Pineapple Lies (18 page)

“Bob!” said Mariska. “Really!”

Chapter Twenty

Charlotte spotted Darla scampering toward the table where she and Mariska sat, her caftan flapping the breeze behind her. The third Wednesday of every month was Poolside Breakfast, where a good portion of the Port gathered to share eggs in the community center overlooking the pool. Charlotte and Mariska sat at their usual table, but Frank and Bob were absent.

“Where’s Frank?” asked Mariska as Darla slipped into her seat. “I can tell you Bob didn’t feel up to breakfast this morning. Lance did quite a number on him last night.”

“Frank was a little slow but he had to go into work. Charlotte, you need to make him and Bob those hangover concoctions of yours.”

“The Red-eye Jedi,” said Charlotte. “Mind-tricks you into thinking you don’t have a hangover.”

“How does it do that?” asked Mariska.

“It’s full of vodka.”

“Oh. Hm.”

“Oh!” yelped Darla. “I almost forgot. Frank got a call. The ballistics came back and the bullet didn’t match any of George’s guns.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” said Mariska.

Charlotte looked up in time to see Penny in the doorway.

“And as if on cue, there’s Penny.”

All heads swiveled to watch as Penny entered the room. She wore her best pearls, a silk tank and tan skort. As gazes fell upon her she lifted her chin and weaved her way between the oglers to Mariska’s table.

“Hi, Penny,” said Mariska. “We were going to come see you today if you didn’t come to breakfast. How are you doing?”

“I’m just fine. I assume you’ve heard the news?”

“The bullet didn’t match,” said Darla. “Frank called you?”

“Frank called me. And yes, the bullet didn’t match any of George’s guns. Of course it didn’t match.”

“What’s that?” asked Harry from two tables to the left. “My bullet?”

“The bullet,” said Penny.

“But they still have those letters. Maybe he ditched the gun.”

Penny glared at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Those letters are fakes or taken out of proportion. My George never had an affair with his secretary. That would be so… so…”

Penny curled her hands into fists as she tried to find her word.

“Cliché?” offered Charlotte.

“Yes!” said Penny, pointing at her. “Cliché. A man and his secretary. It’s ridiculous. They told me they can’t even be sure the letters they found are between George and that girl. They’re misleading. They might be anyone’s letters. She isn’t the only person in the world named Erin.”

“George said they aren’t his?” asked Darla.

“Of course he did!”

“Can’t they do handwriting analysis on them?” asked Harry.

Penny whirled on him and released the fabled Level Ten Sniff. Before Harry could say another word she stormed off, calling “You people!” over her shoulder as she left.

“Huh,” grunted Harry, moving from his own table to Mariska’s. “I thought for sure it was George.”

“Maybe the letters aren’t as damning as we thought,” said Charlotte.

“Maybe not,” said Harry. “Or maybe they just need to find more evidence. Hair or blood or the gun. He buried the letters, maybe he buried other things.”

“Or maybe it wasn’t George,” said Darla. Charlotte could see she was getting annoyed with Harry for joining the group without asking.

“Did you know Declan’s uncle was dating her?” asked Mariska.

“Seamus?” said Harry, his ears perking. “He was dating his…uh…”

“Sister-in-law,” said Darla. “That confused us for a second, too.”

“Mariska,” whispered Charlotte, touching her hand. “You can’t gossip about something this serious.”

Darla overheard and scowled. “Harry, we know you want to solve the mystery and relive your glory days but we can’t help you.”

“But what’s this about the uncle? You think he did it? It still has to be George don’t you think?”

Charlotte shook her head. “We don’t know. We were just playing Dateline. On that show it’s always the husband or the boyfriend, and Seamus was dating her, that’s all. It’s hardly evidence.”

“That and the insurance money,” said Mariska.

Charlotte kicked her under the table.

“Ow! What?”

“What insurance money?” asked Harry.

Mariska rubbed her leg. Her face fell as Harry asked his question.

“Oh,” she said.

“Nothing,” said Charlotte. “Leave it to the real police.”

Harry turned on her, his mouth set in a short, tight line.

