Pier Pressure Page 5

  “Count me in,” I said. “Tell me what?”

  Six

  “WE NEED TO discuss Margaux’s will,” Jass said, “and you need to know its contents. The family hasn’t read it in its complete form—too wordy and complicated. Harley Hubble drew it up for Margaux and she wanted the family as well as Otto Koffan to know of its existence, if not its complete contents. Her lawyer read her major bequests to us in her presence. He scheduled an in-depth reading of the will later.”

  “Why did she need a will?” I asked. “Was she ill?”

  “No,” Punt snorted. “She was old. Old people make wills.”

  “Be real, Punt. Her age played no part in her need to draw up a will. Most smart people have wills—at least those do who want their assets to go to people they love and respect rather than to the government, who’ll divvy them according to federal and state laws.”

  “So she had a will,” I said. “Works for me. What did it say, in general, of course?”

  “Margaux wanted to bond with us, with her newly acquired family,” Jass said. “I can understand that. The age difference between her and Dad. The gossip. She knew their marriage caused whispers and raised eyebrows.”

  “Big time,” Punt said. “Really big time.”

  “She worried that Punt and I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tolerate so much negative attention, so to try to win us over, she bequeathed us each a small fortune.”

  “Didn’t hurt my feelings any,” Punt said.

  “I’d heard Margaux rolled in dough even before she married Beau,” I said. “That true?”

  “Right.” Punt grinned. “Family money. My very favorite kind. She managed to whisk it out of Greece and she settled in New York. She was one smart babe. I’m guessing her looks turned heads—the right heads. She made connections, made it big in commercial real estate as well as in the elite literary field.”

  “We won’t know the exact stipulations of the will until the formal reading with lawyers present,” Jass said. “We know who inherits, but not how much.”

  “If we know who inherits, I guess we could make a list of suspects based on that information,” I said.

  “Just remember you’re in her will,” Punt said, “and it couldn’t happen to a nicer person.” Punt smiled at me—a genuine smile, not one of his smirky grins that meant so little to anyone. I began to remember the neat kid I knew in high school.

  Sometimes Punt and I accidentally found ourselves fishing on the same backcountry flats. As good sportsmen and good fishermen, we kept our distance from each other. Recently, I watched him boat his tackle during a run of bonefish while he released a pelican that had become entangled in monofilament line. Only a true sportsman would have taken the time to do that. A bonefish catch makes big-time bragging material for any fisherman.

  “Maybe with Margaux’s bequest you’ll be able to close up shop, Keely,” Jass said, breaking into my thoughts.

  “No way. I like my work, my office. Anyway, I’m not counting my javelinas before they’re caught. That’s an old saying of Gram’s—comes straight from Havana.”

  “Well,” Punt said, “no matter how you feel about Margaux’s will, if the police cry murder, you’ll be suspect along with the rest of us. We’ll have to come up with some good alibis.”

  “Like the truth,” Jass said.

  “I can think of some suspects,” I said. “Shandy Koffan, for instance. If Otto inherits, Shandy’ll get a trickle-down benefit, too. Maybe she’s bitter at seeing Margaux living on easy street while she’s still sporting spike heels and black mesh stockings and toting cocktails. As Otto’s wife, she’d several reasons to be pleased at Margaux’s death.”

  “Could be,” Punt agreed.

  “Maybe,” Jass said. “But Shandy’s worked for me part-time in my greenhouse for months—even before her marriage to Otto. She loves plants almost as much as I do. I’ve never heard her badmouth Margaux.”

  “And what about Nikko?” Punt asked as Jass added Shandy’s name to our list.

  “Nikko’s in her will, too?” I asked.

  “No,” Punt said, “but the studs around Smathers Beach say he’s in her bed now and then.”

  “Punt!” Jass scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What’s an affair usually mean?” Punt asked. “Margaux enjoyed Nikko’s Greek cooking? Wise up, sis. Nikko’s built like a giant-size fireplug and that burly type appeals to lots of women.”

  I’d never thought of Nikko as anything but my good friend and Gram’s good friend, and Punt’s description of him and his activities left me speechless.

