Death at China Rose (Sunshine State Murders), page 23
I knew that for bullshit, but kept my trap shut.
When the handler arrived with the two cadaver dogs—a big-boned bloodhound and a black lab—it looked as if the search was a bust. The lab had no interest in the Ridge, while the bloodhound gave what the handler called a possible positive sign.
“We’re digging,” Brad had said, without hesitation.
I’d asked Brad why he had acted with such certainty.
“It was where the bloodhound signaled that convinced me. It was right at the excavation site—exactly where you said Rose Ware was buried.”
So now we waited.
“How did you put it together?” Brad asked.
“Too slowly.” I told Brad about the old photo of Charlie with Harry at a previous excavation—but that was just verification of what I’d suspected for some time. “That’s when I knew for certain that the location of the dig was the problem—not the dig itself. I figured something was buried on the Ridge that Charlie didn’t want found. That’s when the lights went on.”
“I’m still in the dark,” Brad said.
“There was Charlie’s scheme to Baker Act his father-in-law. He dropped it like a hot coal when he learned the judge wouldn’t hear his case until Monday. He was terrified that Ancy would discover Rose’s body by then.” I felt sick. If Jon Monroe had kept digging, he would have found Rose Ware—not exactly the treasure he’d sought.
“Why do I get the feeling that you’ve suspected this all along?”
“Almost from the beginning,” I said, “but I was distracted by Charlie’s BS about letters from Rose.” I explained the twisted history of Rose’s supposed correspondence. “I knew damn well that Charlie could have made up the whole thing, but then Bambi told me that she’d kept Rose’s cards for many years. That distracted me for a time, until I realized Charlie could have easily driven to Jacksonville and mailed the cards to Bambi.”
“Makes sense.”
“Yeah, but it didn’t sound like Charlie to me—a little too slick somehow.”
“I never would have pegged Charlie as a double murderer,” Brad said.
My silence earned a sideways look from Brad.
“I’m not sure he was,” I said. The two crimes were almost polar opposites—Charlie killed Rose in a white-hot fit of anger and betrayal while Harry’s well-planned demise was cold as ice.
Brad touched my shoulder. Berry and Dolores Rio were striding our way, determined and yet sad.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
Brad met his deputy. They talked briefly. Brad and Dolores loped to the dig. Berry started to follow, but changed his mind and came to me.
“You found her.”
Berry nodded and looked away. “What’s left.” Like a good little cop, Berry went on to say that the ID needed to be confirmed by dental records or DNA, but it was a skeleton of a young female. We both knew it was Rose Ware in that hole.
“To think she’s been here all this time and nobody knew—everybody thought she was off living the life.” Berry’s voice was thick.
I didn’t know what to say. We all lived and died by the assumptions we made—no exceptions. “I’m glad Bambi had the sense to stay away.”
“She didn’t need to see this,” Berry said with a nod. Then he stuck out a hand. “You did good work, Addie.” After we shook I asked Berry if I could see Rose.
“There’s not much but bones and some fabric and...” He stopped and shrugged. We walked to the grave together.
She’d been small and delicate, like her daughter. The body had been curled into a tight ball, like a grub hiding in the earth. A cloud of dark hair was around the skull—a dark halo. Shreds of what had once been fabric clung to dirty bones.
RIP, Rosie Ware.
I looked at Berry. “Can somebody give me a ride to the bar so I can pick up my car?”
“I’ll take you,” Berry said. “Just let me tell Spooner.”
While Berry jogged over to Brad, the last of the clouds blew away, sending a burst of sunshine over the Ridge. Dolores had been brushing grave dirt from the phalanges of the left hand. In that spray of brilliant light, something glittered from the pit.
My heart cracked: it was Rose’s wedding band.
* * *
“It’s about time you came to see me,” Etta Bell sniffed.
“Sorry, but I’ve been busy.”
She opened her mouth for another retort but held back. Maybe she saw the state I was in—I leaned against the wall, my clothes strained and rumpled—or maybe she heard something in my voice. She gestured me inside.
I followed her to the kitchen. This time there’d be no cinnamon buns, no coffee, no pretense.
“I had to hear that Charlie was released from the jail on the news.” Etta’s tone was sharp as a knife.
“I’m sorry about that, but things have been happening quickly. Charlie Ware is dead.” I don’t think anyone had talked to her like that in years, and maybe I should have held back, but I was sick and tired of this entire family. The sooner I washed my hands of them, the better.
I told her how Charlie died, though I softened the details as much as I could. When I finished, I realized I’d taken the trouble for nothing.
“You weren’t hurt.” It was an accusation.
“EMS got to me quickly and...and Charlie didn’t try to run from the bees. That gave me the chance to get away.”
Her lips pursed. “Are you saying Charlie saved your life? That he’s a hero?”
“I’m telling you what happened. Can I have a drink of water?”
While she ran water from the tap, I got a grip. I was perilously close to losing it. I drank the warm water.
