Wedding Bell Blues Page 13

  I felt too keyed up to rest, but eventually the hum of the tires on the road, the boring scenery and the soft music on the radio lulled me into slumber.

  CHAPTER 16

  We arrived in Pelican Bay at 11:00 p.m. and Bill drove straight to the hospital.

  I’d called Caroline mid-afternoon but she’d had no news. The doctors were still running tests. After 8:00 p.m., the hospital switchboard had refused to put through calls to Mother’s room, so Bill dropped me at the hospital entrance, and I hurried through the empty corridors, not knowing what I’d find, while he parked the car.

  Caroline stepped out of Mother’s room to meet me in the hall. We walked together to the waiting area, away from sleeping patients.

  “She’s sleeping.” My sister sank into a vinyl-covered chair and looked as if she could use some rest herself. “I tried calling Bill’s cell several times, but you must have been in dead zones, because I couldn’t reach you.”

  I sat beside her. “What’s her prognosis?”

  Caroline rolled her eyes. “Gas.”

  “What?” My explosive response echoed in the stillness.

  “Indigestion. At least, that’s their best guess. Her doctors couldn’t find any problem. There’s nothing wrong with her heart. In fact, it’s amazingly strong for a woman her age. They only kept her overnight as a precaution. They’re releasing her first thing in the morning.”

  Along with relief came frustration. I’d made a harrowing six-hundred-mile trip, worried out of my mind the whole way, and had abandoned my investigation because my mother had heartburn.

  “She won’t admit it,” Caroline said, “but after her stroke, she feels vulnerable.”

  I couldn’t deny a nagging suspicion. Priscilla Skerritt was no more vulnerable than a barracuda. As manipulative as she’d been her entire life, she wouldn’t hesitate to use trickery to bring me home. She was obsessed with my wedding and determined to have me dance to her tune. “You’re sure she didn’t fake this?”

  Caroline looked shocked. “You’re not serious?”

  “You said she asked for me.”

  My sister nodded.

  “When was the last time Mother wanted to see me without some ulterior motive?”

  Caroline opened her mouth as if to protest, but, apparently struck by the truth of my reasoning, shrugged instead. “What do you think she wants?”

  “The two of you have been driving me nuts with plans for a big wedding I want nothing to do with. She craves the spotlight as mother of the bride in the biggest wedding Pelican Bay has ever seen, her words, not mine. But I keep thwarting her goals. She didn’t want me leaving town without finalizing those plans, so she’s made sure I hurried home.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to imply about your own mother.”

  “Then convince me I’m wrong. Give me one good reason why Mother wouldn’t stoop to such a trick. You know her as well as anybody.”

  “Well—” Again Caroline hesitated.

  I waited, wanting her to prove me wrong, fearful that she couldn’t.

  “You don’t want a big wedding?” she finally said in the same tone she might have used to ask whether I really wanted both legs amputated.

  I sighed. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the last two months.”

  Caroline shook her head in disbelief. “It’s all Mother’s talked about.”

  “Mother, not me. And it’s not going to happen.”

  She studied my face, recognized the sincerity of what I was saying and appeared to accept it. “She isn’t going to be happy.”

  “Since when has Mother ever been happy where I’m concerned?”

  “Oh, Margaret—” Caroline grabbed my hand and squeezed it, but, again, she couldn’t deny the facts. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m begging you now to cease and desist all this wedding nonsense. And I’m going to tell her in no uncertain terms to back off.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as she’s had a few days to recover from her ‘indigestion,’ so I don’t look like the heartless, ungrateful child she always claims me to be.” And after I’d had time to cool my temper and gather my courage. “Go home, Caroline. Get some sleep. At this point, Mother’s probably in better shape than you are.”

  I stood as Bill got off the elevator.

  Caroline rose beside me and gave me a hug. “Thanks for coming all that way so fast. You have a good heart, Maggie.”

