by Mary Clay
Ruthie turned slowly, considering. A knock on the front door nearly sent all of us through the ceiling. I went to the door and opened it. Woody stood there, red-eyed, sneezing, and unquestionably in a rotten mood.
* * *
“You say that’s one of the men who followed you the other night?” Woody sat in the rattan chair in front of the fireplace, while the officer who’d been first on the scene leaned against the wall.
“Yes,” I answered. “We reported it to Deputy Moore of Volusia County—”
Woody patted the air, an imperious gesture Zack used all the time. I’d often wondered if the move was taught in law school or a genetic male predisposition. Whatever it was, I didn’t like it. “—Sheriff’s Department. In fact, Deputy Moore may have his fingerprints.”
Woody chuckled derisively. “The Kraft paper? I heard.”
My face grew hot and it had nothing to do with hormones. A wave of anger bordering on rage swept through me, the same feeling I’d had when Bradford Davis talked down to me at the divorce settlement conference. I took a deep breath; backhanding Woody in the mouth was not a good idea. I blew out the air and forced myself to smile. “Oh, could they lift a print?” I asked sweetly.
“I don’t know.” Woody brushed me off. He turned to Penny Sue. “Your friend outside was shot. Where’s your gun?”
Her mouth dropped open. “He’s not my friend. Come on, Woody, you can’t think we,
I—”
Woody sneezed and blew his nose. “Please get the gun, Penny Sue.”
She stomped down the hall. We could hear her slamming drawers open and shut. A moment later she returned. “It’s gone!”
Ruthie’s hand flew to her mouth, and for a second I thought she might throw up again.
“Someone broke into this condo last night,” I said quickly. Woody gestured to the young policeman, who checked the front door and returned shaking his head. “The thief jimmied the lock or something,” I went on. “The back door was open when we returned from the movie.”
Woody glanced at his notebook and grunted. “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” He stood. “Penny Sue, I think you’d better come down to my office.”
I jumped up and got in Woody’s face. “You can’t arrest her. She didn’t do anything. We told you we were together all evening.”
He backed up. “Really? What was she doing while you napped on the sofa?”
“Well...”
Woody smirked. “Can’t say, can you? Anyway, she’s not under arrest. I merely want to ask a few questions.”
I stepped forward again. “Ask ‘em here.”
Penny Sue spoke up, “It’s all right, Leigh. I’d like to see Woody’s office.”
The neighbors in the two-story condos behind ours were huddled on their balconies, watching, as Woody ushered Penny Sue to the police car. With the exception of Al, every neighbor who’d attended the party, and then some, were present. Even Gerty, Robert, and the Turtle Patrol were spying from the side of the building next door.
I have to say I admired Penny Sue’s aplomb: she looked straight at the crowd and waved. “Good morning,” she called cheerily. The neighbors scurried away like perverts caught at a peep show. Then to me, “Becky Leigh, I think you’d better call Daddy,” she glared at Woody, “and Lyndon, who can vouch for my whereabouts. Daddy’s cell number is in my address book; Lyndon’s number is scribbled on a note card in my purse. If you can’t get Daddy on his cell phone, call the office.”
“Will do.” I scowled at Woody. “We’ll follow in your car, so you’ll have a ride home.”
“Good.” Penny Sue winked and slid gracefully into the backseat of the patrol car.
I started the Mercedes and pulled behind the police car, pointedly edging in front of Woody. Penny Sue was my concern, not that prosecuting (or persecuting) twerp, and I was not letting her out of my sight. We took a right onto an almost deserted, Sunday morning A1A and headed for the center of town.
Ruthie tried to call Judge Parker as I drove. Five times she dialed, five times she got: We’re sorry, the customer you are trying to reach is not available at this time. “Now what?” she asked. “Penny Sue said to call the office. It’s Sunday. No one’s there,” Ruthie complained.
“Actually, the place is probably packed, lawyers work all the time; but, the switchboard is closed. If we call and leave a message, no one will retrieve it until tomorrow morning. A direct number...” I hit the speaker button and keyed a number into the telephone handset. The phone started to ring.
“Who are you calling?” Ruthie asked.
