Corner Office (From the Tales of Dan Coast Book 12)

by Rodney Riesel

  “Not exactly,” Dan replied. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the pink and white cardboard package and showed it to Bev.

  “Oh, my goodness,” said Bev. “Maxine's pregnant?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Well, did she take a pregnancy test?”

  Dan glanced down at the package. “Evidently she took three of them.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She hasn't said anything. I found the package in the trash.”

  “You didn't ask her about it?”

  “No.”

  “You gotta grow a pair.”

  “If she's pregnant, it's because I already have a pair.”

  “Smart-ass.”

  “I didn't want her to think I was snooping around.”

  “Has she been acting like she was pregnant?”

  “How am I supposed to—”

  “Who's pregnant?”

  Dan and Bev looked over to see Old Man Stein walking toward them.

  “Who's pregnant?” he asked again.

  “Obviously not me,” said Bev.

  “Obviously,” Stein grumbled. “You're almost as old as me.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “No one's pregnant,” Dan said.

  Stein pointed at the package in Dan's hand. “Who took the piss and tell?”

  “Maxine,” said Bev.

  “Well, what's the prognosis?” Stein walked to the shed and grabbed the lawn chair that was leaning against it.

  “I don't know,” Dan said.

  “He's afraid to ask her,” Bev said.

  “I'm not afraid.”

  “One of us should ask her,” Stein said.

  “No one's asking her anything. By the way—did I invite you over here?”

  “Didn't think I needed an invitation.” Stein pointed back over his shoulder in the direction of his house. “You see that house of mine? That was the first house on this block. I didn't invite any of you to this neighborhood. This goddamn island is so crowded now you can't—”

  “Calm down, Stein,” said Dan. “You want a drink?”

  “Damn right I do.”

  “Bev, make the man a drink.”

  “Please?” said Bev.

  “Please make the man a drink.”

  Bev climbed out of her chair and started back across the yard.

  “No salt!” said Stein.

  “Yes, sir,” Bev responded, with a mock salute.

  Dan turned back to Stein. “Did you borrow my propane tank the other day?”

  “What propane tank?”

  “The one on my gas grill.”

  Stein looked over at Dan's grill that was standing up near the house. “The tank's right there on it.”

  “That one's empty.”

  “You think I took yours and replaced it with an empty one? You're an idiot, Coast. You probably left it on and the gas ran out.”

  “That's what Maxine said.”

  “That's why she's the brains in this outfit, and you're the idiot.”

  “You don't have to be such a dick.”

  “You just accused me of bein' a thief, for chrissakes!”

  “I thought maybe ya borrowed it.”

  “If I need to borrow something, I'll ask.”

  Bev walked out her back door, down the steps, and back to the fire pit. “One margarita, no salt,” she said, as she handed Stein his drink.

  “Thanks, Bev,” said Stein. “You're an okay broad.”

  “Thanks.” Bev sat back down in her chair. “Okay broad was just what I was goin' for,” she said. “Where were we?”

  Stein waved his arm in Dan's direction. “This idiot was just accusing me of stealing his propane tank.”

  “What?” Bev asked.

  “Just drop it,” Dan said.

  “Just drop it,” Stein aped. He sipped his margarita. “Perfect.”

  Dan's cell phone rang. He reached into his front pocket. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Coast, it's Marilyn Valdosta.” Her voice was shaky.

  Dan sat up straight in his chair. “Is everything okay?”

  “Someone was in my house.”

  “Someone? Who?”

  “I don't know, but when I got home, my door was unlocked. I thought maybe I had forgotten to lock it, but when I came inside, things were … well, different.”

  “Are you sure there's no one still in the house?”

  “I'm sure. I looked in every room. There's no one here.”

  “I'll be right there, Marilyn. Stay in your house, and keep your doors locked until I get there.”

  “Okay, Mr. Coast. Thank you.”

