Retirement Can Be Murder (A Jake Russo Mystery)

by Phil Edwards

  There were eight people at the table, including Jake and Mel. Three of the others were developers for Rothschild, and the other three were unaffiliated. They’d all decided that Jake’s job was the most interesting and they asked him questions about it. They eventually asked if he needed a roll.

  “I’m fine,” he insisted.

  That was the problem with fancy meals. Even if he ordered chicken for the main course, they always found ways to surround it with other food that he’d never asked for. Turtle soup seemed to spontaneously condense, thick with chunks of meat and swimming with fat. Someone at the table requested shrimp and it arrived surrounded by bowls of butter. Little pools to drown it in, so it dripped a yellow trail on the tablecloth. Mel had one, but she didn’t spill.

  He gave them the usual speech about his job. Most of it was true. How he’d wanted to be a reporter since he was a boy. He’d been editor of the high school paper, huddled in rooms cutting and pasting articles for the Xerox machine. Then he’d gone on to write in college. He was lucky enough to get a job straight out and earn a chance to work his way up. A decade’s worth. They asked him where he’d been when one event or another happened in New York and he told them.

  “And so why did you come here?” a middle-aged man asked before he sucked on a shrimp tail.

  Jake brushed his hair back. That was where the editing came in. He had a different reason sometimes, but never told them Thompson’s reason. The real one. He said he wanted a change of pace. He wanted to see more of the country. He wanted to do a different type of writing. He couldn’t tell if they’d bought it or were just being polite. The two things looked the same.

  “But enough about me,” he said. “I bore myself.”

  “Well, not us,” a woman said, and her husband nodded. He was one of the Rothschild employees. Jake decided to distract them.

  “So what do you do for Rothschild?”

  “I’m on the construction end of things. I make sure these communities get built. But nothing like this building,” he said and laughed. “God awful, isn’t it?”

  “Just the outside.”

  “I guess. I’ll be on a site tomorrow though, supervising a new project. I make sure things get done.”

  “That must be satisfying.”

  “It is,” the man said. “You watch something really come full circle. It starts out just a patch of land and then ends up as a place where people live. My wife’s heard this a million times.”

  “I haven’t heard it lately,” she muttered.

  “Well…it’s just a phase.”

  Jake wanted to get out his notebook, but he hadn’t brought it. The entire night was supposed to be off the record. More importantly, the notebook didn’t fit in his new suit’s pocket. Especially with all the thick-stock business cards he’d gotten.

  “What’s just a phase?” he asked. He’d have to use his memory—never optimal.

  “Just the usual stuff.”

  “What’s that?”

  He could feel Mel looking at him. He didn’t look back.

  “You know—just regulations.”

  “Oh. Union stuff? About when you work?”

  “No. You have to go through a lot with wetlands preservation. So we’re dealing with that. And you’ve got these environmentalist people. It’s the usual.”

  “Do you have to deal with that though? Shouldn’t it all be taken care of by the time you’ve started building?”

  “I wish,” he said and grunted. He took another roll. “They still protest, even after you’ve done all the legal work. It’s crazy, but they do it. That’s what happens when those people have all day free without real jobs.”

  “I guess so.” Jake looked at the rolls but left them on the table. The man grunted again and started eating his in big bites. Eventually, a waitress collected the plates. Jake wiped the sweat off his forehead as the couples split up into conversations of their own.

  “Why didn’t you have a roll?” Mel asked.

  “I want to save my appetite.”

  “For chicken?”

  “There’s nothing like it.”

  “Everything’s like it.”

  “Did I get you in trouble before?” he asked under his breath. Change the subject. Even if the new subject was more dangerous.

  “What do you mean?”

  “With Mr. Rothschild. I had no idea that he was behind me when I said that about never catching up to Palmstead.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. He puts on a show, but he doesn’t mean it.”

  “Did he…” Jake started. He touched the prongs on his salad fork and waited.

  “Did he what?”

  “Well, did he tell you anything? About me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t want to bring it up. But is this date just to, you know, try to get me to write something? Did he tell you to take me out tonight?”

  She looked down at the white napkin on her lap.

  “If you think that Jake, really…”

  He frowned, but she smiled.

  “Case closed,” she said and touched his arm with her hand. “Besides, Gary’s already sprained my ankle. Mr. Rothschild knows your paper won’t be easy on me, even if I do wine and dine you.”

  He reached for her hand as they laughed. But then they heard the sound of shattered glass. Mel grabbed him, her nails scraping his skin.

  “What’s happening?” More glass broke. It echoed across the room.

  A man was standing on the table next to the band. He wore blue jeans and a white tank top. He had a long beard that went down to his chest. A message on the tank top read “Stop The Development.” It was written in dripping crimson paint.

  “Everybody listen to me!” His words were slurred and it sounded like he was drunk. He picked up another glass and held it by its flute. He tossed it up, nearly hitting the wooden ceiling. Half the people stood up at their tables and the other half ducked under them. The glass crashed to the floor.

