Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries) (22 page)

With the deputy acting as orchestra leader, the boys
performed a perfect duet. They took turns bragging about their feats of
daring-do.

“We used Jerry’s camouflaged johnboat—the one he takes duck
hunting.” Triumph laced Henry’s tone. “Hugh never saw us. When he beached on Sunrise,
we slid into tall marsh grass on that hump of island in the middle of the
channel.”

I interrupted. “I know the spot. Too far away for you to see
much.”

Jared bounced on the log seat like he had to pee. “We’re not
stupid. We brought binocs. Hell, we could have counted the hairs on his butt if
he’d bent over. We watched him play Tonto. You know, shading his eyes and
looking every which way for witnesses.”

Henry cut in. “Hugh went straight to a seashell, a big
mother wedged behind a palm. He stuffed something inside. He came back carrying
a big cooler. Blue with a white lid. Then he went back to brush out his
footprints.”

“Yeah.” His brother chuckled. “He must think he’s James
Bondage.”

The boys were on a high, convinced they’d cracked the case.
“Last thing Hugh did was tie orange tape around some scraggly pine. Once he
left, we motored over and snatched the shell.”

Henry jumped in, stealing his twin’s punch line. “Inside, we
found a message in a plastic bag.”

The brothers seemed oblivious to Braden’s look of alarm.
“Did you put it back where you found it?”

“’Course not,” Jared replied with glee. With a flourish, he
extracted a folded paper from his pants pocket. The grimy slip looked as if it
last resided in a cow patty. Grit and the teens’ greasy paws had long since
eradicated fingerprint evidence.

Braden sighed and held out his hand. “Did you touch the
orange tape?” he asked.

“No. Should we have brought that too?” Henry asked.

I shook my head. “The tape signaled Hugh’s pen pal that a
message was waiting. By now, he knows the drop’s been compromised. What a
colossal waste.”

For a second, the brothers looked crestfallen, then Jared
grinned. “Hey, there’s more. We got back to Dear in time to see fat-ass carry
the cooler to his SUV. We snuck a look soon as he went in the house. It was
full of money. Big wads of bills. We slid some twenties out.”

He pulled a bundle of dirty cash from his backpack and
thrust it toward Braden.

The deputy looked anything but pleased. He ignored the cash,
staring glumly at the note in his right hand. His look made me antsy. “Don’t
keep me in suspense, Braden. I’m the only one who doesn’t know what the note
says.”

“You don’t want to know.” He took a deep breath and read:
“GUARD & OFFICE MANAGER SNOOPING. URGE EARLY RETIREMENT WITH NICKEL.”

I snatched the note from Braden’s hand. A soft lead pencil
had formed the blockish capital letters on plain white bond. I read the note a
second time. Sweat trickled down my neck.

Jared looked at me and grinned. “It means you, doesn’t it?
You’re the guard.”

“It proves Hugh’s a murderer, right?” Henry piped up. “He’s
asking some mob guy permission to rub you out. You and some office manager. Is
Nickel a hit man or a gun?”

The boys discussed Janie’s and my impending demise with
relish. Nickel? What
did
it mean? Was Woody Nickel about to be retired,
too, or was he a hired killer?

Jared tapped Braden’s arm. “Can we watch while you arrest
Hugh?”

“Sorry, boys.” He pocketed the note. “No arrests today. I
can’t prove Hugh wrote this. You two could have invented the whole yarn.
Everyone knows you hate him…”

Jared yelped in protest. “We didn’t. What about the money?”
He scrunched his face like a baby primed for a three-alarm wail. “I thought you
were different, that you’d stand up to Hugh.”

The deputy clamped a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let me
finish. I believe everything you told us. But even if a money-packed ice chest
is still in Hugh’s car, I need a warrant. We need evidence we can take to
court. I’ll bring Hugh in for questioning, but even if I could prove he wrote
this note, there’s no specific threat. You could interpret it six ways to
Sunday.”

Braden shook his head. “I am taking someone into custody,
though—the two of you.”

“Hey, we didn’t do nothing,” Henry objected.

“Protective custody,” Braden finished. “Suppose Hugh is a
mad killer, you think he’ll send you to bed without supper if he finds you
tattled to cops? His life would be far more pleasant without you two skulking
about.”

