Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries) (23 page)

To thwart eavesdroppers in our murderous new era, the chief
had developed a code to communicate what and where. “Ninety-nine” was his code
for homicide. “BW1” told me to hightail it to the Beach West entrance—the first
street in this section of the island.

As people streamed from the chapel, Janie fought her way to
my side.

“There’s been another murder,” I whispered as I holstered my
radio. “Will you drive me home? I need my car.”

“Nope. But I’ll drive you to the body. Has to be Woody. Come
on.”

We made a beeline to the Caddy. Since she’d looped the
parking lot before settling, we were pointed in the right direction. I feared
reporters might notice our retreat and follow. Couldn’t be helped. You can’t
lose a tail on a five-mile island.

“It’s Beach West again,” I said. “Head to the entrance.”

Three security cars bracketed the scene, and yellow tape
circled an entrance fountain that shot water like a bi-polar geyser, twenty
feet with one pulse, two inches with the next. The fountain and its reflecting
pool were designed for ambiance, an aesthetic billboard for coming attractions.
There were no footpaths in this undeveloped section, and the fountain was two
hundred feet from the road. That made it unlikely passersby would spot a
foreign object floating in the reflecting pool. Even a big one, like Woody.
Perhaps a maintenance worker found him.

Janie parked, and we walked together to meet Chief Dixon. He
wouldn’t complain about Janie’s presence just as a city cop wouldn’t think
twice about the mayor’s top aide showing up if a crime promised to be a
political hot potato. On Dear Island, Janie wore the equivalent mayoral mantle.

“It’s that Nickel fella,” Dixon said. “I’m no coroner, but
he looks like he’s been floating a spell. Several hours at least.”

The chief gave my gray pantsuit, pink silk blouse and skimpy
leather flats a disgruntled once over. “Since you’re not dressed for duty, take
my car and play chauffeur. Go pick up the coroner and sheriff at Dear Island’s
helipad. They should land in ten minutes. Deputy Mann’s on the chopper, too. He
was leaving the sheriff’s office when I called in a new body.”

Janie stared at the corpse, all hint of wry amusement gone.
“I’m leaving,” she said abruptly.

The comment prompted Dixon to deputize my friend. “Hey,
Janie, I don’t want to go on the airwaves. How’s ’bout you find Sally and break
the news? Gator, too, if he’s back on the island. I don’t want ’em to hear this
secondhand. The guy was some buddy of Gator’s, right?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “Some buddy.”

Janie seemed mesmerized by the corpse. Electrical probes had
caught Woody in the throat, leaving vampire-like aftereffects. He appeared to
have suffered Stew’s fate—stunned, bound and drowned. However, while Stew
bobbed face down in a steamy cauldron with assorted veggies, Woody floated on
his back in the shallow pool. He was fully dressed in chinos, a Ralph Lauren
polo shirt, and Gucci loafers, no socks. Silver dollars covered his eyes and
mouth. The coins, glinting in the bright April sunshine, were secured by
see-through packing tape wound tightly around his head.

“Did our killer leave a calling card?”

“Afraid so. He spray-painted the retaining wall. This bastard
is one sick mother.”

Janie and I walked the perimeter until the Day-Glo paint
came into view: “3 COINS IN A FOUNTIN.”

Kain must not have checked this hit man’s spelling acumen.
Still the message was clear: the man orchestrating the killings was a
monster.

As Janie fought a gag reflex, I whispered urgently in her
ear. “Listen to me, Janie. I want you to talk to the chief this minute. Tell
him everything. When you climbed in the car, I had some news of my own. Your
story sidetracked me. This morning Hugh sent a note suggesting that Kain kill
you. It appears that Sally and Gator know you’ve been snooping. Do
not
go looking for either of them. Stay here with the chief until I get back.”

Little hiccup noises escaped Janie’s mouth. “I feel awful.
Woody’s death wasn’t real to me. Not until I saw his body. I can’t believe I
was cracking wise. I wanted Woody off the island…behind bars…out of my face.
But this is awful. He’s someone’s son. He has a five-year-old kid in Florida.
I’m ashamed.”

My friend spun and raced toward her Caddy. “Come back,” I
yelled as I sprinted after her “Talk to the chief.”

She turned as she opened her car door. “Not yet. Marley,
please, I need two hours. Then I’ll do whatever you ask. I think I’ve figured a
way to nail Gator, Sally and Kain. I’m going to the office. As soon as I leave,
I’ll come talk to you and Braden. Then I’ll do whatever you ask.”

