For Whom The Funeral Bell Tolls

by Livia J. Washburn

  "Hold on a minute." Tom took hold of Nickleby's arm and turned him toward the doors. "Let's all go outside where we can talk in private."

  "Fine by me, but it's hot out there already. Gonna be a scorcher. You got good A/C in here, you know that, Mr. Bradenton?"

  Luke and I looked at each other and then followed along as Tom steered Pete Nickleby toward the doors. If he was the best lawyer Tom could come up with, the legal situation on Key West must have been a lot worse than I thought.

  Tom led us into the garden, to a secluded nook among the flower beds and palm trees. He said, "What are you doing here, Pete? I thought your father was coming."

  "Dad's out of town," Nickleby answered. "Didn't the phone girl tell you? I'm handling things until he gets back."

  "I did not know that," Tom said slowly. "When are you expecting Edward?"

  "Gee, I dunno. He's up in Miami on a big case. Probably not gonna wrap up until next week sometime."

  "Okay. Listen, Pete, I'm not sure this is a good idea – "

  "I can handle it, Mr. Bradenton, I swear." For a second Pete Nickleby looked more like a puppy eager to please than he did the sleazeball he had come off as earlier. "If you let me take care of this for you, it'll really impress my dad, what with you and him being friends. And I'm actually a pretty good lawyer, you know. Forty-seventh in my class."

  "It's not up to me," Tom told him. He looked at me. "What do you think, Delilah?"

  Before I could answer, Nickleby leaned closer to Tom, lowered his voice, and said, "You were right, ya know. She is smokin' hot."

  I had to grit my teeth a little as I said, "Tom, can I talk to you?"

  "Sure." He told Pete, "You wait right here," and once again I was reminded of a puppy. Tom might as well have said, "Sit."

  We moved off about twenty feet up the path, and in a half-whisper Tom said, "Just for the record, that's not the way I described you. Not that you're not – "

  I waved that off and asked quietly, "Is he really the best lawyer that Key West has to offer?"

  "No, but his father is. Edward Nickleby is top tier all the way."

  "Except maybe genetically," I said.

  "Here's the thing," Tom went on. "If Ms. Scanlon winds up charged with murder, then it would be good to have Edward's firm in her corner, not to mention Edward himself. All you need Pete for right now is to make sure that she has some representation. He's pretty goofy, but he ought to be able to handle things as long as they don't get too complicated, and his dad can take over when he gets back next week." He paused and shook his head ruefully. "But I swear that when I talked to the receptionist, she didn't tell me she would be sending Pete over here."

  I sighed and said, "All right. I suppose if it means getting a good law firm on retainer for Ronnie in case things go bad, we can put up with him for a while."

  With that settled, we went back to join Luke and Pete, who was talking at what seemed to be his usual mile-a-minute pace, telling Luke some story about college coeds on spring break, a llama, and a giant cardboard cutout of Yoda. I didn't want to hear the details.

  "All right, Mr. Nickleby," I told him when he paused to take a breath, "we've decided to retain your services on behalf of Ms. Veronica Scanlon . . . if, of course, she agrees to that as well."

  "Great! She's the murderer?"

  "No, we don't think so," I said, trying to hang on to my patience. "But that's why she needs a lawyer. She was the last person to see the victim – "

  "Then she must've bumped him off, right?"

  "Pete," Tom said sternly, "be quiet and listen, all right?"

  "Oh, yeah, sure." Pete gave me that half-leer smile again and said in a confidential tone, "I tend to get carried away."

  "As I was sayin' . . . Ronnie was the last person to see Walter Harvick that we know of."

  "Harvick's the dead guy?"

  "Yes. Someone killed him with a shotgun and tried to make it look like suicide."

  "Oh!" Pete's eyes opened wider. "The ol' Papa Hemingway bit. Blew his head up like a pumpkin dropped from the roof of the Ed Sullivan Theater, right?"

  Luke growled. An actual growl. I put a hand on his arm, took a deep breath, and went on, "Ronnie and Walter were spendin' the night in Walter's room in the main house. Sometime durin' the night, Walter got up and slipped out without wakin' Ronnie. After that, he wound up on the beach, dead."

