Second Honeymoons Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 6) Page 13

  Or, maybe, Paul would be even harsher, because he was embarrassed about what he’d told me. Oh, well. I couldn’t control what Paul said. Unfortunately.

  I always believe that, if you find yourself in a sticky situation—like, for example, if Jim finds out that I’ve maxed out my credit card due to circumstances (a.k.a. impulse purchases) beyond my control—the best defense is either a strong diversion or a strong offensive stance. I decided to go with Plan B.

  “When you check us out with the Fairport Police,” I said, looking the officer directly in the eye, which was easy to do since we were both about the same height, “you’ll find that I was recently awarded a special citation from the department for my assistance in solving several cases. The chief is a very good friend of mine.” Jim gave my hand a warning squeeze, but I ignored him and soldiered on.

  “My husband and I are in Florida on business,” I continued. “We’re part of the marketing and production team for a new television show, The Second Honeymoon Game. The pilot episode is being filmed here. But, if you like, I’m sure I can carve out some time to be of assistance to you in this case.”

  “Lady, you must be delusional,” the deputy said. “I don’t give a hoot about your so-called relationship with the Fairport Police. You’re in Florida now. And we don’t take kindly to amateurs meddling in our official police business. Stay out of my way.”

  Before the deputy could continue to berate me, there was a shout from the direction of the ruined car. “Ma’am, we have successfully extricated the victim, and the photographers are through here. We’re ready to take him away.”

  Ma’am? This deputy sheriff was a female? No way.

  “Don’t call me ma’am,” the deputy ordered her subordinate. “I’ll be right there. As for you two,” addressing us, “I’m not through with you yet.”

  I started to sway again as the reality of the situation hit me. Jim grabbed onto me to stop me from falling. “Officer,” he said, “is it possible for us to go back to our hotel now? I understand we have to make statements, but my wife really needs to lie down.”

  Deputy Armstrong’s face softened, just for a minute. Then, she nodded. “Smith,” she yelled to another deputy, “take these people’s information. Then they’re free to leave. For now. I’ll see you both tomorrow. After I have the chance to check you out with the Fairport Police. And my Cousin Paul.”

  I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise to you that I had a lot of trouble falling asleep that night. Even cuddling up to Jim, with Lucy and Ethel curled up between us, sleep refused to come. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the burning car. And I said prayers of thanksgiving that Jim and I were safe.

  I wasn’t looking forward to being grilled by the local constabulary again. I even wondered if Charlie King would hold Jim and me responsible for the ruined Mercedes and make us pay to replace it.

  Don’t be stupid, Carol. Jim’s right. Someone saw a Mercedes in the parking lot and tried to steal it. There was a weird mechanical glitch and the car ignited. What happened isn’t your fault.

  I rolled over on my other side, trying to make myself comfortable in a strange bed. This second honeymoon was turning out to be the trip from hell. And we hadn’t even been in Florida for twenty-four hours.

  I cheered myself up a little when I remembered how wonderful it was to see Mike again. I wondered if he was still here, or if he’d flown back to Miami without saying goodbye to his parents. Or did he decide to stay and get better acquainted with the lovely Carrie King?

  Then, I mentally slapped myself. Jim was right again, darn it. Mike was a grown man and what he chose to do in his free time, and with whom he chose to do it, was none of my business. I was also sure that, if I reminded myself of this fact approximately a million times a day, I’d start to believe it.

  I realized it was a blessing to have some of our close friends here. Especially Nancy. Wait until she found out what happened to us tonight. Heck, she’d probably be angry that she’d missed all the excitement.

  I smiled at that. Knowing Nancy, she could be cheering herself up a little with Charlie. They certainly seemed to be cozy on the plane ride down here.

  I was even glad that Claire and Larry were here. After what happened tonight, Jim and I might need a very good lawyer.

  Chapter 27

  Sometimes I pretend to be normal, but it gets boring, so I go back to being me.

  “I’m not hungry,” I said to Jim. “After what happened last night, I may never eat again.” I pushed my breakfast toward him. “Here. You have my permission to eat all the food on my plate. You don’t have to wait for my leftovers.”

