No More Time Read online

  I stiffened. I had the sinking sensation I knew what was coming.

  “Vinnie and me and Dodie. My girlfriend. Uh…ex-girlfriend. Dodie, you want to say something about Vinnie and those years?” Jackson pointed to me.

  What I wanted to do was disappear into the ground, but people twisted in their seats to face me, including the row of ELT members, who were smiling with sympathy. I stood carefully.

  “I’m Dodie. Jackson was right. He and Vinnie and I spent time on the JV in the years before Hurricane Sandy. Life was simpler then. After the hurricane hit, their charter boat business…ended.” Mentioning Sandy had a sobering effect on everyone. Heads dipped, faces fell. “I was happy to see that Vinnie had launched a new company. There’s not much more to say except…” I got an impulse. I could say one more thing. “He’ll be missed, and I hope his partner will be able to get along without him.” I sat.

  People swiveled heads, surveyed the gathering expectantly as if they assumed the partner would materialize. No one moved. Sam stared at me before he took control of the microphone and brought the minister back. Mentioning a partner was a gamble that hadn’t paid off; I’d hoped somebody would come forward.

  “Dodie, that was beautiful,” said Mildred and wiped her eyes.

  “For Pete’s sake, Mildred, why are you crying? You didn’t even know the guy,” said Vernon.

  “We always cry at funerals,” said one of the Bangers.

  “And weddings,” said the other.

  “You were the Three Musketeers back then,” said Edna kindly.

  I’d never thought of us that way. “You could say that.”

  After extending their sympathy a last time, Mildred, Vernon, Edna, Carol, and the Banger sisters made a beeline for the refreshment tables, where punch and cookies were being served.

  Lola hung back. “Jackson seemed awfully upset.”

  “Yeah. Surprising.” His last meeting with Vinnie didn’t hint at the kind of emotion Jackson had displayed this morning.

  “Why? They were old friends who shared a lot of life’s experiences,” Lola said.

  “True,” I admitted.

  “Like us.” She put an arm around my waist. “See you tonight?”

  “Not sure.” I gave her the brief version of Bill’s missing car.

  “That’s awful. Bill must be beside himself. And to think he’s a police chief…”

  She let the rest of the notion dangle. I knew what she meant.

  My attention was drawn to Jackson, who now stood next to Sam’s wife, Arlene, bouncing his head and smiling. I’d love to hear that conversation.

  “…so you can text me later about the rehearsal,” Lola said.

  I’d been distracted by Jackson and Arlene. “Sorry?”

  “I’m joining Walter for lunch.” Lola shifted her gaze to Jackson. “If he’s not busy, he should get a kick out of the dress rehearsal. I can say he’s a supporting member of the ELT.” She tossed her hair off her shoulder.

  “Uh…well…I’ll see. You have fun with Walter.”

  Lola rolled her eyes and gave me a quick hug before she went off.

  I weaved my way through the swarm of guests that had surrounded the food and drink tables. I intended to buttonhole Jackson and engage him in a continuation of our discussion from early this morning. As I neared the refreshments, I saw someone vaguely familiar in an earnest conversation with Sam. Who was he… I flashed on my encounter with Vinnie at the tiki bar not long before he died. He was buying a round of drinks for a table of raucous guys. One of them yelled for Vinnie to hurry up. He was the man with Sam. The tiki guy inclined his head toward Sam, then clapped him on the back, offering sympathy. Sam and Vinnie might have been closer than I thought.

  I felt a splash of something wet on my back.

  “I’m so sorry. Someone bumped me from behind,” said Maxine, Vinnie’s fiancée, and held out a half-empty punch cup. She immediately blotted the remainder of her drink from my blouse with a paper napkin.

  “Don’t bother. In this heat it will dry quickly.” I smiled warmly. “Maxine, yes?”

  “Uh-huh. And you’re…?”

  “Dodie. Jackson’s ex-girlfriend.”

  Maxine studied me, then whispered, “I couldn’t believe Vincent’s life before the storm. He never talked about it. He never even mentioned that he had another boat business with another partner.”

