For Whom The Funeral Bell Tolls

by Livia J. Washburn

  "Do you think they killed Mr. Harvick?" Tom asked.

  Zimmer was more talkative than I had seen him so far, maybe because he was getting frustrated with the case. He said, "There's no real reason to think so, if we accept their story about looking for buried treasure." He swung his big hand toward the maps and books. "If it's a lie, they went to an awful lot of trouble to prepare, and that doesn't jibe with the fact that they didn't know Walter Harvick before this tour. We haven't been able to turn up any connection between them and him. If Thompson killed Harvick, it must have been a spur of the moment thing."

  "It sounds pretty unlikely to me, Detective," I said.

  He looked at me. "And you're speaking with the voice of experience, aren't you, Ms. Dickinson? I spared a few minutes earlier to look you up on the Internet. You've made a habit of solving murders."

  It was my turn to shrug. "I was trying to get things settled down so my tours could continue."

  "It doesn't look like you're going to be able to salvage much of this one, unless you've got the solution hidden up your sleeve."

  I shook my head and said, "Afraid not."

  Tom asked, "So are you back to considering Ms. Scanlon your primary suspect? Because if you are, Delilah has some more thoughts on that."

  "Really?" Zimmer raised his eyebrows. "I'd like to hear them."

  I hesitated. Tom said, "Go ahead, Delilah. What you told me makes sense."

  With that urging, I laid out my theory about how Walter had been killed somewhere else and then carried out onto the beach to set up the apparent suicide, which meant it was nearly impossible for Ronnie to have done it. Zimmer appeared to be paying close attention as he listened.

  When I was finished, he nodded and said, "The same thoughts crossed my mind, Ms. Dickinson. I don't mind admitting that. You seem to think like a homicide detective."

  "I don't know about that. I just don't think there's much of a case against Ronnie."

  He surprised me by saying, "I'm inclined to agree with you. One of our officers was able to get a statement from Ms. Scanlon a little while ago, and she admitted that she took sleeping pills in an attempt to end her life." He sighed. "It appears that we're back where we started."

  Since he wasn't being quite so stiff-necked right now, I took a chance on asking another question. "Are you still sure Walter's death was murder and not a successful suicide?"

  "Positive," Zimmer said. "The ME found a bone fragment from the skull lodged in the back of Harvick's throat."

  "Not to be too crude about it," Tom said, "but I'd think a double load of buckshot would produce a lot of bone fragments."

  "But not in the throat," Zimmer said. "The shotgun blast was angled up. All the fragments would have been blown upward and out the back of what used to be Harvick's head. The doctor thinks it's more likely this fragment came from an earlier shot, probably from a handgun, that entered Harvick's forehead angling down." Zimmer's face took on a grim cast. "Whoever killed him put him on his knees first, maybe even forced him to beg for his life. And then the son of a bitch pulled the trigger anyway."

  Chapter 21

  I knew that grim image was going to linger in my mind. I tried to force it away and said, "So the shotgun blast was intended to cover up the evidence of the earlier shot, as well as make Walter's death look like suicide."

  Zimmer nodded. "That's the way it looks to me, and the ME agrees. It would have worked if he hadn't spotted that bone fragment. The case would be closed now, ruled a suicide."

  "Bad luck for the killer," Tom said, "but good luck for you."

  Zimmer grunted. "I should let you people go on about your business," he said.

  "That's hard to do when we're stuck here," I pointed out. "We were supposed to take the trolley tour of Old Town today."

  "Sorry," Zimmer muttered, but I wasn't sure he really was. His only real concern was catching a killer, and I couldn't blame him for that.

  A couple of the uniformed cops came back, and Zimmer started to usher us out, saying that he and the other officers were going to search the room.

  "I probably shouldn't say this, but do you have a warrant for that?" Tom asked.

  "Don't need one," Zimmer said. "The Thompsons gave us permission."

  "But they don't own the place. I do."

  "Since they're renting the room, legally they can grant permission to conduct a search."

  Tom frowned. "Is that right?"

