“How is she doing? Lula told me she still isn't remembering anything.”
“That's right. The doctor says she may never remember what happened before or during the attack. It happens sometimes.” Fonnie was surprised how smoothly the lie slipped through her lips. She didn't quite understand why she thought it necessary to lie, only that it had nearly become second nature and that she felt somehow she was protecting Keisha. “I guess it's just as well. Now she can go on with her life without a horrible memory hanging over her.”
“I suppose so,” Edgar said.
While they had been talking they kept walking up the beach toward the marina. They were nearly at the dock when Fonnie looked back toward the motel. “I've got to be getting back and have breakfast. Then Brian can take me and Tyrone to the hospital. Tyrone must be anxious to get back.”
Edgar pulled out his cell phone. “I'll call Brian and tell him not to wait for you. You're coming for a much needed boat ride. When we get back I'll treat you to breakfast and take you to the hospital.”
“I don't know about that.”
“Well, I do. Now what is Brian's number?”
Fonnie gazed longingly at the lapping waves, at the clear horizon. “Maybe just a short ride.” She rattled off Brian's cell phone number. She'd always been good at remembering numbers. It was names that sometimes fell through the cracks.
Edgar punched in numbers and waited. “Brian, Edgar here. Your grandmother is with me. I'm going to take her for a short boat ride. You can go on to the hospital and I'll bring her later.” There was a short pause, then Edgar went on, “Don't worry. I'll have her there in a couple of hours.”
“A couple of hours? You said a short ride.”
“Yes, but I have to feed you afterwards and I know for a fact you like a big breakfast.”
“Someone has been telling on me.” Fonnie headed to the marina pier. “All right, now which one of these monsters is your boat?”
“None. Mine is that small express cruiser bouncing around in the water like a rubber ball. Not that I couldn't afford a big one if I wanted, but I prefer speed over spaciousness. It's twenty-six feet of pure power.”
Fonnie studied the sleek white boat with one bold red stripe along the side. She read the name Lula Baby. “Your wife must be pleased that you named the boat after her.”
“She hates it. In fact she hates boats in general. This boat has a cabin with all the necessities of life: galley, head, frige, microwave, radio, and still she hates it. She especially hated all the time I spent on restoring this one.”
“You restored it?”
“Sure did. It was a mess when I bought it. I scraped it down, repainted it, practically redid the whole thing. It was quite a job, but I loved it. Much more fun than buying a new one.”
“I didn't realize you were such a hands-on person,” Fonnie said. “Most attorneys I know prefer their desks to paint brushes.”
“Not this one. I can hardly wait to get out of that office.” Edgar led her to the side of the boat, stepped in and reached up a hand to help her aboard. His brawny rough hand wrapped around her tiny frail one. “Easy now,” he said. “Don't want you falling overboard.” He pointed to a seat in the stern. “Sit there. You're in for the ride of a lifetime.”
Fonnie sat, but her mind was on the previous conversation. “You planning on leaving the firm?”
He nodded. “As soon as I tie up some loose ends.”
“Aren't you young to retire?”
“I have all I need to live on. I've managed to put aside a nice nest egg.” He smiled, then added, “in spite of having an expensive wife.”
“Investments?”
“That's right. I've been lucky in my investments.” Edgar carefully backed Lula Baby away from the pier. He steered the craft for open water and smiled at Fonnie. “Hang on. Here we go.”
Lula Baby came to life like a dragon awakening from a nightmare. Fonnie was thrown sideways, her feet flew upward, her hands scrabbled for something to hang on to. She yelled at Edgar, but her words were eaten by the wind. She found a handhold on the boat's railing and clung on like a terrified child. This was not the leisurely little boat ride she'd been expecting. What had been idle waves against the shore had turned into whitecaps, and Edgar was skipping over them at a right angle. The boat vaulted them effortlessly and then plummeted back into the water with a bone-shaking jar. Fonnie felt her teeth rattle and her butt bruise. She eyed the life jackets neatly fastened to the side of the boat just out of her reach. Why hadn't Edgar insisted she put one on before they started this wild ride?
