Literally Murder (A Black Cat Bookshop Mystery) (21 page)

Once in the shower, Darla washed a salt shaker’s worth of salt from her hair and as much sand from various crevices and crannies. Fifteen minutes later she was clean, dressed in blue denim crop pants and a Hawaiian top with a towel wrapped around her head, realizing that she hadn’t put on as much sunscreen as she’d thought.

“Ugh, sunburn,” she declared as she gingerly made her way back into the living room, where the other two women waited. “I didn’t realize I got that much sun until the shower got hot.”

“Keep in mind yer in the tropics,” Nattie told her. “That sun can be a real killer, even in winter. I’ll get ya some aloe gel from my bathroom.”

She hopped up without waiting for Darla’s response and headed toward her bedroom. Jake waited until she’d disappeared down the hall to softly ask, “You get anything out of her about the memorial service?”

Darla shrugged. “Maybe. Food was good, but all anyone did was talk nicely about Ted. The only really interesting thing was that Alicia Timpson was apparently mourner-in-chief.”

“Great, put her back to the top of the suspect list,” Jake muttered, but by then Nattie had returned carrying a clear plastic jug filled with bright green gel and topped with a plunger.

“Here ya go, Darla. It’s the economy size. I bought it at one of those membership clubs.”

With the sunburn starting to sting in earnest, Darla gratefully pumped a handful of gel and began slathering it on all exposed skin. Hamlet, who had been lounging beneath the coffee table washing up after his second slice of pepperoni, gave her a curious look through the glass. Then, with a blink of his green eyes that seemed to say,
Humans—can’t even bathe correctly
, he returned to his ablutions.

Jake, meanwhile, had pulled out her phone and was paging through a few screens. “This app shows the supposedly best shopping in the downtown Fort Lauderdale area. But our big question is, are we going to be looky-loos, or do we intend to buy?”

“Both,” Darla and Nattie chorused, and then smiled at each other.

“Works for me,” Jake agreed. “I’m going to check off a few stores here, plus if Ma has any she wants to add to the list, we can—”

“Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,” a man’s saccharine voice trilled from the vicinity of the kitchen, cutting Jake short.

Startled by the unexpected music, Darla looked around for the radio, until she realized she was hearing a ring tone. “Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee.” Apparently, both generations of Martellis had a penchant for downloading corny songs to their respective phones. And if she wasn’t mistaken, the singer on this one was none other than Roy Orbison.

Nattie, meanwhile, leaped from her chair.

“Oops, that’s mine,” she said and trotted to the kitchen, where her cell phone lay plugged in on the countertop.

Darla heard her answer with a “Hello?” promptly followed by a merry-sounding “Oh, hello.”

“Sounds like Gidget has a boyfriend,” Jake murmured. “Too bad there’s not an extension where we could listen in.”

Darla snickered, but her amusement swiftly faded as she heard the old woman say, “No,” in a sharp voice that lacked any hint of flirtation. Jake must have caught it, too, for she looked up from her phone and stared toward the kitchen.

“No. Yes. Yes. No. All right,” they heard Nattie say in curt succession.

Darla glanced at Jake and stage-whispered back, “That sounds like in the movies, when someone on the other end is asking if you’re alone, is so-and-so with you, and giving instructions on where to drop the ransom money.”

Jake shook her head and raised a hand for silence, frowning as she listened.

“Yes, I understand,” Nattie clipped out. “Good-bye.”

A few moments of silence hung over all of them before Nattie finally returned.

“Ma, is everything all right?”

Nattie waited until she’d settled on the sofa again to answer. “Oh, sure, sure, everything’s fine. That was just one of the girls from the Bunco group. She had a death in the family, so we won’t see her this week. She asked me to watch her Maltese while she’s gone.”

Maybe it had been Mitzi the Maltese’s human mom on the phone? Still, Nattie seemed more upset than the phone call warranted. Looking over at Jake, Darla wasn’t sure that her friend was buying it, either.

Nattie apparently realized she was being scrutinized, for she grinned and gave a wave as if dismissing the momentary gloom.

“Girls, yer taking things too seriously. We’re supposed to be having fun. Besides, Doris’s aunt had to be ninety if she was a day.”

“If you’re certain everything is all right . . . ,” Jake replied, her expression still concerned.