A second later, Janie was gone, her Caddy’s wheels flinging
gravel.

Dammit. Goddammit.

Time passed in a blur after I picked up my charges at the
helipad. The first moment I had Braden alone, I shared Janie’s story. The glint
in his eye said he welcomed a break in the case, though Janie clearly vexed
him.

“That woman’s certifiable. What makes her think she can swim
unmolested in Dear’s cesspool?”

“Should we head over to the office and pick her up?” I
asked.

Braden tossed me his cell. “Call and order her to stay put
while I let the sheriff in on the latest developments. Tell her we’ll be there
in a matter of minutes.”

The receptionist recognized my voice and launched into a
breathless rundown. “Janie’s in a big powwow with Gator, Sally, and all the
agents. You heard about Mr. Nickel, right?” she asked in a stage whisper.
“They’re talking a moratorium on sales and an official mourning period.”

The woman took a breath. “Do you know how he was killed?”

I politely sidestepped her invitation to gossip and put in a
request for Janie to call as soon as the meeting ended. I covered the receiver
and asked Braden for his cell phone number.

“Please, make sure Janie phones the absolute second she’s
free.” I pushed the cell’s End button.

“She’s in a meeting with all the agents, so no immediate
danger. Want to head over and park outside her door?”

Braden massaged the bridge of his nose. “Since she’s safe
for the time being, I’d like a few more minutes with our bosses.”

While Braden huddled with the sheriff and my chief, I helped
corral the horde of reporters jostling for photo ops and shooed away the
tourist rubberneckers buzzing about in golf carts. Ten minutes ticked by. I
caught Braden’s eye, tapped my watch. He mimed listening to a phone and shook
his head. Janie hadn’t called. He held up his hand, his fingers spread wide, a
promise we’d leave in five minutes.

Dark clouds scuttled in from the sea, bringing with them a
premature dusk. The crowd thinned as darkness heightened anxieties about the
identity of the next victim.

Braden touched my arm and held up a set of keys. “Your chief
said to take his car and bring Janie to his office—in handcuffs, if necessary.”

“Suits me,” I said. “I bet Nickel’s killer is still on the
prowl. Are the twins okay? Did Grace show up at her lawyer’s?”

“Yeah, she actually turned up without her boyfriend. When
she couldn’t find Hugh, Grace tagged a neighbor to drive her to the
courthouse.”

We approached the real estate building. I looked for Janie’s
Caddy. It wasn’t parked in its reserved slot. The entire lot sat empty. “Uh-oh,
where did everyone go?”

We parked and ran up the steps. The building was locked. I
inserted my security master key beneath the door’s solemn black wreath. Inside,
I called Janie’s name. My voice echoed in the tomblike quiet. We checked every
room. Not a sound, not a soul.

Braden handed me his cell phone. “Call her.” After a couple
of rings, Janie’s chirpy recorded message announced she was out having fun and
would return the call soon—if she didn’t get a better offer. The
leave-a-message beep cut her off mid-laugh.

“Janie, call me. Right away. This is serious.” Once again I
provided Braden’s cell number.

I returned his phone. “Now what?”

“We search.” He notified our respective bosses Janie was
missing and told them we’d begin a search.

Since there were no lights on in Janie’s house and her car
wasn’t in the garage, we made a two-minute pit stop at my house. I stripped off
my mud-splattered Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes and slipped on a uniform with
sensible shoes. Since neither of us had eaten since breakfast, Braden threw
together ham and cheese sandwiches to wolf down in the car. As we headed out, I
grabbed two Cokes and a family size bag of potato chips. He smiled at my
additions.

“What? I munch when I’m nervous.”

I took a second peek in Janie’s garage. Her golf cart was
stabled, but no Cadillac. We tried the doorbell once more. Silence. No signs of
life.

“Any ideas where to look next?” Braden asked.

I knew where, but wasn’t anxious to say so. “Her Caddy isn’t
an easy car to hide. Let’s take a quick ride through Beach West, then check her
house again.”

On our drive, we speculated why Hugh had used a boat to haul
an ice chest full of cash to the island.

“Someone probably delivered the money by car until the
bridge went out,” Braden said

“And I think I know when the money laundering started,” I
added.

Braden looked at me in surprise.

