Pineapple Puzzles: A Pineapple Port Mystery: Book Three (Pineapple Port Mysteries 3)

by Amy Vansant

  She smiled. “How’s two thousand?”

  Seamus tried not to react to what he thought was an overly generous offer. “Identification or identification and capture?”

  “Identification.”

  He ran his tongue over his teeth, considering. “Expenses?”

  “Let me know if it runs more than five hundred. Try not to use all of it.”

  “Two thousand four hundred and ninety-nine it is then,” he said, holding out his hand.

  She shook.

  “Make it quick,” she said, turning on her four inch black heel and striding down the aisle.

  He took a deep breath and watched her walk before cursing quietly under his breath.

  He’d forgotten to ask her what he should buy Jackie.

  Chapter Seven

  Every morning the girl came out of her house and walked her dog around the neighborhood.

  Charlotte.

  How could a young woman have such a pretty name?

  Charlotte.

  He studied her from behind the bushes as she clipped the leash on to her dog’s collar and started down the steps. Her long, tan legs covered ground quickly, and soon he had to move to continue watching her walk down the street.

  Charlotte.

  She never locked her door before leaving. No one in the neighborhood locked their door, but that didn’t matter to him. He’d never steal from any of the people of Pineapple Port. He wasn’t a thief. And ninety-nine percent of the time, he’d never creep into their homes and lay in their beds while they were out walking their dogs. He would never stare at their underwear lying in a drawer. He would never tremble at the thought of touching them...

  That was ninety-nine percent of the time.

  Charlotte was the exception. She was the one percent who had captured his heart.

  Charlotte was a goddess.

  Her pillow smelled like honey. Sometimes he’d open her bureau drawers and stare at her bras and panties. He hadn’t touched them yet. Not yet. Maybe today would be the day. He felt brave.

  He almost took one once, a pink pair of panties with lace around the top edge, but before he could find the courage, he realized he’d lingered too long and barely made it out before she and the dog returned.

  Today he thought that, before he slipped under the sheets of her unmade bed, he’d check the refrigerator for leftovers. He wanted to find a spot where she’d bitten and bite there, too.

  Oh those lips.

  To have his lips so close to hers...

  Charlotte.

  Chapter Eight

  Charlotte returned from her walk and unclipped her soft-coated Wheaton terrier’s leash. Abby-dog bolted down the hall and ran around the house, sniffing every room as if a squirrel had taken up residence during her absence.

  “Are you crazy?” Charlotte asked, shaking her head. The dog had been doing a post-walk gallop around the house for months and she had no idea how the odd behavior started. The dog toured the house a few times, sniffing furiously, then plunked herself down on Charlotte’s side of the bed to roll around.

  She assumed Abby had done it once for a reason only her dog brain knew, and now it was a pattern. Dogs could be very OCD that way.

  After dressing, Charlotte said goodbye to her loon of a dog, who had since curled up for her nap on the bed. She went outside to retrieve her bike and pedaled her way to Declan’s house, a few blocks north and east of Pineapple Port. He’d recently hired someone to watch his pawnshop and for the first time in a long time, had a whole day off.

  She leaned her bike against his garage door and bounced to the porch. She knocked, giddy with the possibility of a day alone with Declan. As long as his uncle Seamus wasn’t—

  The door opened.

  “Hello there, Miss Charlotte!”

  Charlotte sighed.

  “Hi, Seamus.”

  So much for our romantic day alone.

  Seamus stepped aside to allow her entry and she permitted her expression to fall for the briefest of moments before jerking the corners of her mouth back into a smile.

  She spotted Declan in the kitchen.

  “If it isn’t Mister Leisure,” she said.

  Declan grinned, his gorgeous green eyes rolling.

  “Turns out there’s nothing leisurely about leaving your livelihood in the hands of a stranger,” he said, offering her a peck on the lips. “I’m a nervous wreck.”

  “You don’t trust your new hire?”

