EIGHT

I didn’t give Consuela a yes or a no. Instead I released her left foot and began manipulations on her right foot.

“Let me help you with your investigation, Keely. I know the people you need to talk to. Know some of them well.”

Again, I made no response.

“Well you can go on saying nothing, but I’m eager to admit that I’ve been trying my best to help Randy find the rotten person who let him sit in jail all those years.”

“And just what have you been doing?” I hated breaking my clam act, but I’ve found it’s a good plan to know what esoteric activities Consuela has in mind.

“I’ve been talking to people on the QT. Very quietly. Very subtly?” I squelched a smile at her oxymoron. Her attitude worried me. “Who’ve you been talking to?”

“The divers. The old-time divers who worked for Mel Fisher back in the eighties. Some of those guys still live here. Some of them I know well. Very well, indeed.”

“What do you think they can tell you that will help Randy Jackson? So Randy says they all worked together. They hung out together. But that doesn’t mean that one of them murdered Dyanne Darby. And if one of them did, he’ll certainly never tell you.”

“See?” Consuela crowed. “I knew you were interested in that murder. Let me help you, Keely. You, me, Punt Ashford—we’ll be detective partners.”

“Which divers have you been talking to? And what have you been saying to them?”

“Some of the divers you may know. They’re older now. Not many of them dive for hire these days.”

“That figures. Punt’s dad, Beau, used to work for Mel Fisher, but he hasn’t done any serious diving for years.”

“You met Gus Helmer a while back. You remember him, right?”

“How could I forget?” Rough, tough Gus Helmer. Of course I remembered him. Didn’t she know Gus was one of my current clients?

“Gus used to be special to me, but he married now. Some Miami woman.” Consuela grinned. “Now I only see him when wifey goes to visit her mother. But I talk to Gus about Dyanne Darby and Randy. He remembered them—and the murder.”

I sighed and kept my thoughts to myself. Gus Helmer’s a shrimper who owns and operates the Pink Gold. He’s a bulldog of a man, not a big guy, but tough acting. At the time Punt and I first met him, he lived aboard a dry-docked boat near the shrimp docks. He doubled his fist a lot when he talked to Punt and Punt respected that. He shrugged a lot when he talked to me, explaining his romantic activities. His attitude won him little respect from me, but live and let live. Who was I to judge him?

“So you’ve talked to Gus. Who else?”

“Slone Pierce. Slone and I go back a long ways. Today he operates his own salvage business. He travels anywhere in the Keys where there’s work. He also married now and his wife, Nicole, say I can only talk to him if she’s present. That cramps my style a whole lot, but I did talk with the both of them about Randy. Don’t think Slone knows anything about the Dyanne Darby murder.”

I hoped Consuela was right. I massaged her left arch and then her left heel. Slone Pierce reminded me of a trained seal, sleek, heavy set, handsome. Don’t blame Slone’s wife for not wanting him to talk to Consuela.

“But I want to talk to you about Ace Grovello.”

“Your new boyfriend, right? And a diver, right?”

“I tried to tell you about him this morning—you know, the guy who may sign up for your treatments and earn me a freebie. Well, Ace used to dive for Fisher. Made some good finds, too—a gold doubloon, for instance. Mel let him keep it. Ace had it mounted and now he wears it on a chain for everyone to see. If I’m good to him, he lets me wear it for a day or two, but it’s important to him and I always have to give it back.”

“Consuela! You’re a common slut!” The words slipped out before I remembered that wise businesswomen don’t use crude names when speaking to a customer. I blame my life with Jude Cardell for my in-depth knowledge of a vocabulary I seldom use.

“How dare you talk to me like that!” Consuela started to leave the treatment chair, but I forced a smile and gently pushed her back down.

“I’m sorry, Consuela. Tell me more about Ace. What does he do now?”

Consuela stayed in the chair and pouted for a few moments before she replied.

“I’m no slut, Keely Moreno. A slut sleeps with any guy she meets on the street. I only sleep with the ones I love. And because I’m no slut, I can accept your apology. Ace runs a bed-and-breakfast on Whitehead Street. The Sand Dollar. Sometimes he invites me to stay all night there in the off season. Very neat place. Always full in season.”

“Who else, Consuela? Who else have you talked to?”

“Reverend Soto. He worked for Fisher, but he helped spring Randy from prison. I doubt that he the one who murdered Dyanne Darby. Unless he did it and now tries to throw suspicion from him by doing good works. People do stuff like that sometimes.

“And then there’s Punt’s dad. Beau worked for Fisher, too. But he’s such a Mr. Big nowadays in Key West I can’t suspect him. I housecleaned for years for Beau and his first wife. I don’t think Beau would murder anyone.”

I finished Consuela’s treatment, massaged her feet with scented oil—frangipani, of course, and then helped her from the chair. She padded barefoot to her shoes and slipped into them.

“Keely, since I’ve done all this early-on investigation and told you all about it, how about letting me help you find Dyanne’s killer? It might give me something to write about. Writers need ideas. And helping you would win me brownie points with Randy. Right now he’s my favorite boyfriend.”

“I am not going to get involved in this murder case. Don’t you see what you may have done by questioning those divers? You may have alerted the murderer to the fact that Maxine wants help in looking into the Darby murder and that all the divers are under suspicion.”

“Do you really think so?” For once Consuela looked crestfallen.

“Yes, I really think so. Your antics make me furious and they make no sense. Why do you feel that one of the divers’s guilty? It could have been anyone. The culprit may live far from Key West. Over twenty years have passed.”

Consuela stared into the distance as if that idea had never crossed her mind. Then she snapped her fingers and glared at me.

“Keely Moreno, you have no imagination. A good detective needs imagination. It is easy for me to believe that one of Randy’s dive buddies was jealous of Randy. Hated him for dating Dyanne Darby. That jealous person may have gone into a rage. He could have killed Dyanne in order to keep Randy from having her. Sometimes jealous lovers behave that way. Don’t you agree that this could have happened?”

“No. I don’t agree.”

Consuela flounced from my office without paying. But I knew she’d be back and pay up the next time she had a migraine.

One more client and I’d be free for the afternoon, but the morning’s warnings made me wary. With both Maxine and Consuela talking up the possibility that I might be looking into the Darby murder, they’d put someone on guard. I wondered who.

Maybe I shouldn’t go fishing alone. Before I decided to stay home, a marriage counselor’s voice replayed in my mind. Fear is a response. Courage is a decision.

Living in fear was no longer an option. I had started to lay out some clothes for my afternoon on the water when my phone rang. I didn’t answer and my mouth went dry. If the call was a client, he would try again later. Wouldn’t he? I waited.

The phone rang again. I hated that it took so much courage for me to answer my telephone. Rats! I picked up the receiver.