I punched in the number for Xander and hit the speaker button. “Get your feet off the desk,” I barked when he answered.
“I’m lying on the couch with my laptop, feet hanging over the side. I wasn’t brought up in a barn, although that might’ve been fun,” Xander joked back.
“That is until you wanted to work your electronic genius and, oh…no power.”
“That’s a downside.” Xander chuckled. “You never call unless you want something.”
“You know how I told you this job would be a little of this and that? Well, I’m calling because I need you to find someone to foster a Golden Retriever named Max until we can find him a home. Someone who has attention to spare, since he’s shook up and needs love.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Just think of it as one of those ridiculous A minus B equals something math problems. You have about an hour.”
“Drive slow,” Xander huffed and hung up.
“If Xander comes through, I may have to reassess my thinking and admit that having him as an assistant is a good thing,” Fab said.
“His title is VP, and he’s already proved himself by not squawking over rodent-sitting,” I reminded her.
“Bostwick called.” Fab scowled. “Left a message that he didn’t like being ripped off by my exorbitant fees and wouldn’t be calling me in the future. I responded by blocking his number.”
“You may want to rethink that. There could be big money in exotic pet-sitting.”
Her response was to grip the steering wheel tighter and glare at the road, hitting the gas.
My phone rang again as the city limit sign came into view. “Xander,” I answered. “Good news?”
“Maybe. I called Billy, since he knows everyone and I don’t know anybody. Like, five people, if that counts. He’s got a friend, Aqua, whose trout just died of old age, and he’s willing to take Max as a try-out and see if they bond.”
Billy was Xander’s roommate, and it didn’t surprise me that the man would be helpful. All Fab or I had to do was ask and he’d make it happen. It was true that he knew everyone in the Keys, or so it seemed.
“A trout? That’s not experience for owning a dog.”
“Trout was actually a dog—a Newfoundland.” Xander laughed. “Clever name, I think. Trout lived to be ten, so Aqua did something right.”
“You tell Mr. Dog Owner that we’ll be checking on Max. If they aren’t simpatico, then he should give us a call. We’ll find another home. He’s not to do anything funky, like drop him on the side of the road, because I’ll track him down and put bullets in his a— backside.”
“Bring Max to the office. Billy’s picking us up.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Three days later, when I showed no signs of snapping out of my funk, Creole had had enough and dragged me out of bed and into the shower. After thrusting coffee in my hand, he disappeared into the closet and came out with a sleeveless hot-pink dress with a flared skirt, nude low-heeled pumps hooked over his fingers. “I think these go together.” He eyed them suspiciously and tossed them on the bed. “Get dressed.”
“Where are we going?” I whined, slowly sipping my coffee.
“You’re going to lunch. I’ve got a meeting.”
Fab flew up the Overseas, heading back north after we ate at a new restaurant in Marathon that Didier had picked out for the two of us to try. It was a perfect sunny day and not too sweltering, so we’d been able to sit outside and enjoy the view of the water, neither of us tired of watching the waves crash onto the small beach.
“I can’t believe the guys ganged up on us and insisted we go out to lunch. Stay out of trouble is what they meant.” Fab, who had fumed on the drive down, was now only pretending to be annoyed.
“Creole suggested shopping. He’s so mean.” I turned and smirked out the window. “I don’t want to disappoint him, so let’s stop somewhere.”
Once back in the Cove, Fab headed straight for an outdoor shopping center we frequented that had a couple of our favorite stores.
I tugged on Fab’s arm before she could pull into a parking space. “That woman up there is harassing that girl.” I pointed through the windshield at the two, who stood off to one side, up against the bumper of a sedan.
Fab slowed and crept forward. The girl was twentyish, maybe, with stringy long brown hair and eyes bugged out from fear. She swung her fist, but the older woman had a vice grip on her other arm and jerked her off balance.
As we rolled up almost on them, I said in shock, “That’s Addy.”
