Murder Hooks a Mermaid (21 page)

“We just asked some questions, as Bobby’s friends. And we didn’t break in,” I said. “The door was open. We just walked in and took a look around.” Even to me it sounded like a weak defense.

“Doesn’t matter, Glory, and you know it. You went in that apartment without permission. And how many other places have you gone poking around? You were all over the docks. You went off for a private meeting with Captain Grover. You questioned the guy at the dive shop.

“Everybody in this town knows you, or Karen, or both. They know where your shop is, and what car you drive, and where it’s parked.

“And any one of them could get back in his own bed in ten minutes, hardly long enough to even be missed.”

He pulled his car down a side street in back of Beach Books and parked in the tiny municipal lot just off the highway.

“You definitely upset someone, Glory. I just want you to be careful.” He shut off the engine and turned toward me, concern digging furrows around his mouth and clouding his blue eyes. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Well, since I can’t go anywhere unless I walk, I don’t think I’ll be doing too much investigating.”

Jake conceded my point.

We crossed the parking lot to the highway, just a few steps from Jake’s front door.

“Thanks for keeping me company,” I said. “And thanks for breakfast.”

He reminded me that the fire crew would be back to look at the fire scene behind the store. “If you want me, I’ll be right here all day. And if you need to go somewhere, just give me a shout. I’ll be glad to play chauffeur.”

“Thanks. I’m sure I’ll be fine, but I appreciate the offer.”

I checked the traffic, still light this early in the morning, and crossed the street to Southern Treasures, letting myself in the front door.

I checked Bluebeard and started a pot of coffee. Julie was scheduled to arrive in a couple of hours, but for the moment I had the place to myself.

I was deep into catching up on paperwork when Linda burst through the front door.

“Glory! What happened to your car? Have you seen what’s out there? There’s a whole brigade of firemen out back, crawling all over!”

She reached the counter and pulled me into a big hug, patting my back like I was five years old again. “Are you okay, girl? You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“One question at a time,” I said, disentangling myself. “There was a fire, and the firemen are investigating. It started in the middle of the night, I woke up, went out and found it, and called nine-one-one.”

“And you?”

“Didn’t get close enough to get hurt. I’m just fine, Linda. Really, I am.”

Her relieved smile was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. But it faded quickly, as she scolded me. “You like to scared me to death, Gloryanna Martine! What was I supposed to think when I pull up and there’s your sweet little car burned to bits? And you’re nowhere to be found!”

“You could have called me.”

“I did! About a thousand times. And you didn’t answer a single time. Not here and not on your cell phone, either.”

She was close to tears, and I realized her anger was just a mask for the fear she’d felt when she couldn’t reach me.

I reached for my purse under the counter and dug through it, searching for a cell phone that wasn’t there. As if to taunt me, I heard the faint sound of the ringer from my storage area. I must have put it down after calling for help and just left it there.

I followed the ringing and found the phone sitting on a shelf next to a box of T-shirts. I checked the call log on my way back to Linda, and saw the evidence of what she’d said. There must have been a dozen or more missed calls, some just a few minutes apart, over the past couple of hours.

“You weren’t here that early, were you?” The first call had come in about the time Jake and I had gone to breakfast.

“Early delivery. The distributors are swamped with orders; everybody’s stocking up for spring break. Guy took the crack-of-dawn shift last time, so this was my turn.”

I apologized probably a hundred times as I told her the story of the fire and Jake coming back to check on me and taking me to breakfast.

“Coast Café?” she guessed.

“Is there anywhere else at zero-dark-thirty?”

She shrugged. “I suppose you could have gone down to Pensacola, to one of those twenty-four-hour places.”

“I don’t think either one of us wanted to go very far away.”

I poured a couple cups of coffee, thinking I’d already had enough to last me the rest of the week, and Linda kept me company while I waited for Julie.

We were discussing the coming spring break crowds when the phone rang.

It was Anita Nelson. Julie’s labor pains were no longer false; she and Stan were taking Julie to the hospital.

I hung up and looked at Linda. “Looks like we’re having a baby today.”

