Killer Summer

Chapter 10

                Merryweather Andrew Mosley, known on Longboat Key as M and M, had been chairman of the planning and zoning board since the town manager had come to the key. The two men marched in lockstep, with the manager calling the cadence. M and M didn’t do much, but the manager could always rely on him to persuade the board to pass whatever new restriction on property ownership  the manager desired, thus securing Mand M a place at the annual hurricane conference in Hawaii.

                There had recently been a puzzling development involving M and M. The shops at Avenue of the Flowers had been going out of business because of the lack of tourism  Visitors were not coming to he island in the droves of past years, and the retail establishments were having a rough time  When a shop closed it was difficult for the owners of Avenue of the Flowers to attract new tenants because of the zoning restrictions.

                M and M had recently started a petition drive to encourage the owners to do more to rent the empty space in their buildings. The petitions were placed around the island, and many of the residents signedthemt. At the same time, M and M was pushing for more restrictions on the zoning at Avenue of the Flowers, and he had the support of most of those signing the petition.

                Someone suggested that a cinema be put in some of the empty shops, but that idea was quickly quashed. The prevailing wisdom was that it would draw teenagers, and everybody knew that teenagers were as bad as poor people.

                Nobody was sure exactly what was going on, but it was a sure bet that the town manager was behind it in some way. One theory was that the owners would get so fed up with the town government that they would sell out cheap to a group who was known to sponsor government officials on trips to hurricane conferences.

                I joined the chief at the crime scene. “Looks like old M and M got plastered last night,” I said.

                “Is that a joke?” the chief asked.

                “No. It looks as if somebody did a good job of plastering him into that wall.”

                And indeed it did.  M and M was spread eagled into what had been a doorway into an empty shop. His hands and feet were free, but the rest of his body was fully plastered into the doorway,  his face in bas relief   A good likeness, too, I thought.

                “We have a witness,” said the chief.

                “Don’t tell me,” I said.

                “Yep. Logan Hamilton was in the CVS buying some nicotine gum and stepped outside for a cigarette. Saw a lady on a motor scooter holding a trowel fleeing the scene.”

                “This may be a clue. We can cross check my list of turtle loving, Lexus driving real estate ladies against the scooter owners on the island, and we’ll have her.”

                I heard a commotion in the parking lot and turned to see four police cruisers, lights and sirens blaring, roll to a stop  A uniformed officer holding an M-16 stepped out of a limousine that was bracketed by the cop cars. Another cop held the door and out stepped Moll Fandango. She was dressed in flip flops, short shorts and a halter top. She had the image of a nineteen foot Roballo tattooed across the top of her back, in memory of an old boy friend who had once owned such a vessel. 

                Moll was the last living town commissioner. Before her election she had been a topless dancer at a joint on highway 301 in East Bradenton. It was rumored that the town manager had enticed her to run with the offer of an annual trip to the hurricane conference in Maui. 

                 “Joe,” she said to the chief, “I’ve decided to henceforth rule by decree.”

                “I don’t guess that’s a problem,” said Joe. “The town manager’s been doing it for years.”

                “I plan to make some changes on this island,” she said.

                “Like what?” I asked.

                “Well, for starters, my favorite restaurant doesn’t have a store on the island, and that needs to change. There’s a lot of room for it right here in the Avenue of Flowers.”

                “Which restaurant?” I asked, fear dogging my words.

                “Hooters,” she said. “Don’t you just love it?”

                “I think that’ll go over real big on the key,” the chief grinned.

                “Yeah, everybody loves Hooters’ wings,” she said.

                I stepped to the side and called the police station to request the names of everybody on the island who owned a scooter. They would email it to me. I hung up and called the crime lab. No luck. They were still on hold with the Real Estate Commission’s India connection.

                The chief was trying to talk Moll out of repealing the town’s anti-nudity ordinance when I left. I drove back to my condo and opened my email  The list of scooter owners was there. I sat and perused it and compared it against my other list. Of the twenty women on the list, two also showed up on the scooter list. I was closing in.

                I called Logan on his cell phone. He knew everybody on the island. “Logan, do you know either Eugenia deStampano Felderburk-Diamantis or Suzy Jones?”

                “Sure, they’re real estate ladies.”

                “What else?”

                “Not much  Eugenia doesn’t like to deal with properties that go for less than two million. Says it’s not in keeping with her image  She talks with a British accent and says she’s some sort of Baroness, but doesn’t use her title because she doesn’t want to sound uppity. Of course, when you first meet her, she tells you right off about the Baroness thing.”

                “Is she a real Baroness?”

                “Nah  She dated Jimmy Dockery a couple of times and got real drunk on their last date. She told him she had been born in Waycross, Georgia and just kept adding names and titles to her resume.”

                “Are they still dating?”

                “No. Jimmy thought she was a rich Baroness and she thought Jimmy owned that big Hatteras parked in slip F-18 over at the Moorings. When he told her the truth, that he just cleaned the bottom on the boat every other week, they sort of dumped each other.”

                “What about Suzy Jones?”

                “Nice girl. Kinda young. I don’t think she sells a lot of real estate, but she’s real nice.”

                “Do you think either of them might be the one killing the town leaders?”

                “I don’t see how. Eugenia is in California this week, and Suzy is just too sweet to do something like that. Besides, I thought you were looking for an elderly woman.”

                “Logan, they’re the only two real estate ladies on the island who drive Lexuses with turtle tags and own scooters. It’s got to be one of them.”

                “I don’t think so, but good luck.” He hung up.

                If Eugenia was in California, Suzy had to be the murderer. I got her address from the list and headed to her house in the village  As I pulled into her driveway my phone rang  It was the chief.

                “The Town Building Official has been killed.”

                “Where?”

                “On that vacant lot on Gulf of Mexico drive that the town manager wants to buy for storing hurricane debris.”

                “How?”

                “Crushed under twenty-five large bags of money.”