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

by Amy Vansant

  “You’ve done really well,” she said, her attention drawing back to him.

  “Did that help? Are we safe? Are we done?”

  She placed her hand on top of his. “Keep up the good work. I’ll see you soon.”

  He jerked away his hand and she smiled. She held his gaze for a moment and then left. As the door closed behind her, he released his breath. He reached into his pocket to retrieve his cell phone and called Charlotte.

  “I delivered the news to Stephanie,” he said when she answered.

  “Good. Could you glean anything?”

  “Something’s up. She’s playing a game for sure, but I don’t get the impression it really has anything to do with us.”

  The bell rang again and he looked up to see the new hire enter.

  “Blade is here, I have to go.”

  “Wait, who?” Charlotte said as he hung up.

  Declan had to prepare for the second shift. He didn’t keep the store open late as a rule—most of Charity’s residents didn’t stay up very late—but now that he had Blade he thought he’d experiment with staying open until nine. Blade didn’t mind. He called himself a night owl, which coming from Blade’s mouth sounded disturbing at best.

  “Hi, Blade.” Declan looked at his watch as Blade entered. Third day on the job and the guy was ten minutes late.

  Blade nodded and smiled the closed-lip version of his smile. Declan had thought there couldn’t be anything more disturbing than Blade’s day-glow gnashers grinning at him until he saw the new version of his grin.

  “Greetings, Dek-a-lin.”

  Whenever Blade said Declan it sounded like Dek-a-lin. Between that and his habit of saying greetings instead of hi or hello he sounded like a pod-person from planet X masquerading as a human.

  I hired an alien. I know it.

  “It’s Declan. Like DECK-lin.”

  Blade lifted one side of his upper lip. Declan couldn’t tell if it was another version of his smile or an impromptu Elvis impersonation.

  “That’s what I said, boss.”

  Declan sighed and put his hands in his pockets. “Sooo...that nickname...Blade...where’d you get that, anyway?”

  “It’s not a nickname. It’s my name, man. Like the grass.”

  “Oh? Huh. I thought maybe you were good with knives or something.” Declan laughed, picked up a pillow and pretended to stab it. Blade stared at him, expressionless. Declan realized how strange he must look and put down the pillow. He fluffed it.

  “Sorry. I’m sure it has nothing to do with real knives.”

  Blade grunted.

  Was that a “yes it has nothing to do with knives” grunt or a “wielding a knife is like breathing to me” grunt?

  Declan swallowed. “So you are good with knives?”

  Blade shrugged.

  Humble. Nice. I like knife wielding maniacs modest.

  “That...that’s quite a coincidence, huh? That your name is Blade and you’re good with a…er…blade?”

  Why can’t I stop talking?

  “Not a coincidence. If your name was Milkshake, don’t you think you’d like milkshakes?”

  “I guess. But you said it was Blade like blades of grass.”

  Blade stuck his tongue in and out through the spot a tooth once lived, and shrugged.

  Declan nodded. “Right. Okaaay. So, anything you need before I go? Got the hang of everything so far?”

  Blade nodded. “Everything is warmer than a cow’s udders.”

  Declan squinted at him. “I don’t even know what that means.”

  Blade didn’t elaborate.

  “Okay then, I’m going to go.”

  Blade pointed at him with his thumb raised and then dipped his thumb, as if shooting a little handgun at him.

  Declan clapped his hands together. “That is unsettling. Alrighty. On that note, this is me going.”

  Declan grabbed his laptop and left, thinking it might be a good idea to employ an undercover shopper to check in; maybe the moment he left the shop Blade was dressing roadkill like his dead mother or something. Had Blade met Seamus yet? Maybe his uncle could pop by and check if Blade was making sock puppets from the intestines of his customers—

  There was a loud crack. Declan ducked and jumped at the same time. He bobbled his computer and remained crouching in the parking lot, his laptop held in front of his face like a shield, his heart racing.

  What the heck was that?

  He looked around and saw nothing out of the ordinary. He decided it had to be a car backfire.

