Daiquiri Dock Murder (11 page)

“Before any of us decide to leave or stay, I’d like some information about setting a time and place for Diego’s funeral service.”

Ramsey stood his ground and Brick took another step forward—a step toward the door where Detective Lyon stood. I wondered if Lyon was playing guard, if he had orders to detain us if we started to leave.

“Mr. Vexton.” Chief Ramsey spoke in a stentorian voice that let everyone know who was in charge. “The photographer has finished his work, but the medical examiner has not yet released the victim’s body. Officials are still running tests and recording details concerning the homicide.”

Brick raised his chin and his voice and took a step closer to Ramsey. “To whom will the body be released when the medical examiner and his people finish their work?”

Ramsey hesitated and Brick pounced on that hesitation.

“Pablo Casterano seems to have gone missing—at least for the moment. Since the victim was one of my most respected employees, I’d like the privilege of claiming his body and arranging for his funeral unless Pablo appears before you and objects. I’m sure Threnody will agree to this.”

I spoke up. “Since the victim, er, Diego, was my friend and a close friend of my family, I’d like to volunteer to help Brick and Threnody with the funeral arrangements in any way I can. I know Mother and Cherie both would make that offer were they on-island at this time.”

Chief Ramsey shook his head and stepped behind his desk. His action made me wonder if he felt the desk gave him protection from us. Or maybe he felt it reinforced his rightful authority. When he spoke again, his words commanded our full attention.

“When the medical examiner releases the victim’s body, his next of kin may claim it.”

“And what if his next of kin doesn’t do that?” Brick asked.

“Then a friend may claim the body in the absence of family. Under those circumstances, you will be well advised to seek legal guidance.”

Everyone started heading for the exit. Detective Lyon opened the door, but moments before anyone stepped into the hallway, Chief Ramsey called out.

“You may go now. I thank you for coming here this afternoon. Please do not leave the island before making me or someone in my office aware of your plans.”

Brick and Threnody headed for the elevator first with Jessie following close behind. Dolly Jass hung back, and Kane motioned for her to go ahead of us. She smiled and batted her eyelashes at Kane as she stepped ahead.

“Let’s go someplace for lunch, Rafa,” Kane said in a voice that would carry to Chief Ramsey. “Maybe The Square Grouper.”

“That’s on Cudjoe Key, Kane. Off-island.”

“I know.” Kane linked his arm through mine, turned to grin at the chief, and gave a casual goodbye salute to Detective Lyon.

Chapter 12

(Still Sunday Afternoon)

When we were out of Chief Ramsey’s hearing in the parking lot, I headed for my car, slid behind the wheel, and sighed in exasperation when Kane slipped into the passenger seat.

“Kane, the chief said we’re not to leave the island without telling him or someone in his office. Why ask for trouble by driving off-island for lunch! We’re already persons of interest. Let’s don’t give the authorities reason to become more interested.”

“Okay. So you’re right, but his questions irritated me. Guess he intended them to irritate me, hoped I’d react by blurting something I’d regret.”

“But you didn’t. Good thinking.”

“Guess I wished I hadn’t written those letters.”

“Dad always advised me to set aside any letter written in anger and to let it cool overnight. Whenever I did that, I almost always destroyed the letter before it reached the post office.”

“If I’d known Diego was going to turn up murdered…” Kane pounded his knee with his doubled fist. “No. I’m not sorry I wrote those letters. Not sorry at all. I needed to let people know how strongly we shrimpers feel about our working waters. People need to know the inside scoop. They need to pay attention when a commissioner resigns from her job because she feels other committee members, secretly working on the side of land developers, pushed through legislation detrimental to the majority of citizens.”

“So you know who you’ll vote against at the next election, right?”

“Fat lot of good it’ll do now that the legislation has passed. Let’s forget it and find a place to eat.”

“Nobody should be at my place right now. We can go there. Or we can have The Frangi to ourselves, too—for a while at least. Better yet, let’s go to the hotel, order lunch, and eat outdoors beside the pool.”

“Fine with me. Maybe we can plan a strategy that will keep us low on the chief’s list of suspects.”

“Right. But I want to hear more about what you’ve heard about Diego’s murder. And maybe we can catch some news on radio or TV.”

“Not if we’re outside by the pool, unless we want to advertise our interest in Diego’s murder to the hotel guests.”

“You may be right about that. Let’s skip the radio.” I drove slowly to The Blue Mermaid, careful to obey all traffic rules and to attract no undue attention. Croton bushes lined the paved entryway to the hotel portico where several drivers waited behind their steering wheels for valets to take their cars into the ground level covered parking area. I drove on to the back entry.

Kane spoke up. “This hotel is a good example of the illegal stuff white-collar crooks can sneak into legislation before honest Key West citizens know what’s happened to them. A similar thing happened to our working waters.”

“I don’t get the connection, Kane.”

“The guy I bought
The Buccaneer
from me told me that years ago, building contractors and the commissioners, supposedly working on the behalf of local citizens, agreed that hotels would be limited to a height of 4 stories. That way, home owners in the hotel area would still have their view of the sea.”

“Guess you’ve noticed this hotel has 5 stories.” I parked in my usual spot.

“Right!” Somewhere in the legal maneuvering, the building contractor slipped in a zinger that made it okay for the covered ground-level parking area
not
to count as the hotel’s first floor. But counting the parking area, there are a total of 5 floors. When citizens growled that the hotel blocked their ocean view, the builder laughed and waved his contract at them. Very sneaky.”

“That must have happened years before Dad bought the hotel.”

“True. But I’m pointing out that it happened. And the same thing is happening to what remains of our working waters.”