The person who’s direct number I knew by heart, but least wanted to call. “Good morning, Zack.”
“Becky? About time you phoned. I hear we have an offer on the house. I say we take it; no sense holding out for pennies.”
“Zack, I’m not calling about the house.”
“What else could it be?” he asked sarcastically. “Your buddy Judge Nugent has taken care of everything else. How did you get to him? Max doesn’t have connections like that. Penny Sue? Was it Penny Sue?”
I suppressed a grin. Zack’s tone told me that he was furious. Apparently Judge Nugent hadn’t liked Zack’s explanation about the disposition of our assets. Thank you Judge Daddy for planting a bug in Nugent’s ear! Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to savor my rare victory. “Listen, this is important.”
There was an audible gasp on the other end. “Not the kids. Ann and Zack, are they all right?”
“They’re fine. I need to get in touch with Judge Parker. Penny Sue’s in trouble. She’s been taken in for questioning by the police.”
Zack chuckled. “Questioning? What’s that dingbat done now?”
The police car with Penny Sue turned into a parking lot and stopped. I found a parking space not too far away. “There’s been a murder. Two, actually.” For once Zack was speechless. “I’m calling from her car. We’re at the police station now and I’ve got to go.”
“Wait. Where are you? How can I reach you?”
“New Smyrna Beach. Try my cell phone, although the reception around here isn’t very good. I’ll call you from inside, there must be a pay phone somewhere. Please send someone to find the Judge; he’s fishing.”
“I’ll get him. Tell Penny Sue not to say anything.”
I sighed. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”
Woody wouldn’t let us talk to Penny Sue, but said we were welcome to wait in a reception area by the door. “There’s no need to worry, I’m only going to ask her a few questions,” he insisted.
I suspected his last statement was meant for the Judge as much as it was us. “I’ve called a lawyer,” I said.
He folded his arms and assumed a pedantic stance. “I’m sure you have, though it’s really not necessary. She hasn’t been charged with anything. I simply need to ascertain the facts and the whereabouts of her gun.”
“She’s already told you all of that,” Ruthie argued.
“Forgive me, dear, my memory is failing,” Woody replied. “I merely want to go over it one more time.” He motioned to a vinyl settee that looked like an antique. “Stay if you like, but it’s not necessary. I’ll see that she gets home.”
Ruthie sat down, eyes narrowed defiantly. “We’ll wait, thank you.”
Woody left. Neither of our cell phones could get a decent signal inside the building, so I set out in search of a pay phone. I finally found one next to a vending machine and called Zack again. He answered on the first ring, a rarity for Mr. Cool. “The Judge is somewhere in the woods up by Big Canoe. I’ve sent two clerks to find him. How’s Penny Sue?”
I leaned against the wall and stared at my feet. How was she? Probably scared to death, even if she’d rather die than show it. “Who knows? They’re questioning her now.”
“What’s this stuff about two murders?” I filled him in on the details of the last week. “For chrissakes, Becky, why didn’t y’all call after the first guy was murdered?”
“Pe
nny Sue swore us to secrecy.”
Zack snorted. “You left it at that? Anyone with half a brain—”
“I’ve got to go.” Typical Zack: put down instead of putting up. I wasn’t taking his crap. He would help Penny Sue—after all, his job depended on it.
“Wait. I’ve talked to Swindal, he thinks I should come down there.”
My heart skipped a beat. Of all the people in the world, he was the last I wanted to see. “You? Why?”
“I’m the only senior partner who’s a member of the Florida Bar.”
No, not Zack. Anyone but Zack. “I think she needs local counsel. You know, someone with connections,” I said. The Judge had an army on the case minutes after Penny Sue had waved the gun around. Surely, Zack could simply make a phone call. Certainly, someone other than the Judge had contacts in Florida.
“Swindal’s calling someone now, but he thinks we should personally supervise. After all, Penny Sue is the Judge’s only child.”
Yes, she was. As much as I detested Zack, I had to admit he was a good lawyer. If anyone could get Penny Sue off, he could.
Zack went on, “I can be down there in five or six hours. There’s a flight to Daytona Beach that leaves in two hours. Where should I stay?”
