The Turtle Mound Murder Read online

  “Girl, I don’t intend to let Prince Charming get away. What about you, Ruthie? How was your reading?”

  She was looking out the window and didn’t answer immediately. I held my breath with anticipation. Ruthie had been quiet all afternoon. I hoped the medium hadn’t given her bad news.

  “Angelina said I was a born sensitive, and my life purpose was to help people by becoming a medium myself. She said I’d move to Cassadaga one day.”

  “I can see that,” Penny Sue said. “You’ve always been interested in spiritual stuff.”

  “I guess.”

  Ruthie’s response was flat and lifeless. Something was bothering her. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “I’d think you’d be thrilled at the prospect of becoming a medium.”

  “Oh sure, it’s the move that bothers me.”

  “Why is that a big deal?”

  “I’d never leave Poppa. Don’t you see, it means Poppa’s going to die.” Her green eyes filled with tears.

  A black cloud descended on all of us. I recovered first. “Your dad is eighty-four, Ruthie. You know he’s going to go eventually. We all do … sometime.”

  Penny Sue jumped in. “And there is no death, right? You told me that yourself when Momma passed. He’s simply going to change form, drop his body. His spirit will live on. Shoot, maybe J.T.’s going to be your guide when you become a medium. You know how much he loves directing people, and that way you’d actually listen.”

  Ruthie brightened. “I hadn’t thought of that. Lord, he’d hound me to death.”

  I looked out the window, thinking. Sally Ann told me I would be instrumental in getting a friend through a life and death situation. Initially, I interpreted the comment to mean the mess with Penny Sue and the murder. Now I wondered if she’d been referring to Ruthie. I hoped not.

  “What did your medium say, Leigh?”

  I took a deep breath. “Oh, nothing much.” I could see Penny Sue regarding me in the rearview mirror and knew she wasn’t buying it. But Providence was on my side.

  Penny Sue didn’t wait for an answer. “There’s a red pickup truck behind us. I think it’s the guy that was fighting with Rick,” she exclaimed. “I recognize the spotlights on the bumper.”

  Ruthie turned around to see. “Don’t look, he’ll see you,” I hissed, then caught myself. Why did I care if he saw us? Geez, I sounded like my mother. I turned around and looked myself.

  “He could be the person who killed Rick,” Ruthie said. “He had a motive: the fight.”

  “He hates turtles,” I added. “Remember the bumper sticker? Rick’s body was found next to the turtle mound.”

  “Yeah,” Ruthie exclaimed. “He waited on the beach, knowing that Rick would come by to move the turtle nest, then killed him to settle the score.”

  I could see Penny Sue’s eyes in the mirror.

  “We need to find out if it’s really him—get his license plate number,” she said. “A passing zone’s coming up, I’ll slow down. You get the number when he goes by.” Ruthie pulled out a pen and scrap of paper, poised to write, as Penny Sue slowed the car from sixty to forty-five. “Come on, buddy, the coast is clear. Pass.” The truck slowed, too, dropping back several car lengths.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Ruthie asked.

  Penny Sue’s jaw tightened. “He’s following us.” She stepped on the accelerator. The truck matched our speed, though stayed a few car lengths behind.

  “Following us? Why?”

  “Maybe he’s out to settle a score with us, too,” I ventured slowly. Though Sally Ann did not specifically mention Rick’s murder—which made me doubt her abilities—she did foresee trouble with a man in the near future. At the time, I assumed she meant Zack. Was it possible Mr. Pickup was the guy in her vision?

  We were approaching the New Smyrna Beach Speedway and the intersection with Route 415. Penny Sue gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Hold on, girls.” She took a hard right through a service station, onto Route 415 then looped back to Route 44. The truck went speeding by. Penny Sue pulled in behind him. She floored the Mercedes and got right on his bumper. There it was: Turtles? They Make Good Soup.

  “Darn,” Ruthie said. The license plate was splattered with mud, obliterating the numbers. – – N42 – was all that we could make out.

  “Where did you learn to drive like that?” I asked.

  “Daddy and I took one of those anti-terrorist driving courses.”

  Defensive driving, carrying a gun; I hadn’t realized that judging was such a dangerous profession.