  Pete got a thoughtful look on his face and said, "You know, I don't really like the idea of giving chicks guys' names. Like, there are actresses named Michael and James. That's nuts. But I guess Ronnie's not too bad. That's what Archie called Veronica, after all."

  Tom said, "Let's stick to the case, Pete."

  "Oh, yeah, yeah, sorry." His frown deepened. He pointed his fingers at me again. "Okay, serious now. If this Ronnie girl was the last one to see the victim alive, and she doesn't have an alibi – she doesn't, right?"

  "That's right," I said.

  "Then the cops are gonna take her in and hold her for questioning, at the very least. That's where I come in." He made an emphatic gesture. "I'm gonna be sitting right there beside her telling her not to answer any of their questions."

  "Won't that look suspicious?" Luke asked.

  Pete waved a hand. "Doesn't matter. Let 'em be suspicious. How many cases have there been where, gee, everybody and his dog knows who the real killer was, but the police never make an arrest because they have 'insufficent evidence'." I could hear the quote marks around the last two words. "The important thing is keeping the client out of jail."

  "I thought the important thing was justice," Luke said.

  Pete gave him an indulgent smile. "Yeah, well, you didn't go to law school, did you, pal?" He turned back to me. "Okay, I need to talk to the client, go through her story, make sure I've got everything straight, as the actress said to the bishop. Where is she?"

  I hated to admit it, but I had sort of lost track of where Ronnie was. I was sure she had to be here at the resort somewhere.

  "Let's try her room," I said.

  "And Pete, you need to be on your best behavior," Tom added.

  "Of course." Pete squared his shoulders, straightened his tie, and swiped at his suit as if he were trying to brush out some of the wrinkles. He didn't have much luck with that.

  We hadn't quite reached the front doors of the main house when Detective Zimmer came out through them. He stopped short, looked at Pete, and said, "Counselor."

  "Oh, hey, Detective," Pete greeted him.

  "You're not representing Ms. Scanlon, are you?"

  "Yes, indeedy. If she'll have me." Pete closed one eye in an elaborate wink. "And most women are good to go along with that, if you know what I mean."

  Zimmer looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. He said, "I'll be back later. All of you hold yourselves available for interviews."

  "Sure. We'll hold ourselves."

  Zimmer said, "I wasn't including you in that, counselor. But I'm sure you'll be around anyway."

  Zimmer gave Tom a look and walked off.

  I thought it was probably a look of pity.

  The four of us went into the house. I saw right away that I was in for trouble. All the members of my group, with the exceptions of the Thompsons, Ronnie, and of course Walter, were sitting around the lobby, talking. They saw us come in. George Matheson, Frank Cleburne, and Matt Altman all popped up from their chairs and hurried toward me.

  George took the lead. He said, "Ms. Dickinson, the cops say we can't leave the resort."

  "That's right," I replied. "Luke came around and explained to you – "

  "He didn't say what it's all about," Frank cut in. "There's a rumor going around that somebody was killed. Maybe that Walter guy."

  "The one who gave me trouble," Matt added. "Is it true, Ms. Dickinson?"

  I wasn't going to lie to them. I nodded and said, "Yes, Walter Harvick was murdered last night."

  "Oh, man," Matt said, his eyes widening until it looked like they were going to pop out of thei
r sockets. "No wonder that cop was asking me and Aimee all those questions!"

  Pete looked at me and asked, "Is this another potential killer?"

  "I didn't kill anybody!" Matt exclaimed. "Ms. Dickinson, who's this guy?"

  "Take it easy, Mr. Altman," I told him without answering his question about Pete Nickleby. "Nobody's accusing you of anything. Were you and your wife together all night?"

  "Now you're asking me for an alibi!"

  "No, no, settle down. I'm just tryin' to get everything – " I started to say "straight", but then remembered Pete's comment a few minutes earlier and didn't see any point in setting him up for that joke again. "Squared away," I finished.

  "Well, Aimee and I were together in our cottage all night," Matt said. "I didn't set foot out of it until this morning. Is that a good enough alibi?"

  "It sounds fine to me," I said.

  "Did the cop believe it?" Pete asked.

  Matt frowned. "I still don't know who you are."