“I am real police.”

“Not anymore,” said Charlotte. “Not officially. You found the bullet and that was great, but don’t start any rumors about Seamus. You know how this neighborhood can get. We were just playing, coming up with alternative theories.”

“Playing Dateline.”

“Exactly.”

“You know none of those people are detectives. They’re talking heads and half-assed reporters.”

“Don’t get wound up about it, Harry. We just don’t want the neighborhood buzzing with rumors.”

Harry stood.

“I don’t gossip.” He held their gazes a moment longer and then returned to his table, sitting with his back to the group.

“Poor Harry,” said Mariska. “He just wants to be useful.”

“You can’t start rumors,” said Charlotte. “No more talking about our theories unless we’re alone in your house.”

Mariska nodded. Then her eyes lit up.

“What is it?” asked Charlotte. “Did you think of something?”

“No!” said Mariska, pointing. “Here come the eggs! I’m starving!”

Charlotte spotted the waiter approaching with their covered tray of breakfast foods. She was about to turn and pull her napkin to her lap, when she noticed a familiar figure sitting at a table on the other side of the room.

“Seamus,” she said.

“You said we can’t talk about it here,” mumbled Mariska, watching the waiter reveal their menagerie of delight the way a raccoon might eyeball a lidless trashcan.

“No, Seamus,” repeated Charlotte in a hissed whisper. “He’s over there in the corner.”

Mariska’s and Darla’s gazes tore away from the food.

“He’s with Jackie!” said Darla. “He’s over there canoodling with Jackie!”

“Well that’s nice,” said Mariska, pulling a sausage link from the tray to her plate. “She’s been alone for a while now. They make a nice couple.”

“A nice couple!” screeched Darla. She glanced around to see if her yelp had garnered any attention and then leaned in to continue at a lower volume. “He might be the murderer, remember?”

“Oh. That wouldn’t be good.” Mariska looked at Jackie as she slipped a chunk of sausage in her mouth.

“No, that would be bad.”

“I have better sausage than this,” said Mariska, chewing. “I bought sausage the other day you can only get in Michigan. It is the most wonderful thing you’ve ever eaten.”

“Did you order it online?” asked Darla.

“No, I got it at the store.”

“You said you can only get it in Michigan.”

“You can only get it in Michigan. I don’t know how I got it here.”

Darla opened her mouth to continue and then shut it. She looked at Charlotte, who could only shake her head. She constantly marveled at how easily her two friends were distracted. She must have absorbed that behavior herself through osmosis.

“So do we tell Jackie? Do we warn her that her new beau might be a gun-totin’ maniac?”

Charlotte sighed and shrugged.

Darla scooped scrambled eggs in slow motion, her mind clearly elsewhere as she left a trail of fluffy yellow crumbles to her plate.

“I don’t want to start trouble but I also don’t want to find Jackie skinned alive.”

“Skinned alive?” said Mariska, stabbing another sausage. “You think he’d do that?”

“It’s a figure of speech,” said Darla.

“Where? Where is suggesting a man might skin your friend alive a figure of speech?”

“Kentucky. And I thought you didn’t like those sausages…”

“You two!” said Charlotte, finally reaching the end of her rope. “We have a problem here. Jackie could be in danger. Maybe… I don’t know. Maybe I should talk to Declan first?”

“But that’s his uncle,” said Darla. “I don’t see that conversation going well.”

“No,” agreed Charlotte. “Me neither. It’s bad enough he just found out his mother is dead. Maybe we can just plant the seed in Jackie’s head.”

“Plant the seed that her boyfriend wants to kill her?” asked Mariska.

“That’s a hell of a seed. Maybe we should just slap warning lights on the man and hit the sirens,” said Darla.

“What does that even mean?” asked Charlotte.

Darla shrugged. “You know. I dunno. Whatever.”

Charlotte took a piece of bacon from the communal platter. “I just want this mystery solved so everything can go back to normal. Get Frank to hurry up, will you?”

Darla chuckled. “I don’t think he’s moving that fast today, darlin’.”

