Betty’s Blue Bomber Cadillac Deville had been on loan to Liz since the day she came back from Manhattan. She meant to buy her own wheels but hadn’t gotten around to it. Plus, as Betty always said, the Indialantic by the Sea Hotel and Emporium was its own ecosystem. Everything you needed from food, shelter, clothing, home décor, surfing gear, and even boyfriends, like the one sitting next to her, were all within arm’s reach.
They were supposed to use Ryan’s Jeep for his secret trip, but the oil light wouldn’t turn off after he’d started the car. They’d left Pierre with his head under the hood trying to fix the problem.
“I think we’d be better off using Pierre’s motorcycle and sidecar than this thing,” Ryan said, buckling his seat belt.
Liz looked at him and grinned. “Then what would we do with Betty and her luggage? Maybe next time Pierre can show you how to successfully change your oil, city boy.” She pushed the button on the console to lower the top. The frame to the canvas groaned and stopped halfway. She got out, folded it the rest of the way down, then snapped the cover in place to keep it from springing up.
Back inside, she started the car and put it in drive. “Which way, boss? A right or left on A1A? Hope it’s the opposite direction of those rain clouds.”
“Boss? I like that.”
“You would,” she said, tapping his arm with her fist.
“Make a right.”
After a few sputters and a couple of backfires, she left the parking lot and took off down the highway. Glancing at the turbulent ocean to her left, she realized she’d probably made a mistake putting the top down. The cloud cover was heavier than when she’d walked over to the Indialantic. At least she didn’t have to worry about wearing a hat to shade her scar. Her long strawberry blonde hair tended to contract exponentially into masses of ringlets based on the humidity in the air. She’d worn a white sleeveless sundress, and a peach chiffon scarf Aunt Amelia had given her from the set of one of her TV shows. The long tails of the scarf occasionally whipped Ryan on the cheek. She was channeling her best Grace Kelly from the movie To Catch a Thief, the scene where Frances Stevens is tooling around the Cote d’Azur in her sky-blue sports car (in Liz’s case the blue bomber). She glanced over at Ryan and saw a resemblance between him and Grace’s costar, Cary Grant. They both dressed in black, and just like John Robie, Ryan had been known to break into homes cat-burglar-style if the occasion called for it. Which it had.
It felt empowering to feel the wind on her face and the freedom under the open sky. For a moment she was unencumbered by the heavy malaise that had settled on the Indialantic. She refused to think about psychics, witches, and warlocks, and concentrate instead on happy things like the man next to her, and welcoming calm minded Betty Lawson back into the fold. “Okay, where are we going?” she shouted over the wind.
“Charlotte called last night. Thanks to you, and your discovery of Wren’s real first name, she was able to get an address for her parents. Wren/Renee does have a record, but it’s sealed because she was a minor at the time of her arrest. Talking to her parents might shed some light on what the arrest was for and, if nothing else, maybe we’ll find her hiding at their house.”
“True.”
When they reached Highway 510 Liz made a right. They traveled west, under the I-95 overpass and found themselves in Florida farm country. Passing a herd of cows lounging on the grass, she asked, “I wonder if it’s true what Auntie always told me growing up? That cows lay down when it’s going to rain?”
“Hmmm, you would have to Google it,” he said.
“I think it’s more fun just to believe her. I’m really worried about the effect these past couple of days have had on Auntie. She has dress rehearsal for The Sea Witch on Friday.”
“Hopefully we’ll be able to find something soon,” he said. “Tell me about your morning. You sound like you’ve been busy.”
She told him about everything she’d just learned from the garage and orchid house. Then filled him in on her time with Captain Netherton. “We think the poison was put in the mermaid mango margaritas.”
“We? Mermaid margaritas?”
“Okay, I think,” she said. “With all the recent developments that Dorian had oleander in her system and Julian Rhodes didn’t, I’m leaning to say he was the intended target. Dorian told me she drank from his SWS water bottle during the rehearsal dinner.”
“Unless…” Ryan said, turning to her. The wind in his dark, glossy hair and his unshaven face made him appear like a roguish pirate. All he needed was a knife between his lips and a headband.
“Unless what? Don’t say it,” she said.
“Okay, I’ll just think it,” he answered.
“Dorian would never ingest poisonous oleander to throw suspicion off herself for killing her fiancé with antifreeze. You have to trust me on this. Plus, I found the crushed leaves in the orchid house and saw Wren with an orchid in her hair. The glass pane by the door had been shattered by a rock and broken into. The hole was so small I couldn’t put my hand through. But Wren could have.”
“Liz, I know you think that’s what happened, but until the CSIs confirm that it is oleander on the paper towel and the mortar and pestle, we can’t do a thing. Plus, Dorian Starwood is on the small side herself.”
“You’re right.”
“I’m what?” He cupped his hand to his ear and leaned in.
She grinned. “You’re right. We have to wait. But not about Dorian.”
“Eyes ahead. Our turn is coming up. Make a right, at that horse farm. Pleasant Lane.”
“I hope Wren’s parents are pleasant.”
“That reminds me. And don’t take it the wrong way. Charlotte said that seeing I’m on retainer with the sheriff’s department, I’m to do all the talking.”
“But I…” She made the quick turn onto a dirt road.
“Ah, what did I just say?”
