Panic in the Panhandle, page 23
“A stash of drugs. Hidden in something watertight. Small enough to fit in Roger’s backpack.”
“And why, exactly, do you think this?”
I stole a glance at Nic. She rolled her eyes. This was going to be the second time in short succession for me to share my theory. I reminded myself that the chief was doing her job. Her insistence was no doubt a way to see if I could keep my story straight.
It was the truth, so that wasn’t a problem.
“For a while now, Fran was going around asking to interview people for a book about Paradise Springs’ history.”
Susan nodded. “He talked to me about being the city’s first female police chief. Go on.”
“It was a cover story. He was really doing that to get dirt on people. You know how he could be at times. When he wanted to, he could turn on the charm. He’d get people to confide in him, reveal secrets without realizing it.”
“So what if he was a rumormonger?”
“He was also a lawyer. He knew how to get information. He’d look into something probably shared in confidence and see if there was more to it. If it was big enough, he’d use the admission as part of a blackmail scheme. It was a despicable way to supplement his retirement income.”
“You have proof of this?”
Before I could answer, Nic held her phone out to Susan. “Here’s a letter we found when we were doing that final inspection. Looks pretty damning to me.”
After a moment, the chief snapped her own shot of the photo. “Do you know where this letter is now?”
I jumped back in. “Roger took it. It’s probably gone by now, but Sybil admitted she wrote it.”
“One day soon, I will have a conversation with both of you about withholding potential evidence. For now, go on.”
“Fran was blackmailing a lot of people. Claudine was another one of his victims. Somehow, she figured out Roger was smuggling drugs. My guess is she saw or overheard Roger or his henchmen, did some digging, put two and two together, and confronted Roger.”
“Okay, but why use the alligator?”
“To pin the murder on Rambo. Roger was at the meeting where Rambo spoke out against the development proposal by his property. After that night, everyone knew how angry Rambo was. Roger had his security guys steal the gator. At the right time, on a night when Minerva was gone, he showed up on Fran’s doorstep, knocked him out once inside, and had the gator set loose in the bedroom.”
“Where’d they keep it? A lot of time went by between Rambo reporting it missing and Fran’s murder.”
“She’s got you there, Elmo.” Nic elbowed me in the ribs. Normally, I would have appreciated the friendly gesture. Under Susan’s watchful eye, not so much.
“They kept it at the Sea Breeze. In a vacant condo. Probably next door to where his goons live.”
“Some of the condos have adjoining doors,” Nic said. “That would totally work.”
“We’ll see when I hear from my team.” Susan’s stubbornness was a touch frustrating. Then again, she needed evidence, not stories. Especially not stories from someone who’d been conducting their own investigation right under her nose.
To her credit, she’d given me space when I needed it. I owed her for that.
The island came into view. Roughly egg-shaped, it was about a mile long and a half-mile wide. An area by the dock the size of a basketball court had been cleared. A few picnic tables were scattered about, presumably to give tourists a place to sit while they ate their lunches. A trail at the far end of the clearing led off into the woods.
The moment was almost at hand. Once we were safely moored at the dock, I looked at Susan. She looked right back at me. I looked at Nic. She shrugged.
“Your story, Elmo. I think the chief wants you to lead the way.”
Susan followed me around the clearing. When we came upon a picnic table, she’d look underneath. “I don’t see any trash cans.”
“Roger collected all the trash and brought it back on board,” Nic said. “Clever ploy on his part now that I think about it. He kept trash bags in his backpack. A perfect reason for taking it with him onto the island.”
“Who’s up for a hike?” I gestured with my thumb toward the trailhead. “Roger kept his operation on the down-low for a long time. I’m sure the drop point was as far away from this spot as possible.”
I turned and headed down the dirt path. Years of foot traffic had cleared it of any debris. The only trip hazards were the occasional tree roots that crossed the walkway. It was too narrow for two people to walk side by side, but comfortable for one person to take a leisurely nature stroll.
Or for one person to make an unimpeded sprint to the drop point.