The brothers obviously thought they’d booted Hugh from their
miserable lives. As Braden’s verdict sunk in, they slipped back inside their
prickly psychic armor. I saw the withdrawal in the set of their jaws, heard it
in their voices.

Jared’s hands curled into fists. “You’re going to dump us in
some juvenile detention center with a bunch of unwashed retards while Hugh
kills more people?”

“No,” Braden answered. “Marley tells me you live with your
father part of the year. We’ll pack you off to him for the time being.”

Henry’s lips trembled. He looked ready to cry. “Dad won’t
want us,” he blurted. “He hates us. Says we’re bad apples that dropped off
Mom’s rotten family tree.”

Braden and I shared a look. What could we say? For all we
knew, the kids had it right. “He’s your father,” I said. “Even if you’re going
through a rocky patch, he’ll want to keep you safe.”

Sullen looks on the boys’ faces said they weren’t convinced.

“What about Mom?” Jared asked as we trudged toward the
security vehicle on loan to Braden. “Hugh will kill her. You gotta tell her to
get off the island, too.”

The deputy responded to the boys’ growing hysteria. “Okay,
we’ll drive by your house. If Hugh’s gone, we’ll speak with your mother.
Suggest she leave the island.”

The boys recited their absent father’s phone number, and
Braden called on his cell. Hearing both sides of the conversation proved easy.
Mr. Cuthbert began to yell as soon as Braden suggested his sons might be in
danger. “It’s Hugh Wells, isn’t it? I hired a detective to check him out. That
SOB’s tight with the mob. Is he a killer?”

Braden tried to defuse the situation. “I’m sorry I can’t say
more. This is an ongoing investigation. I can’t comment. Please treat our
conversation as confidential. I just want to make sure your sons are out of
harm’s way.”

The deputy ended the call as we pulled into the Cuthbert
driveway. The boys claimed they’d last seen Hugh’s SUV in the drive, nose out
for a speedy exit. The space stood empty now. Had Hugh finished his errands and
garaged the vehicle? Was he home?

“Braden, let me go to the door. You stay in the car with the
boys. My face isn’t likely to cause any panic. They’re used to me showing up
when the boys screw up.”

Braden squeezed my hand. “Keep it simple—and fast. Just tell
Grace we’re taking the twins into protective custody. Tell her to head
immediately to her lawyer’s office in Beaufort so the authorities can fully
explain the situation.”

My heart hammered as I stabbed the doorbell. Understandable
given that the man of the house wanted to commission my murder. After the tenth
singsong bell, a disheveled Grace cracked the door. Her face was puffy, her
eyes pink. Any self-respecting rat would have fled her matted hair. Though it
was one in the afternoon, she wore a robe and reeked of alcohol.

“Are you home alone, Mrs. Cuthbert, or is Mr. Wells here
with you?” I asked.

She mumbled she was by her lonesome. After thanking my lucky
stars, I launched into a shifty song and dance. I claimed the twins were in
danger but declined to name a nemesis. Grace’s bobblehead quivered, and she
blinked fast enough to send Morse code. She raised no objections to my plucking
her sons from their palatial nest.

“Okay, we’re taking the boys into protective custody now,” I
said. “Please head to Beaufort as quickly as possible. Go to your attorney’s
office and ask him to phone the sheriff once you arrive. The authorities will
meet you there and explain everything in more detail.”

Grace’s muddled look told me I might as well be wearing a
space suit and speaking Vulcan. Was she safe? As she swayed on her feet, I
considered grabbing her arm and tossing her bathrobed body into the backseat
with her sons. That would only split open a new hornet’s nest.

I bid the lady goodbye and walked back to the car. A glance
at the boys broke my heart. Their eyes remained locked on their mom, who swayed
in the doorway, her face clouded with confusion. Henry put knuckled fists to
his eyes, while Jared bit his lips.

Despite everything, they still loved their mother.

Braden drove the car part way down the boat launch ramp,
opened his door with the engine idling, and signaled the captain. “Wait,
please. It’s police business.”

The captain looked up from untying lines. “Don’t have a
coronary. We’ll wait.”

Braden swung back into the driver’s seat and started to
close the door.

