No wonder Carlos was so upset. The last thing he wanted was for his secret to get out. Carlos had strived for a second chance at life, without being judged for mistakes from his past.
A loud thud interrupted our conversation. Star’s face came into view from behind the back door of the truck. Her face was bright red like a tomato as she reached her hand through the door to pick up the object she’d dropped. It was my baseball bat.
19
Later in the day, my long-time friend Kyle Harris stopped by. I never noticed him walk as fast as he walked through the parking lot toward us. He apparently had something important on his mind.
“Kara,” he said as he tried to catch his breath. “You won’t believe it.”
“What?” I asked as I set my broom down against the wall. I walked out of the truck to talk to him face-to-face.
“Where are your manners, Kara?” said Star as she followed me out of the truck. She scooted herself in between Kyle and me. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your cute friend?”
Star greeted him by taking his hand and shaking it. Kyle’s face turned red as a beet.
“Are you blushing?”
Kyle responded instantly, trying to save face. “Umm… it’s just the heat, or my allergies acting up again.”
Neither of us were convinced.
“You said you had big news?” I asked.
“I discovered who the primary beneficiary to John Harmon’s estate is.”
Star and I both shouted, “Who?”
“Another family member.”
“Why would Chris be the beneficiary?” asked Star.
“He’s not,” I replied. “Kyle isn’t referring to Chris. Are you?”
“Nope,” Kyle replied.
It only took a split second for me to realize what Kyle was implying. He wasn’t referring to Chris, John’s step-son.
“I give up. I’m confused,” Star said, as she threw her hands up in the air.
“Are you trying to say that John Harmon left his money to another blood relative?” I asked as I tried to process the surprising news.
Kyle shook his head yes. “That’s correct.”
But who?
20
The City Hall building sat atop a hill east of downtown Sunny Shores. Because it was so rich with history, the town took pride in the building. A large number of tourists visited each year, as the building boasted one of Florida’s oldest lighthouses.
According to town history, a Spanish watchtower originally occupied the site in the 1700’s. The watch tower was used by the Spanish to assist in navigating the North American coast. According to historians, the Seminole Indians attacked the Spanish and destroyed the tower, leaving a pile of rocks and bones, still displayed to this day.
The current structure, built in 1809, housed the town’s first and only official light house. The light house operated until it a hurricane damaged it in 1947. Grieving from the loss of her husband in the storm, the widow of the owner decided to not spend any additional time or money fixing it. The lighthouse sat abandoned and neglected for the decades that followed.
In 1990, the city purchased the lighthouse and surrounding acreage with a grant from Congress. The city hall was built in a style complementary to the original structure, with the restored lighthouse as the main showpiece. The building was beautiful, but had taken on an ominous reputation as well.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Ty said as he parked his car at the entrance. Ty was pulling in at a snail’s pace.
I laughed. “You don’t seriously believe the building’s haunted, do you?”
“Not just the building, but the land it sits on as well,” he said. “The hill we’re sitting on now is cursed.”
“Cursed? Really?” I said, shaking my head in disbelief.
“There’s been nothing but death and destruction on this land.” Ty said all this in a serious tone, not kidding around. “There’s a gargoyle statue on the roof, for crying out loud.”
“Big deal,” I said as he continued to motion up at the statue. “That was a staple of architecture at the time.”
“But in Florida of all places?” he said, unconvinced. “That’s just weird.”
When it came to ghost or horror stories, Ty was a chicken. To this day, he avoided going to see any type of scary movie. I’d tried hundreds of times over the years to convince him, but remained unsuccessful.
“Don’t worry, you big baby, I won’t make you go in with me,” I said as I patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure Star could use some help with me being gone. Would you mind going back and helping?”
I did sort of leave Star high and dry back at the truck. I pictured her in my mind, cursing my name under her breath. Lucky for her, dark clouds covered the sky. Tourists tended to shy away on cloudy days.
“Not at all,” he said as he smiled. “What time should I come back and get you?”
“No need. I’ll walk back or catch a ride when I’m finished. There’s no need for you to come back.”
“Thanks again for the ride,” I said as I opened the truck door and stepped out. Before I closed the door behind me, I poked my head back into car. “One more thing, Ty…”
“What’s that?” he asked.
I grinned. “Boo!”
As I walked up the steps, I paused for a moment. The combination of being alone, the dark sky, and the creepy architecture spooked me as well.
The atrium of City Hall was noticeably slow and appeared empty. However, as I’d learned by living in a small town, you were destined to run into someone you knew.
“I didn’t expect to see your smiling face today,” Sam said as he wrapped his arm around me. “How are feeling? Have you had any other issues since the other night?”
It was obvious by the concerned look on his face that he was still worried for my safety. Break-ins rarely occurred in our small town, especially ones laced with malicious intent.
Was I freaked out staying home alone? Yes, of course. However, my pride prevented me from admitting it. So naturally, I embellished the truth.
