an eye. No, she didn’t know if there was anyone special in his life now.

  He lived at home and worked at a marina for almost a year after leaving high school. She truly loved that year, cooking for him, seeing him off to work. He liked being around boats. He said marine mechanics made a lot of money, and there was a guy at the dock who could teach him. But he came home early one afternoon. Said he’d quit his job. She didn’t know why. He wouldn’t talk about it, other than saying; it was a stupid job anyway. She’d no idea what he’d been doing the last few years. Had long since moved out of the area, she supposed. Heard once that he was driving a delivery truck or something. To tell the truth, they hadn’t kept in touch.

  The older brother of one of his friends had been in the Army, the Simpson boy. Came back and became a deputy with the Sarasota County Sheriff’s Department. Calvin thought that was “really cool” and thought being a deputy would be “really cool.” A basic requirement was an Associate’s degree, and he talked of attending the nearby community college but never did anything about it.

  On one occasion, the police came to the house to talk with him. He yelled at her and wouldn‘t explain what it was about. After the police left, she had a terrible argument with him. Her son stormed out, and then—

  She put her head down, didn’t want to talk anymore. Sandy would have to go. Sandy didn’t budge. Please leave now, she meant it.

  Sandy was at the opened door, when Mrs. Boyd reached out for her hand. What happens to his body? She wanted to know. Would they give him to her, if she went over there and asked them? Could she bring him home? A sad moment. She had difficulty getting the words out. Sandy suggested she call a local funeral director. He would take care of all the arrangements to bring her son back home for burial, after the body was released by the Park Beach M.E.

  “Here’s my card, Mrs. Boyd, have the funeral director call me if there’s any problem.” They said goodbye and Sandy stepped onto the porch.

  The woman cried out, “I’ll bet you’ve never met such a failure like me.”

  S
andy quickly turned to come back. “Mrs. Boyd, this isn’t your fault!”

  But the woman held her hand up to stop her and closed the door.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Back in their Park Beach law office the next morning, Martin came in late bringing the takeout coffee. Sandy was at her desk reviewing the transcript of Cal Boyd’s two-year-old trial. He wasn’t surprised, when she told him about how easily Chip had accepted her decision to pay the money.

  “He accepted me handling the money-drop, however, that was just the start of this affair. He insisted I not stick my nose any further into the investigation.”

  Martin said, “Why on earth would anyone think that you might do something like that?”

  She quickly briefed him on her trip over to Sarasota and her interview Mrs. Boyd. “The main thing I learned was to forget about any Sarasota angle and look for leads elsewhere. Cal’s mother has lost track of him, she was ashamed to say.” Sandy carefully took the lid off the hot coffee. “Geez, another unbelievably grand super-duper latte, triple jumbo high definition, I suppose. I’m perfectly happy with a small black coffee but thanks anyway.” It did taste special. Maybe someday she could bring herself to pay that much for a cup of coffee. “How about you? Did you have a successful get together with Vicki Susane yesterday?”

  “I took her to The Club. I thought that would be nice for both of us. She turned out to be an interesting woman.”

  “The Club, huh? I suggested you charm her, not totally blow her away,” Sandy laughed. “Anyway, did she give you anything worthwhile?”

  “She was entirely cooperative. Yet, had no real information on Boyd. She thought he went back to Sarasota, after his release. Said he’d been working at some marina over there.”

  “That was years ago, after high school. We have to dig deeper,” she said. “Sounds as if we both struck out yesterday.”

  Martin considered his first encounter with Vicki to be far from a strike out. He quickly changed the subject, “Anything useful in that trial transcript?”

  She looked down at the file and tapped it with her finger. “That bar fight he was in two years ago was actually over a woman, according to this. Did Vicki say anything about that?”

  He shook his head.

  “No name or address for the woman in the file. Could be just some girl who happened to be in the bar.”

  “And Boyd made the mistake of looking at her twice.”

  “Or, since he put the other guy in the hospital. Maybe she was Boyd’s girlfriend and the other guy made the mistake of looking at her twice.”

  “And Boyd ends up in jail,” he said.

  “I’d like to know her name. She might still be in touch with him. Who knows, maybe they’re running around the countryside committing crimes, such as kidnapping women?”

  “Perhaps she visited him in jail during the trial,” he suggested. “I believe they keep a record of visitors out there at the county jail? Who do we know out there who can look it up?”

  “Two years back? They’ll love digging into old records. The sheriff doesn’t care too much for me to start with. Says trouble follows me around. Now where’d he get that idea?”

  “No comment.”

  “Wait, how about this?” She stopped thumbing through the transcript. “A witness testified for the defense. Here it is, Mary Beth Taylor—the witness. Maybe she was his girlfriend.”

  “If she were a witness, her address should be in there somewhere.”

  “Her two year old address at best.” She kept leafing forward and back through the papers. “Here—Mary Beth Taylor, lived in Port St Lucie back then. Let’s see what the Florida government has to say about her.” She phoned Jaworski and explained why she needed info on the former witness. “Eddy, can you bring up a Mary Beth Taylor. LKA Port St. Lucie. I hope she still lives in Florida.”

  After a short wait, Jaworski read off her address. It hadn’t changed. “Thanks Eddy. I’ll give you a report on all this. Hey, while you’re at it, please send me a copy of Boyd’s license as well. I want his photo to carry around.”

