by Mary Maxwell
“Big Dipper,” I said, answering the call from the motel. “This is Liz.”
“It’s Val Martindale,” said the jolly voice. “Down at the Beachcomber.”
“Sure, of course,” I said. “How are you, Val?”
“Can’t complain. Is this is a good time to talk?”
“Definitely,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”
“I know that you’re trying to help find out who killed that man up there,” she began, “and something happened that I figured might be helpful.”
“Oh?”
“You betcha!” she said cheerfully. “And before I tell you more, I want you to know that I called the police first after Louisa found what she found.”
“That’s the right thing to do,” I replied. “But I also appreciate you letting me know. What did she find?”
“A wallet,” Val said. “It was in the trash in the room where the guy was staying.”
“The man driving the SUV?”
“You betcha!” she said again. “It made a bit clunk sound when Louisa emptied the basket, so she was curious what it might be. You know, sometimes people put glass bottles in there, even though we have a sign telling them not to. Like some folks are too important to recycle, right?”
“Sure thing,” I said. “We actually do the same thing here at our ice cream shop. One barrel for plastic, one for paper and a separate one for glass.”
“Sounds familiar!” she said. “So anyway, the loud clunk sound was the guy’s wallet. When Louisa found it, she brought it right to the office. I checked inside, found the man’s license and called the phone number. When nobody answered, I let the police know. I mean, on account of the murder and everything.”
“Right,” I said. “Smart move. What did they say?”
“They thanked me. Then they took the wallet.”
“And that was it?”
“Pretty much,” Val said. “But the way the officer reacted when he saw the name on the license made me suspicious.”
“Is that right?”
“You betcha!” she said. “And that’s when I got the idea to call you. I know the police are doing the official investigation, but you seemed like a smart cookie and it doesn’t hurt to have another set of eyes on those things. I watch a lot of Law & Order reruns at night when my husband’s working the graveyard shift. I know how regular citizens can sometimes play a big part in solving crimes.”
“That’s true,” I said. “Before I moved back to Crystal Bay, I worked as a 911 operator in Atlanta. We received helpful calls all the time from local residents.”
“See? That’s why I wanted to pass along the fellow’s name and everything. Especially since he lives right there in your town.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“The name is Douglas Peralta,” she said. “And the address is 468 Bayshore Avenue.”
I did a quick calculation on the location. It was a few miles from the Big Dipper, a quiet residential neighborhood tucked between the interstate and the outlet mall.
“There were also a bunch of credit cards, a couple of pictures and a laminated copy of The Serenity Prayer.”
“That’s interesting,” I said. “Maybe he’s in Alcoholics Anonymous.”
“You don’t have to be,” she said. “My friend uses it just to calm her nerves when she gets rattled, and she’s never had a drop of liquor in her life.”
“There you go,” I said. “It’s for everyone.”
Val chuckled softly. “Probably be a better world if more people took it to heart.”
I smiled at the sentiment. Then I asked if she’d noticed any cash in the wallet.
“You betcha,” she said. “Two-hundred and sixteen bucks. Doesn’t that seem odd?”
“It does,” I said. “But there’s always a chance it was an accident. Is the trash can in the room near a table or counter?”
“Well, it’s underneath the desk,” she said. “But I know what you’re getting at; maybe somebody knocked it off and it fell in the trash.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” I said. “They might’ve moved the basket out for some reason.”
“Sure,” Val agreed. “But I specifically asked Louisa about that. She told me that the trash can was all the way under the desk, and the only things in it were the wallet and three greasy paper bags from Smokehouse Bar-B-Q.”
CHAPTER 23
A short time later, after Aunt Dot told me that Douglas Peralta owned a shoe repair shop a few blocks from the Big Dipper, I finished entering our dairy order online and got ready to leave for the day. My mother tried to entice me to join her for a cocktail at Monkey Bar Café, but I declined the invitation and offered to take her to dinner the following day.
“No can do,” she said. “Me, Connie and Lorraine are going to the monthly cooking class at the Community Center.”
“That’s nice,” I said. “What are you learning to prepare?”
She shrugged. “Beats me. I mostly go to make eyes at the chef.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s his name?”
“Sergio.” Her voice had dropped into a husky murmur. “He’s simply dreamy.”
I nodded. “Just the one name?”
She huffed out a sigh. “Sergio Costa. He’s originally from Rome, but he moved to Florida several years ago to open a place in Miami. That went so well that he now has about six or seven restaurants around the state.”
“Single?”
Her eyes sparked with irritation. “Well, of course!”
“Is he around your age?”
“What is this?” she said. “The Spanish Inquisition? I loved your father very much, and miss him every day, but I’m tired of being single, okay? I tried those dating sites, but they’re not for me. Too much typing. So I decided to give the cooking class a try. Lorraine knows five women who met their husbands doing something similar.”
“That’s great,” I said. “I hope you have good luck.”
“Well, I just hope they’re not doing anything with cilantro,” she said. “You know how much I hate cilantro.”
