Daiquiri Dock Murder (16 page)

By the time we settled Dolly in my guest room and I found ice cubes, a bowl, some salve, she managed to sit up and dry her tears to a mere sniffle. I wondered if Brick still stood where Threnody told him to stand. I squelched a grin.

“I’m o-okay, R-Rafa,” Dolly said. “No b-burns—except for my blouse and bra. I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.” She blew her nose into a tissue I pulled from the sequined caddy on the bedside table. “You go ahead and close The Frangi. I’ll be okay.”

“Plenty of time to do that later. Or maybe Brick will close up tonight.” I applied ointment to her reddened skin.” You relax and we’ll talk about this in the morning. I’m glad you weren’t badly burnt, Dolly, and I’m sure you didn’t intend to cause trouble. Accidents happen. Try to relax now and get some sleep.” I brought her a satin gown and a robe, waiting nearby while she slipped into the gown and then into bed.

Dolly dropped to sleep almost immediately. Leaving a night light on, I closed her door and left her alone. All the time I spent soothing Dolly, my mind was bursting with questions. Had Threnody been right? Had Brick deliberately torched Dolly’s blouse? Had he been trying to play hero? Again, I remembered Kane’s words. Did Brick really have that much of an ‘eye for the ladies’? Had he used a fire to get a more personal look at Dolly? I could hardly believe that. I told myself the whole thing had been an accident. But Threnody’s jealous reaction made me wonder if such instances happened often when Brick was around.

It was after midnight before Threnody and Brick left. I kicked off my sandals and sat enjoying the cool touch of terrazzo underfoot when a call came over my intercom.

“Ma’am. Henri here. Pablo Casterano is at the front desk, asking to talk with you. Shall I send him up or away?”

“Please send him up, Henri.”

Why had Pablo returned? I wasn’t afraid of him, yet I welcomed having Dolly in the next room, welcomed having Henri aware of Pablo’s presence in my suite. I waited at the doorway until Pablo stepped from the elevator, not wanting him to ring and waken Dolly. After I invited him inside, we sat in the living room. I didn’t pull the mini-blinds across the sliding glass door to the balcony. Anyone could look in and see us—anyone who happened to be up five stories and interested in looking.

“Thanks for letting me come up again, Rafa. But my mind won’t rest.”

“I won’t ask you where you’ve been these past weeks.” I sat on the couch and he sat in the chair to my left. “But we’ve missed you and we’re glad to have you back—on a permanent basis, I hope.”

“Tell me more about Dad. I realize now I need to know more.” Pablo jumped right to the topic uppermost in his mind. “I have to know more. I’m sorry you had to be the one who found him. But who do you think murdered him?”

“I’ve no idea. Thought maybe you could give me some clues.” I shuddered as I told him of Chief Ramsey’s Q&A session at the police station. “The chief will want to talk to you, Pablo, since you’re Diego’s next of kin. He asked about your whereabouts this morning, but none of us had any answers.”

“I suppose you’ll tell him I showed up here tonight.”

“Not if you ask me not to. In that case I won’t volunteer the information, but if he asks, I’ll speak the truth. And you may be interested to know that there were plain clothes cops at The Frangi tonight.”

“I didn’t notice.”

Now, I wondered about the pack of Tarot cards Pablo laid before us on the coffee table and began to feel uneasy here with this man—this homeless man who believed he could find answers to life’s important problems with a deck of strange-looking cards.

“Tarot cards sometimes reveal much to me, Rafa. The origins of Tarot are veiled in the mists of time. I don’t expect the cards to shout out the killer’s name, but they do speak to those who listen and seek answers. They offer miracles of psychological insight. Many times the cards allow me a look into my own soul.”

“I’m not putting down Tarot, Pablo. I believe people find what they’re looking for. Seek and ye shall find. The answers may be in Tarot or in the Bible. They may be lost in history or found in some vast universal intelligence. But I firmly believe that answers to human questions can be found.”

