No More Time Read online

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Like, I was at dinner with my mom,” he said. “At the Sandbar. And like that guy you know…?”

  “Grody,” I said slowly.

  “He gave me this. Told me if I saw you tonight…” He laid the napkin on the bar.

  I picked up the paper and read: Call after 8. I have news. My pulse picked up.

  Pauli studied me. “It’s about the murder?”

  Oh yeah. “I don’t know. Why didn’t he text me?” I said aloud.

  “Said something about sticking his cell phone somewhere in the kitchen and I was handy.”

  Grody had seen Pauli with me earlier today at lunch. “Thanks. I appreciate you being the messenger,” I said and sucked the rest of my Creamsicle Crush. “Want anything to drink?”

  “Nah. Gotta bounce. Meeting up with some dudes at the arcade. So…if you need like any digital stuff…” he said eagerly.

  “Got it.” The kid was rarin’ to go. An idea flashed on my inner mental screen. “Pauli, there’s one more person I’d like you to do a deep search on. Jackson.”

  “The guy who got arrested, right?”

  “Uh-huh. Jackson Bennet.”

  Pauli considered. “How far back should I go?”

  “2012. Hurricane Sandy.” I was privy to his life before that date.

  * * * *

  The second night of the theater festival was only slightly less festive than the opening. Though the wind off the ocean was nippy and threatened rain, the audience was large and enthusiastic, the house pulsating with energy. Once again, I had two tickets on the left aisle in the back of the house in case Bill had a miraculous recovery during his late afternoon nap and decided to join me. No real chance of that, I thought. Arlene Baldwin and John Bannister sat in the last row. No sign of Sam. Mildred, Vernon, and the Banger sisters planted themselves on the other side of the auditorium and waved. Vernon fiddled with his hearing aids, and Mildred gave me a thumbs-up. Which reminded me that I needed to vote for my favorite show before I left the theater. Arsenic and Old Lace was going to need all of the help it could get if it was going to have a fighting chance to win an award.

  At a quarter to eight, spectators were getting restless, their pre-show murmur growing louder. Maddy left her place in the stage manager’s box in the back of the theater and hurried backstage. Something must be amiss. Finally, the house lights dimmed and a hush descended on the audience. In the momentary blackness I sensed movement on my right. A body brushed my arm. Bill had come after all!

  “Hi, sweetie,” I whispered. “I’m so glad to see you.”

  “Me too, honey.” The stage lights brightened. It was Jackson smirking.

  “What are you doing here?” I choked out, clutching his arm.

  “Ow!”

  “Shh” came from someone in the row behind us. Cinderella sang. She couldn’t wait to meet her Prince Charming. I couldn’t wait until intermission.

  I suffered through the rest of the fairy tale, then The Mousetrap, Noises Off, and Death of a Salesman, a knot in my stomach, my curiosity thrumming. I applauded mechanically, one eye on the stage and the other on Jackson. I resisted the urge to grasp his shirt and prevent his wandering off. The curtain had not completely fallen on Act One when I tugged on his arm. “Let’s go.”

  “What? Where? I’d like to see the second half since I was actually a part of Arsenic and Old Lace. My fifteen minutes of fame.” He chuckled.

  “We need to duck out before anyone realizes who you are and waylays us.” I jumped up and pushed Jackson into the aisle, through the lobby, and into the night. Heads twisted in our direction as we raced past, but nobody commented “there goes the murderer.”

  Once outside, away from the entrance to the theater, I confronted Jackson. “How did you get out? Who paid your bail? Did you hire a lawyer?”

  He raised a hand to stifle the rush of questions. “Maxine.”

  “Maxine?” My mind did a backflip. I visualized her luxury home on the waterfront. She had the money. “She posted your bail?”

  “And hired a lawyer. Big firm in New York. Works for her father,” Jackson said.

  “Why would Maxine do that?” Not that it wasn’t a terribly generous act.

  Jackson grinned. “For old times’ sake.” He became serious. “Because I was Vinnie’s partner way back when. She knew Vinnie and I were tight.” He crossed two fingers to demonstrate.