  He shrugged. “I trust him. He’s just...weird. Plus, the store is my baby, so it’s hard.”

  “I’ve had to keep him from rushing down there all morning,” said Seamus, moving to his seat at the kitchen table and picking up his newspaper.

  “What are you doing here, Seamus?” she asked, eyeing Declan. He mouthed sorry to her.

  “I’m giving Jackie a bit of a breather. I think my constant presence in her home was a wee bit annoying for her. She’s set in her ways, you know. Not a fan of bears, either.”

  Charlotte squinted at him but he didn’t seem to feel any need to explain the bear comment. “No luck on your house hunt?”

  Seamus had been threatening to find a home of his own for months.

  “Nothing yet.”

  “Completely for lack of trying,” muttered Declan.

  Declan’s uncle attempted to fold his paper, gave up, and placed the crinkled mess on the table beside him. “I was also hoping to catch you here.”

  Charlotte pointed to her chest. “Me?”

  “I knew if my boy had a day off, you wouldn’t be far behind.” Seamus winked and Declan glared at him.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “You’re still working with Frank, right? Working toward your P.I. license?”

  She nodded. “Yes. You’ve been no help lately.”

  He offered her a lopsided smile. “True, the detecting business has been a bit slow for me lately, but I do have something I thought you might be able to help me with. You or Frank know anything about a serial killer in town?”

  Declan had wandered to the sink to clean up the breakfast dishes left by his uncle, but at the sound of serial killer his head snapped up and he exchanged a look with Charlotte.

  Seamus didn’t miss it.

  “What’s this now? Why are you looking at each other like a couple of creepy twins? The kind with that special language only they share...”

  Declan looked at Charlotte. “Should I go first or should you tell your milk story?”

  Charlotte leaned against the wall. “I don’t know how much I’m supposed to share with laypeople.”

  Seamus straightened in his chair. “Come on, lass, spill. Tell your old uncle Seamus what you know and free yourself from that dark, terrible secret, eatin’ at your soul.”

  Charlotte chuckled. She couldn’t resist Seamus when he poured on the Irish charm.

  “You know the couple who died one day after each other? Police said they suspected poison?” she said.

  “Over in Paradise Park? Aye, I read about them in the paper.”

  “My paper,” said Declan, striding over and attempting to refold the paper his uncle had balled on the table.

  Charlotte waited a moment for the crinkling to stop. Declan caught her staring at him.

  “Sorry. He’s like some kind of origami idiot savant.” He stopped, the mess still in his hands.

  She continued. “Well, there was a contraption that poisoned them.”

  “A contraption?”

  “There was fishing line tied to their coffee machine. When they pulled it out to open the top and pour in the water, the string triggered a door on the back of the fridge and poison in a tube slid out into their milk.”

  “Really?” the two men said in unison.

  “That’s...ridiculous,” added Declan.

  “It sounds like the Puzzle Killer,” mumbled Seamus.

  Charlotte pointed at him. “Yes! That’s what Frank said. And he found a puzzle piece in the butter compartment of the fridg
e. You know about the Puzzle Killer?”

  Seamus nodded. “Twenty-odd years ago, when I was still in the area, he was knockin’ off people here and there, but he never just killed anyone. There always had to be a trick to it.”

  “Like this contraption?” said Declan.

  “Exactly,” said Charlotte. “Frank’s since told me the milk tested positive for atropine—belladonna poison—just like the cat.”

  “What cat?”

  “Oh, yeah. I have a cat.”

  “You have a cat?”

  “Temporarily. We found the dead guy with his face in a bowl of cereal and the cat was nearly dead from trying to clean up the mess. It’s why we figured the milk was responsible.”

  “I didn’t read about this trap door in the paper,” said Seamus.

  “I think they wanted to keep that detail a secret. Maybe they didn’t want people to panic over the idea a famous serial killer is back in town.”