“Go on, get out,” I urged. “I can park it. I’ll even walk
home so you have a car waiting when you get back.”

His head snapped up. “What? No. You’re coming with us.”

I shook my head. “Sorry, I can’t. I have to warn Janie.
Someone knows she’s snooping.”

“We’ll phone her from the ferry,” he countered, “and I’ll
have the sheriff assign a deputy to protect her. I’ll tell him to keep an eye
on Nickel, too, since we don’t know if he’s a hired gun or on someone’s hit
list.”

I bit my lip. He wouldn’t like my answer. “There’s nothing
for me to do in Beaufort. You can handle the boys alone. The chief and Janie
need my help here. The memorial service for Stew and Bea starts in forty-five
minutes. Janie’s picking me up, and I promised the Condolence Committee I’d
bring brownies.”

The set of the deputy’s jaw suggested he was grinding his
teeth, attempting to stay cool in front of our young charges. “Brownies? You’re
worried about brownies? Boys, go on. Get on the ferry, Ms. Clark and I need a
minute alone.”

The twins didn’t move. Probably figured I was in for a
verbal thrashing and didn’t want to miss the show. “Move!” Braden barked.

Before they could close the car doors, he whispered
fiercely, “You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. I sort of understand
why you refused to pack up and leave before. But now you’re a sitting duck.
Hugh’s note wasn’t subtle. Do I need to take you into protective custody, too,
handcuffs and all?”

I raised my hands, palms out, fingers spread. “Calm down.
Remember, Kain didn’t get Hugh’s note. Nothing’s changed since morning except
we now know Hugh’s the island snitch and someone caught Janie snooping.”

I paused for a breath. “Nickel? We knew he was a player
before the note. If Janie and I put our heads together, maybe we can figure how
Hugh and all that cash might tie into a land flip or some other real estate
scam. She’s got her finger on the island pulse.”

“I already told you what that cash means,” Braden whispered.
“Kain’s laundering money through Dear Island. I’d bet on it.”

“All the more reason for Janie and me to compare notes. She
has more than a nodding acquaintance with Dear’s cash flows. Look, it’s broad
daylight. Kain’s thugs won’t attack the two of us at a memorial service in a
crowded chapel. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll even take my gun to church. Just
hurry. Go get your warrants and reinforcements, then hightail it back here
before sundown.”

Braden’s prolonged sigh sounded like air escaping a
punctured pool float. “You win…about this afternoon. But I’m not letting you
out of my sight tonight.”

“Deal.” I leaned across the car console to kiss him. The
minute our lips locked I shoved him toward the open door. “Don’t think I’m a
pushover though. Chief Dixon already gave orders for us to ride together
tonight.”

“You’re going on patrol—tonight? Good God, woman, you’re
driving me nuts.”

I watched as the deputy race-walked toward the ferry, his
muscular backside eye candy for any female who wasn’t cataract-impaired. A
second after he jumped aboard, the ferry shoved off and I was alone. At least I
hoped so. My courage was part bravado. Kain was right about me having an active
imagination. I could populate any landscape with bogeymen.

A perusal of the marina parking lot revealed no unusual
commotion. In fact, there was a total absence of activity. I figured most
islanders were getting ready for Stew’s and Bea’s wake. No ghoulish reporters
were visible either. Probably napping while they waited for the next spate of
murders.

I locked the car and walked briskly down the leisure path.
The pleasure of warm sunshine and the twitter of birds momentarily lifted my
mood. When a horn tooted, I jumped.

My friend Rita pulled her golf cart onto the verge. “Want a
ride? I just bought milk at the marina store. It’s a lot less crowded than E.T.
Grits.”

I smiled. “I could use a lift.”

Should I ask her to run me by the real estate office for a
quick tête-à-tête with Janie? No. Someone might overhear us in the office.
Besides it would be quicker to call.

I phoned the minute I walked in the house. Janie had already
left. Figuring she’d ring my doorbell in a matter of minutes, I took a
perfunctory shower. The speed made me feel like I’d entered an automatic car
wash: soap, rinse, dry, exit. Too bad I didn’t have a heat lamp—my headlights
were still damp when I tugged on my bra. A squirt of perfume, a brush through
my wet hair, and a pair of earrings later, I was ready to whip up icing.