Chapter 25

I LEARNED ONE THING ABOUT BABIES THAT DAY:
they will do things on their own schedule, and all you can do is go along with the program.

It was the middle of the afternoon when I checked in with Anita. Julie was fine, but her daughter was taking her time.

“It’s really only been five hours,” Anita said. “It’ll be a while yet. But I promise to call as soon as she’s here.”

“Thanks. Tell Julie I’m thinking of her.”

In the few months Julie had been working for me, she’d become like family. A little cousin, perhaps, whose company I enjoyed and who I admired.

She had taken some pretty hard knocks last fall, but she refused to let them keep her down. She picked herself up and kept going, making the best of a bad situation.

I liked to think we were a lot alike.

I called Jake and gave him the news. Which was that there was no news.

“Did you get ahold of your insurance agent?”

“Yeah. He says I’m covered, as soon as the fire department files their report of the cause of the fire.”

“That might take a few days,” Jake said. “Do you have loss-of-use coverage?”

That sounded familiar, but I didn’t know for sure.

“Check on it, Glory. It’ll pay for a rental car while you’re waiting for everything to work out.”

“I will.”

“In the meantime, why don’t you let me drive you over to Fowler’s? You can get a look at what’s on the lot. It’ll be easier to get away now than it will on the weekend—or next week, in the middle of spring break.”

I hesitated for a microsecond before agreeing to his plan. I’d answered Clark’s questions, done a pile of paperwork, and cleaned Bluebeard’s cage. And the sooner I started the process of buying a new car, the sooner I wouldn’t have to rely on other people to get around.

I hadn’t heard from Karen all day. I’d tried to call her earlier, but her number just went to voice mail, and I didn’t want to tell her about the car in a message. It would have to wait until she called back.

I left another message for her before I locked up the shop.

I stepped outside, stopping to examine the window displays. In spite of Jake’s kidding, they had come out well. The fake jewels and bits of costume jewelry glittered against the dark blue fabric I’d used to line the space, and the candlesticks with their drizzles of wax dripping down
their sides were the right finishing touch. Sometimes I actually looked like I knew what I was doing.

I ducked into The Lighthouse and waved a greeting to Chloe behind the counter. I ordered two lattes to go and a couple scones. On impulse, I had her bag a few of Pansy’s muffins. I’d take them to Sly. Even if I didn’t have much time to visit, the muffins should keep me out of trouble. I made sure there was a doggy treat for Bobo, too.

Each time I walked into Beach Books, I was struck by how warm and welcoming it had become. Jake had added chairs in many of the corners, encouraging visitors to linger and explore the books before making their choices.

He explained that he thought it actually helped sales. The longer a customer spent in the store, the more they bought. It made sense, but privately I thought the increased sales might have a lot to do with the knowledgeable and gracious owner. And a killer smile didn’t hurt, either.

That smile was on display when I came in the store, directed at a teenage girl with an armload of paperbacks. “There’s no school next week,” she said as she stacked the books on the counter, “so I need something to read.”

Jake eyed the stack as he began scanning the prices. “This ought to keep you busy for a while.”

“Only a few days,” she said with a touch of pride. “If I don’t have homework, I can read a book a day, sometimes more.”

“Well then, let’s hope for no homework.” He took the plastic card she offered and swiped it through the machine.

The girl entered her code, then flashed him an impish smile. “Oh, there is,” she said. “But
I’m
already done.”

Jake locked the door behind her, still smiling. He turned
to me and cocked his head toward the departing teen. “Now there is a girl after my own heart. An avid reader, and not afraid to admit she’s smart. I like smart women.”

“How about women who bring coffee?” I teased, handing him a cup, “and scones?” I waved the bag, letting the sweet smell of the cranberry scones tempt him.

“That always gets my attention.”

He reached for the bag, but I kept it out of reach. “We have to save some of these for Sly.”

Jake groaned with comic exaggeration. “Well, let’s get going, then, so I can have at least one of those. The smell is killing me!”

On the short drive to Fowler’s, Jake asked me if I had any idea what kind of car I was looking for. I had to admit, I didn’t have a clue.