  I was speechless. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”

  “Okay. The Sandbar?”

  “Too public.” Though I did need to call Grody. “My place is not a possibility.” Bill was there.

  “How about The Bounty? I’ve been staying there.”

  “Vinnie’s boat? That’s where you’ve been crashing?” I asked.

  “Vinnie invited me to stay there. Gave me a key. But then he died. It didn’t feel right.”

  “Until you moved off our porch,” I said.

  I shadowed Jackson as we left the town park, walking in the direction of the marina where The Bounty was docked. I knew getting on the boat was borderline off-limits since it might be involved in Vinnie’s murder investigation. But Vinnie had extended an invitation to Jackson, and by extension, to me. We hurried down the dock to the berth where the boat was moored, bobbing up and down in the choppy water.

  “She’s a beauty,” Jackson said wistfully.

  Selling farm equipment hadn’t replaced his love of the ocean. The Bounty was indeed beautiful. I’d noticed its gleaming white fiberglass surface days ago, but I hadn’t properly registered its modern, sleek design. There were poles and swiveling captain’s chairs for eight fishermen in the aft. Below deck, Jackson unlocked a door that led into the cabin. He flicked on a light. “Watch your step.”

  I spun in a circle, taking in the luxury. The interior of the galley was all stainless steel appliances with cupboards, the living area an L-shaped sofa with a coffee table and flat screen television, and beyond it, a dining table with seating for eight. “This is amazing.”

  “Vinnie has expensive taste. Nothing like the JV.” He pointed toward the bow. “Two staterooms back there.”

  I slowly moved to the sofa and sank into its leather depths. “You could throw some kind of party down here.”

  “The dudes that came onboard this fishing charter expected to party. In style.”

  Jackson’s personal belongings were piled on top of the dining table, marring the flawlessly decorated interior. “So you’re bunking down here.”

  “On and off. Want a drink? I got white wine.” He opened the refrigerator.

  I needed to stay alert. “Is that a Keurig? I’ll take coffee.” Jackson banged around the galley, running water, opening and closing cupboards. “What evidence do they have against you?” I asked cautiously.

  “The lawyer’s working on it. Said it’s circumstantial. He told me to go home and sleep…he’d be in touch. Believe that? The guy’s super cool.”

  I hoped so for Jackson’s sake. He handed me a mug of coffee and snapped open a beer can. I patted the seat next to me. “Let’s get this all out into the open. You’re going to have to come clean with your lawyer sooner rather than later, so practice with me. Tell me everything.”

  Jackson sat heavily and closed his eyes. “Vinnie was an awesome friend. I mean, he drank too much, liked to cut corners…but he was my best bud.”

  “I know.”

  “When he called me in Iowa about joining the new charter boat, I figured it would be like the old days.”

  “All play and little work?” I suggested.

  “Whatever. When I got here, it was a different scene.” He took a long drink of his beer. “Vinnie C was now Vincent Carcherelli.”

  That I knew.

  “So we met up. That day after I crashed on your porch,” he said. “The day you spied
on me.”

  “I wasn’t spying on you,” I said indignantly.

  “Whatever. At first it was like all sweetness and roses…”

  Vinnie? Sweetness?

  “My bro is wearing expensive duds, a S.W.A.T. watch, has this fantastic boat. So I figured it was the right time to hit him up for the money he owed me. We’re talking, joking, about the old days and the JV, and then he does 360 degrees on me. Totally a different person. Says I’m ungrateful. He’s ‘giving me a piece of some action and all I’m thinking about is the past.’”

  “What kind of action?”

  “I dunno. He pissed me off and I kind of shoved him—”

  “And he shoved you. Then what?”

  “Then we came in here to cool down. He digs out a bag and gives me a wad of bills as a down payment. The money you found in my jacket pocket,” he said. “A thousand bucks. Said he was cool for the rest and had a payday coming in this weekend,” Jackson added. “Gave me an IOU.”

