Murder Makes Waves (16 page)

Mary Alice and Fred had both insisted on driving so we had ended up taking both cars, Sister and Haley in one, Fred and I in the other.

“This is dumb,” Haley muttered to me while they were arguing.

“Don’t tell me,” I said. “Tell them.”

So as Fred pulled in behind a pickup with a Confederate flag decal on the rear window, the Jaguar pulled in behind us.

“We beat Mary Alice here,” Fred gloated.

Inside the chapel was as dark as the day. As we stood at the door looking for seats, Berry appeared. “We’ve got you places up front.”

“Up front” turned out to be the second row. In front of us were Fairchild and several people we didn’t know, Millicent’s brother and sister, I assumed, and their families. Beside us were Jason Marley, Laura and Eddie Stamps, and a
pale woman who looked so much like Emily Peacock that she had to be her daughter Barbara. The Berliners sat behind us; Tammy leaned forward and patted my shoulder. Mary Alice leaned forward and patted Fairchild’s shoulder. He looked back, saw who it was, and covered her hand with his.

“Quit that!” I hissed in Sister’s ear.

“Quit what?” But Miss Innocent removed her hand.

The setting, I realized, was eerily like the movie Sister and I had seen a few days earlier. The gray, closed casket, covered with spring flowers, loomed large before us. I looked around, half expecting the villain with slicked-back hair and a bow tie to come sneaking in. Jack Berliner, holding Sophie’s hand, was the only one who wore a bow tie. But as the services began, it occurred to me that if Millicent’s death was not the act of a serial killer, which seemed highly improbable to me, then the killer was someone who knew her; someone who was sitting here in this chapel. I shivered.

“You cold?” Fred whispered. I shook my head no. Before me, Fairchild bent his handsome white head in prayer. Is it you, Fairchild? Rich Fairchild, the nude swimmer, already flirting with other women? Did Millicent make a cuckold of you? Was it more than you could take?

Or Eddie? Is it you? Are you raging at the world as your mind clouds? Or Laura? Are you so hungry for financial security? Or Jason? You had the most to gain, Jason Marley. Did you kill Millicent and then Emily to get their property? Who are you, Jason? What kind of person are you? What are you capable of?

Behind us someone was crying quietly; I knew it was Sophie. Millicent, I thought, you made a difference; you’re going to be missed.

The funeral was short, a Bible verse, the minister’s philos
ophy that there was no such thing as death, a few nice words about Millicent, and another prayer. Then we were invited to the cemetery for the conclusion of the service. There we stood under umbrellas for another prayer, and then it was over.

“Bummer,” Haley said as we sloshed back to the cars. The drizzle had become a heavy rain again.

“Y’all wait up,” Jason Marley called. When he caught up to us, I saw he looked sick. He was pale, and the flesh around his eyes looked bruised. Add to that the fact that his toupee seemed to be shrinking in the rain, and you had a sight that, as Sister declared later, would twang your heart strings.

“Come by the house,” he said. “I’ve had a light lunch brought in. And drinks. There’ll just be a few of us; Millicent’s sister and brother need to get home out of this weather. But Fairchild’s coming, and we’ll sit around and have a few drinks and talk.” He held out his hand to Fred. “I’m Jason Marley.”

“Fred Hollowell. Hell of a place to meet, isn’t it?”

Jason didn’t answer, just looked around as if he were suddenly puzzled to find himself in a cemetery.

“Ladies?” Fred asked. We all nodded. “We’ll be there,” Fred said.

“Good.” Jason headed off through the gravestones to his car.

“Where’s Berry?” Haley asked Sister.

“Bringing Fairchild home. There are still a few things Fairchild has to tend to, and Berry said he didn’t mind waiting. The Stampses went on. They left right after the church service.”

“I wonder if Eddie is okay,” I said.

Fred unlocked the car door. “Laura’s looking rough.”

“She needs some Retin-A something awful,” Sister said.

“Or that new one, doesn’t make you peel,” Haley agreed.