  “I don’t see Margaux as Nikko’s first extracurricular activity either,” Punt added. “Maybe he got tired of her. Maybe she demanded more than he could deliver. Or maybe she wanted out of the relationship and Nikko hated losing face—especially to an older woman. There’re lots of reasons for a relationship to go on the rocks, but the rocks are usually in the bed.”

  I couldn’t imagine Nikko and Margaux involved in an affair, but I don’t hang around Smathers listening to the beach-bum gossip.

  “Murder seems a drastic way to end a relationship,” I said. “I admire Nikko. He helped me when I felt desperate and needed protection from Jude. He helps Gram. I hate having to consider him a murder suspect.”

  “Maybe he’ll have a foolproof alibi,” Punt said. “For my own sake, I hope he does.”

  “Your own sake?” Jass asked. “What’s your sudden interest in Nikko?”

  Punt hesitated, then he shook his head and replied. “Guess I can’t keep it a secret much longer—especially in view of Margaux’s death. For several weeks Nikko and I have been formulating business plans, plans that have nothing to do with his private life. I know Dad would like to see me gainfully employed.” Punt hesitated again before he continued. “Well, I approached Nikko. He didn’t approach me. It was my idea. He could have vetoed it, but he didn’t. I suggested that the two of us form a private detective agency here in Key West.”

  “Be real,” Jass said. “What do you know about being a private detective?”

  “Not much—yet. But Nikko has a P.I. license valid in Florida and he’s promised to teach me the ropes, to help me earn my own license. The general plan is for me to work for him as his assistant while I learn.”

  “Sounds like pie in the sky to me,” Jass said.

  “Give me a break, Sis. I’m beginning to realize I need some goals in life, but I don’t think I could settle down to a desk job.”

  “You used to paint,” Jass said. “Maybe you could take some lessons, paint some local scenes, and open an art gallery. Or maybe you could open a gallery and feature the works of other artists.”

  “I’m not about to have an art attack,” Punt said with a sigh. “I find the idea of being a P.I. both appealing and exciting. I want to give it a try and I want the whole thing to be a surprise to Dad. The way today’s scene is coming down, Nikko and I may have found our first case to solve. But we need time to find office space, to get a work plan going. If the idea doesn’t fly, then Dad needs to know nothing about it.”

  “I won’t breathe a word,” Jass promised.

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  I didn’t enter into their conversation that had threatened to escalate into a full-blown argument. “Let’s get on with our list of suspects. I’ve already mentioned Shandy. And let’s don’t forget Consuela. Whenever Margaux’s name comes up, Consuela shimmies her hips and shouts, Someday I’m going to keel her.”

  “Everyone knows that’s an idle threat,” Jass said. “Consuela’s a loudmouth. People don’t take her threats seriously.”

  Punt shrugged. “Consuela may make idle threats, but any verbal threat against Margaux could merit police attention now that she’s dead.”

  “I’ve read Consuela’s book,” Jass said, “the one that’s been published. I thought it rather good and I think it was mean-spirited of Margaux to call it sentimental and inaccurate and to refuse to look at Consuela
’s new manuscript—her work in progress.”

  “Even if Margaux considered the story sentimental and poorly researched, she could have helped Consuela revise it, make it better,” I said. “Consuela can be a pain, but most of us have learned to tolerate her.”

  “She and Margaux butted heads every time they met,” Punt said.

  “The sophisticated New Yorker meets the Cuban bombshell—and pow. Too bad they couldn’t find a common meeting ground.”

  “We all need foolproof alibis.” Jass stared into the distance as she changed the subject. “We know Dad attended the fishing tournament…”

  “We know Dad said he planned to attend the weekend fishing tournament,” Punt said. “None of us actually saw him there.”

  “You surely don’t suspect Dad.” Jass stood and glared at Punt. “You’ll be suspecting me next.”

  “I’m going to suspect everyone until I know all the facts,” Punt said, “and don’t forget the possibility that Margaux might have been done in by a street person.”

  “A total stranger?” I asked. “You’ve got to be kidding. How can we check out every street person in Key West? Why would a street person have motive?”