  "Come on, Mr. Nickleby," I said. I'd gotten Pete here to represent Ronnie. He couldn't represent any of my other clients without it being a conflict of interest.

  I hoped I wouldn't have to scrounge up lawers for all of them before this was over.

  We went up the stairs. Pete was puffing pretty hard from that extra weight of his by the time we reached the top. He had to stop to catch his breath. He held up a hand, palm out, and motioned for us to wait.

  "I'm okay," he said a few moments later. "Gotta get back to the gym soon."

  He didn't look like he'd ever set foot in a gym, but I could have been wrong about that. When he had recovered from climbing the stairs, we went along the balcony to Ronnie's room. Walter's room, several doors down, was sealed off with the ubiquitous yellow tape.

  I knocked on the door and called her name, adding, "It's Delilah Dickinson."

  She didn't answer. It was possible she was somewhere else in the house or on the grounds, but since I hadn't seen her in the lobby with the others, I'd sort of expected to find her here. I knocked again and still got no response.

  "I can unlock the door if you want," Tom offered.

  "Maybe it's open," I said as I reached down to try the knob.

  For a change, the door actually was unlocked. The knob turned as I grasped it. I pushed the door open.

  Then stepped back and gasped, because I could see into the room and what I saw was Ronnie Scanlon lying face down on the bed, utterly motionless.

  Chapter 17

  Tom shouldered past me and rushed into the room. Luke was right behind him. Pete Nickleby stayed outside the door with me and muttered, "Holy cow! Another murder!"

  If he had added something about this being so cool, I would have turned and slugged him. Luckily, he didn't.

  We were all going to feel foolish if it turned out that Ronnie was just sound asleep. Something about the limp way she was lying there told me that wasn't the case, though.

  Tom bent over the bed and felt her neck, searching for a pulse. After a moment he looked up at me and nodded.

  "She's alive," he said, and those two words made relief rush through me. "It looks like she's not in good shape, though."

  Ronnie hadn't stirred when Tom checked her pulse. He rolled her onto her back, jogged her shoulder a couple of times, and even lightly slapped her face, but he got the same lack of response.

  "She must have taken something," he said. "We'd better get an ambulance here right away."

  "Or she was poisoned!" Pete exclaimed, and although I already hated to agree with anything he said, he wasn't saying anything I hadn't already thought of myself.

  Tom had his phone out. He got through to 911 right away and asked for an ambulance to be sent to the main house of the Bradenton Beach Resort. As he closed his phone and put it away, I thought that Detective Zimmer, whatever he was doing at the moment, was liable to hear about that call and come rushing back here to see what was going on.

  "Give me a hand, Luke," Tom said. "Let's get her on her feet. She needs to be up and moving around, even if she's unconscious. That'll get the blood flowing better."

  "Are you sure we should move her any more than we already have?" Luke asked. "We don't want to make the situation worse."

  "If we let her sink any farther, she might not come out of it."

  I didn't know if Tom was right or not, but what he was saying seemed to make sense. I said, "Go ahead, Luke. I think it's the best thing to do."

  "Okay, Miz D." He got on one side of Ronnie and Tom got on the other, and together they lifted her from the bed and set her on her feet. Her muscles were limp so her legs wouldn't support her, but they began carrying her around the room, making her legs move back and forth.

  After they had been doing that for a few minutes, Ronnie stirred a little. Her head had been hanging forward, but she lifted it slightly and shook it slowly from side to side. Once to the right, once to the left. She moaned softly.

  "Come on, Ms. Scanlon," Luke urged. "You've got to wake up."

  Ronnie didn't say anything.

  I heard sirens somewhere outside. They seemed to be coming closer.

  A minute later there was no doubt about it. The wailing noise got louder and then stopped. I turned and looked down into the lobby. A couple of EMTs wearing shorts and t-shirts – the official uniform of every public servant in Key West, it seemed like – hurried in carrying their lifesaving gear.

  "Up here!" I called to them, and when they looked up at the balcony I waved.

  They didn't waste any time taking over. While one of them checked Ronnie's vitals after Tom and Luke lowered her back onto the bed, the other one talked to me and got the story.

  "She seems to be relatively stable," the first one reported.

