Too Much Stuff (16 page)

Walking to the back of the bar, I put my hands on James’s shoulders.

“James, we need to talk.”

“We can talk here.”

“No.” I motioned to the stairs that led to the mini-tiki huts one flight up.

He leaned into Amy, saying something in her ear. She shrugged her bare shoulders, and we walked up the steps.

I told him about the body double, and he gave me a skeptical look.

“Skip, I’m about as positive as I can be that the dead guy in our room was Jim Weezle.”

“And I saw him today. I swear I saw Weezle.”

“Impossible. He was dead. That wasn’t some sleight of hand trick. Some magic. I mean, I got hauled down to that jail because they thought I had something to do with it and—”

“I know. I know. But James, somehow there are two different people. One dead, one alive.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Em’s calling the sheriff’s office right now. We’re going to confirm the dead guy’s real name.”

James didn’t even smile this time. He sipped his Bud and stared out at the water over the railing.

“Got a thought, amigo.”

“About the ghost?”

“No. About the boat.” He turned and looked at me. “We got nothin’ till tomorrow morning when we hopefully get to read that letter.”

“Agreed.”

“Well, I say we make another trip to the vacant property this morning. Three thirty in the a.m.”

“Are you crazy?”

“We position ourselves on that residential side and watch through the openings in the trees. I want to see if another boat comes in.”

“James—”

“We don’t have anything else to do, Skip.”

“Sleep might be a good thing.”

“You can sleep anytime.”

“And what’s it going to prove? If we see the boat?”

“Then we’ll know it’s a regular occurrence. We’ll find out if it’s the fishermen who are in that tournament. We’ll pay more
attention. And, before all the stores close, why don’t you go to that camera store up by O’Neill’s and Malhotra’s office and get a couple pairs of binoculars?”

Running up and down the highway, we’d seen the store three or four times.

“James, those cost some serious money.”

“Dude, we need the equipment. It’s for the job. If the lady is willing to up our pay to two mill, she’ll spring for the glasses.”

“And why aren’t you going to get the binoculars?”

“Skip, this is Amy’s last night in town. We want to make the most of it.”

There are times when I want to punch him right in the face, but he wouldn’t understand.

We drove to the camera store, then to the drugstore for the nail file.

“The guy who was killed came up as Peter Stiffle.”

I kept both hands on the wheel. I didn’t want to piss Emily off by driving with one hand, and besides, the car felt more alive when I was totally engaged in the driving process. I know, it was about a two-mile round-trip drive, but hey, it was a Porsche Carerra. And this time I was in control.

“Damn. So it must be Weezle that we saw.” She stared out the windshield.

“Who is Stiffle?” I asked more rhetorically.

“No idea.”

“By the way, Mrs. T. went online and put five hundred more dollars on the debit card. She thinks we’re onto something. That’s how we got the binoculars.”

“Skip, I hope we are on to something, but you do realize that investing fifteen hundred dollars in a venture that is expected to gross forty-four million isn’t exactly a commitment of faith.” She
watched me, either to gauge my reaction to her comment or to make sure that I was treating her precious auto with the proper care.

“I get that. But she hasn’t said no to anything so far.”

“When daddy has a multimillion-dollar project, when anyone in our business has even a million-dollar project, there’s a lot of up front money. The lady should be happy to come up with whatever you want. The return on investment is going to be huge. Unbelievable.”

Return on investment. I remembered enough of my college business courses to know she was right. One hundred percent right.

And I remembered the story of Mel Fisher, who searched the bottom of the Florida waters for sunken treasure. His oldest son and his daughter-in-law were both killed in a dive while looking for gold. Now Mel was someone who seriously had an investment in his project.

She picked out a six-dollar file when cheap emery boards would have done the trick, but I guess she can afford it, even without the debit card from Mrs. T.

“So we’re going tonight?”

“James thinks we need to get to the bottom of the boat thing. Find out why O’Neill threatened us.”

Em took a deep breath as I pulled into the Cove. “I think he’s right.”