“Thank you for not laughing at me, Rafa. I believe the cards can emit mystic powers and esoteric wisdom. Oh, when I’m on-island, I sometimes I read fortunes for tourists on Mallory at the sunset celebrations. But when I’m alone, I lay out cards for myself—for serious study.”

“I hope you’re right about the Tarot, but I need to share a secret with you—a secret Kane disapproves of.”

“Kane disapproves of many things, including me. So what’s your big secret?”

“I’m doing a covert investigation of your father’s death. In many ways, all of his associates are suspects.”

“And Kane objects to that?”

“Feels I may ruin my future chances as a serious writer by getting involved as an amateur in a murder investigation.”

“It’s something to consider, Rafa. The Good Ole Boys on the Key West police force and the elected citizens on the board of commissioners may not welcome an amateur detective no matter how covert. Dad dug deeply into local politics. But tell me who you suspect as his killer and why. What are your thoughts? And how can you be sure I’m not the guilty person?”

“There’s an honesty about you that inspires my trust, Pablo. How can I suspect a guy who honestly gets psychological insights by reading and studying the Tarot and sometimes seeing into his own soul?”

I went on to discuss each of Diego’s associates and to speculate on each one’s motive for wanting Diego out of the picture. I spoke of everyone except Kane. I could hardly bear to admit that Kane had motive for murder, let alone admit that he might be Diego’s killer.

“Why are you willing to get so involved in this case?” Pablo asked. “You have good reason to run the other direction.”

“I’m willing to do all I can to help find your father’s killer because your father was my friend. And maybe I’m thinking of myself, too. Someday I plan to write novels, perhaps mystery novels. Working on this case will provide primary research into a murder.”

“So good luck to you,” Pablo said after I finished. “If I get any hot leads, I’ll share them with you. I want to find Dad’s killer, too. Don’t want any of the locals looking my way and imagining guilt written on my forehead.”

“You could help your image on the island by showing up for work here every night. How about it? We need you. You know that.”

“I’m making no promises, Rafa, but I’ll
try
to show up.”

“I’ll appreciate your trying. And where are you staying tonight?”

“Around.”

“I could order a room made up for you here at the hotel.”

Pablo stood. “Sorry. I appreciate your offer, but no.”

Pablo stood, stuffed his Tarot cards into the pocket of his jeans, and strode toward my door and the elevator. I stood, considering calling him back, but my telephone rang. I ran to answer it, then stopped. Was I ready to face another dead line? Refusing to wimp out at the sound of a telephone, I answered and heard Threnody’s voice so low I knew she must be whispering.

“Rafa, may I come talk to you now? Are you free?”

Chapter 19

(Late, Late Sunday Night)

I recognized anguish in her voice. “What is it, Threnody? Of course you may talk to me. What’s up? You sound frightened.”

“Tell you when I get there.”

“I’ll ask the desk clerk to send you right up.”

“No. No. Please meet me at the front entryway—under the mermaid. I’ll pick you up and we’ll find a place where we can talk in privacy. Okay?”

“Sure, that’s okay, but why all the secrecy?”

“I’ll explain later.”

I started to say more, but she’d hung up. I stood listening to the dial tone for a few moments before I replaced the receiver in its cradle. The wind outside had picked up and I reached into my closet for a sweater, wondering where Pablo would sleep tonight. I tried to push him from my thoughts. Impossible. Did he have a key to Diego’s private apartment at Brick’s marina? Or would he be sleeping under a palm on the beach? I pulled my sweater more tightly about me as I visualized the beach-at-night scene. How did those homeless guys keep warm? How did they avoid fire ants? Maybe Pablo might check in at a homeless shelter. At least he’d be safe at a shelter. And warm. Key West nights can grow very damp and chilly before dawn.

I grabbed my key ring, locked my door behind me, and took the elevator to the lobby. A full moon shone against the croton hedge almost like a beacon, and I stood in the shadow of the mermaid sculpture until Threnody arrived in her Caddi convertible. No headlights. Top up. She braked to a silent stop and a frisson of unease crawled up my spine when I considered getting into the car with her, destination unknown.

