SHADOW OVER CEDAR KEY (12 page)

A half an hour later Brandy had taken the last bite of key lime pie when MacGill appeared in the doorway and gestured to Cara. Behind him loomed the formidable Strong. Brandy had expected him to question everyone who had been in the hotel the night before, but as she and John stepped into the lobby, she was unprepared for Truck Thompson’s dramatic entrance. The oyster fisherman barreled into the hotel, broad face flushed and pale eyes bulging, Doggett on his heels. “Lemme talk to the damn detective!”

Doggett steered him to a chair. “Detective Strong will be here in a minute. Wait for the test results, right? It’s routine, but it’ll take time for the university to check out the soil on the spade.”

Truck settled back into the chair, still glowering, and fingered the bristles of his mustache. “Never saw the damn spade at the fish house before. It’s not mine.”

Doggett shook his long head as if in sorrow and leaned against the wall beside the couch. “That’s part of the problem.” Brandy stood, intrigued, until John took her elbow and guided her into the lounge. The middle-aged waitress with the plump face had served their Irish creme at a table by the window, and John was lifting his narrow glass to hers, when MacGill came into the room, looked round, and drifted over to join them.

John frowned and rubbed his forehead, but the Scotsman seemed not to notice. He slumped forward, sighing. “I’m whacked out. Don’t know what this murder will do to my Seafood Festival trade. Probably get cancellations.” Brandy realized he would be concerned about the first of Cedar Key’s important tourist events. MacGill lifted his square face, as if he remembered seeing Brandy earlier, his tone suddenly brittle. “Did you find what you were looking for in the basement, now?”

“Just curious. About the skeleton in the cistern, you know.” She realized he’d never mentioned it to her.

MacGill’s expression in the darkened room was unreadable. He changed the subject. “Truck came raging in here like a bull in a mist. I was the one who identified the spade the police found by his fish house today. It belonged to the hotel. They’ve taken it away now.”

Brandy took a slow slip of the Irish Creme, then fumbled in her purse for a small note pad. She scrawled “spade—Truck?” on one ragged page. “I saw it last night in the back yard, below our bedroom window.”

“The question is,” MacGill said, “how did it get several blocks away to Truck’s place?” He looked at John and sighed again. “Must’ve been a shock to you, lad, I shouldn’t wonder, your man from the sheriff s office turning up poor old Rossi like that. I’m to trot over and identify him, too, mind.”

The cocktail waitress set a highball on the table and MacGill took a long drink. “The lads upstairs went through Rossi’s room. Haven’t found anything. No prints except his and the cleaning staff. We bunkered things up by tossing out the empty Scotch bottle. They think someone maybe planted it, but how was I to know?” He turned the bottom of his glass in circles on the table, then took another modest swallow. “Doggett says the divers haven’t found a weapon.”

“Rossi was shot, I suppose,” Brandy said.

MacGill pursed his lips. “No one’s saying to the contrary. The deputies want to check everybody’s gun.”

Brandy made a mental note to jot the gist of this conversation in her big notebook. At the bar a familiar blond ducktail swiveled in their direction. Nathan Hunt raised a glass toward them and slipped from his bar stool. John’s face clouded and he laid a hand on Brandy’s arm. Hunt set one of the blue canvas backed chairs between MacGill and Brandy, eased into it, and grinned at MacGill. “Seems like the gendarmes want to see all the weapons in Cedar Key. Luckily, I don’t own a gun. Truck Thompson says they’ll have to show a warrant before he lets them see his.” The smile in his blue eyes was sly, the pupils large and black. “And you, MacGill?”

The Scotsman twisted in his chair and thumped one square fist on the table. “Can’t find the blooming thing. Got talked into buying one, in case of robbers or someone cutting up rough. Like a fool, I kept a semi-automatic in a drawer at the desk. Wasn’t loaded.” He thrust out his lower lip. “Haven’t seen it in weeks. Now it’s gone.”

Hunt leaned toward MacGill. A side lamp lit a profile Brandy thought too white and smooth for anything but an occasional fisherman. “And the bullets?”

“In the drawer, too, damn it,” the Scotsman growled. “Gone.”

John looked at his watch, slid his chair back, and bent to speak in Brandy’s ear. “Let’s not get involved again.” There was urgency in his hushed voice and she squeezed his hand. While he moved away to find the cocktail waitress, Brandy said good night to MacGill and Hunt and sauntered to the door. In spite of the homicide detective’s size, she almost overlooked him in the shadows. Inside the lobby she found herself looking up into the dark face with its widely spaced eyes and tidy mustache. She was quick with a question. “Did Cara Waters talk to you?

