The Turtle Mound Murder Read online

  “Don’t worry. After the smudging, the condo can withstand anything.”

  Ruthie twittered. “It didn’t do much for Stinky. We should have used more sage.”

  I glanced sideways. She was serious. “We’ll do it over after we get Penny Sue.”

  “Do you think Lyndon killed Stinky?” Ruthie said suddenly. She’d probably picked up my earlier thought.

  “He’s a more likely candidate than Penny Sue. Woody says we can’t vouch for Penny Sue’s whereabouts while we were napping. We can’t vouch for Lyndon, either. Perhaps Stinky was trying to break into our condo, and Lyndon surprised him. Lyndon struggled with Stinky and the gun went off.”

  Ruthie tilted her head, considering. “A gun shot, right out on the deck, would have awakened us for sure.”

  “A silencer.”

  “Only criminals have guns with silencers. Besides, Lyndon would have had to hang around after Penny Sue went to bed, or left and come back. Why would he do that?”

  Why would Lyndon do that? I eased the car to a stop at a traffic signal. My theory would work only if Lyndon and Stinky were in cahoots somehow. What could Lyndon possibly want from us? Not money or jewelry, he was clearly wealthy. The way Penny Sue mooned over him, Lyndon didn’t have to resort to nefarious means; sweet talk could get virtually anything.

  A gust of wind caught the traffic signal just as it turned green. The fixture bobbed spastically like a fish on a line. I zipped forward, half afraid the thing might fall on us.

  Ruthie’s objections were valid, my hypothesis was flimsy. “Okay, if Lyndon wasn’t involved, Stinky must have been killed before we got home. What about the guy in the red pickup?”

  “He’s a friend of Deputy Moore, you saw them talking yourself. The deputy’s friend wouldn’t murder anyone, right?”

  Wrong. It happened all the time in cop shows which were, at least loosely, based on real life. “Mr. Pickup tried to run us off the road,” I reminded.

  “Yeah, with Stinky and Pony Tail. Mr. Pickup’s a friend of Stinky’s, he wouldn’t kill him.”

  “He might—” I hit the brakes and swerved as a palm frond blew in front of the car. “Damn,” I exclaimed, my heart racing. I took a couple of deep breathes to calm myself before continuing. “Mr. Pickup might kill under the right conditions. We know he’s a friend of Deputy Moore’s, so he can’t be a hardened criminal.”

  “Unless Deputy Moore’s a dirty cop,” Ruthie cut in.

  I’d thought of that, yet put the possibly out of my mind. I hated to think my judgment of Ted Moore was so wrong. Especially because I’d trusted, even liked, him. He seemed so genuine and unpretentious, the exact opposite of Zack. “That’s another story. Bear with me a moment. Suppose Mr. Pickup is/was a friend of both Deputy Moore and Stinky. He had too much to drink that night at JB’s and decided to have a little fun with Stinky and Pony Tail. Though they were really trying to run us off the road, Pickup was horsing around. The Deputy realizes who Pickup is from our description of his truck and the bumper sticker. The day I saw them talking on the highway, Moore was warning him to stay away from us and to keep his buddies at bay.

  “After that, Mr. Pickup finds out that Stinky intends to rob or rape us. So, he follows Stinky to our condo to try to stop him, there’s a struggle, and a gun goes off. Stinky’s killed and Mr. Pickup runs away.”

  Ruthie nodded slowly. “That’s possible, but no more likely than Lyndon doing exactly the same thing. Besides, if Lyndon’s not involved, why did he leave town?”

  I turned up the windshield wipers. The blades slapped frantically like a metronome on amphetamines, yet I could still barely see the road. I slowed the car to a crawl. “The hurricane. Lyndon probably has access to sophisticated weather data. He may know something we don’t. Or maybe he and Penny Sue had a fight. We never had a chance to talk with her.”

  Ruthie massaged her temple, looking worried. “Penny Sue would have told us about a fight. She had plenty of time while we were waiting for Woody.”

  “There was a dead man on the deck—it wasn’t the best time for chitchat.” The cell phone played a little song at the exact moment I reached the light on Riverside Drive. Luckily, I’d already stopped, because the sound almost sent me through the roof. I hesitated, a hard knot forming in my stomach at the thought it might be Zack. Thankfully, it was Penny Sue and the knot dissolved.

