The Turtle Mound Murder

by Mary Clay

  “Damn, Becky, I’m drenched. What took you so long? For godssakes, you knew I was coming. Why didn’t you answer your cell phone? Where’s Penny Sue? Did Swindal call?” He stopped in front of the utility room and glared at me. “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded angrily.

  “That.” I pointed toward Al, who had his gun trained on Zack.

  I wish I’d had a camera! The look on Mr. Big Stuff’s face was priceless. He went white as a sheet and started to pant, as if he were hyperventilating. What a wuss!

  Al motioned both of us toward the living room. We walked single file—Zack first, then me, with Al bringing up the rear. Penny Sue and Ruthie were in plain view directly ahead. When Zack reached the opening to the living room and kitchen, he caught sight of Gino, who’d drawn his gun. Surprised, Zack stumbled backward into the kitchen counter, knocking over a Furby and the can of Hot Shot which I’d left on the counter after a wasp got in the condo with all the ins and outs of the morning’s commotion. The bug spray rattled across the room as the Furby fell to the tile floor crying, “Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo!” Gino swung his gun first at the can, then toward the Furby—which had miraculously landed on its feet, jabbering “Party! Big Fun. Dance! Dance!”—finally settling on Zack’s forehead. Zack raised his hands like crooks do in old movies as his breathing took on the staccato beat of Ruthie’s fake asthma attack. Only Zack wasn’t faking. Penny Sue, Ruthie, and Charlotte raised their hands, too. I simply froze in place.

  Al was the first to recover. He poked my back with the gun barrel. “Shut up that stupid toy.” Then he pointed at Penny Sue. “Get that can.” She dropped to her knees to retrieve the wasp spray from under the sofa and gingerly placed it on the end of the counter. I did the same which the Furby which was still chattering, “Hungry. Very Hungry.”

  “Give me that damn thing,” Al ordered angrily. He took the toy and threw it, hard, into the linen closet and slammed the door. We could hear the Furby scream, “Whoa-a-a! Scare me!”

  Penny Sue’s face puckered with horror. “Little Lu Nee,” she whispered.

  “You’re the loony! Be quiet,” Al barked at her as he herded Zack and I toward the sofa and loveseat. We sat, as ordered, with our hands in the air.

  “Who the hell are you?” Gino growled at Zack in the meanest tone I’d ever heard.

  “My husband,” I said before Zack could respond. Being a lawyer might not be the healthiest occupation for this situation, and I feared Mr. Big Stuff—if he managed to speak—might launch into a long recitation of his credentials and the legal consequences of their actions. Worse, Zack could try to bluff and say something really stupid like, “The police are on the way,” in which case Gino might feel compelled to eliminate the witnesses—US!—forthwith.

  Al regarded me skeptically. “I thought you were divorced; a Daffydil or something.”

  “My ex-husband,” I corrected quickly. So why was my ex-husband here? I wanted to steer as far away from Penny Sue and the police as possible. “He has some papers for me to sign.”

  Zack picked up the hint and for once didn’t correct me. “We sold the house. She’s got to sign the papers.”

  “Check him,” Al instructed Gino, who patted Zack down. Gino found no weapon, but did confiscate Zack’s cell phone.

  “I’m tired of pussyfooting around,” Gino grumbled. “Let’s find the money and get out of here. I’m not getting caught on the boat in that hurricane.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Al said as he opened the door to the owner’s closet. A common feature of beach condos, the owner’s closet was a five-by-ten foot, deadbolted room used to keep personal effects safe from renters. Al motioned to the lock. “Where’s the key to this door, Penny Sue?”

  “On the key ring,” she answered meekly.

  Gino handed the ring to Al who quickly found the right key. They ushered us one by one into the closet. All but Ruthie, who hung back, whimpering.

  “Please leave the light on,” she pleaded as Gino grabbed her arm and pushed her into the closet. “I’m claustrophobic. Please, I’ll die in the dark. Really!”

  Gino looked to Al for a decision. “Aw, leave it on. But you,” Al waved his weapon at Ruthie, “be quiet. Scream again, and it will be your last.” He swung the door shut, and the deadbolt clicked.