  Her eyes were wide, deep brown, and distressed. So innocent.

  “Maxine, would you like to talk about Vin…cent’s past with me? It could give you some…” Comfort? Insight? Relief that she’d never married him? Because deep down, as much as I enjoyed Vinnie during my previous life in Candle Beach, I knew he was trouble then and I was pretty certain he would have been trouble now.

  She lit up like a firecracker. “Yes! I’d love to.”

  “Where can we meet?” I asked.

  She withdrew a pen from a clutch bag and scribbled on the napkin. “Call me tomorrow.”

  I crumpled the napkin in my fist as an elderly woman drew near. “Maxine, dear, I’d like to go.”

  “Of course. Mrs. Carcherelli, this is Dodie…?”

  “O’Dell,” I added.

  “She knew Vincent years ago,” Maxine said.

  Maxine made me sound like I was ancient. “Before Hurricane Sandy,” I said.

  Mrs. Carcherelli swayed a little. “I was glad that other boat sank. The JV was nothing compared to The Bounty.”

  She toddled off, Maxine giving me one last look to confirm our phone call. Had the JV actually sunk? No, but it had been smashed up. I stuffed the ball of a napkin in my bag and searched the dwindling assembly for Jackson. If he took off, there’d be hell to pay from me. Ease up, I told myself. He’s got to be here somewhere. I moved through the crowd. Sure enough, there he was, speaking to Sam. The tiki man had been replaced by Jackson. From the looks of their body language, it was a profitable conversation, Sam smiling and Jackson shaking his hand. Sam was one popular guy today.

  “Ready to go?” I tapped Jackson on the arm.

  He straightened. “Yo, Dodie, this is Sam—”

  “Baldwin. We’ve met. About the catering for the opening night reception,” I said.

  Sam rolled a cigar between a thumb and forefinger, probably anxious to bow out and have a smoke. “I remember.” He scrutinized me. “You knew Vinnie from before.”

  “Yes. When Jackson and I were living down here. And Jackson and Vinnie were partners.”

  “Uh-huh. Well.” He rotated toward Jackson. “I’ll get back to you.”

  “Awesome.” He beamed as Sam moved away.

  I tugged on Jackson’s shirt. “What was that about?”

  “Employment. The guy’s got a lotta irons in the fire down here,” Jackson said. “He could throw something my way.”

  “You approached him about a job at Vinnie’s memorial?”

  Jackson shrugged. “He didn’t mind. By the way, you crushed it with your life-was-simpler-before-the-storm thing. Nice.”

  “Thanks. Let’s go.”

  “What’s the hurry?” He hung back.

  “We need to talk.”

  “There you go again,” Jackson griped.

  I had intended to march us directly to my car and, if I had to, lock Jackson inside. I got a better idea instead. “Let’s head over to the boardwalk. I’ll buy you a beer.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  We stopped at a beach bar and bought hot dogs and beers. I led us to a picnic table facing the ocean. We sipped and munched for a minute, taking in the scene: the seagulls swooping onto the sandy beach and, in the distance, waves battering the shore. “So, Vinnie read Jonathan Livingston Seagull?”

  Jackson stuffed the last of his sandwich into his mouth. “More like Sports Illustrated. The swimsuit edition.”

 
We shared a laugh.

  “Did Vinnie ever mention his partner to you?”

  “What partner?” he asked.

  “In his new charter business.”

  “Nope. I think he was getting ready to make me a partner,” Jackson said.

  “I read an article in the Candle Beach Courier online. A PR piece when Vinnie launched his new business. It referred to an unnamed partner,” I said.

  Jackson shaded his face to follow a swimmer as he paddleboarded out beyond the plunging waves. “He didn’t say anything to me about another guy. Vinnie was like that.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “I dunno. He liked secrets. Right before the storm, he told me we had a third partner in the JV,” Jackson said.

  “He took someone on without your knowledge?” I asked in disbelief.

  “I guess so.”

  My mouth formed an O. “And you didn’t care? No wonder your charter boat business fell apart.”

