Pineapple Lies (12 page)

Chapter Twelve

Declan and Seamus walked into Declan’s stucco home in Charity, Florida, just on the outskirts of the Pineapple Port community. The house stood barely half a mile from the modest modular home in which he’d lived as a child. Declan could still see the two-bedroom home he’d shared with his mother in his mind’s eye. He could walk through it and see the red, crushed velvet sofa and the checkered white and yellow linoleum kitchen floor. Crushed velvet seemed like an odd fabric choice for sticky Florida, but his mother had loved that sofa. It made Declan smile to think about her telling him not to put his feet on the cushions.

Sometimes he jogged past his old home, but it made him sad to see the unruly grass and the screen door hanging at an awkward angle from its hinges. Declan’s grandmother had moved him to her home in Tampa after his mother’s disappearance, and whoever purchased his home after he left wasn’t endeavoring to win any curb appeal competitions. Declan could only imagine the rundown interior. When planned neighborhoods like Pineapple Port appeared in Charity, no one wanted to buy stand-alone modular homes without access to pools and community centers. If it wasn’t for the rusty Chevy truck parked outside, Declan would have thought his childhood home abandoned.

As Seamus walked into Declan’s new home, he whistled with appreciation.

“Nice place. How many bedrooms?”

“Thanks. Just two. You’ll be staying in the office slash guest room.”

“What? Where’s the kids’ room?”

Declan chuckled. “Riiight.”

“You got a girl?”

“Not at the moment. Can I get you a beer?”

“Yes, sir,” said Seamus, flopping into Declan’s large brown sofa. “Damn. Is this real leather?”

“Yes. That was an estate sale item I decided to keep. The guy was a furniture importer.”

“Nice.”

He popped a beer and brought it to his uncle. Seamus took a long swig and then lazily surveyed the room. He glanced out the slider door and then craned his neck to gain a better view of the backyard.

“Is that a pool?” he asked.

“Just a little one. A lap pool. We don’t get the ocean breezes you have in Miami.”

“Any idea what a place like this would have cost me in Miami?”

“Charity is a long way from Miami…and this is hardly a mansion.”

“It’s nice though,” said Seamus, taking another long draught of his beer. “You really have it made here. That place we went is
full
of ladies on the prowl.”

Declan scowled, confused. “Are you talking about Pineapple Port?”

“Yeah! Pineapple Port. Wall-to-wall ladies. I bet most of their husbands are dead, too.”

Declan froze, the bottle inches from his lips. He lowered the beer to his lap.

“Like the older ladies, do you?”

“Oh yeah,” said Seamus, dragging out the word ‘yeah’ until it sounded as if he was talking about the juiciest burger he’d ever eaten. He leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees.

“Young guys have it all wrong,” he said, in a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re all hot for the pretty young things, but those girls won’t do anything but break your heart. The real love is with the older ladies.”

“Really…”

Seamus took a swig of his beer and then nodded, staring into middle distance.

“Oh yeah. It’s all about the older ladies.”

“How old are you again?”

“Fifty-five.”

“And these ladies…just how old are we talking?”

He shrugged. “The girl who really taught me everything I know was seventy-two,” he said. “But I think the sweet spot is mid to late sixties.”

Declan nodded in slow motion. This was a side of his uncle he’d never seen. Talking about Seamus’ love life was uncomfortable enough, but this chat had taken a hard right into Weird Town.

“Right. So how many older girlfriends have you had?”

“Four,” Seamus counted on one hand and then waggled his pinky. “Four and a half.”

Declan laughed. “How do you have half a girlfriend? Was she really short?”

“She died. We’d only been dating two months, but she was something special.”

“Oh.”

He squinted at his uncle, waiting for him to laugh and tell him he was kidding. Instead, Seamus stared at the floor, silent, and then stood to fetch another beer.

“She might have been the one,” he said as he opened the refrigerator. “But fate is a cruel mistress. Cancer, cancer, emphysema, heart attack and unexplained.”

“What’s that?”

“That’s how I lost my last five loves. Cancer, cancer, emphysema, heart attack and unexplained. It’s the only downside to dating older ladies. I keep outliving them.”

“Who was unexplained?”

“Violet. Probably a heart thing. I think she was still pining for her ex-husband. She never seemed totally with
me
, y’know? Especially in bed.”

“Oh wow. You’ve got to warn me before you say things like that.”

Seamus took a sip of his new beer and sighed. “I thought I could make her forget him. The bastard ran away with his home care nurse, but he never left Violet’s heart.”

Declan laughed beer into his nose and covered his face with his hand to keep it from pouring into his lap.

“Come on, Seamus,” he sputtered between coughs. “You’re pulling my leg.”

Seamus walked over and sat back on the sofa.