Charlotte’s eyes darted back to Jackie and Seamus between each bite of what little breakfast she ate. The two appeared friendly. Jackie couldn’t stop laughing and she made a point to lightly slap Seamus’ arm after every other thing he said. She assumed it was Jackie he’d left to see the night she visited Declan, as she’d suspected. The man moved fast. He hadn’t been in town for more than a day and he already had a girlfriend.

He had good taste. Jackie was barely sixty and appeared in her early fifties. She was smart and funny and widowed over six years. Matchmaking efforts had failed in the past; Jackie never clicked with any of the neighborhood widowers. It made Charlotte happy to see her with someone.

On the other hand, she’d always hoped Jackie would find someone a little less murdery.

Chapter Twenty-One

“That was a lovely breakfast,” said Seamus as he and Jackie strolled away from the Pineapple Port community center. “Thank you.”

“Do you think anyone saw you?”

“I know Declan’s lady did. Her eyes followed me like she was a trailer hitched to my truck.”

“Declan’s lady? In
there
?”

“The young one. Tall, pretty…”

“Oh, Charlotte!”

Jackie stopped, her eyes wide with surprise and placed her hand on his chest. Seamus flexed his pecs, first the left and then the right. Jackie snatched her hand back, blushing.

Still got it.

“You didn’t tell me they were a thing!” she said.

“I don’t know that they are…yet. I might be tellin’ tales out of school, but I’d bet dollars to cents that they
will
be.”

“That’s wonderful. She’s a nice girl. And she’s been alone almost as long as—” Jackie cut short and began to walk again.

“As long as what? As long as summer’s day?”

“Yes. As long as a summer’s day.”

Jackie slipped her tiny hand in his and he watched her as they walked. The side of her mouth curled in a smile. With her face tilted down, and that grin growing, she looked like Erin might, had she lived to grow old with him. The second he’d met Jackie, he’d known his return to Charity had been the right move.

“A penny for your thoughts,” he said, leaning towards her and whispering in her ear.

She giggled.

“Do you ever say a single sentence that isn’t some colorful turn of phrase?”

“I’m Irish, dear, we’re a colorful people.”

“You only have a hint of accent left, but it’s beautiful. You must have really charmed the ladies in Miami.”

“Oh, they were dying to meet me. Linin’ up around the block, they were.”

“How is it you’re still single?”

“I’m one of those
unlucky
leprechauns, I guess.”

Jackie giggled again. She put her free hand over mouth to stifle her laugh and stopped walking. Still holding Seamus’ hand with her left, she stared into his eyes.

“I should go,” she said. “I have things I need to do today. Water aerobics is at ten thirty.”

She said the phrase
water aerobics
as if it were as joyful a task as mucking a horse stall.

“Well, thank you again for the invite, my love,” said Seamus, raising her hand to kiss it.

Jackie blushed and looked away from him as his lips touched the back of her hand. She smelled like lilacs.

“I’ll see you soon?” she asked.

“Very soon.
The story of life is quicker than the blink of an eye, the story of love is hello, goodbye.
”

“That’s lovely. Is that from one of your Irish poets?”

“Jimi Hendrix.”

Jackie grinned and twirled on her heel to leave. He remained in place as she walked toward her home. She looked over her shoulder and offered a wave as she left. He waved then, and twice more when she glanced to see if he was still watching. She turned the corner and disappeared behind a little white home with a giant metal crane in the front yard.

Lord, they love their lawn ornaments in this place.

“You’re a fast mover!” said a voice.

Seamus turned to find a man striding towards him. He recognized him as the fellow from the meeting Declan had taken him to about Erin’s discovery.

The man with the bullet.

Harry.

“What’s that now?” he asked, forcing a smile to his face. He didn’t like the man’s tone but he’d always found you caught more flies with honey, a saying he knew was also
not
Irish. It didn’t make any sense.
Who wanted to catch flies? And more importantly, if you had some nice honey, why would you want it full of flies?

“I mean with Jackie there,” said Harry, stopping. He sounded out of breath, as if he’d been trying hard to catch them. “You two seem to have hit it off very quickly.”