Long ago I discovered I could pass off store-bought brownies
as a gourmet treat so long as I smothered the results with Aunt May’s scratch
icing. I draped a dishtowel around my shoulders to keep splatters off my
funeral duds then mixed sugar, butter and milk in a saucepan. I stirred
patiently until the mixture erupted in a roiling boil. When the bubbling brew
threatened to escape the pot, I pulled it off the stove, dumped in semi-sweet
chocolates and “beat like hell” per May’s recipe instructions.

If only I knew how to pull the boiling
Dear
Island
pot from the fire.

***

Janie honked five minutes ahead of schedule. I juggled the
pan of brownies while I locked the deadbolt behind me.

I slid into the pink Caddy’s front seat and glanced at
Janie. “You look pretty.” My friend’s ruby red dress featured a mandarin
collar, a slim oriental drape and a slit halfway to China. Hardly conventional
funeral attire, but it suited. She’d twisted her blonde hair into a
conservative chignon. Somehow the overall impression came closer to demure than
come-hither.

“Thanks. I figure I better play dress up while I can. Who
knows when I’ll be living out of a dumpster and dressing like a bag lady? My
best guess is I’ll be out on the street next week.”

Primed to do an information dump of my own, I bit my tongue
and waited to hear Janie’s news. Once I scared her, she might forget something,
a detail that mattered.

“What are you nattering about?” I asked.

Janie looked past me to my porch. “Wait. Where’s your cop?
Is he coming? I ought to tell you both at the same time.”

“Tell us what? Braden left for the mainland. He’ll be lucky
to make the last ferry.” The deputy would have a busy afternoon what with phone
calls, interrogations and search warrants. I prayed Grace had enough
functioning brain cells to phone her attorney and head to Beaufort without
Hugh.

“Well, guess the deputy will have to wait for the skinny,”
Janie continued.

“Okay, you’ve got my full attention. What?”

“With Sally and Gator both off island for Bea’s funeral, I
had a perfect opportunity to nose around, especially when Woody didn’t show for
work. The office was like a candy store. No worries about some yahoo walking in
on me while I rifled desks.

“But Bea’s memorial service proved briefer than a pair of
low-rise panties. Maybe the minister was stumped, trying to say something nice.
Whatever. Gator and Sally came back while I was rummaging through my boss’s
files. When I heard him say, ‘Janie’s not here. We can talk,’ I panicked and
hid in the closet.”

My friend’s hand left the wheel to make a cuckoo motion at
her temple. “Can’t believe how loony that was, hiding. I’m in and out of
Gator’s office a gazillion times a day. No reason to hide. But I did, and I
sweat bullets, afraid to breathe. Then the two of ’em started discussin’ this
secret rendezvous with Kain. They met him in the basement of the mortuary.”

“They what?” I was flabbergasted.

“Hold on, it gets better. At first, Gator and Sally talked
normal—like they were comparin’ 401K funds. But they always whispered Kain’s
name. Gave me the willies. It was as if he were some demon who might spring out
of the closet. Glad they didn’t check.”

“All right, already, spit it out. We’re almost to the
chapel. What did they say to wind you up like a top?”

She took a deep breath. “Woody’s dead. Murdered.” Janie
paused. “Guess that sort of explains why he didn’t come to work.”

“You’re sure? Where? How?”

“I don’t know. Neither do Sally or Gator. Kain simply
ordered my illustrious bosses to keep their traps shut or they’d join him. That
sick Pole even reminded Gator that his nickname suggested intriguing options
for an epitaph.”

Janie shivered. “This guy plays the godfather role to the
hilt. A horse’s head here, a carrot there. You know those notes left with the
bodies? ‘Stewed’… ‘To Bea or Not to Be.’ Gator said Kain uses them to confuse
the cops and scare the crap out of anyone he’s got by the short hairs. Who’s
going to cross a guy with a mind that works like that?”

“That’s it? Everything you heard?”

“No. I didn’t track all of the conversation. They said
something about laundry, and Sally was pissed that Kain refused to write off
the two million he fronted to buy Hogsback.”