Fab blew the horn, lowered the window, and yelled, “Are you okay?”
“Woman’s crazy,” the girl screeched. Addy loosened her hold, and the girl wrenched free, snatched up her backpack and bicycle, and jumped on, pedaling towards the street.
Addy moved with surprising agility, cutting between the rows of cars and dipping out of sight. A brown sedan—a make I couldn’t identify, the back panel grey from body work that hadn’t been painted—squealed out of a space and sped for the exit.
In hot pursuit, Fab had to brake for a car backing out. “I just want to make sure Addy’s going to leave the girl alone.”
“What do you suppose that was all about?” I scooted forward in my seat. “Addy must have scared the girl pretty badly, because she just cut across the highway, barely watching out for traffic. Good thing that driver was paying attention and swerved.”
The bicyclist disappeared into a strip center and around the back. Addy turned north.
“Wonder where Addy’s going?” Fab hit the gas and sped up the highway. “Isn’t she wanted for questioning?”
“The guys aren’t going to like that we’re chasing Addy.” I gripped the armrest. “Can’t we just have an uneventful day out?”
“Too late for that.”
“Not if you turn around and we go shopping.”
Intent on the road, if Fab heard, she wasn’t acknowledging me. “I’m going to hang back and follow her a little ways,” she said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a location on her that we can pass along.”
“Listen to me,” I snapped. “Don’t do anything heroic. If she gets away, oh well. From what little I know about her, if she got a second chance to shoot one or both of us, she’d take it.”
“We’re ready for her this time.”
I was torn between not wanting Addy to ride off into the sunny day and get away and not wanting to follow her to who knew where. “I’m calling 911.” I waited for Fab’s reaction and, not getting one, figured that was her way of agreeing.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
I reported the attempted kidnapping and told them I knew Addy Clegg to be wanted for questioning in a murder case while Fab hung back like she’d said and followed the nondescript sedan up the Overseas.
When asked, I attempted to read the tag and realized it had been shaded out. If a cop noticed, she’d be pulled over. My guess was she’d have some plausible excuse. I was at least able to give a good description of the car and where it was headed. It didn’t surprise me when Addy drove past the Highway One cut-off and headed towards Card Sound. My stomach churned at the thought of driving through mangrove row, as I’d dubbed it in my mind. Miles of nothing.
“The call dropped.” I stared at my screen with a sinking heart. “Addy has to have noticed by this time that she’s picked up a tail,” I said. “We’ve been following her for miles, and only two cars have passed us.”
“I’ve hung back far enough that she can’t make a clear ID and know we’re the same car that’s been following her since the Cove.”
“We both know that if something happens out here, we’re screwed. There isn’t a single person to come to our aid,” I said, trying to keep the fear out of my voice. “I’m hoping the cops get out here pronto and arrest her.”
The miles ticked by, and neither of us said anything as we followed the woman.
Addy suddenly turned off the highway.
“
Keep a watch out,” Fab directed. “I’m going to slow down while we look for where she turned in. Once we’ve located the exact spot, I’ll turn around and get a closer look on the way back.”
“Some kind of road marker would come in handy.” I got out my phone, hit the video button, and held it up to the windshield. I wasn’t about to roll down the window on the off chance that Addy had doubled back to the road and would recognize us.
“I think she turned in here. Maybe.” Fab pointed over the steering wheel.
“Seriously? There’s nothing to indicate a turn-in. Nothing but a solid wall of trees.” I craned my neck to watch the side of the road and stared intently as we drove past.
Fab u-turned and drove back down the road even more slowly this time. “Oh damn,” she said, one eye on the rearview mirror. “Addy just pulled back onto the road and is gaining on us.”
“At least, we’re headed back toward civilization.” I drew my Glock, not about to be caught off guard a second time. “If anyone can outrun her, it’s you. Don’t do anything crazy, like initiating a middle-of-the-road showdown. There’s nothing in it for us.”