Sister touched her palms lightly to her cheek. “When you get middle-aged like we are, Haley, you can’t let yourself go.”

Middle-aged? This woman was sloughing years like a snake does skin. Haley, bless her heart, kept a straight face. Fred was doing his shaking number again, though. He climbed into our car, wet, muddy.

“I declare,” Sister said, surveying the graveyard, “funerals have just got to be the most depressing things in the world.”

“God’s truth,” came from our car. For once even Fred agreed with her.

I
’ve been to meals after funerals that were very comforting, feeding not only the body but the emptiness that lies in all of us after a death. Old friends eat, visit, and share stories, reminding each other that the dead live on within us. The lunch at Jason Marley’s was not one of those comforting events. One reason was that many of the people didn’t know each other; the other was the shadow of violence. Neighbors from Gulf Towers and, I assumed, some of the staff of Blue Bay Ranch crowded around the bar, ignoring the lovely lunch that some caterer had provided. Not me. I took the opportunity to help myself to a couple of small turkey sandwiches, some crab claws, boiled shrimp, and veggie sticks.

“Keeping up your middle-aged strength, I see,” Fred said, passing by with a beer in his hand and snitching one of my crab claws.

I ignored him and found a seat that had a view of the
bay. The rain had become mist again, and I saw Eddie Stamps walk down the pier and enter his boathouse. Then a black-clad figure appeared on the Stampses’ pier. Sophie, I realized. She walked to the boathouse but didn’t go in. Instead, she leaned against the pier and looked over the water. Several seagulls, expecting to be fed, circled and landed near her, but she paid them no attention, just stared into the distance. I had been that age when our Granny Alice died, and I could still remember how my sorrow had been mixed with fear. Death was real. People left and didn’t come back. Ever. I was considering going to see about her when I saw her father step onto the pier. She turned and ran toward him and his outstretched arms, ran by him and disappeared from my view. What in the world was that about, I wondered?

“Where’s Frances, Patricia Anne?” It was Jason Marley asking the question.

I explained that she hadn’t gone to the funeral because she really didn’t know Millicent or Fairchild and said she would feel out of place.

“She shouldn’t feel that way. Call her and tell her to come on over.”

To the Hansel and Gretel house? I wondered how many seconds it would take her to get there.

I took my empty plate into the kitchen where a skinny woman with greenish-blond hair was rinsing out glasses. When she looked up, I recognized Lolita of the Blue Bay sales staff.

“I’m Patricia Anne Hollowell,” I said. “My sister and I met you the other day.”

She smiled. “I know. The pot-of-gold lady.”

“Sorry about that. Is there a phone in here?”

She pointed down the counter with the dishcloth she was holding.

“Come on over,” I told Frances when she answered. “We’re at Jason’s and he’s asking for you.”

“You’re lying.”

“Cross my heart.”

“Give me five minutes.”

The answer I had expected. I hung up and turned back to Lolita. “How’d you get KP duty?”

She shrugged. “I don’t feel much like partying. Might as well make myself useful.”

“I’ll help you,” I offered. “What can I do?”

“You could take these glasses out.”

I took a tray of clean glasses out to the bar. Fred was talking to a couple of men I didn’t know, and Sister and Haley were standing at the bay window with Jack and Tammy Berliner. “Lot of guzzling going on out there,” I said when I came back to the kitchen with dirty glasses.

Lolita startled me by suddenly burying her face in the pink-and-white-checked dishcloth and sobbing.

“Here,” I said, taking her arm and leading her to a chair. “Are you sick? Can I get you something? Some water? Aspirin?”

“Oh, God,” she said. She leaned her green head on the table and cried. “They were both such wonderful women.”

I assumed she was talking about Millicent and Emily. I pulled out a chair and sat down.

“More ice,” Jason Marley said, coming into the kitchen with an empty ice bucket. He scooped ice from the ice maker, wiped the bucket with a paper towel, and left, oblivious of the fact that one of the women at his kitchen table was sobbing with her face buried in a dishtowel. I looked at Lolita’s hair. Definitely green. A Chia pet head.

