Tropical Punch Killer Read online

  “I bet Toffee and Bitsy hate that,” she mused, referring to Missy’s gentle golden retriever and spunky little maltipoo.

  “You’d lose that bet. The ‘girls’ love Moose too. She and Bitsy wrestle sometimes, it’s pretty funny. Do you not like cats or something?” Spencer asked, wondering if that might be this fantastic woman’s one tragic flaw.

  “I…I don’t know. I grew up around dogs. I thought only people who lived in the country had cats, you know, for like pest control or something,” she made a face.

  “Well, this place is pretty remote, but no. People love cats as much as dogs. Normal people anyway,” he joked. “Moose isn’t much of a hunter, unless you count hunting around the house for a sunny spot to lay in.”

  “I am fond of cats,” Kumar piped up and Mattie shot him a look. “What? I am. They can be quite affectionate.”

  “She takes a while to warm up to people sometimes, but once she gets to know you, she’s really sweet. Do you want to meet her?” Spencer asked Mattie, who regarded the cat as one might regard a cockroach in their vanilla pudding.

  “Uh…maybe later,” she chewed on the inside of her cheek.

  “Cool,” Spencer nodded. “I’ll leave her here while I grab some lunch at my place, so that Kaylee and Jazzy can play with her,” he smiled as Moose rubbed her head underneath Jasmine’s chin.

  “What if they’re allergic?” Mattie worried.

  “They aren’t. They’ve played with Moose plenty of times,” Spencer assured her, heading for the door.

  “I’ll make sure your kitty is well taken care of in your absence,” Kumar promised.

  “Thanks, Kumar,” Spencer nodded, then looked at Mattie and laughed. “Lighten up. She doesn’t bite…usually.

  **

  Spencer made the trek across the massive lawn, to the back end of Missy and Chas’ estate, where his bungalow was located, and found the front door ajar. His training kicked in immediately, and his senses sprung to full alert. He hadn’t set any of his various alarms because it was daylight, and he had suspected that he wouldn’t be gone long. The thought occurred to him that he might end up regretting that oversight.

  He’d oiled his hinges thoroughly, so he knew he’d be able to ease the door open and there would be no sound. He silently slipped up onto the porch, in full stealth mode, and stood with his back against the wall, beside the door. He eased his hand over to the metal paneled door and was about to slowly push on it, when he heard a familiar voice from within the house.

  “Forget the stealth, man. It’s just me,” Janssen’s voice sounded tired.

  The scarred young man had served with Spencer in Afghanistan, and had been a key member of their secret operations group. He’d come back from the Middle East with a scar from his forehead to his chin, and worse scars than that on his psyche. Unlike Spencer, he’d never quite gotten the hang of being a member of polite society again. He could play the part and fake it, but for just so long, then he felt the need to retreat.

  “Hey,” Spencer greeted him, surprised to see him sitting on the living room floor, his back to a wall, a small brown dog curled up at his side. “I thought you were in Illinois,” he frowned.

  Janssen had been headed to Illinois to try to make life work with the wife and son he’d left behind when he was sent out of the country. His wife’s business had burned to the ground and he’d gone to help, hoping that they’d finally figure out how to make their marriage work.

  “I was. Briefly,” Janssen stared at the floor rather than looking up at his friend.

  “Bad news?” Spencer eased down onto an arm of the sofa.

  “She and the kid were staying with the biker who was in our unit in Afghanistan,” a muscle in his jaw flexed.

  “What did she say about it?” Spencer’s heart ached for his friend.

  “I didn’t talk to her.”

  “You didn’t talk to her? But I thought that’s why you went down there?”

  “Seems like she’s made her choice. If he makes her happy, I ain’t got nothing to say,” Janssen shrugged.

  “What if she was there because a water pipe burst at her place or something? I can’t believe you went all the way up there and didn’t even talk to her, man.”

  “Some things are better left unsaid,” Janssen gritted his teeth.

