Death in Her Eyes (A Mac Everett Mystery Book 1) (19 page)

“She told me she was starting a business. I can’t say any more, I have to go,” She said as she got up.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her to me and said, “Look, Ms. Davis, Libby, I know this can’t have been easy, but you’ve helped me a lot,” I said.

“Really?”

“Yes, you’ve been a big help. Can I call you if I have more questions?”

She gave me a scowl, and then broke into that heart-melting smile.

“If you call I’d prefer it wasn’t related to your work.”

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. I knew I could call her any time so long as we didn’t talk business. So much for being happily married.

“I’ll see what we can do about that,” I said.

She paid her check and was out the door leaving most of her food untouched. I looked at the refried beans, Spanish rice, and the chile relleno missing only a couple bites. I motioned to the waitress and asked for a fork and a Modelo Especial. There was no sense letting a whole plate of Mexican food go to waste. I mulled over what I’d learned and wondered if I had uncovered reasonable doubt or the actual murderer.

Ex basketball player Derrick McArthur, had threatened to kill Stephanie Hunt in front of a dozen witnesses. Marco’s sources said he was an agent and part time bagman for a local betting ring. He hung out in the Church Street bars and I found him holding court at a table in the back of the third place I tried. The Tropic was a college clip joint not far from the Amway Center. Like any dive downtown, it smelled like cheap cologne, rotten apples, and stale beer.

“Are you Derrick McArthur, the basketball player? I asked trying to start a conversation as I walked up to him.

His eyes were empty. His face held a disinterested look and he avoided direct eye contact. This man couldn’t tell truth if his life depended on it.

“Yeah, wanna buy me a drink?”

“No, but I’d like to ask a few questions.”

“You a lawyer or a cop?”

“Neither, I’m a PI. I hear you threatened a woman who turned up dead.”

“Who?”

“Stephanie Hunt.”

“That bitch? She deserved whatever she got.”

“So when you threatened to kill her out at Steeple Chase that was all a mistake? It wasn’t because she owed your boss and you were trying to collect?”

“I was drunk. I was pissed off. I said a lot of crap. So sue me.”

He’d dodged the question, but I had my answer.

“Where were you…?”

“Call my lawyer if you want to know anything else,” he said. “Now blow.” He turned back to his adoring fans, both augmented bottle blondes.

I wasn’t going to get anywhere with this guy. Rather that get into a brawl, I took a powder.

Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the employee parking lot at Ocean World and headed for the admin building. I’d called ahead. Howard Neal had been tightlipped on the phone, but agreed to see me.

“Mac Everett for Dr. Neal,” I said as I approached the receptionist.

“Just a moment, sir,” the girl replied. She picked up the phone, announced me, and then said, “He’ll be right out, Mr. Everett.”

Five minutes later a tall middle-aged man dressed all in khaki and wearing heavy black framed glasses emerged from a side door.

“Mr. Everett?” he said. “Walk with me.”

“Look Dr. Neal, I only have a few questions.”

Without slowing, my target said, “I’m late for an appointment, Everett, and I have dinner plans. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Look, an innocent man…”

“You don’t get it,” he said, turning to face me. “I have nothing to say to you. I’m not getting involved.”

I put a hand on Neal’s arm and said, “I’m sure the guy sitting in jail would appreciate it if you’d slow down and answer a couple simple questions.”

“I took Stephanie to dinner a few times,” he said in a slow controlled voice. “She talked sports book the whole time. She wanted me to bankroll her to cover a four horse spread at Gulfstream Park and some other deal. I was upset she wouldn’t see me again, but I didn’t sleep with her and I didn’t kill her.”

“Did she shut you down before or after you declined to invest in whatever Sharon Greer was promoting?”

“You know about that? She was supposedly raising money to buy Perimeter Marine. Sharon Greer was in charge out there, but she got herself fired. There was no way I would invest with her involved, but I was sure it was a scam. Before I gave my answer, Stephanie was all over me. After, she didn’t return my calls. I have to get going. My wife is waiting for me.”

“Was there a new business?”

“Of course not, Ocean World owned Perimeter. I’m on the Institutional Review Board. That place produces first-rate research. The company wasn’t going to spin it off. If we were, Greer wouldn’t be involved. She’s thrown her bolt. The company recruited Dr. Cameron to step up the pace of research. Dr. Greer ruined that and cost the company a fortune. That’s all I have to say.” He pulled his arm free of me and said, “Don’t bother me again or I’ll call security.”

Marco told me I’d find Luck Taylor at O’Doul’s Grill, a sports bar on Westwood Boulevard near I-4. The guy with the perfect name for a bookie, Luck had an office in the back.

As I walked through the place, I snagged an empty beer bottle off the bar. Near the back, I ran into an obstacle, a black guy about the size of a Sequoia. He was dressed in a dark suit and white tie and stood in front of the office door with his hands folded in front of him.

“I’d like to see Mr. Taylor, please,” I said.

The hired muscle didn’t even look down at me.

“I’d like to see Mr. Taylor, please,” I said again. “I’m asking nicely.”

The mountain of flesh still looked straight ahead. I couldn’t even tell if this guy was breathing let alone see anything in his eyes.

“Say, listen,” I said. I got right up next to the guys right ear. “Let me in or I’ll blow your guts into the next county.” I jabbed the small end of the empty beer bottle in his ribs hard. The guy went bug eyed and he stood up a little taller. When someone pulled that gag on me, I was sure it was a nine or some other pocket rocket. This guy must have thought so too. He had no idea what I was holding against his ribs. He stood real still.

“I’m going to open the door now and speak to Mr. Taylor. You aren’t going to bother us. Do you understand? Nod once if you understand.”

