Dying to Retire (26 page)

I leaned forward to talk to Marina. “Do you know who saw Clarence threaten Portia?”

“You told me about that,” Amelia said to Marina.

“It’s true,” Marina said. “I saw it with my own eyes, and I told the police, too.”

“The Shelbys came to Marina’s office to look at the apartments,” Amelia said.

“She was so high and mighty about opposing our development,” Marina said, “but her husband liked the idea. That’s when it happened.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“He threatened to kill her.”

“Ooh, Marina, are you going to take the witness stand?” Amelia asked.

“Of course I am.”

“When did this take place?” I asked.

“About three days before he killed her.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I marked it on my calendar. I even showed it to the police. I told them he sounded so threatening, I thought I should write it down in case anything happened to her. And you see? Wasn’t I smart?”

“Poor Portia,” Amelia said. “And he was so handsome, too.”

“You can’t trust men,” Marina said.

“You’re talking about my brother again, aren’t you?” Amelia said. “I don’t want to hear anything bad about him.”

“You only want to hear bad things about everyone else.”

“That’s not true.
Eso no es verdad.
”

“Well, thanks for your help,” I said, standing. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

Seth had begged off dinner that evening, saying he was too tired, and I called him the next morning to see how he was feeling. He groaned when he answered the phone.

“Seth, are you all right?” I asked.

“No. I am not all right.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I am starving to death. That’s what’s the matter.”

“I’m not surprised. You skipped dinner last night. Why don’t you go to the café in the village and get some breakfast?”

“I would, if I could get out of bed. I wrenched my back on those darned machines yesterday.”

“How awful. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t you dare laugh, Jessica.”

“I’m not laughing,” I said. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes! You can bring me something to eat.”

“Tell me what you want and I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

 

Seth’s door was unlocked. I knocked, called out, and walked in carrying a brown paper bag, which held an egg-and-cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee. I’d elected not to bring him the jelly doughnut he’d also requested, and had substituted a container of fruit, knowing I was risking a tongue-lashing.

Seth was sitting up in bed, the covers neatly arranged, watching television when I entered.

“You picked a good day to stay in bed,” I said. “It’s raining out. I’m just going to put this on a plate and I’ll be right back.”

“Mort stopped by after you phoned,” he called out as I walked into the kitchen.

“I see that,” I said, noting the crumpled paper bag in the garbage pail and empty dish with powdered sugar on it in the sink. I put the sandwich on a plate, the fruit in a bowl, and the coffee in a mug. I even found a tray to carry them in to the patient.

Seth consumed his second breakfast, and I politely refrained from asking which machine it was he’d injured himself with, or where his athletic instructor was in his time of need.

“Feeling better?” I asked.

“Much. Just a bit sore, that’s all. I’ll be up and around in a trice.”

“A back injury is nothing to take lightly,” I said. “You should rest today.”

“Thank you, Dr. Fletcher. I guess I know what’s wrong with me, thank you very much.”

I held up both hands and feigned innocence. “Far be it from me to tell the great Dr. Hazlitt what to do,” I said.

“Dang it, Jessica. I’m uncomfortable enough as it is. Don’t rub it in.”

“I never said ‘I told you so,’ now, did I? I’m just concerned about you, Seth. I know back pain is no picnic. I don’t want you to injure yourself further, that’s all. You tell me how I can help, and that’s what I’ll do. And I won’t say another word about it.”

“I’m not sure it’s the back at all,” he said, mollified. “I hurt all over.”

“Would you like me to run you a hot bath? That might relax your muscles and make you feel better. I can also stop in Weinstein’s and pick up some liniment, if you tell me what you want.”

After grumbling some more, Seth agreed that a bath would be therapeutic. I ran the water, testing it with my wrist so it wouldn’t burn him. I offered to help him to the bathroom, but he stoutly refused and sent me off instead to Weinstein’s with a shopping list. I was certainly getting my exercise this morning, walking to and from the village.