  He straightened, the hand not gripping his computer over his heart.

  “What was that?” said a voice. It was Blade, his head poking from the door of the shop.

  “I don’t know,” said Declan. “It scared the heck out of me, though. I guess a car backfire?”

  Blade shook his head. “Nope. That was a gun shot.”

  Declan scowled. “How do you know?”

  Blade chuckled and slipped back inside.

  Declan stared where Blade’s head had appeared and chewed on his lip.

  “What have I done?” he muttered.

  Chapter Ten

  Darla, Charlotte’s neighbor and Frank’s wife, opened her door to find Charlotte on her porch.

  “Didn’t you say you were thinking about getting a cat?” asked Charlotte.

  “Well hello to you too, sweet pea, whatcha’ll doin’ here? Come in.” She did everything but pull Charlotte into her home. “Now what’s this about a cat?”

  Charlotte allowed herself to be ushered into the kitchen. “I thought I remembered you talking about getting a cat.”

  “I’ve talked about it. Since our little Oscar died it hasn’t been the same. But I don’t know if Frank is ready to swap the dog for a cat.”

  Charlotte paused in a moment of silence to Oscar’s memory. Darla’s little terrier had passed away a week earlier at the age of fifteen.

  “I can confirm he’s not ready to swap a dog for a cat,” said Frank from the kitchen table.

  “What are you doing home at ten in the morning?” asked Charlotte.

  Frank lifted his coffee mug. The side said Classy, Sassy & a Bit Smartassy in a fat black font. “Had an early call. Thought I’d come home and sneak a cup of joe before I went back in.”

  Charlotte pulled out a chair and sat next to him. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got some information for you.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

  “Seamus has a client who thinks the alligator in the pool and the death of that crossword guy about a month back are related. We’re wondering if the refrigerator poisoning is connected as well.”

  Frank scowled. “Seamus,” he muttered. Frank hadn’t warmed to Seamus since discovering he’d been a snitch for the Miami police. Especially since Declan’s rapscallion uncle had also represented himself as a retired cop upon first returning to Charity. Frank found that particularly offensive. Charlotte knew his fib had been to protect Declan’s opinion of him. It might not have been right, but it was understandable.

  Charlotte decided to pretend she couldn’t hear the disapproval in Frank’s voice and continued. “Were you called to either of those deaths?”

  “Old fella at the Future Horizons retirement home fell on his pen and bled out before anyone found him. Roger something was his name. In the Guinness Book of World Records for doing crossword puzzles from what I heard.”

  “So you think he fell on his pen?”

  “It was his crossword-solving pen. From what they said, he never let it out of his sight. No reason to suspect foul play. He fell out of bed with it in his hand and stabbed himself in the jugular.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Remind me not to carry anything sharp after the age of seventy,” said Darla, pulling out a chair to join them.

  “You’re safe carrying around that brain of yours then,” said Frank, winking at Charlotte.

  Darla rolled her eyes.

  “What if the pen and the alligator weren
’t accidents? Could they be related to the poisoning?”

  Frank shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone was really looking for anything odd about the crossword puzzle guy’s death. The alligator death was weird enough on its own. But now that you mention it...there were puzzle pieces at the pool. Didn’t mean much to me at the time—I mean, the guy made puzzles—but now...”

  “So they are related! What about the crossword guy? Any puzzle pieces?”

  “I don’t know. I only heard about it, wasn’t involved. Who’s this client of Seamus’?”

  “A woman named Simone. She’s a Federal Marshal from what I understand.”

  “A Marshal?” Frank made a grunting noise that Charlotte knew was his way of showing his respect. “If I get a little time I’ll double check things.”

  Charlotte nodded, her mind still searching for a connection between the three deaths.

  “So what was all this about a cat?” asked Darla.

  Charlotte returned her focus to the present. “Oh. I have to go pick up the cat we found at the poisoning. Seems you can’t just take an animal to a vet and then leave it there, no matter how noble your intentions. They sorta want you to pay the bill and take it away.”

