Cruel Capers on the Caribbean: A Kate on Vacation Mystery (The Kate on Vacation mysteries) (11 page)

Kate nodded. “That could’ve happened the first day, while we were at the spa.”

“Fredericks wouldn’t fit through there, would he?” Liz asked.

Kate gave that some thought. Maybe, maybe not. He wasn’t as big a man as Rob or Skip, but his shoulders were broader than hers.

Her gut twisted. Slender Clem would definitely fit. She realized she didn’t want to believe it was him. But her denial wouldn’t change reality.

Before she could say anything, Skip sat back and tapped a finger against his lips. “Let’s follow the money for a moment. Clem’s obviously got the most to gain since Cora had changed her will to include him–”

“But would Cora’s husband even know the will had been changed?” Liz asked.

“Not unless Cora told him,” Skip said. “Lawyers aren’t allowed to discuss the contents of wills.”

“She could’ve told her daughter,” Liz pointed out, “who in turn told her stepfather.”

Skip nodded, his expression still thoughtful. “Yeah, but even if the husband knew the will had been changed, he’d most definitely get custody of the daughter if Cora was dead, and he’d then have access to her trust fund, which is probably the lion’s share of the estate.”

“Maybe he was hoping Clem would be accused of her death,” Liz said. “Then the daughter would get the whole estate. But then why have the hit man set it up to look like a suicide or accidental overdose?”

“That might’ve been the hit man’s idea,” Kate said, “to buy him time to get off the ship.”

“Either way, her husband’s got something to gain,” Liz said. “He doesn’t have to spend a lot of money on a custody battle he might very well lose.”

Skip looked at Kate for a long moment, then his mouth quirked into an indulgent smile. “I’ll make a deal with you, darlin’. I haven’t seen Key West before. If you can put all this aside for a few hours and just be a tourist until we hear from Rob, we can go back to the ship early this afternoon and check out Mr. Fredericks some more.”