When I returned from the drugstore with various bottles of painkillers, plus a tube of capsaicin cream—something Harry had recommended—Seth was dressed and had propped himself on the couch with pillows on either side. The color was back in his cheeks and he looked far more relaxed than when I had left. But he was upset about something. I brought him a glass of water. He took two pills and sighed.

“I’m sorry, Jessica.”

“What are you sorry about?” I said, taking the armchair next to the couch.

“I yelled at you and made you go out in the rain.”

“I don’t melt. And you were in pain when you cranked at me. I didn’t pay it any mind.”

“No, I was embarrassed.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“Yes, there is. I feel like an old fool trying to act like a young buck, running around a gym showing off. And this is what it got me.”

“A very wise friend once told me that people do foolish things at times, even people who are conscientious and intelligent.”

“Yeah, well, I’m paying the consequences today.”

“But you’re feeling better now?” I said.

“I am. The bath was just the thing. By the way, I forgot to tell you I called the office. Assured Dr. Jenny and everyone else that the police were not looking for me in Key West.”

“Good old Sam and his police work.”

“Remember I’d asked her to look up Portia’s chart?”

“Yes. And what did you find out?”

“Portia was practically the same weight for thirty-five years. I never prescribed a diet. She never asked about losing weight.”

“It’s good to hear, even though we no longer need to convince the police a murder has taken place. Although if you ask me, the evidence against Clarence is skimpy. Still, your records seem to confirm what we thought all along, that Portia didn’t take those diet pills on purpose.”

“Or even know she was taking them.”

“True.”

“Must be someone with a mighty strong reason for wanting to see her dead to go to all this trouble to kill her.”

“I agree,” I said.

“Do you know who did it?”

“Maybe. I’ll know better at the Residents’ Committee meeting this afternoon. Think you’ll be up to coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Where is everyone?” Seth asked as we took seats next to Mort and Maureen. “I thought the residents’ meeting was a popular event.”

The chairs in the meeting room were arranged in two banks, with an aisle up the center. Less than half the seats were full, most occupied by people who’d become familiar faces by now: Monica Kotansky and her sister Carrie; their friend Olga Piper; Helen and Miles Davison; Minnie and Sam Lewis; Earl and Burl Simmons, and Amelia Rodriguez. Marina, who was there as Wainscott’s designated representative, sat in the back row, a steno pad and pen on her lap. I looked for Mark Rosner, but didn’t see him.

“The tennis tournament had to be postponed this morning because of the rain,” I heard Minnie say. “By the time the sun came out and dried up the courts, the tournament and this meeting overlapped.”

“They’ll be here,” Sam said loudly, referring to the tennis players. “We’ve got food. If you want to fill a meeting, that’s what you’ve got to do. They always come for the food.”

Tony Colombo came through the back door, wearing a white apron and carrying a large cooler, followed by a younger man, also in white, wheeling an aluminum cart on which were two foil-covered chafing dishes. I’d seen the younger fellow making pizzas at Colombo’s restaurant when Seth and I had dinner there. I presumed he was Colombo’s cousin and partner.

At the sight of the food being set up, the Simmons twins started getting out of their seats.

“No refreshments till the end of the meeting,” Sam called out.

“Well, then, let’s get started. It’s already past the hour,” someone said.

Sam looked at his watch. “Give ’em another five minutes, Minnie; then start.”

“Hi, Seth,” Monica called from across the aisle, waving to him, her bracelets jingling. Snowy, perched on her lap, bared his teeth.

Seth gave her a wan smile.

“Does she know how sore you are from yesterday’s workout?” I whispered.

“No. And don’t you tell her.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” I said. “But I do need to ask her a question. Excuse me.” I moved across the aisle to the seat next to Monica.

A few minutes later, after more people had drifted in and the room began to fill up, I rejoined Seth. Minnie closed the front door, went to the officers’ table, and pounded a gavel on a little block of wood.

“The meeting of the Residents’ Committee of Foreverglades will come to order,” she announced. “May we dispense with the reading of the previous minutes?”

