Second Honeymoons Can Be Murder (A Baby Boomer Mystery Book 6) Read online

  I reversed course and started in the direction of the hotel restaurant, then stopped. I realized I couldn’t bring the dogs in there. “Come on, girls,” I said, heading toward the swimming pool, “we have to stay outside. I hope there’s an empty table in the shade.”

  Otherwise, I’d have no choice but to head back to our villa and risk running into Jim. I still had no idea how I was going to tell him about Mike’s stupidity.

  “Bummer,” I muttered. All the shady tables were already occupied. I scanned the area, and saw a table for two that had a single vacant seat. The lone occupant was slouched in his chair, baseball cap tipped over his eyes to block out any spare sunlight. He appeared to be napping.

  Well, there was no choice. I’d have to see if this total stranger was a dog lover who’d be willing to share his table with me. Correction: with us.

  “Behave yourselves,” I warned the girls. “If we’re lucky, we’re going to make a new friend, and I’m going to get your water.”

  My stomach grumbled. Most unattractive, I know. But I suddenly realized I hadn’t had lunch. In fact, I hadn’t had much to eat for breakfast, either. Which proves how upset I was. I rarely miss a meal, especially one I don’t have to cook.

  The closer we got to the table, the less sure I was that this was a good idea. There was something odd about the way the man was seated in the chair. I realized he hadn’t moved since I’d first spotted him a few minutes before. In a flash of complete panic, I realized that he could be dead. OMG. I’d had my fill of discovering dead bodies, thank you very much. I was taking no chances. I had to get out of there, pronto.

  I slowed my steps, not wanting to call attention to myself. Or the possibly deceased man in the chair. And then, I saw his hand snake out toward a glass filled with amber liquid. He lifted the glass to his lips, took a large swig of whatever was in it, and placed it unsteadily back on the table. Then, he pulled out the vacant chair and gestured toward me.

  “I see you standing there staring at me, Carol Andrews. Come on over and let’s have a little chat.”

  The man took off his cap. “It’s your pal Kurt Armitage. From The Second Honeymoon Game. Sit down and keep me company for a little while.”

  Well, why not? I had lots of questions, and my pal, Kurt, could be just the one to answer some of them.

  I held up the two dog leashes. “I’m not alone. Do you like dogs?”

  Kurt sat up straight in his chair. “They don’t bite, do they? I was bitten by a cocker spaniel when I was a kid.”

  “These are English cocker spaniels,” I said, parking myself in the other chair before Kurt could take back his invitation. “They’re very gentle. Not at all snappish, like some of the American cockers can be. Their names are Lucy and Ethel. Put out your hand and let them say hello. I promise it will be okay.”

  Lucy and Ethel gave Kurt’s hand a cursory sniff, deemed it acceptable, and plopped down at my feet, exhausted. I tried not to notice how quickly Kurt snatched his hand away from the dogs. Normally, I have nothing to do with anyone who didn’t immediately love Lucy and Ethel. But not this time. I was on a mission.

  “They really need water,” I said. “And I wouldn’t mind something cold to drink, myself. Can you flag down a server?”

  “Sure thing,” Kurt said. “I know ‘em all. I’ve been here for a while.” He held up his glass. “This is iced tea, in case you were wondering.”

  I’ll bet.

  Kurt waved his hand and in a flash a server appeared. From his eagerness to please, I figured Kurt was a pretty good tipper.

  Then, the server spotted Lucy and Ethel. “No dogs are allowed here at the pool. It’s a hotel rule.” He looked at me and flushed with embarrassment. “I’m really sorry. I love dogs, myself.”

  Bummer. There went my big chance to pump good old Kurt for some juicy background information. I started to get up, but Kurt stopped me. He peeled a twenty-dollar bill off a money clip and handed it to the server. “There aren’t any dogs here. Your eyes are playing tricks on you. It must be the heat. My friend Carol would like something cold to drink. Perhaps a large glass of water. Or two. And a large bowl of ice. And I’ll have another iced tea. All right?”