At the other end of the boat, Fonnie saw Edgar laughing at her. She loosened the grip of one hand long enough to shake a fist at him. Just wait until they got back to shore, she thought, he would hear some words that not even the most hardened sailor knew.
Keisha welcomed her visitors with a wide smile. She'd been moved to a private room on the medical floor earlier, and the police officer had told her the ban on her visitors had been lifted. Even though she would still have a guard, she felt less like a prisoner. Tyrone came in first, gave her a giant hug. Jeremiah came up to the bed and squeezed her hand while Brian waved at her. She stared at the open door, saw the officer tilted back in a chair, nurses scurrying down the hallway. She turned back in disappointment. “Stephon?”
“I'm sorry, Sis,” Tyrone said. “Stephon got a frantic call from his office and he had to go back. Said he'd call you later today.”
“Of course,” Keisha said. Her voice still sounded a little husky to her own ears, but the pain in her throat was gone. “His work must be piled up.” She looked at the door again. “And Fonnie?”
“She'll be here later,” Brian said. “She called earlier. Said she was going to take a walk on the beach. She wasn't back yet when we finished breakfast, so I left a note on her door that I was taking Tyrone to the hospital and would come back for her.”
Tyrone shook his head. “It's a real affliction being without wheels. I could have been driving Keisha's car, but for some reason the police kept the keys.”
“Really?” Keisha said. “I didn't know that. Surely they'll let you drive it home if I have to go by ambulance.”
“They'd better. At any rate, I got Brian to drive me over. I wanted to give you Pop's latest message in person.”
“And that would be?”
“That now you can talk, he wants you to call him yourself. He won't believe you're really all right until he hears it from you.”
“Then I'll call him in a minute, and tell him the doctor is transferring me to the hospital there.”
“That's great,” Jeremiah said. “I guess that means we can all go home. I saw Clara and Tony and Midge off this morning. I suppose Hank and Doris will be leaving soon.” He turned to Brian. “Do you know if the police have released Melanie's body yet?”
“I haven't talked to Steinberg this morning. I'll try to get up with him in a little bit.”
“You do that while I go back and collect Fonnie.” Jeremiah reached over and took Keisha's hand again. “You call your daddy now, and I'll be back with Fonnie soon.”
Keisha leaned forward to wave good-bye to Brian and Jeremiah. As she did, her pillow slid out from behind her head, slipped down and got caught by the bedside rail.
Brian and Jeremiah left. Tyrone stretched over the bed, retrieved the pillow, and replaced it behind Keisha's head. He smoothed out the pillow, pulled up her bedcover and attempted to straighten the top of her nightgown.
As he touched her neck, Keisha gave a hoarse scream.
Brian, Jeremiah, and the police officer bolted into the room. Keisha was flailing her hands at Tyrone, pushing him back, trying to kick at him with her feet.
Jeremiah grabbed Tyrone by the arm, jerked him away from the bed. “She's having another flashback.”
A nurse came running. With a soft voice and gentle touch, she tried to calm her patient. “It's all right, Keisha. No one is going to hurt you. I'm here with you. Everything is fi
ne.”
Keisha stared wildly at the group surrounding her bed. The nurse continued talking to her with reassuring words. “You're all right. Take some deep breaths now. Just relax. We're all your friends.”
Keisha grasped the nurse's hand. “I'm sorry,” she whispered.
“That's okay. You just had a bad memory. It's over now.”
“No. It's not over,” Keisha said. She shuddered as she pulled the sheet up higher. “I remembered. I know now who tried to kill me.”
Chapter Twenty Five
Fonnie's wild ride continued until the shoreline became a blur and the buildings resembled a toy village. When she thought she couldn't hang on much longer, Edgar slowed the boat, and after a short while he cut the motor.
The boat bounced softy on gentle waves while Fonnie fought to regain her breath and her temper. She finally got them both under control. She smiled at Edgar. “No wonder Lula says she hates boats. I'm beginning to agree with her.”