  Declan abandoned refolding the paper and instead walked it to the trashcan and stuffed it inside. “Does killing a married couple make you a serial killer? Sounds more like someone wanted them dead and they just had a weird way of doing it.”

  Charlotte agreed. “Maybe someone is trying to pin it on the Puzzle Killer, but really, they just wanted that couple dead.”

  “Here’s where I can pay you back with a little information of my own,” said Seamus. “Simone thinks two other murders are connected to each other. Maybe this one is connected as well.”

  Charlotte scowled. “Simone. Why is that name familiar?”

  “Isn’t that the woman who sent Rocky?” asked Declan.

  Seamus nodded.

  The three of them had recently met a man who, thanks to witness protection, lived in the area. All the people he’d ratted on were dead, so he hadn’t minded confessing his situation to them.

  “Does she think it’s one of her people committing the murders?” asked Charlotte.

  “She thinks the deaths of a crossword champ and Mr. Alligator Bait might be the work of one of her people, yes. She doesn’t have a lot of faith in her clients to be good people.”

  “Mr. Alligator Bait?” asked Declan.

  “Fella was gobbled by an alligator in his pool about a month ago,” said Seamus.

  Declan’s eyes grew wide and his gaze swiveled to where his lap pool sat outside his sliding glass doors. “How’d I miss that one?”

  “Who’s the crossword champ?” asked Charlotte.

  “Man in an Alzheimer’s home fell out of bed and took a pen to the throat,” said Seamus. “Except Simone thinks it wasn’t an accident. Doesn’t think the alligator just wandered in for a swim, either.”

  “Why? What makes them suspicious deaths?”

  He shrugged. “She has access to Federal stuff we’re not privy to.”

  Declan washed the newspaper ink from his hands. “Simone isn’t the only one who thinks something’s up. Stephanie came by the shop and told me to tell Charlotte to tell Frank there’s a serial killer in town.”

  Seamus knit his ample brows. “Stephanie did? Why? What’s her connection to all of this?”

  “She says she has a client who asked her to share the message, but she wouldn’t tell me who it was. She didn’t want to tell the police herself—supposedly to protect her client. She’s hoping Charlotte and Frank can provide her with information in exchange for info she can share.”

  “Why does she think you and Frank would do that for her?” Seamus asked, turning to Charlotte.

  “That’s a good question.”

  Declan pointed to Charlotte and then himself. “That’s the thing; she says we’re somehow involved with these murders or with her client. By working with her, she says we’re protecting ourselves.”

  “Ourselves?” asked Charlotte. “You left out that little tidbit on the phone! What could we have to do with any of this?”

  Declan shook his head. “I don’t know. But things are never straightforward with Stephanie. She refused to explain.”

  Seamus pulled at his chin. “Hm. This is all very mysterious.”

  Charlotte smirked. “Seems I’m back on the clock. I’ll log my time working on this with you and Frank. I’ll have all my hours by Christmas!”

  “Aye, do,” said Seamus. “Help me crack this case and I’ll give you a Christmas bonus as well. Simone’s got deep, government pockets.”

  “You don’t have to pay me.”

  “Take it,” said Declan. “You may never hear him offer to part with money again.”

  She laughed. “Fine. Deal.” She walked to Seamus and thrust out her hand.

  Seamus eyed her outstretched palm. “Should I spit in my hand first? Maybe we should cut our palms and co-mingle our blood?”

  “You’re disgusting,” said Declan.

  “I think the shake will be just fine,” said Charlotte.

  Chapter Nine

  Declan was packing a set of dinner plates in a combination of foam and newspaper when Stephanie stopped by the shop again.

  “Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” she said as the bell announced her arrival. “I stopped by yesterday and you’d been replaced by Chiclets embedded in a blob of saddle leather.”

  Declan sighed. He knew what she meant. Blade was missing a tooth to the left of his front teeth and one lower incisor. The remaining incredibly white teeth, offset by his Florida perma-tan, made for a jarring juxtaposition.