After about ten minutes, I came to an abrupt halt. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I made a 360-degree scan of the area.
“It’s here.”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm myself. At the count of ten, I opened them and began to study my surroundings. My gaze remained unfocused, absorbing everything—the leaves, grass, limbs, insects—on an equal basis.
“Elmo, what—” Susan’s question was cut off when Nic shushed her.
“I’ve seen him do this before. It’s weird but it seems to work.”
First, I checked the canopy above. Nothing was out of place. Lots of green leaves and a few birds’ nests. Next, I scanned my surroundings at eye level. Among the trees, ferns covered the forest floor, turning it into a sea of green. All seemed normal.
At ground level there was gap between two trees. It seemed off.
“There.”
I waded through fifteen feet of undergrowth until I came to a tree that had fallen. The stump was about eighteen inches in diameter and at its highest point, a couple of feet from the ground. Upon initial inspection, the tree appeared to have been knocked over in a storm. When I looked closer, the break was a lot cleaner than what I would expect wind and rain to cause.
Nic and Susan gathered on either side of me. I got down on one knee and knocked on the stump. The sound wasn’t right. It wasn’t a solid thunk. It was more of a whop.
“It’s hollow,” Nic said in a breathless tone.
“Here. Put these on. There may be fingerprints.” Ever the diligent law enforcement officer, Susan handed me a pair of rubber gloves. Someday, I’d have to thank her for giving me this moment.
When they were on, I gripped the stump with both hands and pulled upward. Nothing. Then, I twisted counterclockwise, like I was unscrewing a lid. Again, nothing. I sat back on my haunches and studied the problem for a moment.
“There must be some kind of unique release system. The smugglers wouldn’t want someone to find whatever’s inside this by accident.” Then it came to me. I twisted the stump clockwise, as if I was tightening said lid.
“Will you look at that? It’s turning.” Nic gave my shoulder a squeeze.
After four rotations, the top came off. I looked inside and let out a low whistle. “Chief, is it just me or does that look like a lot of contraband?”
She looked over my shoulder. “Well, I’ll be, Simpson. That does look like a lot of contraband. Enough, in fact, to send Roger, or Arnold, or whatever his name is, and his associates to jail for a long time.”
I got to my feet and brushed the dirt from my knees. Then I spread my arms wide and bowed at the waist, first to Nic, then to Susan. “Then my work here is done. Don’t forget to tip your servers.”
Nic burst out laughing. “God, you are such a dork.”
“That’s true.” The chief cracked a smile. “But a dork who did okay today. Good going, Simpson. I’m proud of you.”
Nic and I exchanged a look. The chief was known for her stoicism, not for any inclination to pass around praise as if it was candy on Halloween. To be told she was proud of me was about the highest compliment possible.
I grinned and kept my mouth shut. Why spoil a good moment. Know what I mean?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Two days later, I was sitting on the patio, my feet up in a chair and Oscar on my lap. It was February 29, Leap Day, that special day that came around only every four years. It was also my birthday. After a celebratory video call with Mom, I’d spent the day lounging around the trailer.
After all the private-eye craziness of the last two weeks, a day with nothing to do was the perfect present. The phone was turned off. My tablet and laptop were on my desk inside. That was one of the great thing about electronics. They didn’t seem to mind if you ignored them.
“Forty-four years old, buddy.” I scratched Oscar’s undamaged ear as I took a drink of my green tea. “But only eleven in leap years. I like that one better. I’ll live a long time that way.”
My cat looked at me, then toward the street. Rambo’s truck had just turned into the driveway. Nic was behind the wheel. He was in the passenger seat. As soon as the vehicle’s wheels stopped turning, Rambo had the door open.
“There’s the best gumshoe this side of Sam Spade.” The second I got to my feet, he had me in a spine-cracking bear hug.
“I take it the charges were dropped,” I asked before all the air was squeezed from my lungs.