  Dan hung up the phone, stood, and dropped the cell back in his pocket. “I gotta go. Maxine ran to the grocery store. Can you tell her I had to leave for a bit?”

  “I probably won't be here when she gets back,” Stein said.

  “I wasn't talking to you,” said Dan.

  “I'll let her know,” Bev assured him.

  “Thanks.” As Dan started up the gravel path to the backdoor, he stopped and turned. “Oh yeah, we're having burgers later for dinner if you're around.”

  “Sounds good,” Bev said.

  “Yeah, sounds good,” said Stein.

  “I wasn't talking to you.”

  “Then you better stop and fill your propane tank,” Stein said.

  Dan glared at the empty tank.

  “Or,” Stein continued, “I could just bring my tank over, and you could make me a burger.”

  Dan's jaw tightened. He took a deep breath. “That sounds great,” he said. “Dinner's at six-thirty.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dan Coast made a quick U-turn on Eaton Street, and parked his Porsche at the curb in front of a white, two-story mansion. He looked at the address Lola had given him once more, just to make sure he had the right house.

  Nice place, Dan thought. This is probably the type of house I should be living in. He folded the paper and slid it back into his front pocket. He climbed out of his car, walked across the street, and up the concrete sidewalk to the two-story front porch. He went up the steps and knocked on the glass panel in one of the two double-doors.

  As Dan waited for someone to answer the door he looked around and marveled at the fine craftsmanship of the wooden railings and posts that surrounded the porch. Being an ex-contractor, Dan appreciated the work that went into the hand-hewn spindles and shutters. He guessed the house to be around a hundred and fifty years old.

  The front door opened and Marilyn hesitantly peered around it. A look of relief came over her face when she saw it was Dan. “Mr. Coast. Thank God.” She stepped back and motioned for Dan to enter.

  Dan entered into a large foyer with ten-foot ceilings. The walls were board and batten, painted white. The oversized casings around the windows and doors were also painted white. The twelve-inch baseboards were painted navy-blue. A large Oriental rug covered most of the oak floor. The place looked more like a museum than a home.

  “You're sure no one is still in the house?” Dan asked.

  “I'm sure,” Marilyn replied.

  “I'd feel better if I took a look around myself.”

  “Oh, of course. Feel free to look around. I'll put on the tea pot.” Marilyn turned and walked through a doorway at the opposite end of the foyer.

  Dan looked up the stairs. He turned and glanced to his right into a large living room. He wondered where to look first. He knew there was probably no one in the house, but he wanted to have a look around anyway. He backed up, turned, and stuck his head through a doorway into a massive ball room. The ball room had the same high ceilings. Several small murals decorated the walls. The floor was maple parquet. Inside the room was a seating area, a round wooden table surrounded by four chairs, several mismatched wooden chairs pushed up against the walls, and a grand piano at the far end.

  Dan turned and walked up the staircase; the treads creaked with every step. I could fix that, he thought. Some shims, a little Elmer's Glue.


  It took Dan about ten minutes to walk around the seven-bedroom, six-bathroom home. The joint was in apple-pie order. All the beds were made. There was no dust on anything. There were no magazines or pieces of mail on any of the furniture. The place looked as though no one lived there—or had for that matter. Just like a museum, Dan thought.

  Dan finished his inspection right at the moment he heard the tea kettle whistling. He followed the sound to the kitchen.

  “There you are,” Marilyn said. “Everything check out?”

  “On the phone you said you knew someone had been in here, because things were different.” Dan looked around the kitchen. It was as clean as every other room. “Different how”

  “The front door was unlocked when I returned home.”

  “Maybe you forgot to lock it when you left.”

  “But things were different.”

  “Like what?”

  Marilyn turned. “Follow me.”

  Dan did as he was asked and followed Marilyn to the ball room.

  Marilyn walked to the middle of the room and pointed at one of the two windows that faced Eaton Street. “See that curtain?”

  Dan looked to where she was pointing. “Yes.”