  Martin said, “Be careful, Boyd could have been living with her. The girlfriend could be Jane.”

  “I’ll play it cool. If she’s Jane, she won’t be happy about us unmasking her so quickly. Eddy will have those printouts here shortly. Then I’m off to Port St. Lucie. Not too far away.”

  “You want me along?”

  She shook her head while gathering the papers. “Should be back early.”

  “Phone and let me know how you made out.” He had yet to tell her about his breakup with Judy. She’d be upset that he hadn’t phoned her immediately with the news, so she could console him. He didn’t want to get into it just then. He’d tell her later.

  “Wish me luck. Boyd’s mother was no help. Let’s see if his old girlfriend can give us a lead. If not, where do we go next?”

  At three-thirty that day, Sandy phoned Martin. The former girlfriend had given out good information. Sandy would be back in Park Beach within the hour. They should meet at the police station.

  Officer Judy Nagler greeted them when they arrived. Detective Jaworski was out in the field somewhere and on his way back. Sandy said, “How’s your daughter these days, Judy. You guys don’t need to worry about a babysitter anymore, I’m sure.”

  Judy and Martin exchanged a glance before she answered, “Not at thirteen. She does babysitting gigs herself.” Judy changed the subject. “You look pleased with yourself?”

  “I tracked down Mary Beth Taylor, girlfriend of our victim Cal Boyd. Works in customer service at Walmart in Port St. Lucie. Nice girl, a little rough but nothing like her former boyfriend. She gave me the two-year-old story. They’d been going together for about three months. One night they were barhopping and ended up eating at a beach bar here in Park Beach. Some gentlemanly tourist picked up her dropped napkin and handed it to her. Boyd claimed the guy was trying to look up her skirt. He went all macho and punched the guy. They ended the evening standing before a judge, and they locked him up. Mary Beth dumped him after that. ‘Enough of that shit,’ unquote. When I told her he’d been shot dead, she just shrugged. ‘Sooner or later,’ was her response. She was surprised he’d showed up again in Park Beach.”

  “Why?” Martin and Judy said together.

  “Here’s the payoff for my chasing her down.” Sandy looked pleased. “She heard he was going to some truck driving school in West Palm. He’d always wanted to drive those big highway rigs. Said he often talked about living down there where all the action is.”

  Martin spoke up, “I don’t get that. If his license was suspended, how was he going to be a truck driver in Florida?”

  “I can help you with that,” Judy said, “I’m the one who pulled up his driver license. The state suspended Boyd for one year for habitual traffic violations. Not a real big deal in Florida. When his year is up, he’ll have to pay a reinstatement fee and maybe take a driver improvement course. All that might have been in the works.”

  Sandy said, “So he could have been living in West Palm going to truck driving school and waiting for his license reinstatement.”

  “Meanwhile,” Martin added, “he was up here playing abduction games and getting killed—assuming he is Dick.”

  “So, maybe Jane is from West Palm also,” Sandy thought aloud. “I wonder if the Palm Beach Post ran that announcement of our getting the lawsuit money, and that’s where Dick and Jane got the idea. Otherwise, how’d they know about the settlement?”

  “Let me play Devil’s Advocate,” Judy said. “One answer to all your questions is that Cal Boyd isn’t Dick and has no connection with your adventure. Could be he was just an unlucky guy who was robbed and shot. Dick and Jane could be two entirely other people still on the loose. Maybe in Mexico by now.”

  “Why was he riding a bike in a park over here in Park Beach? He’s not a tourist and he doesn’t live around here,” Sandy asked. “We know he came up here two years ago and got in a bar fight. Now, h
e’s up here again getting killed.”

  “Being up here isn’t necessarily criminal behavior,” Judy said. “In fact, you don’t know any of his movements over the last two years. You’re making good guesses. I’ll give you that.”

  “When you don’t know anything, everything becomes important. It’s the best lead I have and I’m running with it.” Sandy sighed. “I’m off to West Palm first thing in the morning. I’m going to find out what Boyd was up to there. With luck I’ll find he was messing around with Jane down there.”

  Martin frowned. “I’d like to go down there with you, but someone has to cover the office. We both have other legal work we should be doing.”

  “Now I’m feeling guilty,” Sandy said. “I do have work, especially that Belcorp case.”

  “Even so, this is the start of the chase and I want to be in on it,” he said smiling. “I could call a friend who runs an Office Temp service in town to cover the office for the day.”

  Judy yelled, “Run, Jane, run!”

  “Let’s do it. Let’s both take a couple of days off just to see if there is anything to be found in West Palm. I could use your help. We’ll need both cars.” Sandy looked at Judy and then at him. “You sure? I intend to camp down there overnight, maybe longer, until I find out about him. Whatever it takes. Who knows, I might spend all night in an alley staking out some dude.”

  “No problem, let’s chase after Jane. I’ll get us rooms at The Breakers.”

  “Although I’m new to Florida, I’ve heard a room at The Breakers is a thousand plus per night. That two hundred grand I gave away came in and went out of my bank account so fast I didn’t have a chance to pay off my credit card. You can do The Breakers, if you want. I’ll do a Holiday Inn. I don’t plan to be in the room much anyway.”

  Martin nodded. “How about we compromise on a Marriott?”

  Judy seemed unconcerned about their cozy overnight arrangement. “Anything else guys? I need to get to my other work.” She leaned over and gave Martin a light kiss on the cheek.