Daiquiri Dock Murder Page 10

  “May I help you?” A young man approached, smiling.

  “Perhaps. I pulled the line from my pocket. “I’d like to buy several yards of line similar to this.”

  The man examined the line and pointed to the wall across the room. There, a large display of caddies held coiled line that grew in size from very thin to almost as thick as one’s wrist.

  “We have many types of line. Perhaps you can find something in our display that you can use.”

  I followed him to the display. “I’m looking for something in blue. I’m planning to make a wall hanging for the great room in my home. I really need sea blue.”

  The clerk shook his head as he glanced at the snippet of line I brought in and then at the wall display. “Sorry I can’t help you, Ma’am. We don’t seem to carry any in your shade of blue. Maybe another chandlery or tackle shop will have some different colors. Or perhaps you’d like to look in our catalog and find something you’d care to order.”

  “Thank you, but no. I wanted to get to work on my project tomorrow, if at all possible.” I turned and walked to my car. I checked out 3 more chandleries and a bait boat without any luck. At the next store along the street—George’s Tackle Shop—an old man shuffled forward to greet me. The scent of cigar smoke clung to his gray jumpsuit that matched his beard and his gray eyes. He peered at me from under bushy white eyebrows, eyebrows that made me think of Andy Rooney.

  “How may I help you, Ma’am?”

  Again, I pulled out my sample of blue line and made the request I had memorized by now.

  “Let me get a closer look at this.” Taking the line, he carried it to a cluttered desk where he pulled on a string attached to a huge bulb that brightened the whole area. After turning the line this way and that and then picking at its frayed end for a few moments, he chuckled. “Where’d you get this line, Miss? None of my business, but I’m curious.”

  I preferred being called Miss rather than Ma’am and I smiled at him, wondering how old he was—80, 90, maybe even older than that.

  “Oh, it’s just an old piece of line I found tucked away in a friend’s boathouse. Can you match it for me?”

  “Afraid not, Miss. I been selling nautical supplies for a lot of years.” He examined the rope again before looking at me. “This kind of line was a best seller—in its day. But according to my memory, no company has produced this type of line in this blue shade for twenty-five, thirty years. This sample may be older than you are.”

  “Oh, my. I wanted to get to work on my wall hanging today, if possible.”

  “Had you considered making the hanging in neutral shades? I have lots of neutrals in many different sizes.”

  “Thank you, Sir, but I’ve set my heart on blue.”

  “Sorry to break your heart over a piece of line.” He laughed. “Been a long time since I broke anyone’s heart.”

  “Thank you, George.” I risked using the name of the shop, and I guessed right.

  “Been a long time since a young miss has called me George, too. You stop by again. Any time.”

  “You’ve been a big help to me, even though you can’t supply the line I need.”

  Leaving the shop, I felt George following me with his gaze as I ambled to my car and sat thinking. I tucked the line into the manila envelope and shoved it into my shoulder bag. So this line wasn’t of a kind that anyone might find readily available in today’s Key West shops.

  That bit of information tempted me to report what I’d learned so far to Chief Ramsey immediately. Then I thought better of it. If this line matched the bunk box handles I’d seen on Kane’s boat… I didn’t want to do anything that might direct suspicion to Kane. But I had no way of comparing the two pieces of line without letting Kane know what I’d discovered. And if I returned the sample to Ramsey too soon, he might wonder why I hadn’t worked harder at finding a match.

  The sun was dropping low, so I decided to return to the hotel, freshen up, and change into an outfit more suitable for appearing in The Frangi tonight. A long skirt? A sequined tee? Maybe some high-heeled barefoot sandals? When I opened the elevator door at the penthouse floor, Dolly came running toward me from The Frangi.

  “Rafa! You recovered from your fall?”

  “Sure. No big problem.” It surprised me to realize some truth of the little white lie. I’d been so caught up in searching for blue line I’d almost forgotten my bruises and sore muscles. “What’s up?”

  Chapter 15

  (Sunday Evening)

  I thought Dolly might ask more about Diego’s murder, but no.

  “Brick asked me to change the bulb in his desk lamp. He wants to start using the new energy-saving bulbs in all lamps in their mansion.”

