The Turtle Mound Murder (24 page)

“We found them in the bottom drawer of the
chest in your bedroom the second day, when we were unpacking your
clothes. We stashed them in a bucket in the utility room.”

“What?” Penny Sue bellowed.

“We were afraid to flush them down the
toilet—polluting the ground water and all,” Ruthie explained.
“After the episode with Rick in the parking lot, we thought we’d
better keep them as evidence.”

I made the sweeping right turn where US A1A
turns into County A1A and slowed to a crawl. The highway was
completely flooded except for a slim strip down the middle of the
road. Fortunately, there were no cars coming, so I aimed for the
dry crest, even though it was in the center turn lane. We hadn’t
gone very far when a plastic chair floated across the road. I
brought the Mercedes to a stop. “Should I turn around?”

“Keep going,” Penny Sue ordered. “I’ve seen
this before—it’ll clear up in a couple of blocks. The Benz can
handle it.”

“Yes, but—”

“But, nothing,” Penny Sue said emphatically.
“I want to see that other note and those pesticides, if that’s what
they are.”

I inched the car forward. “If that’s what
they are? What else would they be?” I asked over my shoulder, not
daring to take my eyes off the road.

Ruthie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no.
Ecstasy!”

* * *

The squall subsided by the time we reached
the condo, at least enough to see more than a few feet ahead.
Still, wind gusts made umbrellas pointless, so we elected to duck
our heads and run. I led the way with the door key at ready which,
with amazing skill or luck, hit its mark on the first try. Bent
forward, we bounded through the front door … and into the arms of
the ugliest man I’d ever seen. His pockmarked face and squinty eyes
made Freddie Krueger look good. A needle-embellished hockey mask
would actually have been an improvement.

I instinctively averted my eyes, remembering
Grammy Martin’s admonition about staring at Mr. Dinks, her homely
neighbor who was absolutely handsome next to this guy. Ruthie
screamed hysterically, unencumbered by Grammy’s moralistic baggage.
Penny Sue tried to run back out the door, but the man shoved her
aside and slammed it closed.

He seized Ruthie by the arm roughly. “Shut
up or I’ll shut you up.” Ruthie pressed her lips together tightly.
His free hand went to a holster on his belt and came up with a gun.
Penny Sue and I backed against the wall. The man pushed Ruthie
beside us and snatched the key ring from my hand.

“Gino, none of that.” Al appeared at the end
of the hall, his arm extended as if holding something. “Pipe down,
Ruthie. No one will get hurt if you cooperate.”

“Al,” I blurted with amazement. “What’s
going on?”

“Stay calm, ladies.”

Gino herded the three of us down the hall.
On the right were the bedrooms and the owner’s closet, on the left
the doors to the utility room and the linen closet. Ruthie led the
way followed by me, Penny Sue, then Gino.

Ruthie must have been petrified because she
walked with a shuffling gait, taking loud, deep breaths. The closer
she got to the living room and Al, the louder her breathing became
until, when she reached the linen closet, she doubled over
wheezing. She sounded like a person having an asthma attack,
however, I knew she didn’t have asthma. I went to her side and held
her waist, fearing she might collapse. Hunched over, she turned her
face toward me and winked. And it hit me—the linen closet!

Ruthie saw my flash of understanding. She
twitched violently and started in on a loud coughing spell. That
was my cue. In one swift move I opened the closet and lunged for
the second shelf where we’d stashed the Taser Gun—which wasn’t
there!

“Hey!” Gino shouted, grabbing Penny Sue from
behind as Al started toward us, dragging Charlotte into view.

Although completely stunned by the sight of
Charlotte, I managed to snatch a towel from the closet, hold it up
innocently, and wipe Ruthie’s mouth. “She’s choking, for
godssakes,” I covered. Where was the Taser? And, what was Charlotte
doing here? I wondered.

Al studied me, eyes narrowed. Apparently he
bought my story, because he nodded at Gino, who released his hold
on Penny Sue. “No cute stuff, Leigh. You almost got yourself
killed. Now, come in here and sit down.”

I ushered Ruthie to the sofa, who was still
doing a good rendition of asthma attack. Penny Sue sat next to us
with a little encouragement from Gino, while Al shoved Charlotte
roughly to the loveseat.

A light-haired man in a bar, Pauline had
said. It wasn’t Lyndon, it was Al! I first met Al at The Riverview.
We saw him later at Pub 44, then again at JB’s. He’d been following
us, and I thought I knew why.

