by Jana DeLeon
“And if they both are?”
“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
I had just pulled into the parking lot at the resort when my cell phone rang. It was Carter. I answered as I parked and could tell from the sound of his voice that this wasn’t a social call.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I talked to Byron a couple minutes ago,” Carter said. “The DA gave Benton the go-ahead to arrest Gertie.”
“Crap! Should we clear out? We can book the fishing charter again. Dave will turn off the radio if we ask. He hates Benton.”
“If you’re off on a fishing boat, you can’t go poking around into things like I know you’ve been doing.”
“What would give you that impression?”
“I don’t know, maybe Gertie faking a heart attack down at the sheriff’s department.”
“How in the world do you know that?” I asked.
“I got a phone call from the angry deputy, trying to track a mysterious cell phone call that came from Sinful. He’s convinced you did it. He just thinks it’s to aggravate him. I know better. I finally managed to get the entire garbled story out of him, complete with him being assaulted by a cake, and I figured Gertie for the medical victim.”
“You know Gertie.”
“Yeah. I know all three of you, which is why I’m certain you put someone here up to making that call. I’m praying it was Marie because I’m really hoping my dispatcher would be smart enough to opt out of that request. I’m equally certain that Gertie didn’t have a real medical malady.”
“It could have been a blood sugar thing,” I said.
“Only if it was high as a kite. That’s a vacation resort, which means breakfast buffet. Gertie probably ate half her weight in pastries.”
“Maybe not quite half.”
“I guess I should just be happy you didn’t do it in the middle of the night and get all your butts thrown in the clink. So did you find anything when you searched Benton’s office?”
He didn’t have proof of what we did, but Carter knew us so well I saw no point in denying it. It would only waste time and I wanted to get back to the arresting-Gertie thing.
“We got cause of death and check copies,” I said, and then I filled him in on the details of what we’d found and the restaurant business scam Otis had been running.
“Puffer fish?” he asked, sounding a bit surprised.
“It’s different, right? Of course, we’re on an island in the Gulf of Mexico so that doesn’t do much to narrow our list of suspects down.”
“No. But it’s a hell of a lot more interesting than arsenic.”
“I’ll tell the killer you said so when we figure out who it is.”
He was silent for several seconds and I knew he was mentally calculating all the things that could go wrong with a civilian pursuing a murderer. Then he was adjusting those calculations for the civilian being me.
The killer must have come out on the short end of the math stick because finally he said, “I know this is pointless to say, but will you please be careful? The killer is likely to be one of the women who were scammed, not a professional hit man. If she thinks you’re zeroing in on her, she’s going to feel trapped and desperate. Desperate people are capable of things they never would be otherwise.”
“Well, given that Benton is about to outfit Gertie with a set of handcuffs, do you think it’s best if we become scarce?”
“No. It’s probably not a good idea to go running from Benton. All you’d do is delay the inevitable and if you book that boat, you’re only going to get the captain in trouble as well. Besides, Benton’s not going to arrest Gertie. Not yet.”
“What? I thought you said…I’m so confused.”
“The DA gave him the okay to arrest her but then he changed his mind.”
“Why?”
“That’s what Byron wanted to know, but neither Benton nor the DA is talking. Benton just told him that things were delayed for a small administrative issue they needed to clear up but that he better make sure Gertie stayed put and was available for further questioning.”
“What kind of administrative issue could there be?”
“Byron wondered that himself, so he made a few phone calls. A friend of a friend of a former military buddy has a nephew who works in the ME office down there. And it’s no small administrative problem. Otis Baker isn’t Otis Baker.”
Chapter Eighteen
I straightened in my seat, clenching my phone. “What? No way. We looked Otis up online. He was a real person.”
“Yes. And the real Otis Baker died six months ago of a heart attack on an island off Key West. Just fell out in a bar and died. The place is called Barefoot Key. He’d rented a beach house there.”
“So who the hell was the dead guy here?”
“His real name is Martin Hughes. He’s a petty criminal with an arrest record as long as a CVS receipt. Fraud, extortion, forgery, theft…but the most interesting thing is that Martin buried three wives and disappeared on a fourth.”
“Holy crap! You think he killed them?”
“He collected a hundred thousand apiece on the three of them.”
“But not the fourth. I wonder why he disappeared.”
“My guess—someone was onto him. The cops or insurance investigators, probably.”
“Wow,” I said. “If you’re right then they probably saved the fourth wife’s life.”
“That’s a very strong possibility.”
“But he hasn’t married anyone as Otis Baker.”
“Not that I’ve been able to find. My guess is he was afraid he’d get caught when it was time for insurance to pay up.”
“He thought someone would connect the dots.”
“And someone probably would have,” Carter said. “Everything’s electronic these days. It’s a lot easier to match up crimes. Don’t get me wrong, people can get away with things for a long time if they’re smart about it, and some manage to right up till the grave, but it’s not as easy as it used to be.”
