Foal Play: A Mystery (21 page)

“How come I haven’t seen him here at the trailer with you?”

“I suggested he work with me. He says I’m boring.”

Colleen cocked her head. One thing Pinky wasn’t was boring. She rose and moved to the kitchen. “Why would he attack you?” she asked, slipping her phone into her pocket. She grabbed a towel from a hook on the wall and ran it under water.

“I told him to make himself useful.”

“That’s it?”

Pinky shrugged. “He’s got too much Cascio and not enough Salvatore blood in him. The Cascios have hot tempers. Me, I’m more of a lover than a fighter.”

You can say that again, Colleen thought. She filled the damp towel with ice and returned to Pinky. “Put this on that bump until my guys get here.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m going to make sure of that.” She retrieved her phone and speed-dialed the station.

Jimmy answered on the first ring. “Everything okay?” he asked with concern.

“Could you send the EMT unit over to Antonio Salvatore’s trailer? I found him unconscious. He seems fairly lucid now but has a contusion on his head and needs to be checked out.”

“Got it,” Jimmy said and hung up.

“Any idea where your nephew is now?” she asked, repositioning where Pinky held the ice.

“Probably wrecking the car I gave him. You should see it. Has a beautiful custom charcoal-gray paint job.”

Her eyes widened. It was the car at the beach house. “Did you say charcoal gray?”

“Love that color. Reminds me of the Chrysler Building’s art deco elevators I used to ride in as a kid.”

“Care to tell me what you two were fighting about?”

“Let’s just say he and I have different ideas about the type of business the family should be in.”

Colleen recalled the shadowy gunman from the Lighthouse. Could that have been Pinky’s nephew, Max “Sweet Boy” Cascio? And could he be the same man who had burned down Myrtle’s house with Jane Doe inside, buried the heroin, and killed Miss Kennedy? If so, Pinky was lucky to get away with just a bump on the head. She wondered how much Pinky knew about what his nephew had been up to on the island and if he had been covering anything up.

She heard the engine of a vehicle in the lot. “That must be the EMTs,” she said, jumping from the sofa and hurrying toward the door.

She swung the front door open and froze. Idling in the lot was the charcoal-colored sedan. “Hey!” she said, stepping outside.

The sedan engine revved and the car zoomed from the parking lot. Colleen watched it disappear, then ran back inside. “Stay put and lock the door,” she said to Pinky before leaving and slamming the door closed behind her.

She leapt down the steps of the trailer and dashed to her SUV. She started the engine, flipped on the emergency lights, and peeled out of the lot. If it’s a chase Pinky’s nephew wanted, it was a chase he was going to get. In her early twenties, Colleen had been known for her lead foot and skill behind the wheel. She had even won a couple of amateur obstacle course races. Those driving skills were about to come in handy.

Colleen zipped through the Island Sands development as fast as her safety-conscious self would allow. She didn’t want to be the cause of another death on their island. She rounded a corner and spotted the sedan up ahead. As the road straightened, she pushed the gas pedal and picked up speed. The gap between her and the sedan shortened.

As she raced down the straightaway, she noticed a herd of horses galloping alongside the road. She was afraid the horses would suddenly change direction and leap into traffic. Get out of the way, she silently ordered. But as she had feared, the lead horse took a sharp turn and darted across the road, the rest of the herd following behind. She hit her brakes hard and brought her SUV to a screeching stop as the last horse galloped across the road inches from her front bumper. Colleen watched helplessly as the sedan drove out of sight.

She flicked off the emergency lights, steered her vehicle back into its lane, snatched her phone, and dialed Bill. He needed to know about Pinky’s nephew right away. She’d leave out the details of the high-speed chase. No need to get him upset about that now.

Bill picked up on the first ring. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, “but I’m not sure Pinky is.”

“What did you do?”

“It’s what his nephew did. Where are you?” she asked, stopping at a stop sign.

“I’m pulling into Nell’s with Myrtle.”

“I’ll meet you there. Take down this name. You’ll want to run it through CODIS.”

“What’s this about?”

“I’ll explain when I see you. The name’s Max Cascio. He may also go by Sweet Boy Cascio. Got it?”

“Max ‘Sweet Boy’ Cascio,” he said. “Got it.”

“See you soon,” she said and disconnected.

