Sex in a Sidecar (17 page)

I'd been working at the B&T almost a week before I got back to the deck at Big Daddy's Oyster bar with Brian and Peter. I watched a cloud of white egrets circle overhead before they settled like a blanket on the far shore. The day was fading, still warm but with a crisp north wind blowing across the estuary. Propane heaters were already in place for the evenings and clear plastic panels had been added to the bottom of the railings to stop the biting winds that would soon come. The long, long summer was finally letting go.

“That Ziggy Peek is quite a guy,” Brian said. “He invited me out to shoot rats.”

“I knew you two would get along,” I said.

“The rats and the shooting are only two of the problems the neighbors have with him,” Brian told us.

“Hey, he was there first. And so were the rats. Those Johnny-come-latelys will just have to put up with it.” I leaned back in my chair so the waitress could put a glass of wine down. “So did you go rat shooting?”

“Hell, yeah,” Brian said. He was laughing in small huffs that made me smile right along with him. “I never shot off a handgun before. Zig set up some bottles and we had a go, then we sat there drinking beers with these big old handguns in our laps waiting for the rats to appear.” His laughter took years off his face. Way to go Uncle Zig. “The rats never showed. Zig says the practice scared them off. I'm going back tomorrow to try it again.”

“What if the cops show up?” I asked.

“I'll leave that to Zig. He's used to dealing with them.” The waitress brought a basket of grouper nuggets and fries. I moved the basket out of Brian's reach and grabbed his seafood sauce.

“He could make a fortune off that property if he'd just sell out to the developers,” Brian told us.

“It's his home. Why can't they just leave him alone? They'll get it eventually and some developer will turn it into another gated community.” I was starting to sound like my old man.

“Talking of development, they've run into problems at the Sunset,” Brian said. “Jerry Ellington told me all the wiring has to be replaced. His insurance is the shits and he says it would be cheaper to knock the Sunset down and put up condos.”

I dropped the grouper nugget back in the basket. “He isn't going to let them knock the Sunset down, is he?” Brian shrugged. “I guess it depends if he can get a buyer.” I'd been expecting a call any day telling me the Sunset was ready. I'd ditch the B&T and settle back in to my old haunt in a heartbeat.

“I think Ellington is in financial problems,” Peter told us.

“The marina has been a drain. He was using everything he earned from the Sunset to build the marina. He's going to have a first-class restaurant, condos and shops out there. He's been trying to raise money all over town. I think if he could find a buyer, he'd sell the Sunset.”

“How much would it take?” I asked. Peter and Brian argued about the price.

What they finally settled on made me wince. “That's all it will take and it's yours, lock, stock and heartache,” said Peter. The brief flame of hope died prematurely.

“If Ellington can't find the money, you may be working out at the B&T for months,” Brian warned me. “That isn't going to happen.”

Brian slapped at my hand, stealing a shrimp out of his basket. “Why don't you eat your own food?” he complained. “Why didn't you ever learn to share?”

Peter's eyes lit up and I turned to see who brought the look of joy to his face.

Marley strode towards us. She had a huge leather backpack over one shoulder and she was still wearing her whites from work. She wasn't wearing any makeup, a new token of her godliness, letting the freckles she hated shine for the whole world to see.

“Salutations, peasants.” She dropped her backpack onto the floor and dropped her skinny little butt onto the chair Peter provided for her next to him. He'd always had this thing for Marley.

“Peasants? Did someone die and make you queen?” I asked.

“You're looking at the about to be new president of the dental hygienists of Charlotte County.”

“Rah, rah,” I said.

“Okay, but when were you last, or ever, president of anything?”

“Minor point. Have you come to your senses?”

“About what?”

“The lime green and orange bridesmaids' dresses.”

“Nope.”

“All right, but we'll never know if it was food poisoning or the color of the dresses that makes the guests sick.”

“You girls are the best laugh I have these days,” Brian said.

“Are you going to eat all those fries?” Marley asked, her hand already poised over my grouper basket. I hate her, I truly do. Since grade one, when she started stealing my lunches and finishing my meals, she's been a human trash can and has never put on an ounce. Hyperactive and skinny, she was an even bigger mooch than me.

Peter motioned the waitress over. “What do you want, Marley?”

“I'll just have a hamburger and Coke,” said Marley. “I'm meeting David for dinner.”

