The Corpse Wore Cashmere (13 page)

“Maybe they want to keep it that way—that you don’t find out anything,” Jack said.

A. K. nodded. “Wesley warned you. I hope you’ll back off now.” A. K.’s voice softened. “I love you, honey, and don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I can tell you one thing,” Susan said. “I’ve sworn off anyone dressed like Blackbeard, but I’m keeping my eye out for that tattoo.”

“What tattoo?” A. K. asked.

“He had a trident on the back of his wrist.”

“You hear that?” Jack asked, taking A. K.’s hand. “They’re playing our song.”

“You sure you’re okay?” A. K. asked.

“I’m fine. You two go on and enjoy yourself.”

As Jack led her to the dance floor, A. K. glanced over her shoulder at Susan. “Come sit at our table.”

“Thanks, but I’m ready to call it a night. I’ve had enough excitement.”

She headed to her room, looking over her shoulder at every corner. When she finally closed the door behind her, the room enveloped her like a cocoon, blocking out the music and the revelers’ raucous noise, but her nerves were still on edge. She could not recall the last time her breathing or the beating of her heart was the only sound she heard. She shuddered, thinking what could have become of her. Never again would she trust a stranger.

After shedding her costume, she stepped into the shower and let the warm water cascade over her body. It slithered around her neck and across her shoulders, liquid fingers that massaged her tense muscles. Turning up the heat, she breathed in the steam as if to cleanse her lungs of the scent of him. She stood for a long time, letting the water and the mist work its magic. By the time she turned off the faucets, her finger tips had shriveled into ridges.

She toweled off, dressed in her gown and robe, then blow dried her hair. Like the night before, tiny lights from distant boats bobbed upon the Gulf waters. They seemed to dance to a silent musician. Their rhythmic motion was mesmerizing. She slid back the glass door and walked out onto the balcony. Below, a couple strolled on the beach, their laughter carrying on the wind. Her hands tightened around the balcony’s railing as she thought about her struggle to get free. Had she not escaped, she was sure her trek across the white sands would have been anything but delightful.

Stepping back into her room, she checked the time—almost eleven o’clock. She didn’t relish telling Wesley about the incident, but it couldn’t be avoided. She punched in his number.

“I’m glad I caught you. Where are you?”

“Dylan and I are on our way to the Rusty Nail with photos of Randy.”

“I’ll cross my fingers. Any more news on the investigation?”

“Yeah, lots, but I don’t have time to fill you in. We’re almost at the bar.”

Susan was hoping she could keep him talking. The sound of his voice was comforting. But since he didn’t have time to talk, she couldn’t very well tell him about her abduction. She welcomed the wait. Given more time, maybe she would handle it better. Right now, she was too uptight.

“I do have something to tell you,” he said, “before I hang up.”

Before she could say a word, Wesley brought her to her feet with his next line.

“There was a fire at the Bawdy Boutique tonight.”

Instantly, all thoughts of Blackbeard vanished from her mind. “A fire? Oh, no, how bad? Was anyone hurt? I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“Slow down. Everything’s under control. Only the paint on the back of the warehouse was scorched. The boutique is fine. If it hadn’t been for Melanie, the whole place could have burned down. She thought she had left the coffee pot on and went back to check on it. That’s when she discovered someone had set the dumpster on fire and pushed it against the warehouse wall. The fire department got there in minutes and put out the fire.”

“Bless you, Melanie. How did the fire start?”

“Someone tossed a gas container in the dumpster and ignited it. The chief said it could be an arsonist just wanting to set a fire or maybe vandals at work. I can’t imagine anyone in Palmetto wanting to do you harm. Do you think someone in Biloxi is sending you a message?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“Me neither, but I can’t ignore Lorraine’s cry for help. I was shown that for a purpose. I can’t just forget about her killer.” Quitting wasn’t in Susan’s vocabulary. She heard the sound of a car door slamming and loud music. “I gather you’re at the Rusty Nail.”

“Yeah, hold on a minute. Dylan, you go ahead. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.” There was a pause, then he said, “Susan, I know you’re upset, but Melanie made me promise to reassure you that everything is okay. Some paint on the back wall will make it look like new.”