Before she could protest further, they pulled up to a white farmhouse with a red barn behind it.
Liz whistled. “I feel like we’re somewhere in the Midwest instead of Florida.”
Ryan pointed to a tree in the distance. “Subtract the palm tree, and I’d say you’re right.”
After Liz parked in the circular drive, they saw a man in overalls coming from the barn. Liz felt relief when she noticed his big smile.
They got out of the car and Ryan made introductions.
“Will Wagner. Nice to meet ya. So, you’re trying to find our Renee? Hope she’s not in trouble.”
Liz opened her mouth, then shut it, trying to remember the role she’d been assigned as a mime from Cirque de Soleil.
Ryan took something out of his pocket. “We run an inn that your daughter was staying at. She left this ring behind. We didn’t have a forwarding address but remembered her saying you lived close by.”
Wow, smart thinking, Liz thought.
“Renee told you we lived nearby? Wonder why she didn’t come see us? Yes, that’s her ring. She said someone gave it to her for high school graduation. If I know Renee, she probably stole it. I bet she skipped out on the hotel bill, too? We’ve stopped paying her creditor’s years ago. Part of the tough love meetings my wife went to after Renee graduated high school.”
“Will!” A woman stood on a wraparound porch complete with two large rocking chairs that looked like they’d been swiped from the front of the local Cracker Barrel. “Don’t be so rude. Invite the lady and gentleman in for some coffee.” Her thin salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her face dark from the sun. Confirming the sun exposure were numerous lines on either side of her mouth and eyes.
Liz followed Will and Ryan to the porch. The Wagner’s had a lot of land, but it didn’t look like much of it was in use. The screen door creaked as Mrs. Wagner opened it and ushered them inside. The interior of the house was as she’d suspected. Lost somewhere in the 1950s, complete with granny-square afghans and early-American décor sporting E. Pluribus Unum eagles on the sofa cushions and wall clock. Kate would have a good time finding things here for her emporium shop Books & Browsery.
Mrs. Wagner held out her hand toward Liz. “Maureen Wagner.”
“Liz Holt.”
Then she turned to Ryan, and he said, “Ryan Stone.”
Will was already in his Lazy Boy, the footrest extended. He looked old enough to be Wren’s grandfather. Maureen also. They either had Wren late in life or life on the farm hadn’t been a bed of roses.
“They’ve come about Renee,” Will said. “They have her opal ring someone gave her before…”
Before what? Liz could tell by Ryan’s expression he was also interested.
“What’s she done now?” Maureen asked in a tired voice.
Ryan repeated what he’d told Wren’s father.
“How kind of you,” Mrs. Wagner said. “Have a seat, I’ll get some refreshments.”
“We don’t want to put you out,” Ryan said, “just seeing if you had a forwarding address?
“No. Sorry. It’s been a while since we’ve seen her. Right, Will?”
“Been three years, I think.” Will grabbed a mug large enough to double as a soup bowl from a TV tray and waved it in the air. “I wouldn’t mind a touch-up, Mo. And I’m sure these kids would love to sample your lemon squares. I know I would.” He rubbed his protruding belly and smiled with affection.
“It’s settled then,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
When she was out of sight, Liz asked, “Do you mind if I use your powder room?”
Will chuckled, “I thought Mo was the only one who called it that? Last door on the right.”
She got up from the sofa and winked at Ryan. He returned a scathing look. Liz ignored it. Like on every crime show she’d ever watched Liz did her best sleuthing using the bathroom excuse. It was impossible to turn down someone who needs the restroom, no matter what you might be hiding. Even a daughter.
It seemed there was nothing to hide in the Wagner home. All the doors on the way to the bathroom were open. The master bedroom had a red, white, and blue patchwork quilt on top of the double bed. The next bedroom must have been Wren’s. It belonged in a time capsule. Dust free and smelling of furniture polish. Over a desk in the corner was a large corkboard adorned with concert stubs, hunky heartthrobs torn from magazines, and photos of young Wren wearing her high school cap and gown. There was conversation coming from the living room and she figured she had a few extra minutes to look around. She checked under the bed and pulled out a pink photo box with the word PRINCESS written in silver glitter. She opened the box and found it was filled with letters.
The letters were written by Wren and addressed to her parents. Liz thumbed through them. They were in date order. She pulled out a letter near the end of the stack and opened it. Inside was a photo of a young Wren standing next to Julian Rhodes!
Above the pair was a wooden sign like you’d find at a dude ranch, SUNSHINE SERENITY SPRINGS. The same name Ryan had recently mentioned. She read the letter. It was from Wren/Renee to her mother. Her last lines read: I’m counting the days to getting out of this cult-like concentration camp. Elder Jay is a fraud. This is involuntary servitude. I would have rather gone to the paid rehab you claim you couldn’t afford, other than this “free” chance for rehabilitation the judge suggested. I bet the judge is getting a kick-back from turning us into slaves.
Elder Jay must be what Julian was calling himself back then.
“I should have known,” a voice said from behind her. “If Renee was involved, this was no innocent visit to return a lost ring. What do you want? We have no money. Renee’s taken it all. My husband has a shotgun. Should I have him fetch it?”
She turned slowly to see Maureen Wagner holding a knife in her right hand.
Liz prayed it was to cut lemon squares.