  “Yes, sir,” the server said, pocketing the money. With a glance at the dogs resting beneath my feet, he added, “I guess I was mistaken. I hope no one else makes the same mistake I did.”

  Kurt peeled off two more twenties. “Share these with your friends. Just to be sure their eyes don’t play tricks on them, too.”

  Wow. Kurt must be loaded, possibly in more ways than one. But I knew I had no time to waste on a friendly little chat. I had to get right down to business. I squeezed my baby blues tight, willing some tears to come, for effect. Then I said, “I feel so terrible about Charlie’s death.”

  Kurt snorted. “Yeah, good old Charlie. He sure went out with a bang.”

  I was incensed. “What a horrible thing to say, Kurt! And truly tasteless.” I stood up. “I think we should go back to our villa. I can give the dogs their water there.”

  “I’m sorry, Carol,” Kurt said, suddenly appearing more with-it. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m going to miss Charlie, too.”

  “How long did you and he work together?” I asked, sitting back down and seizing the opportunity to probe some more.

  “Too long,” Kurt snapped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, either. Charlie and I worked together for eight years. But he just didn’t keep up with the times.”

  “He had some great shows,” I protested. “Like….” I cast around in my brain and couldn’t come up with a single one.

  “The most important word in that sentence is ‘had,’ ” Kurt said. “People don’t want game shows anymore. They may watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy!, but those are classics. People are hooked on reality shows now. That’s what drives up the ratings and gets the big bucks sponsors. Do you know what I mean?”

  I knew all too well. But I wasn’t going to share my taste with Kurt, so I just nodded.

  “Charlie was a genius at concept back when we first started working together,” Kurt continued, “and he did produce a few reality shows. Gold Coast Confidential was his most recent one. None of them lasted too long. He just didn’t understand the current trends. Or, maybe he understood them, but didn’t want to accept them.”

  “What about The Second Honeymoon Game?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation back to why we were all here in Florida. “I think that’s a great idea for a television show.”

  “Yeah, The Second Honeymoon Game,” Kurt said. “A great idea with real potential to become a mega hit.” He fixed me with a level gaze. “Do you know anything about history?”

  “Well,” I said, not quite sure why the conversation had taken a sudden veer off the track, “I took a few courses in college. Why?”

  “Do you remember Custer’s Last Stand? Well, The Second Honeymoon Game was Charlie King’s Last Stand. And Charlie ended up the exact same way Custer did. Poor guy.”

  Kurt fiddled with his glass, which was now empty. I prayed he was drinking traditional iced tea, because this talk was proving to be very informative and I didn’t want him to lose his focus. I’ve heard that certain kinds of iced tea can do that to a person. Like Long Island, for example.

  “I figured you’d know all about the show,” he finally said. “You and Charlie being such old friends.”

  “I hadn’t seen Charlie since we graduated from grammar school, which was a long time ago,” I said. There was no sense in telling Kurt exactly how long. He was in no shape to figure out any math problems. “What do you mean about this television show being Charlie’s Last Stand?”

  “Nobody in the business would talk to him,” Kurt said. “They thought he was all washed-up. He pitched The Second Honeymoon Game to the networks, and they laughed at him. Even FOX.” Kurt shook his head. “And heaven knows, they’ll put anything on the air these days. Of course, their focus is on younger viewers. Lik
e everyone else.”

  “But we’re here to film the pilot episode,” I said. “Someone must have thought Charlie’s idea was a good one.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Kurt said. “Someone did. But I have no idea who it was. All of a sudden, Charlie came up with a mysterious backer who agreed to bankroll the pilot.” He fixed me with a stare. “In case you don’t know, television is a very expensive medium. Some of the budgets, even for the reality shows, are through the roof. Of course, Charlie had cut some corners by hiring a few people who worked cheap and jumped at the chance to be involved. Like Gene Richmond, for instance. He hasn’t been on television for years. And, of course, Carrie. Because she’s Charlie’s daughter, he didn’t have to pay her a huge salary. Too bad she doesn’t have a clue about what a television show is all about.”

