ELEVEN

Courtney made it a point to let the neighbors know she jogged five miles every morning rain or shine. Of course, in Florida it was mostly shine. This morning she wore a yellow tank top that struggled to cover her bustline and spandex short-shorts slung low enough to reveal her pierced naval. Suddenly, my silk shift had all the charm of a garage-sale special. Courtney was the only jogger I knew who could look glamorous while wearing sweaty hair pulled back with an elastic band. Walking toward Eden Palms, she looked as if she’d reluctantly stepped from a lemon-and-spritzer world into a scene of mourning. I pulled my stomach in and stood straighter.

Zack and I both walked to the front door to meet her. I stepped back while he held the door open wide, allowing her to make a dramatic entry with the gold-and-silver gift bag she dangled from two fingers. How, I wondered, did she manage to smell like Chinese orchids?

“Oh, Zack!” She hugged him with her free arm. “My deepest sympathy to you in the loss of your dear mother. My very deepest sympathy.”

“Thank you, Courtney. I appreciate your empathy and concern. Do come inside and join us.”

At the word “us,” Courtney peered over Zack’s shoulder, seeing me for the first time. She managed to change her initial reaction of dismay to one of pleasant surprise.

“Bailey! How nice to see you here…too. I didn’t know you were such an early bird.”

I forced a smile, fumbling in my mind for a suitable response and finding none. Courtney causes me to think of suitable responses a day after I need them. Before I could speak she continued.

“I’ve brought you sustenance, Zack.” She turned her body so that it all but blocked me from the scene while she thrust her gift bag toward Zack as if offering the crown jewels. Her fingers touched his and lingered while she took exaggerated care to make sure he had a firm grip on the bag’s handles.

“Zack, I realize this’s a time of great stress for you, and I want you to take care of yourself. You’ve probably no appetite at all, but you must eat. I insist on it.”

I tried not to gag. One minute she played the part of a temptress, the next minute, the part of a wide-eyed ingénue waiting for a pat on the head—or the butt.

When Zack opened the mouth of the bag and peered inside, the enticing aroma of onions, peppers, and Cuban salsa wafted to us.

“Ahh,” he sighed and inhaled deeply.

“Yes, an aroma to die for, and I’m here to see that you eat right now before mourners begin arriving and fragmenting your day.”

“How very thoughtful of you, Courtney.”

“I had a late, late supper at Naked Lunch last night. The chef made this special serving at my request. I warmed the juicy meat to perfection in the microwave only minutes ago and it’s ready for you to enjoy. I know you’re a hardy type who likes roast beef for breakfast.”

“How thoughtful of you, Courtney.” Zack led the way to the kitchen. Courtney followed him. I followed her. Since Naked Lunch is a clothing-optional bar and restaurant near Duval Street, I wondered which option Courtney had chosen yesterday evening. When we reached the breakfast alcove, Courtney sniffed and raised an eyebrow when she saw the soggy cornflakes and toast we’d abandoned.

“Away with all this.” With an air of determination, she flushed our uneaten breakfast into the disposal then began setting the table afresh. Clearly, she’d done this before. She had no problem finding dishes and place mats. But why should she? She and Francine had eaten here frequently. I wondered why my mind rejected the idea that she and Zack might have breakfasted here, too. Who Zack shared breakfast with was no concern of mine.

Courtney began by setting out two place mats. “Can I persuade you to join us, Bailey?”

“Of course she will,” Zack answered for me. “It’s going to be a long day for all of us.”

“That’s true. I just thought that since Bailey wasn’t on Key West at the time of Francine’s passing, she might want to opt out of the police investigation, if there is to be one, and fly right back home to Iowa.”

“No,” I said. “I hadn’t thought of leaving—especially not before the funeral services. Francine meant a great deal to me and to my family.”

“Well, of course,” Courtney agreed, “but I haven’t seen your colorful car around and I assumed you might already have gone.”

I couldn’t miss her sarcastic tone on the word “colorful.” To celebrate on the day Greentree Blues hit the Key West stores, Francine had flown our family to the Keys and presented me with the car—an emerald-green Lincoln that she had ordered especially painted and outfitted with a vanity plate bearing the word BAILEY. It broke my heart to have to leave it in Key West, but Mom became ill and we had to fly home quickly. Francine had wanted to ship the car to Iowa, but we decided to leave it here for a short time, thinking Mom would recover soon and we could return for it. But the short time grew into a long time—a time very long and sad. We’d seldom mentioned the car.

“I took the Lincoln to our mechanic for a checkup,” Zack said. “Mother and I both drove it now and then to keep the battery up, to keep the mechanisms operating. You know how it is in the Keys when it comes to motors—use them or lose them. Since the car had been idle more than it had been used, I felt it needed a professional look-see.”