Warmth swelled in her chest. She pushed aside her niggling doubts about Clem and smiled back at her husband. “I’ll take that deal.”

~~~~~~~~

B
y ten-thirty, they’d seen the first attraction on Skip’s list–Harry Truman’s summer home, dubbed The Little White House during his administration. As they walked to the corner of Whitehead and Fleming Streets, they debated the merits of the ranking of U.S. presidents they’d seen there. Kate had bought a copy of the poster that listed the men based on how good a job historians felt they had done while president. She planned to give it to her father, who was a bit of a history buff.

Ahead, a group of people milled around a signpost, snapping pictures. The sign read
Mile 0
. They were at the southernmost tip of the continental United States.

Once they too had taken photos of each other next to the sign, they headed up Whitehead Street to the next stop on Skip’s must-see list. Inside Ernest Hemingway’s house, their tour guide described the famous author’s writing habits. He had risen at sunrise every morning and typed away in his study, usually until noon.

The guide quoted a 1958 interview he had given, “‘You write until you come to a place where you still have your juice and you know what will happen next and you stop and try to live through until the next day....’ He also went on to say that the wait until the next day was the hardest part.” She chuckled. “Of course, you probably already know how he handled that wait. Copious amounts of alcohol.”

As they left the grounds, luscious with green foliage and tropical flowers, Kate leaned down to scratch behind the ears of a calico kitten. Like most of the multitude of Hemingway cats, this one had six toes on its front paws. He looked like he was wearing mittens.

They followed in Hemingway’s footsteps down to Sloppy Joe’s Bar on Duval Street, where the author had spent many of his afternoons perched on a barstool.

Kate’s stomach growled. Skip grinned at her and held out his arm in the direction of the restaurant attached to the bar.

Liz bulked at first when she saw mostly fried foods on the menu, but she settled on Key West shrimp, steamed in beer, and a salad. Skip munched on conch fritters and fries.

Despite the warm day, Kate had opted for conch chowder. It was a taste sensation she had only found in the Bahamas and Florida. She was famished, but she made herself eat slowly, savoring the rich, tangy broth and the slightly sweet, chewy conch meat.

Liz pointed to Kate’s bowl. “That smells heavenly, but I never could get into conch. Tastes like a clam-flavored rubber band.”

Kate laughed.

“Yeah,” Skip said with a grin. “But I’m from Texas and we’ll eat anything, long as it’s dipped in batter and deep-fried.”

Liz gave an exaggerated shudder.

After lunch, they window-shopped back on Duval Street, the main drag through the tourist area of town. The women left Skip on a bench while they poked around in some of the unusual shops. Kate’s favorite was one devoted to all things Jimmy Buffet. She bought a stuffed toy parrot for her son.

At their last stop, a tiny art gallery, she found a small oil painting of the Mile 0 marker with the ocean behind it. Remembering Liz’s comment about reliving memories every time one walks through a room, she decided to buy it for their living room.

When they returned to the bench, Skip stood up. His expression was grim. “Rob just called. They haven’t arrested Clem, but they’re holding him for now.”

“Is that legal?” Kate asked.

Skip nodded. “In most jurisdictions, the police can hold a suspect for a certain number of hours before they have to either charge him or let him go. Rob’s meeting us back at the ship.”

They walked back to the cruise ship dock. “I’m just as glad we’re cutting the sightseeing short today,” Liz said as she limped down the pier. “My feet are pretty much vacationed out.”

The gangplank was crowded. Apparently many others had the same idea. Kate had opened her mouth to comment on this when she caught sight of a thatch of silver hair ahead of them. She stood on tiptoe and bobbed her head around, trying to get a better look. “I think that’s the Hudsons up there.” She kept her voice low.

“Really?” Liz said.

The line moved forward through security. For a moment the crowd parted, and Kate got a better glimpse of the couple. “I’m pretty sure it’s them.”

Skip rubbed his chin. “Why the hell would they rejoin the ship at this late date?”

“Yeah,” Kate said. “They’re regulars on this cruise so it’s not like they haven’t seen Key West before.” Then she shrugged. One thing she’d learned after being a psychotherapist for over two decades–people do strange things.

“Hey,” Liz said, “can we use this as an excuse to approach Fredericks? We can tell him his friends are back on board.”

“Hmm, do you think he really knows them?” Kate said. “I’m still trying to make sense of that conversation. You’d think he’d be trying to keep a low profile, if he was a hit man.”

The couple in front of them turned and stared. Skip gave them a sheepish smile. “TV show we watched last night.”

After they’d turned back around, Kate whispered, “Sorry. I forgot to keep my voice down.”

Skip just shook his head. They remained silent until they were through security and could get away from the crowd of passengers. “Not
we
,” he said, still keeping his voice low. “Me. If this guy’s a hit man, knocking on his door could be dangerous.”

Kate narrowed her eyes at him. “All the more reason you shouldn’t go alone.”

“She’s right,” Liz said.

Skip blew out air. “Okay, but you two are my back-up only. You will stay at the end of the hall. If I say the word
drastic
you’ll call out my name and come toward me, as if you’ve been looking for me.”

Both women nodded. “Drastic,” Liz said. “Got it.”

They proceeded to Fredericks’ cabin. Kate and Liz lingered a few doors down as Skip knocked. Nothing happened. He knocked again.

The door opened. They could only hear Skip’s end of the conversation as he informed the cabin’s occupant that the Hudsons had returned to the ship.