  I hugged her back. “Help me out here, Caro. Don’t encourage Mother in her wedding plans.”

  Caroline released me. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

  Bill strode down the hall toward us. Without a word of complaint, he’d driven me all the way from South Carolina, provided moral support and still had the good humor to smile at almost midnight, even though he had to be exhausted.

  God, I loved him, but I’d never be convinced I deserved him.

  “Believe me, Caroline, not wanting a big wedding is one of the few things in life I am sure about.”

  Bill spent the night, what little was left of it, at my condo, and the next morning I drove him to the marina for a change of clothes and to pick up his car before I went to the office.

  Roger greeted me in the reception area with yelps of joy and began whirling like a dervish, but still managed to create enough forward momentum to follow me into my office.

  Darcy displayed more reserve. “Back early?”

  “Long and frustrating story,” I said. “Any messages?”

  She shook her head. “Everything’s been quiet. But I did check on assistance for those elderly sisters Bill told me about.”

  I drew a blank before remembering Bessie Lassiter from the Historical Society whose shoplifting record Bill had uncovered. “Find anything?”

  “I got them on the waiting list for Meals on Wheels. Deliveries will start in a few weeks.”

  “Thanks. You’re an angel.”

  Darcy grinned. “Not to hear my mama tell it.”

  I shook my head and grimaced. “Let’s leave our mamas out of it this morning.”

  She raised her eyebrows but made no further comment. She was well aware of my ongoing difficulties with dear old mom. “I’m going downstairs for some tea,” she said. “You want anything?”

  “Coffee and pastry. Get some for Bill, too, please. He’ll be here soon.”

  I put through a call to Terry Pender, who said she’d arrange for me to talk to Alicia at the jail later in the morning. When I hung up, Bill had arrived, and Darcy had returned with breakfast.

  With Roger curled against his thigh, Bill sat on the sofa in my office, coffee in one hand, cruller in the other.

  “I’ll be interviewing Alicia again this morning,” I told him. “I want to find out more about the relationship between Ashton and Celeste. Maybe Alicia saw or heard something.”

  Bill nodded. “I’ll pay a visit to Keating. See if he’ll share what he has on Celeste. We don’t even know her real name.”

  “You going to tell him about Garcia?”

  “Let’s call Adler first. Find out where Garcia’s living these days.”

  In the turmoil over Mother’s pseudo-heart attack, I’d forgotten about having Adler check the Department of Motor Vehicles to see if Garcia had a Florida license. “I’ll call Adler this afternoon.”

  I reached into my top desk drawer, removed a bottle of Benadryl, popped a capsule into my mouth and washed it down with coffee. I had hoped that the recent solving of the cold cases of child killers that had begun my allergy to murder sixteen years ago would have alleviated the hives that dealing with murder invariably produced. Unfortunately, I had developed a chronic condition with only one way to gain temporary relief: catch Willard Ashton’s killer.

  In the visitor’s room at the county jail, Alicia Langston appeared less traumatized than the last time I’d seen her but also more pitiful. Dark smudges circled her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept in days, and her prison clothes hung on her
as if two sizes too big. She started at the slightest noise and almost jumped off her chair when the guard slammed the heavy door as he left us.

  “Anything you need?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Ms. Pender’s taking care of me. But I hate this place. How soon before I can go home?”

  Maybe never if Bill and I didn’t get a lucky break. “Are you practicing your meditation?”

  I didn’t subscribe to oneness with the Universal Spirit, but my father had been a great believer in the healing effects of meditation and prayer. If nothing else, the practice might keep the kid sane. I was certain her fellow inmates weren’t women she’d otherwise have encountered in her sheltered, upper middle-class life. I doubted their tattoos were tastefully small butterflies or delicate blossoms in provocative places, and I was also certain that their vocabularies contained phrases Alicia had never heard or read in the USF library. In addition to being scared, Alicia was most likely in culture shock.

  “I haven’t felt like meditating.” Her words came out in a whisper.