“Tylenol?” I offered.

Lolita shook her head no.

“Did you know you can’t give Tylenol to cats?”

“I don’t have a cat,” Lolita mumbled.

“I don’t either, but my sister does. She has a huge, lazy cat named Bubba that sleeps on a heating pad on her kitchen counter. Terrible fire hazard.”

Lolita lifted her head, but the dishtowel was still pressed against her eyes.

“Probably shouldn’t give them aspirin, either.” I was rambling.

Lolita blew her nose loudly into the dishtowel, which I would personally see went straight to the washing machine, and looked up. Eye makeup was coming off in rivulets, not a pretty sight.

“Blue Bay is the best job I’ve ever had,” she said. “The lots are selling like hotcakes; all we have to do is show them.” She quit talking but I could tell she wasn’t through.

“But?” I encouraged.

“But I think I may have been responsible for Millicent’s death.” Back to the dishtowel. “And she was so good to me.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How were you responsible for her death?”

“I was late getting to work.” The words were muffled, but understandable. “Millicent and Emily gave me a birthday party the night before at The Redneck and I overslept. I didn’t get to the office until 9:30, an hour after I was supposed to open up.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Millicent had been there. That man, I know it was the serial killer, caught her by herself, probably saw her unlocking the door. You can see it from 98, you know.”

“Wait a minute, Lolita. You’re telling me you’re blaming yourself for Millicent’s death because you weren’t at the office? That’s pretty farfetched. And even if there were some truth to it, how does Emily’s death fit in? Hers was a murder, too, you know. And it makes sense that they’re connected some way.”

Lolita looked up. “I’ve thought about that. Emily came up as the man was abducting Millicent and saw him. He knew she would eventually realize what she had seen. So he had to come back for her.”

“And he waited for her over at her condo, killed her, and tried to make it look like suicide? Unh uh, Lolita. I don’t know much about serial killers, thank God, but I don’t think one would go to that much trouble. I think they want people to know they’ve struck again.”

“Well, maybe not. But Millicent was at the office the morning she was killed, and I think she was forced to leave.”

“What makes you say that?”

Lolita wiped her face generously on the dishcloth. “God, Mrs. Hollowell, I’m so scared.”

Her nervousness was contagious. “Is this something you should have told the Marine Patrol and haven’t?”

“I’ve got two kids, Mrs. Hollowell. I can’t afford to get involved in anything.”

The schoolteacher in me wanted to tell her that she couldn’t afford not to. But I kept my mouth shut. Fortunately, she decided for herself. She got up, went to the counter where her purse was, and brought it back to the table.

“Here,” she said, unzipping the side compartment and taking out a large gold earring shaped like a turtle. I recog
nized it instantly as one of the pair Millicent had had on the night we saw her at The Redneck.

The kitchen door opened and Fred stuck his head in. “Just wondered where you were.”

“I’m here.”

“So I see.” The door closed. Lolita had clamped the turtle between her palms and her skin color was fast approaching that of her hair.

“It’s okay,” I assured her. “I know what it is. We saw Millicent wearing them.”

Lolita put the earring back in her purse. “It was in the office by the door. The door was unlocked and a chair was turned over.” She grabbed the dishcloth again. “It’s my fault. If I’d gotten to work on time, it wouldn’t have happened.”

The sight of the earring had shocked me. For a moment, I had seen it dangling again against Millicent’s shoulders. And now I was suddenly angry at the woman sitting before me for withholding this important evidence. Highway 98 is heavily traveled. If Millicent were forced from the office, surely someone would have noticed something amiss, something they might have passed off as inconsequential unless they knew what had happened.

“What should I do?” she asked the towel.

“You know what you have to do,” I said calmly, pushing back my chair. I started toward the door, but anger got the better of me. I turned. “Call Major Bissell at the Florida Marine Patrol right now, Lolita! If you don’t, I will!”

So there!

I nearly ran over a woman who was coming into the kitchen with some dirty plates.

