Ghosts Like it Hot, page 6
Jake didn’t even question why. He just handed it to me. I knew his password, so I punched it in. We had both agreed that if we were at the point of moving in together, we should not object to knowing each other’s passwords.
I did a quick search and found some chain stores in the area. Not in Old Town, but still in Key West. “We’re taking a car service out of Old Town. These prices are insane. I’ll end up with one outfit and no underwear.”
Jake coughed into his hand, looking amused.
“By the time we pay for the car and each buy three outfits, it will still be cheaper than this one dress.”
“Works for me. Let’s get this done so we can have some fun.”
“Perfect.” I ordered a car on Jake’s phone to a big box store and handed it back to him.
“You realize the minute we buy new clothes and toiletries they’ll find Mark and all our stuff?”
“Good. I hope they do because I have some damn cute shoes in there. Betsey Johnson. Not crazy expensive but freaking adorable. My clutch is Michael Kors and that was expensive so if that’s what it takes to get my stuff back, fine. But I’m not holding my breath.” I’d mourn the loss of my beachy boho vacation collection later, in July, when I wanted cute strappy sandals. Maybe by then it wouldn’t hurt so much.
Right now, I wanted to salvage the trip.
Jake had other ideas. While I perused the racks in an agony of indecision, my boyfriend was on his phone. He had shopped in three minutes flat, tossing in two pairs of shorts, a five-pack of T-shirts, khakis, and a collared shirt. Boxer briefs. Sandals. Sneakers. Boom. He was done and now was trailing behind me and leaning on racks as he studied his phone.
I was painfully trying to mix and match with the least amount of pieces possible without wasting gobs of our time. The pressure was enormous and I was cracking. I settled on several dresses, a breezy pair of linen pants, a sweater, three pairs of shoes, and a full set of bras and panties. I didn’t bother to replace the lingerie I had packed so optimistically.
Toiletries were no quick task either. The store didn’t have all my brands and I was left cobbling together a skin care regimen and makeup. I bitterly tossed in a hairbrush and let out a sigh. I was going to be a frizzy mess for the rest of this trip.
“I’m ready,” I told Jake, pushing the cart toward the checkout lanes.
“Captain Mark isn’t really Captain Mark,” Jake said.
“What?” I glanced back at him.
He held up his phone. “I took the image from the travel website on Mark’s profile listing and did an image search. It matches up to a social media account of a man name Rick Freed. The pictures there match the guy we’ve been dealing with. When I searched on the name Captain Mark, owner of the Wind Jammer, I got this dude.”
I narrowed my eyes and studied his phone screen. It was an older man, but definitely not Mark. Or the Mark we’d been dealing with. He was probably five years younger, clean shaven, with a much larger forehead. He had a thicker build.
“I don’t understand.” I got that Mark wasn’t Mark, but where was the real Mark? “So where is the guy in this picture?”
“I have no idea. That’s the million-dollar question.” He shoved his phone in his pocket. “I’m going to have to do more research. I want to know how all of this relates to Austin Columbia too.”
“Isn’t that up to the police here to look into? It’s their case.”
“It’s my money and our vacation. I’m just poking around.”
“Okay,” I said, my voice dripping with skepticism.
In the checkout line, Jake threw nearly one of everything there into the cart. Toothpaste, mints, candy.
We got a car and Jake was on his phone the entire ride back to our hotel. He was deep in the zone so I stared out the window at palm trees and sunny skies and reminded myself the worst day in paradise was better than the best day at home.
I didn’t buy it. If I had that on an inspirational poster on my wall, I’d tear it down right now and rip it in half.
Jake was sleuthing and that was his job. I got that. I had been forced to look into multiple mysteries the last few months and I was terrible at it. I was grateful that Austin Columbia wasn’t pressuring me to solve this crime. I was off the hook. But now Jake was determined to get to the bottom of this. Horrible irony.
I hadn’t even seen Austin since the day before when we’d been on Garden Key in the Dry Tortugas. Maybe he’d gotten caught up in paperwork in what Ryan had always referred to as the Office of the Deceased. There was a process that sounded inefficient and eerily similar to renewing your driver’s license or checking in at the doctor’s office.
Of course, once my head started turning it around, I had questions too. “Wouldn’t the people at the marina know that wasn’t the real Mark?” I asked Jake, after I took a blissful hot shower in a large shower with sparkly clean porcelain tile. I had padded out to the living area in the soft hotel robe.
Normally I’m not a fan of wearing a robe, uncertain how well it’s been laundered (I know, I can’t help it, I think about these things), but after the head on the boat and spending entirely too long in a wet bikini the day before, I was enjoying the luxury.
Jake was sitting on the sofa and studying his phone. We had a mini suite with a balcony and it was life. I loved everything about this hotel. Our balcony looked out at lush foliage and there was a Keurig in the kitchenette.
He looked up and said, “I like your outfit.”
“Thanks.” I sat down next to him and propped my feet on the coffee table.
“I agree with you,” he said. “It seems like if Mark was repeatedly scamming renters, the other boat owners or the marina management would notice. But maybe the real owner is never around. That’s likely, right? People have warm weather toys but spend a lot of time wherever it is they’re making their money.”