“Really?”

“I do.”

James was agreeing with Em. Em was agreeing with James. That almost never happened. I looked up above to see if the stars were aligned, but it was still daylight. I made a mental note to check on that later in the evening.

We walked almost half a mile, the humidity so thick you could cut it with a knife. I’d worked up quite a sweat when we finally arrived.

“They could still identify the truck,” James said. “I think it’s best that we parked way back there.”

So far no one had noticed the plate. I mean, how often do you check your license plate? The guy we took it from had a white truck, we had a white truck. He had a Florida plate, we had a Florida plate. Unless we got stopped by the sheriff for some violation, we were good. And the other guy, whoever he was, would never be the wiser. Until he went to register for a new plate.

“Em, are you sure you want to be a part of this?”

“I’ve told you before, Skip, you need someone to bail you out if you get in trouble. I’ve kind of grown used to the job.”

In the dim light, I saw James frown. At least he didn’t agree with everything she said.

“It’s just three o’clock. Three o’clock, it’s lines up.” Em walked down the tree-lined street looking for clearances we could see through. “The boat should be here soon.”

“This isn’t private property, correct?” James was right in checking.

“Shouldn’t be. It’s a public street that runs right down to the water. And this is the public sidewalk that runs along this short section of the street.” I was pretty sure about this.

“So no doctor or guy on a golf cart can run us off?”

“I suppose they could, but we can stand our ground.”

“You guys have binoculars,” Em said. “I’ve got this.” Reaching into her purse, she pulled out the Colt .38 snub-nosed revolver.

“Preparation gets the job done.”

“And we’ve got the tools.”

We knelt across from a cement block house, a dim porch light eking out a meager halo. The rest of the street was dark and the moon was barely evident in the cloudy sky. Perfect for our hiding.

Talking in hushed voices, we swatted at mosquitoes and made plans if someone saw us.

“The dogs, what if they recognize the smell? What then?” James was thinking of those bare fangs.

“They didn’t bother any of the passengers. I think they only attack when they’re told to.” Em had already figured it out.

The night was deathly silent, only an occasional vehicle humming along back on the highway. I thought about the sound of a steam locomotive and the long blast of the engine’s horn as it traveled down to Key West. Chugging along, some of the cars would have carried the common folk, Skip and James. Crowded together with screaming children and their parents.

Then there would have been cars for the wealthier set, like Em and her dad. And finally there would have been cars for the railroad execs and the superrich. Must have been quite a time.

We heard the truck, the muffler maybe a little loose. The beams swung from the main road and even though we couldn’t see it, we knew someone was pulling into the motel. Or the suites.
Or whatever they were. And I could hear high-pitched whines, like someone almost crying.

“What?” I whispered.

“Doesn’t sound human,” James remained kneeling, staring through the break in the hedge and trees.

Again I could hear it. Like a little baby just starting to cry.

There was a rattling of metal and I put the glasses to my eyes, scanning what I could see of the vacant lot.

“Over there.” James was pointing to the northeast corner of the fencing. The same place we’d climbed over yesterday and landed almost in the lap of Dr. James O’Neill and his sidekick.

I looked and saw the gate opening. It could have used a little WD-40 as it squeaked and groaned, the hinges rubbing metal on metal.

“There are the whiners.”

Sure enough, two dark dogs—I would have guessed Dobermans—came parading through the entrance. Short ears and a stub for a tail, they whined, straining at the leashes that one man held in his hand. I was pretty sure it was the guy that James laid out when he hit him with the palm of his hand.

“What if they—”

“They won’t, Skip. Anyone could walk this street or sidewalk. They can’t just attack everyone.”

I just prayed that those two dogs didn’t have a good memory of our smell from two nights before.

As I reflected on that spirited evening, I saw the pinpoint of light maybe half a mile out on the water. It got bigger by the second, and I was sure it was the boat.

Em strained to see it without the glasses. She kneeled down beside me and tapped me on the shoulder. “Want to share?”