I forced myself to swallow most of my misgivings and eased onto the passenger seat, inhaling the gardenia scent that wafted around us and clung to the leather upholstery. For an instant neither of us spoke. The moment my car door slammed, she pulled away from the curbing and headed toward less populated streets near the viaduct before she drove on toward Smather’s.

Once we reached the beach, we saw a plethora of empty parking places lining the boulevard that separated South Roosevelt from a wide sidewalk and a retaining wall. Threnody parked across the boulevard from the slots reserved in the daytime for food and drink vendors and their vehicles. The police considered this lane a legal parking area although it lay on an almost deserted road full of ruts, an area darkened by the shade of palms and untrimmed Australian pines.

“Threnody, what’s up? Give. Why all the secrecy?”

“I didn’t want anyone to see me return to the hotel tonight.”

“I saw nobody around. We could have talked in my suite or downstairs beside the pool.”

“Nobody in your suite but you
and Dolly
right?”

“Yes, but Dolly was sound asleep. Threnody, do you really think Brick caused her accident tonight?”

“Let’s walk to one of the tiki shelters on the beach.” Threnody left the convertible and as soon as I joined her, she locked the doors with the click of her car key. “I’ll be sure nobody can overhear us there.”

Sand blown from beach to street gritted underfoot, and once we’d climbed the retaining wall steps and reached the deep mounds on the beach, grit seeped into my sandals and stuck to my toes. An onshore breeze carried a living sea scent that competed with Threnody’s gardenia cologne—an unusual but interesting mixture of aromas. I stumbled over an abandoned ball as we walked past a volleyball court and stepped onto the concrete base of the nearest tiki shelter. Moonlight peeked through holes in the palm-frond roof, scattering golden coins onto the rough picnic table.

“You think your car’s bugged? You think…”

“I’m not sure what I think, Rafa. That’s one reason I wanted to talk to you. The car may be bugged. I don’t know how to tell. Brick’s sly, and likes to keep close track of my activities. If I as much as look at another man, he lets me know about it. Yet, he feels free to flirt with any and every woman he sees—says the ladies enjoy his attention. If I protest, he assures me his outgoing personality brings us business.”

“He may be right.”

“Or he may be making it big time with Dolly. To please Brick, I pretend to like Dolly, but don’t you resent that crazy wannabe poet flirting with Kane?”

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “But Kane isn’t interested in Dolly or her poetry, and all her flirting makes her look foolish.”

“So forget Dolly—for tonight, at least. She’s not what I drove here to talk to you about, Rafa.”

“So what’s bugging you? You’re making me very curious—and nervous.”

“I want to ask you to help me investigate Diego’s murder.”

I made no effort to control my surprise. “Why me? Be real, Threnody. Why me? I’m no detective.”

“But you’re deeply interested in Diego. You were going to write one of your columns about him. Didn’t you tell me that? You’ve already done some research on his life in Cuba, his life here. Somehow all that knowledge can help us find his killer.”

“I don’t think so, but…”

“And you and your family were his friends, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then I’m asking you to help me investigate his death, not as a detective, but as a private citizen. I’ve come prepared to bribe you.” She laughed as if that were a joke. “Two grand for starters. But I don’t suppose money will change your mind.”

I laughed. “No. Of course not. But I might help you just to be on the side of justice—to fight the pain of injustice. A good man lies dead and his killer walks free. That’s injustice!”

Maybe someday I’d write a novel that would point up that theme. Maybe someday I’d be brave enough to give up writing my column for the
Citizen
, strike out on my own as a novelist. But not yet.

“I didn’t come to you for a lecture, Rafa. I want you to help me find Diego’s killer. In Chief Ramsey’s eyes, we’re both persons of interest. Do you realize what that means? Either of us could find a murder rap laid at our feet. But if we work together and find the killer that can’t happen.”

“Who do you suspect as the murderer, Threnody? You have reason to point your finger at someone?”