“What was the guy’s real name again?” I asked. I was getting twitchy not having a phone. Seeing Jake buried in his screen for the last couple of hours made me feel like I needed to be doing the same.
“Rick Freed.”
“I wish I had my phone. I could look him up.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing. So far, I don’t have much. I’m starting to think it’s an alias.”
“The plot thickens.”
“It could just be an elaborate rip-off scheme. Or maybe it’s more than that.”
“Why kill Austin if it’s a rip-off scheme?”
“We don’t know who killed Austin.”
“Did you tell the cops that Mark said Austin’s boat was at the dock at Garden Key?”
“Yes. I’m sure they’re investigating it.”
“Are we in danger?” I asked, because I don’t think dying in paradise would be any better than dying at home.
Jake snorted. “No. I can handle it.”
So now he was immortal apparently.
I stood up. “I’m getting dressed. Then let’s hit the town. I should have bought a phone while we were out.”
Jake held up his phone. “Yes, we should have, because your grandmother is calling me.” He answered it. “Hello? Yes, here she is.”
He shoved his phone at me. “She wants to talk to you.”
Of course she did. I took the phone. “Hi, Grandma, how are you?”
“What’s this I hear about you getting robbed?”
That’s what Jake had texted to my grandmother? Not wise. Then again, better than saying we found a floater. “It wasn’t exactly like that. The boat we were staying on disappeared. With our stuff on it.”
She made a clucking sound. “Same difference. You can’t go anywhere anymore without getting robbed.”
“When was the last time any of us were robbed?” I asked. She acted like it was a daily occurrence.
“When your mother took you girls on the rapid train downtown to see Santa and that man stole her purse.”
“That was like 1999. I think that’s a pretty good run.” I should have put her on speaker. Jake would be amused. “Everything is fine. We’re in our hotel now, the one we had booked for the rest of the trip and it’s really beautiful. I’ll send you a picture.”
“Has Jake proposed to you yet?”
“I don’t think that’s in the plans.” I didn’t. I hope it wasn’t. I wanted to live together first before we got married. “Besides, even if it was, we’ve been a little busy. It hasn’t been very romantic.”
Jake gave me a look with his hands out like not to blame him. I waved him off.
“Shirley thinks he’ll do it on the last night.”
“What does Shirley know about it?”
“Me and the bingo girls have a pool going. If it doesn’t happen by day four, I’m out a five-spot.”
“Grandma, don’t bet on my life. You’re destined to lose.”
“I’ll always bet on you, Margaret.”
My grandmother still insisted on calling me by my Christian middle name instead of Bailey. It was a power struggle with my mother.
“Thanks. Okay, I need to go. We’re going to take a tour of Key West.”
“On one of those little trains? I looked it up on the internet.”
“Yes, one of those.”
“Have fun. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I handed Jake his phone back.
“What is she betting on?”
“All the bingo ladies at church have a pool on us getting engaged. Grandma is worried she’s about to lose five bucks.”
He gave me a grin. “You never know.”
I grabbed one of the couch pillows and hit him with it. “Don’t joke about something like that.”
“How do you know I’m not joking?”
“Because you’re grinning.”
Jake ripped the pillow out of my hands and tossed it on the floor. Then he pulled me into his lap. “Come here.”
“Don’t propose to me right now,” I warned him. “I would be mad at you. I’m in a robe and I have frizzy hair.”
“Like I’d be that guy. Please. I’d write it in the sky, baby.”
“Don’t do that either. Just kiss me.”
“That’s easy.”
His phone buzzed with a notification but he tossed it on the coffee table and kissed me.
Six
Jake should have looked at his phone.
It was a call from the police, and when he called them back an hour later they told him that the Wind Jammer had been found.
Set on fire.
Twenty miles from Dry Tortuga.
“You’re freaking kidding me,” I said, seething. “That’s just great. I can’t get that Kate Spade mini in the jardin pattern anymore unless I scour eBay for a used one. It’s discontinued. Not to mention my shoes and that darling sundress I found in a vintage shop.”
I paced back and forth in the suite. “Can we file some sort of claim?”
Jake eyed me, filling a glass with water from the sink in the kitchenette and taking a sip. “There was a body on board.”
I was only half listening to him. “A baby on board?”
He actually laughed. “No! I would not be this calm if it was a baby. How would a baby be alone on a sailboat? I’d love to see a baby tacking.”
“So what did you actually say?”
“I said they found a body. A deceased adult body, male.”
That gave me pause. “What? Whose body?”
“I think it’s probably hard to say right now since you know, it was on fire. But if I were a guessing man, I’d say it was Mark’s, right?”
“The fake Mark or the real Mark?”
“Either Mark.”
“Why were they calling you?” I sat down on the couch, strapping my sandals on. I was definitely curious what was going on with the body count racking up like billiard balls, but I also was determined to go and see more of Key West.
“Because we’re the ones who said the boat and Mark are missing. Were missing.”
“This is nuts.”
“This is life. Or death, I guess.”
I stood up. “So now what?”
“Now we go sightseeing.”
“That’s it? We just stroll around town?”
