Live and Lime Die: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 8 Page 3

  “She looked beautiful tonight,” Tiara heard the voice of Tim Eckels, her mother’s somewhat creepy neighbor, coming from the other side of the trees that separated the two yards.

  “Hi Tim,” she called out, peering into the trees, but seeing only shadows in the rapidly falling twilight. “Yes, she did look beautiful.”

  Tiara had visited with the neighbor enough to realize that, while odd, he was harmless. Part of the reason that he was so incredibly creepy and awkward around her mother was because he had a huge crush on her, thinking that she was so beautiful that he literally couldn’t put a sentence together in her presence. She hadn’t shared that information with her mother, not wanting to make things any more uncomfortable than they already were between the neighbors. Tim had applied for a job at the shop, having been raised by a loving grandmother who had taught him to be a wunderkind when it came to desserts, and had been passed over when Marilyn hired Kelcie. He was still sore about that, and mentioned it nearly every time he encountered Tiara.

  The former mortician, who had retired in Key West, stepped through the trees and pushed his thick horn-rimmed glasses up his nose.

  “It’s the detective, isn’t it?” he asked, blinking.

  “Yup, they seem to like each other,” Tiara nodded.

  “But you’re here,” he was puzzled.

  “Yeah, I’m hanging out here, waiting for a friend,” she replied, glancing at her watch.

  “If you’re waiting for a friend, why do you sound unhappy about it?” Tim might be strange, but it seemed that he missed nothing.

  “I’m actually meeting him to say goodbye so that I never have to deal with him again,” she admitted, seeing no reason not to be honest. It wasn’t like the man ever spoke to anyone else – who would he tell?

  His eyes narrowed, and he nodded thoughtfully. “Sometimes goodbyes are good. I have to go get something ready,” he said vaguely, heading back through the trees. “I’ll bring pie for you later, you might need it.”

  Accustomed to his unusually mysterious statements, Tiara just said, “Thank you,” and sipped her wine, glancing repeatedly at her watch, stomach full of butterflies.

  **

  Samuel Freed had woken up on the beach after looking for Tiara with great hunks of his long, raven hair shorn almost completely off, which had upset him greatly at first. Since then, however, he’d had the impromptu haircut trimmed up by the stylist onboard, deciding that short hair was more appropriate for the new, clean-cut image that he planned to present to his former girlfriend. Dressing with care for his date – she might not think it was an actual date, but he knew that it was – he donned a clean pair of designer jeans, a pink button down with the sleeves rolled up, its color contrasting perfectly with his deep tan, and slid his feet into butter-soft boat shoes. Except for the tattoos that peeked out below his sleeves, he looked like a member of the boating set whom he served, having learned how to successfully adopt their mannerisms and style.

  Taking one last look in the mirror, and spritzing on an expensive cologne that had been left on the boat by a previous guest, he headed back to shore, taking care to avoid any of the areas where he knew Jenna might be lying in wait for him. Since Tiara had crossed his path, he’d completely lost interest in the spoiled socialite, and thus far, had managed to avoid making late night visits to her room.

  **

  Tim Eckels trudged, determined, back to his house. Once inside, he parted the curtain in his guest bedroom that faced Marilyn’s back patio just enough so that he could easily observe without being seen. He headed for the kitchen, and took a small plastic bag out of a cabinet that was tucked into a little-used corner. Placing the bag on the table, he went to his laptop, plugged in the cord for his printer and printed a photo, which he glared at as he held it up in front of him. Opening the plastic bag, he pulled out a thick lock of raven hair and brought it to his nose, frowning as he sniffed it.

  “Not her…oh no,” he muttered, shaking his head as he pulled out supplies for what needed to be done. Slipping back into the guest bedroom to check on Tiara one more time, he then returned to the kitchen and got to work.

  Chapter 8

  Tiara heard the doorbell ring and set her wine glass down on the table next to her lounger, heading inside to admit the young man that she had once cared about.