“I’m glad Dad had no part in that bit of underhandedness.” I cut the motor, noting that Dolly had left her bike propped on its kickstand nearby. Finding a parking place on the island is such a hassle that Dolly refuses to own a car. She bikes everywhere, so far without mishap.

“I’m starving, Kane.”

Kane laughed. “It’s too late for lunch and too early for dinner. Want to settle for a sandwich beside the pool? We’ll call it lunner.”

We strolled toward the pool gate before we stopped, realizing our faded jeans and tees would stand out like barnacles on a boat hull in this crowd of sleek-bodied sun bathers in their bikinis and low-rise briefs. “Okay, but maybe we need to change into more appropriate attire.”

For a few moments we stood at the pool gate, listening to shouting kids, watching them splash water onto lounges bearing ladies who had no intention of getting wet. We grinned as the women flailed their arms and tried to protect their pricey hair-dos. Even from this distance, I inhaled mingled aromas of hairspray and coconut-scented sunscreen.

“On second thought, why don’t we go to my suite, order from room service, and eat on my balcony? Food. Privacy. Sunshine. What more could we want?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“On third thought, why don’t I toss a fresh fruit salad, pour us some iced tea, and order hot garlic toast from room service?”

“Sounds even better. How can I help?”

“You can pour our iced-tea and help carry stuff to the balcony, okay?” Before we took the elevator upstairs, I picked a banana, an orange, and some mint leaves from our private garden near the pool. In only a few moments we sat on the balcony munching on the tangy fruit salad and the soothing flavor of the garlic toast. Although we took care not to sit near the balcony railing or make ourselves visible to the revelers in the pool below we enjoyed hearing them shouting, splashing, and having fun.

When I looked into Kane’s eyes, he must have guessed what I was about the say.

“Don’t expect any more news about the murder from me, Rafa. I’ve told you all I know—all I’ve heard. Diego must have had an enemy we’re unaware of.”

“Who’s his next of kin other than Pablo?”

“You know more about Diego’s family than I do.”

I shook my head. “I’m guessing any other relatives live in Cuba.”

“Think a jealous relative paddled here in the dark of night to off him?”

“Don’t know what to think. I wonder. Was he wealthy—wealthy enough to make his next of kin interested in a quick inheritance?”

“You think Pablo might have murdered him?”

“I’ve no idea. But it’s a thought. Didn’t someone say they heard Diego and Pablo arguing about money?”

“I heard them argue several times. The gist of it being that Diego thought Pablo should give up his beach-bumming ways and find a steady job.”

“A job in addition to playing here in the combo?”

“Of course. The combo job’s a great way to earn a little extra pay, but it’s by no means self-supporting—not on this tourist’s paradise of rip-off prices.”

“Strange that Pablo chose this week to do a disappearing act. If he expected an inheritance, he must have known he’d have to show up to claim his father’s body, arrange a memorial service.”

“Maybe he couldn’t face that.”

“Too grief stricken. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, he lost his father.” I could still remember the shock and sadness I felt at losing my own father. I shook my head.

“I hate to see you looking so sad, Rafa.”

I managed a smile. “In spite of his grief, Pablo must have known he’d be one of the first persons of interest in an investigation. Kane, I don’t think Pablo had anything to do with his dad’s death. I’ve wondered now and then why Mother and Cherie were so close to Diego. You know the skinny on that? Guess I was never interested enough to ask, just sorta took his friendship for granted.”

“Anything I know is gossip. Old timers say that after only a short time on the island, Diego fell in love with Key West, settled down here, and planned to stay. He met Brick Vexton when he stopped at his marina trying to buy a boat. For a while he used the runabout for making a living of sorts by doing small chores for people around the waterfront.

I’ve heard Brick say Diego soon learned a boat was only a hole in the water where you poured your money. But Diego was a hard worker, and Brick hired him to help out at the marina. Eventually Diego worked up to the position of chief dock master Guess he met important people at the marina.”

“That figures,” I agreed. “Diego’s outgoing personality and reputation for honesty must have helped get him elected as a councilperson. But he continued to work at the marina. Didn’t want to let Brick down.”

Kane nodded in agreement. “The news of his death must have hit the Vextons hard. And it will hit your mother and Cherie hard, too. Wonder when they’ll get back home.”

“Soon, I hope. I rather enjoy working alone at The Frangi,
but I’m eager to get back to writing full time. Of course everyone’s been a great help to me the past few days. Couldn’t have kept The Frangi running so smoothly without help.”

“You’ve done a great job, Rafa. Don’t put yourself down.”

No point in telling Kane I was used to putting myself down where Mother and Cheri were concerned. The black sheep of the family. That was me.

“Kane, I need to investigate Diego’s murder. I need to do it to help get that killer off the streets.”

We’d finished our salad, and when we stood, Kane pulled me into a deep embrace. We exchanged several long kisses, before I pulled away—reluctantly, and I tried not to let his nearness distract me from what I’d needed to say.

“I have to investigate Diego’s murder, Kane. I have to.”

“Nobody’s asked you to do that.”

“And I’ve thought of another thing.”

Kane shook his head and sighed. “I’m almost afraid to ask. But what else have you thought of?”

“Maybe I have an agenda that goes beyond taking a killer off the streets. I can’t help thinking I could take careful notes during my investigation and use them later in my writing—in writing a book, perhaps a mystery novel. Having my name on a dust jacket is high on my list of lifetime goals.”

“You were planning a column on Diego, right?”

“Right. And maybe I’ll still write it after the talk about his death dies down, but one day I’m going to write a novel. It could be a book based on this horrible murder. I’m going to involve myself in primary research, in unearthing facts that nobody else is privy to. My need to write a book may help solve Diego’s murder, and every case that’s solved takes a criminal off the streets. That’s important to me and to everyone who lives here.”