  “You love this woman. Is that the kind of thing she’d do to you? You didn’t even give her a chance to explain, you just assumed the worst. What if she’s waiting for you and you’re letting her down, did you ever think of that?” Spencer challenged.

  “Whose side are you on, anyhow?” Janssen finally looked up, eyes narrowed.

  “I’m on your side, you know that. And what I can’t figure out is why you’re shooting yourself in the foot by not giving yourself a chance at happiness. You love her, man. You need to talk to her.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it ain’t that simple, that’s why,” Janssen’s voice rose.

  “Isn’t it?” Spencer wasn’t letting him off the hook. “You could pick up your phone and you could call her right now. What’s stopping you? Fear?”

  Janssen shot him a look.

  “You gotta know,” Spencer said softly. “You may not want to know, but you have to. She’s either in, or she’s out, but you owe her the decency of asking her, rather than making the decision for her. You can’t just disappear again. That’s not fair to you or to her,” he pointed out.

  Janssen sighed. “Not yet,” he shook his head. “I’m not ready to hear it.”

  “Look, here’s the deal,” Spencer began. “You and Rossie are on a train. The thing is going downhill really fast. You need to find out whether it’s going to crash or not. If it’s going to crash, you jump now, because it’ll hurt a lot less than crashing at the bottom. If it’s not going to crash, you can just coast into the station,” he explained.

  “Yeah,” Janssen said dully.

  Spencer let it drop for the moment, not wanting to beat up his brother at arms too badly. “Who you got there?”

  Janssen glanced down at the dog and made a face.

  “The crazy thing started following me at around the Florida state line, and I couldn’t shake him. Tried every way that I knew how to lose him, and he just kept showing up.

  “What’s his name?” Spencer crouched down and scratched the tiny, pitiful-looking creature between the ears.

  “Spike,” Janssen muttered.

  “Spike,” Spencer chuckled. “Nice. You gonna keep him?”

  “Looks like I ain’t got much choice,” the rough-looking young man rolled his eyes.

  “Do you have food for him?”

  “Heck no. He eats what I eat.”

  “He needs dog food. I’ll bring him some of Bitsy’s food later,” Spencer stood. “Are you going to hang out here for a while?”

  “Ain’t got nowhere else to go,” Janssen sighed.

  “Good. We’ll grill some steaks tonight. Mind if I invite somebody?”

  “You know I’m not exactly a social butterfly,” Janssen raised an eyebrow.

  “She’s cool. I think you’ll like her. I’ll get you some craft beer to go with your steak, deal?”

  “She? You got a girlfriend?”

  “No, not yet. I mean, no, it’s not like that. We both work for the Becketts, and she’s really nice, that’s all.”

  “Mmhmm,” Janssen was skeptical. “Whatever, man. Bring on the craft beer. I’ll just eat my steak and keep to myself, it’s all good.”

  “Cool. I’ve gotta go get Moose from the big house and bring her back here, then I’ll be going back to work, but I should be back around five, so we can eat at six,” Spencer looked at his watch.

  “What is time anyway?” Janssen intoned, picking a burr out of his sock.

  “Feel free to take a shower,” Spencer raised an eyebrow.

  “Look who’s talking,” Janssen shot back. “I smelled you a mile away, with all that cologne. That chick must
be really cute,” his wit was acerbic.

  “You know where everything is. Make yourself at home,” Spencer ignored the jibe.

  **

  “Mattie, this is Janssen, Janssen this is Mattie,” Spencer introduced them, taking a bowl of Missy’s homemade potato salad from her.

  “Hey,” she gave him a little wave, then put her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

  “Hey,” Janssen stared at her, and Spencer whispered, ‘be nice,’ on his way to the kitchen.

  “Oh my gosh, who is this?” Mattie grinned and bent down to pick up Spike, who had come trotting over and was sniffing at her pink-polished toenails.

  “Oh, sorry, that’s Spike,” Janssen actually blushed a bit.

  “Spike?” Mattie’s brows rose.

  “It was the first name I thought of,” he shrugged.