I smiled. “Pretty much everyone in town knows about that,” I said. “You announce it loudly whenever we go out to eat or you’re at someone’s house for dinner.”
“And why not?” she asked. “The stuff gives me gas. Nobody wants that.”
“That’s something else that goes without saying.”
She shook her head, shooed me away with her hands and I headed out the door.
The drive to Peralta’s Repair & Shine on Randall Street took less than ten minutes. When I pulled up in front of the shop, I noticed a middle-aged man inside idly pushing a broom around the otherwise empty space. He was short and hefty, wearing a light blue cardigan over a white dress shirt and black slacks.
“Quiet day?” I said, coming through the door.
He stopped sweeping. “Somewhat at the moment. Can I help you?”
“My name is Liz Hutton,” I said. “I work with my Aunt Dot at—”
“You serious?” he interrupted. “The Big Dipper?”
“That’s the one. Sounds like you know it.”
He gestured at his belly. “My wife says it’s my second love. I’m trying to cut back to two nights a week. We take our dogs for a walk on the beach and then cut over to Dot’s place.”
“And what’s your—”
“Chocolate Almond Brittle!” he announced enthusiastically. “Love the stuff! Can’t get enough!”
“Well, that’s great to hear,” I said. “I’ll be sure and tell my aunt.”
“I’m Randall,” he said. “Dot will know me as the guy that always stands outside with two Dobermans while the sweet brunette buys two Chocolate Almond Brittle cones.” He rubbed his stomach again and hummed with delight. Then he looked down at my running shoes. “I’m guessing that you’re not here for a shine. Did you drop something off for repair?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m looking for Mr. Peralta.”
The man laughed. “Who is
n’t? Doug closed up the shop a couple nights ago, and I haven’t heard from him since then.”
There was a slight quiver in his voice, but his expression didn’t change.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Oh, shoot.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “I’m Jed Cooper. I joined Doug here about six months ago when my old employer in Cape Coral closed the doors.”
“Nice to meet you, Jed. Sorry to hear about your previous job.”
“Happens,” he said. “I know Doug from way back, so I was grateful he needed some help here at his place.”
“Speaking of Doug,” I said, “did you try to call him?”
“Goes right to voicemail,” he answered. “And this isn’t the first time he’s taken a couple days off without telling me.”
“Is that right?”
He raised one hand and pantomimed popping the top on a can of beer and guzzling from it.
“He’s a bit of a wild man,” Jed said. “And I’m not surprised he’s been off the grid. Some old high school buddy of his was driving down for a visit. He made it seem like they could be pretty rambunctious when they got together.”
“Do you know the friend’s name?” I asked.
Jed smiled. “Well, my mama taught me not to use crude language,” he said. “I wouldn’t be comfortable using the handle that Doug calls his buddy.”
I laughed. “I appreciate that. My mother told me the same thing, although I fail to uphold her high standards now and then.”
“Makes two of us,” he said.
“I’m guessing that you probably didn’t call the police if Doug’s gone off before without advance notice.”
“That’s right. I’d feel terrible if I filed a report and then he came to work the next morning.” The lopsided grin on his face began to soften. “Except, you know, it almost seems like you know something that I don’t.”
Since I couldn’t tell him about Doug Peralta’s billfold turning up in a trash can at the Beachcomber, I decided to sidestep the question.
“What little I do know these days,” I said, smiling as brightly as possible, “is limited to accounting and dipping ice cream cones. I used to work as a 911 operator in Atlanta, so I’m conducting my own unofficial investigation into an incident that happened a few days ago.”
Jed nodded. “Is this about the gambling raid at Gulf View Retirement Village?”
My eyes bulged. “Uh, I hadn’t heard about that one,” I said. “Is that true?”
He shrugged. “Hey, I think it’s great! They’re all adults of sound mind and body. Nobody got hurt. And the cops broke it up before anyone lost all of their money.”
“Who called it in?” I asked.
“Mable Lindstrom,” Jed said. “She got upset when her husband spent a little too much time making small talk with one of the other women.”
“Well, I really am shocked to hear about that,” I said. “But her calling the police isn’t surprising. Hell hath no fury like a man scorned.”
He laughed at the silly quip. Then he asked if I wanted Doug to call me when he returned.
“You bet,” I said, holding out hope that the discovery of Peralta’s wallet didn’t involve foul play. “I’m at the Big Dipper most days from eight until six.”
CHAPTER 24
As I drove home after my chat with Jed Cooper at the shoe repair shop, I saw a frequent Big Dipper customer walking her dogs through downtown Crystal Bay. Since I knew that Virginia was around the same age as Simon Wargrave and had also moved to town from Jacksonville, I wondered if she might know something about his years on the far side of the state.
There was an empty parking space in the next block, so I flipped on my blinker, slid into the spot and doubled back to catch up with Virginia.
“How are you?” she asked. “I have to tell you that I’ve been daydreaming about the butterscotch milkshake that you made me the other day. Oh, my word, Liz! I haven’t had anything that sinfully delicious since my wedding night.”
