Murder is a Beach (Maggie, PI Mysteries)

by Pressey, Rose

  I didn’t know what to think. Did he know that I’d seen his granddaughter alive on that boat? There was no way he could have known.

  “Will you help me?” he asked again.

  “Of course she will help you,” Dorothy said with a huge smile.

  Maybe it had been my imagination, but I thought Dorothy had batted her eyelashes at the man. Was she flirting with him?

  I nodded. “Okay, yes, of course I’d love to help you.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to me. A gold bracelet was around his wrist. That was strange because it looked like the one I’d found the night before, which was still in my purse, as far as I knew. I looked down at the card he’d given me. ‘Grant Jewelers’ was written at the top. His name was in the middle with ‘owner’ written under that. Well, that explained why he wore so much jewelry. Besides the bracelet on his wrist he had several gold rings.

  “You can reach me at that number any time. If I don’t answer please leave a message and I’ll call you right back.” He pointed toward the card.

  “Can you tell me a little more about your granddaughter?” I asked.

  “Like I said, she didn’t talk to her family much. I tried to keep in contact, but she kept her distance.” He twisted his hands in his lap.

  “Why is that?” I asked. If I was going to take on this case, I had to know as much about her as possible.

  “She always had a turbulent relationship with her parents. She just didn’t want to talk to anyone.” He shrugged. “We never really understood why. I will admit that her parents have always been strict and a bit cold.”

  Basic information about the victim would be useful. I hated to push him for details when he was in such an emotional state of mind. “How old was your granddaughter?”

  “She was thirty-five,” he answered.

  Did she have any children or a husband? I asked.

  “No. Here’s a current picture of her” He handed me the glossy photo.

  It was eerily to look at her beautiful face after seeing her on the beach. There was something haunting in her eyes.

  I nodded. “Where did she work?”

  “She was quite successful. She owns the Captain’s Quarters Restaurant,” he said softly.

  I almost choked. What were the odds? There had to be a connection since I’d seen the man with the boat at the restaurant.

  “I was just at the restaurant last night,” I said.

  He frowned. “Really?”

  “Yes, Dorothy suggested it for dinner. We’d heard wonderful things about the food.”

  He nodded. “She had a partner in the business,” he said.

  “Who was her partner?” I asked.

  “I don’t know anything about him really. His name is Justin Mack.”

  I wrote down the name. “Okay. I’ll look into it. I’ll find out everything I can.”

  Morton Grant handed me another piece of paper and a key. “That paper has a few details about her, just general info. The key is to her apartment. You’ll find the address on the paper as well. I came to you right away because I know the first forty-eight hours are crucial in finding the killer.”

  “We don’t know that she was murdered,” I said in a comforting tone.

  “I know she would never go for a swim and I don’t think she would willingly get onto a boat. How else did she get into the water?” he asked.

  Somehow that man had gotten her on his boat. He’d probably forced her against her will.

  “I’ll do everything I can,” I said. “Let me ask you. Did she have a boat?”

  He shook his head. “Not that I know of. She had always been terrified to go into the water. She loved the beach, but hated the water. I know that’s strange…and terrible that that was how she ultimately died.” He looked down at his hands for a moment.

  “I know how hard this is for you. I’m here to help.” I gave a sympathetic smile.

  He looked at his watch. “If you’ll excuse me I have another important meeting.”

  Morton Grant stood and walked toward the door. He smiled at Dorothy and she beamed.

  When he walked out the door she shook her head. “That poor man. You have to help him. It just breaks my heart.”

  I stared at her. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly.” She waved off my question.

  Jake had wanted me not to get involved in this case. It looked as if it was too late for this now. Maybe I could keep my involvement from him?

  “How old was Kristin Grant?” Dorothy asked.

  I picked up the newspaper. “It says she was thirty-seven.”

  “Still so young.” Dorothy shook her head. “So what do we do now?”

  “We?” I asked with a quirked brow.

  “Yes, we. I am your assistant.” She motioned from me to her. “You’ll need my help.”

  “I need your help to answer the phone.” I pointed toward my sad little desk with the silent phone sitting in the middle.

  She shorted. “Are you still on that kick? Your phone’s not ringing off the hook.”

  “You just want to help so you can be next to Morton Grant.” I wiggled my eyebrows.

  She scoffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That is ridiculous. I am not interested. I haven’t been on a date in years.”

  “And you were complaining because I haven’t been on a date?” I asked.

  “We should go to the restaurant,” Dorothy said, changing the subject.

  “I doubt the place is open today. Wouldn’t they close since one of the owners died yesterday?” I said.

  Dorothy pondered the thought. “Maybe so, but we have to check it out. Besides do you have any other ideas?” she asked.

  Well, she had me there. “No, I don’t have any other ideas. But I’m driving this time.” I was convinced that Dorothy had never driven under the speed limit a day in her life. And I wouldn’t even get started on her abrupt lane-changing.

  She shrugged and stuffed her knitting needles and crossword puzzle into her purse. She never went anywhere without them. “I’m ready,” she said as she made her way toward the door. “By the way, do you still have his card? I’d like to take a look, if you don’t mind.”

