Second Honeymoons Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 6) Page 16

  “You’re doing fine,” I said. “Better than Nancy. Did you get a look at the actual text? Did it list the sender’s phone number?”

  Claire looked at me like I was daft. “There isn’t always a number for a text, Carol. Unless the text is from someone you don’t know. There’s usually a name.” She shut her eyes again, then opened them wide. “This time, the sender had initials, not an actual name. I think it was MPR. But I have no idea what that means.”

  “MPR?” I repeated. “Are you sure it wasn’t NPR? Could Charlie have gotten a text from National Public Radio?”

  “Beats me,” Claire said. “And why would that get Charlie so riled up?”

  “His pledge bounced?” I suggested.

  “Now you’re really being ridiculous!” Claire said. “Oh, there’s one thing more. I just remembered that when Charlie was rushing out of the restaurant, someone stopped him, but Charlie just shrugged him off and kept on walking. It probably means nothing.”

  “This could be important, Claire,” I said. “Who was it? Anyone you recognized?”

  Claire didn’t respond, so I asked again. “Come on, Claire. Who was it? This could be a clue. Who stopped Charlie on the way out of the restaurant?”

  Claire looked miserable. Then she said, “It was Mike.” At my blank look, she clarified. “Your son.”

  Chapter 32

  Lord, give me patience…and give it to me NOW!

  “I’m sure that means nothing, Claire,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel. “Mike was quite taken with Charlie’s daughter, Carrie, at the airport yesterday, in case you didn’t notice. In fact, Mike didn’t go back to Miami last night like he’d originally planned. I’m sure he stayed with Carrie. Not that I quizzed him about where he spent the night, of course. You know that I would never do that.”

  That was an outrageous lie, and Claire knew it, but she didn’t bother with one of her famous comebacks.

  “Mike probably wanted to tell Charlie what a wonderful daughter he had,” I continued. “I’m sure it was perfectly innocent. But since Charlie was in a big hurry, he couldn’t stop to chat.”

  “As I remember it, Mike grabbed Charlie’s arm and tried to stop him from leaving,” Claire continued. “I guess it could have been innocent. But I thought you should know about it. Especially because of the timing.”

  “Timing?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Mike must have been one of the last people to talk to Charlie before he died. Maybe that’s significant.”

  Now, I was getting angry. “What exactly are you implying, Claire?” I demanded. “Are you suggesting that my son had something to do with Charlie’s death? Because if you are, you’re way out of line. He even encouraged Carrie King to ask me to investigate how her father died. Mike has absolutely nothing to do with this whole mess, and absolutely nothing to hide. I’m getting a headache. I need some aspirin.” I stomped away before Claire could answer me, or apologize.

  I started in the direction of our villa, then thought better of it. With my luck, Jim and his crime-solving henchmen would still be hashing out plans to solve the riddle of Charlie King’s sudden death. Heaven forbid I should interrupt them. I reversed direction and headed to the calm oasis of the hotel lobby, where I could snag a comfortable chair and process what I’d just been told.

  As I know I’ve told you countless times before, I never interfere in the private lives of my two adult children. (Please forgive me if I’m repeating myself.) Particularly my son’s. After all, he lived more than a thousand miles away, so it wasn’t like I could peer over his shoulder all the time and know what he was up to. But this was an emergency situation. And if I—his own mother—had questions about Mike’s encounter with the late Charlie King last night, it was my right to ask them.

  No, it was more than a right. It was my maternal duty. Especially if Deputy Armstrong planned to cross-examine Mike herself. Which I was sure she would, especially if my former friend Claire blabbed about what she’d observed last night.

  The plush overstuffed chair that I chose was in the darkest reaches of the lobby. It was so comfortable that I couldn’t help but close my eyes, just for a second, to rest them. Oh, heck. Who was I kidding? I hadn’t slept well the night before, and a brief snooze might be just what I needed to refresh and jump start my addled brain.