Brian reached past me to pat her hand. “I'm glad you're here. You can help us convince Sherri to stop playing detective and go shack up with Clay instead of trying to find a killer.”

“Miss Curiosity, she's always been a snoop. Don't ever leave her alone with anything you care to keep secret.” Marley waved a cold fry at me. “The news is still reporting Gina's death as a victim of the storm not a murderer. Are you sure about this?”

“I'm sure. Maybe the police don't want people to panic or maybe they want to give the killer a false sense of security. Whatever their reasoning, Gina was hit twice on the head with an iron bar.”

Silence around the table. Until that moment none of them had taken me seriously. Now it was real.

Marley spoke first. “So you were there when she was murdered?” “Right.”

“How come he didn't kill you?”

“Don't know. Maybe he doesn't know I was there.”

Her face lit up.

“I bet that's why Styles doesn't want the truth to come out about Gina's death. The news that you were with Gina might come out, might send someone looking for you.”

She dropped the cold fries back in the basket.

“What do we know about the killer?” “Not much,” I said.

“Not true,” she said. “If he killed the sister too we know he's from the North.”

“So is everyone in Jacaranda but the people sitting at this table.”

“Well, we know he arrived in Jac since September. It is a he by the way, isn't it?” Marley asked. We all agreed on this.

“Okay, did he come here to work or to play?” Marley asked.

“Is he a rich guy on holidays or someone in the service industry?”

“Or did he come here just to kill?” Peter added. “Maybe he's a contract killer. Maybe he flew down and killed that woman and left the next day.” I disagreed. “Gina thought he was still here.”

Peter pulled his chair closer to the table. “So either it's a snowbird or someone working here for the tourist season. And it probably isn't someone who was here last year, given that the sister was murdered in North Carolina in April.”

“But April is when all the snowbirds fly north,” Brian pointed out. “He could have been here for the season and still killed her up north in April.”

“Besides,” I added, “out of Sarasota Airport you can flip up to Charlotte and be back the same day.”

“Shit,” said Marley.

“Is that anyway for a future minister's wife to talk?” I asked.

“How many people at the Butt and Tits fit the profile of someone who goes north for the season?” Peter asked me.

Our server brought Marley's food to the table. Marley barely noticed. “How many people at the B&T come here to work for the winter?”

I named the ones I knew about and then reluctantly added Isaak's name to the list. It hurt to say it, maybe because he was so damn cute or maybe because he'd already had such a hard time. “He could have done it. He wasn't there the day I signed on so I thought he came down to Florida after the storm but I found out he was here before the hurricane and left the day Myrna came to call, the day Gina was killed. And he knew Bunny Lehre before he came here. Ethan told me Isaak was at Bunny's a couple of times when Ethan went out to see her. Do you think she was sleeping with both of them?”

“Why not?” Brian said, “Maybe the lady liked variety.”

“And maybe she was no lady,” Marley said, “Are you sure the killer has anything to do with the B&T?”

“That's the theory Sherri's been going on.” Brian turned to face me, “That's why you're there, isn't it?”

“Pretty much.”

He pounded his fist on the table in exasperation and looked at Marley. “And that's why I want you to talk some sense into her. She should get out of there before it's too late. People are getting killed.”

“Brian's right, get the hell out of there,” Marley said.

“Your language is really deteriorating. Maybe all the praying isn't working.”

“What do you think, Peter?” asked Marley.

“I think she'll look great in lime green and I think she should run like hell. You can stay with me,” he offered. “I'll keep you safe.”

Turns out I shoulda listened to my friends.

The next day I signed on the register at eleven.

Deanna was already waiting. “I have a treatment booked,” she told me. “But I'll have a Sidecar before my massage.” “Want to try a little experiment?” I asked. She frowned. “I'm a harsh critic.”

“Southern Comfort, Triple Sec and lime, what's not to like?”

“Bring it on,” Deanna said.

I wiped the rim of the iced cocktail glass with lime and dipped it in pink sugar. The garnish was a maraschino cherry wrapped in a slender peel of lime and skewered on a pink toothpick.

I set it in front of her. She lifted the toothpick from the glass, tilted her head to the side and studied it. “Reminds me of female genitalia. Sex in a Sidecar, that's what it is.” She took a sip. “And almost as good as sex.”

