Conch Shell Murder Page 13

  “Thought we’d try to reach Sugarloaf Lodge in time for the porpoise show.”

  “I thought that had been canceled permanently. Someone complained about animal abuse.”

  “You’re right. I had forgotten. But we’ll enjoy a good meal. I’ve heard the chef is excellent.”

  They drove through irksome going-home traffic for several minutes before they arrived at mile marker 17 and the Sugarloaf Lodge. Katie noted a sign that pointed toward an airstrip, but closer at hand she saw tennis courts, a swimming pool, a small marina. Rex parked near the restaurant then came around to help her from the car.

  Sure enough. No dolphin show. He twined his fingers through hers as they followed a path to the restaurant. The waitress led Rex to a table by the window where they had a view of palm trees and green lawn.

  “Fish and roast beef are the specialties of the house,” Rex said. “Would you like to share a seafood platter for two?”

  “Sounds good.” She looked at the decor that seemed to run to the greens and silvers indigenous to the ocean. Glancing at seascapes that hung on almost every wall, she wondered if Tyler Parish had painted any of them. The restaurant was a restful place and she relaxed as they waited for their meal until she remembered her last dinner with Rex, remembered how she had dominated the conversation. Maybe tonight she could make amends.

  “Tell me about yourself, Rex. How did you happen to move to Key West?”

  “It’s not all that interesting a story.”

  “Try me. Stop only if I yawn.”

  “Touché.” He grinned at her. “I’m just in the area playing mayor.”

  “Before that? Where did you live? Where did you grow up? What was your family like?”

  Rex sighed, yet Katie sensed that he enjoyed talking about himself. Didn’t everyone?

  “I grew up in an old mansion near Hastings on Hudson, New York. It’s the silver spoon story.”

  “Lucky for you.”

  “Maybe. I attended the proper schools, graduated with a law degree and no sense of where I wanted to go or what I wanted to do or be.”

  “Many people with law degrees become lawyers.”

  “My dad mentioned that. Several times. Mother mentioned it also. The idea scared me to death, so I joined the Peace Corps and fled to Africa.”

  “Of course Africa didn’t scare you to death.”

  “You should understand that. It’s similar to your fleeing the classroom for a job as a private detective.”

  “You’ve made your point.”

  “I went truly wanting to help the downtrodden masses in third-world countries, but I hated Africa. Filth. Squalor. Poverty. I could see the overall picture, the whole problem, as clearly as if it were framed and hanging on the wall. I offered some great ideas for helping those people and for upgrading their communities, but no. Nobody, American or African, would listen to me.”

  “Maybe you tried to move too quickly.”

  “Right. I should have made haste slowly.”

  She smiled.

  “What amuses you?”

  “Your oxymoron. When I taught school, I kept a notebook listing figures of speech that used contradictory terms.”

  “Such as?”

  She thought for a moment. “Such as a cruel kindness or an enthusiastic dislike.”

  “Then how about government efficiency or army intelligence?”

  “You’re poking fun.”

  “Would I do that?” Rex grinned at her. “I’ve learned a new word, Miss Hassworth. If I use some oxymorons correctly in my term paper, will I get extra credit?”

  “Depends on your choices, of course. Now go on with your story. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “I filed away my grandiose dreams for Africa and spent my two years teaching the natives to boil their drinking water and plow a straight furrow.”

  “Farmer Layton. I can’t quite imagine it.”

  “Nor could I, so when my stint was up, I went home. Dad owns a chain of hotels and he persuaded me to handle the legal details of the family business. First on his agenda was coming to Key West and buying a hotel to add to the Layton chain.”

  “Which one did you buy?”

  “Dad’s first choice was Casa Marina, but buy a hotel? I couldn’t even reserve a room in one. They were booked full and it wasn’t even the peak tourist season. I finally found a rental room in Old Town and moved in.”

  “Picturesque Old Town. I’ll bet you fell in love with the city and decided to live here permanently.”