  I confess I did nod off (I hope I didn’t snore!) and I had the most wonderful dream. Jenny and Mark arrived at our house with the momentous news that they were expecting my first grandchild. I was beyond overjoyed! As my dream continued, I was figuring out which room I’d have Jim repaint to use as a nursery for the baby. I knew I’d be called on for lots of childcare because of Jenny’s demanding college teaching schedule, and I do like to be prepared. It was such a happy dream. But it didn’t last as long as I wanted it to. Like, forever.

  I was in my happy dream place when I became aware of whispered voices. A man and woman were having a disagreement. In my fuzzy state, I thought that it was part of my dream, and that Jenny and Mark were arguing, since I recognized one of the voices. This was no time for them to have a disagreement of any kind. We had a baby on the way.

  I heard the woman (Jenny?) speak to the man (Mark?). “All I’m saying is that you don’t have to tell Deputy Armstrong you talked to Dad last night. But the longer you wait, something that was totally innocent could end up looking like you have something to hide. She’s talking to everyone who’s part of the television show. There’s no reason why you should freak out.”

  “I’m not freaking out,” the man said. “But I’m not part of the television show. My parents are. I just came to Honeymoon Island to see them. Your father and I barely spoke last night. He was in a hurry. He did jerk his arm and push me away, though. Under the circumstances, that could be misunderstood by anyone who saw us. What a mess. I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’m sure Deputy Armstrong will understand if you decide to tell her,” the woman said. “And I’ll be with you, Mike. After all, you only saw my dad to help me. I’ll back you up, no matter what you say.”

  “I’m pretty nervous,” the man said. “I’m glad you’re going with me.”

  My eyes snapped open as the couple disappeared from my line of vision. But not so quickly that I couldn’t identify them as Carrie King and Mike.

  So, Claire was right. Mike had seen Charlie last night, and was now on his way to see Deputy Armstrong, What the heck had he gotten himself into?

  I’m not proud of what I did next. But I’m not ashamed, either. If any of you are mothers of so-called adult children, I hope you won’t criticize me. In fact, you’d probably do the exact same thing if you were in the exact same set of circumstances.

  I know. I’m stalling. Deep breath.

  I followed them. Carrie and Mike, I mean. At a discreet distance, so they wouldn’t see me. Hey, I don’t read all those mystery stories for nothing. I have picked up some handy tips, on the art of surveillance, for instance.

  Fortunately, the hotel hallway was thickly carpeted so I was saved from having to flatten myself against a wall and hide in case they noticed me. Which was a good thing, because flattening my pudgy body against a wall would require an act of God.

  I heard Mike say, “Okay, I’m ready.” He knocked on the door of The Pelican Room where Deputy Armstrong and I had our cozy chat just a short while ago. After he and Carrie went inside, I knelt down in front of the door and pressed my ear against the wood, straining to hear what was going on inside. I figured that, if anybody saw me, I could say I’d lost an earring and was looking for it. Lame, I know. But it was the best I could come up with.

  The voices were muffled at first. Or maybe my hearing was going, too, along with other aging body parts. Then, I heard Deputy Armstrong say, “Nobody’s accusing you of anything, Mr. Andrews. We’re interviewing anyone who might have had any interaction with Mr. King before he died last night.”

  “I barely knew the man,” Mike said. “I only saw him once, at
the airport, when I came to meet my parents.”

  “Mr. Andrews,” Deputy Armstrong replied, “I got a phone call from a server in the hotel dining room. She told me that you had a brief altercation with Mr. King last night as he was leaving the restaurant. She described you quite clearly.”

  “That wasn’t me,” Mike protested. “It must have been someone who looked like me. I was with Carrie King. Alone. Right, Carrie?”

  “That’s right, Deputy Armstrong,” Carrie said. “We were together from when we met at the airport yesterday. All day. And, all night. Mike never saw my father after we got to the hotel.”

  I almost lost my cool right there in the hall. I wanted to run into The Pelican Room and shake Mike until his teeth rattled. Carrie, too. Fortunately, good sense prevailed. For once.