  “Well…that’s fine I guess, but did you realize that Spike is a girl?”

  Janssen blinked at her for a moment, digesting the news. “I uh…I didn’t look that close. She was a stray that followed me here.”

  “Oh. Do you live around here?” Mattie jumped a bit when Moose brushed against her ankle.

  “No. You pick the dog up without a second thought, but the cat freaks you out?” half of Janssen’s mouth quirked up into a smile.

  “The cat’s bigger,” Mattie pointed out, eyes wide.

  “That she is,” Janssen actually chuckled.

  “You guys really need help with gender appropriate names,” Mattie changed the subject with a giggle.

  “We try to think outside the box,” Janssen quipped, picking up Moose so that Mattie could relax a bit. “Want to get some air?” he asked, letting Moose bump her silky head repeatedly into the side of his face.

  “Can I take Spike along?” Mattie cuddled the dog, who looked like a very road-weary yorkie.

  “Yeah, sure. She’ll protect you from Moose,” Janssen teased, opening the door for the two of them.

  Spencer came out of the kitchen, beer in hand, and found Mattie and Janssen sitting on the porch swing, chatting like old friends.

  “No fights so far, that’s good,” he laughed. “I’ve got steaks on the grill in the back yard, are you two joining me?”

  “Yeah, we’ll be back there in a bit,” Janssen actually smiled and went back to his conversation.

  Spencer took a swig of his beer, watching them for a minute. “Okay then,” he nodded and headed back into the house.

  Chapter Eleven

  * * *

  “Detective?” the desk sergeant poked her head into Chas Beckett’s office at the police station.

  “Yeah, what’s up?” Chas glanced up from the evidence file that he’d been analyzing.

  “There’s a gal here who says she may have seen something at the Holman’s house on the night of the murder.”

  “Does she seem…?” Chas didn’t need to finish his sentence.

  “Yeah, she seems pretty legit. Nice lady, never been in trouble, no agenda that I can see,” the sergeant shrugged.

  “Great, I’ll come out with you and walk her back,” Chas rose and followed her down the hall to the reception area.

  “This is Detective Beckett,” the desk sergeant announced to a petite, older woman who sat, clutching her purse, in the waiting room. “He’ll take your statement.”

  “Hello,” the woman shook Chas’ hand. “I’m Alma Pullman,” her voice was soft.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Pullman. Won’t you come with me?” Chas led the way back to his office.

  “I wasn’t sure if I should come down here or not,” Alma admitted, once she’d been seated in front of Chas’ desk. “I don’t like to get involved in things that aren’t any of my business, but I saw something that I thought might be related to what happened to those nice people, so my daughter convinced me to come down here and tell you about it,” she explained.

  “Did your daughter see something too?” Chas asked.

  “No, she doesn’t live with me. We were having coffee together at the diner this morning and I told her about what I’d seen, so she sent me in here.”

  “Okay, well then, let’s start from the beginning, and you tell me what you saw,” the detective suggested, writing down her name and the date and time on his notepad.

  “Well, I don’t sleep well these days. I have the most awful hot flashes and they always seem to happen in the middle of the night,” Alma blushed, clearly uncomfortable with sharing this information with the detective. “Anyway, so I woke up that night, the one before the Holmans were found, and I went to the kitchen for a glass of water. My kitchen window faces their house, and I saw a man just kind of hanging around outside their house, which I thought was strange.”

  “What time was that?” Chas interrupted.

  “Oh, I’m not exactly sure, but those darned hot flashes usually seem to strike right around three o’clock.”

  “So, you think it was around three a.m.?” Chas clarified.

  “Probably closer to three-thirty, because I did lie there and try to go back to sleep before I realized that it just wasn’t going to happen.”

  “Okay, so three-thirty. What did the man look like? Can you describe him?”

  “Well, it was dark, but he was standing around under the streetlight and their porch light, so I actually did get a pretty good look at him. He was about your height I’d say,” she began.

  “So about 6’3”?” Chas asked.

  “Yeah,” Alma nodded. “Maybe a little bit shorter.”

