Bad Hair Day 4 - Body Wave (13 page)

*Chapter Thirteen*
The Historical Society office was located on Tarpon Avenue in a converted train depot. Inside the entrance, Marla gazed in fascination at a rolltop wooden desk with pigeonholes, bentwood desk chair, cast-iron potbellied stove pipe, dental chair and microscope from 1900, and an exhibit of arrowheads from Safford Mound, an Indian burial site near the Anclote River.
"Nice stuff," Vail commented, a flicker of pain behind his slate gray eyes.
This place brought back memories for him, Marla surmised with a surge of sympathy. She'd been to his house a couple of times, and it looked as though he hadn't rearranged anything since his wife died. Unlike Pam, who had collected antiques, Marla preferred contemporary furnishings.
Her musing broke off as an attractive brunette strode into the room from a back office. "Hi, I'm Lorraine Parker, the curator," she said with a friendly smile. "How may I help you?"
"We need information about Jeremiah Dooley," Vail spoke up, showing his badge.
Lorraine smoothed down her shirtwaist dress. "I've never met him personally, although I've watched his television show a few times. He follows his own church, if you get my drift. Jeremiah should be in his fifties now if I'm figuring right."
"I noticed a lot of Greek religious ornaments in the souvenir shop windows at the Sponge Docks," Marla said. "It appears he didn't follow his parent's Greek Orthodox religion."
"His mother was Irish Catholic." Lorraine stood in front of a framed photo collage depicting a winter water carnival in 1923. "Colleen wanted him to keep her last name. That's part of what led to the gossip, but it was also his early birth and full-term weight. Jeremiah didn't have Piotr's dark coloring, either."
"You mean the child wasn't his?"
"Not that he let on. Piotr hinted that the rumors were jealous ramblings started by Harriet Stanton, daughter of a town magnate. She's the one you should interview. Harriet set her sights on handsome Piotr, and everyone in town thought they'd tie the knot. Then Piotr vacationed in Fort Lauderdale and came back with a bride. No one could have been more shocked than his family! Piotr's parents never forgave him for their disappointment."
"How did the townspeople treat Jeremiah?" Marla asked. If people disliked his mother, they might have taken it out on the poor child.
"Colleen worked hard to earn the respect of Piotr's friends. They welcomed Jeremiah even though she raised him as a strict Catholic. Evidently, he decided religion was his calling, although he seems to have created his own sect."
Her snide tone pricked Marla's ears. "You think he should have followed in his father's footsteps and become a sponge diver?"
"He lives by the sea but grows fish in landlocked ponds. I'm not familiar with his missionary aims, but he supports some operations in Latin countries. You'd think he would focus his efforts here, where people need his help."
"Is he an ordained minister?"
"I'm not sure."
"Is he married?" Vail interrupted. He'd been studying a photo display of street scenes from the 1890s.
"Divorced, no children. Both parents are deceased."
"So the familial line ends with him, if he even carries it from his father. Where can we find Harriet?"
"She lives in Spring Bayou. Piotr would have been wealthy if he'd married her. Her family descended from the original settlers. Are you familiar with our early history?"
"Not much," Marla admitted, hoping the woman wouldn't keep them long. They could visit Harriet before their appointment at Ministry of Hope. She didn't look forward to the five-hour drive home. Groaning inwardly, she mentally reviewed her work schedule for the next day. Between sleuthing, styling, and managing the salon, she had no free time. This had to stop. After Stan got off the hook, she'd think about cutting back her hours.
"We didn't start out as the sponge capital of the world," the curator said, her eyes radiating enthusiasm for her topic. "One of the first settlers was A. W. Ormond who, along with his daughter Mary, built a cabin near Spring Bayou in 1876. Mary married a fellow named Joshua Boyer. Impressed by the tarpon that swam in the bayou, she proposed a name for the place.