“Seriously, Jacqueline, it’s fine.”

Then she snapped her fingers, as if recalling something. “Maybe you girls wouldn’t mind going down to my mailbox. I always get lots of coupons from the local shops. They might be having some specials, so that could help decide where to go.”

Darla shrugged. “Actually, I wanted to take Hamlet out to stretch his legs again for a few minutes anyhow, since he didn’t get to go outside this morning. Jake, do you want to go with me?”

“Sure,” Jake agreed—a little too swiftly, in Darla’s view. She suspected the PI wanted to discuss the Alicia situation without Nattie knowing.

While Nattie went to find her mailbox key, Darla retrieved Hamlet’s leash and harness from the guest room, then stuck her phone in her pocket. As soon as he spotted the harness, Hamlet uncurled himself from his spot beneath the coffee table and trotted out. Darla had his harness fastened and had just snapped on the leash when Nattie returned with the mailbox key.

“Here you go,
bambolina mia
,” she said to Jake. Darla was amused to see that this key ring also sported a teeny version of the zebra-striped heart that hung from the woman’s main set of keys. “I’ll just lie down here on the couch for a little nap.”

Leaving Nattie stretched out on the floral cushions, Darla headed out the door with Jake and Hamlet. It wasn’t until they were in the elevator that she spoke.

“So you think something happened at the memorial service that your mother isn’t talking about? Maybe having to do with Alicia?”

“I’m not sure. I’m also not convinced it was Doris on that phone call a few minutes ago.”

“Who would it be, then?”

“You heard that little ‘hello’ of hers,” Jake reminded her with a shake of her head. “I’m thinking someone male, and someone she knows pretty well.”

“You mean Billy?”

“Got it in one, kid. I’m going to see if I can’t get hold of her phone when we get back so I can check her call log.”

They cut across the lobby to the alcove that served as the mailroom, Hamlet leading the way. While Darla and Jake looked for Nattie’s condo number, the cat sniffed at one particular box like a small dog in search of a buried bone.

“What are you doing?” Darla asked him with an indulgent smile. “Did someone get an order of pepperoni in the mail?”

Hamlet paused and shot her a very human look of disdain at the question, drawing a laugh from Jake.

“I think he understood you,” she said as she found Nattie’s mailbox and inserted the key. She opened the metal door, and then said, “Empty.”

“Oh, my dear,” a voice said behind them, “the mail doesn’t come for another hour or so. Nattie should have told you that.”

The speaker was a short, corpulent woman with hennaed hair lacquered to her scalp. Darla recognized her from the memorial service.
Nattie’s friend, Mae.
The old woman gave them a friendly nod as she dropped off a letter in the outgoing box, and then caught sight of the cat at the end of the leash that Darla held.

“Why, this must be Hamlet,” she said in an admiring tone, bending for a closer look. “My, he is a handsome fellow. Do you suppose he’ll do a karate trick for me?”

“Oh, sorry, Mae, but Hamlet doesn’t perform on command. He’s a very independent cat.”

The old woman made a disappointed face. “Well, maybe another time. See you girls later.”

While that exchange had been going on, Jake had relocked the box again. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that Ma sent us down here on wild goose chase.”

“I’m sure she just looked at the clock wrong,” Darla reassured her as they left the alcove. “I’ll go ahead and take Hamlet for his walk up front, like I planned. We’ll see you back upstairs, unless you want to come along.”

“No, I’ll—”

She broke off as her cell phone rang. Looking at the display, she brightened a little. “It’s Officer Johnston. Maybe he’s got some news,” Jake said as she pressed the talk button. “Martelli here.”

The brief exchange that followed seemed a repeat of Nattie’s phone call earlier and mostly consisted of “yes” and “uh-huh” on Jake’s part. Darla listened impatiently to that portion of the conversation. As usual, Jake’s expression gave nothing away, so she couldn’t guess if it was good news or bad that Johnston was sharing. A few moments later, Jake hung up again and gave Darla a considering look.

“What?” she demanded.

Jake smiled a little. “It seems they’ve had a break in my case. Someone who was at the cat show finally checked out all the digital photos they took. They have a picture of someone hauling a cat in a carrier out of that door that led to behind the stage. It’s date-stamped just about the time the attack went down. Johnston is going to send the photo to me in a minute so I can see if I recognize the person.”