  “Something like that, but it happened gradually. Juanita Montez was my landlady until she bounced me.”

  “Behind on your rent?” Katie smiled. “Or did she get you for insubordination?”

  “Neither. Developers were building a new store at Searstown, and Juanita’s carpenter brothers arrived to work on the project. They brought wives and children. Mrs. Montez needed my room for family, so I bought a house.”

  “Wow! A property owner—just like that.”

  “I’ll say, wow! Even Dad blinked when he heard the price. He blinked again when I bought the two houses adjacent to mine as rental units so I could convert the three back yards into one personal tropical garden big enough for a few palms, a pool, and some patio furniture.”

  “I haven’t yawned yet.”

  “Then as I began to restore the house, I started reading Key West history. That’s when I fell in love with the island and decided to stay. Dad hired another lawyer to work with the Layton hotels, and I became involved in local politics.”

  “Fascinating.”

  Their dinners arrived and Rex helped her to some shrimp and a piece of blackened grouper.

  She inhaled deeply. “The seafood looks and smells delicious. I could eat the pattern off my plate, but please don’t let me do it.”

  “Enjoy! And stop worrying about your weight. You have a perfect figure.”

  “Flattery will get you everywhere. I have to watch the calories, though. I used to be a real fatty.”

  “Can’t imagine that.”

  “After I married I developed a full-blown case of gormandizing.”

  “Marriage. Another bit of your hidden past? Again, it’s my turn not to yawn.”

  She wondered if her failed marriage made a difference to him. “Married and divorced. My ex-husband, Chuck Gross, is a clothing designer in New York. Ladies’ wear. He spent five years telling me how fat I was, then he ran off to France with a model. At the time, I thought I loved him. I almost stopped eating permanently.”

  “You still carry a torch for this guy?”

  “No. He’s out of my life and my mind.”

  “And heart?”

  “And heart.”

  Suddenly she wondered why she was revealing all this. It certainly would do nothing to enhance her in Rex’s memory. But did she want to be enhanced? She did want him to know about Chuck. Best to keep everything in the open.

  “Fat or thin, I’m glad you’re here.” Rex reached for her hand.

  “So am I. But nobody comes to the Keys accidentally, do they?”

  “That’s a question?”

  “I mean, tourists might come here on a whim, but it seems to me that real people who land here are either looking for something or running away from something. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”

  “Ah, a philosopher. It’s an idea to think about. Few of the city’s present citizens were actually born here.”

  She smiled and they spoke little as they finished their seafood platter, topping it off with an orange ice for dessert.

  “What a lovely meal! I thoroughly enjoyed it.”

  “I did too, but the evening isn’t over. I have something else to show you.”

  “What?”

  “Come with me. It’s a surprise.”

  They strolled to the Corvette, and Rex eased into the highway traffic, then took a sharp right turn onto a dark and deserted road. Immediately she felt on guard. After a short distance he braked the car, he
lped her out.

  “There it is.” He gestured upward with a flourish.

  “What is it?” Katie peered through cloud-shrouded moonlight at a brown shingled tower that rose about thirty-five feet above the ground.

  “It’s a bat tower.”

  “Can we climb up into it?”

  “No. There’s no ladder. It’s only accessible to bats, but I do think the builder planned to add a means of human access, had his plans worked out.”

  Katie stared up. “I’ve always wanted to see a bat tower, although not very much.”

  “Don’t poke fun. Some years ago a Dr. Campbell from San Antonio believed that bats, not dogs, were man’s best friends not only because they ate mosquitoes, but also because their excrement made great fertilizer. He intended this tower to be a condo for bats.”

  “Truly fascinating.” She giggled.

  “At one time yellow fever and malaria plagued the Keys. Researchers traced the source of the fever to mosquitoes. This tower was part of Dr. Campbell’s plan to eradicate mosquitoes by having the bats eat them. I admire his humanitarian ideas.”

  “But his plan failed?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. But I think it’s an interesting story.” He took her hand as they walked back toward the car.