"Next came Hamilton Disston, a wealthy manufacturer from the north who purchased four million acres of Florida land for twenty-five cents an acre. Along with his business associate, Anson Safford, he set up a land company to develop Tarpon Springs. Visitors arrived by steamer until the railroad came in 1887. That's the year Tarpon Springs became incorporated. It turned into a popular winter resort, with millionaires building Victorian mansions around Spring Bayou. We call that area of town the Golden Crescent."
"When did the Greeks arrive?" Marla asked.
Lorraine pointed to a pamphlet display on a small table. "Our sponge industry was started by John Cheyney, who worked for the leading landholding company in Tarpon Springs. Cheyney realized seasonal tourism didn't provide a stable annual income. Inspired by the industry in Key West, he established a sponge company here and hired a Greek, John Cocoris, as a sponge buyer.
"Cocoris proposed that the Greek method of diving was much more productive than the hook boats currently in use. He sent for his brothers, and then others from the Dodecanese Islands followed. In 1905, hundreds of Greek sponge fishermen came with their rubberized diving suits and copper helmets. A booming industry resulted as boat builders and suppliers arrived. With their families, a close-knit Greek community developed. Over the generations, the Greeks have been integrated into American culture."
"So Harriet is a descendant of one of those millionaires from the north?"
"Correct." Lorraine wrote down the woman's address. "Take Tarpon Avenue to the end, and park in the lot at Craig Park. You can walk to her house from there. Harriet will be able to tell you more about Piotr's family. Sadly, after being rejected, she never married."
As directed, Vail drove down Tarpon Avenue, which ended at Spring Boulevard. Turning left, they passed Banana Street before entering a parking lot next to a bayou that looked like a huge lake.
"Let's use that path." Vail indicated a concrete walkway winding around the water's edge.
Dead leaves crunched underfoot as Marla kept pace with his long stride. A chilly breeze blew off the murky brown water, bringing with it a briny odor. Wishing she'd worn a jacket, she hugged her arms as she watched a stingray swim by in the water, chasing a school of fish. In the distance, a couple of boys fished off a jetty. A crescent of mansions faced the bayou, some fully restored, others needing work. Squirrels scampered across grassy lawns toward oak trees hanging with Spanish moss.
On North Spring Boulevard, they climbed to the road and crossed the street. Continuing on the sidewalk, they passed a house built in 1885. Restored in 1976, it had a gated driveway with a NO TRESPASSING sign. Farther along, Marla paused in front of a delightful pink house with white gingerbread trim, a hexagon turret, and a wraparound porch. It reminded her of a candy cane. A gazebo stood on the front lawn.
"Is this Harriet's place?" she asked.
Vail referred to the paper Lorraine had given them. "Nope. Move on, we don't have time to linger."
Nor was it the three-story house with the myriad angles and gabled windows that made Marla eager to explore. Harriet's address was at an austere brown and white manor with an abundance of chimneys and fan windows, highlighted by a columned porch and a center turret. Despite the sunshine casting a soft afternoon glow on its facade, Marla shivered. The house reminded her of the Haunted Mansion at Walt Disney World. An unkempt lawn did little to assuage the overall effect.
"Can I help you?" asked the woman who opened the door at their summons. Her strong, assertive voice went along with a pair of piercing blue eyes.
Vail flashed his badge. "We'd like some information about Jeremiah Dooley, if you don't mind. This is my fiancee, Marla Shore."
Harriet glanced speculatively from Vail to Marla. "I only have a few minutes. I'm on my way to a meeting for the Garden Committee."
"We won't take much of your time," Vail reassured her.
As they followed the older woman inside, Marla tried to reconcile her expectations with Harriet Stanton's surprisingly young appearance. If she was within Piotr's age range, she should be in her eighties. But the lady who led them didn't look a day over sixty. Nor did she look like a spurned spinster. Her dyed blond hair, too light for her coloring, was teased into a bouffant style as though she'd just come from the salon. She walked with an erect, proud posture. Her flowered silk blouse hung a bit loose on her thin frame, but it tucked snugly into the waistband of a knee-length skirt.