Virginia had been married four times, so I didn’t have a clue which husband was involved in the marital memory. And because the last time she regaled me with one of her so-called sinful moments took just over an hour, I decided to tiptoe around the topic by asking her about Simon Wargrave.
“Oh, that poor man,” she said. “I always knew he wouldn’t die naturally.”
“You don’t say?”
“I mean, talk about a rogue scoundrel,” she said. “He and I dated briefly between my marriage to Ralph and my affair with the lawyer from Tallahassee. Well, the whole thing came to a screeching halt because I introduced Simon to a bunch of my wealthy friends from up in Savannah and Charleston. Do you know what that jerk did?”
I shook my head. “Can you give me the highlights?” I asked. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”
“Oh, I don’t mind,” she replied. “Whenever I tell a Simon Wargrave story, it makes my heart just a little bit happier. It’s like cleansing my spirit, you know? Or you could also think of it as a little light housekeeping for my soul.”
“Well, that sounds wonderful,” I said. “What did Simon do that was so egregious?”
“He stole hundreds of thousands of dollars from my friends,” she said. “Long story short, Simon was running real estate investment scams and Ponzi schemes out of his office the whole time he was doing legitimate real estate transactions.”
“Wow! That’s pretty astonishing!”
“That’s one word for it,” she said. “You can also call Simon’s schemes immoral and despicable and hideous and illegal and—” She stopped to untangle her dogs’ leashes from around the base of a palm tree. “—and revolting and obscene and disgusting and wretched and corrupt and depraved and hideous and—”
“You already said that one,” I told her with a faint smile.
“Sorry,” she said. “But Simon Wargrave’s actions were so hideous that it’s worth saying twice. Hell, maybe I should say it six or seven times because the man was just a hideous, hideous monster.”
“Listen,” I said. “We don’t have to talk about him if it’s going to get you upset.”
She laughed. “Too late for that. I live in a constant state of being upset about that awful man! I lost so many dear friends over that horrible thing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
She sighed. “What’re you going to do? There’s no going back when the damage has been done. Of course, I had nothing to do with any of Simon’s nasty business deals, but it was impossible to convince some people that I was innocent.”
“Did you lose any money personally?” I asked.
Virginia frowned. “Half of my net worth,” she said. “It’s ruined any hope that I had of retiring early.”
“Oh, my goodness! That’s just so awful. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Try living it,” she said. “That’s much worse than hearing about it.”
“Yes, of course, but—”
“You know,” she continued, “I knew something was going on when I saw Doug and Simon with that fat guy the other day.”
“What fat guy?”
She clucked her tongue. “I can never remember his name, but we all went to school together. I was a year younger, so it wasn’t like I knew them terribly well. But Simon and I lived just a few blocks from one another, so we turned up at the same pool parties and barbecues back then.”
“Do you remember another woman from that time with the initials B and G?”
“Hmmm, it’s been forever,” she said, biting her lower lip. “Until I saw those three lugheads, I really hadn’t thought about any of my ancient past for years.”
“I’m the same way,” I said. “Life goes so fast these days; it’s hard enough trying to remember last week, right?”
“Or last night,” she teased. “But what were the initials you asked about?”
“B and G,” I said again. “I’m not sure if it’s first and last names
or something else.
“So Barbara or Billie or Bev,” she murmured under her breath.
“It could be Blair,” I said. “Brenda or—”
“There you go!” Virginia cut in. “There was a girl named Blair Greenberg. She ran around with our crowd until junior year.”
“Did she transfer to another school after that?” I asked.
Virginia pointed overhead. “The big classroom in the sky,” she said. “Blair got hit by a car when she was riding her bike one day. It killed her instantly, which I suppose is a blessing in a weird way. The doctors told Blair’s family that she would’ve been paralyzed completely if she’d survived.”
One of the dogs started whining and tugging on its leash.
“Stop that!” Virginia called to the pooch. “We’ll get going here in a second.”
“I’m really sorry to hear about your friend,” I said. “Actually, both of them; Simon and Blair.”
She nodded. “Thanks, Liz. It’s just so odd…” She paused to hush the dog again. “Blair’s been gone for so long that I haven’t thought about her in years. But Simon’s murder is such a huge shock to everyone.”
“Especially his friends and family,” I said.
“Yes, definitely,” she agreed. “And all of his enemies are over the moon about it.”
“I guess that goes with the territory if you’ve lived that sort of sketchy life,” I said.
“On one hand, the people that loved Simon Wargrave, despite his flaws and faults, are grieving his death, while the other group of folks is thrilled that his nefarious ways have finally caught up with him.”
When her impatient dog started to bark, Virginia apologized for the interruption, promised to stop in the Big Dipper again soon and then started off down the street with her pack of two.
CHAPTER 25
I was helping Gina frost sugar cookies in the Big Dipper kitchen the next day when Aunt Dot rushed through the backdoor. It was around two o’clock. My mother was handling customers in front, and our regular handyman, a former Marine named Buck Fairman, was installing a new shelving unit in the storage room.