As soon as he let me go, he whipped off his suit jacket and tie. “Yep. I’m free and clear. I was kinda hoping the chief would apologize—”
“But we didn’t want to push your luck. Right, Rambo?” Nic patted his arm like he was her ten-year-old son. Not a grown man three times her size.
She’d accompanied him to the press conference announcing the charges that had been filed against Roger and his two security guard accomplices. Yesterday, the chief had promised me that she’d make it known, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Rambo had been cleared of all wrongdoing.
I’d declined the mayor’s invitation to attend the press conference. My friend was free. That’s all that mattered to me.
“Yeah. With that over, we got things to do. Come on.” He led me to the truck while Nic took Oscar inside and locked the trailer. “Time to celebrate your birthday.”
“I didn’t know I had any birthday plans,” I said as he urged me into the passenger seat he’d vacated only minutes before.
“Then call it a celebration in honor of solving your first case.” Rambo squeezed himself into the back seat while Nic jumped back behind the wheel.
“What’s he mean by celebration?” I asked her while we buckled up.
“You’ll see.”
Ten minutes later, we pulled into a parking spot at the Riptide. The lot was packed like a Friday night during peak tourist season, not a February Saturday afternoon.
“What’s going on?” I looked at Rambo. “Are we celebrating your cleared name? I wish someone would have told me.”
“Something like that.” He practically yanked me out of my seat. “Come on.”
I followed my buddies across the restaurant’s threshold and was enveloped in twilight. The place was as quiet as it was dark. “Where is everyone? Wendell, you here? Seven?”
A moment later, the lights blazed to life, a banner with the words Happy Birthday on it was unfurled from the ceiling, and I was hit with a wall of sound. It was a single word.
“Surprise!”
Too overwhelmed to move, all I could do was watch as dozens of people streamed from hiding spots behind every nook and cranny of the restaurant to greet me. There were hugs, handshakes, and more than a few slaps on the back.
At some point, an Irish whiskey on the rocks was put in my hand. Right after that, JJ Grey & Mofro’s funky Southern rock came over the speakers. As I waded through the crowd receiving well wishes, I caught the intoxicating aroma of Wendell’s barbeque brisket and cornbread. Seven had just uncovered a buffet set up along one wall.
When I made eye contact with the restaurant owner, the man who welcomed me to the Springs all those years ago, and who’d become a great friend, he gave me a big hug. It was almost as spine-cracking as Rambo’s.
“Happy birthday, buddy.” He gestured to the crowd. “Folks wanted to do a little something to say thanks for catching Fran’s murderer.”
“And busting up a drug running operation at the same time,” Seven said. “Way to go, Elmo Simpson, PI.” She planted a big kiss on my cheek, then danced away, clapping her hands to the music.
“Wow.” I put my hand to my cheek. It was burning. “It’s going to take a while to recover from that.”
“Well, she’s always had a bit of a crush on you.” With a laugh, Wendell guided me to a table marked with a paper sign that read, Reserved for Elmo Simpson, Private Investigator.
I stared at the sign. Then at the crowd. The party was in full swing. In my honor. A lump formed in my throat. I was about to take a drink when someone whacked me across the shin.
“Step aside, Simpson.” Sybil had a plate that was piled six inches high in one hand. In the other, she held a wooden cane. “A woman’s gotta eat. Besides, you wouldn’t have caught Raines without my help.”
I did as I was told, then took a seat. “Did she just hit me with a cane?”
“Sure did.” Rambo, who had a plate as full as Sybil’s, laughed and took the seat across from me. “And she don’t even need one. I think it was payback for you accusing her of murder.”
I shrugged. “Guess I won’t be using her services anymore.”
Nic slipped into one of the two open seats left. “Don’t be so sure about that. If I know her, she’ll be offering you a reading at half-price so she can say she’s the seer to the Man Who Took Down the Mob, or something like that.”
There was no point in arguing that what I’d done was far from that. In Paradise Springs nobody wanted the truth to get in the way of a good story.