“You’re welcome,” Skip said. The cabin door closed.

He turned and walked toward them, making shooing motions in front of him. They too turned and headed back to their own deck.

They found Rob in the Franklins’ cabin and filled him in on seeing the Hudsons and passing that information on to Fredericks. “That didn’t get us all that far,” Skip reported. “I only got a glimpse of the inside of his cabin. He has a heck of a lot of electronic equipment for someone on vacation.”

“Like what?” Liz asked.

“Looked like a fax machine plus a couple of laptop computers and something else I didn’t recognize.”

Kate shrugged. “You’re right. That doesn’t tell us much. He could be up to something. Or he could be a Type A businessman whose doctor insisted he take a vacation, but he can’t stop working even on a cruise.”

“One other thing,” Skip said. “He answered the door in a jacket.”

“Huh?” Liz said. “What kind of jacket?”

“The Carousel Cruises windbreaker he was wearing the other day. My hunch is he’s armed and wanted to cover up his gun.”

“Did you see any telltale bumps?” Kate asked.

Skip shook his head. “But I wouldn’t if it was in the back of his waistband.”

How’d he get a gun past security?” Liz asked.

Skip shrugged. “Good question.”

The three of them had been standing just inside the cabin door. Rob gestured for them to take seats. Kate joined him on the loveseat while Skip turned the desk chair around and sat on it backwards. Liz perched on the end of the bed.

“What’s happening with Clem?” Kate asked. “Skip said they’re still holding him.”

“Yeah. He insisted he’d messed up our vacation enough so I found him a local criminal lawyer. I overheard the detective in charge give the order to send a crime scene team on board to search Cora’s and his cabins. Unless they find some physical evidence, they probably don’t have enough to charge him.”

“How’d the Key West police even know what was going on?” Liz asked.

“Cora’s attorney. He was there. He’s apparently also an old family friend.”

Skip turned to Kate. “This is out of our hands now, darlin’. The police won’t appreciate us continuing to poke around.”

Kate was trying to sort out her jumble of emotions. She felt bad for Clem, and for Cora’s teenaged daughter whom she’d never even met.

But there was also relief mixed in there. They didn’t have to figure out who killed Cora. The U.S. authorities now knew that she had been murdered, and they were investigating.

It was time to back off and let them do their jobs.

K
ey West was noted for its spectacular sunsets. The locals and tourists gathered on the beach every evening to watch Mother Nature’s special effects, and to drink and party of course. A half hour before the sun was due to set, the Canfields and Franklins made their way on deck and moved to the northern side of the ship. From there, they would be able to see the sunset and also observe the antics of the people on the beach.

Unfortunately a lot of other passengers had the same idea. Some of those crowded around them had obviously indulged in Key West’s favorite pastime. Their smiles were a bit too wide, their eyes a little glassy and their voices way too loud.

Kate’s mood lifted as she got caught up in the party-like atmosphere.

“If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em,” Skip said, after being jostled for the umpteenth time. “Who wants a before-dinner drink while we’re waiting?”

“I’ll take a glass of wine,” Kate said.

Rob and Liz both shook their heads. “Tired as I am,” Liz said, “if I have a drink now, I’ll fall asleep halfway through dinner.”

Skip shoved off through the crowd to find the nearest bar.

Kate turned to say something to Liz. She caught a glimpse of silver hair on the other side of the crowd. Nudging Rob, she said, “Isn’t that Dr. Hudson?”

“Where?” He followed her pointing finger.

The silver-haired man and the thin woman beside him turned toward them.

“Yeah,” Rob said. “I think so.”

Dr. Hudson tugged his wife in the direction of the railing where Kate and the Franklins were standing. Kate noted that Mrs. Hudson had looked quite relaxed, until her husband grabbed her arm. There was definitely something off in their relationship, but that was none of her business.

As they neared, she opened her mouth to introduce herself.

Dr. Hudson beat her to it. “Are you Kate Huntington?”

“Yes.”

“I understand you called my clinic. How can I help you?” The man’s words and tone were neutral but his face was flushed.

Is he drunk or pissed? Maybe both.

“Yes,” she said. “We’re friends of Cora Beall’s–”

“I know that. You found the body.”

“That night, you said you’d seen her and her male companion fighting earlier in the day. We were curious about when and where you saw that.”

“What difference does it make? I heard they arrested that man.”

“No, but they’re questioning him,” Rob said. “And we have reason to believe he’s innocent.”

Hudson turned an irritated look on Rob.

Kate said, “He swears he didn’t talk to Cora in person that day, and I’m a psychotherapist. I can usually tell when someone’s lying.”

Mrs. Hudson plucked at her husband’s arm. “Perhaps you’re mistaken about the day you saw them, dear.”

She shrank under the look her husband gave her, but when he turned back toward them, his lips were smiling. “That’s possible, I suppose. The days all run together when one’s on vacation.”

Liz snorted softly from behind Kate just as Skip nudged his way past several people, a beer in one hand and a glass of white wine in the other. He handed the latter to Kate. She used that as an excuse to turn toward him. Catching Liz’s eye, she shook her head slightly.

Skip raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Did you want red wine instead?”

She ignored the question. “Dr. Hudson was telling us that he might be mistaken about the day he saw Cora and Clem arguing.”

“Yes, now that we’re discussing it, I think it must have been earlier in the trip.” The doctor was still smiling.