  “I never open the curtains like that. Someone else opened them.”

  Dan stared at the small gap in the curtains. “It's only about four inches,” he commented. “They're not what I would call open.”

  “I keep all the curtains drawn on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays.”

  “Why do you open them on the other days?” Dan asked.

  “To let in the sunshine, of course.”

  “It's pretty sunny out there today,” Dan pointed out.

  “Yes, Mr. Coast, but today is Tuesday. The curtains are shut on Tuesday.”

  “How silly of me. What else was different?”

  Marilyn turned and pointed to a framed photograph on a small oak table near the sofa. “The picture of Branson—someone moved it.”

  “Moved it from where?”

  “Well, I guess moved is the wrong word. Someone rotated it slightly … clockwise.”

  “I see,” said Dan. “Are you positive the curtains and the photo weren't like this yesterday?”

  “Oh, I have no idea. I didn't come in here yesterday. As a matter of fact, I don't think I've come in here at all since we got here.”

  Dan squinted in confusion. “Then how do you know things are different? Maybe they've been this way since the last time you were on the island.”

  “I don't think so, Mr. Coast. It's just something I feel, like I have a gift.”

  “Like The Amazing Gary,” Dan offered.

  “Who?”

  “Never mind,” Dan said. “Marilyn, did your husband ever mention a man named John Doe?”

  “John Doe? You mean like the name they use for an average guy? I don't think so. Why, does he have something to do with my husband's disappearance?”

  “I'm not sure. Have you ever heard the names Reatha Davis, or Lola Paragould?”

  “I remember a Judge Paragould. I think he and my father were friends when I was a little girl.”

  “Judge Paragould. Was he a judge here in Key West?”

  “I'm not sure. I assume so. It was a long time ago. I was just a little girl. Was Lola the judge's wife?”

  “I'm not sure.”

  “You sure say 'I'm not sure' a lot, Mr. Coast. Is this going to be too much for you? Should I have hired someone else? Are you sure of anything?”

  “I'm just getting started, Marilyn,” Dan responded. “No, I'm not sure of anything yet. I've been on this case less than a day, but if you'd like to hire someone else, that's up to you.”

  “No, no. That won't be necessary. Let's have our tea.”

  Marilyn walked back to the kitchen. Two tea cups and a silver tray sat on the counter top next to the stove. She poured hot water into each cup, and then placed both cups on the tray. She picked up the tray and carefully turned around, trying not to spill the tea.

  “Should we have our tea on the veranda or by the pool?” she suggested. “Oh wait, I know! Let's have it out on the front porch—no that's for sweet tea. We have our sweet tea on the front porch.”

  “How about if we just drink it right here at the kitchen table?”

  “Heavens no! We'll have it by the pool—I need to take my medication.”

  “Medication?” Dan asked, cocking his head slightly. “For … ?”

  “It's just a little pill I take three times a day. Helps with my anxiety.” She spun around and hurried to the cupboard. She opened it and removed a prescription bottle. Opening the bottle, she took out one capsule and swallowed it. She put the pills back in the cupboard. “One, two, three.” Marilyn took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Pretty girls are all the same. They are always acting lame. They have nothing between their ears, so all they know is high school cheers,” she chanted in a singsong whisper. “There, all better.”

  “Yeah,” said Dan. “You seem 100 percent all better.”

  Marilyn picked up the tray and walked to a sliding door that led to the veranda. “Can you get the door for me, Mr. Coast? Thank you.”

  Dan slid open the door and let Marilyn lead the way through the veranda and to the pool.

  Dan had heard that Ernest Hemingway's swimming pool was once the largest in the Florida Keys. He now wondered if Marilyn Valdosta's pool was the largest. A wide stone apron surrounded the massive rectangular pool. At the far end of the pool was a man-made slate wall with a waterfall cascading down the slate and into the pool. An eight-foot golden bamboo hedge encompassed the entire backyard. If there was a fence beyond the hedges, it was unnoticeable. The ground between the stone apron and hedge was covered with small muti-colored landscaping gravel. Rising up from the gravel were many types of palms and flowering shrubs.

