Murder Makes Waves (14 page)

We gathered up our picnic stuff and worked our way down to the stage where Mary Alice and Major Bissell were accepting congratulations. Berry West was standing by Mary Alice, beaming.

“Wasn’t she something?” he asked. We agreed that she was. Sister grabbed Haley by the arm, pulled her aside, and whispered to her. Haley nodded. Sister whispered some more. Haley nodded again.

“What was that about?” I asked her as we walked over to Major Bissell.

Haley grinned. “She’s going out to dinner with Berry. She wants me to drive her Jaguar home.”

“That’s what all that whispering was about?”

“She was giving me instructions.”

“Not to let me drive her car?”

“That, plus something about staying clear of mailboxes. She wanted to know if I’d ever hit one. She thinks it may be genetic.”

“I wish she were going back with us. For all we know, Berry West could have been the one to make that phone call.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Patricia Anne,” Frances said. “I happen to know that his wife was president of the Atlanta Junior League.”

“Well, excuse me!” I hated to admit that this piece of news made me feel better.

“Hey, ladies,” Major Bissell greeted us.

“Your story scared me,” Haley said.

“Good. It was supposed to.” He grinned. “You know it’s based on an actual case, don’t you?”

“I do,” I said. “They figure he’s killed at least five women in the Florida Panhandle, don’t they?”

Major Bissell nodded. “The last one last August. In one of those condos right on 98, not ten feet from the highway.”

“How do you know it was him?” Frances asked.

“We know.” He turned to Haley. “You want to go get something to eat? I’m starving.”

Haley shook her head. “Thanks, but I have to drive Aunt Sister’s car back to Destin, and I’m hoping some turtles come in tonight. I don’t want to miss it if they do.”

Major Bissell looked disappointed, but as we turned to leave, Lisa Andrews came up, took his arm, and asked if he were feeling better.

“Get lost, Haley,” Frances murmured.

The lightning in the Gulf was not the usual jagged streaks, but a sudden glow of a cloud here and there. Like giant lightning bugs, I thought. The storms were still so far away, we heard no thunder as we walked toward the cars.

Frances and I helped Haley find Sister’s Jaguar and immediately ran into a problem; we couldn’t open the damn thing. Haley tried every key on the ring.

“Maybe Aunt Sister hasn’t left yet,” Haley said.

And then from the darkness behind us, a man’s voice said, “Can I help you, ma’am?”

The three of us froze. None of us had heard him approaching.

A large hand reached over and took the keys from Haley’s grasp. “You push this button on the keychain,” the man said. We heard the click as the door unlocked, and then the keys were in Haley’s hands again and the man was gone.

“Holy shit!” Frances said when we could breathe again.

“Some damn practical joker,” Haley said.

Nevertheless, we all piled into Sister’s car and Haley drove us to Frances’s car. Then I insisted that we follow Haley home. To her credit, she didn’t argue.

“I’ll bet that man thought he was funny as hell,” Frances said.

“Probably,” I agreed. We were driving along Old Highway 98 where the condos sit right on the road. Just like the serial killer in Major Bissell’s story, we could see right into many of the apartments where televisions flickered or families were eating supper. In one of the apartments, a woman was casually stepping out of a bathing suit. I wanted to yell at them all to close their blinds. And then I got angry at the man who had spooked us so, and because there really was
a reason that these people, vacationing, happy, should be more careful.

We rode in silence for a few minutes. The traffic was light for a June night, but this part of the beach is usually quiet, family-oriented. Teenagers flock to The Miracle Strip in Panama City, and the older, nightclub group head the other way to Fort Walton. Folks along the Destin beaches rent a movie and order in a pizza. On Friday nights the Elks Club has a steak dinner for eight bucks that draws a crowd. But the men have been playing golf all day or fishing, and the women and children have been at the beach too long. It makes for early evenings. Even the restaurants, and there are some very nice ones, are usually empty by nine.
There was no room here for violence
, I thought. And yet, it happened.

“Millicent Weatherby left to go to the grocery store the morning she was killed. Right?” Frances asked.

“Fairchild said she went to get some tomato juice. Why?”