“So he shifted to the business scam like he was running here.”
“Sounds like the perfect setup. Mix a little romance with business and you’ve got the perfect combination. And the business thing allowed him to target several women in one location without them going after each other as he could pass them off to each other as potential investors.”
“Tell that to Flamingo Lady. I’m afraid to think what she might have done with that flamingo if she’d caught up with Gertie. She wasn’t buying the investor angle for a second.”
“There’s always the possibility of a loose cannon, but it’s a calculated risk. It was easy money if he could sell his story and his only investment was dinner and some time.”
“Not as much money as an insurance payout, though.”
“But not nearly the amount of time invested. How many women has he gotten money out of just in that one location? He’s been on the island a couple weeks. And not exactly slumming it while he was working his scam.”
I sighed. “You’re right. Even a couple thousand per mark would add up if he hit five to ten over a span of a month or two.”
“And all the while living with full-time housekeeping, a great view, and a never-ending supply of lonely older women.”
“It’s practically a revolving door, but I suppose it’s harder to talk women out of money over the course of a vacation. That must be why he was working the locals.”
“Yep, and my guess is he was probably about to max out his luck there. Then he would have picked up and moved to the next location. He’s probably been working his way around the Florida coast.”
“He said as much to Gertie, although his reason was a lot different. What do you want to bet one of his stops was Barefoot Key and that’s how he grabbed the Otis Baker identity? He heard about his death or maybe he was even in the bar when it happened. Heck, he might have even known him casually.”
“I’d say any of that is highly likely.�
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“I wonder how the ME’s office figured out something was off. I mean, they must have run prints to get his real identity, but what prompted them to do it?”
“This is just speculation, but I’m going to guess that they tried to notify next of kin on Otis and found out he was already deceased. Given that the identity was stolen, and the victim’s ‘profession’ was scamming women out of money, they probably figured he had a record.”
“So they ran him. That makes sense. You know, if anyone ever deserved to be taken out, it was this guy.”
“All the older women in Florida are definitely safer, but I wish people would let the law handle things.”
“Handle them how? If the cops couldn’t pin Martin for killing three wives, then how were they going to put him away for scamming some money? He’d have just said the money was a gift or whatever. Their word against his. I mean, I know a pattern of behavior could be proven, but in order to do so, the women would have to be willing to come forward.”
He sighed. “Yeah, that’s always a problem with this sort of crime.”
“Look, I respect your work. You know that. But you and I both know that there are gaps between crime and punishment. I’m not saying I endorse vigilante justice, but I understand why it happens.”
“The problem is, the vigilante is usually the one who ends up in prison. People like Martin aren’t worth good people going to prison.”
“Yeah, and if we don’t figure out who killed him, then Gertie is going to be sent up the river. Or at least on an extended stay at the sheriff’s department accompanied by a hefty legal bill.”
“Then I guess you guys best get around to doing what you do best—making local law enforcement type up resignation letters.”
“You never typed up a resignation letter because of me.”
“That’s because I felt too guilty for whoever would have to come behind me and deal with you. And since I take partial responsibility for you relocating to Sinful, I guess I have to stay on the job. Penance, you know?”
I laughed. “Your ego is only eclipsed by your massive barbecue grill.”
“Of course. I’m a red-blooded Southern man.”
“Well, I’m going to get off of here before the testosterone reaches all the way to Florida.”
“Too late.”
I disconnected and Ida Belle and Gertie both started talking at once.
“I can’t believe Otis wasn’t Otis!”
“I knew he was scum before but wow!”
“Do you think he killed his wives?” Gertie asked. “I mean, scamming is one thing but killing people…I spent an entire evening with the guy. Shouldn’t I have seen something off?”
“Sociopaths can be very convincing,” Ida Belle said. “If one isn’t burdened with guilt, I suppose it’s easy to go about each day completely normal.”
I nodded. “And Otis has had years to perfect his technique. Or Martin, I mean.”
“So what now?” Gertie asked.
Ida Belle looked at me. “You still want to make a run at Betty and Cynthia?”
I nodded, a plan forming. “Yes. But with a different angle. I want to talk to them alone and present myself as a detective, hired by a woman who was scammed in the Keys. I think they’re more likely to talk one-on-one. I’ll tell them I’ve been tracking Otis, trying to collect enough information to build a fraud case against him.”
“The direct approach,” Ida Belle said. “That’s interesting, and it just might work.”
“I figured attempting to get either of them to gossip about Otis would be a waste of time,” I said. “Especially since they’re both trying to keep their involvement a secret.”
“But Benton has the check copies,” Gertie said.
“And is probably sitting on them until he gets the sheriff appointment,” I said. “And they had no way of knowing Otis kept copies of the checks, so they might think they’re in the clear as long as they keep their mouths shut.”