"You have a beautiful house," Marla said, halting in a foyer with a wood parquet floor. A long hallway stretched ahead with archways leading to different rooms. From the unassuming exterior, she'd never have guessed the inside could be so impressive. Too bad they didn't have time for a tour.
Harriet gestured for them to take seats in the living room. "You're probably wondering why I live alone in a house with twelve rooms and five fireplaces. My father made his money in timber, and he used cypress and hard pine to build this place. It needs a lot of renovation, but that won't get done until my cousin inherits." She chuckled. "Poor Mortimer will have to wait awhile. His kids are more likely to inherit."
Vail balanced himself on the edge of an armchair. "Lorraine Parker said you were nearly engaged to Piotr Sebastian."
"That's right." Harriet's glance fell to the Oriental rug covering the floor. "Did she tell you I never married after the shock I received?"
"You must have been terribly hurt," Marla said kindly.
The woman's narrowed gaze swung to meet hers. "Piotr had promised we'd announce our engagement after he returned from a business trip to Fort Lauderdale. You can't imagine how I felt when he came back with a bride."
"I thought he was a diver," Vail commented.
"Piotr was a diver, but he also acted as a buyer for other interests. My family had hoped for better prospects for me, so they were thrilled when he returned with another woman. All I wanted was Piotr. A more dashing man you'd never meet."
"Did Piotr explain how he'd met the woman he married?" Marla asked.
"Colleen worked for a family with whom he had business dealings. You could tell she was Irish working class. We all thought it strange how she delivered a full-term baby eight months later."
"Did Jeremiah resemble his mama?" Marla persisted.
"Well, now that's the odd part. Jeremiah didn't have any of Piotr's dark Greek looks, nor did he have Colleen's red hair or fair complexion. His brown eyes and hair were a puzzle. The girl, she looked the spitting image of her mother."
"What girl?" Vail demanded. He cast Marla an impatient glance, nodding at his watch.
"The daughter, Katie. Didn't you know Jeremiah had a sister?"
"No, we didn't," Marla burst out. "Does she live in Tarpon Springs like her brother?"
Harriet's mouth dropped open. "Land sakes, gal, Jeremiah left these parts ages ago."
"How is that?" Vail said. "His Ministry of Hope is located on the outskirts of town. We have an appointment to meet him there."
Harriet regarded him with amusement. "That's his mission headquarters. He tapes his show elsewhere. The last I heard, he had a place down south. Miramar, maybe? No, it's in Margate."
_Margate! That's just north of Fort Lauderdale,_ Marla thought. Meaning he hadn't been so far away from Kimberly after all. "Where does his sister Katie live?" she repeated.
"I haven't a notion, honey. I haven't seen her around town for quite some time."
Marla handed her a business card. "If you hear of Katie's whereabouts, can you call me?"
"Sure thing. Say, Jeremiah hasn't done anything wrong, has he?"
"Nope, we're just gathering information," Vail said with a disarming smile. He rose, signaling Marla to follow. "Thanks so much for your cooperation, Miss Stanton."
In the car, Marla voiced what had been on her mind during their silent walk to the parking lot. "Jeremiah doesn't live in Tarpon Springs but closer to home. He may have been around the morning of Kim's murder."
"That doesn't mean much. As far as he's concerned, all we have on him is an old photo from Kim's family album, plus neighborly gossip. That doesn't provide a clear connection between him and the deceased."
"Stan said Jeremiah called on Kim one day when she wasn't home," Marla reminded him as they headed for the main road.
"So what?"
"Kim's neighbor thought she might be fooling around with Jeremiah. He drives an expensive car. Someone paid her tuition at the design school and gave her reason to believe she'd have enough money to leave Stan."
