“This sure is a friendly town,” he said.
She laughed. Her laugh was even better. Under the pretense of tying her other sneaker, a pretense that gave Scarne an even better view of her firm thighs, she whispered, “I can’t stand the thought of another boring lunch talking about their wonderful husbands, their new cars and their adorable children named Buffy and Madison. I’d rather have lunch with you.”
“I’m not sure I know how to take that,” Scarne said, laughing.
“That didn’t come out right, but you know what I mean.” She paused. “You’re not married are you?”
“Is that a deal breaker? Or, rather, a lunch breaker?”
She looked at him.
“No.”
He smiled.
“I’m not.”
“Sharon, come on. Let’s play another set.”
She started to leave but turned.
“Neither am I. I’ll be at the bar in the grill room at noon.”
“So will I,” Scarne said.
He watched her walk away, hips swaying.
“Right place, right time,” he said to himself, shaking his head.
***
Desiderio finished his lesson and walked over to the shelter for a drink. He nodded at Scarne as he filled a cup with ice and lemonade.
“Kid gave you a workout.”
“Yeah, damn near killed me,” Desiderio said. “But he’s right. My backhand is from hunger. You play?”
“Not much anymore. Switched to golf. Got tired of being obliterated by 14-year-old kids with howitzer serves.”
“I hear you. I can’t compete in singles anymore. Stick to doubles. But it’s still a good workout if you play with the right people.”
Desiderio was a good-looking guy, probably pushing 40. He was trim but well-muscled, with the ruddy complexion of a man who spent a lot of time in the sun. His thick black hair glistened with sweat. His cupid-bow mouth and thin lips didn’t quite mesh with his prominent nose and deep-set brown eyes, but Scarne thought women would find his overall appearance very attractive. He finished his drink, threw it into a nearby trash container and started to walk away. Scarne got up and fell in beside him.
“Do I know you?”
“No,” Scarne said. “But I know you. Anthony Desiderio. You own a house on Ginn Lane and had a party last year attended by a young woman from Calusakee who wound up dead when the guy you told to drive her home dumped her on a road.”
Desiderio stopped and faced Scarne.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Private cop.”
“You’re not from around here.”
“New York.”
“Got anything to prove that?”
Scarne took out his identification. Desiderio looked at it.
“OK. But this is Florida. Can you even ask questions?”
“Any place where there are a majority of ex-New Yorkers. Like Florida.”
Desiderio’s eyes widened.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
“Actually, I am. Truth is, state private investigator licenses are basically reciprocal everywhere.”
Desiderio looked angry, but then he laughed.
“You’ve got balls. But I don’t have to talk to you, right?”
“No. But why wouldn’t you? Should be no skin off your nose. I find out everything anyway.”
“You that good?”
“Bigfoot had to go into witness protection because of me.”
Desiderio laughed again.
“My lawyer might not want me talking to you.”
“Lawyer? From what I know, you’ve got no liability. You threw a party, tried to make sure the girl got home safely, fired the driver who screwed up. The cops arrested and convicted a suspect. That’s right, isn’t it?”
From the look on Desiderio’s face, Scarne knew he’d boxed him in. They had reached a terrace next to a large pool that overlooked the Gulf of Mexico. Most of the tables were empty.
“How did you know I’d be here?”
“Do I have to show you my detective license again?”
“Oh, yeah. Right. Listen, I’m gonna have a bite. You hungry?”
“No thanks. I’m meeting someone later.”
“Here?”
“Yes.”
“Who? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t mind, but I don’t know her last name. Yet.”
Desiderio smiled.
“Quick work. But you got the look. I do pretty well around here myself, if you get my drift.”
A waitress came over and Desiderio, after again asking Scarne if he wanted anything, ordered a mahi-mahi sandwich and a beer.
“Mahi-mahi is dolphin,” Desiderio said. “But not Flipper. Great fish. Tough fighter. You fish?”
“Only for answers.”
“Yeah, sure. So, why are you interested in that kid’s murder? I told the real cops everything I know. They got the scumbag boyfriend pretty quick.”
“He says he didn’t do it.”
“I followed the case. Felt bad for the poor girl, you know? Guy admitted it, didn’t he? Cops had so much evidence they could have convicted him twice.”
“He says he knew that, which is why he took the fall on a lesser charge. But he says the evidence was bogus.”
“So, you’re working for the defense?”
“Nope.”
“The cops?”
“Nope.”
“Then who?”
“Nope.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means I don’t reveal my clients. But it also means that I don’t really have a dog in this fight. I could care less if the guy is guilty or not. I’m just going over everything to see if there are any holes in anyone’s story.”
“There are no holes in mine.”
“Glad to hear it.”
There was a sudden burst of noise as a group of kids ran by on the way to the pool. A little boy hurried to catch up, yelling, “Wait for me.” He tripped and fell hard, then sat there, crying. Both Scarne and Desiderio started to get up to help but two women eating at a nearby table beat them to it. One of the women picked the child up and started carrying him toward the pool, stroking his hair and whispering in his ear. The men sat back down.
