Quint Mitchell 01 - Matanzas Bay (20 page)

He paused and turned to the other commission members. Receiving confirming nods, he continued. “This commission has the utmost confidence in the St. Johns Group. Matanzas Bay will be a lasting tribute to the vision of William Marrano.”

Cameron looked up from his notes and stared into the audience. I followed his gaze, and for the first time saw Kurtis Laurance sitting in the front row several seats from where Tallabois stood.

“Now, I believe Mr. Laurance has an announcement he’d like to make,” the mayor said. “Please step up to the lectern, Mr. Laurance. We all know who the next governor of Florida will be and where he lives, but state law dictates you must identify yourself for the record.”

Polite laughter and applause greeted Cameron’s remark as Laurance walked to the lectern. After stating his name and address for the record, he said, “Mr. Mayor, commissioners, thank you for this opportunity to speak to you and all of the citizens here tonight.”

“First, I want to thank the commissioners for their confidence in the St. Johns Group, and assure you Matanzas Bay will make everyone proud they live in St. Augustine. Like you, I am deeply troubled and saddened by the death of Mr. Marrano. I considered him as more than a visionary and a true community servant. He was a friend, and he will be sorely missed.”

He waited while the commissioners nodded their agreement and the murmurs of assent faded behind him. “Mayor Cameron and I spoke earlier today, and he has graciously allowed me to make this announcement.”

Cameron smiled boyishly and made a kind of
aw shucks
head bob.

“As you know, the St. Johns Group is constructing a riverwalk as part of Matanzas Bay. In tribute to the passion and persistence the vice mayor demonstrated in his support of this project, I am proud to announce it will officially be named the William A. Marrano Riverwalk.”

The entire audience and the commissioners jumped to their feet and applauded Laurance’s announcement. Even the reporters from the St. Augustine and Jacksonville media followed suit. After the celebration died down, the mayor thanked Laurance, practically bowing before him, and plugged Saturday’s groundbreaking ceremony.

“Everyone is invited to the Malaga Street site for the groundbreaking this Saturday morning at ten. The St. Augustine High Jazz Band will perform and we’ll have free refreshments. Of course, you’ll have to listen to a few speeches first, but we’ll keep it short since Mr. Laurance is itching to get started.”

Outside, the wind rattled the windowpanes and I heard the muffled rumbling of thunder in the distance. Mayor Cameron glanced up at the high ceiling and then back to his constituents with a grin. “Surely, that’s Bill Marrano giving his enthusiastic blessing to this project.”

After they adjourned, I waited while the crowd filed out of the room. Sitting there, I thought about what I’d just witnessed. It had been nothing more than a public proclamation of support for Laurance, along with a fond farewell for Marrano. Thinking the evening had been a waste of my time, I prepared to exit the room only to find Tallabois blocking my way.

“Hoped I’d run into you again. Just didn’t think it would be so soon,” Tallabois said, his scarred face inches from mine.

I held my ground. “Figured you’d still be rooting through the azaleas hunting for your keys.”

“Boy, you better rethink your attitude or you’re in for some serious aggravation.” He jabbed a finger into my chest to make his point.

“Don’t do that,” I told him.

“You’re out of your league here, and I’m only giving you this one last warning.” Tallabois’ nose almost touched my own, and he poked his stubby finger into my chest again.

I thrust my hand up before he had a chance to remove his finger. With my thumb braced against his metacarpal joint, I pulled his finger back. This forced Tallabois to twist away trying to alleviate the pressure on his finger.

“I told you not to do that again.”

“You’re breaking it,” he managed to gasp through contorted lips.

“Did you know there are twenty-seven bones in your hand, and it takes four to six weeks for a fractured finger to heal?” I increased the pressure and Tallabois went down on one knee.

“Boys, this isn’t the time or place to be playing your macho games.” Kurtis Laurance tapped me on the shoulder. “Let him go, Mitchell, I want to talk with you for a minute.”

I released Tallabois’ finger and stepped back. Clutching his hand, Laurance’s security chief got to his feet. Nostrils wide, face flushed, he attempted to rush me, but Laurance put a hand on his arm and stopped him. Several members of Laurance’s entourage stood to the side, their eyes wide with shock.