  Sitting on the pool's stone apron were several lounge chairs. In one corner there were two lounge chairs side by side with a matching table between them. Marilyn walked to the chairs and placed the tea tray on the table. “Sit right here, Mr. Coast, and I'll sit here.”

  Dan sat in one of the lounge chairs, and Marilyn sat in the other. She picked up her tea cup and blew into it. “It really is a beautiful day, Mr. Coast. I should have told you to bring your swimming trunks.”

  “Um … yeah, that would have been great.”

  “Do you have a pool, Mr. Coast.”

  “No, I don't.”

  “Drink your tea, Mr. Coast?”

  Dan picked up his cup and sipped the tea. “How was Branson in the days leading up to his disappearance?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did he seem like himself? Was he more talkative than usual, or less? Did he seem to be preoccupied? Did you notice any difference in him at all?”

  Marilyn thought about it for a second. “I don't think so. He's always very laid-back when we're here.”

  “I've heard that some spies and secret agents have what's called a handler,” Dan remarked. “Someone who contacts them with their assignments, I guess.”

  Marilyn stared straight ahead. She appeared anxious. “I … um—”

  “Marilyn, nothing you tell me leaves here.”

  “Yes, Branson has a handler.”

  “What's his name?”

  “It's a she, and her name is Smith.”

  “Smith? Just Smith?”

  “Yes, that's the only way Branson has ever referred to her. Smith.”

  “Do you have any idea how to get in touch with Smith?”

  “No, I don't. I shouldn't even have told you Branson was a spy. They could kill me for leaking that information.”

  “They?”

  “The government. That's why I couldn't go to the cops, Mr. Coast. I've probably already put you in danger with what I've told you.”

  “I'm not worried.”

  “You're a brave man, Mr. Coast.”

  “Yeah, it comes with the job,” Dan boasted. He took another
sip of his tea. “Marilyn, are you 100 percent positive that Branson isn't just on a mission somewhere?”

  “I'm positive.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because whenever Branson is leaving for a mission, he gives me a cell phone number where I can reach his handler. Every time he goes away, it's a different number. He calls them burner phones. After each mission, the phone is then destroyed.”

  “Huh.”

  “He didn't give me a number this time. He didn't even kiss me good bye. He always kisses me good bye and tells me he loves me. I always tell him to be careful, and then he always says, 'Don't worry your pretty little head, babe. I'll be back before you know it.'”

  “Marilyn, do you have any paperwork you might have received when your common law marriage was filed?”

  “Paperwork? I don't know anything about paperwork. Branson handles everything like that. I didn't even have to go to the courthouse when we decided to get married. Branson brought the paperwork home for me and just had me sign it.”

  “So, there was paperwork.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you have no idea where the paperwork is?”

  “No, but I think it's in a safe deposit box at a bank.”

  “Do you know which bank?”

  “No. Like I said, Branson handles all of that.”

  “How about life insurance papers?”

  “Branson ha—”

  “Handles all of that.”

  “Yes.”

  “How about the last phone number Branson gave you for the burner phone, do you still have that number?”

  “Yes, but why would you need that? I've told you, they destroy the phone after the mission.”

  “Can you get the number for me?”

  “I guess. If you think it will help.” Marilyn placed her tea cup back on the little end table and got up. “I'll be right back.”

  When Marilyn disappeared through the door, Dan stood up and walked around the pool. Maybe I should get a pool, he thought. By the time Dan made his admiring trip around the pool Marilyn came walking out the sliding glass door. She was carrying several small pieces of paper.

  “Here they are Mr. Coast,” Marilyn said. “This is every phone number he ever gave me when he was going on a mission. Next to the number is the date he left, and the date he returned.”