Edgar laughed. “I just wanted to show you how much speed this baby has.”
“You did that. Now how about going back at a reasonable pace?”
“Sure,” Edgar said, but he made no motion to restart the engine. “You know, sometimes I just like to come out here and be as one with the ocean, the sky, the breeze. Forget about everything that has happened back on shore. It makes all the hard work I put in on this boat worth while.”
Fonnie gazed around at the peaceful scene. “Yes. I can understand that.” But instead of making her forget about what had happened on shore, something he'd said catapulted a memory to the forefront of her brain. It was about Hank and a crossword puzzle. Hank had asked her for a six letter word meaning evidence of hard work. She couldn't come up with one at the time, but now she knew the word. It was callus. Edgar had calluses on his hands from hard work—as did Tyrone. Only yesterday she'd given Tyrone a tube of hand cream to apply to his calluses and he'd made a remark about hard work.
Fonnie's mind skittered from calluses to Keisha's flashback. Tyrone had said that Keisha started fighting him when he touched her—touched her with his calloused hands. Then Jeremiah had explained that Keisha wasn't fighting Tyrone but was trying to ward off her attacker. An attacker with the same kind of hands?
Fonnie shivered in spite of the sun's pleasant warmth. She studied Edgar's empty face as he gazed out at the horizon. There was no serenity, no agitation. Where, she wondered, was the man behind the face? Was this the face of a killer?
A cold fear quickened her pulse. Her breaths became faster and shorter. At the same time, she knew she had to keep her fear from being noticed. She did her best to keep her voice from quivering. “Guess its time to be getting back.”
“Not yet. I think we need to talk a little.”
“Talk? Here in the middle of the ocean?”
“What better place? No interruptions. No eavesdroppers.”
Fonnie's trepidation kicked into high gear. Had the frenzied ride been a forerunner to a more serious danger? She tried to keep from panicking. “So what do you want to talk about?”
“Memory.”
“Memory?”
“Yes. You told me Keisha couldn't remember anything about the night of her attack. And I understand that—lack of oxygen to the brain and all that good stuff. But I have a hard time believing that a woman with your remarkable mental agility can't remember a simple telephone conversation. Don't put on the innocent act with me. I want to know what Keisha told you that night.”
So, Fonnie thought, her little trick to flush out the villain had worked, though not in the way she had envisioned. What to do now? She decided to go on the offensive. “You better take me back. Brian is expecting me, and he knows I'm with you.”
“No. Brian isn't expecting you.” Edgar gave a low laugh.
“But you called him,” Fonnie said.
“I pretended to call him.” Edgar laughed again. “Brian has no idea where you are. No one knows where you are.”
Fonnie gave up all pretense of assumed calmness. “But they'll be looking for me.”
“Oh, yes. Eventually, they'll start looking for you. And eventually they'll find you. Your body will wash ashore in a few days or weeks—perhaps miles from here. They'll wonder why you walked out into the surf or jumped off the pier or what freak accident landed you in the water. And I will be among your mourners, just as I'll be among the mourners for Buzz and Melanie.”
“So you poisoned Buzz and strangled Melanie. Why?”
“It seems that you and I are much alike, Fonnie.” Before she could deny such a ridiculous statement, he went on. “We're both curious creatures. You want to know why Buzz and Melanie were killed, and I want to know what Keisha told you. Shall we trade information?”
From somewhere deep inside her, Fonnie found a little courage that hadn't yet evaporated. Edgar planned to kill her, but she wasn't dead yet, and she wasn't giving up. “As a matter of fact, I would like to trade info. You first.”
Edgar leaned his head back and howled in laughter. “You're too much. I wish Lula had your sense of humor. But all joking aside, I'm holding the deck here and it's your first play.”
Fonnie decided her best strategy would be to give him some real information. At this point, it couldn't hurt anything. “Keisha found a piece of paper in Buzz's pocket that indicated some monkey business at the law firm. She mentioned a couple of names, but the only one I recall is Klondike. She was going to turn it over to the police. She never got the chance. But since you have the paper now, you know what's on it.”