Deanna's routine was pretty much the pattern for many of the members. They came in at eleven for a little hair of the dog that bit them, chatted, had lunch, played a round of bridge or went to the spa. It was a continuous round of self-improvement, of massage, personal aerobics classes, hair, nails or facials.

The story of Deanna's life wove in and out of drink orders, people coming and going and long breaks while she went off to improve herself with a massage and a seaweed wrap. “This is a high-maintenance body,” she informed me. “You have no idea how much time and money it takes to look this good.” And she did look good. Cold brittle and unhappy but damn, she looked good.

“You need more than money to snag younger guys. My last two husbands were younger than me. The men I marry stay the same age while I get older. Quite likely at eighty I'll be marrying thirty-five year olds.”

None of this helped explain Gina's interest in the B&T. I knew Gina was in Jacaranda because of her sister's murder but why was she interested in the B&T? It certainly wasn't a lifestyle she aspired to.

And through all this, Isaak tempted me with orgasmic food, distracting me and softening my fears. Who could be uptight around food like that and how couldn't you love someone who cooked like Isaak? A man who performed so well in the kitchen just had to be dynamite in other rooms. Which led me to ponder which was better, great grub or great sex? When passion slips away there would still be food, a pleasure that never dies nor pales. One more reason to hang in at the B&T.

Coming back from a break and a little verbal foreplay with Isaak, I saw Styles follow Ethan into the library. They closed the door behind them. I waited a minute and then eased it open.

“Please, you've got to believe me,” Ethan sounded near panic, “I didn't kill her.”

“No one said you did, Mr. Eames.” Styles' voice was cool and controlled but I knew his method. Styles is a master at doing a suspect's head in. With an ear for secret thoughts, he asks benign questions that pick at the scab of guilt.

“But you keep coming here. Day after day,” Ethan wailed.

“Everyone thinks it means I'm guilty. No one wants to be seen with me or wants to be my friend.”

“That must cut heavily into your finances, no rich ladies buying you dinner or nice presents.” “It wasn't like that,” Ethan wailed.

“How was it?”

“I didn't hurt Mrs. Lehre.”

“Murdered,” Styles interrupted. “She wasn't hurt, she was murdered.”

“She was my friend.”

“More than a friend.” There was a long silence before Styles added, “And now she's dead. You did it.” “You're wrong, all wrong.”

“You'd be surprised how often I hear that, Mr. Eames.”

“Can I go now?” Ethan obviously didn't wait for an answer because he burst out the door before I made my retreat, knocking me into the wall behind the door.

“Sorry, Sherri.” He reached out to steady me. He looked on the edge of tears, but still he was concerned for me. “Did I hurt you?”

I patted his arm to comfort him. “It's okay, Ethan.” Styles came out of the library and his eyes went to my hand still on Ethan's arm. He frowned.

Ethan jumped back from me. “Oh,” he whimpered and then bolted.

“Stay away from him,” Styles said.

“You can't honestly think he had anything to do with her death? God, I could make mincemeat of him on a bad day.” “He's a predator who uses rich women.”

“I'd say it was mutual, wouldn't you? They know what they're getting and are willing to pay for it.”

“Just stay away from him. He's dangerous and I don't want you to get hurt.”

I gave him my best Scarlett O'Hara. “Why Detective Styles, I didn't know you cared.” My try at simpering coyness failed miserably. He turned towards the elevator as if I'd never spoken but hesitated when he saw Deanna. She didn't even try to hide her interest but just shot her right hip and gave him her biggest smile.

Styles walked past her and pressed the elevator button. Super-efficient man, even the elevator obeyed him and he was whisked instantly away.

When the elevator door closed on him Deanna asked, “What was that about?”

“Detective Styles was just in the neighborhood.” She grabbed my arm and held on tightly, her grip strong from all the weights she lifted. Her strength and intensity surprised me. “The police think Ethan killed Bunny, don't they?”

“You're hurting me,” I said.

“Out with it,” she said and shook me.

“I don't know anything a bout it. You'll have to ask Detective Styles.”

“Liar. I saw you listening at the door.” Her grip relaxed but she didn't free me.

“Yeah, well it's a bad habit of mine.”

She'd gone off into deep thoughts.

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

She pivoted away. “Tell you later. Have to go work on my cellulite.”

I rubbed at the red marks her fingers had left on my arm. Was I so sure a woman couldn't be the killer?