Retirement Can Be Murder (A Jake Russo Mystery)

by Phil Edwards

  “Oh, how exciting.”

  “It’s OK. It won’t be a hard job, necessarily.”

  She got up and walked over to his window. She looked out. He couldn’t tell if they were the same shorts as before. But he wasn’t looking at his water glass.

  “I used to work at banquets,” she said and turned around. “I was a caterer.”

  “You were?”

  “I was. The pay was terrible and so were the people. Will that go in your article?”

  “I don’t know,” he said and laughed. When she walked, she kept her feet slightly—barely—arched. She moved to his desk and picked up his notebook. He walked forward and reached for it, but she turned around and held it.

  “What’s all this? I was expecting descriptions of appetizers and sound systems. Not all these drawings of the beach. And what’s this? Rumors?”

  He grabbed it from her. She held onto the end and looked at him.

  “That’s nothing,” he said. “Just doodles.”

  “I see.” She leaned against his desk and ran her finger across it. Slow.

  “You’re clean.”

  “I like a clean place.”

  “You like control.”

  “I think you dropped your measuring cup,” he told her.

  “Will you find it for me?”

  “I should get back to work.”

  She stepped closer and looked him up and down.

  “This fits better.”

  “It does.”

  “Did you get a suit?”

  “I did.”

  “Can I see it?”

  He started laughing.

  “Do you act like this with all your neighbors, Kaylie? How many times have I met you? Once?”

  “No, Jake, I don’t act like this with all my neighbors.”

  She sat back on the bed. He got the suit and changed in the bathroom. Felt his hair. It was hard. Hers, that red brown color, seemed like it would be soft. He knotted the tie with both hands and splashed water on his face. She deserved to see the suit, he thought. She had told him about it.

  When he came out of the room, he buttoned his jacket and looked up. She was holding a Hershey wrapper with two fingers, like it was soiled.

  “Kaylie, where did you get that?”

  “Tsk, tsk.” She shook her head. “A moment of weakness?”

  “Were you digging through my garbage?”

  “I threw away my gum and saw this. I’m disappointed in you.”

  “You can’t just burst in and do that. I don’t even know you.”

  “It looks good, by the way.”

  “The suit?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad I got it. I wouldn’t have known where that place was.”

  She dropped the wrapper on his desk and wiped her hands on her shorts.

  “So what caused your moment of weakness?”

  He sat down on the bed. He didn’t care if the suit wrinkled. He unbuttoned his jacket and let it fall loose around him.

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on. There must have been something that pushed you over the edge. I know that the guy you are now didn’t lose all that weight by relapsing.”

  She tilted her head to the side. Strands of hair fell out from behind her ears.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “What happened?”

  “Just something with work.”

  “Banquet spaces?”

  “No. I had a friend pass away.”

  She sat down beside him, a half foot away. He could see the lines on her lips. No lipstick.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t have eaten the Hershey bar.”

  “Not about that. I’m sorry about your friend.”

  “I hardly knew her.”

  “Oh.”

  “But it was very sudden.”

  “I see. Well, that’s enough.”

  “And…” he started then stopped. She leaned forward and nodded.

  “And what? What is it?”

  “I’m not sure what happened. There’s just a lot going on that I don’t understand. I’m not sure if she was crazy or right. Or maybe both. It makes it difficult to know what to do.”

  Kaylie looked at the wrapper on the desk and then back at him. He leaned forward and the jacket covered his knees. He put his head in his hands. She rubbed his shoulders.

  “It’s OK.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It is.”

  “Anyway, I’m sorry. I’m telling this to a stranger.”

  “I think,” she said quietly, “you should come out with me and some friends. Sometime this week. We’ll have drinks. You can forget about all of this, right?”

  “I don’t want to forget about all of this. I don’t think I know what happened yet.”

  “Your friend—what happened to them?”

  “Well, fine.” He sighed. “She was old. And she went for a walk on the beach. I admit that she seemed a little crazy when I met her. Scared. She didn’t know what she was doing. She had weird theories. But she was worried something would happen to her.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Sometime that night…two nights ago, I guess. It seems like it was years ago. But sometime that night she passed away on the beach. And I just didn’t think that she could go like that. So quickly. The police don’t suspect anything, but I know it must have happened for a reason.”

  She leaned in closer.

  “I don’t know what happened.” She shrugged and smiled. “But I think it’s just a part of your job you aren’t used to yet. This is what it’s like. You have to get used to that. It’s natural. It’s something that just…happens.”

  “You think so?”

  “You can’t fix it by reporting on her. Right?”

  “No.”

  She walked forward to his desk and picked up the wrapper.

  “You have to deal with this in other ways. Ones with less fat content.” She tilted her head and laughed a little. It sounded different than he’d expected. It rang more. “I know what you should do. You should come out and have fun. Just have a few drinks, take it easy. It’s the neighborly thing to do.”

  “I’ve never known any of my neighbors before you.”

  “Then that’s your problem.”

  “Right.”

  “So just don’t worry about it. Right?”

  “Right.”

  She crossed the room and he watched her from the bed. She walked like she was testing out her hips. They worked. She found the measuring cup she’d dropped on the floor and picked it up. She put the handle in her front pocket, the cup sticking out.