“And you told the police about it?”
“Of course, I did. And they're getting a search warrant right now to go through every scrap of paper in your office.”
“But they won't find a thing. I made sure of that.”
“Then why are you so worried?”
“Not worried. Like I said, I was just curious.”
“All right,” Fonnie said. “Now it's your turn. Or should I guess? You killed Buzz because he was on to you, and you killed Melanie because she became suspicious. Right?”
“Not exactly. Actually it was Melanie who fed the drug to Buzz.”
Fonnie gaped at him with unbelieving eyes. “Melanie? But why?”
“Because I paid her to do it—paid her a hell of a lot, I might add, to make it look like a natural death. It was no problem for her to get the medication at the hospital where she worked. And she knew just how much to give to make him sick and how much for a fatal dose. But when she insisted on more money, I kind of lost my patience. After her going away party, I went down to her room and suggested we take a walk to discuss it. She went willingly enough. We walked over to the chapel, and I took care of the situation.”
Fonnie closed her eyes and tried to shut out the image of this horrible man with his hands around Melanie's throat. She didn't want to hear more, but she had to. “And Keisha?” she asked.
“I had gone through Buzz's things earlier trying to find any evidence he might have, but I came up empty. So when Midge called me about having Keisha clean out the room, I decided to keep an eye on her. As it happened, she left the door open a crack. I couldn't believe my good luck. She was so absorbed in her job that she didn't notice me peeking in. I saw her take a piece of paper out of an inner jacket pocket. After she studied it a while, she became very upset. She shoved it into her pocket, quickly finished packing and carried the bags to her room. A short while later she ran down the stairs to the desk.”
Edgar turned his gaze from Fonnie, back toward the shore. A large boat seemed to be coming in their direction. Fonnie wondered if he would continue the story.
In a few moments his eyes again fixed on her. His voice changed to a bragging tone, as if he were proud of what happened next. “I saw Keisha take the stairwell down so I unscrewed the bulb and waited there for her to come back up. She struggled a little, but soon collapsed and I thought she was dead. I got the paper, but I didn't want to leave her there, so I dragged her out the back door and
carried her to the chapel to join Melanie. Fortunately, she didn't weigh much. It was a real bummer when I learned she'd come back to life. But since she doesn't remember anything, there's no harm done.”
No harm done? What kind of monster was this man who sat across from her? And what was he going to do now that he'd spilled his guts? Fonnie didn't have to wait long to find out.
When Keisha cried out that she knew who had tried to kill her, it was as if a bolt of lightning had struck in the room. The nurse stepped backward so quickly she had to grab a chair to steady herself, the police officer immediately called Lieutenant Steinberg, the other three men leaned over the bed waiting for her to go on.
Tyrone grasped her hand. “Are you sure?”
“I'm sure. I remember his hands. Steinberg said he wore gloves, but he didn't—not when he was choking me. He must have put the gloves on later.” Keisha turned Tyrone's hand over and rubbed its surface. “He had calluses on his hands, just like Tyrone. It was Edgar Myers.”
The officer relayed the name to the detective. “Sir, she says it was Myers.” He listened for a moment. “Yes sir, I'll get the details while you start hunting him.”
“I noticed his calloused hands,” Keisha continued, “when I was dancing with him at the reception. At the time, my mind compared them to Tyrone's. I was surprised because not many professional people have such work-worn hands.”
Jeremiah had been nodding his head during the recitation. “And that's why you had your flashback when Tyrone touched you.”
“Yes, I felt those horrible hands around my neck again.” She looked at Brian. “Couldn't they have gotten his fingerprints from my neck? He certainly left enough of an impression.”
“Occasionally forensics can get prints from flesh if it's done fairly soon,” Brian said, “but if there's a delay, the oils in a person's skin will mess them up. In your case, it was over twenty-four hours and was too late. In fact, I'm sorry to say, your identification may not be enough. There are a lot of calloused hands around.”
Murder and Misdeeds Page 17