  "Well, it would probably look better to a judge if you granted permission, too . . ."

  Tom waved a hand and said, "Go ahead. If Mr. and Mrs. Thompson don't care, I suppose neither do I."

  "Thanks," Zimmer said with a nod. He motioned for the uniformed officers to get at it.

  Tom, Luke, and I went back downstairs. I was still dressed for the pool, but my stomach reminded me that it was time for lunch and I hadn't had anything but coffee for breakfast. At the time, so soon after seeing Walter's body on the beach, I had felt like I'd never have an appetite again. The hours that had passed since then had changed my mind. An empty belly is an insistent thing.

  "I probably should have changed clothes so we could get something to eat," I commented as we passed the dining room entrance.

  "A bathing suit's no reason not to get some lunch," Tom said. "People do it all the time. Besides, you look great."

  I shook my head. "I wouldn't feel comfortable sitting in there like this."

  "How about eating out on the patio, then?" he suggested. "I'll tell the staff to send out some sandwiches and drinks for us."

  "Now that sounds good," I admitted. "I didn't know you had a patio dining area like that."

  "It's a well-kept secret," Tom said with a smile. He pointed to a door. "Go down that hall and around the corner, and you'll see another door leading outside."

  "Okay. You coming, Luke?"

  "Yeah, I guess," Luke said. "If I won't be intruding."

  "Not at all," Tom told him. "You two go ahead. I'll join you in a few minutes."

  We followed Tom's directions and found ourselves on a small, brick patio that held four wrought-iron and glass tables with four chairs at each one. Shrubs surrounded it, giving it a semblance of privacy. Over the years, the main house had been added onto numerous times in a haphazard fashion, which meant it sprawled around and created little out of the way corners like this one. We were the only people out here.

  After we sat down, Luke asked, "What will we do if Detective Zimmer hasn't found the murderer by the time we're supposed to leave to go back to Miami? Do you think he'll let us leave?"

  "I don't think he'll have any choice," I said. "By then everybody who was here when Walter was killed will have been questioned, and once he has those statements he won't be able to hold anybody who hasn't been charged with a crime."

  "Then the killer will get away with it," Luke muttered.

  "Not necessarily. Zimmer could still come up with some evidence and have a suspect brought back here. Besides, it's possible the killer actually lives here in Key West."

  Luke frowned. "You think so?"

  "Tom's got, what, a dozen or more people on his staff? They're all bound to know their way around this place. We've been focused on the tourists, but I'll bet Detective Zimmer is looking into the staff, too. Maybe one of them was up to something illegal and Walter found out about it."

  "Yeah," Luke said, growing more interested. "That sounds possible. But we don't have any way of investigating them."

  "That's why the police will have to do it," I said. "That's their job to start with."

  "Sure, but I haven't given up yet on you solving this case, Miz D."

  "You might as well," I told him. "I think I'm out of my depth on this one."

  "I'll believe that when I see it."

  Tom emerged from the house. He had gotten a Bradenton Beach Resort t-shirt from somewhere and pulled it on, so I guess he looked a little more respectable, if not quite as breathtakingly attractive. "Our lunch will be here in a few minutes," he ann
ounced as he sat down at the table with Luke and me.

  "Thanks," I said.

  Luke said, "We were just talking about – "

  That was as far as he got before I kicked his ankle.

  Unfortunately, he said, "Ow!" and jerked his leg.

  "Sorry," I murmured. "Didn't mean to do that."

  I knew he'd been about to tell Tom we'd been discussing the possibility that one of the people who worked for him might have killed Walter. I figured that might offend him, and I didn't want to do that.

  I went on, "We were talkin' about how Detective Zimmer's gonna have to let us go back to Miami when our time here is up. He'll have statements from everybody by then, and I'm sure you have other guests comin' in who'll need our rooms."

  "Well, I haven't had anybody cancel their reservations yet," Tom said with a smile. "But maybe the word hasn't gotten around about the murder. It'll be a big story here in Key West, but probably not anywhere else."