“You think it’s funny, but these older ladies are real, y’know? I know you don’t get it. You’ve got the hots for the young one.”

“What young one?”

“You know,
the
young one. The only chick in a room full of hens. I could see you have it for her from a mile away.”

“Charlotte? I just met her. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you’ve got it bad. Don’t deny it. I might like them older, but even I could appreciate the stems on that flower.”

“Are you suddenly channeling Humphrey Bogart or something? I feel like I just walked into a film noir.”

“A film war?”

“Film
noir
. You know, an old forties drama where people said things like ‘hey, check out the stems on that gal.’”

“What? She had long legs. You had to have noticed them.”

“She does have ni—
long
legs, it was just the way you said it. I get what you meant.”

“I bet you do,” said Seamus, winking.

“Whatever. Anyway, you’re wrong about Charlotte. Her whole neighborhood thinks I’m gay, anyway.”

“I don’t doubt it. You’re just so damn pretty.”

“Very funny.”

Seamus threw a pillow at him, his booming laugh echoing from the cathedral ceiling.

Declan snatched the pillow from the air just as his phone rang. He winged it back at his uncle and stood to retrieve his phone.

“Speak of the devil. It’s Charlotte,” he said, looking at the caller ID.

“Ooooh,” said Seamus, following with a string of kissing noises.

Declan waved at him to be quiet.

“Hello?”

He repeated his greeting until Charlotte began to talk. It seemed they had a bad connection.

“Are you at home?’ she asked.

“I’m home.”

“I’m home,” said Seamus in a breathy voice. “I’m naked and waiting for you.”

“Just a second,” he said, covering the phone. “Cut it out! Charlotte has information about mom.”

“Yeah? What?”

“I don’t know yet. Shut up for a second and maybe I can find out.”

He uncovered the phone. “Sorry. My uncle is here and he was being…uh…loud. What is it?”

He begged Charlotte to reveal her information, but she insisted on delivering the news in person. It worried him. People never traveled to deliver good news.

“I’m in Charity. You know the Hibiscus Community? I’m 398 Sandtrap Drive.”

“Guess they were running out of
nice
golfing street names,” said Charlotte.

“Well, at least I’m not on Dog Leg Lane.”

“Or Ball Washer Way. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Declan hung up, and found his uncle staring at him.

“What?”

“Oh, you are so done. Look at that smile.”

“What?” he repeated, frowning. “She made a golf joke. I can’t smile?”

“She coming over here? Tell you what, you guys chat and I’ll just sit here and scream
get in the hole!
every once in a while. I can be punny, too.”

“You’re disgusting. She’s a nice girl.”

“And pretty.”

“And pretty.”

“And smart.”

“And smart.”

“And nice rack.”

“Alright already! You’re an idiot. Whatever you do, don’t tell Charlotte she has ga-ga gams or something when she gets here, copper.”

Seamus laughed. “She does,” he said, putting his empty bottle on the counter and opening the refrigerator to retrieve another.

Declan threw him a dirty look, snatched the empty bottle and put it in the trash.

Chapter Thirteen

Ten minutes later the doorbell rang and Declan answered to find Charlotte on his stoop. She wore a simple summer dress that framed her elegant collarbones and, he had to admit, the aforementioned nice rack. Declan’s eyes darted back to her face, worried that his eyes would telegraph his thoughts directly into her brain. His more off-color thoughts were echoes of Seamus’ comments, but there was no way to explain that to her through telepathy.

“Hi,” she said, holding up a bottle. “I brought wine.”

“Oh! Well, thank you.”

Charlotte’s face twitched.

“Was bringing wine weird? It felt strange to dump all this information on you and leave. I thought the wine would be a nice way to pretend it was just a normal visit. Plus, I’ve never been to your house before so it’s like a housewarming gift, right?”

“Sure, no, I appreciate it. It’s a nice change from my uncle, who brought nothing but two weeks of dirty laundry and plans to drink every beer in the house. What’s weird is that I haven’t asked you in yet. Come in.”

Charlotte entered and he took the wine from her. He moved to the kitchen to uncork it.

“Hi Seamus,” said Charlotte, wandering into the living room. She offered a wave at hip level.

“Hello, lass.” He stood from his place on the sofa and strode over to her, opening his arms and wrapping her in a bear hug.

Seamus looked at Declan as he hugged her and waggled his eyebrows. Declan grit his teeth and waved at him to leave her alone.

“She’s too young for you. Let her go.”

Seamus flashed one last grin and then stepped back.

“So I hear you have some information for us?”

Charlotte’s hands fluttered to smooth her dress, knocked akimbo by Seamus’ energetic embrace.

“Yes, I do.”

“Here you go,” said Declan, handing her a glass of wine. “Sorry about that. Have a seat.”