Seamus thrust his hands in his pockets and grinned. “A woman as charming as she, is like a four-leaf clover.”

“Lucky? Lucky to have found you? Something to be plucked?”

Seamus laughed. “I meant
hard to find
. Though I like your first interpretation better I think.”

Harry mimicked Seamus by slipping his own hands in his pockets, trying very hard to appear non-threatening and casual. Seamus decided he trusted the man even less.

“You used to live around here?” asked Harry.

“I did.”

“I don’t remember you, but I didn’t know that many people in the area back then. What made you come back?”

“I was retired. Miami held no charms for me anymore and I missed my nephew.”

“Right…Declan. Horrible about his mother, isn’t it? She would have been your sister-in-law, right? It must have been awful when she went missing. Were you here when it happened?”

“I was.”

“Were you close? I mean, your brother was dead by then, right? It was probably nice to have you nearby to do man-chores, paint and change oil, that sort of thing. Maybe help with Declan? Boy needs a man in his life…”

“She was a lovely girl.”

“Right. Of course she was. Terrible. Is that what made you move to Miami after that? The whole
terrible
situation?”

Seamus studied the man. He seemed very familiar with the timeline of his living situations. He also seemed pale, even to an Irishman. A fine sheen of sweat covered him from head to toe.

“I moved for a million reasons. I was young. Bit of a rolling stone.”

“Uh huh. Is Erin’s death what made you become a cop?”

Seamus ran his tongue over his teeth and pondered Harry’s question for a moment before answering.

“It could be that injustice made me want to help others.”

“Plus you get to play with guns! Right?”

Seamus smirked. “Is that why you became a police officer, Harry? To play with guns?”

“How’d you know…” Harry’s face twisted tight for a moment and then released. “Oh, that’s right you were at the meeting. I probably mentioned I was an experienced cold case officer.”

“Couple times.”

Seamus tried to smile, but knew by the look on Harry’s face his attempt at levity had appeared more like a sneer. He was tired of this buffoon and his clumsy interrogation style. Even Irish charm needed some morsel to feed it.

“No, I was always about the puzzles,” said Harry, rocking back and forth, toe to heel. “I never had any interest in the violence. Just the puzzles.”

Seamus pulled his hands out of his pockets and crossed his arms across his chest. He knew the posture might appear threatening, but he was trying to hold himself back. The urge to head-butt this man was becoming impossible to resist.

“That’s the funny thing about violence, isn’t it?” said Seamus. “Sometimes it has an interest in
you
.”

Harry nodded vigorously, took his hands out of his own pockets and rubbed his right bicep with his left hand. After a moment he stretched, bending side to side.

“Yeah…but me, I like the puzzles. Anyway, that’s why I’m trying to help solve what happened to your sister-in-law. I’ll be honest with you, I was thinking maybe you had some insight.”

“I don’t. What insight I had failed me years ago.”

Harry ceased his impromptu calisthenics. “But if you told me what you know, maybe I would see something different? Since I’m not so close to the case?”

Seamus shook his head. He based the style of his head shake on the way his friend, officer Johnny Lima, had reacted back in two thousand three, when Seamus asked him if his partner had survived a shooting in the Overtown section of Miami. It was a slow headshake, full of regret. Remembering Johnny and mimicking the sadness of that response kept him from wanting to grab Harry by the throat.

“I really don’t know anything that can help you. I’m sorry. But if something jogs my memory, I’ll be sure to find you.”

“Great. Do you want me to jot down my phone number?”

“I won’t have any trouble finding you. I know where you live.”

Harry jerked back his head. “You do?”

Seamus held his arms out to his sides, palms up, unlocking the grin he’d been struggling to find.

“Of course, I do! Pineapple Port!”

“Oh, right!” Harry offered a weak chuckle. “Well, it was nice to see you again.”

Harry thrust out a hand to shake and Seamus took it.

“Good strong handshake you have there,” said Harry, wincing.

“Nice to talk to you, Harry. Good luck with your cold case.”

“Thanks.”

They remained standing until Harry offered a quick nod and headed back towards the community center.

Seamus watched him scurry away.

“Eejit,” he muttered.