  “Hi,” Sam gave her a gentle smile when she opened the door.

  Entirely flabbergasted by his appearance, she said nothing for a moment, making an effort to keep her mouth from falling open in shock. He looked like someone who would grace the cover of an exclusive men’s magazine.

  “Can I come in?” he prompted, when she didn’t return his greeting.

  “Oh! Umm…yeah, of course,” she got past her initial reaction, and smiled involuntarily. “Come on in. It’s such a nice night, I thought that we could sit out on the patio.” She led him through the house and back outside, to the patio.

  “Would you like some wine?” she offered, feeling awkward at being alone with him.

  “No, thanks,” he surprised her by saying. “I don’t usually drink anymore.”

  “Oh, well…wow. That’s great,” she nodded. “Will it bother you if I…” she raised her glass.

  “Oh no, it’s nothing like that, go ahead, knock yourself out. I’m just getting into the habit of making better choices,” he explained, gazing into her eyes.

  Tiara took a sip, simply to break eye contact without being obvious about it.

  “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” he began. “I’ve really changed a lot since I got out of jail. I have a really good job and I’ve turned my life around. I’m not the same loser that treated you like you weren’t important.” Sam reached for her hand and she withdrew it, avoiding his touch.

  “Tiara, please don’t be like that,” he pleaded. “I’m a responsible adult now. I’m ready to have someone in my life – I’m ready to have you in my life.”

  The change from the arrogant, demanding bad-boy that he’d once been, to the well-dressed young man who smelled pleasantly of expensive cologne, was astonishing, but Tiara had made up her mind before he’d ever arrived on her mother’s front porch, and she had no intention of budging.

  Seeing the resolution in her face, Sam sighed, as though in defeat. “You know what…I changed my mind about having some wine, would you mind?” he asked, casually.

  Feeling a chill, and not knowing why, Tiara stood. “Of course not, I’ll be right back,” she said, searching his eyes before turning to head into the house.

  The moment her back was turned, Samuel Freed slipped a tiny plastic bag out of his shirt pocket, opened it, and poured the powder that it contained into Tiara’s glass of wine, stirring it with his finger and quickly wiping it on the back of his jeans as she returned with the bottle and a glass for him. She poured him a glass and handed it to him, then topped off her own, recorking the bottle and setting it on the table next to her.

  “Shall we toast?” Sam asked with a smile, raising his glass. “To new beginnings…” he said, and the polite smile disappeared from Tiara’s face as she stopped raising her glass.

  “I meant for me,” he shrugged. “I’ve made a new start, isn’t that at least worth a toast?” he asked, tilting his glass toward hers.

  Tiara giggled nervously. “Yes, of course it is…I’m happy for you,” she smiled, raising her glass and clinking it against his. “To your new beginning,” she repeated, being more specific, and took a large swallow, making a face afterwards.

  “What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t know…I think the wine may be going bad,” she frowned.

  “Mine tastes great,” he said, taking another sip and pretending to test it.

  “I don’t drink it that often, so I guess I’m not really well-versed in what it’s supposed to taste like,” she replied, feeling a bit foolish. The new Sam seemed so much more mellow and classy than the old one had been. He seemed to be much more like what she actuall
y wanted in a man.

  There was a rustling in the tree line, and Tim appeared, carrying a Key Lime pie. The look on his face when he noticed Sam was a fleeting glimpse of utter fury, but it passed so quickly that Tiara never noticed it.

  “I brought a pie,” he announced, addressing Tiara, who was more than relieved to see him. She had no idea how she was going to get rid of Sam, so the neighbor’s arrival was a welcome distraction. Maybe they’d both leave at once.

  “How thoughtful, Tim, thank you,” she smiled, feeling strangely sleepy all of the sudden. When she stood to go to the kitchen for three plates and forks, she was a bit unsteady on her feet, but passed it off as an effect of relaxing after all of the adrenalin that had been flooding through her since Sam had arrived. She went into the house, her head feeling fuzzy, and gathered up the plates and silverware, remembering to grab a handful of napkins as well. As she stepped out the back door, the world seemed to tilt sideways, and she absently noted that both Tim and Sam were gone, before collapsing onto the patio.

