Literally Murder (A Black Cat Bookshop Mystery) (22 page)

Jake answered before Tino could. “Do you know Billy Pope’s place? His is the yellow stucco home with white trim, with a matching detached garage, mother-in-law quarters, and a pool house.”

He nodded, dreadlocks swaying. “Yeah, I know it. Why you need to be going there?”

“My mother is being held against her will there. We couldn’t make it past the front gate, so getting in by water is our only choice. And I’m afraid we don’t have much time.”

“My rate, it be seventy-five dollars an hour, two hour minimum.” Then, when Jake began to frantically dig in her pockets in hopes of finding some cash, the young man smiled and shrugged. “But for friends of Tino, I take you free.”

“Thank you,” Jake exclaimed. “Quick, we have to hurry.”

“Okay, the boat be that way.” He pointed to a cheerful white twenty-footer with blue stripes and a blue Bimini top, along which was mounted a row of fishing rods. Small, but probably pretty fast, Darla judged.

“Do you
chicas
need me to wait for you?” Tino wanted to know.

Jake looked at her watch and nodded. “Give us about forty-five minutes, and we’ll either be back here, or be calling you to pick us up from Pope’s place. If we haven’t contacted you by then, call your cousin and tell her there’s trouble.”

“Got it. I’ll wait right here,” he said and pointed to the bench.

“Perfect. All right, Ricko, let’s get out of here.”

They hurried down to the dock, where the boat waited. Ricko climbed in first, and then helped Jake down the ladder. Even from the dock, Darla was aware of a faint but pungent and sweet scent drifting from the vessel. She shook her head, wondering if Jake could smell it, too. Apparently, Captain Ricko passed the time between clients by indulging in what, if he were living in California, would probably be euphemistically described as medicinal herbal therapy. She could only hope that he hadn’t partaken in any so far today.

As Darla prepared to hand off Hamlet to Jake and climb in, however, Ricko stopped her.

“Wait, that black cat, is he coming on my boat, too?”

Darla nodded. “I know people think black cats are bad luck, but he—”

“No, no—the black cat, he be good luck on a boat,” Ricko said with a smile. “But maybe you put this on him, just in case.”

He reached into the boat’s storage locker and pulled out a bright yellow mini life jacket. “My sister, she have one of those yappy dogs. I make him wear this on the boat.”

Darla eyed the life jacket with no little alarm. Chances were Hamlet was not going to be as amenable as the yappy dog. Still, she nodded and then gave Hamlet to Jake before climbing in herself.

“You can sit right there,” the captain said, pointing them to the bench in front of the console. Cranking the engine, he said, “Okay, now hang on to your kitty.”

While he backed up the boat, Darla managed to fasten the life jacket on Hamlet. To her surprise, he seemed to accept it as another variation of his harness, for he squirmed only a little as she fastened the plastic squeeze clips that held the straps closed.

“Let’s see what kind of a sailor you are,” she told the cat as Ricko throttled the boat forward.

The first portion of their ride was in a no-wake zone, meaning that their progress up the Intracoastal to Pope’s house was barely above an idle. Fortunately, Hamlet seemed to enjoy the water, sitting quietly between Darla and Jake as they motored along, whiskers flicking as he sniffed the fishy breeze.

“We could have swum it faster,” Jake muttered, fingers beating out a nervous rhythm on her thighs.

“No worries,” said Ricko, whose hearing was apparently as keen as Hamlet’s. “Give it a minute, and then we can be moving into the main channel.”

Jake nodded, but she didn’t stop the tapping. To distract her friend a bit, Darla asked, “What was that you were telling your mother about wanting to buy a watercolor?”

“It was my way of trying to tell her we’d be coming by boat. When I was a kid, my Aunt Gianna took a watercolor class, and she decided to paint Ma a seascape as a surprise for her birthday.” Jake managed a fleeting smile. “She brings it over, and Ma tears off the paper, and there’s this painting of a big, out-of-proportion sailing ship that looked like it was about to crash into a lighthouse. I was ten years old, and even I knew it was ghastly. But because her sister made it, Ma insisted on displaying it. I’m hoping she took the boat hint.”