“Everything is good now. No worries,” I said, while trying to play it cool. “I have a shiny new aluminum bat now. Let them try anything.”
Sam looked stern and not amused in the slightest. “A bat is a cute idea, but not as helpful as the police. I’ve had my officers patrol your street a few times each night. I’ve personally tried to keep an eye on your street as well. If they try anything again, we’ll catch ’em this time.”
“I appreciate it, Sam. I really do.”
“Now that you stopped playing detective, I think you’ll be left alone.”
“Yep,” I said as I shifted my gaze to the floor. I avoided making eye contact with him, trying to not give my true intentions away.
Sam, not convinced by my response, never took his eyes off me. “Why are you at City Hall today?”
I couldn’t think of a good excuse, so I tried to defer the question back to him.
“What are you doing here?”
“I had a meeting with the mayor.”
“The mayor seems to have his nose up in your department’s business a lot, doesn’t he?”
“He’s the town mayor, Kara. He has his nose in all facets of the city government, not just us.”
“I don’t know. It seems odd to have the town mayor so involved in the everyday business of the police. Don’t you find it a bit suspicious?” I asked. “What’s he up to?”
“You haven’t answered my question,” he said. “Why are you here?”
“To do my part as a citizen.”
“You’re lying,” he said as he threw up his hands in frustration. “I knew it. Don’t you realize it’s my job to sniff out B.S.?”
“So what?” I replied, standing my ground. “I’m not breaking any laws. What’s the harm?”
“You’re going to get yourself hurt. Someone already tried once.”
“I’m not going to back down because someone threatened me. T
hat’s what the old Kara would have done.”
“The case is closed. I’m not sure what you’re trying to accomplish here. Missy Harmon confessed to the murder of her husband. What more do you expect to find?”
“I’ve found evidence to the contrary. The signature on the suicide note isn’t hers.”
“How did you come up with that?”
Before I could answer, Sam's radio went off.
“Chief, do you have a copy? Over.”
“Chief Martin here. Over.”
“There’s a new development in the missing person case you requested yesterday. Over.”
“Copy that. I’m on my way to the station now. Over and out.”
My ears perked up when I overheard the phrase missing person. My mind immediately thought of Will’s co-worker, Tom Bryant. No one had seen or heard from him in days. He’d suspiciously left town when all the murders began to occur.
“Did that call have anything to do with Tom Bryant?” I asked.
“Always asking questions. Maybe you should be a detective?”
“Well, is it?”
He smiled. “Duty calls. Just promise me you’ll stay out of trouble. OK?”
“I’ll try,” I replied.
I was being honest, really. It’s not like I pursued trouble on my own. Trouble had a knack for finding me. I wasn’t sure if that was a curse or a blessing, although lately it was the former.
After Sam left, I walked over to the records office. Martha Ham ran the records office at City Hall. She was a sweet, but peculiar woman. She wore dark glasses with thick lenses, and her hair and style of clothes were a bit on the homely side. It was obvious that she didn’t get out much.
“Hello,” I shouted as I opened the door.
Ms. Ham walked out from behind a large book case. She squinted her eyes and adjusted her glasses while examining me.
“Can I help you, young lady?” she asked softly as she approached.
“This may seem like an odd request, but I’m looking for information on John Harmon.”
“Oh my,” she responded as she sat down at her desk. “What a horrific accident.”
“That’s the thing,” I replied. “I don’t believe it was an accident. Someone murdered him.”
“That’s a shame, but what brings you here?”
“I believe he had another family member that was kept secret from everyone in town. I know it might be a long-shot, but maybe there’s a clue here.”
“You’ve come to the right place,” she said as she stood up. "Everyone is so reliant on computers nowadays. Expect to push a few buttons and shazam, all the information magically appears. I still believe the best way to get information requires getting your hands dirty and searching for it yourself.”
“Then what would you suggest? I’m open for anything at this point. Let’s National Treasure this.”
“Hmm…” she said as she scrunched her nose and began to think. It was apparent by her sudden spark of interest that she enjoyed this. This dusty corner of City Hall wasn’t accustomed to this kind of excitement.
“I got it,” she said as she rushed over to the other side of the room. Ms. Ham opened a closet door, revealing a room stacked with piles of file boxes. She frantically started unstacking boxes and moving them around. “The box is around here somewhere. I’m sure of it.”
For being in charge of a record archive, Ms. Ham displayed horrible organization skills. At least on the surface, that is. While the room looked unorganized and cluttered, she employed an unorthodox system. Surprisingly enough, the system worked for her.
“Found it,” she called out as she pulled a box out of the closet.
“What did you find?”
“Property tax records.”
Property tax records?
“This box contains the records for property downtown. Look through this one, and I’ll find the one for his home. He lives in Windmyer Estates, correct?”
“I believe so,” I responded. At least, I thought he did. Most of the wealthier people of Sunny Shores lived in Windmyer Estates, so it seemed like a likely conclusion. Their residents preferred the gated community because it kept the riffraff like us out.