  “Try it,” I encouraged. “It’ll help.”

  I tugged a copy of the sketch of Jorges Garcia from my pocket, unfolded it and passed it across the table. “Have you ever seen this man?”

  Alicia studied the sketch for a moment, then shook her head.

  “You never saw him at Grove Spirit House?”

  Again she shook her head. “I’d remember. He’s kinda scary looking with that scar on his cheek.” Her eyes widened. “You think he killed The Teacher?”

  “We’re checking him out. Garth saw him in the compound the night before the murder. Did you see or hear anything unusual that night?”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to remember, then opened them. “I slept in a tiki hut on the other side of the compound from the others. I didn’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but I did see lights on late in the dining hall.”

  “Somebody getting a midnight snack?”

  “I didn’t see anyone, just lights.”

  Whoever had been in the dining hall had probably planted the belladonna in the refrigerator. Either Garth had surprised Garcia as he was leaving the dining hall, or Garcia had encountered Garth. Or Celeste had paid the kitchen a visit of her own.

  “Has Garth been to see you?” I asked.

  She blushed. “Every day. He’s been wonderful.”

  “He’s not angry? You jilted him and took his money. If it were me, I’d be pissed.”

  “Garth’s not like that. He’s worried sick about me. He wants to go through with the wedding—if you and Ms. Pender can get me out of here in time.”

  Don’t hold your breath, kid. Out loud I said, “He’s very forgiving.”

  “Garth’s a good guy. Always has been.”

  “So why’d you leave him?”

  Alicia flushed even deeper and picked at the cuticle on her left thumb. “I was stupid. The Teacher was feeding me a line, the same line he’s used on dozens of women, according to Ms. Pender, and I fell for it.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up over it. Ashton was good at his con. He preyed on women who were too trusting.”

  She looked me straight in the eye. “Somebody didn’t trust him.”

  “Celeste, maybe?”

  Alicia thought for a moment. “They had a strange relationship. Part of the time, they operated totally in sync, as if each knew what the other was thinking. At other times, antagonism sparked in the air between them.”

  “You ever hear them quarrel?”

  “Two nights before he died, I heard angry voices coming from their quarters.”

  “Any idea what they were fighting about?”

  “I couldn’t make out the words.” She flashed a rueful smile. “I was so stupid. I thought they were fighting about me.”

  “You?”

  “I thought The Teacher was in love with me and that Celeste was jealous.” She shivered in the air-conditioning, pumping stale prison air from the vent behind her, and hugged herself, as if trying to keep warm.

  “You thought he was in love with you? But you don’t think so now?”

  Her expression turned sad. “He didn’t care about me. All he wanted was my money. So why would he and Celeste have fought over me?”

  Her question was rhetorical, so I didn’t try to answer it. Married couples often quarreled, but, fortunately, seldom did such disagreements result in one offing the other. Was the Ashtons’ case the exception, or had someone other than Celeste done the deed? My investigation was going in circles, and Alicia was counting on me to get her out in time for her wedding in three weeks.

  Maggie Skerritt, supersleuth. No sweat.

  I folded the sketch of Garcia and returned it to my pocket. “If you think of anything else that might be helpful, call Ms. Pender.”

  The guard came in to return Alicia to her cell, and I left the jail, wondering if the poor kid would ever walk down any aisle but that of a state prison.

  CHAPTER 17

  Over a late lunch in our booth at the Dock of the Bay, I gave Bill an account of my visit with Alicia. On the Wurlitzer in the bar, Toby Keith was belting out “I Ain’t As Good As I Once Was,” and I was feeling the same. The facts in this case weren’t clicking together to form a pattern that I could follow to lead me to Ashton’s killer. None of the puzzle pieces fit.

  After I’d summed up what Alicia had told me, I asked, “Any luck with Keating?”