Darla smiled a little. Then, pointing, she sobered, and said, “Look, there’s Billy’s place now.”

Around the curve, she could see a glimpse of yellow stucco with a matching yellow pool house not far from the water’s edge. Two craft were docked there: one, a fishing boat more than twice the size of Ricko’s, and the other a small, sleek little motorboat with a wood veneer, the kind of boat that Darla had heard referred to as a runabout. Fortunately, the way the vessels were tied left a spot for Ricko to dock across the front of the pier.

“So how are we going to do this?” Darla asked as they drew closer. “Jump off the boat and storm the house?”

“That’s all I’ve got,” Jake said with a worried look. “Best case, Billy will call the cops on us for trespassing, and we’ll be able to get Ma out of there. Worst case . . .”

“What’s worst case?” Darla wanted to know, her grip on Hamlet tightening.

Jake shrugged and reached for the hotel shopping bag, which Darla hadn’t realized she’d brought aboard. “I don’t know how bad it can get. Maybe it’s nothing, but just in case, I brought along a little equalizer.”

She reached into the sack, pulling out a familiar-looking glass scallop seashell sculpture. Darla stared at it, wide-eyed. “Where did you get that?”

“The Waterview Hotel gift shop,” Jake said. “I bought it before we left the hotel, when I got that pillow for Ma.”

Darla wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or dismayed that Jake was armed with nothing more than a glass shell. Ricko dropped to an idle again and brought the boat toward the pier, then tossed a couple of fenders—the rubber bumpers that kept a boat’s hull from smacking the dock—so that they hung over the side, and then maneuvered the boat across the front of the pier. Between the pool house and the height of the pier, which with a low tide required climbing up a few rungs to reach the dock, any view of the boat from the house was pretty well blocked. Unless someone was watching out the window and had seen their approach, chances were that no one inside knew they were there.

“I’m not going to tie off,” Ricko said, simply wrapping a line around the ladder and tugging it to pull them closer. “As soon as you two ladies and the cat be on the dock, I’m taking off. But I’ll stay nearby for a while, in case you need me. You can call me.”

He told Jake his cell number, which she quickly programmed into her phone. Then, with a smile, he said, “I wish you good luck finding your mama.”

Darla unfastened Hamlet’s life vest. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought him along; still, Hamlet had proved his mettle numerous times in the past. She handed the cat to Jake and clambered up. Jake in turn handed Darla the shopping bag, and then hefted Hamlet as high as she could. Lying on her stomach, Darla grabbed him and, fingers tightly intertwined in his harness, lifted him to the dock.

“Oof,” she whispered to him as she sat up and settled him on his feet. “No more pepperoni snacks for you.”

By now, Jake was safely atop the pier, too. Ricko gave them a thumbs-up and, releasing the line, quietly motored away from the dock.

“Now what?” Darla whispered.

Jake pulled out her phone and whispered back. “I’m going to call Ma, and let her know we’re here. But first, let’s get into the pool house so we’re out of sight.”

Keeping low, the two of them and Hamlet trotted up the dock and into what was the nicest pergola Darla had ever seen. Built of yellow stucco, it served as both an outdoor room in which to party and a means to shield the pool and its occupants from anyone cruising down the waterway. Though the pergola was open to the elements, a combination of white lattice panels and long white drapes gave an illusion of privacy. They could see the house from their vantage point, but with luck she and Jake would go unnoticed, at least for a while.

They crouched behind what looked like a kitchen island, complete with sink and cooktop, while Jake dialed Nattie’s number. After what had to be several rings, Jake whispered, “No answer yet.”

Then she shook her head and covered the phone’s microphone with her hand, mouthing,
The line is open
.

Darla nodded. Maybe Nattie had managed to set her phone to vibrate and had answered it but been unable to speak. The question was, if Jake said anything, would someone other than Nattie hear it?

She could tell by Jake’s uncertain expression that she was worried about the same thing. Finally, after a few seconds, she raised the phone to her ear again, and whispered, “Ma? Ma, can you hear me?”

“Of course, she can’t hear you, Jake,” a familiar voice said with a laugh. “You see, I have her phone.”