“If I were riding shotgun, I’d be tempted to shoot her tires out.” Fab hit the gas and flew down the two-lane highway far above the posted speed limit.
“Just get us home in one piece.” I kept my eyes glued on the outside mirror and breathed a sigh of relief as Addy’s car, which had almost closed the distance, began disappearing behind us.
But Addy didn’t give up and continued to follow us.
Thankfully, Fab didn’t push it, losing Addy at the first intersection. Down another block, she rocketed into a liquor store parking lot, around the building, and pulled up next to the side.
“I can’t continue to speed along this section of highway; it’s a speed trap heaven. We’ll give Addy a few minutes to see if she continues this way or gave up. If she’s a no-show, I’ll get back on the road. Hopefully, she’s turned around and headed back to the weeds.”
A few minutes later, the little sedan passed us. Addy never turned her head, intent on the road ahead.
I jerked on Fab’s arm. “Don’t go after her. The last thing we need is her on our tail again; we might not shake her again. Or she might be clever enough to stay out of sight and follow us home.”
“There are so many SUVs on the road, she’s not going to pick ours out, and besides, she’s not expecting us to come up behind her, which I’m going to make sure doesn’t happen.” Fab pulled back into traffic.
“Just let her go. This could end very badly and involve innocent parties.” I leaned back against the seat. “Where are the cops?”
“Maybe the 911 operator thought you were a crank call.”
“Much to their annoyance, I’m certain. They respond to plenty of those.” I made a face. “They’ll have a record of my number, and I’m sure I’ll hear back sooner or later.”
A half-mile later, we passed Addy sitting in a left turn lane. I twisted in my seat and was relieved to see her continue back the way she came.
“I’m no longer in the mood for shopping,” I said.
“Since you’re the one with the video, you can explain what happened to Creole. He can decide if it will be any help to law enforcement and whether to forward it or not.”
“I’m not sure how helpful it will be, but there’s a clear shot of the vehicle and the video will make it easy to locate where she’s living or close to it. How is Didier going to learn about this afternoon’s events?”
“I’m going to tell him much, much later.” She smiled devilishly.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Creole invited Harder to dinner when he called with an update on the Leona murder case, and Harder suggested the Crab Shack.
“Harder is getting a bad rep for only showing up for murder talk,” I said, following Fab and Didier into the restaurant while Creole cut around and headed to the reservation desk.
Decorated with fake palm trees and fish mounted on walls strung with ropes of lights, the restaurant had a low-key atmosphere. The patrons dressed casually in tropical chic.
“He’s been coming down here a lot lately,” Creole said as we followed the hostess out to the deck. “He’s joined the poker group, and he and Caspian have talked about going fishing, which is code for picking up women.”
We’d arrived early and the restaurant was only half full, the outside seating empty, even though it afforded a view of the cool waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The four of us took seats, placed a drink order with the server, and ordered an appetizer platter.
Harder sauntered out after our drinks arrived, whiskey in hand. Not his usual formally dressed self, he blended in in silk shorts and a tropical shirt. He tipped his glass and took a seat. “So what’s new?” He laughed.
Creole nudged my shoulder.
“Why me?” I grouched. “Fab was driving.”
Fab used her finger as a stirrer, then flicked vodka at me.
“Now what?” Harder demanded.
Fab told him how we’d run into Addy and followed her.
Harder snapped back. “You couldn’t call 911 and report it to the cops?”
Didier grinned down at his wife. He whole-heartedly agreed.
“We did, or Madison did. But they were a no-show.” Fab said, see, we did do the right thing in her tone.
“There was a four-car accident in that area around that time. That must have kept all the nearby cops busy,” Harder said.
“Are you interested in a copy of the video Madison shot?” Fab asked Harder.
“How long were you going to sit on that?” Harder shook his head in annoyance.
Fab pulled her phone out of her purse and forwarded him the video that I’d sent her. “Done.”