  Deputy Armstrong responded in a quieter voice, so I didn’t quite catch all she said. But she ended the interview with a warning that scared me down to my toes: “I hope you plan on staying around, Mr. Andrews. I’ll be talking to you again. Very soon.” Then, I heard the sound of chairs moving in The Pelican Room, and realized the interview was over. Man, that was quick. I had to get out of there pronto, before I got named Eavesdropper-in-Chief. I had some serious thinking to do.

  Chapter 33

  The only exercise I get these days is jumping to conclusions.

  “Take deep breaths,” I ordered myself. “Maybe you misheard. Or misunderstood.”

  Nah. Who was I kidding? Not even myself. Mike had lied, and as a consequence, had probably shot to the top of Deputy Armstrong’s suspect list. Assuming she figured it out, of course. And I couldn’t count on her being as clueless as her Fairport cousin.

  I wanted to find Claire and demand an explanation from her. I was sure she had ratted out Mike. That was the end of our lifelong friendship, without question. How could she do that? She’d known Mike since he was in utero. She was practically another mother to him. What a traitor. I guess I was muttering all the way across the lobby, because I suddenly realized that several strangers were giving me curious looks. I just glared at them and refused to be embarrassed. Let them think what they wanted. I bet most of them talked to themselves, too.

  I really missed Jenny. Mark, too, of course. But talking to my daughter always cleared my head and helped me focus. I wondered if she and Mike had been in touch since he’d surprised us at the airport yesterday.

  Was it only yesterday? It seemed like a whole year had passed since then.

  Then I made a decision that I’m sure will surprise you. I wanted to talk to Jim. Right now. After all, he was Mike’s father, and Mike was in deep trouble, whether he realized it or not. I hoped Jim’s so-called brain trust meeting was over. I needed my husband and the father of my children right now, not an imitation Hercule Poirot. We had to work together. For once. And if I couldn’t find Jim, I had another option. My two favorite canine co-conspirators, Lucy and Ethel. They were always available for a heart-to-heart chat; they never blabbed about any secrets I spilled, and were never judgmental. No matter what.

  Of course, the dogs couldn’t always be counted on to come up with surefire solutions to my problems. But at least they were willing to listen. Assuming they weren’t hungry, of course. If they were, all bets were off.

  “Be calm,” I told myself. “You have to present the facts to Jim in a rational manner. Don’t get emotional and start blubbering the way you usually do. That kind of behavior makes him nuts. Start with what Claire told you about what she saw last night, and go from there. Jim will know what to do next. Maybe he’ll even talk to Mike himself.” I nodded in satisfaction. Yes, that was a great idea. This situation definitely called for a man-to-man talk.

  Which got me off the hook.

  Imagine my frustration when I reached our villa and found a folded note with my name on it taped to the door. Off for a quick lunch meeting about the show. We need to put out some sort of press release about Charlie’s death. The media is all over this and Mack is worried about damage control. Be back as soon as I can. Detecting is on hold for now. Don’t do anything until we talk. Oh, Lucy and Ethel need a walk. I didn’t have time to take them out. See you later.

  Well, there was nothing I could do about my missing husband. Maybe this was even a blessing in disguise. I could use the time to organize the facts in an orderly manner, like the agenda system I’ve used under similar circumstances.

  “Lucy, Ethel, time to go out,” I said, opening the door and closing it quickly so the canines couldn’t pull one of their frequent escapes. But there was none of the usual scurrying to greet me. In fact, there was nothing at all. Only silence. Lucy and Ethel were gone. OMG. They’d been dognapped!

  I let out a scream that was loud enough to be heard from Honeymoon Island clear to Tallahassee. (That would be the state capital of Florida, and several hundred miles north of here, in case you’re geographically challenged.)

  Be rational, Carol. Maybe Jim changed his mind and decided to take the dogs with him to the meeting.

  No way, I argued back. Dogs aren’t allowed in the dining room. Or around the pool area. In fact, dogs are only supposed to be walked in a few clearly designated areas.