“That’s fabulous news,” Darla replied with a smile of her own. She glanced down at Hamlet and told him, “Don’t worry, Hammy. We’re close to figuring out who catnapped you.”

Hamlet seemed less concerned about that, however, than by what was outside the lobby doors. He gave a tug on the leash in that direction, causing Darla to glance that way.

“What, did you spot a bird?” she asked him, only to give a little cry of surprise as she saw what had caught his attention. Despite the frosted palm-tree images on the glass, she could make out a car traveling along the half circle loop of the driveway.

A dark green Mini Cooper, convertible top down
.

Darla’s eyes widened. She couldn’t see the driver, but she did glimpse a shock of bright hennaed hair bouncing like a cockatoo’s crest over the steering wheel.

“Jake, quick—look! I swear I just saw your mother drive by,” she said and pointed past the lobby door.

SEVENTEEN

THE PI’S GAZE FOLLOWED DARLA’S GESTURE, BUT BY THEN
the little green convertible had already vanished. “Darla, are you sure? Why would Ma drive off like that?”

Darla shook her head. Then they exchanged knowing gazes as the identical thought occurred to them both simultaneously.

“The phone call!”

Jake shook her head. “I knew it! She sent us down here so she could sneak out to the parking garage without us knowing. If she wasn’t my mother, I’d wring her neck for this little stunt.”

Looking truly peeved, Jake hit a couple of buttons on her cell, putting it into speaker mode as it dialed. A moment later, Darla heard Nattie’s voice, which sounded to her exaggeratedly carefree.

“Jacqueline, why are you calling? Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, Ma, something’s wrong. Darla just saw you drive off. Where in the heck are you headed, and why didn’t you tell me, first?”

A nervous little laugh was the reply, and then Nattie said, “Why, I’m right upstairs. Darla must be mistaken.”

Darla looked at Jake and gave her head a vigorous shake, mouthing the word “no.” She’d not seen another green Mini in the parking garage the other night. It had to have been Nattie, she was certain.

And then the sound of a car horn and a muttered, “Eh, keep yer pants on,” came through loud and clear on the speaker.

If looks could kill, Jake’s cell phone would be six feet under, Darla thought. Even so, the PI’s tone was surprisingly even as she shot back, “Good try, Ma, but we can hear the traffic. So, spill. Who called you, and where are you going?”

“Fine, I’ll tell,” the old woman huffed. “Billy needs my help. He wanted me to go to his place right away, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“Ma, if he needs help, he should call his attorney, not you,” Jake clipped out. “So turn around and get back here.”

“Jacqueline, I’m ashamed of you,” the old woman cried, her voice loud enough to make Hamlet jump. “I taught you never to turn your back on your friends. Billy said I was the only one who could help him, and I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone else. I shouldn’t’ve said anything to you. Now, I’m hanging up.”

“But, Ma, you can’t—”

The phone went silent. Muttering a curse, Jake ended the call from her side.

Darla gave her a sympathetic look. “She’s only going to Billy Pope’s place. I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

“Didn’t you hear what she said?” Jake demanded, her expression one of true concern now. “She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone where she was going. And that call we overheard—‘yes, no, yes’? Someone was giving her instructions on what to do, and it might not even have been Billy. Something tells me she’s about to walk into a boatload of trouble.”

“Maybe Mildred knows what’s going on,” Darla hurried to suggest. “Your mother has been acting evasive ever since she got back from the memorial service. Mildred was with her all morning. We could go talk to her.”

“Except that Mildred hasn’t been on my most-trusted list since you saw her sneaking around with the cat. But you’re right, kid; she might know something useful since she was with Ma at the memorial service. Any clue which condo is hers?”

“No, but I think she’s on the second floor.” Then, with a glance back at the mailroom alcove, she added, “Do you know her last name?”

“We can start with the first initial ‘M’ on the second floor.

Jake paused and then held up her phone. “Wait, I just got a text. It must be the photo from Johnston.”

“You check that. Hamlet and I will look at the mailboxes.”

Hamlet was ahead of her, however, rushing at a quick cat trot back into the alcove. Clinging to the leash, Darla hurried after him.

“All right, Hammy, help me look. First initial ‘M,’ and an address starting with a two,” she said. But Hamlet was already pawing at the same mailbox that had interested him earlier. Darla bent to read the name.