  “I want to talk to you about what’s happening. You people are endangering the most precious resource we have.” His voice was hoarse. Jake held Mel close. “Why are people more important than animals? Why you are risking the wetlands for this? For people! For your company’s developments!”

  He flailed his arms around. He didn’t hold a weapon. He continued to talk, though it quickly became impossible to tell what he was saying. Jake and Mel watched as a man crept up behind the table. Jake hadn’t noticed him before. He wore all black and had thick red hair running to his collarbone. He had long arms and wide shoulders. After touching an earpiece with his hand, he nodded and jumped on the table in a single leap.

  Both men fell on the floor and more glass shattered.

  Then it was quiet again. The red haired man got up and held the bearded man’s hands behind his back. He walked him to the back of the room and then out the door. People started clapping and everyone sat down again. Rothschild was sitting in front and he stood up and walked to the podium.

  “Well,” he said and adjusted his tie. “That certainly seems like a cue for the next course.”

  Everyone laughed. A moment later, waiters started circulating with the meal. They stepped around the busboys, who were busy cleaning up the broken glass.

  CHAPTER 10:

  “Are you sure I can have this?” Mel asked.

  “Go for it.” Jake pushed the rest of his strawberry cheesecake toward her.

  After the bearded man was escorted out, the night had gone more smoothly. They’d eaten and talked as a table, then the conversation split into couples again. He’d learned more about her. The college she’d gone to. The one she’d wanted to go to instead. She didn’t like filling in Sudoku puzzles—she liked writing her own on Saturday mornings, while she drank orange juice and listened to the radio. He learned that when she said “cabinet,” for some reason she drew out the “i” long enough that you could hear it. When her ice cream melted, she caught the liquid in her spoon and raised it t
o her lips.

  Rothschild approached the podium while the waiters and waitresses served coffee. A man from Rothschild’s table tapped a glass with his spoon. Sound pinged against the walls and Rothschild took the mic from the podium.

  “Just for the record, I didn’t want to come up here.”

  A few people laughed too loudly. Mel set her spoon against her dish. Then the man from Rothschild’s table stood up. He teetered a bit. Mel whispered to Jake.

  “Eliot Walters. He’s a development VP.” He was a short bald man whose face had blushed red.

  “He likes a drink or two?”

  “More than two.”

  “Before you speak,” the man said and pointed at Rothschild, “I want everybody to stand up.”

  Chairs squeaked against the floor.

  “We have got to give a toast to our hero!”

  Rothschild brought the mic to his lips.

  “Just don’t hit the glasses as hard as our environmentalist friend did earlier this evening.”

  When the laughter died down, the VP continued.

  “He’s too modest to say it, but what Simeon does, the amount of money he gives…it’s a beautiful thing. If that doesn’t deserve a toast, well, I don’t know what does. So, a toast to generosity in all its forms. That’s why we’re here.”

  They raised their glasses and hit them together. Gently. They drank.

  “That’s very kind of you, Eliot,” Rothschild said into the mic. “It’s true that I’m modest. I’m one of the most modest people in the state.”

  The crowd laughed and he waited it out. He held the mic with one hand and let the other hand settle in his jacket pocket. From far away he looked different—the veins were smoothed by distance, and the dark eyes were just spots to center the audience’s focus. Jake wished he had his notebook. He listened instead.

  “It’s great to have so many old and new friends here today. All of you are important to this company and what we are trying to do for Florida. We are trying to build high quality spaces for a range of residents with a range of needs.”

  He switched mic hands and walked to another part of the room. He was a politician, hitting every corner.

  “Just the other day, I met someone who told me that our work helped them to afford their first home. And the next day, I met someone who said that our work helped them finally reach the luxury they deserved. They didn’t put it quite like that, of course. But it was gratifying to hear people embrace Rothschild.”

  He crossed the room again and picked up a glass. Not water. Champagne bubbles rose to the top.

  “As you know, we have our fair share of opponents. Tonight we saw that. The environmentalists are a violent and extreme group. Many of them have great principles, but far too many don’t. If Conrad hadn’t tackled that man, who knows what he would have done? Who knows what might have happened? Sadly, a lot of the environmentalists are like our bearded friend tonight. They are violent. Concerned only with personal gain. They aren’t the people we listen to though, are they? We listen to the people who want to live in Rothschild units, whomever they may be.”

  People began applauding. He put down the champagne and waved them off.

  “Those whackos aren’t what we’re here for tonight. We’re here to talk about charity. We have been building the Rothschild foundation for years, and we aren’t going to stop growing.”

  Jake touched Mel’s arm.

  “This is why we’re here?”

  “It’s the tenth anniversary.”

  “Seeing how our efforts have grown,” Rothschild said, “has been an amazing process. Still, I know we can do better. That’s why I’m announcing that I’ll be increasing my personal donation this year. We can do more for the great communities around us. That’s what this foundation has always been about.

  “Part of the reason we’re doing it is to expand our mission. As you know, we’ve always dealt with a wide range of issues and concerns in this area. We won’t stop. We support a wide range of causes. With my donations, and your help, we can add depth to our breadth.”