As the party went on, I mingled with a Who’s Who of my adopted hometown. The mayor shared a drink and a selfie with me, apparently our disagreement in the courthouse all but forgotten. Susan and Spock stopped by to chat and avail themselves of the buffet. They were on duty, so they had to decline when Seven offered them beers.
“How are things with Roger, I mean Arnold?” It had turned out that Roger Raines was the alias of Arnold Van Der Brooklyn, a scam artist who’d seemingly disappeared off the face of the Earth a few months before Roger showed up.
“He’s lawyered up. His two security guys are singing like the proverbial canaries, though.” She leaned in close. “I shouldn’t tell you this because the investigation is ongoing, but what the hell, you cracked the whole thing wide open. Turns out, the security guys have been in the country illegally, working for Arnold. They’ve basically been slave labor for him. If they’d get out of line, he threatened to expose them to the authorities and take it out on their families in Colombia.”
“Wow.” I drained my drink. In the blink of an eye, Seven was there with a replacement. “You can add human trafficking to the charges, huh?”
“Yep.” She chewed on a spoonful of baked beans. “I gotta hand it to you, Simpson. You connected the dots when we couldn’t.”
“Thank you. I’m happy it all worked out.”
My thoughts went to Fran’s notebooks. A search of Arnold’s office and living quarters had failed to uncover Sybil’s letter. The notebooks were the only pieces of evidence left that linked the deceased to his blackmail scheme.
I didn’t like the deceased. His criminal behavior had been deplorable. Still, he didn’t deserve to lose his life. Especially not that way.
People could say what they wanted about the man. I wasn’t going to add fuel to that fire, though. I was going to do something a little different.
A bit later, I flagged Nic down and stepped outside with her. “Do you think anyone would notice if we made a quiet exit? There’s something I need to do, and I’d like your help with it.”
We looked around the restaurant. Rambo was holding court at the outside bar, telling tales about his time in the slam. His words, not mine. Claudine was perched on a barstool, a drink in her hand, giving him every bit of her attention.
She and I hadn’t spoken. I wasn’t quite ready to let bygones be bygones with her. In time, though.
“Sure. This is your day, after all. I’ll make sure Rambo gets home safe. It was nice of him to let me use his wheels since he’s too big to fit in my car.”
We were almost at the truck when we stopped in our tracks. A familiar 1964 Lincoln Continental pulled into a parking spot. The Vampire emerged from the driver’s side, Big Baby from the passenger side.
“Holy samolie.” They’d helped with the case. No reason for them to miss out on all the fun. I shook hands with both of them. “Thank you so much for all your help.”
“Merely doing our civic duty,” Big Baby said. “And now to enjoy a repast among the revelers. You’re not leaving us, are you?”
“I’m afraid so. The last few days have caught up with me.” That was true. “Please, go enjoy yourselves. There’s plenty of food and the drinks are flowing.”
“Indeed. The night is young, BB. Shall we?” The Vampire shook my hand, kissed Nic’s cheek, and walked arm in arm with his friend into the party.
On the way home, I told Nic how much the celebration meant to me. “That was amazing. It seemed like everyone in town was there.”
“Everyone in the OG crowd was invited. It was the least we could do. Goob wanted to be there. He said he’s too old for shenanigans like that, so he was there in spirit. He wants you to stop by his place tomorrow to fill him in on what he missed.”
I laughed. It was a tension-releasing, tear-inducing one that didn’t stop until we got to my house. After all the stress and worry and fear, it felt good. Really, really good.
“Okay, you’re home, Mr. Simpson, Private Eye. What do you need my help with?”
“Would you fire up the grill, please? I need to pop inside. Be right back.” I fetched the notebooks and joined Nic as the third burner flamed to life. Sometimes you couldn’t beat the convenience of gas.
She looked at the items in my hands. “Are those what I think they are?”
“Yep. First, if you haven’t already done so, I’d like for you to delete the picture of Sybil’s letter from your phone. I wiped all the case info from my devices this morning. Then, we’re going to burn these babies. That way, they can’t do any more harm.”