M. Fischer, #2024.

It took her a moment to make the connection. “Jake, get in here! You have to see this.”

“Yeah, well you have to see
this
,” Jake countered as she walked in, phone clutched in her hand. “Johnston’s photo came through nice and clear. Take a look and tell me who you see.”

Heart beating faster, Darla squinted at the photo. A small figure with cat carrier in hand had been caught slipping past a knot of spectators whose attention was focused on the stage where Hamlet’s video had been playing. The person’s face was partially turned away, but the helmet of gray hair was clearly visible, as was her official purple FSA polo shirt. Darla zoomed in on the figure and saw a glint of silver that appeared to be eyeglasses.

She looked up at Jake and nodded. “Mildred.” Then, pointing at the mailbox that had held Hamlet’s attention, she clarified, “Mildred Fischer.”

Jake, meanwhile, was still squinting at the photo. “This”—she waved the phone—“doesn’t necessarily mean Mildred is our suspect. I seriously can’t see her skulking around with a bottle ready to hit someone over the head. For all we know, she might have been helping out an exhibitor. And Sam would laugh herself to death if I called and told her to arrest that nice old lady because Hamlet was pointing a paw at her. Let’s start by going to see if Mildred is home. Maybe she can shed some light on this.”

But no one answered at number 2024.

“You don’t suppose maybe Mildred’s dead inside, do you?” Darla gingerly asked after they’d knocked and waited a good minute.

Jake pounded on the door one last time and then shook her head. “No, or else super sleuth here would be doing some kitty karate to bust open the door,” she said with a gesture at Hamlet, who was sitting silently at Darla’s feet. “My gut feeling is that if Ma is over at Billy’s house, so is Mildred. We need to find a way to get over there now.”

“I’ll see if I can get hold of Tino,” Darla promptly suggested, reaching for her phone.

For once, her timing was perfect.

“Hey,
chica
. What’s shaking?” the young man exclaimed when Darla had identified herself. “You need a tour guide after all?”

“It’s more important than that. I think Jake’s mom is in trouble—bad trouble—and we don’t have any way to get to where she is. Can you drive over to Lauderdale Tropics condos right now and pick me and Jake up?”

“Sure,
chica
. I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, Tino. We’ll wait for you outside in the driveway. And hurry!”

Even before Darla had hung up, Jake was heading down the hall. “Go hold the elevator,” she said as she unlocked the door to Nattie’s condo. “I need to get something, and then I’ll be right there.”

She reappeared almost immediately carrying a large shopping bag with the Waterview Hotel’s logo on it. “All right, let’s get downstairs,” Jake said as she rejoined Darla and Hamlet.

No more than five minutes had passed by Darla’s watch when Tino came peeling into the drive. They didn’t wait for him to climb out, but opened the doors themselves and hopped in.

“Hey,
chicas
. Looks like the whole gang is here,” he said as he looked back at them. Then, glimpsing Jake’s hard expression, he hurriedly corrected himself. “Sorry, I meant ‘ma’ams.’ Where are we going?”

“Take us back to Billy Pope’s house, now,” Jake told him before Darla could reply. Then, as he nodded and turned back around, she added, “And don’t worry, ‘
chica
’ will do.”

Tino nodded and squealed out of the drive before Darla had finished belting herself in. Bracing herself with her feet against the front seat, she set Hamlet on her lap and wrapped her arms around him. The last thing they needed was to hit a speed bump and have the cat go flying.

“What’s the trouble?” the cabbie said as they zipped down the residential street, retracing their route from the other day. “You want me to call my cousin, Ana? I got her on speed dial.”

“Not just yet,” Jake said. “But if things don’t work out well, we might need her and Johnston, and Detective Martinez, too.”

They made the drive in what Darla figured had to be record time. Hamlet, his fur looking ruffled, hopped off her lap while she unbelted herself. Jake had already scrambled out and, shopping bag in hand, was standing in front of the metal intercom box, finger pressed to the call button.

“You want me to wait?” Tino asked as Darla climbed out.

She nodded. “I don’t know what’s going to happen here, so we might still need you. Plus, you’re going to have to go back to the condo anyhow, since I kind of forgot my wallet.”

“Hey,
chica
, I trust you. Say, what’s your tall friend doing?”

