Death by Marriage (25 page)

“She met the guy here?”

“That’s the impression I got.”

“Did she mention a name?”

“No. Boone, come on, tell me what’s happened.”

“Later.” A pause, and then he asked, rather plaintively, “Okay, I’ll bite. What goes with the wig?”

I told him.

“Any time you’d care to demonstrate . . .” he whispered into the phone.

And I’d thought him Mr. Nice Guy. Gotta watch those farm boys from Nebraska. “In your dreams,” I told him and ended the call.

I phoned Sherry Lambert. There was silence after I identified myself, but I could hear
What now?
echoing
loud and clear. “I just need a favor,” I said quickly. “Is someone named Alexis Lippincott one of your renters?”

Sherry’s computer skills had an answer in seconds. Not only was Alexis Lippincott on the Wallace Realty’s rental roster, her condo was in Bella Vista, Letty’s condo complex. Not really a surprise, though some might question the coincidence. Bella Vista was newer than the condos on the beach, and the view over Golden Beach more interesting than endless miles of the Gulf of Mexico—a much-prized location that would appeal to a well-heeled lobbyist from D.C. Condos were available for rental because northern pre-retirees often bought property in Golden Beach, then rented it out, coming down only two or three weeks a year, usually during the heat and humidity of summer, leaving their property available for high-priced winter rentals.

Sherry, obviously glad my call wasn’t about her, gave me the unit number. Fourth floor. As I ended the call, I was thinking hard. Chad seemed to have chummed his way in with all the local police services—maybe he’d tell me what was going on. If he hadn’t kissed our problems goodbye and gone off on a bender.

“Uh, hi,” I said when Chad startled me by picking up on the second ring. “I had a call from Boone Talbot about a tourist I rented a costume to, an Alexis Lippincott. He wouldn’t tell me what’s going on. Have you heard anything?”

“Hell, Gwyn, I was up all night watching your precious Miss Letty. I ‘ve had—what?—maybe four hours sleep.”

I grinned, couldn’t help it. Chad hadn’t deserted us. And then I made the connection. Letty’s condo, Alexis’s condo—both in Bella Vista.

“She rented a unit at Bella Vista. Did you happen to see anything unusual last night?”

Chad swore. I heard rustling and assumed he was sitting up. “As a matter of fact . . . what did she look like, your girl?”

“Tall, sort-of amber-colored hair, cut short. Fortyish, big city sophisticated, well-dressed—”

“I saw somebody matching that description go into the building about two this morning. She was with a guy. He came out about five. Didn’t think much of it. I mean, consenting adults and all that. And, besides, I was there to watch Miss Letty.”

“What did he look like? Did you know him?”

“I knew him.”

“Chad?” I wanted to reach through the phone and slap him upside the head. Miserable man.

“Johnson Junior.”

“
Eric?
”

“You got it.”

I groaned. “She as much as admitted she knew he was a gigolo,” I told him, “but she said she planned to enjoy him to the hilt.” I turned fiery red when I realized what a suggestive analogy I’d picked. Fortunately, Chad couldn’t see me, but I heard him chuckle.

“I suppose you want me to pull a few strings and find out what happened.”

“Pretty please.”

“After waking me out of a sound sleep, you could do better than cutesy grade-school manners.”

“Let’s see if you find out anything before we start bargaining.”
Blast
! I couldn’t have given him such a blatant opening, I absolutely couldn’t have been
that
dumb.

“Right. Get back to you as soon as I know anything.” Dial tone. Oh-oh. Somehow Chad had read more into my reply than I’d intended. Or had he?

Crystal eavesdropped unabashedly while I talked to Chad and was now looking at me with stricken eyes. “Something more’s happened, hasn’t it?”

“I’m not sure. Chad said he’d get back to me.” Quickly, I filled her in on my cryptic call from Boone and Sherry’s information about where Alexis was living while vacationing in Golden Beach.

“Eric, a
gigolo
?” Crystal echoed. “Are you sure?”

