Daiquiri Dock Murder (22 page)

“Wow!” Dolly exclaimed. “Look at that white canopy. Tisdales must not have noticed there’s not a cloud in the sky.”

“Guess it’s to shade us from the sun.” I parked beside Threnody’s Caddi, locked my car, and we walked toward the canopy.

“Looks as if the mortuary workers have done a good job,” Kane said. “Dais for the minister, plenty of chairs, an electric piano and a piano bench.”

“Threnody told me she planned to sing
a capella
.”
I noted the white wicker table bearing a ceramic urn decorated in swirling seascape shades of blue and green. Diego’s ashes? My body stiffened at the sight of the urn, and my mind flashed to Brick’s office and a yellowed poster showing Peggy Lee holding a mike, her blonde hair shining above her obsidian evening gown as she sang
Is This All There Is?

The scent of gardenia snapped me back to the present when Threnody approached us. “What’s your opinion?” she asked. “Think they’ve set up enough chairs? Supposed to be over a hundred.”

“I’ve no idea of how many people may arrive,” I said. “Everything looks lovely. Tisdale’s did a good job.”

“I thought one of us could stand at the end of the back row of chairs to greet people and pass out these folders.” She gave me a folded obituary that I eased into my purse. Brick will oversee the parking at the visitor’s lot, point guests to the canopy, and then join us before the service begins.”

“Fine with me.”

When a few mourners began to drift toward the canopy, Kane sat beside Dolly in a back row. A good observation spot, I thought. Dolly pulled a small notepad from her purse and held a ballpoint at the ready. I sighed. Couldn’t she even attend a funeral without composing a poem?

Pablo took a chair at the center of the front row, directly in front of the urn. I watched him carefully for signs of guilt. What were signs of guilt? I tried to forget the question. The minister approached from the sidelines, taking a seat next to Pablo. A fair-size crowd sat waiting for the service to begin. Chief Ramsey arrived. Alone. From the north. Threnody greeted him, and he chose a chair in the back row, far from Kane and Dolly. In a few more moments Detective Lyon drove his unmarked car into the visitor’s lot, parking near the exit. He strode toward the canopy at a quick pace until he stumbled, almost fell, then regained his balance and continued walking at a more sedate pace. An owl burrow? Must have been. We exchanged weak smiles before he took a seat at the end of the second row.

Guests filled the chairs quickly, remaining silent as the pianist played a prelude, a medley of hymns. Diego’s favorites? Or did he have favorites? Were Cuban hymns different from American hymns? Maybe Pablo had chosen the selections. Or maybe the pianist. In addition to my close associates, I knew many of the guests through my work at the newspaper and through having given many speeches up and down the Keys for writing workshops—nonfiction, of course. But these were not people I mingled with socially. I left the social mingling to Mother and Cherie.

I needn’t have concerned myself about what to wear. Guests arrived in various modes of dress. A few of the men wore casual jackets, slacks, and shirts without ties. Others wearing jeans, tees, and deck shoes looked as if they’d come straight from the docks. Except for Threnody and me, few of the women wore dresses. Silk pant suits were the garment
du jour
. Had these people called each other ahead of time to plan their costumes?

Jessie Vexton took a chair on the end of the third row as if planning a quick escape route. Soon after that, the minister rose from his seat beside Pablo and approached his place behind the dais. Threnody claimed a seat beside the pianist. I used that as my cue to slip into a chair beside Kane and Dolly.

Dressed in a collared white robe tied in front with a golden sash, the minister nodded to the crowd. “Ladies and Gentlemen, let us bow our heads as we offer our silent prayers for the soul of our lost comrade.”

We bowed our heads.

“Following the prayer time, the minister cleared his throat. “And now, if you’ve brought your Bibles, you may turn with me to the following scriptures that were some of Diego’s favorites.” I heard wind flutter the pages as he opened his large Bible with gilt-edged pages protected by a white leather cover. I imagined the scent of leather.