“So moved.”

“All in favor?” Hands went up. “Opposed? Good. I hate it when people oppose things. Now, we have two items on our agenda today—a suitable memorial for Portia Shelby—that subject was tabled at the last meeting—and the closing of the beach.”

Sam jumped up. “I want to say something about that. If DeWitt Wainscott—”

Minnie interrupted. “I didn’t call on you, Sam.”

“So call on me then.”

“Sam Lewis has the floor.”

Sam tugged on the belt of his shorts and took a deep breath. “If Mr. DeWitt Wainscott thinks he can intimidate us from demonstrating by closing the beach and siccing his lawyers on us, he’s got another think coming. I know my rights as a citizen. This is a freedom-of-speech issue. I say we file a class-action suit.”

“We’re on the first item, Sam,” Minnie said, “the memorial for Portia.”

“This is more important, Minnie. We can do something for Portia another time. This is affecting not only the quality of our lives, but the value of our properties, too. There are too many empty units as it is.”

There was a rumble of agreement, punctuated by a sharp bark from Snowy.

“Sam’s right,” said a voice from the rear doorway. It was Clarence. “The best memorial for Portia would be to reopen the beach.”

The rumble turned into a full-fledged roar as everyone craned to see Clarence. “He must have made bail,” Mort said to me.

“Good for him,” I replied, thinking it was very courageous of Clarence to brave the meeting and the scrutiny of those who believed him guilty.

Minnie pounded her gavel until order was restored.

Clarence came halfway up an aisle and stopped. “For the sake of what few friends I may have here,” he said, “I loved my wife and I did not kill her, either accidentally or on purpose. Portia died in the place that she loved the best—on the beach. It was an important part of her life and she wanted desperately to preserve it for you and everyone else in Foreverglades. If you want a memorial to Portia, get Wainscott to reopen the beach.”

Sam started applauding, and the Simmons twins joined him. But the rest refrained, perhaps uncomfortable with the idea of supporting anything said by a man accused of murder.

I reached out and touched his arm. “Come sit down and let the meeting continue, Clarence,” I said.

“I’ve said my piece,” he said, turning to leave.

“No, please stay,” I said. “You may want to see this to its conclusion.”

He thought for a moment, then reluctantly sat down beside me.

Sam Lewis, who’d remained standing, took a few steps in Marina Rodiguez’s direction. He moved up and down on his toes as he asked her, “So, Mrs. Rodriguez, what does your boss have to say for himself?”

Marina jumped to her feet and dropped the pad and pen on her seat. “Mr. Wainscott does not have to make any excuses to anyone,” she said. “We’ve been over all this before. Your contracts say access to the beach is at the discretion of the owner. The beach is his private property. The fact that he has generously allowed the residents here to use it for all these years doesn’t entitle you to beach rights forever. Not only that, he’s protecting you. There have been several alligator sightings—”

“He probably put them there himself,” Miles Davison called out.

“Mr. Wainscott cares about all of you,” Marina concluded. “He doesn’t want anyone here to get hurt.”

“How come he never cared about us before?” Sam shouted. “Alligators, my foot!”

Olga Piper stood. “What about the brochures? When I bought my unit here, the brochures showed people walking on the beach.” There was a chorus of agreement, and Olga continued. “We were promised a beach. You can’t take it away now.”

“What do you expect me to do, draw in the towers on the brochures?” Marina responded angrily. “Of course the pictures show the beach, because that’s the way it is now. Besides, how do you know your view will be blocked? It’s possible you’ll be able to see the water from some of the buildings.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Olga said.

“No. No,” a chorus erupted. “It’s not the same thing.” Snowy started barking again until Monica wrapped her hand around his snout and whispered in his ear.

“We won’t see the water unless Wainscott’s sky-scrapers are transported,” Sam said.

“You mean ‘transparent,’ Sam,” Minnie said.

“That, too.”

Marina crossed her arms. “The beach belongs to Mr. Wainscott. He can do whatever he wants with it.”