“You knew the dead girl, Alva Delgado,” Scarne prompted.
“Yes. From where she worked, the casino. She was a nice kid. Pretty and smart.”
“You have a thing with her?”
“No. No. Nothing like that. I’m not saying I would’ve kicked her out of bed or anything. But I just asked her to my party, told her to bring some of her girlfriends if she could. I had something on with another broad, anyway. But I knew there would be a lot of single guys there and they wouldn’t be bored.”
“She certainly wasn’t, as it turned out.”
“Yeah. But I had no idea that would happen. Don’t you think I feel bad about asking her now? She might still be alive, although the boyfriend was probably a ticking bomb anyway. The prick.”
The waitress brought Desiderio’s beer.
“Food will be out in a minute,” she said.
“You throw a lot of parties?”
“Yeah. Got a big house made for it. I’m not married. This is a party town, especially in season.” Desiderio gave Scarne a man-to-man grin. “Great way to meet chicks.”
“Especially when there are a lot of football studs around, right?”
Desiderio’s eyes narrowed.
“Florida is football, my friend. I’m a big supporter of Collier University.”
“Booster?”
“I give them money, sure. But it’s all legit. Hell, the way things are going in this country, those boys will be paid soon, anyway.”
“Aren’t you a little old to be hanging around with college kids?”
Desiderio surprised Scarne by not taking offense.
“Man, you got something against college girls,” he said, bestowing another man-to-man grin.
“Or cocktail waitresses for that matter? I’m no chicken fucker. They are all legal. Christ, do you know what goes on in a typical college co-ed dorm? Daddy spends 60 large a year to send his little princess away to get laid.”
The waitress bringing Desiderio his sandwich had obviously heard the last remark. She put his plate down harder than was necessary and walked away.
“Oops,” Desiderio said, laughing. “Hope she doesn’t have a kid in college.”
“Any famous football players go to your party?’
Desiderio stopped in mid-chew.
“Famous? Like who?”
“The Touchdown Twins. Landon and Weatherly. They go to Collier University, right?”
“What do they have to do with anything?”
“I heard they were at your party. The one Delgado was at.”
Scarne was anxious to see if Desiderio denied it.
“Yeah. They were there that night. They came to a lot of my parties. Kind of a draw, you know. People hear that two Heisman Trophy winners are gonna be somewhere, they want to be there too.”
“You invite them?”
“Sure. They have a standing invite. They’re friends of mine. I told you, I’m a big supporter of the team. But I’ll ask you again, what does that matter? There were like a hundred people at that party. From a couple of other colleges, too. And some townies.”
“Did Landon and Weatherly know the girl?”
Desiderio had put down his sandwich.
“How the hell do I know?”
“You didn’t see them talking to her?”
Desiderio hesitated.
“Not that I recall. But she might have. She probably talked to a lot of people. I throw the parties. I don’t keep track of what everyone is doing.”
“Tell me about the guy who drove her home.”
“Nicky? I fired him. He should have made sure she made it.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“She threw up in the car. He got mad, stupid bastard. Like that never happens with someone who is drunk.”
“That’s what it was? She was loaded and got sick?”
“Of course.”
“Her boyfriend says she was sick because somebody beat up on her. Somebody at your party.”
“That’s bullshit! What’s he gonna say? That he beat her up like he did? Guy is a lowlife. Look, what Nicky did was wrong, but the kid was just drunk. Her boyfriend got mad. They had a history. He whacked her around and she died. End of story.”
Desiderio picked up his sandwich and started eating.
“What did Nicky do for you?”
“Odd jobs. He could fix anything. But mostly he drove. Me. Errands, you know.”
“He have a last name?”
“Falcone.”
“Got an address?”
“Yeah.” Desiderio smiled and took a sip of his beer. “Mine. But he’s not there anymore.”
“So, you don’t know where he is?”
“No. And I don’t give a rat’s ass. Maybe the cops know. Go ask them.”
“Didn’t he give you a resume, or references, or anything?”
Desiderio laughed.
“No. And I didn’t give him health insurance, or a pension plan and two weeks’ vacation a year. He showed up at a party, asked for a job, was pretty good until he fucked up with the girl. Now he’s gone and good riddance, I say.”
“How did you pay him?”
“Cash.”
“You pay all your help in cash? Like the guy who wouldn’t tell me where you were when I went to your house?”
Scarne figured the man would tell Desiderio he’d stopped by. He smiled inwardly at the thought of him explaining the manatee story.
“Yeah. Except the cleaning lady and others like her. I don’t need any trouble with immigration. Guys like Nicky and the one at my house I throw a few bucks, let them stay at my place. I got a load of extra bedrooms and even a guest house. I travel a lot. It’s nice to have someone there when I’m away.”
“You are a trusting soul.”
“It’s my nature, I guess.”
“What happened to the car?”