“Thank goodness. I’m lucky to have such wonderful help.”

“Try to put it out of your mind. I’ll call you first thing in the morning. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she said, lying back on the bed.

Susan hung up the phone. She was glad she hadn’t had to tell him about her encounter with Blackbeard. They’d both had enough excitement for one night. Unable to stop thinking about the fire, she sat on the side of the bed and placed a call to Melanie. “I’m sorry to call so late. Wesley just told me about the fire. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I am now, but at the time, I was running on pure adrenaline. That was one time my being neurotic was a good thing, that and prompt attention from Wesley, Dylan, and the fire department. My stomach churns every time I think what could have happened.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Melanie. And I’m glad you’re neurotic.”

Melanie chuckled. “Never thought I’d hear that from anyone.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come back?”

“Don’t you even think about it. We have everything under control, and business is good. You’ll find we made lots of sales while you and A. K. were gone.”

“How’s Marmalade? Does she miss me?”

“She’s fine. Miss you? She’s a cat. Even if she did, she wouldn’t show it. Oh, I almost forgot. You brother stopped by to see you. He didn’t know you were going to be out of town. He said to tell you it wasn’t important and that he’d catch you later. Well, I’d better get some sleep. You know how hectic Saturdays can be.”

“Goodnight, Melanie, and thanks again.”

Susan hung up the phone and tapped it against her cheek. So, Edward had paid her another visit. That convinced her that he was hiding something. Was it that difficult that he couldn’t find the words to tell her? He never was one to keep secrets, especially from her. Ever since they were little, they had always confided in each other.

If anyone knew the reason for his frequent visits, it would be her mother. Edward never could keep secrets from her. But that meant it couldn’t be something serious, or her mother would have told her. Guess she was just going to have to wait until Edward decided to fess up.

Climbing back into bed, she was afraid to close her eyes, afraid she’d find herself in Blackbeard’s clutches. But struggle as she might to keep her eyes open, seconds after her head hit the pillow, she drifted off to sleep. In the foggy recesses of her mind, she heard the sound of someone knocking. It persisted, and Susan realized someone was at her door.

“You okay in there?” A. K.’s muffled voice asked.

Susan roused and opened the door. “I’m fine, just dozed off. You’re not going to believe it, but there was a fire at the Bawdy Boutique.”

A. K.’s face paled. “Bad?” She and Jack stepped into the room and closed the door.

Susan told them about Wesley’s call. “He said only the outside wall of the warehouse suffered damage.”

“Thank goodness Melanie showed up when she did. I’m beginning to think you’re jinxed.”

“Don’t you mean cursed? What time is it, anyway?”

“One a.m.,” Jack said. “I’m going to call for room service. We’re starving. You want anything?”

“No, thanks. All I want is sleep.”

A. K. gave her a hug. “Well, if you need us, we’re right next door.”

“Thanks. See you in the morning.” She closed the door, removed her robe, and returned to the bed. She thought about Wesley at the Rusty Nail and hoped Randy’s mug shot would help produce a witness. Tomorrow she would be anxious to hear what happened and about his visit with Karl. She wasn’t sure when that would take place or if Wesley had ever got his warrant, but apparently he still had his job…at least for now. A weary smile crossed her face, and she drifted off to sleep.

Wesley took a deep breath of night air before entering the Rusty Nail, where a nasty potpourri greeted him. The scent of stale cigarette smoke, alcohol, and a mixture of overpowering aftershave hung in the air. The smell didn’t seem to bother the customers who filled every table and most of the bar stools.

A country-western band belted out a tune from a tiny bandstand, drawing couples from every corner onto the eight-by-ten dance floor. Wasn’t too long ago he was part of that scene. Thank goodness he had finally come to his senses and realized that what he wanted out of life wasn’t going to be found in a dive like this. Glancing around, he took note of the different ages—some in their twenties, others as old as their sixties. It was Friday, the start of the weekend. They were here to put the work week behind them, get drunk, and not worry about getting fired. Maybe a few were still hoping to find that special someone, but more than likely, the only thing they’d find was trouble.

Skirting the dance floor, he joined up with Dylan, who had started without him. “Any luck?”

Dylan shook his head. “Man, this place is packed. It’s gonna take a while.”