  “Now, wait a minute,” I said. “I understand that Gene Richmond hasn’t been on television for a long time, but Carrie made a very good presentation at the meeting we all had in New York. She really impressed me with her knowledge of log lines and all that other jargon.”

  Kurt laughed. “Lady, Carrie’s ‘presentation’ was a rehash of what she found on Google. She didn’t know what she was talking about. Didn’t you notice a few folks rolling their eyes during it?” He held up his hand. “Wait a minute. How could you? You were too busy interrupting her with ideas of your own.”

  I was saved from saying something I’d probably regret later by the arrival of our helpful server with a large plastic bowl filed with chipped ice and four bottles of water bearing the hotel logo. “Never mind the iced tea,” Kurt said as the server turned to make his escape. “I want a large pot of extra strong coffee. I need caffeine so I can write a tribute to Charlie for tomorrow morning’s event.”

  “Tomorrow morning?” I repeated. “What’s happening then?”

  “There’s going to be a memorial service on the beach in honor of Charlie. We all have to be there. Mack Whitman’s called local media contacts, and some of them have promised to provide coverage. What ghouls. But, I guess there’s no such thing as bad publicity, right? And the show must go on. Welcome to the wonderful world of television.”

  Kurt paused and gave me a quizzical look. “I’m surprised you don’t know about this already. Don’t you and your husband talk to each other? He’s up to his eyeballs planning this thing.”

  Jim and I may talk to each other, but we don’t usually listen to each other. I didn’t really say that, of course.

  “I didn’t know the time was definitely set,” I said. “There was some discussion about a memorial tribute, but Deputy Armstrong had suggested it be delayed until she had more information about how Charlie died.”

  I always say, if you’re going to tell a lie, make it a whopper. And this one would rival anything Burger King has on its menu, for sure.

  “Oh, that’s not going to be a problem,” Kurt assured me. “I’ve heard that Deputy Armstrong got a tip about a young guy who got in a big fight with Charlie last night in the hotel restaurant. Wouldn’t it be cool if Armstrong arrested him on-camera during the memorial service? Wow, the show would be a hit before we even did the pilot. We’d have even more big bucks sponsors begging to get on board.”

  OMG.

  Chapter 37

  I’m not a snob. I’m just really good at figuring out who’s worth talking to and who isn’t.

  I knew I had to find Jim and Mike. No more procrastinating. Jim needed to know that our son was at the top of Deputy Armstrong’s suspect list, and Mike needed to explain why he lied. Or else both the men in my life would find themselves starring in a very unpleasant reality television show of their own tomorrow morning.

  I found a stone bench shaded by a friendly palm tree and plunked my derriere down, wrapping the dog leashes around my wrist to be sure they didn’t get any funny ideas about exploring the area. First, I fired off a text to Jim. After all, I’d been married to him longer than I’d been a mother to Mike. Just in case you’re keeping score.

  Me: Need to talk to u asap. Where r u?

  Jim: With Mack. No time now. Can you wait an hour?

  Me: No way.

  Jim: Why?

  Me: Emergency.

  Jim: R u sick? Dogs?

  Me: No. It’s Mike.

  Jim: Mike’s sick?

  Me: No. Not sick.

  Jim: Up to my eyeballs planning press conference for tomorrow. Will meet u at villa in an hour. Okay?

  Me: Sigh. Okay.

  I clicked off. “I guess one person’s press conference is another person’s memorial service,” I said to the dogs. That sounded so ridiculous that even Ethel gave me a skeptical look.

  “Maybe it’s better if Jim and I don’t catch up for another hour,” I said, determined to put a positive spin on what was basically my husband brushing me off. “If I’m lucky, we’ll find Mike and clear this whole mess up and Jim won’t ever have to know.”

  And I can add this to the ever growing list of things I’ve never told Jim.

  I wondered if sins of omission counted as much as sins of commission. If they did, I was in big trouble.

  “I guess my text to Jim didn’t sound urgent enough,” I said to the dogs. “I’m not making the same mistake with Mike. I have to make it clear I’m not taking no for an answer. I have to see him right away.”

  Me: I know what you did. Meet me at Villa C in ten minutes.

