NINETEEN

“Well, there goes the morning.” We watched Cassidy and Burgundy drive away. In the distance, a cruise ship sounded its noon whistle, punctuating Zack’s words. “And all we know’s that someone dislikes our snooping around playing detective.”

“Our snooping? The note was on my door. I think Quinn Bahama wrote it. She’s a writer and writers like to write. She left here in a rage because I refused to give her information, then she wrote the note, returned, and taped it to my door. She’s trying to scare me. I don’t think Reptile Man had anything to do with it.”

“How can you be so naive? I think he’s the logical suspect. The snake drawing on the note makes him number one in my mind. Remember—Quinn knew nothing of the snake. Nada. Zilch.”

“That’s true, Zack, but yesterday at the dock, Reptile Man vented his anger at you, not at me. If he wrote the note, why didn’t he leave it on your door?”

“Good question. Why? I don’t have the answer, but someone’s threatened your life. That’s never a thing to dismiss lightly. Think I’ll phone Cassidy’s office again and demand police protection for you.” He stepped toward the telephone.

“No way.” I stood, easing between him and the phone. “No way at all. I’ve had more than enough of police presence since I arrived. If we’re going to investigate your mother’s death, we can’t do it with detectives snooping around.”

Zack nodded and stepped away from the phone. “You’re right. I really don’t want the police tailing you, either. But don’t let that note get to you. I’ve guys working for me who’ll be willing to do some subtle watch-dogging—especially around the cottage.”

“I hate the idea of being spied on or of having the cottage under scrutiny. I’ll watch my back. I’m not afraid.” I spoke with ebbing bravado. The words on that note were etched into my brain. Even though I’ve taken some judo training, I’m not eager to put it to use.

“For now, you’re safe enough with me, so let’s go on with our plans for the day. Gravely said he attended a party at Kelly’s on Monday. Let’s stop by there and see what we can earn.”

Zack picked me up in the convertible and we headed toward Old Town. I looked over my shoulder, but I didn’t see anyone I thought might be following us. Reaching for my purse, I dug out a few quarters, and we’d driven almost to the Little White House before we found a parking slot on Whitehead. Zack’s parking karma must have taken a holiday. Back-racking toward Kelly’s, I watched a gardener trimming the hedge behind one of the wrought-iron security fences that protected all the mansions along that side of the street.

“Wonder who lives in those houses,” I murmured. “Special people?”

“I know some of the families. Most of them are retired couples. A few widows. They’re just ordinary people.”

“Yeah. Ordinary people with mega-bucks.” We crossed the street to the sidewalk in front of The Banyan guesthouse. Zack guided me around spots where huge banyan roots had broken through the concrete. When we reached Kelly’s Caribbean, I took a long look before I snapped some pictures. The upscale restaurant is advertised as an exotic bar, grill, and brewery, and I liked the old whitewashed building on sight. I also liked the medley of exotic fragrances drifting from its kitchen.

“Caribbean charisma, Bailey. Drink it in. All the brochures say Kelly’s is the reason you came to Key West.”

“Hope it’s open and someone’s willing to talk to us.” I peered behind us, checking for followers, before we climbed a few steps to a waiting area.

“They’re open for lunch, so let’s have a bite to eat and work from there. Want to sit at the bar or outside under the palms and figs?”

“Let’s do outside, okay?” I glanced around, enjoying the aviation-oriented decorations—airplane photos, propellers from an old seaplane, and a sculpture of a helicopter. We followed a waiter between two touch-the-sky strangler figs that guarded steps down to an open-air dining room. Miniature hibiscus and glossy-leaved ivies in terra-cotta planters decorated the perimeter of the area.

Once seated, in the sun-dappled shade of a palm, we studied the menu briefly before ordering conch chowder, Cuban bread, and beer.

“We’ll be enjoying some history along with the great food,” Zack said once the waiter left. “Kelly’s once housed the original offices of the first international airline—Pan American. And now the new owners are making their own history.”

“You’ll be disappointed if I don’t ask how, won’t you?”

Zack grinned. “Of course. I planned to tell you all along. The actress Kelly McGillis and her husband, Fred Tillman, have created a unique microbrewery on the premises. It’s one of a kind. Their all-natural beers are as special as the food they serve.”