The big guy nodded. I opened the door and slipped behind him. “See we’re not disturbed, please,” I said as I closed the door.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Taylor said as he jumped to his feet. The singsong tone of the islands was evident in every word. “This is private. How did you get past Big Mike?”

“We reached an understanding,” I said as I put the empty beer bottle on a table near the door. “You must be Mr. Taylor,” I said. “My name’s Mac Everett.”

His eyes held calculation and distrust.

“I know who you are and what you’re doing,” He said “The question is, who sent you here.”

“No one with an official title, if that’s what you mean. Do you answer a couple questions or do I tell the heat about your operation out at the Steeple Chase Country Club?”

“Mr. Everett, why haven’t I heard your name until now?” he asked. “You seem to be making quite a bit of trouble all of a sudden.”

“Just trying to get an innocent man out of a jail jumpsuit. I’m sorry if that steps on your toes. I mean no offense.” I tried my best sincere look. “What can you tell me about Stephanie Hunt’s habit?”

“Who?” he asked, in an unconvincing offhand way. He sat down on a fake leather sofa by the door and indicated a chair. I waved him off. I felt safer standing.

“Come on Taylor, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t already have the low down. What gives?”

“If I tell you anything, you’ll just feed it to the cops. I have a business to run.”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. I was causing him quite a headache. Finally, he looked me in the eye.

“Closing accounts without collecting is bad for business,” he said as he put his left hand behind his head. He smiled a toothy grin showing two rows of gold teeth.

“What do you know about Stephanie Hunt?”

“If I knew anything, which I don’t, I’d tell you. Stephanie Hunt was a regular player who took a couple bad beats. She was paying down a losing Final 4 bracket. I heard she was looking for someone to pay off her marker.”

“She was married to one of the richest guys in the state.” I said.

“If I knew who you were talking about, I’d tell you that this person and her friends ran their game on the down low.”

“So speaking hypothetically, you wouldn’t know who might have killed this broad.”

“Mr. Everett, killing folks without collecting is the last thing somebody in my business would do. If I had a business, that is. It would be like killing a pigeon that laid golden eggs. It’s very bad public relations.”

“Hypothetically,” I added. I smiled at him.

He nodded. I didn’t like his mixed metaphor, but I got the idea. It wouldn’t make sense for him to bump off a woman who owed him a bundle, but was trying to pay it back.

“Hypothetically,” he agreed. “I think we’re through here, you can see yourself out.” He put his other hand behind his head and then put his feet up on the sofa next to him. He smiled that gold grin again. “Next time you come by, make an appointment. Better yet, don’t come by again.”

“Do you know anything about Mrs. Hunt starting a business or having a partner?”

He shook his head and his smile evaporated. “You don’t give up, do you?”

Now it was my turn to smile.

“Big Mike,” he shouted. The huge guy opened the door and gave me a menacing glare.

“Why do I keep you around? When are you gonna grow a set?”

“Mr. Taylor, he…”

“Shut up and see Mr. Everett out,” Taylor snapped. “No rough stuff, he’s a guest-this time.”

“Thank you Mr. Taylor. I appreciate your time.”

“No problem. It's always nice to talk, hypothetically,” he said.

With a wave to Luck, I was out the door with the side of beef right behind me.

“I got you in hot water with your boss,” I said. “I meant no offense.”

“I’m no wuss, but you had me scared shitless,” Mike said. “What was that?”

“Just a spent cartridge,” I replied.

“You jacked me up with an empty beer bottle?” he exclaimed. “Man, I gotta find a new job.”

I beat a hasty retreat while Big Mike was still muttering to himself. I’d have to let Stan question Taylor if it came to that.

I had only impressions and conjecture. Stephanie Hunt’s girl friends loved her and the men she’d been involved with, well they weren’t her biggest fans. She had a gambling habit and owed a bundle to Taylor. The fight with Sharon Greer was the only indication of trouble, but that was years ago. I needed to know more. It wasn’t much to show for a day’s work.

It was almost eight by the time Greer called. I’d begun to think she’d stand me up.

“Be at my place by 8:30 and I’ll tell you everything. Then you can decide if you want the job.” She gave me the address and was gone. I headed south. I texted Stan the address then deleted the thread.

I pulled up to the gate at Heathrow. The guard announced me, drove the mile or so to the address. I strode confidently to the door and rang the bell. The house was what I expected for this exclusive area. It was huge with lots of glass and stone.

I heard her through the leaded glass door before I saw her. Her mile high heels clicked a staccato on the travertine floor. The stunning blond opened the door. Still wearing her charcoal slacks, and light blue blouse from this morning she attempted an air of control, but she was agitated. Her eyes bounced from side to side.

“Mr. Everett, how nice to see you again,” Sharon Greer gushed. “Welcome to my little piece of heaven,” she said with an expansive gesture with both hands and a little dip. Her face cracked into a sort of grin. “Thank you for meeting me here.”

Her blue eyes brimmed with deceit. Tense closed lips drawn upward at the corners told me this woman was controlling her anger, but just barely. Her pupils, dilated in the dim room, said she was fearful.

“I can see why you call it a piece of heaven. This is a beautiful place.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “Come in and make yourself comfortable.”

She walked in long strides, shoulders back and her face held forward as she led me to the sunken great room.

Leather sofas, club chairs in plush pastels and bright crystal lamps filled the room with a comforting light. I don’t know what they call the latest style in home furnishings, but this certainly was it. The great room faced a brilliantly lit and manicured yard complete with swimming pool, waterfall, and lush tropical landscape.

“Have a seat, Mr. Everett,” she said.

I took a seat where she had indicated as she perched herself opposite me on the edge of a sofa. She sat ramrod straight as though she was interviewing for a beauty pageant.