Darla choked back a cry. The voice had come in stereo . . . from Jake’s cell, and also from behind them. She exchanged looks with Jake, who shook her head in resignation and hung up the phone.

“All right, girls, I saw you duck behind that island,” Mildred said from a few feet away. “There’s no point in trying to pretend you’re not there. So let’s all go inside, where we can talk.”

EIGHTEEN

“
THE SHOES OF THE FISHERMAN
,” JAKE SOFTLY
exclaimed. “Get it? Not Pope. Fischer!”

Darla nodded, for the same realization had just struck her. “Hamlet tried to tell us, but we picked up on the wrong person.”

Jake, meanwhile, was reaching into the paper sack and pulling out the glass shell. “Okay, Mildred, we’re coming out,” she called to the old woman. To Darla, she hissed, “Quick, stick this in your waistband under your shirt, and then hold Hamlet in front of you.”

Darla nodded and did as told. The glass was cool against her sunburn, but hardly comfortable. Whatever it was Jake planned to do with the sculpture, Darla figured she’d do her part to help should the need arise.

Jake waited until Darla gave her a thumbs-up, and then called out, “Say, Mildred, you don’t have a gun or anything, do you? I’d kind of like to know before I stick my head up.”

Mildred trilled another little laugh. “Actually, I do, but it’s strictly for self-protection. I’m sure I won’t need it today.”

“Okay, just wanted to be sure.”

Jake slowly straightened. Darla stood, too, making sure that the shell was securely in her waistband before picking up Hamlet and snuggling him up against her stomach. The cat loosed a small growl that Darla knew wasn’t meant for her. She hoped for Mildred’s sake that the woman wasn’t foolish enough to try to take the feline a second time.

“Come on, come on,” Mildred said, gesturing them forward. “You don’t want to pass up a chance to see the inside of Billy’s house. It’s truly lovely.”

Mildred was dressed in what Darla assumed had been her outfit from that morning: black slacks, white knit top, and a string of pearls. The only difference, presumably, was the small caliber automatic pistol she held at her side. She gave them a cheery smile, as if she were a hostess welcoming them to an afternoon soirée. As they drew closer, Darla saw that the usual speck of lipstick was missing from her front tooth.

Oddly, she found this little aberration more ominous than anything else that had yet happened.

“Oh, good, you brought Hamlet,” Mildred exclaimed. “He is quite an exceptional cat. Now, go on in, but watch your step,” she continued, pointing to the open French door. “You have to walk down a level once you’re inside.”

Another time, Darla would have been thrilled to tour her first ever mansion. Under the circumstances, however, all that registered was an expanse of white marble tile, beige walls and angled ceilings, and a scattering of modern art and furniture, accented with a few potted palm trees. But what really held her attention was a pair of burgundy leather love seats, which faced each other in front of a glass-tiled fireplace. On one love seat slumped Billy Pope and Alicia Timpson; on the other sprawled Nattie.

All were unconscious . . . or so Darla prayed. The alternative was something she didn’t want to consider.

“Ma!” With that choked cry, Jake rushed toward the old woman. Gently, she shook her and tapped her cheek. To Darla’s relief, Nattie briefly opened her eyes before her head lolled back and she nodded off again. Jake settled her more comfortably, then turned a deadly cold look in Mildred’s direction.

“What have you done to her?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I just slipped them all a few of my sleeping pills. I needed a little time to decide what to do, and it was too hard keeping an eye on that many people.”

“Well, slight problem, Millie. You’ve got two more of us to deal with. That’s five people you’re going to have to bash over the head if you want to get rid of all the witnesses. Not to mention a guy with a boat and a guy with a cab both waiting to hear from us. If they don’t get a call in”—Jake paused for a look at her watch—“five more minutes, they’ll be phoning the cops to come out here. So why don’t you do the right thing and let me bring in Detective Martinez to settle things once and for all?”

“I don’t think so, Jake.” Mildred gave her an equally cold look through her steel-rimmed glasses. “I might be old, but I’m not foolish, and I’m certainly not stupid. I don’t want to go to jail for the rest of my life . . . which, given my genetic history, is liable to be another twenty years or so. I’m not sorry for doing something that needed to be done, even if a jury sees it differently. You don’t understand. Ted Stein had to be removed, for everyone’s sake. I’d kill him again if I had the chance.”