Before Zack could download more facts, the waiter returned with our order. The beer came as advertised—smooth on the tongue, delicious, and memorable, and it enhanced the flavor of capers, bay leaf, and leeks in the chowder. I wished we’d come here for the fun of it instead of for business.

“Who do you think will talk to us about the party on Monday?” I asked.

“Leave that to me. And put your mind and memory to work. Try to remember everything that’s said.”

“No note taking?”

“That’d be too obvious, don’t you agree? We don’t want to give anyone the idea we’re prying into Gravely’s private affairs.”

I rolled my eyes. But when Zack motioned to a waiter, I listened to every word.

“I’m interested in knowing more about the luncheon party Winton Gravely attended here last Monday. Do you know Dr. Gravely?”

The waiter shrugged. “I know him by sight only—not personally.”

“Could you give me names of some of the people at that party?”

The waiter backed off a step. “Why are you asking, sir?”

“I heard that the party concerned creating an addition to the Conch Republic’s annual celebration. Island history interests me. In fact, I’ve been doing some special research on the Conch Republic flag. I thought some of the people in attendance at last Monday’s get-together might have some esoteric information to offer. I’d like to contact them.”

Zack’s long-winded approach sounded weak to me, but the waiter bit on it. “I’m a fan of the Conch Republic myself. Read a lot about it. You might want to look for information upstairs in our writer’s library. The Key West Writer’s Guild meets here on Saturday mornings. They maintain a few shelves of books pertaining to the island.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll check up there before we leave, but could you give me a few names of the guests here last Monday? I’d ask Winton himself, but he’s off-island today.”

The waiter drew his lips into a tight O-shape and stared thoughtfully into the distance before he spoke. “Well, I remember Ben Bahama.”

“Was his wife, Quinn, with him?”

“No.”

Again, I watched the waiter’s O-shaped lips and his gaze into space. Zack slipped him a twenty. He nodded his thanks and pocketed the bill.

“There was a lady who volunteers at the Hospitality House near Mallory. Ann Chaffey. And I remember a secretary from Pier House. Sue somebody. She stops here now and then. I think there were others in the group, too, but I can’t remember any more names.”

“How long did that party last? Remember that?”

“Oh sure. I was their waiter. It ran from about four until five-thirty or so.”

“Dr. Gravely present all that time?”

The waiter shrugged. “Can’t answer that one. It was a very informal get-together. Some people arrived late and others left early. I can’t rightly say if Dr. Gravely stayed beginning to end. Being a doctor, he may have been called away.”

“That’s possible,” Zack agreed. “Well, thank you for your help, sir. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Mr.—Mr.… I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“Not important. Not important at all. Give your cook our thanks for the delicious chowder.”

“I’ll do that, sir. He’ll be pleased. You be sure to take a look at our books upstairs.”

“Thank you. I’ll do that.” Zack paid our bill. We left Kelly’s and hurried to our parking slot, happy to see we still had a smidgen of time on the meter. Sitting in the car we considered our options.

“We need to find one of the guests who stayed at the affair from beginning to end,” I said.

Zack started the car and eased into traffic. “Let’s find out what we can about Winton’s whereabouts.”

“That’s not going to be easy. Nor is getting info from Quinn Bahama. Don’t count on me to talk to Quinn. She probably has me on an I’ll-never-speak-to-her-again list.”

“Okay. Let’s drive to the shrimp docks. I help Ben out now and then. Shouldn’t have any trouble asking him a few questions and getting some straight answers.”

We reversed our direction and headed for Land’s End Village and the shrimp docks. Of course all the parking places were taken, so Zack drove to the city parking ramp. Even though the ramp’s an open-air structure, the trade wind failed to blow away the stench of exhaust fumes. We walked to the shrimp docks from the ramp, once again enjoying the salt scent of the sea.

Tourists crowded the area, window-shopping the unique boutiques, pausing for hot dogs at the food stands, or drifting toward the Raw Bar for oysters on the half shell. Once we stepped onto the shrimp dock, I felt the sway of the wooden planks underfoot, and Zack took my hand to steady me. In the distance, several shrimp boats bobbed at anchor, their rigging silhouetted like jackstraws tossed against the sky. Closer at hand, pelicans perched on the dock pilings, and gulls screamed and swooped while kids flung the remains of their sandwiches into the air.

“Where can I find Ben Bahama?” Zack called to a deck-hand standing on a rusty boat that looked as if it would rather sink than float.