  I suppressed a smile and handed her the card. “He’s a nice-looking man. I wonder if he’s married,” I said.

  She stared at me for a moment, then said, “He probably is taken. A man like that wouldn’t have a problem finding a wife.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe he doesn’t have anyone special in his life.”

  “Well, he just lost a granddaughter. I hardly doubt he would be worried about going out with anyone,” Dorothy said, flipping the card around in her hand.

  “That’s true. But maybe you could be friends. After all, friends help friends through a lot of tough times. I bet he could always use another friend.”

  She bit back a smile. “We have work do to.”

  Chapter Eight

  Thank goodness Dorothy hadn’t insisted on driving her Cadillac. Her driving had resulted in me having repeated panic attacks. I climbed behind the wheel of my car and Dorothy got into the passenger side. She immediately whipped out the knitting needles.

  “If I’m not driving then I have to be doing something with my hands,” she said when I glanced over at her.

  “I didn’t say anything,” I said, turning the ignition.

  “You didn’t have to. I know you better than you think I do.” She pointed with one of her needles.

  We made our way down Biscayne Boulevard toward the Captain’s Quarters. Luckily, the traffic wasn’t bad. Within a few minutes I’d pulled into the parking lot.

  “I had almost expected to see the police here. Wouldn’t they want to question the people she worked with?” I asked.

  “Maybe you just hoped to see Jake.” Dorothy didn’t look up from her knitting project.

  The parking lot was mostly empty, b
ut then it was still early and the lunch crowd hadn’t gotten there yet. It did indeed look as if the restaurant was open, which surprised me.

  “Looks like they’re open after all,” I said.

  “Maybe she wasn’t a very nice boss,” Dorothy said as we got out of the car.

  We made our way up the deck and to the restaurant’s entrance. It seemed like forever since I’d been there with Jake, yet it had been less than twenty-four hours. I had no idea what I would even say to these people.

  “We should just have lunch and try to act casual,” I said.

  “Something tells me that we will act anything but casual.” Dorothy shook her head.

  That was exactly what I was afraid of.

  When we reached the door, Dorothy stopped. I looked back to see what she was doing.

  “There’s a sign in the window.” Dorothy tapped the glass. “Look at this.”

  I stepped closer. “Help wanted?”

  “Yeah.” She looked at me. “We should apply.”

  I stared at her as if she’d spoken a foreign language.

  “Don’t look at me like I’m nuts. If we worked here then we could probably find out a lot more. Heck, maybe we could pick up a few extra bucks. The sign says they’re seeking a server and a bartender.” She pointed at the small sign.

  “That’s hard work, Dorothy. Who would be the bartender and who would be the server?”

  “Do you have any experience in mixing drinks?” she asked. I shook my head. “Good, then I can be the bartender.” She adjusted the pocket book on her arm.

  “How will we know if they’d even hire us?” I asked.

  “We don’t, but we can apply. It’s worth a shot,” she said.

  I nodded. “Okay. I guess we can give it a shot.”

  “Do we know each other?” she asked.

  “I think it’s best if we act like we don’t,” I said.

  I opened the heavy door and we stepped inside the restaurant. I immediately looked over at the bar where Jake and I had sat the night before. I focused my attention on the man standing behind the bar. He was wiping off glasses, but he didn’t look up at us.

  “We’ll ask him for applications,” I said, motioning for Dorothy to follow me. Dorothy hurried along behind me. “You know, they’re probably going to guess that we’re together, so I think acting as if we don’t know each other is pointless,” I whispered.

  “You’re probably right about that,” she said.

  Once we’d reached the bar, the dark-haired man looked us up and down. He continued to wipe a glass. He wore a white shirt and black pants. The restaurant’s uniform I remembered from yesterday.

  “We’d like to apply for the positions you have posted on the window outside,” I said in my most professional tone.

  He nodded and sat the glass and towel down. “Sure. Wait right here and I’ll get the manager.”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve applied for a job,” Dorothy said.

  “You’ll be fine.” I patted her hand.

  A man with salt-and-pepper hair approached and stuck out his hand. “You’d like to apply for the jobs?”

  “Yes…” I looked at Dorothy. “My friend and I would like to apply.”

  He gaze traveled from me to Dorothy. “Great. If you’d like to have a seat at the table over there, I’ll get applications for you.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  After a couple minutes he came back and handed us the applications. “I’ll be back in just a bit. Take your time filling them out.”

  “Thank you,” I said with a smile.

  Dorothy had already pulled a couple pens from her purse before I even had a chance to touch my bag. I wondered exactly what she kept in that thing. A little bit of everything, I suspected.

  “Do we give them our real names?” Dorothy asked.

  “That’s a good question,” I said, tapping my pen against the table. “I guess we have to, but I doubt we’ll be working here long enough for it to really make a difference. We’ll find out all the details we need and then quit.”

  “Who knows, maybe I’ll like this job so much that I’ll want to stay,” she said with a devilish smile.