Desiderio was thrown by the change of direction.
“What car?”
“The one Alva Delgado upchucked in.”
“I don’t have it anymore.”
“Did the police check it out?”
“For what? Puke?”
“Delgado’s boyfriend says she was hurt at the party before he picked her up. If she threw up blood, it might be important.”
Desiderio looked annoyed.
“Nobody laid a hand on her at my party.”
“How can you be sure? You just said you didn’t keep track of everyone.”
“I don’t throw those kind of parties. And I put her in a car, remember? She looked fine. Drunk, maybe, but that’s it.”
“That doesn’t prove anything. Her face was not marked. Her injuries were all internal. Her boyfriend could have done it, of course, which is what the cops assumed. But most domestic battering cases I’ve been involved in usually end up with a woman’s face bruised. Would have been nice to check the car.”
Desiderio smiled.
“Cops wouldn’t have found anything, anyway. You don’t leave puke in a car to bake in Florida. Had it detailed the next day.”
The waitress returned with Desiderio’s check, which he signed. He winked at Scarne.
“Gave her a big tip. For the college remark. I have to run. Are we done, here?”
Scarne stood.
“Thanks for your time. If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”
He gave Desiderio one of his cards.
“You bet.”
CHAPTER 10 - SHARON
It was 12:15 when Scarne entered the grill room at the Port Royal Club. She was sitting at the bar, alone, drinking from a tall frosted glass with a lime in it, and reading from a Kindle.
“Jake Scarne,” he said, extending his hand. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Sharon Ross. That’s OK. But I’ve just started War and Peace and I can’t put it down. Do you mind waiting until I finish?”
She had changed into a sleeveless turquoise sun dress with a floral print.
“For someone who looks as good as you, no.”
“That was the perfect thing to say,” she said, shutting down her e-reader. “It wasn’t really Tolstoy.”
“What was it?”
A Cole Sudden CIA thriller. I’m addicted. Have you tried them?”
“Yes. Not bad. But a little too far-fetched for my taste.”
“Well, enough chit-chat. Want a drink? They make a hell of a Bombay gin and tonic here. In a Tom Collins glass, which is the only way to drink a gin and tonic.”
“Sure. But I’m buying.”
“Then we’d have to go somewhere else. Only members can pay.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. Something tells me you will get a chance to reciprocate.”
She waved a bartender over and held up two fingers as she finished her drink.
“I would have thought you’d have an iced tea or some sort of health drink after your workout,” Scarne said.
“What would be the point of working out if you can’t enjoy life?”
Scarne had no answer for that. He knew he was going to like Sharon Ross. Their drinks came. She’d been right. It was a hell of a gin and tonic.
“So, Jake Scarne,” she said after they clinked glasses, “what do you do?”
He saw no reason to dissemble.
“I’m a private investigator.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“Yet,” he said, and they both laughed.
“Are you a former policeman?”
“Yes.”
“Where”
“New York City.”
“Why former?”
“I was fired.”
“Why?”
“For being right.”
“You were a pain in the ass.”
“I prefer thorn in t
he side.’
“I bet you do. Are you investigating someone here at the club?”
“Just gathering information.”
“From Tony Desiderio.”
He looked at her.
“At the court you said you were waiting to talk to someone. But when you were trying not to look too blatantly at the teen-age girls, you were looking at the center court. I didn’t think you were waiting for Bryce.”
“Bryce?”
“The tennis instructor. He’s just a college kid. Desi was more likely.”
Scarne smiled.
“Not bad. Maybe you should be a detective.”
She took a sip of her drink.
“I cannot tell a lie. I also saw you talking to Desi on the way to the locker room.” She scanned the grill. “Why don’t we take these to a table? I’m hungry.”
***
After ordering, they made small talk. Scarne was impressed by the fact that she didn’t pry any further into what he was looking into. And he said so.
“I bet everyone says they never met a private eye,” Sharon said. “They want to know if it is an exciting life. Or if you ever shot anyone. Or if you’ve been shot. They’d ask you what you are investigating and who. Actually, you are the first private eye I’ve met, but I don’t really care about all the rest until we get to know each other better. Assuming we get to know each other better. Besides, I can guess all the answers just by looking at you.”
She was 32 and had never been married.
“Came close once. We were together almost seven years before we realized we were tired of each other. The breakup was a relief to both of us. Nice guy. He moved to South America. I get a card every now and then.”
She had lived in Naples for three years.
“Moved down here from Boston to be with my mother after my Dad died.”
“You don’t have a Boston accent.”
“That’s because I was raised in a small town outside of Minneapolis. I sounded like that lady sheriff in Fargo when I got to Boston. I don’t know what I sound like now.”
“Accentless,” Scarne said. “So, you still live with your mother?”
“No. She only lasted a year or so after dad passed. I don’t think they can prove it but I think her leukemia had something to do with her grieving. She and my father were devoted to each other.”
“I’m sorry,” Scarne said.
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