  "I'm sorry if the case damages the reputation of the resort."

  "You don't have anything to apologize for, Delilah," he said. "Like I told you, Key West was founded by shady characters. Great-grandfather Claude wasn't exactly a paragon of virtue. The family had fallen on hard times during the Twenties, and there were rumors that he kept things going by running rum from Cuba. Of course, once he turned this place into a resort and it became popular, he was a respectable businessman, so nobody ever mentioned the rum-running again."

  "Yeah, but rum-running is glamorous," Luke said. "Murder isn't."

  Tom shrugged. "That's true. But we'll weather the storm. We've weathered plenty of actual storms, and a little bad publicity is nothing compared to a hurricane."

  A couple of the teenage girls who worked in the dining room brought out trays that held sandwiches, potato chips, and tall glasses of iced tea that started to sweat as soon as they hit the outside air. The three of us dug in. Turkey and avocado sandwiches might not be gourmet fare, but they tasted pretty good just then, especially washed down with iced tea.

  We had just about finished eating when the door into the house opened and Matt and Aimee Altman came out onto the patio, holding hands. They weren't looking for a secluded place to eat lunch, though. They seemed nervous.

  "Ms. Dickinson," Matt began. "We were looking for you, and one of the girls in the dining room said you were out here . . ."

  "It's all right, Matt," I said. I had a hard time calling somebody as young as him "Mr. Altman". He and Aimee both looked like they could almost still be in high school, although I knew they were older than that. "What can I do for you?"

  "People have been saying that, well, you're sort of a detective."

  Blasted smart-phones. Anybody can Google anything, anywhere, these days.

  "Not really," I said in response to Matt's comment.

  "But you've been mixed up in murders before and actually solved them."

  I shrugged.

  "We know you've been talking to that Detective Zimmer a lot," Aimee put in. "Are the two of you working together on the case?"

  "Not exactly," I said, although in our last conversation Zimmer had shared more information and more of his thoughts than I'd ever expected him to.

  Matt started to say something else, but he stopped and looked first at Luke and then at Tom, as if their presence was holding him back somehow.

  "If there's something you want to tell me," I said, "don't worry about Luke and Mr. Bradenton. They know as much about the case as I do."

  I didn't see how either of the Altmans could know anything useful about Walter's murder, but I recalled that Walter and Matt had had that little skirmish at the Hemingway House the day before. Zimmer knew about that, and it had to have put Matt on his radar, at least a little. Maybe Matt was scared that he would wind up being blamed for the murder.

  I just couldn't see Matt Altman putting a gun to Walter's head and pulling the trigger, much less hauling the body out onto the beach and setting up that apparent suicide. Maybe I was naïve, but I didn't think either of them was that diabolical.

  That's what Matt was worried about, though. With Aimee urging him on, he asked, "Has Detective Zimmer said anything to you about considering me a suspect?"

  "Should he?" I asked in return, not answering Matt's question just yet.

  He looked a little sick. "Of course not. I . . . I didn't hurt anybody."

  "Matt would never kill anybody," Aimee put in. "It's just that since he was the last one to see Mr. Harvick last night – "

  "Wait a minute," I broke in. "What did you say?"

  Chapter 22

  Tom and Luke sat up straighter, too. Matt groaned and said, "Aimee, you shouldn't have just blurted it out like that. I was getting around to it."

  "I'm sorry," she said as she clutched his arm. "I just don't want you to be arrested!"

  "You won't be arrested if you haven't done anything wrong," I told Matt . . . even though I knew that wasn't always the case. Innocent men had found themselves behind bars before.

  "I . . . I just don't know what to do," Matt went on. "I . . . lied to the cops when they questioned us about where we were last night."

  "I lied, too," Aimee said. "I should go to jail, too."

  "Nobody's goin' to jail yet," I said. "Just settle down and tell me what you're talkin' about."

  Matt took a deep breath. "We told the officer who talked to us that we were in our cottage all night. The guy . . . well, he sort of looked at Aimee, and I could tell that he believed us."