  “Maybe we’re getting too deep into this suspect stuff,” Jass said.

  “Yeah, right. Maybe we are,” I said. “Remember, we’re not detectives. We’ve no authority. We can’t go up to people and ask them where they were from ten until midnight last night.”

  “I think we can do that,” Jass said. “Maybe we can’t approach and question street people, but Keely, think about this. You talk to most of these suspects on a weekly basis as your regular customers. Surely working in a little conversation about Margaux’s death would be easy enough. It’ll be the subject du jour for weeks to come.”

  “Maybe so.” I shook my head in doubt. “Her death will be the talk of the Keys…but…”

  “Right,” Jass said. “You could begin a conversation by ‘remembering’ where you were and the designated time. You could even talk a bit, reluctantly of course, about discovering Margaux’s body. Then you could subtly ask your customer where he was and how he heard the news.”

  “That might work, I suppose,” I said. “Most of the suspects are my steady customers. Even Nikko took treatments to help me get started when my office was new, but once I became established he cut his appointments to once a month. I’ll have to check my calendar, but I’m fairly sure he has an appointment soon.”

  “I could talk to Nikko, too,” Jass said. “I’ve been eating at The Wharf a lot since they’ve been planning my hibiscus show there on Thursday. Even if my special blossom doesn’t win first place in today’s Miami competition, the manager at The Wharf is going on with the show anyway. Good advertising for both of us, he says. Anyway, when I eat there, I usually stop by the kitchen to compliment Nikko on his cooking.”

  “Gram talks to Nikko a lot when he visits her shop to pick up supplies,” I said. “She could quiz him, too. In fact, I’m sure she’d like to. Gram’s curious and she wants to keep on top of things.”

  Punt had stayed out of this conversation, but now the way he cleared his throat demanded our attention. “Don’t forget that Nikko’s my detective partner,” Punt said.

  “That doesn’t place him above suspicion,” Jass said.

  “There’s another suspect we’ve forgotten to mention, women.” Punt stood and began pacing.

  “Who’s that?” Jass asked.

  Punt waited a few moments before answering. “Don’t forget Jude Cordell.”

  “Jude?” Jass and I spoke in unison.

  “Yes, Jude. Jude’s a law clerk and secretary at Hubble & Hubble. He had access to Margaux’s will. No doubt he read it with great interest. Can’t think of anyone in this town who wouldn’t have read that will had the opportunity presented itself. Don’t forget that at one time Jude threatened Keely’s life.”

  “I prefer to think of that as another idle threat—like Consuela’s,” Jass said.

  “I try to forget both Jude and his threat, Punt. Help me forget. Don’t be bringing Jude’s name up now.”

  “You can forget his threat, but that doesn’t make it go away. Jude threatened you. Witnesses heard him. I’m one of them, and I’m willing to testify against him in court should it become necessary.”

  “Okay, okay,” Jass said, “but…”

  “Jude’s not dumb, and he’s dangerous. Since he probably knew Keely would inherit from Margaux’s will, he could have shot Margaux for pure meanness, knowing Keely would find her body and likely take a lot of heat from the police. Maybe face a murder rap. Jude’s already on the police blotter as an abuser. He knows the drill when it comes to police interrogations.”

  “Hold on one minute,” I blurted. “How could he have known I’d find the body?”

  “By following you,” Punt said. “I hope you don’t think that restraining order means anything. In his mind, Jude’ll never let you off the hook. I think he moved back to Key West just to torment you.”

  “I agree with that,” Jass said.

  “Gram thinks so, too.”

  “After watching your place and following you a few Sunday mornings, Jude would have figured out your standing appointment with Margaux,” Punt said. “He could have known that Beau would be out of town last night. Lots of people were talking about the tournament, and Margaux told friends that Beau was involved in it. What a perfect time for Jude to act!”

  “Like everyone else, he knows the person finding a body would get special attention from the police.” Jass sighed.

  “You may be right.” I could barely whisper the words, they frightened me so.

  Again, Jass began to pace. “Which one of us is going to find out if Jude has an alibi? Which one of us is going to check out that alibi—if there is one? He’s dangerous. I want no part of him.”