He rocked slightly on the balls of his feet. “Cara Waters may have some important information for us, maybe a picture come Tuesday. She’s not sure because of the light. She’ll call when she checks the prints.” He fixed Brandy with a knowing stare, brows elevated. “Seems the young lady has a particular interest in Mr. Rossi, but she never met the man. Got all her information second hand, and not from Mrs. Waters or her employer.”

Brandy knew when she was being gently put down, but she whipped out the tattered note pad anyway. “This is an informal press conference. I called my editor. Are you ready to release any information now?”

“Can’t give you much now, Ma’am. The victim is Anthony Rossi of New York City. No suspects yet. We’re in the process of double-checking his I.D. and locating his family. The investigation’s just started. But you know that already.” He smiled. “First time I ever investigated an investigator.”

She noticed the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Laugh lines, someone called them, although a detective didn’t see much that was amusing. Perhaps Jeremiah Strong’s sense of irony made disinterred corpses more tolerable. “When we got more, I’ll get back to you and local newspapers. Come down to it, we’ll want a longer interview with you and your husband. Let us know where you’ll be for the next few days.”

When John returned from the bar and started toward her, she spoke in a hurry. “I was trying to think where I saw tire tracks today, besides Shell Mound. I’ve remembered. In the Cedar Key cemetery this morning. Tire tracks and small pieces of glass. I believe Rossi’s broken glasses were found in the car.” She tucked the pad back into her purse. “I suppose you’re still trying to find the murder scene.” She reached for John’s hand as he joined them. “As for me, I’m actually more interested in the first murder here—the woman found nineteen years ago in the hotel basement. Cara Waters and I think there’s a connection.”

Again Jeremiah Strong’s brows went up, and he placed his hands on his hips. “All in good time, Ma’am. We got us a fresh body here and lots to do. How about you and Miss Waters leave this investigation to the Sheriff s Office? Give us a little time to sort things out.” The white teeth flashed. “I reckon you take pride in being a mighty good news-woman, Ma’am. But remember what the Good Book say: ‘The patient in spirit is better than the proud.’”

Jeremiah Strong, she thought, master of the courteous put down. As the detective disappeared into the lounge, John faced her and put a hand on each shoulder. Anxiety showed in his eyes. “Take his advice. It’s good and it’s professional. Someone tried to warn you off this morning with that phone call.”

Brandy lifted her face and kissed him on the cheek. “Touché.” But even as he touched her coppery hair, she was conscious of a suppressed sob coming from the kitchen alcove. She ran her hand down John’s arm. “More problems, I’m afraid.” She pulled away and crossed the lobby.

Cara, huddled in a chair beside a huge fern, glanced up, eyes glistening in a pinched face. “The detective doesn’t care about the skeleton in the basement. He thinks I’m imagining a connection. He won’t check what Rossi knew about the missing woman. They think he’s just some petty drug dealer.” She sniffed and pulled a tissue out of her pocket. “I don’t want to go home to Marcia. You’re the only one who’ll pay attention. You’re the only one who can help me find the truth.”

Brandy knelt beside her and put one arm around her thin shoulders. “I’ll do what I can.”

“I’ve got to talk to you tonight. I’ve got a plan but you’re the best one to carry it out.”

Brandy glanced back at John, waiting beside the stairs. “You should go home tonight. We can talk tomorrow, before I leave.”

Fresh tears trembled in Cara’s eyes. “This has got to be done now. I’ve saved some money. The station wagon’s here at the hotel. I’ll leave Cedar Key, go to New York. My God, I may have a father somewhere.” She rose shakily. “I know it’s not your problem.”

Brandy put a hand on her arm. “Wait. Don’t do anything rash.” She walked quickly over to John. “An emergency. It’s Cara. She’s talking about taking off to New York to check on Rossi herself. I’ve got to talk her out of it.”

He bowed his head for a moment. “I’m going up.”

Back in the alcove Brandy took Cara’s hand and drew her onto the deserted lobby couch. She wondered where Truck had gone, but she hadn’t time to ask. “Now what’s the plan you need me for?”