“What else are we going to do? I did put in a couple of phone calls back home to see if we can get any more information on Mark and Rick Freed.”
My wallet went into my newly purchased cross body bag. It looked lonely in there without my usual accessories rolling around. I missed my tinted lip balm. And tissues. Pens. Mints. Spare toothbrush. Compact. Earbuds.
Maybe this was me being forced to minimize. That was trending. I’d better get used to jettisoning some of my belongings since I’d need to make space for Jake in my house. It was a restored Victorian—not exactly high square footage.
“Are you even listening to me?” Jake asked.
“Huh?” I glanced up at him. “Intel on Mark. Got it.”
He set his water down and felt his shorts pocket for his wallet and phone. “Totally not listening. Let’s go.”
“What?” I could have sworn I had heard everything he’d said.
“Nothing.”
“You’re not going to tell me. Seriously?”
“Maybe I said something, maybe I didn’t.” He gave me a wink.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”
“I’m not cute. I’m manly. Brawny. Sexy. Don’t say cute.”
We had that conversation about once a month. It had become a joke between us. “Can we go and ride the train, sexy?”
“Let’s ride the train.”
* * *
I was actually interested in the local lore and history. The train ride would have been fantastic if I could have actually heard any of that.
“We chose our seats poorly,” I murmured to Jake as the row of girls in their early twenties behind us chatted on and on at full volume.
“It was the only row available.”
We were three-quarters of the way to the back of the train and I was straining to catch anything other than an occasional word from the tour guide. I was squinting, as if that would help me hear the man better.
“That’s when the US Navy came into Key West.”
“Oh, look, there’s that restaurant Sara was talking about!” the girl behind me yelled out in a high-pitched voice. “The one with the crab.”
Jake gave me a look.
At least the sun was shining. It was warm on my arms and we were getting a visual on a huge swathe of the Old Town.
“Little anecdote—
A different voice piped up from behind my left ear, drowning out whatever amazing anecdote I was about to hear. “Did you hear what Jesse was saying about her Michael? She totally caught him with that chick who bartends at the Rooster.”
“Shut up! OMG, what a tool.”
It was like Grandma Burke’s bingo buddies but on a substantially higher volume. Grandma’s friends had lost their vocal projection with age and this was the version of them seventy years earlier. A glance back showed these girls were in their early twenties, at the height of their squealing volume. Probably on a girls’ weekend, or maybe a bachelorette party, though I didn’t see any sashes or matching T-shirts. A social media inspirational quote on female friendship, living your best life, and feeding your soul.
Something I was totally in support of. The holy trinity of happiness.
And yet… a deadly combination for those around them if you actually wanted to hear anything other than their gossip and conversation.
You couldn’t contain these girls, you could only hope to be seated in a different row.
“Tori totally threw up this morning,” one said.
“Stop! I told you not to tell them.”
“Hashtag exposed!” another said.
Jake sighed.
I was marveling that even at twenty-one I had probably never sounded like that. I’d never been part of a girl gang and it was something I had desperately wanted in high school. It had mostly been me and my best friend, Alyssa, along with other girls that we were friendly with but it was not a ride or die crew. Then I’d gone to community college, which was brilliant on the wallet, but did not provide an opportunity to join a sorority.
So I was currently both a tinge envious of what they had and desperately wishing I could hear more about the architecture of a purple building our train had stopped in front of and the tour guide was clearly discussing.
Jake turned around and said, “Do you mind keeping it down? We can’t hear what the tour guide is saying.”
“Oh my God,” the one said in a stage whisper when Jake swiveled back around. “Ew.”
That almost made me laugh. We were officially past our childhood. The college girls were annoying us. Jake’s thirtieth birthday was in a month and it showed.
His reprimand did give us an entire five minutes of quiet. I didn’t glance back but I had a feeling they had all decided to take a phone break and scroll through their social media.
“This is The Artist House. Currently home to a B and B, and at one time to Robert the Doll.”
That made me jump. “Wasn’t that the doll the woman with the haunted tour flyers mentioned the other day?” I murmured to Jake.
He shrugged. He obviously did not have the same reaction to dolls as I did.
The tour guide continued. “It’s a Queen Anne Victorian built between 1890 and 1898, commissioned by Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Otto, both native Key Westers, who lived here with their three sons. Note the elaborate gingerbread trim and the stunning turret. It was passed down to their youngest son, Robert Eugene Otto, the celebrated Key West painter, and his wife, Anne, a concert and jazz pianist, who he met and married in Paris in 1930. They lived in The Artist House until Gene’s passing in 1974 and Anne’s two years later.”
It was an absolutely beautiful house. But I was waiting to hear more about the doll.
Dolls are like clowns— you’re either a fan or you find them creepy as hell. I fell into the creepy category. Sure, I’d had American Girl dolls as a kid, but the ones that look like porcelain babies were unnerving to me. Given they were advertising this doll as creepy meant it really had to be extra-level weird.
“Robert Eugene Otto was gifted a life-size doll at the age of four by what most think was a young servant girl. Filled with straw, young Gene named it after himself and took to blaming the doll for all his misdeeds.”