  “Weight?”

  “Well, he was a bigger man. He had a big stomach hanging over his belt, and a fat neck,” she put her hands out from the sides of her neck to illustrate her point.

  “So, maybe two hundred and fifty pounds?” Chas suggested.

  “Oh, at least that, yes,” she agreed.

  “Long hair? Short hair? Bald?”

  “Well, he had a ball cap on, but there was shoulder-length, wavy hair hanging below the cap, and he had big sideburns.”

  A red flag went up in Chas’ mind.

  “What color was the ball cap?” he asked.

  “Red and white I think,” Alma frowned.

  “And his hair color?”

  “I couldn’t tell exactly, but it was dark. Brown or black maybe.”

  “Any other distinguishing features?”

  “Well, I don’t know if this is important, but he had one of those great big belt buckles. The light from the streetlamp kept hitting it. It was shiny, like chrome or something.”

  “How long was he out in front of the house?”

  “I don’t know. I got my water and after I checked to make sure that my doors were all locked, I went back to bed. I mean, I hate to say it, because the Holmans were such nice people, but…they had some strange characters come visit them sometimes,” Alma confided.

  “Had you ever seen this man over there before that night?”

  “No sir, I don’t believe I did,” Alma shook her head.

  “Well, thank you very much for coming down here today, Ms. Pullman. I may need to do a follow-up interview with you and have you take a look at some photos to see if you can identify the man that you saw. Do you think you remember enough of what he looks like so that you could do that?”

  “Oh, yes sir, I never forget a face. Especially one from the middle of the night,” Alma assured him.

  “Please contact me if you think of anything else,” he rose and handed her a business card. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Well, how nice of you. I had no idea the police were so polite. I shouldn’t have been worried at all about coming down here,” she smiled and followed him from the office.

  “We do try,” Chas smiled politely, his mind racing.

  **

  “Two things stand out from the evidence so far,” Chas told Spencer, as they strategized in the private investigation office.

  “Well, it’s a start,” Spencer was optimistic, having read all of the notes from interviews in the case. />
  “The hammer that was used in the murders was found in a culvert, here,” the detective made a red X on the map. “The Holman residence is here,” he made a circle. “And Ralph Moyer’s house is here,” he made another circle.

  “So, the murder weapon was found about halfway between Moyer’s place and the Holman house. Doesn’t the cousin, Chooch, live out in that area too?” Spencer looked at the map.

  “No, but his mother’s house is here,” Chas made a dot.

  “And frankly, I’m still wondering how Athena slept through the whole thing,” Spencer pointed out.

  Chas nodded. “And her boyfriend’s house is only five blocks away. At least we know now that Chet didn’t kill Leslie first and then become a victim himself.”

  “How do we know that?”

  “The killer struck Chet first, and apparently Leslie woke up while he was at it. She must’ve seen it happening and reacted in some way to make the killer notice her. She ran to get away, but the killer set the murder weapon down on the dining table placemat and knocked her down. She tried to crawl away, but was held by one ankle and attacked,” Chas replayed the scene, drawing it out on a diagram of the scene.

  “Doesn’t that eliminate the daughter as the killer?” Spencer asked.

  “Not necessarily. If she acted alone, then yes, it would’ve been hard for her to hold on to her stepmom and swing the hammer at the same time, but…”

  “If she and her boyfriend were both there,” Spencer finished for him. “One of them could’ve held on to her while the other attacked.”

  “Exactly,” Chas nodded. “There were no signs of forced entry, and Chet was comfortable enough with whoever did this to be relaxing in his recliner while they were in the house.”

  “Unless he was asleep and didn’t know,” Spencer pointed out.

  “True, but unless they left the door unlocked all night, it’s more likely that they knew the killer, and knew them pretty well.”

  “So who’s your primary right now?”

  “Ralph Moyer. I had a lady come in here and she described him to a T, even his baseball cap. He was hanging out at the scene at around three-thirty that morning. Look at the DNA report,” Chas instructed.