Well Read, Then Dead(90)

            “His car charger broke. He didn’t even realize. His cell is always plugged in. Work, car, home. Phone died in mid-interview. He’s back at the office, using his landline to finish his calls. We’ll see him in a few.”

            I decided on a double scoop of chocolate marshmallow in a cup, while Bridgy opted for peach ice cream in a sugar cone, topped with cookie bits. We sat at a table not far from the pier and savored our ice cream while watching a dozen or so swimmers splashing in the Gulf. Cady sneaked up on us.

            “Started without me, I see.”

            I would have apologized, but my mouth was filled with cool and delicious, so I smiled while Bridgy offered him a lick of her cone. When Cady went inside to buy himself a treat, Bridgy asked if I was going to tell him about Bucket Hat.

            Before I could answer, he was back carrying a banana split with butter pecan ice cream and a mountain of toppings.

            “Tell me what?”

            “Remember the man who was threatening me in front of the café and you rescued me? Bucket Hat? Well, he didn’t kill Delia.”

            Cady sat between us and started scooping chocolate syrup over the whipped cream in his cup. He stopped with his overflowing spoon right in front of his mouth and said, “I never thought he did.”

            Then he put the spoon in his mouth. I swear the ice cream was an excuse not to say another word.





Chapter Twenty-nine ||||||||||||||||||||


            The way Cady was eating his banana split ever so slowly reminded me how he’d played with his corn bread and honey butter while Bridgy and I waited not so patiently for information about Skully. Using food to create suspense. So irritating. He must have sensed I was having trouble controlling my desire to knock his banana split into his lap and call it a great big “oops,” because he put down the spoon and sat back in his chair.

            Involuntarily, I leaned forward.

            “Your guy Bucket Hat has invested loads of time and money into a venture that could reap him hundreds of millions of dollars long term, so why would he care about some little island?”

            “Not just any island. Privately owned land in the Everglades. Has to be worth a fortune.”

            “Not a fortune equal to a Spanish galleon loaded with treasure. There are fortunes and there are fortunes.” Cady went back to eating his ice cream.

            “Well then”—I was determined to have the last word—“we’ve eliminated one suspect.”

            Bridgy, who’d been concentrating on her ice cream cone and pretending she wasn’t listening to us, pushed her chair back.

            “More napkins. Anyone need anything from inside?”

            She hurried into the ice cream parlor without waiting for us to answer. She knew and I knew that Cady was about to lay down the law. Again.

            “You know I worked in Jacksonville before I came here. I hung out with a great bunch of reporters, stringers, editors, photographers, even a couple of television news anchors. We frequented a pub owned by a retired offset printer nicknamed Inky. We worked hard and played hard, and when a story was hot, chasing it was no-holds-barred.”

            I nibbled on my ice cream, waiting for the lecture part of this story.

            “Right after I moved down here, there was a grisly murder up there. The body of a middle-aged man was found in Jennings State Forest. His fingers and teeth were missing. Every reporter I knew wanted to break the story. To be honest, I was a little sorry I’d moved away.

            “County and state law enforcement worked in tandem, but progress was slow. The press was running out of headlines. How many ways can you say ‘the investigation continues’? Dilly Harris—”