Seamus flopped down on the sofa and patted the cushion next to him.

Charlotte looked at the spot and paused.

“Sit right there,” said Declan, motioning for her to sit in a matching standalone chair. “Ignore him. He’s just goofing with you. You aren’t even his type.”

“Oh,” said Charlotte, sitting.

She balanced the wine on her thigh and offered a tight smile.

Declan saw her frozen features and realized what he’d said.

“I mean, not that you’re not gorgeous or anything! I just meant he likes old ladies. I mean
older
ladies.”

Seamus nodded. “Nice recovery, slick.”

Charlotte laughed and Declan thought he saw her shoulders relax.

“I wasn’t offended. Anyway, yes, I have news for you both.”

Declan held out a glass of wine for Seamus and he raised his upper lip in disgust.

“I’ll take a beer,” he said, handing him his latest empty.

Declan grimaced and set the glass of wine in front of his own seat. He walked briskly to the kitchen, opened a beer, and returned to thrust it at his uncle.

“When exactly are you moving out?” he muttered.

Seamus took the beer and smiled.

“Okay,” said Declan, sitting and facing Charlotte. “Ready now. What’s up?”

“Two things. Al Taliaferro stopped at my house after the meeting.”

“He was the squirrelly little guy at the meeting, right?” asked Seamus. “The guy who kept asking if Erin was shot?”

“Yes, exactly. How did you know?”

Seamus shrugged. “It’s a cop thing.”

“Well, your instincts were right. Now I know why that detail was so important to him. About the time your mother went missing, he saw a woman in a white shirt and red belt stumbling down the road. He swerved to avoid her and doesn’t think he hit her.”

“Doesn’t
think
? Did he go back?” asked Declan, horrified. “Was it her?”

“No. I mean, he didn’t go back, so he doesn’t know if it was her. He’d been drinking and thinks he might have imagined the whole thing, but felt obligated to report the incident because it happened in front of my lot.”

“Wow,” said Declan, putting his hand over his mouth while he absorbed the story.

“It doesn’t work,” said Seamus. “You found her in a grave. She didn’t get hit by a car and go spinning into an open grave.”

“And we found a bullet. That doesn’t mesh either,” said Charlotte. “I wonder if maybe Al saw her running from someone, but he didn’t see anyone else. He really thinks he imagined the whole thing.”

“He sounds like Towline to me,” muttered Seamus.

Declan looked at him. “What?”

“Towline. He was one of our CIs.”

“Confidential informant!” said Charlotte, jumping in her seat. Her wine sloshed and she scrambled to keep it from spilling on her lap.

The two men stared at her and Declan thought he saw her blush. The corner of his mouth curled into a smile. It was cute how enthusiastic she seemed, though he had no idea what had inspired her outburst.

“Confidential informant,” she said. “Sorry. I watch too many crime dramas. I got a little excited there.”

Seamus shot Declan a sidelong glance and he realized his uncle had caught him grinning again. He cleared his throat to squelch his smile.

“Right. CI means confidential informant. Anyway, Towline lied like he breathed if it kept him out of trouble.”

“Why did they call him Towline?” asked Declan.

“Well, Smiley, glad you asked.”

He glowered at Seamus, who ignored him. He imagined it would take more than a glare to frighten his beefy uncle into behaving.

“The other guys on the boat he worked called him Towline because he was so full of bullshit he had to tow it behind him.”

Charlotte laughed and looked at Declan.

“Is that
your
nickname?” she asked. “Smiley?”

Seamus opened his mouth to answer but Declan cut him off.

“No.”

Charlotte took a sip of her wine. “So you think Al is lying about something?”

Seamus shrugged. “I’ve found people will sometimes tell little lies to make themselves feel better about the
big
lie they’re hiding. The whole ‘I imagined a girl on the road’ story sounds fishy. Towline used to do that. Tell us about a crime, leaving out the parts that incriminated him.”

“So you think Al really did hit her and buried her? Or you think he knows more than he’s saying?”

“Either, neither, both. Can’t really say.”

Seamus rubbed the tip of his beer bottle with his thumb and stared at it, as if deep in thought. After a moment, his head snapped up and he looked at Charlotte.

“Wait; what did you say Al said this girl was wearing?”

“A white shirt and a red belt.”

“That’s right, but not the belt… Why would he notice a belt, in the dark, drunk?”

“What do you mean that’s right?” asked Declan. “How would you know what she was wearing?”

Seamus took drink from his beer, eyes staring at the floor.

“Seamus, how would you know what she was wearing?”

“Because I saw her that night.”

“What? You never said that before!”

Seamus stared at his bottle, silent. Declan put down his wine glass to keep from throwing it at his uncle. He took a deep breath, composed himself and refocused.