While Darla shivered at Mildred’s chilling words, Jake glanced at her watch again. “Four minutes, Millie.”

“You’re getting very annoying, Jake.”

“Yeah, well, I tend to be that way with people who bash me over the head.”

The old woman shot her a peeved look. “It wasn’t me who hit you. That was Cindy, and it wasn’t in the original plan,” she said with a glance at the unconscious Alicia. “But, like they say, stuff happens. You and Hamlet were—what do they call it in the movies?—collateral damage.”

“Three minutes, Millie,” Jake coolly said, continuing the countdown. “Come on, you’ve seen it on television. The judge always goes a bit easier on you if you don’t make a fuss over being arrested.”

“You’re bluffing. You don’t have people waiting to call the police.”

Barely had she spoken the words than Darla’s cell phone abruptly rang a few notes of the old hit “Cat Scratch Fever.” Juggling Hamlet so that she had a free hand, she pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced at the caller ID.

“It’s Tino.”

Jake shrugged. “Oops, a little early. Millie, what’s your decision?”

By way of answer, Mildred raised the pistol. “Don’t answer the phone, Darla, or I’m afraid I’ll have to do something drastic.”

Which meant it was their turn to call her bluff . . . except that Darla suspected from the expression of cool resolve in her eyes that the old woman meant what she said. Hamlet gave a soft
meow-rumph
, and Darla took a deep breath. Surely the cat-loving old woman wouldn’t pull the trigger if there was a chance of hitting Hamlet. Still, Darla’s fingers trembled as she hesitated over the phone’s screen.

What to do? Answer, and have a couple of seconds to tell Tino they were in danger . . . and maybe get shot in the process? Don’t answer, and pray Tino followed through with calling the police?

As she hesitated, the call went to voice mail.

Jake shook her head in mock dismay. “Guess you should have let her answer the phone, Millie. Not answering was the signal for our buddy Tino to give the police a call. You remember Officer Garcia from the cat show? Turns out she’s his cousin, and he’s got her on speed dial.”

Mildred’s expression went rigid.

“You girls have made things very difficult for me. Of course, most of the blame belongs to Nattie.” She paused to give the unconscious old woman an angry look. “I could have taken care of Billy and Alicia and made it look like an accident. No one would have been the wiser, if she weren’t such a silly old busybody.”

“Busybody!”

Nattie’s eyes popped open, and she sat up. “Busybody!” she yelped again. “Well at least I’m not a murderous old biddy who turns on her friends like a snake!”

Mildred’s mouth dropped open. “You’re awake! But—but the sleeping pills . . .”

Nattie snorted. “Like someone who used to be my friend once said, I might be old, but I’m not stupid. The minute I saw them two”—she jerked a thumb in Billy and Alicia’s direction—“starting to nod off, I knew you’d try to slip me a Mickey, too, when you asked if I wanted some of yer coffee. I dumped it in one of those potted palms when you wasn’t looking, and then I faked being asleep.”

“Why, that is the sneakiest thing I’ve ever heard!” Mildred shrieked, the pistol now trembling in her hand. “All right—all of you, to the dock. We’re going to take a boat ride. You girls”—she gestured the gun at Darla and Jake—“I want you to carry Billy and Alicia out there, too. You’re young and strong. You can do it.”

Jake nodded. “Sure, Mildred, we’ll move them. Just keep calm. Ma, would you take Hamlet from Darla so she can help me?”

Keeping a peevish eye on her former friend, Nattie got up from the couch and went over to where Darla stood. Darla handed the cat over to her with a warning: “Keep his leash looped over your wrist the whole time.”

Praying Hamlet would continue to behave, Darla joined Jake at the other love seat, where Billy and Alicia still snoozed away, oblivious to all the drama. Neither was large, but unconscious they’d both be dead weight.

“We’ll have to take them one at a time. Billy first,” Jake told her, maneuvering so that they both had their backs to Mildred. “See if you can help me drag him up.”

In an undertone, she added, “When I say when, be ready to hand me that seashell you’re packing.”