“Until two months ago, any charge at a Dear facility—golf
course, restaurants, tennis shop—had to be put on a club charge account. You
couldn’t pay cash for anything. Sally wanted to make sure the folks using Dear
amenities were bonafide, dues-paying members. Then overnight she made a
one-hundred and eighty-degree policy reversal. Cash was hunky-dory.”

Braden nodded. “Sounds right. To deposit Kain’s cash, they
simply needed to phony up cash receipts and mix them in with legit ones.”

The next part of the transaction was a bit hazier for me.
“I’m guessing the new Dear largesse was invested in Emerald Cay LLC. Assuming
Kain was a principal, he’d have easy access to his money.”

As we bumped along Beach West’s logging roads, I sucked in
my breath at every turn, fearing our headlights would bounce off a pink Caddy.
I slumped in relief when we exited the untamed wilderness without spotting any
sign of evening trespassers.

“God, I wish Janie would call,” I grumbled.

At seven o’clock, we passed her house for the third time. I
was beyond worry. Her windows were black holes that swallowed all light and
energy.

“Let’s stop. I want to check the garage again. See if
Janie’s Caddy is back,” I said.

I’d taken only two steps when Pussy Galore streaked past me,
headed for the woods. The overweight Persian was still light on her feet. Too
quick to catch. I spun around and motioned Braden to lower his window.

“Get out and bring your gun.” Fear roughened my voice.
“Something’s wrong. Janie never lets her cat outside. Too many alligators.”

Braden radioed the gatehouse we were leaving our car. We
tiptoed to the garage window. The Cadillac now sat beside her golf cart.
When
had she come home?
If she was inside, why was her house blacker than soot?

“Let’s not advertise our arrival,” I whispered. “No knock,
no doorbell. If we scare the bejesus out of Janie, I’ll apologize later.”

“Agreed.” Braden thumbed the front latch. Locked. He raised
a boot to kick in the door.

“Wait.” I scurried down the stairs, upended a fake rock in
the flowerbed, and retrieved Janie’s spare key. Half the island knew where she
kept it—including Gator and Sally. That realization raised icy prickles on my
scalp.

As we rushed in, Braden’s penlight splayed across the floor
and walls. My pulse tap-danced as we cleared the living room with guns drawn.
In the kitchen, I heard a faint sound. A keening noise. I broke into a run. I
barely heard Braden’s hissed, “Wait.”

Anemic moonlight filtered through the skylight. My friend
was naked. Scarves bound her writhing form to the four corners of her poster
bed. Her head tossed furiously. Braden’s light swept over her face. Dilated
pupils crowded out all but a slender rim of blue iris. I could tell Janie
didn’t recognize me.

Gibberish outbursts intercut her moans. “Golf course…oh God,
no blue…gurg…uniform.”

I untied one of her wrists. Before I could undo a second
knot, she beat at me with her freed fist. The stream of verbal gobbledygook
continued non-stop. “Blue uniform…blue death.”

“Janie, please, I’m trying to help. It’s me. Marley.”

Braden flicked on the bedroom light.

She shrieked in agony. “No, no.…Lasers. Burning eyes. On
fire.”

The light increased her torment. Janie quit hitting me to
cover her eyes. Her squirming made it even harder to loosen the knots crimped
in the slippery silk. I recognized the scarf I was untying—swirls of purple,
green and pink. My flamboyant present for Janie’s last birthday.

Hot tears ran down my cheeks. I wanted to bawl like a baby.
Rage and impotence are a repugnant mix.

Braden swept the house, making certain the thug who tied
Janie was gone. I slumped in relief when he returned and holstered his gun.
“We’re alone. I called the paramedics. They’ll be here any minute.”

“Water!” Janie shrieked and bolted upright.
“Desert…thirsty.”

“What did they do to her?” Panic made my voice catch. “Will
she be all right?”

I attempted a bear hug to minimize the damage to both of us.
Janie’s fists pummeled my back like berserk jackhammers. She pivoted and I
turned with her. That’s when I saw the mirror’s rhyme, printed with one of
Janie’s crimson lipsticks: “Trumpet for a Strumpet.”

I blinked and read it again. “What the hell does that mean?”

Janie gave a strangled cry as her body convulsed. Braden
wound a blanket around our twined torsos, then pulled out a knife to cut her
thrashing feet free. My cheek pressed against Janie’s neck. Her racing pulse
danced a tattoo on my skin. It was off the charts. Her skin had turned a
frightening, illogical shade of red, like a cartoon character who’d eaten a
jalapeno pepper.