“No. I don’t even know if it’s Alexis he was visiting. But as for the gigolo part, I somehow got the impression that whoever the boyfriend was, he planned the treats but Alexis paid. She didn’t seem to mind at all. The world’s changing, Crys. It’s not just men who pay for a good time.”

My phone sounded its chirpy default melody. (I’d never bothered to choose something I liked better.) It also popped up Chad’s name. Exercising admirable restraint, I didn’t plunge right in with a question. “Hello.”

“I drove over. Crime scene tape everywhere. Found an old buddy and got the scoop. Someone died in there. Sorry, kid, it’s your customer. The way I heard it, Lippincott was supposed to meet another tenant for tennis at ten this morning, and when she didn’t show up and didn’t answer her phone, the woman went to her apartment. Door was open. Your girl was in the bedroom, strangled.”

I hung onto the back of my stool. Crystal hovered, patting my shoulder. Chad wasn’t speaking loud enough for her to hear, but she knew. Smoke and mirrors.
Never scoff.

“You told them about Eric?” I managed.

“Sure. Your cop didn’t look a bit surprised you had me out there all night. Guess you’ve got him snowed, thinks you’re some kind of weirdo oracle.”

An automatic, “Don’t be ridiculous” escaped me before I realized it was all coming together. The “What if” I’d toyed with since Basil Janecek’s death had coalesced into a genuine theory, sparked by Vanessa Kellerman’s evil smile. And now . . . what if my pie-in-the-sky theory was true? One big gang bent on getting as much money from as many people as they could. But why kill Alexis? That didn’t make any sense.

I swear Chad heard my thoughts. “My guess is, it was an accident,” he said. “Maybe rough sex, maybe he asked for more money and she balked. Cons are usually very careful to preserve the mark, take every care of them, flatter them, love them, treat them like royalty. Killing doesn’t fit. Not unless they’ve got a marriage license and a Will that says they get it all. Not our problem,” he added, “except it adds fuel to your warnings about Daddy Johnson. Like
son
, like
father
.”

“Have they taken Eric in for questioning?”

“Babe, the cops aren’t miracle workers, they have to find him first.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled, “but there’s a killer wandering around out there, and I’m the one who’s been asking questions, warning Letty off—”

“Spying on cabins in the woods—”

“Did not. That was you.”

“That’s right. You were never there. Now about my reward . . .” He let his voice trail off into significant silence.

“When all this is over—”

“Now. Today, before things get any crazier. How about drinks, five-thirty at my place?”

I groaned. “Come on, Chad. Too much is happening.”

“The bad guys are probably running for their lives, Miss Letty is spared, and your sleuthing days are over. The Johnsons are boloed up the ying-yang. Every agency in the country will be looking for them. Come celebrate with me, Gwyn. I earned it.”

I couldn’t very well argue with that. Chad had come through like the professional he was. I agreed to tread the gangplank to his houseboat one more time.

After I spoke to Letty.

The musical beeps of Letty’s number danced in my ear. No answer. Okay, no need to panic. Letty had probably sneaked down a few flights to take a peek at what was going on. Since she didn’t own a cellphone, I was stuck with contacting her through the land line in her apartment. I’d try again in half an hour.

While I’d talked to Chad, his optimistic view of the situation had spilled over, enveloping me in a happy pink cloud. Now, as I made the left turn off the Trail onto the road that led to the drawbridge to Needle Key, my euphoria did a sudden dive into doubt. This whole mess was far from over. To the best of my knowledge, Eric Johnson and his father were still out there, doing God only knew what. And what about Martin’s murder? Was that Eric too? Was he one of Vanessa’s lovers, the one no one knew about? The one truly capable of murder?

And Marshall? He could be with Letty, now, this very minute, preventing her from picking up the phone.
Give it up, Gwyn, you’re wa-ay over the top.