“What if the serial killer had been stalking her?”

For a second I could see Millicent standing by her car and a man coming up and saying, “Can I help you, ma’am?” The man had Major Bissell’s face. I shivered.

“Unh-uh,” I said. “Her death and Emily’s are connected some way.”

“The killer saw them together all the time. He was after them both.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think a serial killer would have tried to make Emily’s death look like suicide.”

“Well, it’s possible.” We were entering the city limits and Frances slowed to thirty.

“Anything’s possible,” I agreed. “What do I know?”

M
y sweet Fred’s car was in the parking lot at the condo. I felt a pleasant little blip of anticipation when I saw it, a very nice thing after forty years of marriage. The few days away from each other had been good for us.

“Papa’s here,” Haley said, getting out of the Jaguar. “The world is a safer place now.”

“Yes, it is, Miss Smart Aleck.” She and I grinned at each other. As much as she complains about Fred being over protective, I know it’s part of her security, too.

“How did the Jaguar drive?” Frances asked.

“Fine.” Haley reached over and got the picnic basket. “I might have enjoyed it if Aunt Sister hadn’t made me so nervous. I swear if there had been a mailbox between here and Sunnyside I probably would have hit it.” I knew the feeling.

We collected all the picnic paraphernalia and went up
stairs. I opened the door of the apartment and called Fred’s name. I had expected to be greeted with a hug, but there wasn’t an answer. I walked onto the balcony and saw that he and Fairchild were sitting on the stile.

“Hey, honey!” I yelled.

Fred looked up, waved, and motioned for me to come down.

“He’s on the stile,” I told Frances and Haley as I sailed by the kitchen. “He’ll probably want some supper, so don’t put the picnic stuff up yet.”

Fred was waiting for me, and his hug smelled like a chili hot dog with lots of onions. “You stopped at Porky Pete’s,” I said into his shoulder.

“I was starving.”

“How many did you have?”

“Just two.”

“Are we going to be up all night?”

“If you want to.”

Lord, this man felt good. I stood there for a moment just savoring it.

“Fred’s been telling me about his business deal,” Fairchild said, and the two of us moved apart guiltily, remembering Fairchild’s loss. “Sounds good.”

“Yes, it does,” I agreed. Fred and I sat on the bench across from Fairchild.

“I was telling him we’d probably be spending more time down here,” Fred said, reaching for my hand.

“Well, if you’re thinking about moving, get your driver’s license now. Best advice Millicent ever gave me.”

The three of us were silent for a moment. Fairchild took a puff of his cigar and coughed. Smoke drifted up slowly toward the light and joined the humidity in forming a halo.

“She was a wonderful lady, Fairchild,” Fred said. “She’ll be missed.”

Fairchild nodded and puffed on his cigar. “The police think I killed her,” he said matter-of-factly. “Her and Emily Peacock, too. Tried to make it look like Emily did it and committed suicide.” He puffed. “But that would have been stupid. What reason would Emily have had to kill Millicent?”

Fred squeezed my hand. “They can’t believe that, Fairchild.”

“Sure they do. They always suspect the husband first, you know that. And I’m a rich man now. The insurance and property. Even the condo here.” He gestured back over his head.

“But Fairchild, you’re not the only one who gained financially by Millicent’s death. Everybody in the Blue Bay Ranch Corporation came out way ahead. What about the Stampses and Jason Marley? Not only did they come out ahead on Millicent’s death, but on Emily’s, too.”

He rubbed his eyes under his glasses and then straightened the glasses back on his nose. “The police have questioned them, but not like they have me. I spent the whole damn afternoon at the sheriff’s department trying to explain about a stupid argument Millicent and I had at Albert’s Fish Market the other day. And I do mean stupid. I wanted to order a fried seafood platter, you know one of those for two people? And Millicent said absolutely not, that my cholesterol was off the charts already. Anyway, I got ticked off and said something like, ‘By God, I’ll eat what I want to.’ You know how that goes. And she said something like, ‘Okay, Fairchild, kill yourself if you want to, but you’re not going to kill me.’ She wasn’t angry, didn’t even raise her voice. Just ordered a salad. Anyway, the sheriff claims I was
heard threatening to kill Millicent.” Fairchild rubbed his eyes again. “Can you believe that? It’s almost funny.”