“I’ve thought about a truck, for the store,” I told him. “But I always figured if I had a truck I would still want something small for running around town. Like Ernie’s Miata, and Felipe’s scooter: something that worked for running errands but didn’t use a lot of gas or eat up my tiny parking space.

“Julie even joked that she should sell me Jimmy’s truck, but that thing is a monster. Besides, she’ll get more for it if she sells it to someone who wants all the tricked-out gear Jimmy put in it.”

“I’m amazed she didn’t get rid of it immediately.”

I explained to him what Julie had said about selling Jimmy’s big ol’ pickup with all the bells and whistles. As we pulled into the lot at the back of Fowler’s Auto, I shared some of her trepidation.

I hadn’t been inside the shop since the day I’d discovered who killed Kevin Stanley. I’d gone around the back, to the
old junkyard where Sly lives, but I hadn’t ventured into the sales area or the repair shop, and I’d have been glad to avoid it for a while longer.

My heart sank when I saw the giant price numbers on the windshields. I had deliberately avoided looking at the price of cars for a long time, and I definitely had a case of sticker shock. A little mental arithmetic told me the payment on one of the cars on the front line would be a budget-buster.

“Ouch!” I said softly to Jake. “Now I remember why I didn’t want to buy another car.”

“I’m sure we can find something,” he answered. “We just need to keep looking.”

My unease wasn’t helped by the appearance of Joe Fowler, the owner’s son.

Matt Fowler was a walking definition of good ol’ boy. He, and the men like him, were the primary reason I would never be a member of the Merchants’ Association. Although he was only a few years older than Karen and me, we had never moved in the same circles.

His son was trying hard to be just like his father, and it appeared to be working. It wasn’t a pretty picture.

Joe stuck out his hand to Jake. “Hi, folks. Joe Fowler, sales manager. How can I help you today?” The question was clearly directed at Jake. As a female, I was just an ornament, and his disinterested glance told me I wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

It told me something else about Joe Fowler: he wasn’t a very good salesman. A good salesman remembers names and faces, he has a mental contacts file that tells him instantly who someone is and what they need. If you’ve met a really good salesman, he’ll recognize you instantly years later.

Joe didn’t recognize me. In spite of spending a lot of time last fall trying to convince me to pour a ton of money into repairing the Civic, he didn’t remember me.

“I’m looking for a car,” I said, stepping in front of Jake. “Something cheap, that gets decent mileage.”

Joe chuckled. “Isn’t that what we all want?” He gestured to a back row of the sales lot. “We have a few low-cost vehicles, but we don’t keep many of them on our lot. Frankly, most of them wouldn’t be worth your hard-earned dollars, and we take them to the auction. But we do have some excellent options that are just a few dollars more. Let me show you.”

He spent an annoying half hour trying to convince me I should buy several cars, a two-year-old pickup, and an SUV I knew wouldn’t get anywhere near the mileage he claimed.

A pair of young men walked on the lot, and I was finally able to shoo Joe away. Frustrated and miserable, I was ready to go home, crawl in bed, and pull the covers over my head.

“We can go down to Pensacola,” Jake offered as we headed back to his car. He glanced at his watch. “I think some of the bigger dealerships will be open late.”

I shook my head. Looking at the prices of the cars on Fowler’s lot depressed me. Comparing the stickers to the meager balance in my savings account had pointed out just how tenuous my financial situation remained.

Sure, there was my “secret” account, the one I tried not to think about. I’d started tucking away a few bucks from my small salary every payday. It wasn’t a rainy-day fund or an emergency account; that was what my regular savings account was for.

This was my Buy-Out-Peter Fund. And I wasn’t going to
raid it for something like a car. I’d wait to see how much the insurance paid; I’d get a bicycle or a skateboard before I’d touch that account.

It wasn’t money. It was my future. A future without Peter hanging over my shoulder, offering his unwanted and unnecessary advice.

I opened the door to Jake’s car and spotted the white-paper bakery bag on my seat. The treats for Sly and Bobo. I’d forgotten them in the misery of looking at cars.