Kane leaned toward me and whispered. “I don’t see anyone opening Bibles. Didn’t know we were supposed to bring Bibles.”

“Hush.” I frowned.

The minister read three passages of scripture. After closing his Bible he offered a short eulogy, telling of Diego’s life in Cuba, his legal passage to Florida, the loss of his wife. After those facts, he related more about Diego’s present-day success in learning English, working at the Vexton marina, and gaining political notice resulting in a seat on the esteemed board of commissioners.

“In closing, I’d like to invite any of Diego’s friends who care to, to share with us a few words concerning your thoughts about this man.”

A mourning dove called into the silence while we waited, but nobody stepped forward. I knew, had Mother and Cherie been present, Diego would have had two to speak in his favor. Since nobody approached the dais, the minister nodded to Threnody, and sat again beside Pablo.

The pianist sounded a single pitch and Threnody began singing.

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…”

Before she could continue, everyone looked forward, hearing a flutter of wings when a small brown bird perched on the blue-green urn. An owl? In attack mode? Nobody moved. Threnody continued her solo

“…That saved a wretch like me…”

Now the minister rose and stepped toward the urn, flapping the end of his golden sash at the bird until it flew toward the top of the canopy. I thought it would be frightened into leaving us. Wrong. With another rush of wings the owl dived and perched on the speaker’s dais.

“…I once was lost, but now am found…”

Again the minister flapped his sash at the owl. This time the bird left the dais and circled overhead for a few seconds before it flapped toward Jessie Vexton. Hovering above him for only a moment, it dive-bombed him. Standing, Jessie raised his arms to protect his head while he fled across the park toward his car.

“…Was lost, but now I see.”

With dignity Threnody finished her song and sat again beside the piano as if nothing unusual had happened.

“I’m outta here.” Kane rose and started to leave. “That bird may know something the rest of us don’t know.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” The minister stepped forward. “I apologize for this very unusual intrusion. I think our uninvited visitor has departed, so please, let us continue with this service.” Tightening the sash at his waist, he took his place again at the dais. In the distance, everyone could hear Jessie bang his car door, rev the engine, and burn rubber as he sped from the park.

Acting as if he hadn’t noticed this additional intrusion, the minister raised one arm and addressed the crowd. “Before we bow our heads for a final word of prayer, I want to extend Brick and Threnody Vexton’s invitation to each of you to stop by their marina and greet Pablo and your friends as you partake in sandwiches and coffee.”

“I’m not greeting anyone over sandwiches and coffee,” Kane said, his words audible above the minister’s prayer. “I’m outta here.”

“You rode with me, remember?” I whispered.

“I’m walking back.”

We both hushed until the prayer ended, then Dolly followed Kane and me to the end of our row of seats.

“I don’t mind walking home, Rafa. I think you and Kane need to talk—in private. I don’t intend to go to the Vexton reception.”

“Are you going to it, Rafa?” Kane asked.

“Not at the moment. Dolly, I’ll drive you home, then I’ll take Kane to his boat.”

“What does ‘not at the moment’ mean?” Kane asked.

“Kane, I think the meaning’s clear enough. I’m not going to the Vexton dock right now, but that I may stop by later. Please excuse me while I say a few words to Pablo.”

Pablo stood next to Threnody as I approached him. Threnody eased toward the minister when she became aware that I intended to talk to Pablo. I welcomed the privacy.

“Pablo, it was a beautiful service and I think Diego would have been pleased.”

“Pleased to be dead?”

“No, of course not.” His crude words caught me off guard. Had this man murdered his father? Were his words intended as a cover up of some kind? “I mean, I think Diego would be pleased to know that he had the respect and good will of his fellow citizens. And I do want to apologize for the bird’s intrusion.”

“The owl.”

“Yes, I suppose it was an owl. Anyway, I’m so sorry the creature chose today to make an appearance.”