  Neither of them spoke on the short ride to Key West.

  Rex turned on South Roosevelt and parked at the White Street pier.

  “Think they’ll ever repair this place?” Katie eyed the barricade across the entry to the pier and read the warning sign. “Pedestrians enter at your own risk.”

  “Feel like taking the risk?” Rex opened the car door.

  “Why not?” Katie laughed. “Only a few months ago I was driving on the thing. It seemed safe enough then.”

  Rex pulled a couple of sweaters from the back seat, helped her into one, and put on the other one before he took her hand. She smelled his musky scent clinging to the sweater as they squeezed through the barricade and faced into the salty onshore breeze. He put his arm around her waist, pulling her close as they walked the block or so the end of the pier where the sea foamed and crashed, sometimes splashing over the pier wall onto the asphalt.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “No. I love the brisk air. It cleans the cobwebs from my mind.”

  “Didn’t know you were plagued by cobwebs.” He grinned down at her and pulled her closer as they leaned against the rough coral of the pier wall.

  “Rex! I saw something jump out there. Big! Silvery!”

  Rex looked where she pointed. “Probably a tarpon. They hang out around here at night.”

  “Who could blame them? It’s so lovely.” She watched a ragged scrap of white cloud drift across the moon and heard the faraway call of a night bird.

  The breeze shifted, carrying the scent of jasmine from some distant garden as Rex cupped her face in his hands, looking directly into her eyes. Then he kissed her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks.

  “You’re teasing me,” she murmured.

  “And it’s unfair to tease, isn’t it?” His lips met hers in a warm kiss that sent delicious shivers through her body. She closed her eyes, enjoying his nearness as they kissed again before she pulled away.

  “Ah, Katie.” He started to pull her close again, but just then a wave crashed over the wall, drenching them. They both jumped back, laughing. “Some end to a romantic evening.” He mopped at his slacks while she slicked her dripping hair back from her face.

  “Perhaps the sea is trying to tell us something,” she said.

  “I don’t like its message.” Rex took her hand and they jogged to the car, shed their wet sweaters and headed home. Rex Layton puzzled her, and he attracted her more than she liked to admit. But what kind of a man was he? Poor little rich boy who voluntarily served his stint in the filth of Africa? Poor little rich boy who bought three houses in order to have his own tropical garden with a pool? Poor little rich boy who liked to visit bat towers and to kiss his women on an off-limits pier?

  “Remember our second kiss, honey? We were drenched on that abandoned pier?”

  “People are only supposed to remember first kisses, not second ones,” she replied.

  Katie laughed at the imaginary conversation. “What’s funny?” Rex asked.

  She took his free hand. “Nothing. You. Me. Us. I can’t explain it.” And she didn’t want to try. She disliked admitting she had been moved by their evening together.

  EIGHTEEN

  Katie punched her pillow as she awakened at dawn. She had slept fitfully, half rousing many times, remembering Rex’s kiss, the bat tower, the pier, the kiss. It had been ages since any man had caused her such a restless night. It had been even longer since she had called a man at sunrise, but she reached for the bedside phone.

  “Rex Layton speaking.”

  “You sound surprisingly alert, and I have a favor to ask.”

  “Katie? Is that you?”

  “None other. I was afraid I’d wake you.”

  “An hour ago you might have. But I’m an early riser.”

  “Me too. Early morning’s my favorite time. The day’s fresh and anything might happen.”

  “I can’t resist a lead like that. What’s the favor?”

  “You said to call on you if you could help with the Chitting case.”

  “Right. What can I do?”

  “This morning I’ve an appointment with Elizabeth Wright. Before we meet, I’d like to see the salt ponds that are causing the ruckus between the commercial sector and the Preservation Group. Would you have time to give me a quick tour?”

  “I’d love to. In fact, I’ll be near your place shortly to check on a reported case of tree abuse. Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?”

  “Tree abuse? Not child abuse? Not drug abuse?”