“Lem, let’s say this game was rained out and call it a night. Go down and bring my car around for me.”

Tallabois ignored Laurance, edging toward me, his jaw muscles working furiously.

“I mean it, Lem. Go get the car.” Laurance barked out the order with an angry edge to his voice. He turned to the other two men standing nearby. “Why don’t you go down with Lem? I want to have a word with Mr. Mitchell here.”

Tallabois brushed my shoulder as he passed. The others followed him out of the room.

“I’m sorry about that,” Laurance said after Tallabois had left. “Lem sometimes lets his testosterone overcome his common sense, I’m afraid.”

“You might want to keep a tighter leash on your dog.”

“You may be right. Walk with me to the elevator, won’t you, please, Quint.”

“That was quite a love-in for your company,” I said, referring to the meeting.

“It must be apparent to you by now that you were the victim of bad information.”

“Apparently.”

“I tried to tell you Bill Marrano would never renege on a deal, particularly this one. Matanzas Bay was as much his concept for the future of St. Augustine as it was mine. Whoever told you he’d changed his mind was feeding you a load of crap. Probably self-serving crap.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ve lived in St. Augustine off and on for many years, Mr. Mitchell. Like all small towns, we have our share of good people who only wish the best for their community and act accordingly. Human nature being what it is, unfortunately, there are others who seem to delight in sowing the seeds of discontent.”

We paused in front of the elevator. He pushed the button for the first floor and turned toward me, his dark eyes twinkling under the overhead fluorescents. “And sometimes it’s difficult to tell one from the other.”

“I wonder why they wanted me to believe Marrano had changed his mind?”

The elevator door slid open, but Laurance wasn’t moving. He answered my question with one of his own. “Have you been to the Matanzas Bay construction site yet?”

“I’ve driven by, but I haven’t given it a white glove inspection if that’s what you mean.”

“Do me a favor and walk around it before our ground-breaking ceremony Saturday. I want you to pay special attention to the property outside the construction fence.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by this strange request. Laurance must have sensed my puzzlement because he said, “Humor me. After you have a chance to visit the site, we’ll talk again. I’m interested in your impressions, plus I’ve been thinking about what you said concerning Tallabois.” He shook his head as though he’d changed his mind about sharing something with me. “We’ll talk later,” he said, and we entered the elevator.

***

I emerged from city hall to a persistent rain. The black skies told me the storm front had settled in for the night. I sprinted through the downpour to my car parked around the corner, watching the drops splash on the brick-lined sidewalks. Above me, overhead arc lamps cast a saffron hue over the city.

Once inside my car, I used a handkerchief to wipe my dripping face, then pulled the phone from my coat pocket. I had turned it off before entering the city commission meeting, and when I powered it up, the phone beeped twice indicating I had a message. I retrieved the message and listened to Henderson’s strained voice.

“Quint, meet me at the lighthouse at seven tonight. Please, it’s important.”

There was none of Henderson’s gentleman-of-the-manor Southern charm in the message. Instead, I detected a sense of urgency. Possibly even fear. Then again, Henderson might be setting me up. If my paranoid theories were correct, and Henderson was somehow involved in Marrano’s and Sternwald’s murders, he might be afraid I was close to uncovering the truth about his role in all of this.

It was nearly eight, and I figured Henderson was long gone. Or perhaps he was waiting to ambush me. I weighed the odds on my Mitchell Risk-Taking Scale and decided to take the risk.

TWENTY-SEVEN

I made several wrong turns on the narrow roads as I approached the St. Augustine lighthouse, my eyes scanning the muddy sky for the telltale beacon flashing every thirty seconds. The drenching shower that greeted me when I left city hall had erupted into a full-blown thunderstorm with fiery spider webs of lightning fracturing the night sky. Florida leads the nation in deaths and injuries caused by lightning. Knowing this didn’t give me much solace as I parked my car under the trees next to the visitor’s center and watched the pounding rain turn the unpaved parking area into a swamp.

The museum and lighthouse normally closed at six, and I seemed to be alone in the parking lot. I flashed my high beams and peered through the fogged windshield hoping to see Henderson on the porch of the visitor’s center. No sign of life anywhere. Instead of mucking around in the storm, I circled the parking lot until my lights reflected off a gray Passat GLX half hidden behind a giant philodendron.