  “Who says?” Jackson was suddenly indignant. “The JV was doing fine.”

  “Come on, Jackson,” I said softly. “Long before the hurricane, you and Vinnie were under water. I begged you to let me help with the accounting, but you always refused.”

  “Because Vinnie refused. He said no way. He’d take care of the bills.”

  Had Vinnie been hiding more than the third partner? I swallowed my beer. “I never knew that.”

  “Lot of things you didn’t know,” he said.

  “So fill me in. Tell me about the last time you spoke to Vinnie.”

  Jackson sat up. “I told you. We met up and Vinnie agreed to let me in on the new charter gig,” he said evasively.

  “What did you say?”

  “Told him I’d think about it,” Jackson said.

  “But you had a fight. You pointed at Vinnie like you were threatening him.”

  “I wasn’t threatening him. He owed me money and was trying to weasel his way out of it. That’s why he offered me the job,” Jackson confessed.

  “Owed you from before the storm?”

  Jackson squirmed.

  “For what—?”

  “Dodie, bug out of my business!” Jackson yelled.

  An elderly couple strolling by peeked at us over their shoulders. “You shoved him and he shoved you back,” I said calmly. “Some guy had to step between you.”

  Jackson rested his head on the back of the bench. “I paid off part of a debt he had and Vinnie promised to repay me, but then the hurricane hit, and well, the JV was like completely demolished and Vinnie took off. Checked out. I tried to find him but…nada. So I said what the hell and went to Iowa.”

  Definitely friction between them at the end. I did not know about the money Vinnie owed Jackson. “I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever. Now can we forget about Vinnie?” Jackson whined.

  Easier said than done.

  8

  “You’re burning, mister,” I said playfully.

  “Mmmm.” Bill’s head was covered in a beach towel while his torso and the backs of his legs were left to the mercy of the early afternoon sun.

  “What happened to that ‘I burn easily’ mantra?” I asked.

  “Mmmm.”

  I smeared sunscreen on his back. Bill rolled over and I dabbed it on his cheekbones and forehead. Ending with a quick kiss on his lips. I recapped the bottle, sighed luxuriously, and watched the incoming tide send a skim of water creeping up the beach, then rolling back into the ocean. My senses were on overload and I loved it—the aromas of suntan oil and hot dogs, the crashing of the late afternoon waves, the heat on my skin.

  My cell phone pinged.

  “Anything important?” Bill asked.

  “Mom.” My parents had spent the last couple of weeks at the shore too. Visiting old neighbors and friends before they returned to Naples, Florida, their new beach home. We’d overlapped three days with them. Plenty of time for my father and Bill to argue the finer points of baseball in the metro area—Yankees versus Mets—and share tidbits on the most effective way to kill crabgrass. They’d hit it off the moment they’d met. My mother wasn’t immune to Bill’s culinary charisma. “She said hi and reminded me to send her your recipe for Captain Jack’s Spaghetti Carbonara.” One of Bill’s specialties. It was yummy and could pack on the pounds. I should know.

  “Tell her hi back. The recipe’s on its way.”

  Bill and my mother had bonded over kitchen tactics and garden manure.

  I was glad to see Bill ease up and not let the theft of his BMW ruin his vacation, or at least his afternoon of sunbathing. But this guy was way too chill…what had he done with my other guy?

  The sun shifted lower in the sky. “Hey, sailor…can I interest you in an early happy hour? A pineapple margarita? Piña colada? Time to go in. You’ve been out here for…” I calculated. “Over three hours.”

  “Grody,” he mumbled.

  I tossed the lotion in my beach bag. “What did you say?”

  “I was out of the sun for a while. I had lunch with Grody.”

  “Nice to see two of my favorite guys bonding. I texted him we might stop in for dinner,” I said.

  “Nope.”

  “What do you mean? Tonight’s special is—”

  “Sesame crusted tuna with teriyaki stir fry,” Bill said placidly. “Grody told me.”

  “But you love tuna,” I protested

  “I do. But I love the thought of the two of us having a quiet night at home even better.”