“According to my interpretation of the book of Tarot, the owl selected its rightful place at the rightful time. I expected it.”

“Pablo! I don’t understand.”

“Let me remind you that Tarot was written long ago. In Diego’s universe, in my universe, owls sometimes carry messages from the beyond. The wise do their best to interpret those messages.”

“What is your interpretation?”

“I do not care to reveal my interpretations.”

And I didn’t care to press Pablo any further concerning his interpretation of the owl’s appearance. To each his own. Maybe he hoped people would think him crazy in case he needed that for a defense tactic later.

Chapter 27

Giving Dolly the VIP treatment, I drove her to the hotel portico, waiting while the uniformed doorman welcomed two passengers exiting from a black Lexus. After they turned their car over to a valet, Dolly slipped from the car and waved a farewell. After that, I drove Kane through the hustle-bustle of tourists to Land’s End Village and the harbor walk.

“Sure you don’t want to attend the reception?”

“Very sure. See you tonight at The Frangi—and thanks for the ride.”

As I approached Mallory Dock after leaving Kane, the
Sea
Princess
sounded its departure whistle and tourists flooded the street. They swarmed toward the cruise ship from all directions, caring little that they blocked traffic, treating the street as it were a sidewalk laid especially for them.

Patience. Patience.
Dad’s wise words from my childhood did a slow rerun through my mind as I waited.
Always remember that the tourists are the ones who put the tinkle in our cash registers.

Sometimes I tended to forget Dad’s words, but this afternoon I relaxed and braked the Prius. I couldn’t help smiling at pudgy men wearing new Sloppy Joe tees and at chic women carrying bags revealing they had patronized Banana Republic
and Coach.

I eased slowly through the streets toward Daiquiri Dock. As usual, parking places were at a premium, but Diego’s reception was a come-and-go affair. I waited when I saw a car filled with guests leaving, and I eased into the slot they left. After locking the Prius, I strolled toward the chandlery.

“Need your boat, Miss Blue?” a dock master called to me.

“Not today, thanks.” I wondered who they found to take Diego’s place, and how this man had learned my name so quickly.

Shading my eyes from the afternoon glare of sun on water, I walked on inside the chandlery. I won’t say it looked like the reception hall in a church, but workers had shoved boats and motors, display ads, and rolls of nautical line aside. In their place a banquet table clothed in white lace held a punch bowl and a choice of crystal cups at one end. At the other end lay an assortment of napkins and plates on either side of a platter of sandwiches. Pulled pork.

Tisdale’s had done well at setting up the reception, but nothing could mask the odor of diesel fuel wafting in from a recently started boat motor. Perhaps they could have silenced the not-too-distant sound of someone boring a hole in a very hard substance with a jackhammer, but none of the guests seemed offended by the smells or the sounds. Perhaps the lingering taste of barbecued pork blotted out other sensory perceptions.

Although Mama G wore a spotless white uniform while she ruled over the refreshment table, she had not given up her Birkenstocks nor her tendency to spout orders.

“Be free to help yourself,” she called to the lineup of guests. “Enjoy. Pulled pork sandwiches. Sparkling papaya juice be in the punch.” When one guest hesitated over the sandwich platter, Mama G leaned forward, winked, and spoke softly.

“Have special conch and capers sandwiches for those who might have allergy to pork.” From under the table she produced a smaller platter of her favorite Cuban sandwiches.

“I’d like a conch and caper sandwich, please,” I said, grinning at her.

Brick saw this, and although he glared a Mama G for a moment, he shrugged and ignored her breaking her promise to Pablo concerning sandwich fillings.

As the crowd began to thin out, I eased toward Brick, deciding to ask him a few questions. He might have some answers that Kane refused to discuss with me. I took care not to arouse his suspicions. Everyone expected columnists to ask questions, didn’t they?

“Good work, Brick. I think Tisdale’s did a fine job with the funeral service as well as with the reception.”

“Agreed. I think it pleased Pablo, too.”