  * * *

  Chapter 19

  Five adults in a five-by-ten foot space that was already half-filled with beach paraphernalia made for mighty close quarters. Too close for my taste, since one of the group was Zack. I wormed my way between Ruthie and Penny Sue for cover. Charlotte wedged herself against Zack, probably for the same reason. Penny Sue had been giving Charlotte scathing looks throughout the whole ordeal. Outside, we heard the television come on, tuned to the Weather Channel. Gino was doubtlessly checking Lizzie’s status; I made out Dr. Steve’s muffled voice through the wall. Though I strained to hear, I could only understand one phrase, Level One. Gino must have been satisfied, because the loud banging of closets and drawers started immediately, drowning out the news on the storm.

  “What’s going on here?” Zack broke our silence.

  Penny Sue glared at Charlotte. “Yes, Ms. Associate’s Associate, what is going on? How are you connected to Lyndon Fulbright?”

  Charlotte drew back, her bottom lip quivering. “None of this was supposed to happen. Rick and I were simply trying to make enough money to run away. Now he’s dead, and …” She started to cry.

  “Rick?’ I asked. “I thought Al was talking about Stink—, er Clarence Smith.”

  Charlotte wiped her cheeks with the back of her had. “I don’t know a Clarence Smith.”

  “Amazing,” Penny Sue drawled sarcastically. “You seem to know every other man in town.”

  “Wait,” Zack interrupted, patting the air imperiously. “This is no time for a cat fight.”

  “Cat fight? No, you wait,” I snapped, squaring my shoulders. “That sexist remark was completely uncalled-for. We wouldn’t be stuck in this closet—probably to die—if it weren’t for your pig-headedness.”

  “Pig-headedness?” he countered with the cocky smirk I’d come to loathe.

  “Yes, pig-headedness. If you hadn’t acted like a pompous ass, you’d be on the outside—in a position to save our lives. The big lawyer that Swindal sent down to save Penny Sue has botched it royally. Instead of saving the day, you’ve sealed our doom, and you’re going down with the ship.

  “All of your sleazy shenanigans have come to naught—fooling around with the stripper, stealing our money, taking half the stuff in the house—”

  I turned to Ruthie, “All the top sheets, no bottoms. Half of every set of china. One twin bed from Zack, Jr.’s room. The bookcase—dumped the books on the floor—from Ann’s bedroom.”

  Ruthie and Charlotte glared at Zack with revulsion.

  The veins in Zack’s neck bulged, and he tapped his chest with his fist. “Me sleazy? What about you? Judge Nugent’s put the property settlement on hold, called for an independent audit and reevaluation of everything. You did that. It’s all your fault. How did you get to him, Becky?”

  “I hope they find the money you hid in the Caymans, so the kids will get it and not your stripper.” The words were out and I meant them. Yet, the victory, if there was one, was hollow. I leaned against the wall and shook my head—disgusted with Zack, disgusted with myself. Here we were, locked in a closet for, probably, the few remaining moments of our lives and we were arguing over money. Sick. It was stupid and sick.

  Penny Sue came to my rescue. “Leigh has friends in high places,” she stated crisply. “And, since this is my closet, and it appears we may all be here for quite a while, I suggest we clear some space so we can at least sit down.”

  For the second time that day Zack Stratton acquiesced without an argument. In a matter of minutes, we’d shifted most of the stuff on the floor to the shelves at the back of the closet. In the process, Zack found a full bottle of Wild Turkey. Penny Sue unceremoniously plopped on the floor, u
nscrewed the top of the bourbon and took a hearty swallow. Then, she offered the bottle to Ruthie, who was twitching with fear. “Take a sip, sugar. It’ll calm your nerves.”

  Ruthie accepted the bottle with shaking hands and turned it up. She sputtered and gagged at the harsh taste, yet managed to keep the liquor down. To my amazement she took a second gulp before passing the bottle to Zack. He took a swig, as did Charlotte. I chose to abstain—someone had to keep their wits, even though the situation seemed hopeless. There was no doubt in my mind that Al would never let us go. Our only chance was that someone would come looking for us before Al and Gino found the money or gave up the search.

  “What’s going on here?” Zack asked again. “If I’m going to die, I’d like to know why. Who are those guys, and what’s this about two murders?”