  “You got it the first time. Tree abuse. We’ll check it out, then we’ll drive to the salt ponds.”

  “I’ll be ready. And thanks.” She replaced the receiver, feeling euphoric. Fifteen minutes. She dressed quickly, ate her usual light breakfast, then hurried to the veranda as Rex was easing the Corvette to the curb.

  “Good timing.” She opened the door and slid into the bucket seat.

  He covered her hand with his. “Good to see you. I dreamed about you all night.”

  She wished she believed him. “It was a wonderful evening. I enjoyed it, bat tower, drenching, and all.” She removed her hand from his. “Now where is this abused tree and why are you checking on it?”

  “It’s a few blocks from here, and I’m checking on it because the city Tree Commission received a report from a neighbor that some guy is using it as a utility pole. In Key West, that’s illegal. Unless he’s exonerated, he’ll face a stiff fine.”

  “What kind of a tree is it?”

  “Sabal palm.”

  “They’re special? They sprout twenty-dollar bills instead of leaves?”

  “You can tease, but the Sabal palm is protected by law. It’s been the official state tree for over thirty-five years. It’s a shopping center specimen, a median strip regular, and the darling of homeowners.”

  “You could probably get a job doing PR for the Chamber of Commerce.”

  Rex stopped the Corvette in front of a small frame house where wires, almost hidden by fan-shaped fronds, had been nailed to the trunk of the palm. “There’s my proof.”

  “What will you do about it?”

  Pulling out a camera, Rex snapped several shots of the tree and the house, then they drove on. “I’ll see that the head of the Tree Commission informs the home owner that he’s violating the law and that the city council has proof.” Rex patted his camera. “He’ll be asked to remove the wires and he’ll probably comply with the request. Most offenders usually do. But enough about palm trees. Onward to the salt ponds.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Near the airport runway. There are about forty-three acres that once were used in the process of making salt by solar evaporation. In the early eigh
teen hundreds, a thousand people worked there.”

  “What did they do? Sounds as if the sun did most of the work.”

  “Men placed pans measuring about a hundred feet by fifty feet in shallow ponds separated by coral rock walls. They regulated the flow of seawater into the pans, and after that water evaporated, they removed and bagged the salt residue. I understand it was back-breaking work.”

  “And the industry thrived?”

  “It prospered until Civil War times. Key West was the only Southern city under Federal control. The government closed the ponds because the salt was being used to preserve fish that fed Confederate forces.”

  “And the Preservation Group considers these ponds a historic landmark.”

  “Right.” Rex drove down Flagler Avenue and nodded toward a church. “That church, these homes, the high school—all of them stand on former salt pond land. The preservationists see it all disappearing if they don’t put a stop to the encroachment.” Turning off Flagler, he parked. “Here we are.”

  Katie looked at the unkempt land overgrown with tropical vegetation and strewn with trash. “It looks like nothing to me. Zilch.”

  “Agreed. It contains lots of abandoned military junk, jettisoned furniture, and even some dangerous electrical transformers.”

  “But look!” She pointed. “There’s an egret.”

  Taking her hand, Rex pulled her to their left. “I see another bird. Look behind that huge cactus and the palm. A great blue heron, I think.”

  “Right. Isn’t it a beauty! I can understand why the Preservation Group wants to save this natural environment. Can’t you?”

  Rex shook his head. “Not really. This land’s an eyesore. It’d take months of work and some megabucks to shape it into anything worthy of notice.”

  “Yes. Megabucks, I suppose.” She studied Rex. “You puzzle me. You’re a history buff who finds things like bat towers and salt ponds fascinating. You’re an environmentalist who works to save Sabal palms. Yet, you’re willing to use this historic wildlife refuge for a housing development.”

  “I enjoy history and the environment, but my stint in the Peace Corps makes me place people at the top of my list of priorities. Humans may be the most endangered species of all.”

  “And some are more endangered than others. Alexa Chitting, for instance.”