“They’re grabbing at straws, Fairchild,” I said.

“What about these other people?” Fred asked. “Eddie and Laura Stamps and—”

“Jason Marley,” I supplied.

“Jason’s a wreck. Not only is he torn up about both women’s deaths, but he’s blaming himself for not following up on where Emily was when he didn’t hear from her. He just assumed everything was okay.”

“What about Eddie?” I questioned. I wondered if Laura had told Fairchild about the threatening phone call. Probably, I decided. And I didn’t think now was the time for Fred to hear about it.

Fairchild hesitated for a moment, long enough to blow another puff of smoke toward the light. Then he leaned forward and pushed the cigar into a receptacle filled with sand. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed anything, Patricia Anne, but Eddie has been diagnosed as being in the early stages of Alzheimer’s.”

I was shocked. “I haven’t noticed a thing.”

“I’ll bet when you first saw them, Laura thought of some way to remind Eddie of your name.”

I thought for a moment. “She said, ‘Patricia Anne, Mary Alice, what’s the matter’ or something like that. It didn’t seem strange the way she did it.”

“She’s gotten good at helping him like that, protecting him. She’s told the police, of course, about his condition and has absolutely refused to let them question him without her being there. He understands that Millicent and Emily are dead and he’s extremely upset about it. He’s not that far gone.”

“Damn,” Fred said. My thoughts exactly.

Fairchild stood up and stretched slightly. “Well, I’ll let you two lovebirds have the stile to yourselves. I’ve got to go in and make some phone calls.”

“Is there anything we can do for you tomorrow?” Fred asked.

“Just be there.” He started down the stile steps. “And bring Mary Alice.”

Old coot.

I pinched Fred on the inside of his thigh. “You’d better not have another woman already lined up.”

“Watch where you’re pinching or it wouldn’t do me any good if I did.”

“You mean like this?”

He grabbed my hand and giggled. “Quit that!”

I didn’t feel like playing, anyway. The news about Eddie’s illness had shaken me. I stopped my hand’s forward motion, moved away slightly and inquired about Woofer.

“He’s fine,” Fred said, confused at the sudden cessation of the game.

“Mitzi’s walking him every day?”

“When the two of them aren’t sitting in her air-conditioned den watching soaps. Mitzi says he’s especially fond of ‘The Bold and the Beautiful’.”

“I swear, just like a male. And me not gone even a week.”

A young couple came over the stile, spoke to us, and walked down the beach toward the water. When I turned from watching them, Fred was looking straight at me. “Tell me everything that’s happened this week.”

“It’s been strange. Part of it has actually been fun, like tonight’s reading. But finding the bodies!”

“I know, honey.” He put his arm around me and I snuggled against him. God was in his heaven; all was right with the world.

I was trying to decide where to start my version of the week’s events when he added, “This is the kind of thing that always happens when you’re around Mary Alice. I swear, honey, you know I’m fond of her, but think how often I have to get you out of scrapes she’s gotten you into.”

For a moment I felt that I couldn’t breathe, as if I had suddenly been immersed in an icy lake. Fred sensed my stiffening. “That’s not exactly what I meant to say. What I meant to say is that Mary Alice leaps before she looks. You know that, and she pulls you with her a lot of times.”

“And you have to come rescue me.”

Fred shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Sometimes.”

“What does that have to do with what’s happened this week?”

“Well, finding the bodies and all.”

I stood and looked down at him. There were all sorts of things I wanted to say to him but, give me credit, I kept my mouth shut, just turned and walked away.

“What’s the matter, honey?” the jackass called. But I didn’t turn around to answer.

“Where’s Papa?” Haley asked as I walked into the apartment.

“Digging a hole and pulling the dirt in on top of himself.”

“What did he do?”

“Pushed the overprotecting button too hard.”

“Mama, just ignore it like you tell me to do.”

“Better yet,” Frances put in her two cents’ worth, “just enjoy it.”