“Dammit. I think they gave her Angel’s Trumpet,” Braden
mumbled. “That’s scary. Last year in Atlanta, idiot teens made herbal tea from
the weed and a thirteen-year-old died. You can get high on the stuff but an
overdose can cause delirium, photophobia, even coma, and the victims become
combative. Her symptoms are classic. I found a baggie filled with seeds on the
kitchen counter next to her teakettle.”

I rocked my friend in my arms. “Hold on, Janie. Help’s on
the way.”

“What are her odds?”

Braden shook his head. “There’s no antidote. Maybe the
paramedics can induce vomiting. The hospital will pump her stomach and give her
something to absorb the poison. It’s a crap shoot.”

The sound of a siren vaguely registered as I pleaded with
God. Minutes later, paramedics rushed in. I knew these men, and they knew
Janie. They’d do their very best. Braden had described Janie’s condition when
he radioed, so the paramedics came prepared.

We helped the men wrestle her into a soft restraint jacket.
During the struggle, I crooned comforting words and tried to stay clear of her
windmilling legs. My shins felt like they’d been whacked repeatedly with a
shovel.

Braden turned to me. “I’m going to hunt down that bastard.
The teakettle was still too hot to touch. He can’t have gone far. We’d have
seen a car. He must be on foot. Any suggestions where to look?”

“A blue uniform…Janie mentioned it a couple of times. It
might have been pure delirium, but she could have been describing the
maintenance uniform. Light blue coveralls with names sewn on the pockets.
Coveralls could help the killer disappear in plain sight. He could hole up in
the golf maintenance shed until the crews start mowing fairways and prepping
greens. The uniform would make him invisible. He could walk away unnoticed.”

“Where the hell is this shed?”

“Across the eleventh fairway. Take Janie’s golf cart and cut
behind my house. It’s quicker than driving a car. Everyone calls it a shed, but
it’s a big metal building tucked behind trees by the water treatment plant. Be
careful. Wait for backup if you spot anyone. I’ll head over as soon as we get
Janie in the ambulance.”

“No, you won’t,” Braden ordered. “Stay here. My backup is on
the way.”

With what he considered a final edict, he split. I heard the
grinding sound of the garage door opening. Then Janie shrieked, and I returned
to her plight.

Please, God, let Janie live.

***

I gripped Janie’s hand as the paramedic wheeled the gurney
through her house. “Don’t worry, Marley,” Bill O’Brien said. “Beaufort Memorial
was preparing an airlift for a car crash victim. He died, and they diverted the
chopper here. The pilot may beat us to the helipad. I bet Janie’s herself and
chewing someone’s ass in the E.R. inside an hour. She’ll make it.”

“Thanks, Bill,” I answered.

In a flash, the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance and
warmed up their siren for the cross-island race to the helipad.

Staying at Janie’s side was pointless. She didn’t know me,
and Bill made it clear there was no room for me aboard the chopper. While I
couldn’t help Janie, I could help Braden. There is no such thing as too many
eyes, ears or guns when you’re searching for a stone killer.

I set off at a dead run across the eleventh fairway. By
road, it was a convoluted route to the golf maintenance compound, at least five
blocks. The fairway shortcut put it within easy reach of a three-wood—even
mine. A golf cart would have been handy, but the deputy had commandeered
Janie’s.

My lungs pushed air in and out like leaky forge bellows. I
was on overload—adrenaline, fear, anger. My breath puffed out in smoky white
clouds quickly dissected by the chill breeze. My oxygen uptake was so noisy my
brain almost failed to register the first gunshot. The ping of a bullet
striking metal makes a distinctive sound. The ricochet created a bouquet of
firefly sparks less than fifty yards away.

Squinting into the darkness, I recognized Janie’s
distinctive golf cart with its faux Mercedes hood. A tall, lean
man—Braden?—crouched beside it.

“Might as well give up.” Braden’s yell confirmed his
identity.

“You have the high ground, but backup’s on the way. You’re
on an island. Where you gonna go? Kill me and you’re dead. You know how cops
treat cop killers.”

The shooter let his gun answer. I saw the muzzle flash.
Thankfully, a companion metallic chink told me this bullet also missed its
soft-bodied target. But how long would it take a pro to correct his aim? Braden
was pinned down, and Janie’s golf cart provided piss-poor cover.