  Penny Sue stared down Zack and took another swallow of the Wild Turkey. “This is my closet, I get to go first. What is going on?” she pointedly asked Charlotte.

  Charlotte stared at her lap to avoid Penny Sue’s glare. “I’m so sorry—it’s my fault. My marriage was never very good and got a lot worse after Pete had his accident. He was laid up for a long time, and couldn’t,” she glanced up sheepishly, “well, you know. I got tired of staying home night after night with no affection, so I found a job as a waitress at The Riverview. Pete didn’t care—he was gooned out on painkillers most of the time. The job got me out of the house at night, and the money came in handy—we have lots of medical bills. No insurance. Pete and I will never live to pay off all of those damned bills, because of his damned motorcycle.

  “Rick came into the restaurant one night, and we hit it off immediately. He was so good looking. Anyway, he was new to town and lonely like me. One thing led to another, I had a key to this condo, and before you knew it, we were having an affair.”

  Penny Sue’s jaw dropped. “You used my father’s condo for a love nest?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “No one ever came here. We figured it wouldn’t hurt anything.”

  “When did you and Rick start dealing drugs?” I asked. Like Zack, if I was going to die, I wanted to know why.

  “Not right away. At first, I didn’t know what Rick did. He knew I needed money, so eventually he offered to cut me in. He’d been in the business for a while, down in South Florida. He was the middleman for Al and a Caribbean drug cartel. Rick moved up here after a big drug bust in Miami. Several of his friends had been nabbed, and he figured he might be next. Besides, he could work anywhere as long as there was a beach. The guys from the Caribbean brought the stuff in on boats at night and they’d bury the merchandise at a predetermined location and stake it off to make it look like a turtle nest. Rick would dig up the drugs, put the payment in its place, and stash the stuff here. I’d pick up the merchandise and deliver it to one of Al’s men. It was Rick’s idea to spread everything around. That way, if one side of the triangle was nabbed, the others wouldn’t be implicated.”

  Penny Sue took a mouthful of bourbon and passed the bottle to Zack, who seemed as stunned as she was by the confession. “Mercy, you were using Daddy’s place to stash drugs, too!”

  “Rick said it was the perfect setup—no one would ever suspect anything was going on in a judge’s condo.”

  “My gawd,” Penny Sue exclaimed, her hand automatically covering her heart. “Daddy will die when he finds out.”

  I wanted to say, that’s the least of our worries, but didn’t. Some color had returned to Ruthie’s cheeks which was reassuring. “So, Lyndon’s in league with Al?” I asked.

  “No. Lyndon doesn’t know anything about Al.”

  “What were you doing with Lyndon’s phone number?” Penny Sue demanded.

  Charlotte averted her eyes. “I met Lyndon at The Riverview, and we dated a few times.”

  Penny Sue’s eyes shot darts. “Dated?”

  “That’s how I found out about Lyndon’s obsession for turtle eggs. He thinks they’re an aphrodisiac and natural Viagra.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Zack looked sidelong. “Lyndon’s chef, Thomas, uses them in everything. Wow, you should taste pancakes made with turtle eggs, they’re the best I’ve ever eaten. So light and fluffy…”

  “Pancakes,” Penny Sue muttered, fuming. The fact that Charlotte had stayed over to have breakfast came through loud and clear.

  Charlotte ignored Penny Sue and went on. “I arranged for Rick to supply Lyndon with turtle eggs.”

  I rummaged in my pocket for the note. 200 @ 6. Same time, same place. I held the note for the group to see. “This was an order for turtle eggs?”

  Charlotte nodded. “I’d leave egg orders in the bureau drawer for Rick. Lyndon insisted on keeping his distance.”

  “What a sleazy thing to do,” Ruthie spoke for the first time. “Rick robbed turtle nests to supply a horny, old man?”

  “It was better than throwing the eggs away. Most times Rick would dig up the nest and tell the drug runners to bury the stash in the same place. That way, there would never be a link between Rick and the record for the turtle nest. By selling the eggs to Lyndon, they weren’t wasted.”

  “What a hypocrite! Rick was on the Turtle Patrol and robbing the nests?” Ruthie said disgustedly. “That’s too much.”