  I pressed Send.

  I got an immediate ping back, indicating a response.

  Mike: What I did? What did I do?

  Me: Nine minutes. No excuses. And you know what I’m talking about, buster.

  When I pressed Send this time, I felt a tiny prickle of guilt. But I got over it. Mothers usually know best. They just have to prove it to their offspring.

  By the time we got to the villa, Mike was already there, sweaty and red-faced. My first inclination was to hand him something to wipe off his face—an automatic “mommie” response. But I stopped myself. This was an inquisition, not a mother-son bonding session.

  Mike gave me a weak grin. “What’s up, Cosmo Girl? Are you mad at me for something?” Under normal circumstances, Mike’s use of my special nickname would make my heart melt. But not today.

  “Come in,” I said, opening the villa door and going into the blessed air-conditioning. Mike followed, more obediently than I would have expected. I guess he finally realized he was in big trouble.

  I pulled out a chair at the dining room table. “Sit.” Lucy and Ethel immediately sat, which struck me funny. I turned my head away from Mike so he couldn’t see me laughing. When I turned back to face him, I was all business.

  “Let’s cut out all the nonsense and get right to it,” I said. “You lied to Deputy Armstrong about seeing Charlie King last night. I want to know why.”

  Mike’s face flushed red. A sure sign that I had hit the mark.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mom,” Mike said. He shifted in his chair and refused to meet my gaze. Exactly the same body language he used when he was a little boy and I’d caught him in some minor transgression.

  “I said, cut the nonsense,” I repeated. “You lied, and I know you lied. I want to know why. Don’t you realize how bad that makes you look to the authorities?”

  In a true example of the apple (Mike) not falling far from the tree (me), my son immediately went on the offensive and began to question me.

  “How do you know I lied?” he challenged. “How do you know I saw Charlie King again after we all met at the airport yesterday? If anyone says I did, they’re a damn liar.” Mike sat back in his chair, satisfied that he had successfully stonewalled my interrogation.

  “Are you calling Claire McGee a liar?” I shot back. “One of the people who’s known you since the day you were born?”

  “She’s wrong,” Mike insisted. “It must have been someone who looked like me. And where does she claim she saw me?” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, daring me to answer.

 
“Claire saw you last night at the entrance to the hotel restaurant. And don’t try to deny it. Nancy was there, too. Are you saying two of our closest friends in the whole world mistook you for a stranger? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Notice I didn’t say that Nancy also saw Mike. Because I wasn’t sure that she had. And I didn’t want Deputy Armstrong to think she had another potential witness against Mike and question her, too. I just threw Nancy’s name into the mix to scare Mike.

  “I don’t know why everyone’s making such a big deal out of this,” Mike said.

  Honest to goodness, it took all the self-control I had in my whole body to resist taking Mike by the shoulders and shaking him. How could he be so clueless?

  “Are you out of your mind?” I said through clenched teeth. “People saw you and Charlie King together right before he died. And I’m told that you and he had a shoving match. That can be interpreted as a fight. Within an hour, the man was dead. How can you say that’s no big deal? And why did you lie about it when you were questioned by Deputy Armstrong?”

  I hoped that Mike would infer that Deputy Armstrong was the source of my information. In a way, of course, she was. But I didn’t want to admit that I eavesdropped on Mike’s interrogation.

  “I was with Carrie King ever since I met her at the airport yesterday,” Mike said. “She can vouch for me.” He gave me a defiant look, daring me to argue with him. I recognized that look. It was the same one he used when he got caught driving the family car without a license. Too bad Mike was too old now to be grounded or sent to his room as punishment.

  “That look didn’t work on me when you were thirteen and it’s not going to work now,” I said, with as much force as I could muster.

  “Oh, yeah? Why don’t you ask Carrie if you don’t believe me?” Mike said. “Maybe you want details about what we were doing, too. Is that right, Mother?”

  Mike has never called me Mother, no matter what. Now he’d really pushed all my buttons. I turned purple, not my best color. Obviously, it was time for me to change tactics, because this line of conversation wasn’t getting me anywhere.