“Keep working this side. I’ll take the bar and the other side of the room.”

Wesley started at the front and worked his way toward the bar. The answer was the same at every table: “Never saw the guy.” He got his hopes up when one woman took the photo and stared at it for a long time.

“You recognize him?” Wesley asked.

She pushed the photo back across the table. “Nope, never saw him.”

Then what had taken her so long to answer? “You sure?”

She ran her finger over Randy’s face and licked her lips. “Honey, no way I’d forget meeting him.”

That was another reason Wesley couldn’t believe no one had remembered seeing Randy. The man did stand out in a crowd with his movie-star looks. Wesley was about to give up hope when he approached a customer sitting alone at the end of the bar.

“Excuse me, sir. Have you seen this man?” Wesley sat on the empty stool next to him and waited for the all too familiar denial.

“Been a couple of weeks, but yeah, I remember the guy.”

Wesley couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re sure?”

“I might be a little tipsy, but I’m not blind. It’s him, all right.”

“You saw him here?”

“Not here—in the parking lot. I remember because he had a bottle of champagne in his hand. Don’t think they serve champagne here.”

“Was he with anyone?”

“He met a woman getting out of a silver Lexus. She must have known him because they did a pretty good job of locking lips.”

“What happened then?”

“The man put his arm around her shoulder and they walked down the dock toward a boat, about the only one left at that hour of the night. Most all the others were on trailers in the parking lot. Guess they wanted their privacy.”

“Can you describe the boat?”

“No problem. It was white and its bow and stern were tied to the dock. It looked to be about a twenty-eight-foot offshore rig. Way too big a boat to be fishing in this river. It had two one-hundred-and-ninety-horsepower motors on the back.”

“Anything else?”

The man took a big swig of his beer. “How about a name and port of call?”

Wesley couldn’t believe his ears. “You saw that? At night?”

“Easy to do when the transom is under the security light.”

Wesley took down all the information, along with the witness’s name and contact information. “Mr. Jenkins, I need you to come to headquarters and fill out an affidavit.”

“Now?” he whined.

“It’s very important. I’ll drive you there and get you back here in less than an hour.”

The man shrugged. “Okay, but I’m holding you to your word—less than an hour.”

Wesley got Dylan’s attention and motioned for him to join them. “This is my partner, Detective Powell,” Wesley said when they reached his vehicle.

“Elton Jenkins,” the man said, extending his hand to Dylan.

Dylan shook hands with the man.

“Mr. Jenkins identified Randy and Lorraine and is willing to make a statement to that effect,” Wesley said.

“I had a feeling we were going to get lucky tonight.” Dylan opened the back door of the Wesley’s car. “Watch your head, Mr. Jenkins.”

On the way to headquarters, Wesley repeated everything the witness had said. Dylan groaned when Wesley mentioned the boat’s homeport.

“Not Gulfport,” Dylan said.

“I knew you wouldn’t like hearing that.”

At headquarters, they took Mr. Jenkins’s statement and completed all necessary paperwork. “The chief will want to get on this right away.” Wesley placed a call to the chief’s residence. A sleepy and grumpy voice answered. “Sorry to disturb you, Chief, but we have a witness in the Thigpen case.” Wesley explained the situation.

“Mississippi? Okay, I’ll get a warrant,” the chief said.

Wesley and Dylan took Mr. Jenkins back to the Rusty Nail. When they returned to headquarters, Wesley parked beside Dylan’s Jeep Wrangler. “I can’t believe the chief’s here already, but there’s his car.”

Chief Smith was waiting on them when they entered the building. “What’d you think—I’d sleep on this? The judge wasn’t too happy that I woke him, but I got the warrant. If Randy is back in Mississippi, you boys are on hold until the authorities there make an arrest.”

“I understand how the law works, but I don’t have to like it. I hate the idea of turning over our case to someone else,” Wesley said.

“Don’t worry. If they arrest him, he’ll be coming back here for trial.”

“Dylan and I were talking on the way back to headquarters. Since we’ll have a lull in this case, he said he’d like a day or two to check on his dad, and Susan is in Biloxi for a festival. I wouldn’t mind having a day or two to spend with her.”