What the heck, she’d let me drive the Porsche.

“It’s a big boat, maybe bigger than the other night,” I said.

The boat slowed, and I could hear the twin props kicking in
to slow the vessel. The captain had probably thrown her into reverse. The vessel was now almost coasting to the dock. The man with the dogs tied the leashes to a post, then threw a rope to someone aboard.

And the cast of characters got larger as Em handed me the glasses. I observed another person walking in from the Ocean Air gate. Magnified and in the light of the boat, I could make out his stiff appearance, and what appeared to be salt-and-pepper hair, a beard, and mustache.

“Can’t prove it, but I think it’s Dr. Malhotra.”

“Guy who shares the building with O’Neill?” James peered into the darkness.

“The same.”

“The plot thickens, grasshopper.”

I just nodded, not understanding any of it.

“So those two guys are partners in whatever venture this is.” James spoke softly, still watching through his new binoculars.

“It would seem.”

The boat’s light went out, plunging the property into darkness. Now a flashlight played on the deck as passengers disembarked. As before, they had suitcases and this time I noticed there seemed to be a mix of women, men, and even some children. All of them carried luggage.

“This is not a fishing boat. You don’t take kids on a boat for tournament fishing.” I was sure of it.

Em tapped me on the shoulder again. Whispering, she said, “But, you could use the timing of the tournament boats coming back to blend in.” She paused for a moment. “Lots of boats all coming to shore at three thirty. What a perfect cover, Skip, don’t you think?”

“So no one would be suspicious of a boat landing at this hour of the morning?” It made sense.

She nodded.

But why would they want to keep it a secret? Smugglers? Something in the suitcases. Gold?

“Drugs.” James said it with conviction. “They’re bringing illegal drugs in. Perfect. Two doctors are importing illegal narcotics.”

“Doesn’t sound right, James.”

“I’d bet on it, Skip.”

And then we heard someone yell, and it echoed off the water.

“Mas rapido.”

And then another voice.
“El barco está saliendo.”

There was a semi loud “Hush.
Silencio
.”

Then, all you could hear were feet on the deck, on the dock, and we watched as the passengers disappeared into the trees.

James stood up as the engines reversed and the boat backed out to sea.

“I would bet you that someone rakes the sand over there.”

“And I would bet that the cleaning service will have tomorrow off. Then they’ll have to come in the next day and clean all of those rooms from these late check-ins.” I remembered the conversation with our desk clerk at the Cove.

“Damn. There’s something there we weren’t supposed to see. And maybe somebody tried to shoot us today because we did see it.” James stretched and we started walking the half mile back to the van.

“Something in those suitcases.”

We walked back in silence, each of us rerunning the scene we’d witnessed. Something worth holding us and threatening us with a gun.

A night bird’s shrill call startled us.

“What were they saying back there?” James got into the truck and Em and I climbed into the passenger side.

“Obviously it was Spanish.”

“I hate to say it, Skip, but I think James may be right. They could be smuggling drugs. Using kids, men, women—”

“Anybody remember high school Spanish?” I asked as James turned the key.

And turned the key. And turned the key.

“Guys, I think our battery just died.”

It turned out that Em had AAA coverage. They’d come, tow the truck, and drive us back to the Cove. So she called them on her iPhone. It also turned out that we had to wait two hours, so we walked. That only took about an hour and fifteen minutes.

We crashed for three hours and then the phone rang. I was groggy, tired, and sore and not in the mood to talk to James or whoever was making a conscious effort to bother me.

“’Lo.”

“Skip, it’s Maria Sanko.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say.

“I want to apologize for the way I acted the other night. The other morning. You probably had a right to accuse me of—”

“Hey, I’m sorry. I actually appreciate the fact that you came out to see how we were doing. Looking out for us.”

“I was out there because if you found gold, I wanted some.”

I wanted to believe she actually cared about us, but then I remembered that we’d lied to her the entire time we’d known her.

“So, what do you want now?”

“First of all, did you find anything?”