Someone parked the Volkswagen next to an exit path leading from the lighthouse to the parking lot. I surveyed the empty Passat before turning my attention to the rain-cloaked lighthouse, the top half draped in storm clouds and nearly invisible. Every thirty seconds the fixed flash illuminated the entire structure and I had a perfect view of the barber-striped tower.

I tapped the car horn twice not expecting a response and not getting any. If the Passat belonged to Henderson he may be inside the lighthouse where he couldn’t see or hear me. I slipped off the expensive sport coat I’d worn to the commission meeting and tossed it into the back seat. Unlocking the glove box, I pulled out the Maglite and noticed the Smith & Wesson I kept there for emergencies. It was a standard issue Model 10 service revolver with a four-inch barrel.

There had been many times during my career as a private investigator that I’d rather forget. Unpleasant cases, emotional clients, and uncomfortable surveillances. But except for a California case where a maniac off his meds attacked me, I’ve never felt personally threatened. I’m not anti-gun, but I rarely carry one.

Thinking back to what I learned about Henderson’s past, of Sternwald’s and Marrano’s murders, I figured it was better to be safe than dead. I pulled the revolver from the glove box and tucked it into my waistband.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open, ran to the Volkswagen, and shined the flashlight through the windows. Inside, I saw a stack of papers cluttering the back seat. It reminded me of the mess in his office. In case there was any doubt, Henderson’s black walking cane with the sterling silver lion’s head handle lay on top of the pile of papers.

Turning toward the open gate, I yelled, “Clayton, are you here?”

Along with the rain, the wind had picked up, sweeping in across Salt Run and carrying with it a sour odor of rotting foliage and swamp gas. My shirt and pants quickly soaked through, and water seeped into my shoes. A shiver coursed up my back and along my arms even though the temperature probably hovered in the mid-eighties.

With the drumbeat of thunder echoing in the distance, Henderson’s poem came to mind. I mumbled the last lines of the second stanza as water flowed down my face.

“… long sounds chilling my limbs,

freezing my breath.”

Pushing through the gate, I swept the Maglite in an arc ahead of me to be sure I didn’t trip over anything. Every thirty seconds the lighthouse flashed its nightmark, stabbing orange horizontal beams across the sky like the cross arms of a radiant crucifix. In the beam’s glow, I saw the red-topped lens room and the observation deck below it.

“Clayton, it’s Quint,” I bellowed as I approached the base of the tower. A small cottage-like structure served as the entrance to the lighthouse. Half of it was once the lightkeeper’s office and the other half used to store the lard and kerosene fueling the old lamps before electricity and automation took over.

A low wall of red brick surrounded the lighthouse grounds, and on the other side a thicket of live oaks and pines cast gloomy shadows each time the nightmark flashed. I hurried toward the entrance, rain whipping my eyes with each step. A cyanic shaft of light split the sky and disappeared into the trees, followed immediately by an explosive crack of thunder. My ears rang from the blast and my heart pounded in my chest from the near miss.

I paused at the door leading into the tower’s spiral staircase. Henderson told me he’d been given the key to the lighthouse. If it was locked he probably had come and gone. Perhaps he met someone else here and left with them, which would account for his car still sitting in the lot. He may have thought it important to meet me here, but I couldn’t imagine him still waiting for me in this weather, especially since I was an hour late.

The lighthouse door was unlocked. I unlatched it and shouldered it open, shining the light inside. “Hello,” I called out, pointing the Maglite up the stairs. “Is anyone here?”

Wind whipped through the trees. The clatter of rain slapping against the roof of the lightkeeper’s office made it difficult to hear, but I thought I heard a far-away sound like a muffled groan.

Stepping onto the staircase, I yelled out in frustration, “Clayton, where the hell are you?”

My words reverberated around the tower. Listening again for a reply and hearing only the storm’s fury, I guessed the noise I heard must have been the wind sweeping through the top of the tower. I briefly considered climbing to the top, but what was the point? Henderson wouldn’t be playing hide and seek games. Besides, I couldn’t see him climbing those stairs so soon after his knee operation.