“Got it,” Darla murmured back. More loudly, she said, “Maybe if you take one arm, and I take the other, we can pull him to his feet and prop him up between us.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Jake agreed as they assumed position. “Ready on my count. One, two, three!”

By some miracle, they manage to drag Billy upright just long enough to each slip a shoulder under one of the man’s arms. It was an awkward arrangement at best, given that Jake had to hunch over in order to stay even with Darla. Mildred, however, appeared pleased.

“Good work, girls. Now, out to the dock with him, and then you can move Alicia.”

She picked her designer shoulder bag off the console table and slipped the strap over her head so that the purse hung securely across her chest. Then she gestured with her pistol. “Nattie, you and Hamlet lead the way.”

The ungainly procession began moving in the direction of the French doors, which Mildred had earlier left open. The old woman glanced about her and smiled.

“What a nice day for Billy to take his daughter and friends on a little fishing trip,” she remarked. “Too bad something will go wrong with the engine, and no one will be able to get to the life raft before the whole boat blows sky-high.”

Darla stumbled and almost fell as she shot Mildred a horrified look. Was that how the old woman planned to eliminate any witnesses? Catching her look, Mildred smiled again and shrugged.

“It’s amazing what one can find out on the Internet these days,” she said, unknowingly echoing James.

Now, however, Darla could hear the faint sound of sirens drifting in on the light Intracoastal breeze. She doubted they signaled Officer Garcia’s approach, since the cop would have nothing more to go on than Tino’s suspicions that something was wrong at the Pope mansion. Still, the sirens served as a reminder that a call for help might have been made.

Mildred must have come to the same conclusion, for her smile promptly faded. She all but shouted, “Hurry, we don’t have much time!”

By now, they’d made it past the threshold and were cutting across the lawn, bypassing the pool and pergola and heading straight for the dock. Out on the Intracoastal, Darla could see a familiar white-and-blue fishing boat idling a short distance upstream from them. Ricko was keeping an eye out, just as he’d promised. They had almost reached the pier when Jake stumbled . . . or pretended to.

“Hold up, Darla,” she exclaimed. “I think I pulled something, trying to walk like this.”

“Here, now—none of that,” Mildred admonished in a frantic voice behind them. “We’re almost there.”

Jake looked over at Darla and nodded, and then mouthed the word,
Now
.

In a single swift move, Darla released Billy and reached beneath her shirt, pulling out the glass seashell sculpture. Jake let Billy go as well and snatched the sculpture from Darla’s hands and swung about.

“Hey, Mildred—catch!” she shouted, and flung the glass shell at the old woman.

Mildred shrieked and reflexively dropped her pistol as she tried to avoid the incoming missile. To Darla’s surprise, she almost did, suffering just a glancing blow off her shoulder.

An alternate for the 1960 U.S. women’s gymnastics team
, she recalled Nattie saying about the woman. Apparently, Mildred had retained some of her youthful agility, since Jake’s fastball pitch would have caught almost anyone else squarely in the gut. The shell, meanwhile, bounced a few times on the grass. Finally, it rolled to a stop next to Billy, its gleaming glass seemingly undamaged by such rough handling.

Not bothering anymore with trying to herd the hostages, Mildred reached down and snatched up the gun again. Shoving past Nattie, Mildred rushed for the dock and scrambled down the ladder. A moment later, an engine revved, and the small runabout went flying out into the channel, Mildred at the helm.

“Quick, we gotta stop her!” Nattie cried.

Jake was already ahead of her. Phone to her ear as she rushed down the pier, she was shouting, “Ricko, hurry! I need you to pick me up from the dock and follow the boat that just left here.”

“Wait, what about me?” Darla demanded as she caught up with Jake at the ladder. “I’m going with you.”

“Me, too,” Nattie puffed once she reached the ladder, as well. “Me and Hamlet, we’re gonna see this to the end.”

“No, you’re not,” Jake countered as she started down toward the water. Looking back up at Darla, she clarified. “Neither of you are. Mildred’s got a gun, and she’s desperate. As soon as Garcia and the others show up, let them know what’s going on. They should be able to send out a patrol to cut her off somewhere on the waterway.”