“Any pictures?” Harder asked. Fab shook her head.
The appetizers were delivered and drinks refilled.
“These look good,” Harder appreciatively eyed the stuffed shrimp he’d picked up.
“They’re a family favorite,” I said.
“What do you suppose Addy was doing with that girl?” Creole asked.
“Nothing good, you can bet,” Harder said. “It’s hard to believe there’s an innocent explanation, since the young woman appeared to be in distress.”
“What’s happening with the Leona case?” I asked.
“Sorry you had to walk in on that scene,” Harder said. “It’s difficult even for the most hardened of us.”
“We went there thinking the woman had left her phone off the hook and we’d tell her to call her daughter and reassure her all was well and leave,” I said.
“It’s a sad way for a ninety-year-old woman to end her life,” Fab said. “It looked like she put up a struggle.” There was no way Harder would get out of offering up a few details if she had anything to say about it.
“Mrs. Leone did put up a fight but was ultimately overpowered,” Harder said. “I have some good news, or as good as it can be. There’s been an arrest in the case and a confession, which makes our job easier, though even without the confession, there was a mountain of fingerprint evidence and a blood trail.”
The server interrupted, dropping off menus and asking about refills.
“I’ll signal you when we’re ready to order,” Creole told him and, after he left, turned to Harder. “I like it when there’s no doubt as to the guilt of the perpetrator.”
“It’s worse when a case goes unsolved,” Harder said. Creole nodded in agreement. “You ladies left before the arrest. That surprises me.”
“Sorry we missed that,” I said.
Creole nudged me.
“Are you going to cough up any details, or do we need to look it up online?”
“Fabiana,” Didier grouched, followed by something in French that didn’t faze her at all.
“It surprised me when the detective reported how helpful you were. He used the word ‘professional’ and no mention of the snarky tone you take with me.” Harder smirked.
“I
have my moments.” Fab’s blue eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Mrs. Leone had formed a friendship with the woman across the street—Rowena Blakely, a divorcee in her mid-fifties. Unbeknownst to Mrs. Leone, the Blakely woman was jealous of the relationship she had with her daughter. The attention she gave her and their outings grated on Blakely. The evening before, the two women had had plans to get together, and Mrs. Leone had cancelled to go to dinner with her daughter.”
“That pushed Blakely over the edge?” Fab asked in disgust.
“The Blakely woman already had anger control issues and a rap sheet going back ten years, which included two charges of battery,” Harder said.
“If she got therapy, it clearly wasn’t effective. More likely, she got better at hiding her erratic behavior,” Creole said.
“After her mother’s murder, Carrie Leona went over to break the news to Blakely, since she’d been friends with Carrie’s mother. Upon opening the door, Blakely told her, ‘Your mother started a fight and I had to defend myself.’ Then went on to tell her that they got into a fistfight, and shoving, hair pulling, and screaming ensued.”
“A ninety-year-old woman in a fistfight?” Creole said. “That’s a stretch. And I assume she didn’t have a rap sheet.”
“You’d be correct,” Harder said. “It was at this point that the Blakely woman told Carrie that she’d left her knife behind and wanted it back.”
“It was convenient that she brought her own knife,” I said in disgust.
“Thankfully, Carrie had the presence of mind not to react and to get away from the woman,” Harder said. “She immediately reported the conversation to the detective in charge, and he confronted Blakely, who told him the same story, adding that she was hit in the head and blacked out.”
“Yeah, sure,” Fab sniffed.
“Lucky for us, Blakely hadn’t changed her clothing, and her pants were covered in dried blood. She also had cuts on her hand. She told the paramedic that was called to check her out that she’d said she had an ‘altercation with the woman in the house last night.’ The medical examiner reported that in addition to the knife wound, Eloise Leona had suffered cuts and blunt force trauma to her head. Blakely was arrested and charged with murder, battery on a law enforcement officer, and resisting arrest.”
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