  “Like an informal promissory note between bros. What kind of payday? Like from a charter?” I asked.

  “I dunno. All I know is that we parted on friendly terms. He was going to see about me joining him on the boat. He had to check with his partner.”

  “Sam Baldwin.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That was the last time you saw Vinnie?” I asked.

  Jackson hesitated. “He called me at two a.m. Said he had to talk. To meet him here.”

  The little hairs were dancing on my neck “Did you?”

  Jackson nodded. “Vinnie was drinking. Raving mad. Talking trash…saying they couldn’t take him for granted…he was getting revenge.” Jackson stopped to finish his beer.

  “Who’s ‘they’?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Revenge? How was he going to do that?”

  “I dunno! He was waving this black book around—”

  “—black book? What black book?”

  “A regular black book.” He demonstrated with his hands. “About this big.”

  Three by five inches. A small notebook. “What was in it?”

  “Beats me. Whatever it was, Vinnie was like bizzaro. Yelling ‘it’s all in here’ and shoving the book at me.” Jackson stopped to take a breath. Reliving that night was tough for him.

  Where was the book now? “You know what this means?”

  Jackson looked bleary-eyed. A night in jail and no sleep. He yawned. “What?”

  “If Vinnie had information that was damaging, someone might have felt threatened enough to…”

  A light bulb went on. “Whoa…murder him!” he said.

  “Jackson,” I said gently, “why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “Vinnie said it was confidential. That I had to keep it to myself. Besides…I wanted to straighten things out between Vinnie and me. Not get anyone else involved,” he said and hung his head.

  “And Vinnie was alive when you left,” I said.

  “What d’ya think? He kind of passed out on the sofa and I figured, let him sleep it off. I’d catch up with him the next day,” Jackson said.

  “But what about the arcade? Where were you going?”

  My cell rang and I glanced at the caller ID. I’d gotten so focused on Jackson’s story that I’d forgotten to call Grody. I hit Answer. “Sorry! I got distracted—”

  “Where are you?” Grody asked abruptly.

  “You’re not going to believe this, but Jackson’s out on bail—”

  Grody lowered his voice. “Irish, he’s in real trouble.”

  I eased into the dining area out of Jackson’s hearing range. “I know.”

  “My brother-in-law came through with some info. He only shared it because I told him whatever he knew would end up in the Candle Beach Courier in the next day or so and that Jackson was a friend,” he said.

  “Thanks, Grody.”

  Jackson heated food in the microwave, oblivious.

  “The police got an anonymous tip about a murder weapon, so they searched The Bounty. They found an ice pick in Jackson’s backpack. The kind fishermen use to break up frozen bait.”

  The kind of instrument that could create a puncture wound like the one found on Vinnie’s body. My pulse went wild.

  I could hear Grody take in a deep breath. “It had traces of Vinnie’s blood.”

  “Oh no.”

  Jackson walked toward me munching on the pasta in his frozen dinner. “What?”

  “I owe you one,” I said to Grody.

  “Jackson’s gonna need a powerhouse lawyer,” Grody said.

  “He’s got one. I’ll check back with you later.”

  Grody clicked off and I collapsed onto a chair at the dining table. I felt a tension headache coming on. “Jackson, did anyone from the police department or the prosecutor’s office mention that they had searched The Bounty?”

  Jackson swallowed a forkful of food. “Why?” he asked casually.

  “Did they tell you what they found?” I shrieked, nearly hysterical. I counted to ten to calm down.

  He tossed his dinner container in the trash. “My lawyer showed up right about then.”

  “They found the murder weapon—” I shouted.

  “Here? On The Bounty? What was it?”

  “An ice pick that—”

  “Yo. Stabbed with an ice pick. Uh-huh.” He bobbed his head emphatically. “Like I didn’t think he drowned. I figured something happened to him before he landed in the ocean.”

  “The police figured that too—”

  “So somebody with access to the boat murdered him. Who would that be?” he asked naively.

  “You!” I screamed.