  Jim gave me a skeptical look. “This is a first, Carol. Are you sure about this? Here. Drink some coffee. It’ll perk you right up.”

  I took a small sip and grimaced, either from the coffee—which was definitely not as good as the coffee we had at home—or from my husband’s atrocious pun.

  Home. That’s where I wanted to be this morning. Sitting in my own kitchen in my own beautiful house in Fairport, Connecticut, instead of the dining room of the Honeymoon Island Resort, sipping coffee made by my personal barista. That would be Jim, in case you don’t get the reference. I pushed away the thought that the temperature was probably ten degrees with blizzard conditions in Fairport this morning, while here in Florida, the sun was shining brilliantly outside and the weather forecasters had promised temperatures in the mid-80s.

  I put the cup down, and announced, “I want to go home. Today. Right now.” Cue automatic tears. “I wish we’d never come here. I wish we’d never gotten involved with this stupid television show. I wish…”

  Jim reached over and grabbed my hand. “Honey, I know how upset you are. What happened last night was terrible. But we’re here and, you know the old saying, ‘The show must go on.’ I got a text that there’s a production meeting scheduled at nine. We don’t want to be late. I see Mack in the doorway, waving at us right now. We have to go.”

  I sighed. Jim was right.

  “I didn’t know Mack was already here,” I said, grabbing a piece of fruit to take with me to the meeting so I wouldn’t starve to death. “In fact, except for Charlie and Carrie, I haven’t seen anyone from the production team so far.”

  “I’m sure they’ll all be at the meeting,” Jim said, as we followed Mack’s disappearing back down the hotel hallway leading to The Flamingo Room.

  For once, my chubby legs beat Jim’s long-legged stride, and I got to the meeting room first, immediately wishing I hadn’t. All thoughts of planning the television pilot vanished when I saw who was sitting at the head of the table—two representatives from the County Sheriff’s Department. And, of course, one of them, looking as intimidating as possible, was Deputy Armstrong.

  I nodded nervously at the rest of the staff, some of whom I didn’t remember meeting in New York, then pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the table from the deputy. Jim took a seat next to me, and Kurt Armitage sat on my other side. For once, the genial Gene Richmond, television host extraordinaire with a quip for every occasion, had nothing to say. Even Mack was subdued; he didn’t make eye contact with Jim and me. Definitely not a good sign.

  I could hear the clock on the wall ticking. Or, maybe that sound was my knees knocking together. Were we going to be fired? Or, even worse, arrested?

  The meeting room door opened again, and Carrie King walked in, supported by—of all people—our son. The little devil. So that’s why he’d become the Invisible Man last night.

  Carrie and Mike took seats next to Deputy Sheriff Armstrong. I realized that Carrie looked terrible. Her eyes were red-rimmed (from lack of sleep?) and she was not wearing any makeup. Trust me. When a woman doesn’t bother to put on makeup, especially if she’s in a public situation with a potential new boyfriend, she’s got a lot on her mind.

  The deputy sheriff cleared her throat and began to speak. “Good morning, everyone. I’m Deputy Sheriff Armstrong from the County Sheriff’s office. I’m here to ge
t more information from you about what happened to one of your company cars last night at the beach. Perhaps you’ve already heard about the incident?”

  Cue staff shifting in their chairs.

  I looked around and suddenly realized someone was missing. So, of course, I raised my hand, requesting permission to speak—as any other good little Catholic girl who’d been trained by the nuns would do.

  Detective Armstrong sighed. Deeply and loudly. “Yes, Mrs. Andrews,” she said. “Do you have something to say?”

  “It’s more of a question,” I said. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but how can we start this meeting without Charlie King here? He’s the executive producer of The Second Honeymoon Game,” I clarified for the deputy, “and his company, Charles King Productions, owns the Mercedes that was destroyed last night.”

  Which was not our fault, so don’t try to pin the blame on Jim and me. I didn’t really say that last part, of course.