  We followed the truck past the city limits to the regional shopping center. It took a left into Gilley’s Pub 44 parking lot. Penny Sue went one block further and made a U-turn.

  “I want to make sure the same guy is driving,” Penny Sue said. “We can chip some of the mud off his license plate.”

  Ruthie drew back, hugging the passenger-side door. “I’m not chipping any mud. That guy could be dangerous.”

  “Pooh, it’s broad daylight. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

  “If it’s so safe, you do it.”

  “I have to drive the getaway car. Leigh, you’ll do it, won’t you?” I could see her face in the mirror. She was staring at me through those damned Chanel sunglasses and flashing the sweet, manipulative grin that I hated so much. The one that said: “This is such a simple thing, you’re brain-damaged if you don’t comply with my wishes.” I bared my teeth and gave her a low growl. Childish and catty, I know, but she deserved it.

  The fates were on my side, again. We circled the lot twice, but the truck was not there. “Damn.” Penny Sue slapped the steering wheel angrily. “He must have doubled back while we were making our turn.”

  “Yeah,” Ruthie said. “Maybe he took one of those driving courses, too.”

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  The Riverview was packed. We expected as much since a tour bus was parked by the door. Penny Sue insisted that we eat on the deck overlooking the marina even though it would entail a fifteen-minute wait. She tried valiantly to finagle our way to the outside bar, but the hostess held firm. We found a table at the inside bar and ordered wine.

  “Hm-m, this is good,” Penny Sue commented after tasting the golden liquid. “I’ll have to get some of this for the party.”

  The party. Penny Sue had hired Party Hearty Catering, an outfit specializing in fried catfish and kegs of beer. I was skeptical. I had a sneaking suspicion most of their business was done in Daytona Beach during Bike Week and Spring Break. Actually, Penny Sue didn’t have much choice. The reputable services were booked for Saturday night—three days was not a lot of notice—and the only other available caterer’s forté was pony rides.

  I voted for that one. If Penny Sue wanted to show the neighbors that she was innocuous, the sight of her on a small pony would do the trick. But, considering her size, an animal rights advocate might see it as extreme cruelty, in which case the whole thing would backfire. A person who would torture a little pony was capable of anything, even murder, the reasoning would go. On second thought, Pony Parties was not a good idea, at all. Though, it sure would be a terrific ice breaker.

  “Did you hear me, Leigh?” Penny Sue said.

  I turned my attention back to the table. “Sorry. I was thinking of something else.”

  “The wine. Do you like this wine?”

  I took a sip and held it on my tongue. “Dry, smooth. Yes, I like it,” I said seriously. Then, stifling a chuckle, “It should go great with hot wings and catfish fingers.”

  Penny Sue grinned mockingly. “Shirley said traditional hors d’oeuvres were no problem. She’s studied abroad and Continental cuisine was her first love.”

  “Which continent and whose tradition?” Ruthie was snickering, too.

  “Give me a break. Negative. Y’all are just negative.”

  “There’s a difference between being negative and realistic,” I countered. “You don’t think it’s strange she was free on a Saturday night
?”

  “Shirley got a last minute cancellation. The groom crashed his Harley—”

  I was really laughing now. “Like Ruthie said: Who’s tradition and which continent?”

  Penny Sue shook her head. “Negative and rude. For your information we’re going to have steamed shrimp, Crab Rangoon, stuffed mushrooms, red caviar, artichoke dip, a fruit tray, and strawberries dipped in chocolate.”

  “And a keg of Budweiser?” I loved needling Penny Sue. She was so good at dishing it out, she deserved some flack. Then there was her reaction—always melodramatic, infinitely entertaining. Finally, I knew she rarely took any of it seriously. To say Penny Sue’s self concept was intact was a monumental understatement. For her, jokes and gibes were like water running off a duck’s back. I admired that trait in her and wished I could be more that way.

  Penny Sue smiled impishly. “Billy Beer.”

  “Is that stuff still on the market?” Ruthie asked.

  “It’s long gone,” I said. “In fact, it’s probably a collector’s item.”

  Penny Sue took a five dollar bill from her purse and waved for our waiter. “The only beer will be imported and in bottles.” The waiter arrived and Penny Sue pressed the bill into his hand. “Hon, would you see if there’s room for us at the outside bar? It’s a little warm in here.”