My head pounded. Kain’s illegal businesses—undoubtedly
legion—generated cash that needed laundering. I got that. And it didn’t take
much of a mental leap to assume that two million of his money had wound up as a
down payment for the purchase of Hogsback Island a.k.a. Emerald Cay. But I
couldn’t help but share Sally’s wonder at Kain’s chutzpah. I’d personally
promised the guy the authorities would examine every Emerald Cay document. How
did he think he could pull off an extended land flip?

When I shared my train of thought, Janie chewed on her lip.
“Kain plans to bury all the fraud mess with Woody. He told my bosses Nickel
could still be the fall guy—just like they planned from the get-go. He signed
all the phony documents. Now that he’s dead, Kain said they could play
innocent, develop Emerald Cay for real.”

My brain was stuck on double-dealing overload. How many
crooks were involved?

What happened to honor among thieves?

I stopped Janie’s monologue with a question. “Wait a minute,
weren’t Gator and Woody fraternity brothers? Are you saying Gator set him up
from the beginning?”

“Guess so.” She shrugged. “Kain ordered Gator to bring in a
sales manager who couldn’t refuse a bribe. His old school buddy fit the bill.
Then one of Kain’s pals bribed Woody to let him handle all the Dear Island
appraisals. Once Gator could prove the bribe, Dear’s new sales manager had no
choice. He had to play along with the land flip. Of course, the slime bucket
might have agreed anyway.”

“So how does Hugh fit into this mess?”

“Best I could tell from Gator’s string of obscenities your
Polish mystery man met Hugh and Grace on a cruise ship. Hugh gambled while
Grace drank. When our island gigolo lost a pile of money, he turned to Kain,
who canceled his gambling debts in exchange for enough insider information to
blackmail Gator and Sally.”

My mind teemed with questions. What kind of blackmail did
Hugh offer on Sally and Gator? Would Janie’s testimony be enough to put these
scumbags away? No.

We reached the chapel and Janie—ever the optimist—made a
slow circuit of the packed parking lot. Not a single opening.

“Cripes, I’m gonna ruin these shoes, traipsing through the
outback,” she complained as she whipped her Caddy onto the grass median a
hundred yards down the road.

I retrieved my brownies from the backseat before Janie
locked the car. “You know where we’re headed as soon as this service is over,
don’t you?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Janie replied. “I figured you’d tell me it was time
to have a long chat with the chief or one of the deputies. Now un-knit those
brows or you’ll have wrinkles the size of plow ruts by sundown. Not the way to
impress your new boy toy.”

At the nondenominational chapel, well-dressed islanders
shuffled forward in meandering queues. The crowd at today’s memorial service
was the largest I’d seen. Memorial services for Dear departed are a traditional
rite of island passage. Often the official funeral services are held in distant
cities—Akron, Pittsburgh, Chicago, Albany—the places where retirees once
worked, raised children and bought cemetery plots.

Local memorials gave islanders a venue to reminisce and
grieve. After the services, the Condolence Committee provided refreshments in
an adjacent community center. The whole shebang had the feel of a wake. Though
alcohol was officially banned, the Irish and their kissing kin frequently snuck
in flasks to baptize their coffee.

By the time the line of mourners snaked inside the chapel,
all the pews were full. Round rumps were wedged into place like stuffed
decorator pillows on an overloaded settee. We’d stand for the entire service. I
was glad I’d worn comfortable shoes.

A dozen people took turns at the altar, remembering Stew’s
kindnesses and virtues. Shifting from foot to foot, I wondered if anyone would
eulogize Bea. Finally one woman came forward. Her bland comments seemed more a
matter of courtesy than conviction. The contrast made me wonder:
Will anyone
give a flip when I’m gone?

As the visiting minister revved up for the benediction, my
beeper vibrated.
Uh-oh.
In these circumstances, the chief only rang in
an emergency. I whispered in Janie’s ear and edged toward the exit. Then I
noticed others in sneak-out mode. A dozen reporters who’d come to scribble
notes for human-interest follow-ups skulked toward the exit. Somehow these
mainlanders had tapped into the island tom-toms.

Once outside, I moseyed to a remote corner of the deck that
surrounded the chapel. The chief’s message was terse. “Ninety-nine,” he said.
“Check point BW1.”