  I looked at Ruthie, amazed by her thinking; of course, the two big swigs of bourbon might have had something to do with it. Yet, of all the things to key on—hypocrisy. Rick had committed numerous felonies, and she was outraged that he was two-faced. Two-faced! A coin with two heads, Pauline had said that. Though, Pauline couldn’t have meant Rick, who was already dead by that time. Lyndon had certainly been two-faced, and so had Al, for that matter.

  “Who killed Rick?” I asked.

  Charlotte teared up. “I don’t know. It could have been another dealer trying to cut in on his territory. That’s what I thought until a few minutes ago when you admitted to having the merchandise. That’s why I called Al—I was afraid he would think I was pulling a double cross. I arranged for him to rent the condo next door. I clean that unit, too.”

  “Who killed Stink—Clarence?” Penny Sue asked.

  Charlotte hung her head, tears streaming now. “I don’t know, but I heard the shot. While you were out with Lyndon, I came over here to search for the note. Lyndon was terrified of being implicated for turtle egg poaching.”

  I remembered the article Ruthie read aloud from the newspaper. “Of course—it’s a felony.”

  “Right. I was searching the linen closet—”

  “You took the Taser gun,” I exclaimed, pointing.

  “No. I didn’t know what it was. In fact, I was examining the thing when I heard the gun shot. I was so scared, I dropped the Taser and ran. I went straight to Lyndon’s yacht and told Chef Thomas that I hadn’t found the note and wasn’t going to look again. No way I was going to stick around and get killed like Rick.”

  “Do you suppose Al killed Stinky?” Ruthie asked, the color draining from her face.

  Charlotte shook her head. “It wasn’t Al. He was at The Riverview waiting for Gino to arrive. That’s why I’m here. Al saw me coming out of Lyndon’s yacht and grabbed me. I’ve been next door with them since. After you left and the storm kicked up, we saw our chance to search your condo.”

  “If Al didn’t do it, who did?” Ruthie demanded.

  “Pauline said we were in danger from a light-haired man. What else did she say?” Penny Sue asked.

  “Who’s Pauline?” Zack interrupted.

  “A psychic.” Zack rolled his eyes.

  “A coin with two heads, and shiny wheels spinning,” I continued. “The two-headed coin definitely means two-faced.”

  “Ain’t that the truth?” Penny Sue shot a look at Charlotte and Zack. “Almost everyone we’ve met has been two-faced, including Lyndon.” She scowled at the younger woman. “Was he sucking up to me just to get that incriminating order?”

  Charlotte flinched. “I-I … don’t know. I told him who you were.”

  “The first night?
Did he know who I was that first night at The Riverview? Did he know then?”

  Charlotte drew back defensively. “I passed him a note telling him you were staying in the condo,” she admitted.

  “Which explains the weird maneuver about having to close out his old tab and start a new one because the shift had changed.” Penny Sue squeezed the neck of the bottle, undoubtedly wishing it was Lyndon’s neck. “I knew it didn’t make sense, because you were still our waitress. Right after that, my drinks seemed awfully strong. He was trying to get me drunk so he could drive me home and retrieve the evidence!” Her face twisted with rage. “Y’all weren’t slipping me G, that date rape drug?”

  Charlotte ducked her head. “No! I had the bartender pour you doubles.”

  “I thought so.” Penny Sue took another swig of the bourbon and laughed. “I foiled you because I can hold my liquor, and I had friends there to drive me home.” She smiled at us triumphantly. “All of the rush from Lyndon was simply to get an egg order? What a two-faced, sleaze! He killed Stinky,” she declared.

  I looked askance. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because Lyndon wanted to spend the night with me; I said no.” She reared back dramatically. “So, he waited around until we went to sleep, planning to sneak in and steal the order. He surprised Stinky on the deck, there was a struggle, and Lyndon shot him.”

  “Come on, Penny Sue, Lyndon wouldn’t do that,” I argued. “First, he’s a man who pays people to do things for him—he doesn’t do anything for himself.” I glared at Zack, who undoubtedly got my drift. “Secondly, he’d already arranged for Charlotte to search the place while we were at Rocky Horror. For all Lyndon knew, she’d found the slip of his stationery.”

  Penny Sue brightened. “You’re right. He really wanted to sleep with me.” She smirked at Charlotte.