I rumbled over the drawbridge and turned down the narrow lane that led to the southern tip of Needle Key. Maybe I should do the same turnaround at the jetties I’d done the last time I was here and head straight back to Letty’s condo. Surely the crime scene tape was only at the main entrance on the land side. If I sneaked around to the harborside entrance, maybe I could get in. After all, the police couldn’t keep the residents trapped inside for more than a few hours, could they? I was a little hazy on the legalities, but I suspected they couldn’t.

I drove past Chad’s dirt road, executed the loop around the North Jetty parking lot, and set the Malibu’s nose right up to the edge of the jetty. The view alone should have brought serenity. Sun glinted off the sparkling waters of the Inlet, outgoing boats power
ed
up as they left the No Wake zone and zoomed through the narrow canal between the jetties toward the freedom of the gulf straight ahead. Incoming boats powered down right in front of me, where the No Wake sign loomed large. On the far side of the water, I could see the marina and restaurant and, closer to the
G
ulf, a row of picnic tables perched above the jetties’ jagged gray rocks. To the south, a row of towering condominiums framed the sandy beach almost as far as the eye could see. I looked back toward the marina.
Sea Tow
was out,
Sea Rescue
as well
. Drama on the G
ulf and it was only early afternoon. Which was good in its way. I could assume neither of them was in jail.

I called Letty. Again, no answer.

Chad was expecting me
.

I called Crystal. “Will your ball tell you anything about Letty if she isn’t right there in front of you?”

“Maybe,” Crystal said. “I’ll call you back.” I stared at my cellphone a moment before I flipped it closed. I wasn’t accustomed to Crystal being cryptic.

Chad was expecting me
. So why was I still sitting here? My phone would ring just as well on the houseboat as it did here. I continued to sit. A Sea-Doo zoomed by, ejecting a rooster-tail plume, doing a U-turn at the end of the jetties and heading back down the other side of the pass. A stately fifty-footer with a flying bridge entered the jetties from the north side of the Intracoastal—it must have just passed Chad’s houseboat—and turned toward the Gulf of Mexico. An entire family crowded the open-sided wheelhouse, smiling and waving, off for a bit of sun and fun.

“Oh, my God,” Crystal burbled as I grabbed my phone on the first melodic chirp. “I’m getting nothing but black and swirly. You gotta believe me, Gwynie. My ball doesn’t do black and swirly. I’ve never seen that before. Something really bad’s going down, I know it.”

Crystal’s reading, combined with my own forebodings, gave me no choice. Even if I found Letty hale, hearty, and thoroughly convinced Marshall was a mistake, I had to get to her now. Better embarrassed than forever guilty of letting something happen to her.

Chad was expecting me
. I drew a deep breath. Calling him wasn’t an option. Too hard to describe the inexplicable over the phone. I could just hear him:
You think Letty’s in danger because Crystal’s ball is black and swirly? The police are on it, girl. Let it go. The Johnsons are toast.

Sure they were. Unwarranted sarcasm. For all I knew, they were already gracing the Golden Beach lock-up. Or maybe all the way to the county jail by now, the one where I’d picked up Scott the day after our series of disasters began.

I’d already started the Malibu’s engine, planning a quick stop at the houseboat, but I paused, reaching once again for my cell. What use was having the pe
rsonal cellphone number of the C
hief of
P
olice if I hesitated to use it
. Interrupting a murder investigation, Gwynie, my girl, is not acceptable behavior.

Too bad. I needed to know.

Chief Boone also had Caller ID. “Not now,” he growled without preliminaries. “Can’t talk.”

“I just need to know if you have Eric in custody,” I said very fast before he could hang up. “And have you seen Marshall? I’m worried about Letty.”

“No and no. Bye.” Dial tone.

I didn’t say it, but I thought it loud and clear.
Oh, shit!

My options were few. Scott was at sea, towing something. And the only other man at my disposal had started celebrating our alleged success some time ago.
Making sure the gears were in r
everse—with the dark blue waters of the jetty canal just beyond my front bumper—I eased back onto the park’s dirt road and drove the hundred yards or so to Chad’s houseboat.