  “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Before she walked toward the door, she stopped in front of him and crouched down. She leaned in close and took the knot of his tie in her hands. She took the back tail with one hand and the front in the other. She pulled on them hard and whispered to him.

  “I’m good at knots.”

  She walked out the door and shut it behind her. He stood in front of the mirror. The tie was almost strangling him. This was what it was like to have a new jacket. He took it and threw it on the floor. He loosened the tie enough to pull it straight over his head. He didn’t even bother to untie it.

  CHAPTER 17:

  “Jacob, did you receive my letter on the e-mail? The one about 3-D newspapers? I think I might have sent it wrong.”

  Lying to Gary was hard. Jake shifted the camera and all the gear over his shoulder: the lenses, the tripod, the case, and the camera. It was heavy. But Gary wasn’t allowed to carry it after his accident. He looked up at Jake, nodding his head like they’d already reached an agreement. They hadn’t.

  “I didn’t get that e-mail. It’s just with everything that happened, it’s been a really busy time. So I didn’t get a chance to reply about the 3-D glasses.”

  He’d told Gary about Charlotte before he picked him up. On the phone, Gary had been quiet. He seemed sile
nced by the idea of Charlotte passing away so quickly, and he remained quiet as they drove to the Palmstead to shoot its banquet space. But once they parked, he wasn’t quiet anymore.

  “Well, Jacob, I understand with busy times, but it’s something you should think about. 3-D, Jacob. People are always saying this and that about bringing newspapers into the digital age. This would be perfect! A 3-D newspaper. Comics, Sports, Lifestyles—all in 3-D! Technology!”

  “Slow down,” Jake said. Gary breathed.

  “It’s perfect though, isn’t it?”

  They reached the entry to the banquet space. Jake adjusted the gear and found a free hand. Somehow. He opened the heavy door.

  “Gary, I think that when people say newspapers should use technology, they’re talking about the internet.”

  “When you come over to see the photos I developed, I’ll show you my old 3-D glasses. Can you do 3-D pictures on the internet?”

  He didn’t answer. Jerry Rubenstein was gesturing to them from the corner of the room. It was a large space with wood detailing on the wall, and a formal stage with rich curtains stood in front. Jerry seemed like another decoration. Luxurious. The inside of a portrait, he was Palmstead’s portly king. He needed a drumstick in his hand. Instead he had a leash. The dog barked as they walked closer.

  “Jake,” Jerry shouted, “Coconut remembers you!”

  Gary whispered.

  “That dog’s name is Coconut?”

  They stepped over the hardwood floor, their shoes squeaking and clicking. The space was nicer than Giordano’s—both on the outside and inside. It was obvious that the only reason Rothschild hadn’t rented it for his own banquet was because the room belonged to the competition. The hall was full of extras. Extra lighting. Extra windows. And Rubenstein had extra chins. They reached him and Jake shook his hand. Coconut stayed calm.

  “Jerry,” Jake said, “this is Gary Novak. He’s my photographer. He’ll be taking some shots of the space.”

  “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

  “It’s a beautiful space!” Gary shouted. “And this dog. It’s a Labrador?”

  “No, he is actually a Schnoodle.”

  “Are the two similar?”

  “Not really.” He shook Gary’s hand. “No, not at all.”

  Jake got out his notebook.

  “What’s a Schnoodle?”

  “Ah, it is a wonderful breed. A delicate cross between a schnauzer and a poodle. Very easy to train. And very nice, aren’t we?”

  Coconut barked on cue. Gary seemed to consider leaning down to pet her, but instead he pushed his cane forward slowly. The dog approached it tentatively before stepping away.

  “I should have dipped it in bacon!” Gary said. “I bet they do that in Ethiopia, for hunting.”

  “I’m sure,” Jake said and unloaded the camera. “This is our room to shoot. I might ask Mr. Rubenstein a few questions about the space.”

  He set the rest of the gear in front of Gary and led Jerry to another side of the room. While he walked, Jerry held his arm out halfway, letting the dog lead him on the leash. Jake leaned in closely.

  “Gary’s a good photographer. He obviously doesn’t have dogs. And apparently he’s never even seen a Labrador.”

  “I can’t hold that against a man like him. I wish I could photograph so well.”

  “Have you seen his work?”

  “Marvelous shots of palm trees.”

  “I see.”

  Jake looked around the room and listened as the smallest sounds echoed.

  “This is a great space. Aged beautifully. I was at Giordano’s the other night and it was fine on the inside. But this is beautiful on the inside and out.”

  “So, you were at Giordano’s were you? I’m guessing Simeon Rothschild invited you.”

  “Yes.” He didn’t want Jerry to know that he’d been on a date with Mel. He might think she had compromised his reporting. Jerry didn’t seem to care either way.

  “Funny that. Simeon used to invite me. I noticed because this year was the first I didn’t receive an invitation to celebrate ‘his life and charity.’ I can’t say I was offended. Or that I was surprised. He’s beginning to think he’ll never overtake Palmstead.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. He’s been trying to march past us for years. But he hasn’t had luck. Has he Coconut?”