The pleading look came again in Cara’s eyes. “We have Mr. Rossi’s address. Someone’s got to check out his office, find out who he was searching for. You said someone in his agency must know something. If we don’t move fast, all the information will be lost. His client is dead. No one else will care.”

Brandy sank back. “Rossi said he knew the woman’s name, that he was hired by her aunt.”

Cara drew a long breath. “I’ve got $2,000 saved for college. It’s in the bank. I could repay you if you’d go to New York. There’d be a story in it, wouldn’t there?” She clasped her hands in her lap, her voice rising. “I wouldn’t know what to do. I’d be totally lost. But you’d know.”

Brandy bit her lip. “A girlfriend from college shares an apartment in Greenwich Village. We used to room together. She works for a big law firm in mid-town Manhattan. She knows the city like a book.”

“Then you’ll do it?” Eyes glowing, Cara sat up straight. “I already checked the flights out of Gainesville. The hotel keeps up to date because we have guests who fly in and out. The only regularly scheduled flight out is about eight in the morning.”

Brandy gave her a calming pat. “Just a minute. Let me think. In the first place, I couldn’t take your money. It would be unethical, and I couldn’t leave tomorrow. I’ve got a perfectly good husband who’s been very patient. I promised him the rest of the weekend.”

Cara frowned. “Later may be too late.”

“Nevertheless, it will have to wait. But I do need to give a quick call to my editor. Strong released a few facts. Maybe I could go later.”

While Cara brooded, Brandy dialed the news room. When she reported that the private investigator she’d been assigned to cover had indeed been murdered, she was startled by the editor’s reaction. “Things are pretty slow right now, and we’re first on the Cedar Key murder.” His voice took on an urgency. “I want you to get up to New York as soon as you can. Could be your big break. Find out if this guy Rossi was really onto something. See how he ties in with Cedar Key. Hold on a minute.”

He rustled some papers and came back on the line. “We ran down your cashier. Betsy Mae Terry is listed in the Williston phone book. Lives in a retirement trailer park.” She jotted down a phone number and address. “It’s on the way to the Gainesville airport. Get a flight as soon you can.”

Troubled, Brandy stepped out of the phone booth. “Well,” she said to Cara, “looks like you get your wish. I only hope John understands. I’ll have tomorrow here, anyway.”

Cara drew her knees up and hugged them with her slim arms. “Maybe I’ll find out who I really am.”

Brandy’s gaze drifted to the dark castle walls behind the desk and then to the kitchen door that swung open into an almost forgotten horror. Another feeling of dread washed over her, the same squeezing of the heart she’d felt beside the Suwannee. Her voice fell. “We can’t be sure the truth will be good news.”

But Cara was irrepressible. “Call your old roommate tonight!”

Brandy looked at her watch. Nine o’clock. “I’ll have to call for reservations, and I need to reach Betsy Mae Terry.”

As she started for the phone booth, the phone rang at the hotel desk. She noticed the clerk write a few lines, then scurry upstairs. Brandy was in the telephone booth making reservations for Monday morning. when John strode into the lobby, carrying his small suitcase. He looked around for a moment, saw her with the phone, pointed up toward their room, waved, and then blew her a kiss. Before she could finish her call, the hotel door opened and closed, and their car squealed away from the curb.

CHAPTER 10
 

As Brandy shoved open the phone booth door, the hotel clerk gave an embarrassed cough and turned away. Brandy rushed past her and up the stairs, barely noticing the yellow evidence tape still strung across Rossi’s door. In their own room John’s jogging and dress shoes that had been lined up heel to heel and his tidy row of shorts and slacks were gone from the closet, along with the precisely folded socks from the dresser drawer. Tucked out of sight on a corner shelf, he had left the Nikon for her. She darted into the bathroom. No trim shaving kit sat beside her rumpled bag of make-up. But her blue nightgown had been moved from the back of a chair and laid out on the bed, her slippers collected from the middle of the floor and aligned under the dust ruffle, the bamboo blind drawn against the darkness. On the pillow she spotted a note in John’s careful, spiky hand:

I just had a call. More problems with the bank plans. I’ve got to get back now. You really are too busy with your own story, anyway. Our weekend get-a-away wasn’t working out. You’re still occupied with Cara Waters.

She felt her eyes grow moist. But there was more. John was always practical.

I’m picking up Meg. Your new friend will surely drive you home when you finish here.

There was a considerable blank space, and then a last thought:
It was sweet while it lasted.