“Tell me now,” he said, his voice steady and flat. “All of it.”

Seamus sighed.

“After my brother ran off, your mother and I had a thing. She was pretty messed up and I felt bad for her. I guess I was trying to comfort her and things went too far. I fought it for almost a year, but…she meant something to me. She did.”

“And you saw her the night she disappeared?”

“Things were getting serious. She’d been dating another guy and she told me she was breaking it off with him. We were going to make a go of it. I was going to adopt you, the whole thing.”

Declan swallowed. Having Seamus in his life after his dad disappeared might have changed his life. At the same time, he was infuriated at the idea Seamus had taken advantage of his mother during a difficult period. Even more so that he’d never mentioned it.

“Go on.”

“Erin stopped by; it was pretty late, maybe nine or ten. She told me she was going to see this other guy and end things with him. She was wearing a white blouse and a skirt. A jeans skirt. No belt that I remember and I’ve got an eye for details like that.”

“So, she left and that was the last you saw of her?”

“Yes. I should have gone with her. I…”

Seamus trailed off and looked away.

“You,
what
?” asked Declan.

“I loved her. What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me what happened to her.”

“I don’t know!” Seamus jabbed at the air with the hand that held his beer. “She left and I never saw her again. I didn’t know the other guy. I didn’t know anything that would help the police. I got scared my brother’s criminal history would keep everyone, especially the police, from believing me. You have to understand, the Bingham name was mud around here after all the shit your dad pulled trying to feed his drug habit. I did what I could and then I moved to Miami to be away from it all.”

“You never told the police she was seeing someone?” asked Charlotte.

“I told the police she’d been dating someone, I just never told them that she and I were involved. I didn’t want them pegging me for the jealous boyfriend. I didn’t want them wasting time investigating
me
. She hid the other guy’s identity from me, afraid I’d be jealous I guess. I had nothing. After she disappeared I asked around. No one knew she was dating someone, me
or
the other guy. Erin wasn’t a big talker.”

Declan rubbed his face with both hands and swept back his hair. He wanted to scream. The answer to all his questions seemed so close, yet this new chance had already come and gone over a decade earlier.

“Could she have been seeing Al?” he asked Charlotte. “What else did Al say?”

“Nothing, really, and I doubt they were dating. You know how you said you got your height from your mother’s side? I don’t know how tall she was, but Al is barely over five feet.”

“Erin was tall. Five-nine, five-ten. Your height,” said Seamus.

“He’s also wildly devoted to his wife,” added Charlotte. “I once heard him refer to them as two chunks of ricotta in the same cannoli.”

Declan’s lip twitched. “Ew.”

“Yeah. Even two meatballs on the same spaghetti seems more romantic. He was a plumber, not a poet.”

“Or two pepperoni on the same pizza.”

“Two spoons in the same gelato.”

“You two have issues,” muttered Seamus.

Charlotte glanced quickly at Declan and then looked away.

“Anyway, my point is, Al and your mother would be an odd couple. It isn’t impossible, but when Al told me the story I didn’t get the impression he knew your mother. He was connecting his shaky memory with the disappearance of a woman he didn’t know.”

“He should tell the police his story,” said Seamus.

“I took Al right across the street to Sheriff Marshall and he told him everything he told me, so it’s on the record now.”

“That’s good,” said Declan. “That’s something.”

He looked at Seamus. His wordplay with Charlotte had been a welcome distraction, but frustration and anger began to ooze though his veins like slow, black blood.

Seamus met his gaze and then turned to Charlotte.

“You said you had two things?”

Charlotte nodded. “Frank let me know he got the autopsy report.”

Declan’s eyes grew wide. “What did it say?”

“Frank?” asked Seamus.

“Sheriff Marshall,” said Charlotte. “He’s like my unofficial uncle.”

“Good thing he’s an unofficial uncle,” muttered Declan. “Less chance he slept with your mom.”

Seamus’ eyes flashed with anger.

“Let’s not do the passive aggressive thing, huh, boyo?” he barked, sitting forward. “You want to hit me,
hit me.
I told you I’m sorry. Sorry I didn’t tell you about your mom and me, and sorry I couldn’t protect her.”

Declan stood. Seamus stood with him. The mix of rage and sorrow roiling in Declan’s chest made it hard for him to focus as he stared at his uncle, unsure of what to do. He felt like a teenager again. He’d been an angry kid after the death of his mother. He’d gotten into fights and hung out with the wrong crowds. He’d spent the last seven years reinventing himself only to have his hard-earned poise dissipate as quickly as a Florida afternoon rainstorm. He was an angry teenager again. Staring at his uncle, he longed to focus his pain into one punch…
he longed for the release.

“I’m sorry,” said Seamus, his voice low and soft. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”