Gino stood against the wall with his hand on
the grip of the pistol that he’d returned to the holster. Al
started to pace. “Ladies, I have a problem and I need your help. It
seems that some property I bought and paid for has been misplaced.
Not only is this merchandise missing, but the seller never received
his payment.” Al canted his head at Gino, who smiled wryly.
Scowling, Gino was terrifying to behold; the thin grin made him
look absolutely sadistic. Images of Freddie Krueger flooded my mind
again, except that wasn’t real and this was.

“You see my predicament. I’m out doubly—no
merchandise and no money. The situation is complicated by the fact
that my representative for the transaction is no longer with us—he
met an untimely end. My associate’s associate here,” Al waved
toward Charlotte, “claims the property and money were both
delivered to this address. You nice ladies wouldn’t know where it
is, would you?”

Ruthie’s fake wheezing stopped, and the
three of us exchanged wide-eyed looks. Of course, Al wanted the
pesticide—which, as we’d suspected, wasn’t pesticide at all. But we
didn’t know anything about money, and if Gino was the person
wanting it, I sure hated to be the one to tell him. Ruthie let out
a half-hearted wheeze, which I took to mean:
You answer.

I cleared my throat to calm my pounding
heart. “If your property is a white powder, I believe we can help
you.”

Al smiled broadly. “I knew you were a smart
girl, Leigh. Show me.”

I headed toward the utility room with Al in
tow. Gino stayed behind with the others.

“We found it in the bottom drawer of the
bureau when we first arrived,” I explained as I lead Al into the
utility room. “Rick was here then, and we honestly thought it was
dry insecticide that he’d left behind. There was even a note with
mixing instructions.” The rag mop and bucket were next to the
dryer, where I’d left them after cleaning up Ruthie’s puke. I
handed them to Al so I could get at the trash bag. He took one
whiff of the putrid load and tossed it into the far corner.

“Gawd,” he exclaimed. “That’s
disgusting.”

Guess I didn’t rinse the mop very well with
all of the commotion. “Ruthie got sick,” I replied, pointing to the
bag in the space between the dryer and wall.

Al pulled the bag out and dumped its
contents on the floor. I reached for the note on Lyndon’s
stationery which fluttered to the side. Al stopped me.

“Hey, what’re ya doing?”

I handed him the paper. “This is the note we
found with the packages. See, it seems to be mixing
instructions.”

He read the note:
200 @ 6. Same time,
same place
, then a smiley face. He tossed the note back at me.
“I don’t know what that means, I paid a half mil for this
stuff.”

A half a million dollars. This was serious.
“We didn’t find any money. Honestly, I’d tell you if we did. We
don’t want any trouble.”

He ignored me and my comment until he
finished counting the packages. I used the opportunity to pocket
Lyndon’s note card. Al returned the packages to the bag and stood,
obviously satisfied. He held out his hand to help me up; I took
it.

“Al,” I said, my hand still in his, “we
truly don’t know anything about the money. Take the drugs, leave,
and we’ll never say a word to anyone. I promise.”

He paused, looking into my eyes. “You know I
can’t do that. You understand.”

I didn’t, yet wasn’t going to argue. Perhaps
I’d seen too many episodes of
The Sopranos
, but I had a bad
feeling this might be my last day on Earth. In a flash, all the
really important things in my life raced through my mind: the kids,
my parents, good friends. I also realized how much time I’d wasted
on silly stuff like others’ opinions, guilt, and anger. In that
instant, I even realized I should release my hostility toward Zack.
He did what he did; I did what I did; that was that. No more, no
less, not worth thinking about.

“Al,” I started, still holding his hand. I
noticed it was warm and soft, not callused like you’d expect a
mobster’s to be. “We won’t—” I didn’t get to finish because there
was a knock on the front door.

His face hardened, Al flung my hand aside.
“Whoever it is, get rid of them. Don’t try anything cute if you
want to see your friends again. I’ll be right here, listening to
every word you say.” He displayed his gun which had a fat cylinder
attached to the end. I knew from
The Sopranos
that it was a
silencer. “Got it?” he asked. I nodded.

I took a long deep breath as I approached
the door. I had to appear calm, Penny Sue and Ruthie’s welfare
depended on it. Another knock, this one louder. I cracked the door
and saw Zack. Before I got out a single word, he barged past me
like the pompous ass he was. So much for forgiveness.