  “Not at first.” Bill squeezed a slice of lime into his Corona. “But when I offered to take him deep sea fishing on the Ten-Ninety-Eight, he loosened up.”

  I shook my head in mock disapproval. “Bribing an officer. That’s a felony.”

  “Spending a day on the water with this guy will be punishment enough. He has an ego the size of Australia.” Bill’s scowl cleared and his blue eyes danced with amusement. “But at least he has good taste in women.”

  “You talked about women?” I guessed it was a guy thing.

  Bill shook his head. “Not just any woman. We talked about you. Keating wanted to know what working with you is like. You apparently interest him.”

  I almost choked on my iced tea. “He’s young enough to be my—”

  “Brother. When are you going to face it, Margaret? You don’t look a day over thirty-five. And you’re hot.”

  The look he gave me was spiking my temperature. “Those are hot flashes. Either that, or my inner child, playing with matches.”

  I gulped more tea to cool things down and changed the subject. “So what did you learn about Celeste?”

  “Her real name is Rebecca Franklin, originally from Cleveland.”

  “Any priors?”

  He shook his head. “Her record’s clean. But here’s an interesting tidbit. Her mother’s dead.”

  “The one Hector Morales said she was visiting every week before her husband died?”

  Bill grinned. “I love it when that happens. So I asked Keating if he had phone logs for Grove Spirit House.”

  “Did he?

  “Not only that, he showed them to me. He’s so certain Alicia’s his killer, he’s not paying attention to the other evidence.”

  The satisfaction on Bill’s face promised more to come. “Which is?” I prodded.

  “Dozens of calls to Gerald Shively in Fort White over the entire time the Ashtons have had their Pelican Bay number.”

  Interesting. Those elusive puzzle pieces were moving closer together. “Too bad there’s no way to know whether Ashton or Celeste placed the calls.”

  “All of the calls were at least fifteen minutes in duration, most longer. If Shively was as furious with Ashton as he implied, I doubt they indulged in prolonged chats.”

  I thought for a moment. “Unless Shively was lying about the reason for his fight with Ashton. Maybe Shively was a partner in the scam and killed Ashton because he stiffed him on the profits.”

  Bill shook his head. “I’m not buying the long conversations. Guys with their kind of history don’
t have much to say to each other. A few threats, a few curses, and the phone calls are over.”

  I grinned. “The old F-you, strong letter to follow?”

  “Exactly. You talked to Adler yet?”

  “I’ll call him when we get back to the office.”

  “Tell him I checked with Mackley, and that Abe’s on for the Burns-Baker reception. I’ll call Antonio to let him know we’ll be working his security detail.” Bill signed the credit slip, left a tip and slid from the bench. “I need to stop by the boat. Then I’ll meet you at the office.”

  Darcy greeted me upon my return with the three most dreaded words in the English language. “Your mother called.”

  “Thanks,” I said and immediately thought of a way to delay the inevitable. I went to my desk and called Adler at the Clearwater PD. “You in the middle of something?” I asked.

  “Just having a snack.”

  I should have known. The only time Adler didn’t eat was when he was asleep. But I couldn’t be certain. Since a new disorder called sleep eating had been reported recently, the guy probably stuffed his face even then. “I need another favor, if you have the time.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I want an address for Jorges Garcia. Can you check the DMV database?”

  “Hang on,” he said around a mouthful of whatever he was consuming. Something delicious and fattening, knowing Adler.

  Over the line, I could hear the creak of his chair and the click of his keyboard, then a quick intake of breath.

  “Jesus, Maggie, there are hundreds of Jorges Garcias in the system.”

  “Check their photos. I’m looking for a bald guy with a scar across his right cheek.”

  “This may take a while. How soon you need it?”

  Yesterday. “Whenever you have time to spare. Just call me if you find something, okay?”

  “Will do.”

  “And Adler?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What did you decide about the Burns-Baker security gig?”

  “Can’t pass up the extra bucks.”

  “Sharon’s okay with it?”