  Aimee gave us a weak smile.

  "But actually I got out and took a walk in the middle of the night," Matt said.

  "We sort of had a fight," Aimee added. "It didn't really amount to anything."

  "And it was all my fault," Matt said as he turned to look at her.

  "No, it was all my fault," she insisted.

  I didn't want to sit there listening to them arguing about whose fault the argument was, each eager to take all the blame on themselves like young married couples do. I said, "Just go on with the story, Matt."

  "Okay. I went for a walk, you know, to cool off a little, and I ran into Mr. Harvick over by the stable."

  "What time was this?" I asked.

  "I'm not sure. Sometime between two and three o'clock in the morning, I'd say."

  I nodded. That gave Walter and Ronnie time to get back to the resort from Captain Tony's, do whatever carrying on they'd done in Walter's room, and then go to sleep. Ronnie had gone to sleep, anyway, a deep slumber fueled by booze and the afterglow of lovemaking. Walter, obviously, hadn't been quite that tired.

  "What happened when the two of you ran into each other?"

  "There wasn't a fight," Matt said quickly. "I swear, there wasn't any trouble at all."

  "It's true," Aimee put in. "There wasn't a mark on Matt when he came back, not a single scratch or bruise."

  He turned to her, an expression of slightly wounded pride on his face, and said, "Well, even if there had been a fight, I probably wouldn't have had a mark on me. We're talking about Walter Harvick here."

  I remembered how Walter had handled Rollie Cranston with ease in Sloppy Joe's and wasn't so sure Matt's confidence was justified. But there was no point in bringing that up, so I said, "Go on, Matt. What happened?"

  "Nothing, really. I said hello and he asked me what I was doing out there at that time of night. I told him I was just taking a walk."

  "Did he tell you what he was doing?" Tom asked.

  Matt shook his head. "No, and I didn't think to ask him. I was upset about that fight with Aimee – "

  "You couldn't even hardly call it a fight," she said. "It was more of a spat."

  "Yeah, that's true. Anyway, I was so distracted that I just told Mr. Harvick to have a good night and turned around to go back to the cottage. By then I was over being mad and just wanted to go back and apologize and . . . and make up with Aimee."

  The way she blushed told me they'd made up real good.

  "And that's it," Mat
t went on. "So you see, it didn't really amount to anything. But I did talk to Mr. Harvick, so I know he was still alive then and I know where he was, but I didn't tell the cops about it because I was afraid they'd jump to the conclusion I had something to do with his death because of the trouble he and I had with each other at the Hemingway House yesterday."

  By the time he was finished the words were rushing out of his mouth in a nervous jumble. I understood why he was worried, and I understood why he hadn't told everything to the cops, too. They're trained to look for the simplest answer, because to be fair, the simplest answer is usually the right one. They knew about the trouble between Walter and Matt because I'd told Detective Zimmer about it. If they knew that Matt and Walter had been together in the middle of the night, not long before Walter was killed, sure they would consider Matt a strong suspect. There was no doubt in my mind about that.

  But I didn't doubt Matt's innocence, either. If he had killed Walter, he wouldn't have been so worried about lying to the police that he would come to me and spill his guts like this. He would have just kept his mouth shut, hoping to ride out the investigation and get away with his crime.

  Would Detective Zimmer see it that way, though? I couldn't answer that question.

  Matt asked me an even harder one. He said, "What do you think I should do, Ms. Dickinson?"

  I took a deep breath to give me a couple more seconds to think about it. Then I said, "You're gonna have to talk to the police again, Matt. It'll be better for you if you tell them what you did instead of letting them find out for themselves."

  "But he can't do that!" Aimee protested as she clutched his arm. "They'll put him in jail!"

  "Not necessarily. They might charge him with obstruction of justice or concealing evidence or something like that, but if the information about where Walter was helps them find the killer, they probably won't press charges."

  "But what if they decide he killed Mr. Harvick, no matter what he says?"

  Matt muttered, "I'm still right here, you know."