  “Hot flash?” Ruthie asked after the waiter left.

  “Or hot on the trail of Lyndon Fulbright?”

  The waiter appeared in the doorway and motioned for us to follow.

  “Both,” Penny Sue said as she gathered up her purse, wine and hurried after the young server.

  Napkins were draped over the backs of three stools at the corner of the bar with a perfect view of both the marina and the deck. Penny Sue nodded appreciatively and tipped the waiter another five. She settled onto the stool at the end of the counter and surveyed the marina. The Ecstasy was still docked. Penny Sue’s spine stiffened with anticipation.

  She sipped her wine demurely and scanned the area. Suddenly, her eyes locked on target like a laser-guided missile. I followed her gaze. Lyndon sat at a table on the far end of the deck, alone. Penny Sue checked her lipstick and misted her neck with a few squirts of Joy. As if she needed any more. I knew sweet smells are supposed to be a lure and aphrodisiac, but I’d contend Penny Sue had passed right through attraction and was well on the way to asphyxiation.

  “What are you going to do?” Ruthie asked.

  “Introduce myself, of course.”

  I said, “What? Saunter up and say: ‘Hi, I’m Penny Sue, and my medium told me we’re going to get married?’”

  “Don’t be silly, I’d never be so brash. I’m going to ask him about his boat. Tell him I’m thinking of buying one.”

  I scoffed. “Well, don’t call it a boat. That’d be a dead giveaway.”

  “Uh oh,” Ruthie said, putting her hand on Penny Sue’s shoulder to hold her down.

  “What are you doing?” Penny Sue shook loose.

  “Look.”

  A waitress stood by Lyndon’s table. Clad in the restaurant’s uniform of Hawaiian shirt and white shorts, the woman was a stunning specimen of youth with shapely legs, a perfect tan and sun-streaked hair (the real stuff—not the exquisite, expensive variety Penny Sue so loved to toss carelessly.) We watched as she leaned over, exposing large breasts in the cleft of her shirt. We also saw Lyndon smile broadly.

  “Now see what you’ve done,” Penny Sue said, turning on Ruthie. “That girl beat me to the punch.”

  “Me?” Ruthie shot back. “I was trying to keep you from making a fool of yourself. But go ahead, do it your way. Race over there and shove her out of the way like Roller Derby.”

  “Wait a minute,” I said as I took out my eyeglasses. “That’s the cleaning lady, er, Charlotte.”

  Penny Sue squinted at them. “You’re right.” A smile stretched her cheeks. “This is perfect. I was going to ask Charlotte to help out with the party. Now I can talk to her and invite Lyndon at the same time.” She took the last sip of wine. “When you get a table, don’t wait on me to order.” Penny Sue draped her purse over her shoulder and sashayed across the deck.

  We watched as Penny Sue talked animatedly to Lyndon and Charlotte. A moment later she sat down and Lyndon was ordering her a drink.

  Ruthie and I toasted her chutzpah. “She’s got balls,” Ruthie said.

  “I guess that’s why she always goes for the macho sports types. She’d run right over a normal guy.”

  “After three divorces, you’d think she be gun-shy.”

  “She’s definitely not that.”

  Ruthie chuckled. “Right. Shy in any way, shape or form is not one of Penny Sue’s shortcomings. But, you have to admit, she’s made a royal mess this time. Do you think Penny Sue’s truly under suspicion for Rick’s murder or is Woody just jerking her chain?”

  I took a sip of my Sauvignon Blanc. “I think she’s on the list, though not at the top. Woody isn’t going to do anything rash; he knows the Judge’s connections. Remember, Woody got a call from the Attorney General over the brawl in the parking lot. A murder charge would bring the whole state down around his shoulders. Woody’s no fool—he’s going to be careful and thorough. The thing that bothers me is that pickup truck. I sure don’t like the idea that we’re being followed.”

  Ruthie signaled the bartender for another round of drinks. “Me, either. Maybe we should go home,” Ruthie said nervously.

  “We can’t. We’re stuck here until the investigation’s over.”

  “I’d forgotten that. Did Penny Sue get in touch with Woody about the truck?”

  “He was out, so she left a message.”