“Thank you, Zack,” I said. “There’ve been so many things going on, so much to think about, I haven’t had time to peek into the carport—yet. I appreciate your taking care of it for me.”

“What were the detectives doing poking around here this morning?” Courtney asked.

Her sudden change of subject startled me. How dare she ask such a personal question! But Zack deflected it with adept courtesy at the same time he brought out a third place mat, a third plate with napkins and silverware.

“Oh, they were just being thorough,” he said. “They thought of questions they hadn’t touched on last night.”

“I thought they covered things in depth yesterday,” Courtney said. “They certainly went out of their way to try to make me look guilty of murder. I couldn’t believe their insinuations.”

“I don’t think they intended to make you or anyone else look guilty,” Zack said. “Detective Cassidy insisted again this morning that last night’s question-and-answer session was informal—only necessary to his peace of mind. He wanted to be sure, as sure as he could at that point, of what had gone down here at the house. Try not to take it personally, Courtney.”

Courtney divided the roast beef and its fragrant sauce and juices into three portions, making sure Zack received the largest. Her gift bag also contained rolls and tiny pats of butter in ceramic containers. She warmed the rolls in the microwave, giving Zack one and splitting the other between the two of us—with reluctance, I thought.

We ate in silence for a few moments before Courtney began a forced conversation. “I’m sorry the chef didn’t have your favorite chutney glaze, Zack.”

“This bland Cuban flavoring hits the spot this morning,” Zack said. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Guess I forgot about eating dinner last night.”

Had he forgotten the sandwiches and hot chocolate we had shared? I wondered. The meal dragged on and on. I had to admit the beef was so tender I barely had to chew it, and the mixture of Cuban flavors left me wanting more. Zack answered a phone call concerning his business on Key Largo, and after he returned to his chair, we soon finished our meal. Courtney made a show of clearing the table and loading the dishwasher.

“Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness,” Zack said when at last Courtney headed toward the front doorway.

“You’re entirely welcome, Zack. If there’s anything else I can help you with be sure to let me know. As a Realtor, I can juggle my schedule to suit the occasion.” Then she turned to me. “And Bailey, when do you plan to head north? You can count on me for a ride to the airport if Zack’s at his office.”

“My plans are tentative, Courtney, and although I have no present plans for returning to Iowa, I appreciate your offer.”

Courtney was less than subtle in her effort to urge me on my way north, and I felt sure Zack noticed. A painful thought crossed my mind. Had Zack said something to her about anticipating my departure? But when would he have had time to talk with her privately? With Francine gone, I felt my situation at Eden Palms had changed. I wondered if Courtney already saw herself ensconced here as Zack’s wife. I wondered about the closeness of their relationship. With Zack’s wealth, good looks, and business success, many women in Key West might consider him the catch of the day. I tried to ignore his charms. I reminded myself again that I had no place in my life for a man right now and maybe never would have.

“If you’ve vetoed a return to Iowa,” Courtney said, breaking into my thoughts, “then perhaps you’ll be seeking other living arrangements here in Key West.”

“Spoken like a true Realtor, Courtney,” Zack laughed. “Bailey’s welcome to continue living in our cottage for as long as she cares to.”

Courtney smiled at Zack then winked at me as if we shared a secret. “Give me a call if you decide to make a change.”

Deep in thought, I stared after Courtney’s departing figure until Zack cleared his throat.

“Bailey, sometimes Courtney overplays her hand. Please try to take anything she says with a grain of fault—her fault.”

“Maybe she’s right in her insinuations. Maybe I should pack and go.” I met Zack’s gaze, trying to read answers there. My staying might make an awkward situation for him.

“I’m not rushing you off, Bailey. Francine offered you the cottage, and although her plans for you haven’t worked out, I’m sure I can find temporary employment for you in one of my offices for as long as you want it. From my point of view, it’s better to have the cottage occupied than vacant.”

“We don’t have to decide on my plans right now. But if you think my continuing to live here might cause gossip…”

“Forget that, Bailey. Key West’s a live-and-let-live island.”

How well Zack knew that. I smiled, thinking about his almost-wedding and Francine’s words. “Zack returned the wedding gifts, repaid his fiancée’s family the wedding expenses, although those duties were the girl’s obligation. During a post-fiasco dinner, Zack stood and gave a toast.

“‘To me—the guy who’s spent his last dime on a non-wedding.’

“For a while everyone nicknamed him Dime. Although his fiancée had hurt him deeply and although gossips gossiped, Zack put up with the name until everyone forgot it. Live and let live, that’s Key West.”

I’d been standing in the doorway peering at Courtney’s departing figure. Now I turned, and followed Zack into the solarium. Francine had coaxed a gardenia plant into early bloom, and its fragrance greeted us, heady, cloying, reminding me of funeral flowers.