  “Helloooo,” she said, arriving at the counter and snapping in the air to get his attention.

  He looked up from his box of china. “I know you didn’t just snap at me.”

  She squinted one eye at him. “Whatever. So, who was the old dude? Did someone pawn him?”

  “That was Blade. I hired him to watch the store so I could have a day off once in a while.”

  “Seriously? I mean, I’d understand if you were a dentist and needed a walking-breathing before photo, but—”

  He rose from his kneeling position. “Yeah, well...turns out people aren’t lining up around the block to sit in a pawnshop all day.”

  “Just people named Blade. Shocker. So what do you have for me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Any news on the serial killings? Do the cop or ponytail know anything?”

  “I told Charlotte you thought there was a serial killer in town.”

  “Did you tell her I was the one who asked you?”

  “Yes. I’m not going to lie to her. Anyway, it’s not like you told me who your client is.”

  “No. So what did she say?”

  “Turns out they did recently investigate a suspicious death. Two, actually. Frank told Char the Puzzle Killer might be back.”

  “Really?” said Stephanie, a strange smile creeping across her lips.

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  “I have. Growing up here he was like a myth. A boogieman. Go to sleep or the Puzzle Killer will get you, that sort of thing. I remember going to a sleepover and leaving a puzzle piece on a girl’s pillow to scare her. Don’t you remember him in the news?”

  “I guess I preferred to hang with less awful friends. Ones who didn’t try and scare me to death.”

  Stephanie smirked. “What made Frank think it was him?”

  “He said the poisoning had all the hallmarks.”

  “Poisoning? What poisoning?”

  Declan grimaced. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to say. It’s information they didn’t share with the press.”

  Stephanie put her hands on her hips. “That’s the whole point of this arrangement. Look, don’t make this harder than it has to be. I’m trying to help you and Little Miss Legs-a-lot. Tell me what you know.”

  Declan scowled. “I need some information from you, too. You still haven’t explained how we’re involved. If there’s a serial killer after us, isn’t that something you should share?”

  “I told you; it’s just complicated. Client privilege stuff. You’re safe if you tell me.”

 
; He put his tape gun on the counter. “Fine. For the poisoning, there was a string on the victim’s coffee pot. When he pulled out the pot, it released a trap door on the back of the fridge that dumped poison into his milk.”

  Stephanie crossed her arms against her chest and tilted her head to the side. “How bizarre.”

  “I thought so, but apparently this is how he works.”

  “Why didn’t I hear about this? I would have remembered all this coffee pot nonsense.”

  “They left the details out of the paper.”

  “Was there a puzzle piece at the scene?”

  Declan had begun to straighten his counter top, but jerked his attention back to Stephanie. “How did you know? They found a puzzle piece in the butter bin.”

  She grinned and he scowled.

  “Shoot. Not telling you that part was making me feel better about spilling the rest of my guts.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Well sure, you know everything already, why not? There were two other murders.”

  Stephanie straightened. “What? Two more Puzzle Killer murders?”

  “No—I mean, maybe, if they are all related...we don’t know. A crossword puzzle champion and a guy eaten by an alligator. They’re both accidental deaths that might be murders.”

  Stephanie’s expression took on the strange amused look he’d seen earlier.

  “I read about the alligator,” she said, her expression returning to its usual unreadable blank canvas. “Who’s the crossword man?”

  “I don’t know his name. Apparently, he fell out of bed and stabbed himself in the neck. But Seamus isn’t convinced it was an accident.”

  “Seamus? Your uncle? How does he know about this?”

  “He’s been hired by someone to find out if there's a connection between those two murders and any others.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know her. A woman named Simone. She’s with the Federal Marshals. She sent a whole bunch of WitSec people here, so she’s worried those people could be involved.”

  Stephanie ran her hand through her hair. “Interesting...” she mumbled, though Declan didn’t get the impression she was talking to him. Her mind was wandering, and he found that comforting. When she was actively thinking about him, that’s when he had to worry.