  I stared for a second, then said, “Just fill out the application before he gets back. We don’t even know if he’ll hire us yet and you’re making a career at this place.”

  Dorothy waved her hand. “Oh, he’ll love me…and you too.”

  Who knew last night when I was here that today I would be applying for a job. Things had been crazy since I’d moved to Miami, so I shouldn’t be surprised.

  The application was pretty straightforward, so I had no problems completing it. I listed my last employment as a telemarketer, but I didn’t mention that I’d been working as a private investigator now.

  “I really don’t have anything to list as experience,” Dorothy whispered. “I’ve been working for your uncle for years. That will give our cover away.”

  She had a point. When I spotted the man looking at us from across the room, I said, “Just make up something. Tell them you were a bartender at TGI Fridays.”

  Chapter Nine

  We’d just finished the applications when the manager approached our table. He pulled out the chair and sat across from us. For what seemed like a drawn-out length of time he looked from Dorothy to me. In reality it was probably just a couple seconds.

  “Are you grandmother and granddaughter?” he asked.

  I knew I’d hear about his comment later from Dorothy. She preferred if I pretended that she was my sister, or at the very least an aunt.

  I glanced at Dorothy and noticed she was suppressing a scowl. “We’re just friends. We happened to notice the sign in your window and thought we’d apply. My name is…” I paused. I had written my name on the application, but this was it, I had to tell him now. “My name is Maggie Thomas,” I said, offering my hand for him to shake.

  “My name is Dorothy Raye,” she said, shaking his hand.

  “My name is Art Butler. I’m one of the managers here.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Butler,” I said.

  “Please call me Art.” He collected the papers and looked at each one. “Well, ladies, thanks for stopping by today. I’ll take your applications.”

  That was it? Wasn’t he even going to ask us any questions? I’d seen the strange look that had crossed his face when he looked at Dorothy’s application. What had Dorothy written down?

  “It says here, Dorothy, that you graduated Bartending School and that you worked as a bartender for the past twenty years.” His eyes widened.

  Dorothy flashed a wide smile. “Yes, the restaurant I worked at recently went out of business.”

  He studied her for a moment and then looked down at the paper again. “You’re certainly qualified.”

  I leaned over to look at what she’d written. Something told me that she hadn’t listed knitting and crossword puzzles as her hobbies. I noticed that she had listed that she was fluent in Spanish and French. Was that true?

  “Okay, thank you ladies for stopping by. I’ll give you a call and let you know,” he repeated.

  Why hadn’t he asked me any questions? He’d barely looked at my application. It didn’t look as if this was going our way. Well, maybe it was going Dorothy’s way because she’d padded her skill level.

  Art shook our hands again and then walked away.

  “That didn’t go well,” I whispered.

  “What are we going to do now?” Dorothy asked as she collected her pens from the table.

  I sighed. “I’ll think of something. Let’s get out of here.”

  Dorothy and I walked toward the door. We definitely had less bounce in our step now. It felt as if we were being watched, but I didn’t look back to see if that was the case.

  “I can’t believe you wrote all that stuff about bartending.” I shook my head.

  “Hey, I have made drinks for the Bunco women for many years. That’s the same thing as far as I’
m concerned.” She waved her finger in my direction.

  “What about that stuff you wrote about speaking other languages?”

  “Parlez-vous français?” She spoke the words with a little song in her voice.

  I rolled my eyes. “No, I don’t and neither do you.”

  “Sí, sí.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

  I still felt eyes on us as we moved across the room. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and had to look. When I glanced over my shoulder, a blonde woman stood at the back of the room watching us. Since she was wearing the restaurant’s uniform, I knew that she worked there too. She looked to be about my age, but maybe a few years younger.

  The scowl on her face was a little disturbing. It was as if she didn’t want us there. There was no way she could know who I was, although that was when the thought hit me. How could I have been so stupid? My name was in the article as being the private eye who had been on the scene when Kristin’s body was found. Someone would notice and connect the two. Maybe it was for the best that they didn’t hire us after all.

  “I wonder if the other owner is here.” I scanned the area, but had no idea who I was looking for.

  “Kristin’s grandfather should have given you a description,” Dorothy said.

  “I guess he figured the man’s name was enough, but I should have asked.”

  A group of lunchtime customers had entered the restaurant and we tried to maneuver around the crowd. I just wanted to get out of there at this point. I needed time to figure out my next move. I’d made a mistake and I hoped that it didn’t cost me the case. I was sure that Mr. Grant didn’t want anyone to know that he’d hired me. If the manager read the article and put two and two together our covers would be blown.

  Chapter Ten

  We had to stop and wait for the people to move away from the door. I looked over my shoulder and noticed the manager talking to another man. They were both watching us. That was it. I knew that they’d realized who I was. Would they call the police? I mean, we hadn’t done anything wrong. Failing to list my current employment on the application wasn’t a criminal offense. At least I didn’t think it was illegal.

  Their eyes met mine and there was no way that I could pretend that I hadn’t noticed that they were watching us. As soon as I could get through the crowd of people, I was out of there. Dorothy had stopped and was playing with a baby.