“Damn, Becky, I’m drenched. What took you so
long? For godssakes, you knew I was coming. Why didn’t you answer
your cell phone? Where’s Penny Sue? Did Swindal call?” He stopped
in front of the utility room and glared at me. “What’s wrong with
you?” he demanded angrily.

“That.” I pointed toward Al, who had his gun
trained on Zack.

I wish I’d had a camera! The look on Mr. Big
Stuff’s face was priceless. He went white as a sheet and started to
pant, as if he were hyperventilating. What a wuss!

Al motioned both of us toward the living
room. We walked single file—Zack first, then me, with Al bringing
up the rear. Penny Sue and Ruthie were in plain view directly
ahead. When Zack reached the opening to the living room and
kitchen, he caught sight of Gino, who’d drawn his gun. Surprised,
Zack stumbled backward into the kitchen counter, knocking over a
Furby and the can of Hot Shot which I’d left on the counter after a
wasp got in the condo with all the ins and outs of the morning’s
commotion. The bug spray rattled across the room as the Furby fell
to the tile floor crying, “Cock-a-doodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-doo!”
Gino swung his gun first at the can, then toward the Furby—which
had miraculously landed on its feet, jabbering “Party! Big Fun.
Dance! Dance!”—finally settling on Zack’s forehead. Zack raised his
hands like crooks do in old movies as his breathing took on the
staccato beat of Ruthie’s fake asthma attack. Only Zack wasn’t
faking. Penny Sue, Ruthie, and Charlotte raised their hands, too. I
simply froze in place.

Al was the first to recover. He poked my
back with the gun barrel. “Shut up that stupid toy.” Then he
pointed at Penny Sue. “Get that can.” She dropped to her knees to
retrieve the wasp spray from under the sofa and gingerly placed it
on the end of the counter. I did the same which the Furby which was
still chattering, “Hungry. Very Hungry.”

“Give me that damn thing,” Al ordered
angrily. He took the toy and threw it, hard, into the linen closet
and slammed the door. We could hear the Furby scream, “Whoa-a-a!
Scare me!”

Penny Sue’s face puckered with horror.
“Little Lu Nee,” she whispered.

“You’re the loony! Be quiet,” Al barked at
her as he herded Zack and I toward the sofa and loveseat. We sat,
as ordered, with our hands in the air.

“Who the hell are you?” Gino growled at Zack
in the meanest tone I’d ever heard.

“My husband,” I said before Zack could
respond. Being a lawyer might not be the healthiest occupation for
this situation, and I feared Mr. Big Stuff—if he managed to
speak—might launch into a long recitation of his credentials and
the legal consequences of their actions. Worse, Zack could try to
bluff and say something really stupid like, “The police are on the
way,” in which case Gino might feel compelled to eliminate the
witnesses—US!—forthwith.

Al regarded me skeptically. “I thought you
were divorced; a Daffydil or something.”

“My ex-husband,” I corrected quickly. So why
was my ex-husband here? I wanted to steer as far away from Penny
Sue and the police as possible. “He has some papers for me to
sign.”

Zack picked up the hint and for once didn’t
correct me. “We sold the house. She’s got to sign the papers.”

“Check him,” Al instructed Gino, who patted
Zack down. Gino found no weapon, but did confiscate Zack’s cell
phone.

“I’m tired of pussyfooting around,” Gino
grumbled. “Let’s find the money and get out of here. I’m not
getting caught on the boat in that hurricane.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Al said as he opened the door
to the owner’s closet. A common feature of beach condos, the
owner’s closet was a five-by-ten foot, deadbolted room used to keep
personal effects safe from renters. Al motioned to the lock.
“Where’s the key to this door, Penny Sue?”

“On the key ring,” she answered meekly.

Gino handed the ring to Al who quickly found
the right key. They ushered us one by one into the closet. All but
Ruthie, who hung back, whimpering.

“Please leave the light on,” she pleaded as
Gino grabbed her arm and pushed her into the closet. “I’m
claustrophobic. Please, I’ll die in the dark. Really!”

Gino looked to Al for a decision. “Aw, leave
it on. But you,” Al waved his weapon at Ruthie, “be quiet. Scream
again, and it will be your last.” He swung the door shut, and the
deadbolt clicked.