  “I plan never to go near him,” I said. “That’s for sure.”

  “If we can get the police to call Margaux’s death a homicide, maybe the police will check out his alibi,” Punt said. “It wouldn’t break my heart to see Jude on the hot seat.”

  I wondered what Punt had against Jude. Most people who didn’t know Jude well liked him, from what I’ve heard. He hid his dark side.

  “Keely, where were you late Saturday night?” Jass looked me in the eye. “We’ve all got to come clean.”

  Both Punt and Jass stared at me, and my stomach felt like a kettle of boiling water as my sudden resentment rose. Heat flushed my face and my voice croaked as I tried to answer Jass.

  “Calm down,” Jass said. “We know you’re innocent, but we need to know you’ve a strong alibi. We need to hear it.”

  A few deep breaths helped me find the grace and dignity to answer. “That’s the problem, Jass. I have no alibi—at least none that’d hold up in court. I stayed home alone all evening—reading, watching TV, sleeping. Saturday night’s seldom a big-event night in my life. What were you two doing?”

  “I’ve a good alibi,” Jass said. “I’d been in Miami all day taking care of the details, the paperwork involved in entering the hibiscus show. I felt exhausted by the time I got home, but nervous energy kept me wired.”

  “So get to the point,” Punt said. “What’d you do?”

  “In the early part of the evening I worked in my greenhouse writing out orders for fertilizers and soil additives. Then around nine o’clock I went with June Bishop to the late movie, a double feature. We were inside the theater all the time and I’m sure June will vouch for me. What about you, Punt?”

  “I hung out at Sloppy Joe’s from eight-thirty until after midnight. About ten, one of the guys in the band invited me to sit in for a while. Shim Latner lent me his guitar. I played until the band left the stand around one o’clock. After that we jammed until three or so. Then I came home and went to bed. Jass, since you were up late, maybe you heard me come in.”

  “Afraid not.” Jass sighed. “We’ll trust each other. We wouldn’t be holding this conversatio
n if we were guilty, and there’s another thing we have to consider quickly. Margaux stipulated plans for her memorial service in her will.”

  “Didn’t know people could do that,” I said. “Why would anyone want to?”

  “Margaux thought she could do anything her little heart desired,” Punt said. “She liked to see people dance to do her bidding, and she knew her memorial service would be her last chance to make the calls.”

  “So what about this service?” I asked. “What did she want? A fanfare? A drum and bugle corps? A Duval Street parade?”

  “None of that,” Jass said. “Within forty-eight hours of her death, she wanted her body cremated, a memorial service to be attended by invitation only, and a burial at sea to be held on the same day.”

  “What if there’s a small craft advisory?” Punt asked. “I suppose we’ll have to dump her ashes into a bait bucket and store it ’til the seas calm. Could take days. I’ve seen it blow hard for a week in February.”

  “Be real, Punt. Be an optimist. The long-range weather forecast predicts winds at five to ten for the next four days. That takes us through Wednesday, but we still have to act quickly. If the police call Margaux’s death a suicide and her body is cremated, most evidence of foul play will have been destroyed.”

  Before Punt or I could agree or disagree, we heard a car pull up in the driveway. Beau had arrived.

  Seven

  JASS JUMPED UP and hurried toward the foyer that led to the front stairway. Punt followed her down the winding steps to the hibiscus display room below. From a vantage spot near the stairway, I watched Beau through a leaded glass window as he rapped with the brass knocker and then opened the door and stepped inside. I wished I could avoid meeting him right now, avoid being drawn into the grief and anger he must be feeling, but I saw no way out. Jass, with Punt following, rushed to greet him.

  With his tall, muscular body, Beau could have been the poster boy for state-of-the-art scuba gear and swim trunks. Even now in his black silk shirt and cream-colored shorts, his dark hair along with his tanned skin and his sea-blue eyes reminded me of a lithe Neptune rising from the sea. I could believe the rumor that two local salvage companies were after him to sign contracts with them, to dive again and help locate The Espinosa, another sunken galleon.