  “Good idea. I ordered our maintenance crew to use compact fluorescent bulbs in all the lights in the hotel some time ago. How can I help you now?”

  “I have the new bulbs, and I’ve removed the old one from Brick’s desk lamp. Problem is I can’t get the new bulb to fit. If you’re feeling up to it, maybe you can take a look and figure out what I’m doing wrong. Could you go with me to the mansion now? Of course, if you’re not feeling up to it…”

  “I’m okay, Dolly. Don’t treat me like an invalid.” I glanced at my watch. “But we’ll need to hurry.”

  We took the elevator down, slipped into my car, and drove to the mansion. I parked to one side of the strangler fig threatening the banyan tree and followed Dolly inside. I’d expected to see ecru and brown décor that blended with the outside of the mansion, but no. The living room lay awash in light flowing through the jalousie windows and an overhead skylight onto off-white walls. Jewel-toned cushions on a white wicker couch and matching chairs added spark to the room. The multicolored terrazzo floor spoke of long ago when that type of flooring was popular in both private homes as well as in public buildings. Threnody had spiced the room with bright area carpets.

  “How beautiful! Threnody has a great sense of color and design.”

  “Threnody and Madam Carmelina at the furniture shop on Duval. Threnody fell in love with Madam Carmelina’s suggestions, but the madam met her match when she faced Brick.” Dolly grinned. “Surprises me that Brick will even get rid of an old light bulb.”

  I followed Dolly into Brick’s study, looked around, and returned her grin. It was like stepping through a time warp back into another day and age. Did I imagine that musty smell, or was it real? Braided throw rugs covered the floor. Two Danish Modern chairs that might have been modern in the 1950s sat near a much-used oak desk. A brown cylinder-shaped shade lay upended beside a lamp made of foot-long lengths of copper tubing set in a brass base.

  Picking up the new bulb, I tried to fit it into the lamp. “You’re right, Dolly.” I shook my head and shrugged. “Guess old lamps sneer at modern bulbs.”

  “Drat! I thought maybe you could get it to work. I like to please Brick whenever I can.”

  She tried the bulb again and then I gave it a second try. “Guess Brick will have to make do with old-time bulbs.”

  “Threnody wants him to redecorate his study, but I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon. Brick wants to leave everything left just the way it is. But thanks for trying to help, Rafa. I really try to please Brick. He’s very good to me, but this time it’s impossible.” Dolly glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to be going. Want to give the balcony at The Frangi one last sweep before you open for business tonight. I’m helping with the sandwiches, too.”

  Dolly’s words made me wonder just how good Brick was to her, but maybe I was letting Kane’s comment about them influence me.

  “I’m returning to the hotel. Want a lift back?”

  “No. I’ll ride my bike. I’ll need it there in the morning.”

  Leaving the mansion, I headed home. This long day began to take its toll. My left shoulder still ached from my fall off the balcony, and my knees developed a shaky, I’m-about-to-give-out feeling. I flopped onto my bed for a short rest without taking time to turn the satin
spread aside. I didn’t wake up until an hour later when my phone rang.

  When I jumped, startled at the sound, pain stabbed my shoulder. The phone rang again while I reached for the bottle of pain lozenges I’d used earlier. Drat! Empty bottle. Forget that idea. I answered the phone. Nobody replied.

  “Hello? Hello?”

  Dead line. I scowled, wondering who wakened me—for nothing. Maybe a wrong number. But in an instant, the phone rang again. I picked it up wondering if I’d get another dead line, and it didn’t help my mood or my shoulder to hear Dolly’s voice begging me to hurry to The Frangi ASAP.

  “Have to run an errand first, Dolly. Be there soon as I can.”

  My gum-shoeing, along with the time I’d spent with Dolly trying to change the light bulb had taken longer than I realized. Twilight falls quickly in the Keys and already the outside light had faded. I grabbed a green ankle-length skirt and matching tee, dressed quickly, and headed for my car. I could have called room service for a pain pill, but sometimes that takes longer than getting one for myself.

