No Returns (8 page)

“Randall could have hired someone.”

“Why bother? He could kill everyone here and Travis would just get another court-appointed attorney. What’s his plan? Murder all the lawyers in Palm Beach County?”

“Then explain to me what Becky has to do with all this?”

“Have the two of you had lunch in a public place lately?”

I nodded. “Day before yesterday. You think sedan guy mistook Becky for Travis’s attorney?”

“I guess it’s possible, but highly unlikely.” He sighed. “Let’s move on to Gerald Cavanaugh.”

I started with a general Google search. I had no clue there were so many Gerald Cavanaughs in the world. I narrowed my search to Geralds in Palm Beach County. Nothing.

I tried just the U.S. but there were too many entries. “Let me try the Social Security records.” I used my password and got into the database. Just over three thousand Gerald Cavanaughs. This was getting frustrating.

Liam gave me a website address. “Try searching local DMV records.”

There were seventeen. We looked at all the photos but nothing rang a bell. Without a date of birth or a Social Security number, I was out of luck. I was about to give up when I thought to try one more angle. I pulled up the Plaintiff-Defendant tables and painstakingly went state by state. I got lucky. “Rhode Island v. Cavanaugh, Gerald.” I pulled up the digest. “Convicted for fraud and theft by deceit in 1983. Did two years of a ten-year sentence.”

“Pull up Rhode Island DMV,” Liam said.

“Three Gerald Cavanaughs.”

I clicked on the first one and the photo was of a teenager. The license had been issued just a few months ago. “Not him.” The second one was a man in his mid-forties. “Possible.” He could be the holder of the email account. The third one had a huge red stamp across the photo obstructing the picture that read ‘Expired.’ “Look at the DOB,” I said. “He’s an old guy. Could be the defendant in the case, though. The years are right. But I don’t see grandpa setting up an email account for blackmail.” The last photo was of a guy in his twenties. I printed out the two possibles. “Maybe my mother or Deacon will recognize him.”

“Speaking of recognizing, time to see if Steven Buckner is back at his apartment.” Liam stood up. “Why don’t you stay here? I won’t be long.”

“No such luck. I’m coming, too.”

“You stay in the car. I’ll tie you to the seat if I have to.”

“I’ll behave.”
Yeah, right.

Palm Beach Gardens was just north of West Palm Beach. It was an easy drive up A-1-A to the apartment complex where Liam had found the car. When we pulled into the lot, Liam parked at the opposite end of the row from Buckner’s crushed and dented sedan.

Liam was out of the car. “Do. Not. Move,” he threatened as he got his gun out of the glove box and tucked it onto the back of his jeans. “Lock the doors and wait for me.”

I watched as Liam went into the two-story stucco building. He took the stairs two at a time and went to the third door. I saw him fiddle with the knob and then he drew his gun and walked inside.

Five minutes passed. Then ten. At the twenty-minute mark I decided to go see what was happening. Liam might be hurt. I grabbed my cellphone, locked the car and cautiously followed in his footsteps.

The door was ajar. I couldn’t see anything but I also didn’t hear anything. All I could think was that Liam might be dead or dazed. With my emotions leading the way, I pushed open the door and found Liam standing over a dead body.

“D
id you shoot
him?” I asked.

Liam shot me a look. “He hasn’t been dead long. The blood is still wet.”

“Thanks for the detail. Did you call the police?”

“I will as soon as I look around. What happened to you staying in the car?”

“I don’t work and play well with others. What are we looking for?”

“Evidence of the blackmail.”

I felt my eyes go wide. Of course, my mother would be devastated if the police found her video. I carefully inched around the dead guy. It was definitely Steven Buckner, I recognized him from the DMV photo. Well, except for the gunshot wound right between his eyes. That was new. And disgusting.

I joined Liam in the messy bedroom. He was going through a beaten-up dresser. “Found this,” he said holding up a tiny square thing with an antenna and a larger black box.

“What is it?”

“Remote video equipment,” he explained. “It’s like a nanny cam only smaller. You can get them at spy stores and some gun shops.”

“Nice to know.”

I lifted the corner of the mattress. Nothing. Crouching down, I peered under the bed. Again nothing. I walked back into the living room/dining room combination and checked under the sofa cushions. Liam moved to the kitchen and searched the drawers and cabinets. I tried not to look at dead guy and not to think about the fact that I was in the same room as a corpse.

“This could be it,” Liam said as he opened the freezer. He was holding up a baggie with a flash drive inside.

“That’s the original?” I asked.

“Maybe, we’ll have to watch it to see.”

I went to the desk and looked at the computer and all the peripherals. I lifted the tower of DVDs and counted. “There are three missing.” I blew out a breath. “One to my mother. One to Deacon. That leaves one unaccounted for.”

“Assuming he didn’t burn himself something unrelated.”

“Where else can we look?” I asked.

“Nothing else here. We can check his car.”

Which we did to no avail. If there was a third DVD, I sure didn’t know where it went.

Liam checked his watch – a Breitling chronograph. Just one of the things I liked about him. He had a great watch. It was nearly one. “How about we grab some lunch?”

“Sure. And by the way, we have a command dinner at the country club with my mother and my soon-to-be stepfather.”

“They’re getting married?” he asked as he started the engine. “Didn’t they just meet?”

“Two months. Long enough for my mother to gauge the size of his wallet.”

“You make her sound very mercenary.”

I shrugged. “She’s been through four husbands since Jonathan died. My mother is not real big on staying power. I think she has her divorce attorney stored in her favorites.”

“My fingerprint guy should have the results soon. He’s going in off shift for me to see if there’s been an AFIS hit.”

“But we know who the blackmailer was, don’t we? Steven Buckner had the equipment. The computer. The car.”

“So what’s his motive?”