  I checked around the villa. No leashes, anywhere. Then, I started to cry. Deep, gulping sobs. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that something terrible had happened to my dogs, and it was all Jim’s fault. Don’t ask me why. It just was.

  Okay, I wasn’t being rational.

  I thought of calling Nancy and Claire to help me search for Lucy and Ethel. They loved the dogs almost as much as Jim and I did. But Nancy has a tendency to get even more hysterical than I do, believe it or not. Her presence would only add to my panic. As for Claire, well…I wasn’t sure I was even speaking to her right now.

  Mike! I could call him. He’d be here in a heartbeat.

  And then what, Carol? First, you’re going to ask him to help find the dogs, and then you’ll browbeat him into explaining why he lied to Deputy Armstrong? Tell him what a jerk he is?

  Even in my panicky state, I knew that was a very bad plan.

  Call your new best friend Deputy Armstrong, Carol. She’s right here, and she’s a trained professional.

  Oh, yeah? And say what? Would you mind terribly dropping your investigation into a possible murder to help me find my two dogs? She’d really think you were a loony tune then.

  All these thoughts raced through my brain at warp speed, and I still didn’t know what had happened to my dogs, and how to get them back.

  Then, I had a brilliant idea. Lucy and Ethel were motivated by food more than anything else. I rummaged in the refrigerator and found some extra sharp cheddar cheese that must have been left by a previous guest. Bonanza! I was sure the smell would attract them.

  Unless they’d been taken away in a car, or worse.

  Stop it, Carol. Get outside and find your dogs.

  I stuffed my pocket with the package of cheese and raced for the door, running smack into our concierge, Bernardo, with Lucy and Ethel in tow.

  I was so shocked, thrilled, angry, relieved—you name an emotion and I felt it at that moment—that I didn’t know what to say. The dogs, however, danced around my legs and telegraphed, loud and clear, what a great time they’d had on their walk with a new friend. I grabbed their leashes and said to Bernardo, “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  Bernardo grinned. I was sure he was expecting a tip. Well, he was going to get one. But not the kind he usually got from hotel guests.

  The two dogs trotted into the villa and flopped down on the cool tile floor, exhausted from the exercise. “I’ll deal with you two later,” I said. “I may have to get you both cell phones so you can keep in constant touch and not scare me to death the way you just did. Stay here.”

  It was clear that neither Lucy nor Ethel were planning to go anywhere at the moment. They were so pooped they didn’t even beg for biscuits, the way they always did.

  I gave the dogs a big bowl of cool water and two Milk Bon
es apiece (I would have given them the whole box of dog biscuits—that’s how relieved I was that they were safe), then confronted Bernardo and let him have it, right between his big brown eyes.

  “Just what the heck did you think you were doing?” I demanded, stepping outside and slamming the villa’s door behind me. Usually, I shrink from confrontation of any kind. But this situation was different. My family’s safety, and our private space, had been violated.

  “What’s wrong?” Bernardo asked, clearly perplexed at both my question and my incredibly angry tone of voice. “I was making my usual rounds to check on the villa guests,” he continued, “and see if anyone needed anything. I saw the note on your door, so I took your two dogs for a little walk. That’s all.”

  I narrowed my eyes and took a deep breath. “First of all, Bernardo, you read a private note from my husband that was clearly addressed to me. You had no right to do that.”

  “But….”

  “That’s just the beginning,” I said. “Next, you took it upon yourself to enter our villa, when neither of us were there, and without our permission, take our two dogs out of the villa without leaving any information about what you were doing. Do you have any idea how upset I was when I got back and couldn’t find them? Do you?” By this time I was so angry that I was ready to throttle the obviously clueless concierge. Because, from his expression, he had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. Or why I was so upset.

  “But, Mrs. Andrews, I was only doing my job,” he protested. “Helping the guests. Making their time here as pleasant as possible. I don’t think I did anything wrong.”