  “I’m sure he can answer many of your questions. I think we should wait for him.”

  My innocent suggestion produced uncontrolled sobbing from Carrie. Mike put his arm around her protectively and whispered something in her ear.

  “What?” I asked. “What did I say?”

  Detective Armstrong cleared her throat again. “Mr. King will be unable to join us,” she said. “He died in last night’s explosion.”

  My eyes welled up and spilled over. I was so shocked, I couldn’t speak.

  “Charlie’s dead?” Kurt repeated. “Are you sure?”

  Deputy Armstrong directed her laser stare at him. “Of course I’m sure,” she snapped back. “And who are you?”

  Kurt sat up straight in his chair and tried not to show how uncomfortable he was at being singled out by the deputy. I sympathized with him. I’d been in that particular hot seat far too many times. “My name is Kurt Armitage. I coordinate the talent for The Second Honeymoon Game. I’ve worked with Charlie for years. I just can’t believe…I can’t believe any of this.”

  I couldn’t believe it, either. I buried my head in the comfort of Jim’s familiar shoulder, not caring if I got his brand new golf shirt soaked with my tears.

  “But what about the show?” asked Gene Richmond. “How can we continue without Charlie? He was the visionary, the guiding light, the…” He struggled to control his emotions, then added, “But we must go on. As a tribute to Charlie and his genius.”

  “Oh, shut up, Gene,” said Kurt. “You’re just worried that your little television comeback won’t happen after all. That’s certainly no loss to America’s viewing audience. Just think of all the publicity Mack would have to do to remind everybody who you are. Or maybe, I should say, who you were.”

  Gene sprang out of his chair, his face purple with rage. “You little twit. How dare you speak to me like that?” I shrank back against Jim. I was sure the two men were going to end up in a fistfight.

  “Enough!” said Deputy Armstrong. “Both of you sit down and get hold of yourselves. I’ve got an investigation to conduct, and neither of you are helping.” She nodded at the other deputy. “But I hope you’ve made a note of this behavior.”

  “I’ll need to interview each of you separately,” she continued. “And until I’m finished with all of you, no one is allowed to leave this room. For any reason. Got that?”

  Satisfied that she had made her point crystal clear, Deputy Armstrong turned her attention to me. Unfortunately. “You’re first up, Mrs. Andrews. Follow me.”

  Rats. But there was no way, short of faking a complete collapse on The Flamingo Room floor, that I could avoid this interview. Of course, even if I did collapse, and an ambulance was called to take me to a local hospital, with my luck Deputy Armstrong would go with me, interrogating me all the way to the emergency room.

  All through the shocking announcement of Charlie’s death, and Kurt and Gene’s angry exchange, Carrie had remained quiet. No doubt due to the comforting presence of Mike, who continued to have his arm around her shoulder. As I rose to follow Deputy Armstrong, I felt I had to express my condolences to her. Even if Armstrong yelled at me to “hurry up.”

  “Carrie,” I said, “you and I may not know each other very well, but I feel we’re connected because of your dad. I know how much he loved you. If there’s anything, anything at all, I can do to make this terrible ordeal easier for you, well…I’m here for you. Jim is, too.”

  Carrie dissolved into tears. Then she grabbed my hand, pulled me down so we were eyeball to eyeball, and whispered in my ear, “Please, help me. How could this happen? Why did my father die?”

  Chapter 28

  I don’t let anything or anybody get me down. At my age, it’s too hard to get back up again.

  I stared at her, unsure about what she was asking. I glanced at my son, who said in a low voice, “I told Carrie about your new career. And how good you are at it.” He raised his eyebrows and, for a split second, looked so much like his father that I couldn’t believe it. Except, of course, that Mike was encouraging me to pursue my so-called detective vocation, while Jim would have an absolute fit if he knew I was involved in another police investigation.

  I had to give this some serious thought before I committed to helping Carrie. I didn’t want to risk Jim’s ire, and Deputy Armstrong had made it pretty clear last night that my offer of unofficial assistance wouldn’t be tolerated here in Florida. Under any circumstances.