Darla looked over to see Jake had left the intercom box and was examining the wooden gate. Darla and Hamlet joined her. “No one answering?”

“Not a peep. But look—there beside the garage. I think that’s Ma’s car.”

Sure enough, what looked like the rear end of a small green vehicle was barely visible around the corner of the three-car garage. Darla nodded. “Cameras?”

“Almost certainly.” Gesturing Darla to follow, Jake returned to the box and pressed the bell once again. Then, giving her head an exaggerated shake, she told Darla, “Let’s go.”

They went back to the cab, where Tino was waiting in the driver’s seat, window down. “You said the other day that Billy Pope has a dock out back,” Jake softly said. “Do you know if it’s in clear view of the house?”

He nodded. “Yeah, he’s right on the water. You can pretty well hop off your boat and walk right past the swimming pool over to the house.”

“Sounds like our only choice. You think you can drive us back around to the launch to see if we can find someone who’ll drop us off there?”

“Hey,
chica
, I can do you one better. My buddy Ricko has a fishing boat he hires out. If he’s there at the launch, he’ll take you.”

They piled back in the cab again, and Tino drove off. Jake, meanwhile, pulled out her phone again and dialed.

“I’m going to try calling Ma again and see if she can talk. I’m putting it on speaker so you can hear, but let me do all the talking. There’s a good chance that if she does pick up, she’ll have us on speaker, too, so whoever is there can listen in. And we don’t want to tip our hand.”

The phone rang twice, then Nattie’s voice answered, “Hello?”

“Hey, Ma. It’s me, Jake.”

“Oh, hi, Jake. What do you want?”

Darla raised her eyebrows in alarm. She’d never heard Nattie use that nickname. Jake caught her glance and nodded. Obviously, her mother was raising a signal right off the bat.

“I just wanted to let you know that Darla and I decided not to wait for you to come back to go shopping. We called a cab, and we’re going to head downtown and poke around in some of the shops. Is that okay?”

“Sure, sure,” came Nattie’s voice. “I should be back in time for you to take me to that fish place you talked about, and then we can watch another Gidget movie exactly like last night.”

Exactly like last night. As in, with Mildred there?
Darla thought.

“Sure, Ma, that sounds great,” Jake said. “Anyhow, we’re off to spend some money. I’m looking for a framed watercolor like the one we had in the guest room in the Thirty-Fourth Street house back when I was a kid. Remember how much I loved it?”

There was a small snort from the other end, and then Nattie answered, “Yeah, yeah, I remember. Your aunt Gianna painted it. She was talented, wasn’t she? Well, I’d better go now. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Ma.”

Jake hung up and then put a hand to her forehead. “It’s bad. She never calls me Jake, and she darn sure never says she loves me when she hangs up the phone. We’ve got to get into that house, and now.”

“Don’t worry,
chicas
, we’re here,” Tino called back to them.

He pulled into a damp, cobbled lot there on the waterfront. The parking area was squeezed between a high-end surf shop and a small shopping plaza complete with a real estate storefront, two seafood restaurants, and a souvenir stand. Ahead lay an open-air building and beyond that a series of finger piers—each with a dozen small boat docks branching off from a larger wooden wharf into the Intracoastal. Unlike the gleaming yachts and cigarette boats they’d seen the day before during the water-taxi tour, the vessels docked here were small fishing boats, along with a couple of personal watercrafts.

Tino parked in a spot near the open-air structure and hopped out. “Come on,” he said as the two women and Hamlet climbed out of the back. “I see his boat, so he must be around here somewhere. Hey, Ricko!”

Ricko turned out to be a young Haitian man about Tino’s age whose gleaming black skin contrasted with the yellow-orange hue of his bleached, shoulder-length dreadlocks. He wore cutoff blue jeans, a black bandana wrapped pirate-style over his dreads, and nothing else. He was sitting at a picnic bench next to the building sipping on an energy drink and munching chips.

“Hey, mon,” he called back to Tino with a friendly wave, sending a shower of potato chip crumbs flying. “You bring me some clients?”

“Not exactly. These
chicas
need someone with a boat to drop them off at one of the houses a little ways up the water. Can you take them?”

Ricko rose from the bench and started toward them. Standing, he towered over even Jake. “So, where you be wanting to go?”