  "We'll get her in the ambulance and pump her stomach," the second one decided. He looked at me again. "Was this an accidental overdose or deliberate?"

  "Does that matter right now?" I asked.

  He gave me a grim smile. "Not really. I'll go get the gurney." He looked at Tom. "You've got an elevator here, don't you, Mr. Bradenton?"

  "Yeah, had to put it in to comply with ADA," Tom said. "I'll show you."

  I hadn't noticed an elevator in the main house while we were there, so I supposed it was tucked into an out-of-the-way corner.

  Tom and the second EMT hurried off. The one sitting on the bed next to Ronnie said to Luke, Pete, and me, "You folks need to step back out of the way. We'll take care of the lady."

  Luke was the only one of us actually in the room. Pete Nickleby and I were still standing just outside the door. Luke joined us and we all moved back far enough that they could get in with the gurney when it got here, but I stayed where I could keep an eye on Ronnie.

  "This your second trip out here today?" Pete asked the EMT.

  "That's right. How'd you know?"

  Pete pointed at Ronnie and said, "She's a suspect in the murder that happened earlier. I'm her lawyer."

  "Is that so?"

  "Somebody blew a guy's head off, eh? I'll bet that was pretty ugly."

  "I've seen worse," the EMT said. He seemed to be getting a little impatient with Pete's chatter. I had a hunch Pete affected a lot of people that way.

  "Both barrels in the mouth. Man, what a way to go. I guess you wouldn't really feel it much, though. And there sure wouldn't be much chance of lingering, would there?"

  "No, not really," the EMT said.

  "Of course, that's if you're committing suicide. This guy was murdered, or so I'm told. You know anything about that?"

  "Not my job to know anything about that," the EMT replied curtly. "I just try to keep the live ones alive and tote the dead ones."

  His tone made it clear that he didn't want to continue the conversation. That was all right because a few minutes later Tom and the other EMT came back with the gurney. It didn't take long to get Ronnie loaded up and wheeled out of the room. They took her off around a corner to the elevator while Tom, Luke, Pete, and I went down the stairs.<
br />
  Detective Charles Zimmer came through the front doors just as we reached the bottom of the stairs. He was hurrying, and I took that as confirmation that my earlier guess was right. He'd heard the emergency call, or someone had told him about it, and he wanted to find out what was happening here at his crime scene.

  Zimmer put out a hand toward us and said, "All of you hold it right there."

  Pete said, "That's what she – Oof!"

  Luke had elbowed him in the side to shut him up.

  "Why was there an ambulance call to this address?" Zimmer asked. "Is someone else hurt?"

  "We found Ms. Scanlon unconscious in her room," Tom explained. "It looked to me like she had overdosed on something."

  "Tried to kill herself?"

  Tom shrugged. "You'll have to ask her about that, once she's conscious again."

  "If she lives," Pete added.

  I gave him a dirty look, then said to Zimmer, "Don't jump to any conclusions, Detective."

  "I don't jump to conclusions, Ms. Dickinson. I arrive at them logically. And logic, as well as experience, tells me that a suicide attempt is often a sign of a guilty conscience."

  "Or grief," I said. "It can be motivated by grief at losing a loved one, too."

  "Ms. Scanlon knew Walter Harvick for less than two days," Zimmer pointed out. "That's not really long enough to consider him a loved one."

  Luke said, "Haven't you ever heard of love at first sight, Detective?"

  Zimmer grunted. "Heard of it. Don't believe in it."

  "Well . . . well, maybe you should."

  With a creaking of rubber wheels, the gurney rolled into the lobby. The EMTs pointed it toward the door. One of them nodded to Zimmer and said, "Detective."

  "An officer's going to follow you to the hospital to keep an eye on Ms. Scanlon," Zimmer said.

  "That's fine."

  "How's she look?"

  "I think she'll be all right, but don't quote me on that."

  They went on out. Zimmer lingered, looking at us as he asked, "Did Ms. Scanlon say anything to any of you to indicate that she might be planning to do away with herself?"

  "Not to me," I said, and Luke shook his head.

  "Hey, I never even talked to her yet," Pete said. "But don't forget, she's still my client. Provisionally."