“There’s more, Etta.” As I told her about the body on the Ridge, her face took on a grave solemnity. For years she had lived with the possibility—even likelihood—that Rose was dead. Soon that possibility would become a fact. How would the old lady react?
Very well, as it turned out.
“How long before it’s confirmed that it’s Rose?”
“Um, it may not be Rose.”
Etta waved that off. “Who else could it be?” She turned inward for a spell, one finger tapping on the linoleum tabletop. “Well,” she said at last, “Rose’s old dentist is still practicing in Mineola. He could verify the remains.”
I took down his name and said I’d relay the information to the sheriff. “You haven’t asked about Bambi.”
“Oh, how is she?”
“As well as can be expected.” I figured this blanket answer would cover the bases since I had no idea how the girl was coping. When Berry dropped me off at China Rose, she’d been locked up in her apartment, refusing to speak to me. “Maybe you should give her a call.”
I watched Etta’s face for any reaction. Last night when I’d suggested to Bambi that she should contact her aunt, the teenager had reacted with quick and volatile anger. What had she said?
I don’t want to see her and you can’t make me!
But Etta was a cool cucumber. She cupped her chin in her hand and said, “No, it’s better to give her some space.”
“Space for what?” The words had slipped out—I was so tired.
“If Bambi wanted to contact me she could have done so. Obviously, she prefers to be alone.” She clapped both hands on her thighs. “Thank you for finding Rose. Just tell me what the final bill is and I’ll write a check.”
“You also hired me to find your brother’s murderer.”
“I assumed Charlie was the killer. Am I wrong?”
All along I’d had doubts about Etta, but in that moment I knew she’d never given a tinker’s fuck about Rose Ware or even who’d murdered her brother. What was she after? Maybe China Rose, like they all were.
“I don’t believe Charlie killed Harry,” I told the smug old woman, though this was an overstatement. It was possible that Charlie had killed Harry, but there were too many unanswered questions for me to pull out now.
Etta’s amused look called me a liar or a fool. “I think going forward I’ll trust the police to determine who killed my brother.” She wrote a check and thanked me for my help.
As I stalked from the house, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just been played.
* * *
“Pop?” I said softly.
The curtains were drawn and the lights off. At first I thought he was sleeping, but when I scraped the chair close to his bedside, his eyes were wide open.
“Adelajda, help me up.”
As I helped Pop get comfortable, I thought how unfair it all was—growing old, getting sick. Simple acts like sitting up in bed became complex maneuvers requiring time and planning. I didn’t think the young could ever understand what the old endured—not until they were old themselves.
Once Pop was set, I noticed his untouched supper on the side tray. “It’s a cup of chicken broth and some yellow macaroni shit.”
Pop said he’d try some broth. I adjusted the tray so it sat over the bed.
“Did you find your killer?” His hand shook as he raised the spoon.
“For what it’s worth, I found a killer.” I told him about Charlie and Rose and their ill-fated marriage.
“How many times have we seen that—men killing women?”
“Too damn many times.” In my work you saw plenty of love and hate and how one often became the other. But that didn’t make it any easier. “The theory is that Charlie killed Harry to stop the dig so that Rose wouldn’t be found.”
“So all this killing had nothing to do with buccaneers or gold doubloons,” Pop said.
“So it seems, but...”
Pop put down his spoon. “But?”
“You know how I feel about coincidence—what are the chances that Ancy would choose to dig at the exact spot where Rose was buried?”
“A good point—and China Rose is a big place.”
I’d almost forgotten that Pop and Mom had spent a summer’s afternoon at China Rose. But that was years ago—before death, before cancer. Pop was finished with the broth. I slid the tray to the corner and lowered the bed.
“You’d make a good nurse.”
I shook my head and gave a short laugh. “Only for you, Pop.” Tears welled in my eyes.
“It’s all right, daughter.”
“Somehow you always wind up comforting me.”
“It’s a father’s province.” He closed his eyes and said he would sleep now. “We’ll talk tomorrow—I’m not going anywhere.”
Driving home, I wondered if my father had lied to me.
* * *
The following morning I found Jon Monroe in his office. He looked like a man whose woman had just walked out on him, taking the kids and the dog with her. When I appeared at his office door, he pushed aside the stack of papers he’d been grading, and placed a pod in the coffee machine.
“I knew you’d show up today,” Jon said.
“First, thanks for calling in the cavalry yesterday.”
Jon gave a half shrug and slid the coffee to me.
“But gratitude or not, I need to ask some questions.”
Jon raked both hands through his thick raven-black hair. “At this point I no longer care. I don’t know which way is up anymore.”
Join the fucking club.
“When did you see the chalice?”
Jon’s eyes skittered around the office, a trapped animal. “I wish she’d never called me.”
“Who?”
“Eve White, the woman with the chalice—that’s probably not even her real name.”
I’d take that bet myself.
Jon said Eve White had called him about six weeks earlier. “She said she’d found an old cup on her property and asked if I would take a look at it for her. I gave her my office hours and told her to stop by anytime. She came by later that same day.”