  Yahoo!

  “So…you’re cooking?”

  “Yep. First champagne, then grilled shrimp with orange sesame noodles—Grody’s recipe—and a chilled chardonnay. Your favorite. Then we’ll see where the evening takes us.”

  I had a place in mind. But what about Jackson? I’d better text him and—

  “I texted Jackson and gave him a heads-up. Scram Sam. At least for the night.” He smiled slyly.

  “But how did you find him? What did he—?” I sputtered.

  “Dodie, I’m a police chief. I’m a pretty successful investigator,” he said patiently.

  Yes, he was. “I’m…overwhelmed.” I kissed his sunscreen-covered nose. “You’d better get that body out of the sun.”

  “I have a phone appointment at three thirty with the State Police Auto Unit. A guy I knew back in Philly has a connection there.” Bill’s years as a member of the Philadelphia Police Department had created a network of contacts in the Pennsylvania/New Jersey area he regularly called on for assistance. “Hope to get some details about this car theft ring operating down here.”

  I packed up my towel, book, and water bottle. “Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, you did have your BMW swiped.”

  Bill raised a hand to warn me off. “I’m not focusing on the negative aspects of the theft…”

  Were there any other?

  “I’m being proactive. Gathering information, dealing with my insurance company…which I also have to call this afternoon. As well as fax some paperwork over to them.”

  “I appreciate you being brave, but when I lost my Metro I was devastated.” I actually went through the five stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining—

  “I’m going to get my car back,” he said firmly. He pulled on a T-shirt, snapped his cap on his head, and picked up his flip-flops.

  What? “Bill, I saw this special on chop shops. They dismantle stolen cars within hours and sell the parts to…wherever.”

  “I know the facts. But I intend to remain upbeat,” he said grimly.

  Bill’s peaceful aura was worse than I imagined.

  “After my calls, I’m going shopping for dinner. Can I use your MC?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Can you keep yourself busy for a few hours? We’ll make it a late dinner…say eight, eight thi
rty?”

  I’d told Lola I’d try to visit the dress rehearsal at the theater tonight. Arsenic and Old Lace was scheduled to take the stage at six o’clock. Even accounting for theater time—always half an hour later than real time, according to Penny—I should be able to see the run-through.

  After showers, Bill and I parted ways. He stretched out in the bedroom with his cell phone, and I texted Lola that I would see her at the theater later. Then I headed to the boardwalk for a happy half-hour with Grody. Enough time to get an answer to a question.

  * * * *

  The music of the steel drums from the tiki bar next door drifted into the Sandbar. I nursed a Creamsicle Crush and waited until Grody had addressed the servers’ issues about tonight’s specials. The breeze was cool on my bare, tanned shoulders. Despite the tension surrounding Bill’s stolen BMW and Vinnie’s death, I felt pretty loose myself. Grody uncorked a bottle of red wine and leaned over the bar.

  “All set for the reception tomorrow night?” I asked.

  “Hey, that hors d’oeuvre idea? Awesome. Not too much fuss. We’ll do a setup at five thirty. Get a jump on things before the dinner hour. And speaking of dinner, sorry you’re going to miss my tuna tonight,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

  “Me too but Bill’s cooking.”

  “So he said…” Grody filled wineglasses and motioned to his bartender. “Romantic evening at home. Things going to get a little hot, Irish?”

  Not sure, but I might have blushed. “Changing the subject…”

  Grody guffawed.

  “Maybe you have some insight into Vinnie C and the charter boat business with Jackson before Hurricane Sandy.”

  “Me?”

  “Something went on between the two of them. According to Jackson, he paid off a debt and Vinnie never repaid him. That’s why they argued the day before Vinnie died.”

  “So…what’re you after?” Grody asked and sipped his water.

  “You always knew what went down in Candle Beach. Even now you picked up scuttlebutt about Vinnie’s death from your contact in the county prosecutor’s office. Was there any gossip floating around about Vinnie back then? Something I missed?” I asked.

  Grody motioned to a waiter to pick up a customer. “Ask Jackson.”