  “You’re kidding—they said you have to pay for it? It isn’t even your cat!”

  “But I brought it there. It isn’t that odd that they might think I should be responsible for its bills. Anyway, I’m hoping the dead guy’s heirs will pay for it in the end. Hopefully they’ll want their parents’ cat.”

  “I figured that cat was a goner,” said Frank, finishing his coffee in one gulp and standing.

  “Nope. He’s a fighter and I thought maybe Darla would like to go with me to get him.”

  “Well, sure, honey, I’d love to keep you company—”

  “We’re not getting a cat,” said Frank, cutting her short as he hiked up his belt.

  Darla shook her head. “No, no, of course not. I’m just going to keep her company—”

  Frank held up his hands. “I swear, Darla, if I come home and there’s a cat in this house—”

  Darla fluttered her fingers in the air. “Don’t get yourself into a tizzy.”

  Frank paused long enough to offer his wife one last squint before leaving.

  Darla smiled at Charlotte as the door clicked shut.

  “Let’s go get that cat.”

  ***

  Charlotte walked into the veterinary’s office with Darla on her heels.

  “I’m here to pick up a cat,” she said to the woman behind the counter.

  “Name?”

  “Me or the cat?”

  “Either.”

  “I don’t know the cat’s name. I’m Charlotte Morgan. I found it.”

  The woman typed on her keyboard and beside her, a printer sprung to life. She ripped the sheet from it and handed it to Charlotte. “Cash or credit card?”

  Charlotte looked at the bill. “Two hundred and fifty dollars?”

  The woman remained silent.

  She sighed and pulled her credit card from her pocket. The woman ran it.

  “I’ll be right back!”

  Charlotte wandered from the counter and sat next to Darla, who had found herself a perch next to a man with a large iguana on his lap.

  “Isn’t that thing ugly? Why would anyone want a pet without fur?” Darla said to her.

  The iguana’s owner’s eyes shifted in her direction and he frowned.

  “I have a point,” she mumbled.

  He looked away.

  A woman in a white coat holding a bald cat walked through the closed bottom half of the Dutch door separating the waiting room from the back offices.

  “He’s good as new,” said the vet, presenting the furless creature, its pink skin wrinkling like a bag beneath her grasp.

  “Sweet mother of pearl!” said Darla, her hand rising to cover her open mouth. “Is that some kinda mole person?”

  Charlotte reached out and took the cat from the vet and, to her great relief, the cat didn’t seem to mind. It crawled up her chest and peered over her shoulder at Darla.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You can go back to feeding him his regular food,” said the vet, pulling her buzzing phone from her pocket.

  Charlotte shook her head. “No, that’s just it! I don’t know his regular food. I—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, the vet had already offered a quick wave goodbye and started back toward the Dutch door, her phone at her ear.

  Charlotte turned to Darla. “Want a cat?”

  Darla grimaced. “Sweety, that isn’t a cat. That’s an anorexic pig.”

  “Aw come on, he’s cute.” Charlotte held the cat away from her and peered at it. It looked like it had satellite dishes for ears. “Well, he’s probably hypo-allergenic, anyway. That’s a plus, huh?”

  “Charlotte, if I took that thing home, Frank would poison me.” She peered into the cat’s face. “It does have kind eyes though.”

  There was a scream from the back and everyone in the waiting room turned their heads in time to see a tiny, brown dog shoot through the Dutch door left ajar by the busy vet during her retreat. A long-bodied puppy nearly tripped on his ears as he slid on his hip during a tight and totally unnecessary loop. He whizzed to Darla’s feet and jumped up on her shin, attaching himself like a lamprey.

  “Turbo!” screamed a girl, stumbling around the corner after the dog.

  Darla reached down and picked up the pup.

  “Toy dachshund?” she asked as the dog tried to wriggle up her shoulder and on to her head.

  The girl nodded, out of breath from the chase. “Someone abandoned him. Realtor found him in a home. Probably didn’t eat for a week. Now we can’t keep the little escape artist in one place.”