Ida Belle nodded. “I’m sure they know people are talking but people talking doesn’t prove anything.” She frowned. “I wonder why he kept copies of the checks.”
“Probably to steal the account information,” I said. “Easy enough to print up some checks and pass them off to small businesses. By the time they figured out they’re not good, he would be long gone.”
Gertie shook her head. “The more we learn about Otis-Martin-whoever, the more I’m glad he’s dead.”
“What do you want us to do?” Ida Belle asked.
“See if you can figure out where Martin got that étouffée. Bonus points if you can find out who he was eating with.”
“So we’re doing this now?” Gertie asked.
“I don’t think we can afford to put it off,” I said. “The DA was thrown off by the identity thing, but the reality is a man’s dead and you’re still the person Benton is focusing on.”
“Okay,” Ida Belle said. “We’ll start poking around here and see if someone saw Martin eating at the seafood restaurant the day before he died. If not, we’ll find out who else on the island has étouffée on the menu and go from there.”
“Sounds good,” I said. “But if you leave the resort, you’re going to have to walk. I can corner Cynthia somewhere during her shift, but Betty doesn’t come on until this evening and I don’t want to wait. Word could get back to her that a detective was asking questions. I don’t want her to have time to prepare.”
Gertie grimaced. “Walking? There’s at least five miles of hotels and resorts here.”
“And you ate ten miles worth of breakfast,” Ida Belle said. “Plus two root beer floats and a piece of pie. Maybe you should think about burning some of it off before dinner.”
Gertie sighed. “I suppose asking about étouffée isn’t likely to get us shot at, so there won’t be any forced running.”
Ida Belle rolled her eyes. “With you doing the questioning, there’s always hope.”
Chapter Nineteen
I tracked down some housekeepers in the laundry room and they told me Cynthia was checking on a cleaning complaint on the fifth floor. I thanked them and headed up, hoping that I could catch her by roaming the hallways. I had walked half the length of one side when I got lucky. Cynthia was coming out of a room at the end of the hall. I made my way over and she seemed surprised when I addressed her by name and told her I’d like to speak with her.
“About what?” she asked, clearly wary.
I pulled out my business card and handed it to her. “I’m a private investigator based in Louisiana, but my client is in Florida. I’d like to ask you some questions about Otis Baker.”
She dropped her gaze down and shook her head. “I don’t know anything about him.”
“I’m afraid you know at least five thousand things about him,” I said.
Her eyes widened and she glanced down the hallway behind me.
“Is there an empty room we can use to talk in private?” I asked, figuring she didn’t want to be seen talking to me, much less overheard.
She nodded and opened the room nearest us. It was a three-bedroom, like ours, and I headed for the kitchen area and motioned to a stool. She hesitated for a moment, then finally took a seat.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “You said you’re a private investigator?”
“Yes. A friend of mine had an aunt who was taken by a scammer—Otis. Her aunt didn’t tell her for a while but finally had to when she needed to borrow money. My friend was outraged and hired me to track Otis down. I finally caught up with him here.”
“But you’re here with that other lady—the one who had dinner with Otis the night he died.”
“She’s an associate of mine. So is the other lady traveling with us. I found quite a trail of victims in Otis’s wake. My friend didn’t hold out any hope of getting her aunt’s money back, but she asked me to accumulate evidence so that she could convince the authorities to push a fraud charge against him. The lady who had dinner with him was simply trying t
o get his exact method so we could document it.”
Her eyes widened. “She was investigating him?”
I nodded. “We needed to know exactly how Otis was getting money out of women. What promises he was making them, if any. I was trying to establish a pattern of behavior so that he couldn’t use the cop-out of ‘it was a gift.’”
“But I thought Benton arrested your…uh, associate?”
“Between you and me, Benton is an idiot. He’d like the easy answer so he doesn’t have to actually work, but he can’t pin a murder on someone who didn’t do it.”
“How did you know…about the money?”
“Otis made copies of the checks and I had a way of seeing them.”
“Do the police know?”
“I’m pretty sure they do.”
She nodded and I could tell by the frightened look on her face that she was processing all the implications. And those implications only led to Benton looking at her for murder.
“Checks?” she asked and frowned. “There was more than one person he got money from here on the island?”
“And on the mainland. He worked it before he came here. Did you know he was working other women at the resort?”
She glanced down and shook her head. “I heard rumors, but I didn’t know for certain.”
“Didn’t know or didn’t want to know?”
She sighed and looked at me, her expression sad. “Someone like you would never understand. You probably have men fighting over you just because you walked into a room.”
“I’m sorry he hurt you. He hurt my friend’s aunt as well. Made romantic overtures and promises that were all lies. She was recently widowed, so she was an easy target.”
“I never married. There was a guy, once. He said all the right things, then he went back home to his wife.”
“You didn’t know?”
She gave me an indignant look. “Of course not. I’m not that kind of woman.”
“And you never tried again?”