  “Lord, where are you?” she asked loudly. “Get me out of this place!”

  * * *

  Chapter 18

  We were at the police station in a matter of minutes. Penny Sue was waiting in the doorway, a young officer by her side. I pulled up front and waited. A moment later she fell into the backseat, drenched and angry.

  “Twerp. You’d think they’d have the decency to walk me to the car with an umbrella,” Penny Sue groused, brushing water from her clothes. “The rain’s going to spot this silk blouse.”

  I put the car in gear and pulled away slowly. “Never mind—at least you’re out. Was it awful?”

  Penny Sue reared back and pressed her lips together huffily. “The chair was hard, Woody was rude—kept asking the same questions over and over—but, it wasn’t so bad. He doesn’t have anything on me! All Woody knows is that Stinky, whose real name is Clarence Smith, was killed with a gun. He has no idea what kind of gun, how long Stinky’s been dead—nothing. He had to let me go. Besides, Swindal called to tell Woody they’d sent for Daddy, and Zack would be here shortly.”

  Zack … the mere mention of his name made my stomach curl. With all of the tension of the previous few days, he was the last person on Earth I wanted to see. If only there were some way we could straighten everything out before he arrived. Fat chance.

  “Did you reach Lyndon?” Penny Sue interrupted my thoughts.

  Ruthie answered, giving me a sidelong glance. “Uh, no. He’s left.”

  “What do you mean, he’s left?” Penny Sue snapped.

  “The boat’s gone, and he didn’t answer the telephone.”

  “Are you sure you called the right number?” Penny Sue asked testily, reaching across the seat for her purse.

  “We called the number on the back of the card.”

  “Back of the card?” Penny Sue said, as she unloaded her purse on the seat. “The number’s on a note card, you know, his stationery. You’ve called the wrong number. See.” She handed a featheredged note card to Ruthie.

  Ruthie stiffened.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, one eye on Ruthie, the other on the flooded street.

  “Mark how he trembles …” Ruthie murmured.

  “What?” I asked loudly, in no mood for word games. Zack and a hurricane were both on the way, the road was practically under water, and my head was beginning to throb.

  Ruthie angled the note toward me. The phrase was embossed across the top, while Lyndon and a phone number were handwritten in the center. I stared at the paper, I’d seen the stationery before. Ruthie had even commented on how expensive it was when we found it with Rick’s pesticides.

  “Mark how he trembles ...” Ruthie repeated forcefully, her eyes narrowed with concentration. “Shakespeare. The Comedy of Errors. ‘Mark how he trembles … in his ECSTASY!’ Ecstasy: Lyndon’s yacht!”

  A chill shot up my spine.

  “So what?” Penny Sue demanded. She leaned across the seat and snatched the note from Ruthie and the cell phone from its cradle. “Y’all called the wrong number,” she chided, punching a number into the phone. I watched her in the rearview mirror as she waited. After a couple of minutes, she hung up, clearly in a snit. “No answer. What number did y’all dial?”

  “The one on the back of Charlotte’s card,” Ruthie replied weakly.

  “Charlotte’s card?!” Penny Sue roared, digging into her purse like a hungry dog after a bone. I saw her retrieve the blue card and line it up against Lyndon’s stationery. Her cheeks and neck flamed. “The number’s the same! What is Charlotte doing with Lyndon’s telephone number?”

  I sw
allowed the knot that had formed in my throat. “It’s worse than that, Penny Sue. Ruthie and I found the same stationery in a drawer full of pesticides at the condo. Remember, Ruthie? What did the note say?”

  She bit her fingernail nervously. “It was the directions for mixing the chemicals.”

  “Are you sure? Wasn’t there was something else? Although, the real question is: ‘Why did Rick have Lyndon’s stationery?’”

  “Lyndon and Rick? How could they possibly be related?” Penny Sue asked.

  “Boats get bugs,” I offered lamely.

  “Rick treated the yacht and picked up a piece of Lyndon’s stationery?” Ruthie nodded slowly. “Possible, I suppose.”

  “Yeah, but what does Charlotte have to do with all of this?” Penny Sue said, folding her arms across her ample chest. “And, when did you find the pesticides and note? I never heard anything about it.”