"Hmm." He directed his gaze forward, not meeting her questioning glance. "Maybe the neighbor was right," he said after a short interval. "I tried to tell you the other day on the phone, but you cut me off."
She remembered their quick conversation in the car on her way to the Pearls' house on Thursday. He'd started to say something when she'd arrived at the house and hung up. She'd forgotten to ask him about it Friday when he came for dinner. "What is it?"
"We got the medical examiner's report." He paused. "Kimberly was pregnant."
"What!" It was a good thing she wasn't driving, or she would have swerved off the road. "Bless my bones, Dalton, Stan wouldn't have harmed her if Kimberly had been expecting their child. You can't possibly suspect him anymore!"

"What if he knew the child wasn't his?"
"Dammit, you're still trying to pin this on him."
"I am not. Be reasonable and consider the possibilities."
"You're the one who's not being reasonable! No matter what, you still come back to accusing Stan. Admit it, you're jealous."
His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel. "That's not fair. You don't have any faith in me."
"Ha! Look who's talking."
"I'm doing my job, examining all the angles, which is more than I can say for you. You're the one who's biased."
"Because I know Stan didn't do it!"
"You see!" he chortled triumphantly.
Angry words hovered on her tongue, but she bit them back, clenching her teeth. Staring out the side window, she forced herself to review the options. Would Stan have been happy if Kimberly bore his child when he already supported two children from his previous marriage? Maybe he'd flown into a rage when Kim told him they'd be adding a new family member. Grabbing his letter opener, he'd followed his wife downstairs.
No, she discarded that scenario.
_Let's look at other possibilities._ What if the child wasn't Stan's? That would give him an even greater motive to kill his wife in a fit of passion. But it gave others a motive as well. Kim's classmates said she intended to hook up with Gary after leaving Stan. Had Kim mentioned to her best friend Lacey that she was pregnant? Maybe Lacey, who lusted after Gary, had killed Kim in a jealous rage, believing the father to be Gary. Or maybe Gary himself had done the deed. From the state of his business, it didn't look as though he could support any added burdens. Then again, if he was misleading Kim for her money and really intended to stick with Lacey, he might have gotten rid of Kim to save that relationship.
Gads, it was all so complicated. She ran a hand over her face, hating herself for her suspicions, resenting Vail for making her wish she could take back her angry words. Was he considering the same possibilities, or did he truly believe Stan to be guilty? Stubbornness kept her from discussing the issues with him. He'd accused her of being biased, but he was the one who kept pointing the finger at Stan. Besides, if he'd heard Kim was pregnant, why hadn't he told her sooner? She must be the only one who hadn't known!
Leah's enigmatic sentence popped into her brain: _She couldn't have chosen a more convenient time to die._ Of course! If Stan and Kim had offspring, then her children would no longer be his prime beneficiaries. Leah's remark implied she knew about Kim's pregnancy. Yet somehow, Marla couldn't think of Leah as a killer.
How about Elise Addison, who suspected her husband Cliff was cheating on her? If Kim had confided she was pregnant, Elise might have jumped to the conclusion her husband was the father. She might have offed Kim to get rid of the competition. On the other hand, Jessica Shpritz had implied that Jeremiah Dooley was Kim's paramour. The minister wouldn't want his reputation sullied. Had he bumped her off to silence her?
Kim was getting money from somewhere. Maybe she'd threatened Jeremiah with a paternity suit if he didn't cough up the dollars. He might have paid her tuition and promised a large enough payment to get her started on her own, away from Stan.
She looked forward to their discussion with Jeremiah Dooley. He might be twenty-plus years older than Kimberly, but that wouldn't matter to a gold digger. What had Jessica called him, a sugar daddy? Maybe Kimberly had found her golden ticket, but he'd torn it up in her face before she could collect the final prize.
Whatever else he was, Jeremiah Dooley might be their key to unlocking the mystery of who killed Kimberly Kaufman.