  I usually love the tourist Conch Trains with their quaint canopies and clanging bells, but this evening I wanted to honk at the driver slowing me down on Duval. I didn’t honk, but I did grit my teeth, a habit my dentist deplores.

  Inching along toward Fausto’s pharmacy where I knew I could find my special brand of lozenges, I suddenly came alert. Pablo! Pablo strolled along the cracked sidewalk to my right.

  “Pablo!” I called to him through my car window. “Pablo!”

  He looked toward me for a moment, then in the next instant he began jogging, almost bumping into a woman carrying an armload of packages. He entered a nearby bar. What was going on here! I wanted to go after him, to talk to him, but no parking place. Bumper to bumper traffic. Sloppy Joe’s. That’s where he went. I could call there later. But he’d been running from me. I felt sure of that, he started jogging the minute he saw me.

  I found plenty of parking slots at Fausto’s, paid for my lozenges, swallowed one with a gulp of the bottled water I always carry in my car. Don’t know if it was the pill or the psychology of taking medicine, but after a few moments, my shoulder and knees felt better and I headed home. When I reached The Frangi, most of tonight’s workers stood gathered there, and now they hurried to greet me. I knew Dolly and Kane must have informed them of my fall. Had I been an advertising exec, I’d have snapped their picture. What a wonderful ad they’d make for The Frangipani Room.

  Brick, wearing maroon Sportif slacks and a dark hand-print shirt that set off his gleaming head and dark beard, looked like a model from a seaman’s catalogue as he sipped an iced daiquiri. Threnody, her hair sprinkled with glitter and piled high, matched the ambience of the room. Jessie stood at the bar waiting for the evening to begin. Tonight he wore chinos, a tank top, and sandals—and a golden hibiscus tucked behind his left ear.

  Kane, in his black jacket, white pants bouncer’s uniform, hurried toward me. Before I could tell everyone I’d seen Pablo, Dolly also rushed forward waving a sheet of paper. In the background, Mama G stood on the tiny bandstand, tapping her foot and looking grim and dour. I smiled, but only to myself. We depended on Mama G for many things, and we all humored her—sometimes. Tonight her signature look included her braided crown of black hair held in place with tortoise-shell hairpins and her scarlet caftan and black Birkenstock sandals. She was unused to being upstaged by Dolly, her cat, or her poems.

  “Rafa! Guess what!” Dolly waved the sheet of paper toward me. “Made a quick stop at the mailbox on my way here. And look! I’ve had a poem accepted. This may be the big time for me.”

  I corked my own news about seeing Pablo and listened to Dolly.

  “Weeks ago I entered a contest. Thought I’d never hear from the judges. My poem’s been selected from those of thousands of poets who entered this contest.” Dolly paused to grab a breath. “Rafa! It’s going to be published! In a book! A hardbound book. My poem will be in libraries all over the country. I can hardly believe it—a book! It’s true. A book! Read the letter if you don’t believe me.”

  “Book people not know you sell poems ten cents each,” Mama G said. “Dime may be more than they be worth.”

  Again, Dolly fluttered an envelope and a sheet of paper toward me, ignoring Mama G’s put-down.

  “Only five hundred poems have been selected for POET LOVER’S PARADISE. Only five hundred! It’s an honor to have a poem chosen. There’ll be a hundred dollar cash prize for the grand winner, and all five hundred authors have a chance to win one of ten additional cash prizes. Read the letter they’ve sent me, Rafa. Read it if you don’t believe me.”

  “I believe you, Dolly.” I scanned at the letter she thrust toward me and I knew almost immediately she’d been caught up in a cruel scam. The letter offered her publication of her poem after she’d agreed to buy a copy of the expensive book her poem would appear in. And, of course, extra copies could be purchased for friends and family at a slightly reduced cost. I couldn’t bear to break bad news to her at the peak of her excitement.

  “I’d like to see your poem. You have a copy, right?”

  “Right.” The long sleeve of her poet’s blouse caught in the pocket of her black satin pants as she tugged a sheet of folded paper out and held it toward me. “It’s about a cat.”

  “We’d never have guessed.” Kane rolled his eyes.

  Brick sighed and set his empty daiquiri glass on the counter by the cash register.