“Zack, I don’t want to go back to Iowa, although it’s a great place. I remember one summer when Chet and I were hiking. We’d been following a creek that babbled through a cornfield. When we came to a railroad trestle spanning the creek, we used wild sumac branches for handholds and climbed to the bridge.”

“Courting danger?”

“Yes, but luckily, no train rumbled within sight or sound. I turned to look back, and I’ve never seen such beauty, not even in the Keys. The sun shone between a fluff of cotton candy clouds onto a sea of green cornstalks undulating in the breeze. A hawk soared toward a willow tree, and three red-winged blackbirds perched on swaying cattails at the brook’s edge. I drank in the scene until I felt the railroad ties vibrating. Chet shouted a warning. We escaped from the bridge minutes before a freight train blasted its whistle.”

“A memory like that might tempt you to return to Iowa—beautiful land. Isn’t that what the Indians called it?”

“Yes, but I’ll never go back. I also remember blizzards, subzero temperatures, and streets that remained ice-packed for weeks. One winter we were without power for six days. Friends took us in until we found a hotel room—a room of sorts. After the ordeal, people asked us if we paid the hourly rate or the night rate.”

Zack smiled. “Guess I’ve never experienced true cold.”

“In spite of the frosty winters, Iowans were warm and friendly. It’s memories of my dad deserting us, of Mom struggling to support us, of her battle with cancer—those memories hurt.”

We saw a delivery boy approaching, peering over the top of a miniature hibiscus plant full of salmon-colored blossoms. Zack turned to answer his knock, and my thoughts masked Zack’s conversation with the boy.

In the distance, I heard the clatter of a Conch Train carrying tourists to see the interesting and historic spots on the island. The train’s a boon to the tourism that keeps the island alive.

Most locals seldom rode it more than once. Nor did they rush to the sunset celebration on Mallory Dock unless visitors had arrived and needed to be entertained for an evening.

“Beautiful, Zack,” I said when he returned to the solarium with the hibiscus. “Where would you like to put it?”

“On the coffee table?”

“Fine.” I slid a conch shell to one side, making room for the plant while Zack opened the card tucked into the leaves. “Why don’t I make a list of the friends who’ve sent remembrances?” I asked. “It’ll help when you write the courtesy notes later.”

“Good idea, Bailey. Thank you. My mind’s not in gear yet this morning. Guess we were discussing your leaving or staying.”

I sorted through my thoughts. I felt guilty at arriving too late to help Francine. I might have prevented her death. She’d asked me to help her find the cause of the strange happenings here.

Surely Francine hadn’t expected me to play detective, but she had asked for help and I’d failed her. I had to stay here. I had to help bring her murderer to justice if I could. I couldn’t walk away from that obligation, nor did I want to. I thought about my brother, too. I couldn’t desert Chet, either. I loved him, and I’d promised Mom… “What are you thinking, Bailey?” Zack broke into my thoughts and I managed a smile.

“Thinking about Key West.” I couldn’t tell him all I’d been thinking. I certainly couldn’t mention my brother—Mitch, not Chet. I had to remember that.

“People either love Key West or they hate it.” Zack adjusted the hibiscus plant on the table.

“I’ve listened to lots of people, Zack. It’s a thing songwriters do. They listen. Many locals view all the tourists down here, especially the ones on Mallory at sunset, as an unwanted mass of humanity.”

“You see it otherwise?”

“Definitely. At sunset, I see a rich tapestry of strangers. Sometimes I feel that I’ve known them all before in some faraway land.”

“A land of your imagination, but I hope that’ll persuade you to stay here. By the way, the plant’s from Winton Gravely. I’ll find a notepad if you’re serious about keeping track of the gifts.”

“Sure thing.”

Zack disappeared, then reappeared carrying a yellow notepad. “I have an ulterior motive for wanting you to stay, here, Bailey.”

His low tone made me wary, put me on guard. “What could that be?”

“I know I’m facing an in-depth police investigation. According to law, any suspect’s supposed to be considered innocent until proven guilty. But, instead, sometimes a suspect has to take the lead in proving himself innocent. I think you can help me with that.”

“How?” My mind backed off another step from Zack.

“We talked about the how of it last night—briefly. Again, I’m asking you to work with me, covertly of course, in finding the person who murdered Mother. Your experiences have put you around clues, motives, suspects. I hope you’ll help me now.”

“All right. I’ll try.” I hoped my quick response masked my reluctance. “But I can tell you right now, I don’t know where to start.”

I couldn’t tell him that he loomed as a key suspect in my thinking. The neighbors all had tentative alibis as to their whereabouts during the estimated time the murder might have taken place. Zack had accounted for his time, too, in a general way. But if the others were all occupied elsewhere, how easy it would have been for him to have returned home unseen and…

I could barely stand to think of Francine, the snake, the staircase. Could I bear to go on living next door to a man who might be a murderer? Might I be his next victim?