  “We found them in the bottom drawer of the chest in your bedroom the second day, when we were unpacking your clothes. We stashed them in a bucket in the utility room.”

  “What?” Penny Sue bellowed.

  “We were afraid to flush them down the toilet—polluting the ground water and all,” Ruthie explained. “After the episode with Rick in the parking lot, we thought we’d better keep them as evidence.”

  I made the sweeping right turn where US A1A turns into County A1A and slowed to a crawl. The highway was completely flooded except for a slim strip down the middle of the road. Fortunately, there were no cars coming, so I aimed for the dry crest, even though it was in the center turn lane. We hadn’t gone very far when a plastic chair floated across the road. I brought the Mercedes to a stop. “Should I turn around?”

  “Keep going,” Penny Sue ordered. “I’ve seen this before—it’ll clear up in a couple of blocks. The Benz can handle it.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But, nothing,” Penny Sue said emphatically. “I want to see that other note and those pesticides, if that’s what they are.”

  I inched the car forward. “If that’s what they are? What else would they be?” I asked over my shoulder, not daring to take my eyes off the road.

  Ruthie’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no. Ecstasy!”

  * * *

  The squall subsided by the time we reached the condo, at least enough to see more than a few feet ahead. Still, wind gusts made umbrellas pointless, so we elected to duck our heads and run. I led the way with the door key at ready which, with amazing skill or luck, hit its mark on the first try. Bent forward, we bounded through the front door … and into the arms of the ugliest man I’d ever seen. His pockmarked face and squinty eyes made Freddie Krueger look good. A needle-embellished hockey mask would actually have been an improvement.

  I instinctively averted my eyes, remembering Grammy Martin’s admonition about staring at Mr. Dinks, her homely neighbor who was absolutely handsome next to this guy. Ruthie screamed hysterically, unencumbered by Grammy’s moralistic baggage. Penny Sue tried to run back out the door, but the man shoved her aside and slammed it closed.

  He seized Ruthie by the arm roughly. “Shut up or I’ll shut you up.” Ruthie pressed her lips together tightly. His free hand went to a holster on his belt and came up with a gun. Penny Sue and I backed against the wall. The man pushed Ruthie beside us and snatched the key ring from my hand.

  “Gino, none of that.” Al appeared at the end of the hall, his arm extended as if holding something. “Pipe down, Ruthie. No one will get hurt if you cooperate.”

  “Al,” I blurted with amazement. “What’s going on?”

  “Stay calm, ladies.”

  Gino herded the three of us down the hall. On the right were the bedrooms and the owner’s closet, on the left the doors to the utility room and the linen closet. Ruthie led the way followed by me, Penny Sue, then Gino.

  Ruthie must have been petrified because she walked with a shuffling gait, taking loud, deep breaths. The closer she got to the living room and Al, the louder her breathing became until, when she reached the linen closet, she doubled over wheezing. She sounded like a person having an asthma attack, however, I knew she didn’t have asthma. I went to her side and held her waist, fearing she might collapse. Hunched over, she turned her face toward me and winked. And it hit me—the linen closet!

  Ruthie saw my flash of understanding. She twitched violently and started in on a loud coughing spell. That was my cue. In one swift move I opened the closet and lunged for the second shelf where we’d stashed the Taser Gun—which wasn’t there!

  “Hey!” Gino shouted, grabbing Penny Sue from behind as Al started toward us, dragging Charlotte into view.

  Although completely stunned by the sight of Charlotte, I managed to snatch a towel from the closet, hold it up innocently, and wipe Ruthie’s mouth. “She’s choking, for godssakes,” I covered. Where was the Taser? And, what was Charlotte doing here? I wondered.

  Al studied me, eyes narrowed. Apparently he bought my story, because he nodded at Gino, who released his hold on Penny Sue. “No cute stuff, Leigh. You almost got yourself killed. Now, come in here and sit down.”

  I ushered Ruthie to the sofa, who was still doing a good rendition of asthma attack. Penny Sue sat next to us with a little encouragement from Gino, while Al shoved Charlotte roughly to the loveseat.

  A light-haired man in a bar, Pauline had said. It wasn’t Lyndon, it was Al! I first met Al at The Riverview. We saw him later at Pub 44, then again at JB’s. He’d been following us, and I thought I knew why.