  Chapter 9

  “Cort, she’s not answering,” Marilyn said, when the detective came back into the bar after calling the station.

  Her eyes were wide with fright, and once they’d paid their check, he ushered her out to his car, heading for her house. When they arrived at the house, she was relieved to see that there were lights on inside, but her relief was short-lived when she opened the front door and Tiara wasn’t reclining on the couch, watching Netflix.

  “Tiara?” she called, hurrying into the kitchen, trying her best not to be alarmed. She spotted the open back door just as she heard Cort call out to her from the patio.

  “Marilyn, call an ambulance and don’t touch anything.”

  Terrified, she walked to the back door while dialing 9-1-1, and saw the detective kneeling beside Tiara, who was motionless on the patio. She noticed several things simultaneously: her daughter wasn’t bleeding and appeared to be breathing, which at this point, only provided minimal comfort, there was a bottle of wine and two glasses, and a Key Lime pie, with three plates and forks. Had Tiara made plans to meet someone? If so, why was she unconscious, and who were her two guests?

  “She’s breathing, and her pulse is steady, but she’s not responding to smelling salts,” Cort said, his fingers on Tiara’s wrist.

  “Is she going to be okay?” Marilyn was on the verge of tears.

  “I certainly hope so,” the detective replied, looking up as he saw red and white lights of the ambulance splashing over the trees.

  The EMT’s assessed Tiara’s condition and bundled her into the ambulance, with Marilyn close behind.

  “I’ll take you to the hospital as soon as I brief the officers,” Cort nodded at the four uniformed policemen that she hadn’t noticed were standing behind her. Seeing the panic in her eyes, he assured her that it wouldn’t take long, and jogged over to the group. In what seemed like an eternity, but in reality only took a few minutes, the detective apprised his men as to what was happening, and whisked the nervous mother away.

  “It wasn’t one of mine,” Marilyn murmured, when they were on their way to the hospital.

  “I’m sorry?” Cort asked. “What wasn’t one of yours?” he glanced over at her, while trying to keep his eyes on the road.

  “The Key Lime pie that was on the table on the patio…it wasn’t one of mine,” she explained, in a daze.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “It was a different type of pie pan. I use a specific type that I special order. They have the shop logo embossed in the bottom.”

  “Where would she have gotten the pie if it wasn’t from the shop?” the detective asked.

  “The only other Key Lime pie that I know of that she’ll actually eat, is my neighbor’s,” she replied with certainty. She and Tiara were definitely Key Lime pie snobs, it was an occupational hazard.

  “Mr. Eckels?” Cort clarified.

  Marilyn nodded, and he got on the phone with more instructions for his officers. When they arrived at the hospital, the detective hustled her into the Emergency Room waiting area, and once he was certain that she was in good hands and would be appropriately updated on her daughter’s progress, he hurried back to his car, impatient to return to the scene of the crime. There was something very strange about this case, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. Jogging through the darkened parking lot, he was so focused on the tasks ahead, that he never saw the figure dart briefly from the shadows, take aim and fire, the impact of the bullet slamming him in the chest and knocking him to the ground. He had enough presence of mind to speed dial the dispatcher and inform her that there was an officer down in the Emergency satellite parking lot, falling unconscious, the call still live.

  **

  Waiting impatiently for word on Tiara’s condition, Marilyn fidgeted in her molded plastic chair, eventually getting up to pace in the limited and overcrowded space. She moved to stand just outside the entrance for a bit, in a spot where she could still see the front desk and would know if the nurse who had spoken to her earlier had come out to find her. She heard a commotion in the direction of the parking lot, and peered into the darkness, wondering what was going on. Out of the darkness, an entire crew of emergency personnel came running with a man on a gurney. When they reached the pool of light that illuminated the emergency entrance, Marilyn was shocked to see the pale, unconscious face of Bernard Cortland.