“Enjoy someone treating you like you’re a child? Blaming everything that happens on your sister?”

“Of course.” Frances was sitting on the sofa flipping through the latest issue of
Cosmopolitan
. “Long as he doesn’t blame everything on you. That’s what usually happens to
me.” An article caught her attention. “Lord have mercy. Did y’all know sex is going to be different in the next millennium?”

“How?” Haley asked.

“Don’t know. Haven’t read it yet.”

I walked to the balcony and looked down at Fred sitting on the stile by himself. Haley came up behind me.

“He looks sad, Mama.”

“Hush. He said he has to get me out of scrapes.”

“He looks very sad.”

“Then you go let him rescue you.”

“There’s someone at the door,” Frances called. “I’ll get it.”

Haley and I stepped back into the living room as Tammy Berliner came in. “Good,” she said. “I was hoping you were here. I just got in and found a note from Jack and Sophie. They’ve gone to Navarre and said for me to bring you to see the turtles if you were home and wanted to come.”

Of course we wanted to come. Should we bring flashlights? Blankets?

“No lights,” Tammy said. “Jack and Sophie will have flashlights, for later.”

Blankets? Sure, we might have to wait a while. And insect repellent. The dunes were full of no-see-ums on a hot, muggy night like this. And mosquitoes.

“I’m going to ask my father if he wants to come. Okay?” Haley said. “He’s sitting on the stile.”

“Sure. It’s really something to see. How about I meet you in the parking lot in about ten minutes. I just got in from work and need to put on some jeans.”

We agreed that would be fine.

“Go get your father,” I told Haley.

It was the beginning of one of the most haunting and memorable evenings of my life. The five of us piled into our car (Fred insisted on driving) and headed toward Navarre Beach.

“Don’t they come in at Destin?” Fred asked Tammy.

“Too built up. They come in along the National Seashore where it’s dark. Any light, even a match being struck in the dunes, will send them right back into the water.”

“Are they endangered?” Frances asked.

“The loggerheads, the kind that usually come in and lay their eggs along these beaches, are considered threatened. There are five types of sea turtles that nest along the United States’ coastline. The other four are on the endangered list. Leatherback turtles are almost extinct.”

“That’s terrible!” Haley exclaimed.

Tammy, who was sitting on the front seat with Fred, turned to look at us. “Y’all don’t want to get me started on this. I’ll preach to you all night, and lose my temper, to boot.”

“I’d like to hear about it,” I said.

“Well, I can’t spout out the numbers like Millicent could. But I know that something like 55,000 loggerheads drown in shrimp nets every year in spite of the turtle excluder devices that are supposed to let them escape, and thousands choke on plastic trash or get caught in boat propellers. And if they survive to return to their nesting site, condominiums have been built there. It’s a pretty bleak outlook for animals so hardy they’ve been around since the age of the dinosaurs.”

“And man is doing them in,” Fred said.

Tammy nodded. “The only good thing is that man is beginning to realize what he’s done. There are more and more people becoming aware of the sea turtle’s plight and trying
to help. There’s a real active volunteer group here along the Panhandle.”

We were all silent for a moment and then Tammy spoke again. “Jack grew up here, in Mary Esther. He says when he was a boy, he and some of his buddies would come out to the beach at night and turn turtles on their backs. They can weigh up to four hundred pounds, you know, so it was a big deal to upend one. Or they would ride them. Now one of the things he does as a volunteer is talk to school kids, tell them how the turtles just can’t deal with what we’re doing to them and how they should never bother them. And Sophie’s on call for nesting watch. Millicent brought her out here one night and she was hooked.”

“That’s wonderful,” Frances said.

“It’s a drop in the bucket, but it’s a start.”

“The people on nesting watch,” Fred asked, “how do they know when to go to the beach? Or is someone there every night?”

“People call. There’s a Turtle Watch Hotline. The turtles tend to come in close to the beach during the late afternoon and rest until night, and people in boats spot them, or even helicopter pilots from Eglin Field. They’re good about calling. Volunteers walk the beaches every morning looking for nests and staking them, but it’s good if we can actually tag the female turtles. There are all kinds of studies being done on their migration patterns.”