  Darla’s expression melted into a puddle of love as the wriggling hot dog tried to climb her face.

  “Is he still sick?” asked Darla.

  “No. He was barely alive when the real estate guy brought him here, but that was weeks ago.”

  “What’s going to happen to him?”

  The girl shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess if we can’t find someone to adopt him, he’ll go to a shelter.”

  Darla’s head swiveled toward Charlotte and a familiar smile curled on her lips.

  Charlotte’s head dropped. “I know that look.”

  “What?” said Darla, wrestling the dog back into her arms. “Frank said not to bring home a cat...”

  Chapter Eleven

  “What have you discovered?” asked the blonde woman sitting on the opposite side of Stephanie’s desk, her crisp ivory suit barely puckering at the crease of her lap. She held out a bottle filled with caramel-colored liquid. “Oh, and I brought you a gift. Open and pour.”

  “Bourbon? It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

  “And your point is—?”

  Stephanie looked at the bottle. “Pappy VanWinkle? Isn’t this thousands of dollars?”

  “If you were to buy it, yes.”

  Stephanie opened the bourbon, sneaking peeks at her most troublesome client, Jamie Moriarty, as she prepared to pour. She admired Jamie’s suit, and her sapphire earrings, encircled by tiny pearls. The woman had style.

  The woman also claimed to be the Puzzle Killer. Stephanie wasn’t entirely sure she believed her.

  “I like your earrings,” she said.

  “Thank you. Now what do you know?”

  “Well, there was one more suspicious murder. A couple poisoned. Atropine was dropped into their own milk after they unknowingly triggered a simple machine. Sound familiar?”

  Jamie jumped in her chair. “They did find it! The paper never mentioned the machine—”

  “It was you? You poisoned them?”

  “It was my answer to the other murders. I was trying to get his attention. Let him know he’s not so special. I never dreamed the papers wouldn’t mention how they were poisoned.”

  “A string tied to a c
offee pot? Really? That seems so..bourgeois for the Puzzle Killer.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. “It was spur of the moment. I didn’t want to put a ton of effort into it. But hey, don’t I get extra points for killing two people?”

  “I suppose. I don’t know how the serial killer point system works.”

  “You definitely get extra points for killing a couple.”

  “Great. Let me ask you this: If you did it...was anything left at the scene?”

  “I left a puzzle piece in the dairy box on the door of the refrigerator. They never mentioned that either.” She shook her head. “What’s the point of killing people to get someone’s attention if they don’t put all the details in the press?”

  Stephanie grimaced. Jamie had the puzzle piece location correct. Maybe she really was the Puzzle Killer. She felt a rush of adrenalin. Talk about a high profile case.

  “Why that couple?” she asked. “Are they significant?”

  Jamie shrugged. “The woman cut me off in traffic. Sometimes I act out of civic duty.”

  Stephanie sighed. “So our mystery man kills a crossword puzzle champion and a puzzle maker to get your attention, and you respond with an act of road rage.”

  “And thanks to the press, he never received my message.”

  “You two are like some kind of deadly rom-com, full of missed chances and misunderstandings. Maybe you should just meet him on top of the Empire State Building like Sleepless in Seattle and kill all the other tourists together.”

  “Very funny. You mean An Affair to Remember. Sleepless was a knock-off. Yeesh, young people are annoying. Think they know everything.”

  Stephanie scowled. “Look; all fun aside, keeping secrets isn’t going to make my job any easier.”

  “Oh please. Representing me is a lawyer’s dream. You’re loving every minute of this.”

  “No—”

  Yes.

  “No. Believe it or not, defense lawyers generally prefer innocent clients.”

  “Please, you’re as wrapped up in this as I am. He contacted you to be a go between. He’s got your number, too.” Jamie offered a mirthless smile and stared past Stephanie through the office window. She refocused with a little gasp, as if she’d remembered something. “I meant to ask...do you think this Declan is an asset?”