It was easy to spot the supernovas. Sister was bending
over brushing at her shoe with a paper napkin. I grabbed her by the arm. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“Believe what?” She didn’t look up.

“We’ve got to find a bathroom or somewhere we can talk.”

“What about?”

“Just follow me.”

“Why? Berry and Fairchild have just come in.”

“Okay, suit yourself. But I just found out something very important about Millicent’s murder.”

“There’s a bathroom right down the hall.” Sister led the way.

“Okay,” I said, perched on the side of the tub, “you remember Lolita? The saleswoman in the Blue Bay Ranch office?”

“Sure. She has green hair.” Sister looked in the mirror. “Lord, I hope it’s the fluorescent light making me look like this.”

“Well, listen,” I said, and told her what had happened in the kitchen.

“She’s got the earring in her purse now?” Sister sat down on the toilet and frowned. “How come she told you?”

“Because she was desperate to tell someone. Maybe I look like the type of person who would know what to do.”

“Hmmm. And you told her to call Major Bissell?”

“I told her if she didn’t, I would.”

“Do you think she will?”

Somebody knocked on the door. “Just a minute!” Sister called.

“She has to,” I said. “If Millicent was abducted from the Blue Bay office, there could be fingerprints. Or somebody could have seen them leaving.”

Sister gazed up at the ceiling, which was papered in a
Laura Ashley print, small pink flowers that coordinated with bouquets of the same flower on the wall. Definitely not a bachelor’s choice. Whose? Emily’s? Millicent’s?

“What are you doing?” I asked finally.

“Thinking.” She propped her feet on the tub. “Millicent didn’t go to the grocery for tomato juice. She came here to Blue Bay to meet her lover.”

“You don’t meet your lover early in the morning. God forbid.”

Sister continued as if I hadn’t said a word. “She met her lover in the office and they had a quarrel.”

“A lover’s quarrel.”

“Exactly. She was giving him money, and she was getting suspicious that that was all he was interested in. So she told him farewell.”

“Farewell.”

“Isn’t that what I said? Quit repeating what I say, Mouse. Anyway, Millicent said no more money, lover, and goodbye.”

I nodded, caught up in the story.

“He grabs her.” Sister jumped up so suddenly, I nearly toppled over into the tub. “He’s furious. Cuts her throat and drags her to the water.” Sister acted this out. “Throws her in.” She turned to me. “How about that?”

“Drags her a half mile to the water? Lord, Sister. He has to take her from the office to a boat. They go out by the jetties where he kills her and throws her in the water. I believe your words concerning the blood were something like spouting and spurting.”

“Those were Major Bissell’s words.”

“Well, there wasn’t any spouting in the office. I’ll bet you there’s a boat somewhere with a hell of a lot of blood on it, though.”

“Every fishing boat in Destin.”

True. “Okay, let’s say that Millicent’s lover, if she had one, killed her. Then who killed Emily?”

“Someone in her condo who knew she owned a lot of rare signed first editions worth a fortune.”

“I didn’t know Emily collected first editions,” I said, confused.

“I need a pencil and paper,” Sister said, opening the medicine cabinet as if she expected to find some there.

“To write all this down.”

“You forget it if you don’t.”

“Shit!” I opened the door and stomped out. A tall, thin man was waiting in the hall, doing the stiff-legged dance of one who is badly in need of a bathroom. “Go ahead,” I told him. “Don’t mind her.”

“Well, it could have been that way,” Sister said as we went down the hall.

I stopped. “Listen,” I said, “that girl in the kitchen confided something to me that doesn’t need to go anywhere but to the police. She’s scared to death that the murderer will find out she has the earring and come after her. Don’t make me sorry I told you, Mary Alice.”

“Have I ever?”

Lolita and I were in deep doo-doo. I looked in the kitchen, but she was gone. I hoped she was on her way to the Florida Marine Patrol office.

“Hey, pretty lady.” Fred sidled up to me. “Come home with me and I’ll show you my CD-ROM.”