  “Cort!” she exclaimed, frightened.

  “Clear the area,” one of the nurses commanded, glancing at the woman standing in the doorway.

  Marilyn stepped aside, as though in a dream, as the man who had always seemed to come to her rescue was whisked by. She couldn’t tell whether or not he was even alive or dead. The culmination of the events of the day finally caught up with her, and the woman who always counted on being able to weather any storm that came her way, burst into helpless tears. She leaned, sobbing against the wall next to the automatic doors through which Cort had just entered the ER, and looked up to see a nurse headed her way.

  “Ms. Hayes? I have news about your daughter.”

  Chapter 10

  In an odd sort of way, it felt really good to be back in the saddle again, and Tim hummed as he went about his work, alternating his methods only slightly. As strange as it might seem to most of the population, the former mortician had always enjoyed his work. The dead were far more amiable than the living, as it turned out.

  He used a hairdryer to dry out the lips so that they could be glued. The eyes were a bit trickier, jelly-filled things that they were. He had no dome caps to set on them, rounding out the contours to perfection, so he had to settle for an overall profile that was less than ideal, but made it work nonetheless. He thought about actually stitching the insides of the fingers together, rather than simply gluing them, but it was far messier and much more time consuming, so he elected to sacrifice the stitching in favor of a more expedient solution, and uncapped his glue once more.

  Brushing the hair to a sheen, he applied hairspray to keep it perfectly in place, then set about putting on makeup. Usually for a gentleman, he’d apply a natural-looking overall tint, sculpt some planes and shadows after the fact, and top it off with the slightest tinge of rouge, for an ironically healthful glow. Tim loved irony, particularly when the carriers of it were the somnolent faces of the dead. This one, however was special, and got the full treatment, complete with bright blue eyeshadow and lipstick, a mockery of his unwarranted machismo. He had to chuckle to himself when he surveyed the final masterpiece.

  “Who’s the beauty now?” he practically giggled with glee.

  Shouldering the heavy mound of flesh, taking particular care not to disturb his aesthetic work, he dumped the unfortunate sap into the back seat of his non-descript economy car and headed for the docks. The night was warm, but a lovely breeze wafted through the car, and Tim was content. Arriving at his destination, he found two large, tough-looking young men who seemed to be of dubious character
, and had a conversation with them, entirely unaware that his every move was being watched. A large sum of money transferred from the former mortician to the meaty palms of the misguided youths, and they came over to claim his prize from the backseat. Taking care to vacuum the backseat with a mini-vac, which he then emptied into the water, he completed his goal, and turned toward home, whistling a happy tune.

  **

  A figure emerged from the shadows when Tim was out of sight, and boldly approached the two young toughs who were in the process of taking out their rage upon the motionless bundle that Tim had left with them. The somewhat paunchy former mortician had taken video of the man in the makeup before he left, chuckling to himself in a manner that even creeped out the hired thugs. This new arrival puzzled them even more than the semi-psychotic mortician, and they received their second windfall of the night, this time the cash buying their silence.

  Chapter 11

  “Mom, you’ve got to get me out of here,” Tiara complained urgently when Marilyn was finally allowed to see her. She’d had her stomach pumped, and was weak, but fully awake and aware. Her mother nearly fainted with relief.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re okay,” Marilyn held her hand and brushed silken golden strands of hair away from her face. “What happened? Do you remember?”

  “We can get to all of that later, but seriously, you need to give me my clothes and take this stuff out of me,” she gestured to the IV line in her arm. “I need to leave right now,” she insisted, clearly agitated.

  “What? There’s no way they’re going to let you leave, sweetie. Your body has been through a horrible ordeal. You’ll need to stay here and rest so that they can make sure everything is back to normal before you go home,” Marilyn explained patiently, not understanding Tiara’s distress.