“He’s out on a run.” The guy swabbed his neck with a red bandana. “Probably won’t be in for a few days.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Zack nodded to the sailor, and we retraced our steps to the parking ramp.

“So forget Ben Bahama,” I said. “Not that I mind too much. I’m in no mood to talk to either of the Bahamas today.”

“We might try to find Ann Chaffey at Hospitality House,” Zack suggested.

“Why don’t we walk there, Zack? It’s not far, and it’d be easier than finding another parking place.”

“Okay by me.”

We headed toward Front Street and Mallory Dock on foot. Zack circled his arm around my waist, pulling me close, so we could walk abreast along the narrow sidewalk. I didn’t mind. I liked the feeling of being protected—a feeling I’d never needed until I discovered this morning’s note on my door. Sometimes overhanging palm fronds tangled in our hair, and now and then we had to break apart to let pedestrians pass, but it took us only a few moments to reach Hospitality House and learn that Lucy wasn’t there. Ann Chaffey had little to say about the Conch Republic party.

“I only stayed a short time.” She pointed to a rack of brochures across the room. “We have folders with information about the Conch Republic. Freebies. Take one if you care to.”

Zack cared to. He picked up a brochure for me as well as one for himself, and he pretended to scan it as we left the building.

It seemed like a long walk back to the car, and we said little until we were heading back toward Eden Palms.

“We’ve learned nothing, Zack. Most of the people that we know who attended that party didn’t stay from beginning to end. Maybe Winton Gravely arrived late or left early, too. Just because he said he attended the party doesn’t mean that he did. He could have paid the waiter to say he attended in case anyone came snooping around.”

“Winton said he attended, and I believe him.”

“Why? According to you, he had strong motive to protest the disturbance of his neighborhood—his and yours.”

“I can’t see him as a murderer, Bailey. I’ve known Winton almost all my life. We’ve been friends and fishing buddies. I can’t believe he’d harm my mother for any reason in the world.”

I scowled. “As an outsider, a newcomer to the neighborhood, I see Winton Gravely as totally weird. Who knows what goes on in his so-called clinic? Who knows his reasons for operating a pseudo-hospital in a residential neighborhood?”

“I know, Bailey. Winton has a brilliant mind and he attended med school to please his parents who wanted to boast of a professional in the family. He had no deep desire to be a doctor, but to please them he added the clinic to their mansion and worked there on a small scale. His family had money. At that time Winton didn’t have to earn a living.”

“At that time?”

“Right. At that time. Then the family business went down the tubes due to bad investments. His parents both died—heart attacks. Probably died from the shock of losing the business. Luckily, Winton had his M.D. to fall back on.”

“I understand that he doesn’t offer his services for free. Francine told me it takes a fortune to be admitted to his clinic. I think he’s weird and so is Tucker Tisdale.”

Zack sighed. “Your personal feelings about the neighbors isn’t helping our investigation, Bailey. Maybe we should drive back to Mallory and talk to the guy with the reptiles.”

“And ask him what? I’m not eager to tangle with him again. But it wouldn’t hurt to mention our encounter with him to the police.”

Zack and I were at an impasse that could easily escalate into a full-blown argument. When we reached the cottage, we made no plans for more private investigating tomorrow. I left the car, slammed the door, and strode toward the cottage. Zack hurried to join me.

“Will you have supper with me, Bailey? I hate ending today on a sour note. Maybe we should forget private investigating. How about finding some quiet spot for supper and forgetting our snoop plans?”

Zack’s invitation tempted me until I remembered the threat note. I wasn’t eager to spend the evening alone. But neither was I eager to spend it with Zack. After our activities and our near arguments today, Zack seemed almost as weird as Gravely or Tisdale or Courtney Lusk. Or maybe I was the weird one of the group—weird for sticking around at Murder Central.

“Thanks for the invitation, Zack. But I really need to spend time alone tonight. Perhaps in the morning we’ll both feel differently about both our personal investigation and about the police and their activities.”

“Perhaps.”

And with that one word, Zack turned and left. That’s what I wanted, wasn’t it? How could I feel so strongly attracted to a man that I didn’t completely trust, a man who might have murdered his mother? I wanted to trust him, but I faced reality. Zack Shipton had no airtight alibi for his actions on last Monday evening.