Colleen forced herself to drive the speed limit. She was anxious to get to Nell’s and speak with Bill and Myrtle about what she had discovered but there was no use getting into an accident. The close call she had had with the horses was enough for one day.

She ran her conversation with Pinky over in her head. She was reasonably confident now that the man with the gun was Pinky’s nephew. Had Pinky known about his activities in Corolla? It didn’t sound like it from the way he had spoken of Max but then again, family members often helped other family members when they were in trouble with the law. Could Pinky be the stereotypical Italian gangster that Myrtle thought he was?

Though Colleen didn’t have any reason to think Pinky was running anything but a legitimate real estate development business, she knew Myrtle wasn’t the only one in Corolla who thought he had ties to the Mob. From the time he had arrived and began buying land, there had been rumors and speculation. Colleen had always chalked it up to a North versus South thing, but now she wasn’t so sure.

One thing she was fairly certain of, however, was that Pinky’s nephew had been up to shady dealings in Corolla. Still, she didn’t have any proof. This was strictly a gut feeling. Pinky had said that Max had had “a tough go of it.” She imagined that meant trouble with the law. But even if he hadn’t broken the law, what type of man assaults his uncle while he’s a guest in his home? At best, Max was an ungrateful nephew with an anger-management problem; at worst, he was a drug-dealing arsonist and killer.

Colleen wished she had gotten a look at Max before he had peeled away in the car. She wondered if Pinky had a photo or if a mug shot would come up when Bill had the FBI run Max Cascio’s name through their database. If they got a photo, then they could get Ashley to identify Max … if they ever found out where Ashley and her family had vanished to after Miss Kennedy’s death.

The thought of Ashley identifying a mug shot of Max Cascio, Max being arrested, and life in Corolla returning to normal lifted her spirits. But the feeling didn’t last. As she was thinking about how nice it would be to have her life back and Myrtle out of her house, Colleen arrived at Nell’s and discovered a crowd in the parking lot—with Myrtle and Little Bobby at its center.

“What the hell’s wrong
with you, old man?” Colleen heard Little Bobby shout as she jumped from her vehicle and swiftly crossed the parking lot of Nell’s Gift Shop and Rentals.

A small crowd of locals and fishermen had gathered near the entrance to the store and Bobby, Myrtle, and Bill were in the middle of it. Bill stood with his arms extended between Bobby and the disguised Myrtle. He was doing his best to keep mother and son apart but obviously had his hands full as Myrtle struggled to break free and go after her son. Nell hovered at the outer perimeter with her hands over her mouth in shock.

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?” Myrtle yelled at Bobby, the fake mustache flapping with every animated word.

“Who is this crazy man?” Bobby asked Bill, irritated.

Colleen wiggled past the crowd and into the center of the action. “He’s my uncle,” she said. “What seems to be the problem?”

“
He’s
the problem,” Bobby said, pointing at Myrtle.

Colleen shot Myrtle a stern look of disapproval, then glanced at Bill with alarm. They both knew that if they didn’t get Myrtle away there really would be a problem.

“Seems your uncle Mitch doesn’t approve of Bobby buying a Jet Ski from Nell,” Bill said to Colleen.

“Those things are dangerous!” Myrtle shrieked.

“See what I mean?” Bobby said.

“Why don’t you and I have a talk,” Bill said to Myrtle, as he seized her firmly by the arm and led her away from Colleen and Bobby. The crowd pushed outward to allow Bill and Myrtle room to pass.

Colleen understood what Bill was up to. The best way to defuse the situation was to separate Myrtle and Bobby. She put her arm on Bobby’s back. “Tell me what happened with my uncle,” she said, gently turning Bobby so he no longer faced Myrtle.

“I was talking to Nellie about buying one of her Jet Skis and your uncle went ballistic. Called me a spoiled bum and an ungrateful child. Even told me my father was crying in heaven over how I’m behaving. Can you believe that?”

“Well, he is!” Myrtle yelled across the circle.

On the outside Colleen appeared calm and professional, but on the inside she wanted to slap Myrtle hard on her plump derriere. What did Myrtle think she was accomplishing by confronting Bobby? Did she want to blow her cover and the possibility of catching the person who tried to kill her over something as stupid as a Jet Ski?

“What Bobby says is true,” Nellie said, stepping forward. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Mitch.”