  The bartender arrived with peanuts and more wine. The nuts were a bad sign. I had a feeling we weren’t going to eat any time soon. “No word on our table?” I asked hopefully, flashing a big smile.

  He looked uncomfortable. “A few more minutes. A large party should be leaving shortly.”

  He was lying, I thought, remembering the bus parked by the front door. Twenty or so senior citizens were seated at a long table in the middle of the deck. They were eating dessert and having a high old time, so I doubted they’d leave soon. I downed a handful of peanuts.

  “I think I’ll call home and check on Poppa,” Ruthie announced suddenly.

  I nodded. She was still bothered by her psychic reading. The thought of losing a parent was unsettling, to say the least. I was fortunate that both of mine were alive and going strong. I was the oldest, and Mom had me when she was twenty. In their sixties, Warren and Barbara Martin weren’t old by anyone’s standards. In fact, a scientist on Good Morning, America said that one hundred forty would be the life span for our children. By that gauge, Mom and Dad weren’t even middle-aged, and I was still a youngster. Zack, Jr. and Ann were mere infants. I liked that idea a lot.

  Which reminded me that I needed to give the kids a call. I doubted they’d talked to their father, and I supposed they deserved to know the divorce was final. I had to tell them I was selling the house, too. I’d be happy to leave it, I had nothing but terrible memories from the last year—yet it was the only home they’d ever known.

  Damn Zack. He cheated me out of my marriage, assets, and memories. The kids grew up in that house, yet I could hardly stand the sight of it. Ann took her first step there. Little Zack had his Cub Scout meetings. The kitchen had always been full of the kids and their friends eating cookies and discussing their troubles with school or sports or the bully down the street. Zack had robbed me of all that, for what? Money. Some legal-smegal nonsense about abandoning the home. Translation: Zack was terrified I’d end up with the house if he left. He didn’t give a damn that it put me through hell, or ruined the kids’ holidays, or anything else. Himself, that’s all he thought about. How had I married such a selfish shit? Why hadn’t I seen his true colors sooner? All the small—and not-so-small—indignities from our marriage flooded my mind. I gripped the stem of my wine glass tightly. If Zack had been ther
e, at that moment, he’d probably have gotten the contents in his face.

  A good looking guy motioned at Penny Sue’s chair. “Is this seat taken?”

  My first inclination was to take his head off. I was still wrapped up in my not-so-fond memories of Zack and the look I gave the newcomer must have been ferocious, because he backed away before I said a word. I caught myself and forced a smile. He was not Zack. He was harmless, and in fact, he looked kinda familiar. A quick glance at Penny Sue told me she was not returning in the near future. In any event, our table should be ready soon, the bus people were finally preparing to leave. “Help yourself,” I said, picking up the car keys from the counter.

  He sat down, and ordered a beer. “Nice night, isn’t it?”

  I cut my eyes at him. Was this guy trying to pick me up? I took a sip of wine to buy time and gather my thoughts. Damn, what was keeping Ruthie? The ink on my divorce decree was barely dry, so a relationship was the last thing I wanted. Yet, that was making quite a leap. Nice night was hardly a blatant pass. It’s not like he’d whispered: ‘Hey, sugar, I want to jump your bones.’

  “It’s been beautiful all day,” I finally replied.

  “I hope it stays that way. I’m down from New Jersey. It was snowing when I left.”

  I remembered seeing something about a freak winter storm on the Weather Channel. “It’s supposed to be sunny here for the next few days.”

  “How about you? From the north?” he asked.

  My antenna went up. Where are you from? What’s your name? Want to come back to my hotel for a drink? Maybe this was a come-on, the guy was following the typical script. Though, I could be wrong. “Yeah, if you call Georgia north,” I replied.

  He laughed. A nice, full chuckle—something I never heard from Zack.

  “Not unless it’s snowing there. Al,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Leigh,” I replied, accepting it. A crisp handshake—no fingering my palm or rubbing my wrist or other sleazy maneuver to indicate bad intentions.

  “Do you live here permanently?”

  I took a nervous sip of my wine. Where was Ruthie? I’d sure feel better if she were with me; it’d been a long time since I’d done the dating scene. “No, just visiting with some old friends. You?”