I looked through the box, sorting out form after form. Halfway through the box, one tax record in particular caught my eye. I pulled it out and stared at it.
“64 Ocean Ave.”
The tax record I held in my hands belonged to Bonnie May Calloway. For a split second, I daydreamed about the possibility of owning that property myself. When Bonnie May retired, I want to open up a bakery where the Breezy Bean now sat. Wishful thinking, I knew.
I shook off the distraction and continued looking through the box until I found the tax record for John Harmon’s restaurant. Unfortunately, nothing unusual stood out.
“Found it,” Ms. Ham shouted as she lifted the form above her head. “5531 Thicket Meadow Court.”
I examined the tax records and noticed the same address listed on the form for the Mama Mia Little Italian. “That’s it. The tax form for the restaurant lists the same address under his name.”
Ms. Ham took the thick glasses hanging from her neck strap and placed them over her nose. She took a moment and examined the form.
“That’s interesting,” she said as she walked over and sat down beside me. “Look here. He has another previous address listed.”
She passed the tax form over, so I could look. She was right. Under his name, it listed a previous address. He owned another home in the Sunny Shores. John Harmon lived in another home prior to moving into Windmyer.
Neither one of us needed to say anything because we both thought of the same idea.
Ms. Ham walked back over to the closet, retrieving another box. She set the box down between us, and we each took a stack of papers.
“Found it,” I said as I discovered the form we searched for. It felt as if we were on a treasure hunt. “Bingo.”
On that particular form, I finally found the clue we’d searched for this entire time.
John Green
778 San Juan Street
Duck Key, Florida 33050.
“What’s next?” I asked Ms. Ham. “Do you have a special state database you can search?”
She laughed. “It’s called Google.”
We rushed over to her computer. When the search results populated, we scrolled down the page. At first, we found nothing. Frustration started to set in.
“I thought we were on to something.”
“Patience, Kara. It’s like I said earlier. You have to get your hands dirty and dig deep for the good information. It’s not going to come to you.”
Ms. Ham continued to scroll down each page, only to find nothing of substance. She didn’t quit. With a stroke of the mouse, she continued to click to the next page.
Our patience paid off when we arrived at page 23.
“Stop,” I screamed while pointing at the screen. “Right there, notice the name.”
More than halfway down the page of search results, the name John Green caught my attention.
“Click on that link,” I said.
The link took us to a news article dated June 14th, 2008.
Fatal Accident Shuts Down US HWY 1
One person dead and one injured as a two vehicle crash occurred on US HWY 1. The accident occurred at 11:30 p.m. Friday evening a mile north of Conch Key.
John Green was driving north-bound with his wife Marla Green in a white Lincoln Navigator. The accident occurred when the front bumper of a Ford F-150, driven by Hal Simpson, clipped the Navigator from behind.
Marla Green was pronounced dead on sight, while John Green and Hal Simpson sustained minor injuries.
The north-bound lane of US HWY 1 was closed for three hours while Florida State Patrol officers conducted their investigation.
“This has to be him,” I said as I slapped the table in excitement. “John Harmon is John Green. John Green is John Harmon. It makes sense.”
Ms. Ham sat conf
used. “How can you be sure?”
“Call it a gut feeling, or intuition. Whatever. I just know.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” she said. She turned around and noticed the clock on the wall. “Shoot.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I hate to do this to you, Kara, but I need to lock up. It’s after 5.”
“Can you not stay open for a little longer? Please.”
“I wish that I could, but I can’t. The mayor banned all over-time for government employees, no exceptions,” she explained. “You’re more than welcome to come back tomorrow.”
“I understand. Mayor Tightwad strikes again,” I said. “I can’t thank you enough, Ms. Ham.”
“Don’t mention it. Besides, I enjoyed this. You might not realize this, but my job’s not as interesting as it looks.”
As I walked out the front door of City Hall, the sky opened up as rain began to pour. If I was going to insist on walking and not driving, I would likely benefit from checking the weather beforehand. I was stranded with no other choice but to high-tail it out of there and run like hell.
Through torrential downpour, a pair of headlights shone through, like a beacon of hope. Laying on the horn to get my attention, Ty’s truck appeared and pulled up to the front of the building. Perfect timing.
Before I could react, Ty rushed out of his car into the pouring rain. The heavy rain soaked him instantly, as he ran around the truck to open the door for me. He reached in the cab and pulled out an umbrella from behind his seat.
“What are you doing?” I shouted. Confused by his actions, I tried to get him to hear me over the sound of thunder rolling across the shores.
With a flick of his wrist, he opened the umbrella, allowing me to enter the cab without as much as one drop touching me. He closed the umbrella and threw it in the back of the truck.
When he sat back down, I looked at his rain drenched body. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
He wiped the water from his face, looked at me, and smiled. “You’re right, I didn’t have to.
Key Lime Crime Page 10