As far away as possible was my first reaction. “There aren’t many hotels here, you’d better stay up by the airport.”
“That’s the best you can do?” he said dryly.
“Yeah, I’m not a travel agent.” I stared at a limp cord, the only remnant of the Bell South directory that had once hung beneath the telephone. “This place doesn’t even have a phone book. Besides, the flight probably won’t go, there’s a hurricane off the coast.”
“I know that; my secretary’s already checked. They’re not expecting to close the Daytona airport anytime soon,” he drawled sarcastically. “See you in a few hours.” He hung up.
I felt sick. Then said a silent prayer that Lizzie would hit Daytona Beach before Zack did.
* * *
Chapter 17
I returned to the lobby, stewing over my conversation with Zack, to find Ruthie sitting in the lotus position, her feet drawn into the chair, palms up, thumb and index finger touching lightly. Her face was smooth and youthful, the picture of tranquility.
And, it really infuriated me, although I’m not sure why. Perhaps because I couldn’t get into that posture if my life depended on it. Or maybe it was her glowing complexion. My glow was dim, to say the least, especially right now. It might have been her tranquility, or my fatigue from having been up all night, the dirty green walls, the stale antiseptic smell; heck, it might even have had something to do with hormones—or the fact that Zack was headed to New Smyrna Beach. Whatever it was, I had an uncontrollable, albeit childish, urge to disrupt Ruthie’s serene repose.
“Zack’s coming,” I blurted.
She grinned. “Perfect.”
My mouth dropped open. “Perfect?”
“I asked the spirits for the highest and best solution for all concerned.”
“Well, the spirits threw you a curve ball. Zack hardly qualifies as the highest and best. He’s the lowest of the low.” I sat down, fuming.
Ruthie unfolded her legs and sat up like a normal person. “He is for Woody.”
“Woody?” Ruthie was talking in riddles and I was definitely not in the mood for puzzles. “What in the world does Woody have to do with Zack?”
“Karma.”
That remark incensed me even more. Ruthie’s abstruse thought processes were typically endearing, however, this leap was too much like Penny Sue. Penny Sue who was responsible for Zack coming and our sitting in god-awful hard chairs. “Karma? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Penny Sue, Woody, and Zack; together again after all these years. I’d say they’re supposed to mend some fences. When they were last together, they parted on bad terms.”
That was true, there’d been a huge scene. It was our sophomore year in college and a bunch of us from the sorority had come down to the beach condo. Penny Sue had been dating Zack, but true to form—out of sight, out of mind—she immediately met a guy on the beach, Woody, and struck up a relationship. Woody and Penny Sue were a hot item for all of three days until Zack showed up unexpectedly. The men had words, almost came to blows, and Penny Sue told them both off. Shortly after she got back to Atlanta, Penny Sue took up with Andy Walters, whom she eventually married, and Zack put the rush on me. Woody had just faded away. Until now.
“I wish they’d mend fences on their own time. I’ve had enough of Zack Stratton, Woody, and this whole mess.”
Ruthie stared into space, her lips twisted in a half smile. I knew she was thinking about me. Some high, spiritual truth that I was in no mood to hear.
“I think we should try to reach Lyndon,” I said, changing the subject. “He’s the one person who can alibi Penny Sue and put an end to this mess before Zack arrives. Woody said he’d contact Lyndon; I’ll bet he hasn’t even tried.” Dragging it out to punish Penny Sue, I almost said. Getting even for the past. Maybe Ruthie’s karma notion wasn’t as dopey as I’d initially thought.
“If we hurry, perhaps we can resolve everything before Zack leaves Atlanta. Lyndon’s phone number is supposed to be in Penny Sue’s purse. Did you bring it in?”
Ruthie rummaged through Penny Sue’s Louis Vuitton and finally came up with a rumpled, blue card for Charlotte’s Cleaning Service. She turned it over. “This must be it. Says LF and a number.”
“Right, Lyndon Fulbright. I took the card and headed back to the pay phone. I dialed the number and got: The cellular customer you have called is unavailable or out of the area. I slammed the receiver down and retrieved my quarter. “No luck; just like the Judge,” I said, retaking my seat. “Either the phone’s turned off, or Lyndon’s out of range.”