  Come on, Carol. You’re not going to let a little obstacle like that get in your way, are you? Jim always comes around in the end. He’s even proud of your snooping when you solve the case. And if you’re really clever, Deputy Armstrong won’t ever catch on to what you’re up to.

  All this musing flashed across my brain in a millisecond, believe it or not.

  “Mrs. Andrews, we’re waiting for you!”

  I snapped to attention and turned around to see Deputy Armstrong standing at the doorway, tapping her foot in impatience. Uh oh. Better not aggravate her any more than you already have.

  “Sorry for the delay,” I said, following her down the hallway to a smaller conference room. “I stopped to give my condolences to Carrie King, since she’s just lost her dad in a very shocking manner.” Take that, Deputy Bossy Pants.

  I noted that this time, we were in The Pelican Room. My goodness. Was every meeting room in this hotel named after a bird?

  “Sit,” Armstrong said, pointing to a chair. “Now.”

  Well! I didn’t take kindly to being ordered about so cavalierly. This “interrogation” was going downhill fast. But, I sat. I am an obedient, cooperative person. Especially when facing a person who could change my Florida accommodations from a five-star resort to a jail cell.

  “Deputy Lewis will take notes during this interview,” Armstrong said, nodding at the other law enforcement officer. “But before we begin the questioning, Lewis, I could use some coffee, and I’m sure Mrs. Andrews could, too. I believe I saw some at the refreshment stand near the pool area. Get some for yourself, as well. Here.” She pressed a ten-dollar-bill into his hand, then added, “Be sure you get a receipt.”

  Deputy Lewis was clearly unhappy at this unusual request. But rather than argue, he nodded and skedaddled out of the room in search of some fresh caffeine.

  As soon as the door to The Pelican Room closed, Deputy Armstrong said, “I just love sending a man out to get coffee, don’t you? It’s sort of a small payback for all the years that the secretaries of the world were required to do it as part of their job descriptions.”

  She gave me a big grin. “We don’t have much time before Lewis gets back. Even though I sent him as far away from here as I could.”

  “Time?” I asked. I was totally confused. “Time for what?”

  Armstrong grinned again. “I talked to my cousin Paul about you last night.”

  Oh, boy. Here it comes. Slap on the handcuffs and get the jail cell ready.

  “He doesn’t think too kindly of you.”

  “The feeling’s mutual,” I sai
d. “He’s a real twit.” Then I clapped my hands over my mouth. “Oops. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “On the contrary, Mrs. Andrews,” Armstrong said, “I completely agree with you. Strictly between us, of course.” She cleared her throat, then continued, “He called you an old, interfering busybody with nothing better to do with your time than interfere in the official work of the Fairport Police Department.”

  “I’m not old,” I snapped back. “I’m mature. In age, anyway.” I could feel a flush of embarrassment spread across my face. “But I can’t deny that I’m, well…curious. And what I told you last night is the absolute truth. I have helped the Fairport police solve some cases. People talk to me. I’m non-threatening. I’ve been able to find out things that the police never would have.”

  Armstrong smiled and leaned back in her chair. “I believe you. Especially if Paul was the detective in charge of any cases you were involved in. I’m sure he’s not the brightest member of the force. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but Paul’s always been a pain in my posterior. He and I have been in competition since our nursery school days. In fact, that’s why he went into law enforcement. Because I did it first.”

  She leaned closer. “He had this terrible rhyme he used to torment me with when we were growing up. ‘Terri, Terri, quite contrary, how does your waistline grow?’ Etc. etc. I was heavy as a child, and he never let me forget it. In fact, the only way I could get him to stop was to pop him one.” Her face darkened at the memory. “He’d always cry and tell our mothers that I was beating him up for no reason. They usually took his side.”

  She stopped herself. “But you don’t need to hear about my family history. I just wanted to explain to you that if Paul tells me something is black, then I immediately know it’s white. So if he tells me that you’re an old, interfering busybody, then I know that you’re a good judge of people, someone who has a sharp mind and isn’t afraid to use it.”