“Describe her for me.”
“She was young, wore glasses. She wore a top—” Jon gestured at his chest and blushed, “—a skimpy kind of top. She was...” He put cupped two hands in front of his chest.
“Got it, but what was her story?”
“She carried the chalice in an old grocery bag.” His voice was incredulous. “When she placed it on my desk it...it was so beautiful.” For a moment Jon was Lancelot and Galahad rolled into one. “But I handled it all wrong. The second that woman understood that she held a priceless artifact in her hands, all she wanted to know was what she could sell it for. And when I made it clear that I wouldn’t help her sell the chalice, she was gone.”
“But you looked for her.” It wasn’t a question.
Jon allowed himself a small smile. “I had her number in my cell, from when she’d called for the appointment. When I tried the number, the man who answered claimed to have never heard of Eve White.”
Pen poised over my notepad, I asked for the man’s name.
Jon’s grin became a smirk. “If you’re a half-decent PI, you already have his name in that book of yours. He called himself Moss—he said he was the bartender at China Rose Bar and Bait.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Eve White had called me from China Rose Bar and Bait. After that, I kept my eyes and ears open. A few weeks later, I learned that Ancy Prince was going to excavate the Ridge at China Rose. I laughed when the idiot put out that he was digging for Lafitte’s gold—of course I knew his true object.”
“He wanted the other cups.”
Jon nodded and something passed over his face, something dark and foreboding. “No doubt after I refused to help, Eve took the chalice to Ancy. When he learned she’d found the chalice at China Ridge, he set up the dig.” He sipped his coffee. “Now you know everything.”
“Not quite, I have a few questions about yesterday. I’m assuming you were at the excavation site when...when Charlie and I met. Tell me what you saw.”
He passed a hand over his eyes. “That was terrible, just terrible, but I’m not sure that I saw much of anything. I was in a foul mood. I had expanded the dig and still not found anything. I remember staring into the pit, wondering how to proceed, when I happened to look over at the old house. I saw you and a stooped man talking. Then I saw the cloud. I knew immediately what it was and called for help.”
I thought about it, then leaned across his desk. “Why did you look at the old house?”
“I just looked.”
“But why? Did you see something in the corner of your eye? Or maybe you heard Charlie and me talking? There had to be something.”
Jon shook his head, his brow furrowed. “Just the usual noises—birds singing, squirrels moving in the trees.”
“But none of that would have made you look.”
“No.” He thought hard. “There was something. It was a sort of splat, rather like the sound a water balloon makes when it hits the sidewalk, only softer. I suppose I must have looked in the direction of the splat—or whatever it was—and that’s when I saw you and Charlie.”
“And after that, the bees appeared.”
Jon nodded. There was no doubt in his eyes. “What’s it mean?”
“I don’t know.” It was true. I had no idea what it meant, but the whole thing felt like a setup.
I recalled Charlie’s jolt of surprise when I’d asked him why he asked to see me. And Bambi had told me that Charlie was careless with his phone. Someone else could have sent the text message to me. And it’d be easy to play a similar trick on Charlie. Once Charlie and I were in place, the bees went nuts.
I’d heard the splat as well, just before the madness began. Someone had somehow disturbed the hive. I supposed a well-thrown rock would do the trick and then it was all over—at least for Charlie.
Yeah, it was a setup all right—a setup for murder.
“Does this have something to do with the chalice?” Jon was asking.
“I don’t know.”
“But it might—it might!”
Jesus, what I done? Jon had gone from death warmed over to a virgin on fucking prom night.
“Forget about the chalice. Promise me you’ll stay away from China Rose.”
“Agreed.”
But I knew what that promise was worth. He’d walk through the circles of hell if he thought it would bring him closer to the golden chalices.
Outside I picked up another coffee from a kiosk and made my way to a shaded bench. The University of Newnansville’s campus was pure Southern Gothic—brick spires and arches rose between towering oaks wearing shrouds of Spanish moss. I wouldn’t be surprised to find an occasional gargoyle. A nice place for a break. I tried my coffee—still too hot to drink.
After leaving Jon’s office, I talked to the receptionist. She remembered Eve White.
“She was on the short side, wore glasses. Dark curly hair with bangs and gigantic hoop earrings. She was average build, but the push-up bra and halter top made the most of what she had.”
“What about her mood?”
“She seemed happy, excited.”
“I bet she was,” I said.
Once again, I pointed the Vic south. I’d begin the search for Eve White at China Rose.
Chapter Twenty-Two:
The Truth in Lies
For the first time the kitchen door on the side of China Rose Bar and Bait was shut. Moss’s red Caddy was in its usual spot so he must be inside. I tried the door—locked—and then jogged to the front. Ignoring the Closed sign I yanked the door. Inside I found Moss and Papa drinking Rémy at the bar.
Without turning, Moss said, “Can’t you read the sign? We’re closed.”
“It’s just me,” I said, sliding into the stool.
“Sorry, it’s just...what do you want?”