“The phone’s turned off. We saw Lyndon only hours ago—he must be in range. He’s probably sleeping, since he was up all night with Penny Sue.”
“I guess we’ll have to go to The Riverview.”
“What about Penny Sue? Suppose they release her while we’re gone?”
“Woody will give her a ride home.”
Ruthie winced. “That seems so cold.”
It did. If I were being questioned by the police, I’d like to have a friendly face waiting when I got out. Still, Penny Sue might not be released at all if we didn’t find Lyndon. If she were in our place, what would she do? “Penny Sue can reach us on her cell phone and we can be back here in a matter of minutes.”
I found the young officer who’d responded to our 9-1-1 call and relayed the message for Penny Sue. He sullenly agreed to deliver it, although it was clear he didn’t expect Woody to let our friend go any time soon. I thanked him for his help and returned to the reception area. “Come on,” I said to Ruthie.
We were at The Riverview in twenty minutes, which was ten more than it usually took due to torrential downpours spun off by Lizzie. I dropped Ruthie in front of the restaurant and waited. Fortunately, the place wasn’t busy, even though church had been out for a good half hour.
I relaxed into the Mercedes’ soft leather seat and watched the rain pelt the windshield. There’s a raw energy to storms that I find exciting. It’s almost sexual. Ruthie says it’s the negative ions. Atmospheric turbulence knocks electrons free, charging the air. Or maybe it’s lightning that does it. In any event, the air truly acquires an electric charge, which explains why hair will sometimes stand up on your arm.
While the hair wasn’t standing up on my arm, I was enjoying Lizzie’s brutish display. Of course, I was relatively dry and safe inside the car. I say relatively dry because a goodly amount of spray entered as Ruthie exited the Benz. Yet, I could hardly complain about the spray that coated Penny Sue’s leather seats and fogged the windows—Ruthie nearly had to crawl to make it to the restaurant.
I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the warble and sway of the squalls. It didn’t work. Thoughts of Penny Sue and Za
ck kept intruding. What was Woody doing to her? And Zack—I looked at my watch—could be in New Smyrna Beach in less than four hours. Three if he didn’t check luggage.
Darn, what was keeping Ruthie? I cleared a spot on the fogged windshield and stared at the restaurant. I made out her form talking to a lady in front of the glass doors. The woman was gesturing toward the river. I saw Ruthie nod, tuck her head, and race toward the car.
“The yacht’s gone,” she reported, wiping water off her face as she climbed in. “The hostess said it left right after she got to work, at about ten this morning.”
“Left?” I asked, feeling numb. Lyndon said he’d leave if the storm was coming ashore. But the storm was miles away and no one knew where, or if, it would make landfall. New Smyrna Beach was in the strike zone, heck, so was the rest of Florida and most of the East Coast. By leaving now, Lyndon could well be sailing into the storm’s path. It didn’t make sense … unless he was running from something.
I put the car in gear. “Let’s go back to the police station.”
I cut through the parking lot and took a left on Flagler Avenue. The rain was coming down in proverbial buckets, flooding the road in low spots. I hit the scan button on the radio and found a weather forecast. Lizzie had taken an westerly turn and gained speed. If the storm continued on its present course, the level one hurricane would make landfall between Cocoa Beach and Jacksonville.
“New Smyrna Beach is smack dab in the middle of that range,” Ruthie said, her voice tremulous.
I squeezed the steering wheel and took my foot off the accelerator as the car hydroplaned in a deep pool on the west side of the North Causeway Bridge. “Don’t worry. Lizzie will turn north. They always do. New Smyrna’s never taken a direct hit.”
Ruthie wasn’t convinced. She bit her lip. “Maybe it’s overdue—did you ever think of that?”
I had. Though I’d quickly dismissed the idea as nothing more than statistical gibberish, mathematical masturbation. A spurious application of probability theory, I told myself. That, notwithstanding the fact that statistics had been my worst subject, I’d barely squeaked by with a D. Nonetheless, statistics said the storm wouldn’t hit. It couldn’t hit.