  13

  “He’s being framed,” I said softly to Bill. “This western omelet is delicious, by the way.” I scarfed up another mouthful of Bill’s savory egg concoction that he’d whipped up as a late-night dinner.

  “It’s the two cheeses. Gouda and Monterey Jack.” He scrubbed the omelet pan. “You should slow down here. Accusing the authorities of false arrest is serious stuff.”

  Once I’d made it clear to Jackson that the ice pick was found among his belongings, I had absolutely no trouble convincing him to return to our rental to bunk for the night. I even tried to persuade him to sleep in the spare bedroom. He refused that offer and dropped his clothes in his accustomed corner of the porch. Now he was comfortably situated in his sleeping bag, exhausted.

  “Jackson has no idea how that ice pick ended up in his backpack. He claims he hasn’t owned one since he left Candle Beach.”

  Bill leaned over my shoulder. “That’s what they expect him to say.”

  “You don’t believe him?”

  “I’m just saying…”

  Bill was right. Jackson certainly had the opportunity and motive—if you assumed the money he was owed was an issue—and the ice pick gave him the means. I hadn’t been a mystery and thriller reader all these years for nothing. Jackson had prime suspect written all over him.

  “And the anonymous tip about the ice pick? Isn’t that a little fishy?”

  “Not necessarily. Someone could have heard or seen something the night of the murder and simply doesn’t want to get involved. It happens all the time,” Bill said. He dropped the dish towel in the drainer. “Dodie, I can appreciate Grody wanting to help out by pumping his brother-in-law for information. But the two of you are flirting with disaster.”

  “You said you appreciated my investigative instincts.”

  “That’s in Etonville, where I have control over the investigation. This is foreign territory. Anything you say or do may well be construed as obstruction,” he said.

  Bill was right…

  “I know you have a past with Jackson, but he’s got a lawyer now. From what you just told me, he sounds like a damn g
ood one. You need to back off,” he said quietly. “Because I might not be able to bail you out if you get caught digging into the facts of the case.”

  “What if the facts are wrong?”

  “Let his lawyer sort it out.” Bill sneezed, then yawned.

  “All that sleep you got earlier tonight should have cured you,” I teased.

  “Sleep?”

  “Right. When I left you were napping. That’s why I went to the theater alone. So you could rest?”

  “Oh. Sure. Guess I’m tired from that trek up to the top of the lighthouse,” he said.

  I followed Bill into the bedroom. “You need some special attention tonight.” I kissed the top of his head as he took off his shoes.

  “I’m going to crash.” A quick kiss back and he was out like a light in minutes.

  I sat on the patio in a chaise lounge mulling over recent events. I knew Bill was shaken by the theft of his BMW and was working with the state car theft unit to recover his automobile. But a gentle warning about “obstructing” the murder investigation was not like him. I expected a full-throated verbal trouncing for getting involved with Jackson’s case. What was with him? He was carrying distraction to an extreme. We needed to have a heart-to-heart tomorrow morning.

  My cell pinged, a text came in. It was Lola: Did you see the disaster 2night? UGH. Meet up? Uh-oh. Something must have happened in the second act. Lola needed some BFF time. It was ten thirty. Bill was asleep, Jackson was in for the night, and I was restless. I texted back: come over here. out back on patio. In twenty minutes Lola emerged around a corner of the house, her cell phone flashlight providing illumination.

  “Whew. Dark out here. I parked in your driveway.” Lola stepped into the arc of light thrown by a tiki torch. “Is that mound on your porch Jackson? How did he get out of jail?” she asked breathlessly.

  I poured two glasses of iced tea and handed one to Lola. “You need to sit for this one.” I shared Maxine’s role in his release and Jackson’s unbelievably great fortune in having a high-priced lawyer in his corner. I kept Grody’s information about the murder weapon to myself.

  “What a generous offer,” Lola said. “Don’t take this wrong. I think Maxine should be happy to see Vinnie’s potential killer behind bars. Instead of posting his bail and providing legal help.”