  “I think it’s a cute poem,” Threnody said. “I’ve read it and, Dolly, I hope you win one of the cash prizes. I love poetry and I’ve always loved cats. I certainly plan to buy a copy of POET LOVER’S PARADISE, and maybe some extras to give to friends.”

  Kane rolled his eyes again, but if Dolly noticed, she didn’t let on.

  I took the sheet she offered and read the poem aloud.

  CAREER CAT

  When Madam’s Music Club meets here

  I get up with the sun.

  The cleaning person comes at eight.

  I’m ready for some fun

  I paw-print on her fresh-scrubbed floors

  And when she screams, I leap

  Onto the countertop and sniff

  The tea cakes. See her weep?

  At last she’s gone. I yawn and nap

  In a velvet easy chair.

  So watch your back, guests dressed in black

  Or you’ll wear my gift of hair.

  While Madam’s guests perform downstairs,

  Upstairs, I frisk in furs.

  Guests sing. They swing. Their loud applause

  Masks my contented purrs.

  To show that I appreciate

  Their meeting at our house,

  I stalk and pounce. I bring our guests

  A trophy—fat gray mouse.

  My Madam faints. Guests hurry off.

  I hope they’ll come next year.

  I’ve many months to plot new plans

  To boost my cat career.

  I grinned and handed the poem back to Dolly. “I like it a lot. I agree with the contest judges. It deserves to win a prize, but I’d check into this publishing company before I sent them any money.”

  “Then you don’t really think it’s a top-notch poem?”

  “Yes, I do,” I said. “But there are so many scam artists these days, you can’t be too careful. When someone wants you to send money in order to be eligible to win a prize, watch out. That’s the hallmark of a scam.”

  “It could be a scam, Dolly.” Brick gave her shoulder a pat then rested his arm there until Dolly moved away from his touch. “I’ve read about companies that make most of their profit from selling a book to authors, a book that includes an author’s story or poem. Most writers realize how hard it is to get original work from the computer to the published page and then into libraries and book stores. Scam artists take advantage of that.”

  “It’s called vanity printing,” Kane said. “Think about it.”

  Dolly took
three steps toward Kane, sparks shooting from her eyes.

  Chapter 16

  (Sunday Night)

  “Hey guys,” I said, seizing the opportunity to break into the conversation and change the subject, “I just saw Pablo.”

  “Where?” Kane stepped from Dolly’s path. “Was he headed this way?”

  Dolly saw this as her cue to retreat to the kitchen. Nobody said anything more about her prize-winning poem.

  “I saw him go into Sloppy’s. He saw me, and I called to him, but he didn’t answer or wave a greeting. I couldn’t stop. No place to park. He ticked me off, acting as if he didn’t know me. But we can call him now. At Sloppy’s.”

  “His dad dies, and he’s hanging out in a bar?” Kane shrugged. “I guess he can grieve in a bar as well as anyplace.”

  “You going to call him, Rafa?” Jessie asked.

  “Maybe we should back off—leave him alone,” Brick said. “Give him a chance to approach us in his own way. He could show up here tonight before we open. Let’s grant him some space.”

  “Hola!” Mama G shouted before we could answer Brick. She’d been on the bandstand a few minutes ago, but now she approached us from the kitchen with a tray bearing a bowl of sandwich filling.

  “Time to think about business. Frangipani Room business. Time to forget about wannabe poets and don’t wannabe drummers. Mama G needs your say-so on my sandwich fixings. My Tia Louisa in Havana created the recipes back home in our country, but Mama G bring them from Cuba to Key West many years ago.”

  “We’ve heard your story before,” Kane said. “Lotsa times.”

  “I’m sure your sandwiches will be fine, Mama G,” I said. “All our patrons always rave about them. And sometimes ask for your recipes.”

  “Secret recipes,” Mama G insisted. “No give to strangers. Come now. Taste recipes I prepare for tonight.”

  “They’ll be fine, Mama G,” I said.

  “How you be sure without tasting?” Mama G offered crackers, the filling, and a small spreader. “Conch salad with ripe olives. Try. Taste. Then say fine—if you think it be fine.”