“I knew you were after me!” Myrtle screamed.

“Mitch, please. You’re scaring me,” Nellie said, tears in her eyes.

“Yeah? Well, y’all ain’t seen nothing yet,” Myrtle said, ripped off her sneaker, and threw it in Bobby’s direction.

Nellie yelped and ducked behind Colleen. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. A few onlookers snapped photos on their cell phones. Colleen surveyed the growing crowd with concern. If they didn’t get things settled quickly, the likelihood of Myrtle’s disguise remaining intact was slim and the likelihood of the local press appearing great.

“That’s assault,” Bobby said. “That man should be arrested.”

Cries of agreement came from the onlookers.

“Okay, people, that’s enough,” Bill said in a booming voice.

The crowd immediately quieted. Colleen had always been impressed by his ability to control a group.

“Nobody’s getting arrested,” he said to Bobby. “There’s obviously been a misunderstanding.”

“The only reason you’re not arresting him is because he’s Chief McCabe’s uncle.”

Before Bill or Colleen had a chance to refute Bobby’s accusation, the news van appeared in the lot. She had to get Myrtle out quick before Myrtle opened her mouth and said something they’d all regret. She left Bobby and Nellie, snatched Myrtle’s shoe from the ground, and crossed to where Bill had Myrtle in a tight grip by the arm. “I think you need to go home, Uncle,” she said through gritted teeth, and handed Myrtle her sneaker.

The news reporter and his cameraman shoved through the crowd.

“Oh good. The news. Now maybe somebody will listen to me,” Myrtle said.

“We’re always here to listen,” the reporter said, pressing forward and signaling his cameraman to start recording.

“I know who killed Myrtle Crepe and Miss Kennedy,” Myrtle said before Colleen could stop her.

Everyone gasped. Colleen and Bill silently groaned.

“Get her out of here,” Bill said in an urgent whisper.

“What’s your name, sir?” the reporter asked, thrusting the microphone toward Myrtle.

Colleen stepped between Myrtle and the reporter. “My uncle seems to be suffering from heat exhaustion. I’d like to get him home so he can rest. If you’ll excuse us.” She pushed Myrtle through an opening in the crowd and away from the reporter.

“Are the police going to investigate this man’s suspicions?” Colleen heard the reporter ask as she marched Myrtle toward her SUV.

“Ouch! You’re hurting me,” said Myrtle, who struggled to keep up while wearing only one shoe.

Colleen yanked open the passenger-side door. “In the words of my uncle Mitch, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Myrtle opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again and hopped into the SUV. Colleen slammed the door closed. Myrtle flinched. As she crossed around the front of the vehicle, Colleen looked back at the crowd. Some were still watching her and Myrtle but most were now directing their attention toward the reporter and cameraman.

“So you have no intention of following up with this lead, Sheriff?” Colleen heard the reporter ask as she jumped in the car.

Bill was now surrounded by the crowd and the media. “As you are well aware, we don’t discuss ongoing investigations,” he said.

She hated to leave Bill to deal with the press but it was the only option. She started the engine. “You better buckle up,” she scowled at Myrtle. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

Myrtle hurriedly buckled her seat belt as Colleen burned rubber. Colleen waited until Nell’s shop had disappeared behind them before exploding at Myrtle. “A Jet Ski?” she said, trying to control her anger since she was driving. “You’re going to blow everything over a Jet Ski?”

“They’re dangerous.”

“So is making a scene when you’re in disguise because someone tried to murder you.”

Colleen expected another feeble attempt at an excuse. When she didn’t get one, she stole a look at Myrtle and saw her rubbing the sneaker’s shoelace like rosary beads. Myrtle’s eyes were welling and a tear dropped into her lap. Colleen sighed. It wouldn’t do to have Myrtle upset and crying. If the plan that Colleen was formulating worked out, Myrtle was going to need her wits about her tonight.

“There’s one good thing about what happened,” Colleen said.

“We know Nellie’s not the killer,” Myrtle said with a sniffle.

Colleen turned to Myrtle, surprised. “But you thought Nellie wanted to get rid of you to get her hands on the documents.”

Myrtle bowed her head. “I was wrong.”

“I don’t understand. What happened to make you change your mind?”

“I was talking to Nellie before … before the whole thing with Little Bobby happened. You know how she has a grandson in film school?”