  Everyone clapped again. Rothschild didn’t bow or acknowledge it. He just stood waiting. He’d heard all the applause before.

  He circulated the tables again, never sitting down. The band played a slow song and people began to file out of the room. The waiters and waitresses circulated, asking the guests if they needed anything else. No one did. Jake was talking to Mel when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and black eyes stared back.

  “Quite a night, wasn’t it, Mr. Russo?”

  “It was, Mr.…Simeon. Quite a night.”

  “Did you see that madman? He must have a personal vendetta against glassware.”

  “He must.”

  “Mel,” Rothschild said, “I’m going to make you tackle him next time.”

  “He teases me,” she told Jake.

  “I’d ask the same of you, Mr. Russo. Hopefully we didn’t make a poor impression.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Good.” He raised his chin and looked across the room. He placed his fingertips at the top of his cummerbund. “I’d hate to make a poor impression. It was a good thing we had Conrad, wasn’t it?”

  “Was he the gentleman who tackled the man?”

  “That’s correct. He’s a very genial man. But when he needs to act otherwise…”

  He laughed and Jake and Mel laughed with him. He stopped suddenly.

  “But enough of madmen. When will we be speaking?”

  “Sir?”

  “An interview. I want to tell you about our plans. Your readers would love to know more about me.”

  “Well, if you’d like to schedule a time, I’d be happy.”

  “Here.” He handed Jake another business card, made of thick stock. “This has my information.”

  “I’ll give you a call.”

  “No. It’s to write down the time. I’m free the fourteenth. Lunch. We’ll have it.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  But he was already walking away. Mel pulled at Jake’s sleeve as they got up to leave.

  “That’s the thing about Simeon Rothschild. He not only starts conversations when he wants to.” She shrugged. “He also ends them when he wants to.”

  CHAPTER 11:

  At night the heat made sense. During the day, he couldn’t understand the weather. But at night it all changed. The humidity seemed to thin out in the breeze. The moon took over the sun’s shift. The roads were finally dark again, instead of being glossed up with mirage. Things made sense at night, especially with a woman in the passenger’s seat.

  She looked over at him.

  “Where now?”

  “Your car’s still at Sunset Cove, right?”

  “Yes, I guess that’s where we can go.” She looked back at the banquet building.

  He started driving. He’d gotten the door for her that time. Heard the seatbelt buckle click. They didn’t turn the radio on. All they heard was the road rushing, because Jake liked the windows open. Mel spoke over the wind.

  “How was your interview with Charlotte?”

  “That? Interesting. She has some interesting theories about things to be sure. A little obsessed with bridge.”

  She laughed.

  “They all are.”

  “Are they?”

  “Definitely. I know—I’m the one who schedules the common room for bridge games. It gets intense.”

  “It sounds that way.”

  The wind blew loudly into the car as they accelerated. Mel smiled.

  “Can you hear it?”

  “What?”

  “The Gulf.”

  He went on the ramp.

  “You can hear the ocean from here?”

  “Yes,” she said and laughed. “And it’s the Gulf of Mexico. Not an ocean.”

  He looked over quick. Her tan paled in moonlight. She smiled and her teeth shone.

  “You learn to hear the water when you live here all your life.”


  “I’d think you’d notice it less.”

  “Most people do. But I always appreciate it.”

  He glanced at the road and then looked back at her. She still smiled.

  “I was talking to Javier, and he said that he could hear it too.”

  “Who’s Javier?”

  The inevitable boyfriend? He waited for the answer.

  “Oh, he’s our maintenance person. Like our super.”

  It was a good answer.

  “He’s from Cuba, originally. And he says that no matter where he is, he always knows if he’s near the water. Of course, he’s never been very far from it.”

  “It sounds wonderful.”

  She ran her nails against the grain of the dashboard.

  “It’s not perfect. You know, I didn’t exactly want the job. That’s a whole other thing though...”

  They passed Palmstead on the right. The tennis courts were still lit, though they’d probably been empty since five. The pool shone from the moonlight. He didn’t ask her for directions to Sunset Cove. They pulled off the ramp and the wind slowed down.

  “I guess I didn’t imagine I’d be doing paperwork so much. I’d rather get to know the residents better.”

  He looked over and she smiled and tugged her ear. He could see Sunset Cove, rising up. Be aggressive. He swallowed.

  “There are some things I’d like to know better.”

  “So would I,” she said. “Though that was a pretty bad line.”

  He smiled.

  “I know.”

  “But the sentiment was good.”

  They pulled up next to her car and they both got out. They stood on opposite sides of it and then walked to the front. She looked at the hood of his car and Jake hopped onto it. It made a hollow sound and he grunted.

  “I’ve always seen that in movies.” It was a little warm from the drive. She sat beside him on the hood.

  “What else can we teach you about the world of automobiles, Jake Russo?”

  “I don’t know. What else is there?”

  “Drag racing?”

  “That’s certainly something to do.”