“Money?”

“I don’t see it. The guy is a hotel butler. Not exactly the type I’d figure for a complex operation. And there’s the fact that he’s dead.”

“Maybe he was blackmailing someone else and they refused to pay.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Something doesn’t smell right to me.”

*

I slipped into
my Robert Rodriguez sleeveless, cutout back dress. It was white and showed off my tan quite nicely. I reapplied my make-up and then spritzed some Lulu Guinness perfume. The final touch to my evening attire was my much loved pair of Rene Caovilla crystal beaded sandals. They had a crystal broach cluster with pavée crystal metallic goatskin straps. I loved the way the pink shoes looked with their glitter soles and I also loved the price. I’d found them at the Palm Peach Episcopal church’s thrift store. They were gently worn but given that they retail for almost sixteen hundred, I was beyond thrilled to get them for a mere five-fifty. So what if I’d blown six months’ worth of shopping budget. They were the deal of a lifetime.

My mother and Deacon were in the living room having a glass of wine. My mother looked stunning in a black, one-shoulder sheath dress, her signature pearls, and a pair of Manolo Blahnik satin pumps. She was giggling like a schoolgirl.

I had my evening bag, so I switched and transferred my wallet, my cell and a lipstick to the small envelope clutch. “Do either of you recognize these two men?” I asked as I passed them the photos of the two Cavannahs.

They looked, then shook their heads.

“What does it matter?” my mother asked. “You said the blackmailer was dead.”

“He could have had an accomplice.”

“Let’s not discuss it further,” Deacon suggested. “Is Liam meeting us here?”

“He has an errand,” I explained. “He’ll meet us at the club. Ready?”

“I have to change my cufflinks,” Deacon said. He went back to the guestroom.

“You look lovely,” I told my mother.

“Thank you. That’s a very pretty dress. If you enjoy wearing white before Memorial Day.”

It was going to be a long night. There was a duffel bag by the door. Good, maybe Deacon was going back to his place, wherever that is.

“Are you ladies ready?”

Deacon picked up the bag.

“Be careful with that,” my mother warned.

“What is it?” I asked as my fingers lingered on the alarm pad.

“My money,” she said.

“You’re taking six-hundred thousand dollars to dinner?”

“Deacon thought it was better if we kept the money close until I can call the bank in the morning.”

“The morning is Sunday.”

“I have private banking,” she explained.

“It’s safe at the house. I have an alarm.”

“So does the car,” Deacon said. “If someone should break-in to your house, they won’t get the cash.

“He knows what he’s doing, Finley,” my mother insisted.

“It will be fine with mine in the trunk.”

Seemed stupid to me, but I wasn’t about to start an argument when I had to endure a minimum of two hours over dinner. It was just easier to get into the backseat with my mouth closed.

My phone dinged so I took it from my bag and read the text from Liam. “It’s Deacon!”

I was cofused, so I put my ear buds in and auto-dialed him. “What?”

“Deacon is Gerald Cavanaugh.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The prints came back to Gerald Cavanaugh. Remember the DMV photo that was expired and the court case for fraud from ’83? All Deacon. Where are you?”

“On our way to the country club.” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. “Can you meet us there soon?”

“On my way.”

“Finley,” my mother admonished after I hung up. “It really is rude to take phone calls while with company.”

“You’re right. Sorry. Deacon, could you stop at the next service station? I’m afraid I’m a little car sick from sitting in the backseat.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t an option,” he said as he reached into the door compartment and produced a small but deadly looking gun. He pointed it at my mother’s temple.

“What are you doing?” she gasped.

His answer was to slap her with the barrel. “Pass your phone to your mother,” he barked at me.

I had no choice but to comply. I was scared but also looking around to see if there was anything I could use for protection. Nothing.

My mother was sobbing quietly. I was wondering if I could smack him on the head with my shoe and still avoid an accident. Not likely. I didn’t want to die saving myself and my mother.

Deacon headed for the Intracoastal instead of the country club. Dread washed over me. The last time a lunatic took me to the water’s edge it didn’t turn out so well for me. I reached up and patted my mother’s shoulder.

“So all this was you?” I asked.

“It was supposed to be clean and quick,” he answered. “Then your mother had to bring you and your friends into the loop.”

“You killed Steven Buckner?”

“Necessary if distasteful. Buckner was just supposed to get the video and leave the rest to me. Once that happened, he was no longer needed.”

“So the whole Deacon Burlington is a sham?” I asked.

“Actually Mr. Burlington does exist, but he’s indisposed. He’s been in a coma for the last six years. An auto accident.”

“You became him and decided to go trawling for someone with money?”

He snorted. “My funds are almost depleted. I needed a good score. And your mother was wonderful,” he said as he ran the gun along her cheek. “I even conned her into paying my hotel bills so my alleged wife wouldn’t find out about us. Did you know she’s remodeling her place just for me? I thought about sticking it out and playing the part but she’d have found out I was a fraud when I didn’t bring any money to the table.”

He pulled into Jupiter Heights Marina and my heart sank. It was a very private club with few people around. I mouthed help to the guy at the guard shack but he was more interested in checking the sticker on Deacon’s windshield. I tried again. He gave me a little wink. I sensed this would not end well.

“Finley, stay in the car. Cassidy, sit there for a second and do not move.”

He got out and I quickly said, “Hand me my phone.”

“He said to stay still,” she snapped.

Deacon, er, Gerald, opened my mother’s door and yanked her from the car. She dropped her purse and everything scattered, including my phone. Next it was my turn.

“Walk down that dock,” he said, his gun tucked against my mother’s ribcage.

I did as I was told, hoping beyond hope that I might run into someone I could signal. I smelled diesel and my own fear. And FYI – designer heels are not ideal on a boat dock.