  The dog sniffed Jake’s shoes excitedly.

  “I see,” Jake said. He wrote it all down. “Well, you missed a hell of an event. I couldn’t believe it. Halfway through, some environmentalist maniac jumped on a table. He held a protest during the banquet. We thought he might have a gun, or a bomb or something. He left peacefully, but it was quite a show.”

  “It makes sense.” Jerry tugged Coconut closer. “The Development Proposition is coming to a vote so soon. The environmentalists are targeting Simeon every chance they get. They think he’s first in line to benefit. If people vote ‘Yes’ on the Proposition and allow development in the wetlands, he’ll jump on it. He’s had his eye on it for a long time.”

  “Do you think he’d develop there?”

  “I have no doubt he’d love to. It’s a real fight.”

  Jake looked around the banquet room. Thick walls here. Gary was taking pictures of the wide stage and its rich curtains. Jake turned to Jerry and drew a dash in his notebook.

  “Would you develop there, on the wetlands?”

  “We can’t. We don’t have it planned into our budget. And we’d feel uncomfortable doing it, even if the Development Proposition passed.”

  “I see.” He wrote it all down. The competition was supposed to be over between Palmstead and Rothschild. But the Development Proposition might change the story. Any space for new communities could change the game in Rothschild’s favor.

  “Enough of that,” Jake said, only after he’d written it all down. “Let’s learn about the space.”

  Jerry told him about the banquet hall and Jake dutifully recorded all of it. It would be turned into a neat paragraph, one with tailored sentences and close-cropped clauses. He watched as Gary polished off a roll of film. Rothschild hadn’t mentioned the upcoming vote on the Development Proposition. That meant something.

  “You’d love to put a Palmstead building on that land, wouldn’t you?”

  “We would,” Jerry admitted. “But it just doesn’t make sense. Development costs are high, the community would be upset. Too many risks. And we don’t need it that badly. We’re already able to have our brochures say we’re the biggest developers in the Sarasota area.”

  “Does that really matter?”

  “You know your readers,” Jerry said and smiled. “Don’t you think they want the biggest and the best for what’s probably their last major purchase? We don’t do a lot of market research, but what we have done shows it makes a big difference. Our buyers are naturally competitive people. They’re New Yorkers.”

  “I guess so.”

  Gary walked up to them. The tripod was still set up across the room, but he held the camera in his free hand.

  “Mr. Rubenstein, let’s get a shot of you by those curtains. And we’ll get Coco by there too.”

  “Coconut, Mr. Novak. Please do be careful. Coconut is a tremendously sensitive animal.”

  The dog started barking and running in circles. He did little hops around Jerry’s leg and circled it like a cone. Jerry walked over toward the stage and stretched out his arms. Jake stood next to Gary and whispered.

  “Something’s up.”

  “What?” Gary yelled.

  “Nothing. I’ll tell you later.”

  “Tell me what later?” Gary said. Loudly. Jerry looked up and Jake pulled at Gary’s arm.

  “Later. Just take the picture.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me now?”

  “Gary—take it.”

  He snapped and Jake exhaled.

  “You developed the pictures from Charlotte’s place, right?”

  Gary nodded
as Jerry walked over, pulling along Coconut, who seemed to be distracted by a dust ball near the stage. Jake grabbed Gary’s shoulder.

  “Good. I want to see what the photographs show.”

  Rubenstein stopped in front of them. He breathed heavily from the exertion of his fifteen-foot walk.

  “Do remember, Jake, Palmstead has the largest banquet space in the area.”

  “I’ve got it.” But he was busy underlining key sections in his notebook. He wanted to go to Gary’s as quickly as possible. He needed to see the photographs of Charlotte’s condo. He had a feeling something was there. Something had to be there. He just didn’t know what.

  CHAPTER 18:

  Jake took the gear out of the trunk: the lenses, the tripod, the case, and the camera. Gary walked to his mailbox and pulled out a flier before heading in the direction of his garage.

  “Jacob, you’ll finally see my darkroom!”

  Jake breathed heavily, already sore from carrying the gear.

  “Can you open the garage?”

  “There’s one problem. We don’t have one of the doodads.”

  “What doodad?”

  “You know,” he said and gestured. “A remote control.”

  “You mean a garage opener? Just go inside and open it then.”

  “We don’t have one inside either. It’s a manual door. The doctor says the exertion of opening a door wouldn’t be good for me, in my damaged condition.”

  Jake put down the lenses, the tripod, the case, and the camera and lifted open the garage door. He noticed the windows were taped up with black paper.

  “This is your darkroom, isn’t it? Your garage.”

  “Meryl didn’t want me to use the bathroom anymore. Once I switched the developing solution and shampoo.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, everything grew back in a month or two.”

  They walked inside. Gary had hung notable photographs on the wall, attached with electrical tape. A cruise ship leaving a harbor. Sunset on a beach. And palm trees. Lots of palm trees.

  “Do you like my gallery?”

  “I actually do.”

  Someone yelled through the closed door from inside the house, their voice totally muffled by the wood.

  “Meryl, I know!” Gary yelled back. “We’ll put it out tomorrow!”