  Gino stood against the wall with his hand on the grip of the pistol that he’d returned to the holster. Al started to pace. “Ladies, I have a problem and I need your help. It seems that some property I bought and paid for has been misplaced. Not only is this merchandise missing, but the seller never received his payment.” Al canted his head at Gino, who smiled wryly. Scowling, Gino was terrifying to behold; the thin grin made him look absolutely sadistic. Images of Freddie Krueger flooded my mind again, except that wasn’t real and this was.

  “You see my predicament. I’m out doubly—no merchandise and no money. The situation is complicated by the fact that my representative for the transaction is no longer with us—he met an untimely end. My associate’s associate here,” Al waved toward Charlotte, “claims the property and money were both delivered to this address. You nice ladies wouldn’t know where it is, would you?”

  Ruthie’s fake wheezing stopped, and the three of us exchanged wide-eyed looks. Of course, Al wanted the pesticide—which, as we’d suspected, wasn’t pesticide at all. But we didn’t know anything about money, and if Gino was the person wanting it, I sure hated to be the one to tell him. Ruthie let out a half-hearted wheeze, which I took to mean: You answer.

  I cleared my throat to calm my pounding heart. “If your property is a white powder, I believe we can help you.”

  Al smiled broadly. “I knew you were a smart girl, Leigh. Show me.”

  I headed toward the utility room with Al in tow. Gino stayed behind with the others.

  “We found it in the bottom drawer of the bureau when we first arrived,” I explained as I lead Al into the utility room. “Rick was here then, and we honestly thought it was dry insecticide that he’d left behind. There was even a note with mixing instructions.” The rag mop and bucket were next to the dryer, where I’d left them after cleaning up Ruthie’s puke. I handed them to Al so I could get at the trash bag. He took one whiff of the putrid load and tossed it into the far corner.

  “Gawd,” he exclaimed. “That’s disgusting.”

  Guess I didn’t rinse the mop very well with all of the commotion. “Ruthie got sick,” I replied, pointing to the bag in the space between the dryer and wall.

  Al pulled the bag out and dumped its contents on the floor. I reached for the note on Lyndon’s stationery which fluttered to the side. Al stopped me.

  “Hey, what’re ya doing?”

  I handed him the paper. “This is the note we found with the packages. See, i
t seems to be mixing instructions.”

  He read the note: 200 @ 6. Same time, same place, then a smiley face. He tossed the note back at me. “I don’t know what that means, I paid a half mil for this stuff.”

  A half a million dollars. This was serious. “We didn’t find any money. Honestly, I’d tell you if we did. We don’t want any trouble.”

  He ignored me and my comment until he finished counting the packages. I used the opportunity to pocket Lyndon’s note card. Al returned the packages to the bag and stood, obviously satisfied. He held out his hand to help me up; I took it.

  “Al,” I said, my hand still in his, “we truly don’t know anything about the money. Take the drugs, leave, and we’ll never say a word to anyone. I promise.”

  He paused, looking into my eyes. “You know I can’t do that. You understand.”

  I didn’t, yet wasn’t going to argue. Perhaps I’d seen too many episodes of The Sopranos, but I had a bad feeling this might be my last day on Earth. In a flash, all the really important things in my life raced through my mind: the kids, my parents, good friends. I also realized how much time I’d wasted on silly stuff like others’ opinions, guilt, and anger. In that instant, I even realized I should release my hostility toward Zack. He did what he did; I did what I did; that was that. No more, no less, not worth thinking about.

  “Al,” I started, still holding his hand. I noticed it was warm and soft, not callused like you’d expect a mobster’s to be. “We won’t—” I didn’t get to finish because there was a knock on the front door.

  His face hardened, Al flung my hand aside. “Whoever it is, get rid of them. Don’t try anything cute if you want to see your friends again. I’ll be right here, listening to every word you say.” He displayed his gun which had a fat cylinder attached to the end. I knew from The Sopranos that it was a silencer. “Got it?” he asked. I nodded.

  I took a long deep breath as I approached the door. I had to appear calm, Penny Sue and Ruthie’s welfare depended on it. Another knock, this one louder. I cracked the door and saw Zack. Before I got out a single word, he barged past me like the pompous ass he was. So much for forgiveness.