Murder on Longboat Key

By Ruth C. Howard

Real estate agents are being attacked up and down Longboat Key, Florida, which offers for sale some of the most expensive homes in the area. When Agent Marta Vining comes up missing after the private showing of a waterfront estate to an unknown client, it seems likely that the “stalker” has struck again. But this perception changes as the investigation brings into the mix totally disparate characters, many of whom seem to have a reason to prefer Marta out of the way. Suddenly the incident no longer seems random. It is personal.
Woven into the fabric of three diverse lifestyles—New York City, Southwestern Virginia and Sarasota, Florida—are the separate lives which are brought together by this one murder. Jennie Worth, Marta’s “partner” in their real estate office; her mother Anne; her stepfather Tommie Lee Samples; her boss Neal Corbett; Marta’s ex-husband Jeff Vining; the real estate office manager Callie, and almost every woman with whom Marta came into contact, even peripherally, would have been perfectly happy without her in their lives.
Lt. Bill Charles, a Sarasota Police Detective, is charged with the thankless task of unraveling the many threads which bring these people together. His first problem—did she die of accidental drowning or was she murdered? His second problem—bring to light the many secrets his potential suspects try to keep hidden from him, generally on the assumption that the information is irrelevant to the case. His third problem—if it was murder, “who dunnit”, how and why?
The story is narrated by the characters themselves, each in his or her own chapters, so we see the events (both past and present) through their eyes. The murderer is naturally revealed in the final chapter, but the information gleaned along the way takes us into the lives of the characters in ways a straight narration could never do. Start reading and you won’t want to put it down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ruth C. Howard
• Release date: Aug 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476112343

Ruth C. Howard

After a lifetime of various occupations, I have at last found my niche - creative writing. Although I enjoyed most of the things I have done over the years and am proud of my accomplishments, nothing has given me more pleasure than sitting at my computer and bringing characters to life. I don't create them; they simply speak through me. I have been able to incorporate many of my personal experiences into the stories I tell, but naturally there is a lot of dramatic license necessary to make the stories happen. Brought up in Woodstock, NY during the 1940's and '50's, my formative years brought me in close contact with an abundance of music, theater and art. My parents imbued me with a true love of the arts. Aside from the fiction I have written, I also published a family history entitled "LONG TIME PASSING: History of a Jewish Family." For those who prefer more personal details, I have one son who is an attorney, a daughter-in-law who is also an attorney, and three lovely grandchildren, all teenagers at this writing. My original career was as a classical singer, which included a year at an opera house in Germany, followed by many less exciting endeavors. I ended my working life as a real estate agent, duplicate bridge director and teacher, and a brief stint as a legal assistant. But nothing has brought me the true pleasure I find in writing

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Murder on Longboat Key

By Ruth C. Howard

Published by Ruth C. Howard at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Ruth C. Howard

PROLOGUE

Last night they arrested me for the murder of Marta Vining. The police were there waiting for me. They said their piece, you know that bit about anything you say can be used against you. Then they took me in. I guess I was sort of expecting them anyhow.

Well they got the right person. I did it. It was something that had to be done and nothing could have stopped me. It was never a question of whether I would do it, just a question of when and how.

I'm really tired. It's been a long three weeks; a long three years. I just need to close my eyes and rest. I'll let Jennie tell you about it. Jennie Worth. She talks better than me. Besides she's the one who figured it out.

I'm so tired...

CHAPTER 1

JENNIE

Good old Gulf of Mexico Drive--a nice straight shoot up Longboat Key. If I'd had plenty of time, it wouldn't even have been a bad drive, but I was in a hurry that day. No luck as I tried to find a chance to pass those slowpokes who were either sightseeing their way up the Key or didn't have enough eyesight left to see the sights anyhow. That was a mean thought. I’m not really like that but….

Still the traffic really could have been a lot worse. By now, in late April, most of the tourists had fled to their northern homes. On this perfect spring day, I couldn’t resist basking in the warm breeze coming in from the Gulf, swaying the palm trees only slightly.

As I stopped for what had at one time been the only traffic light on the Key, I thought back to the time I first came to Sarasota. How quickly this fairly empty island had added condos, houses and shopping. Traffic finally warranted the installation of a light to allow easy access to and egress from the area of new businesses. Progress had come even to Longboat Key.

As the light changed and I waited for the cars in front of me to start moving, my thoughts returned to my reason for driving up the Key in the first place. Only four hours had passed since Marta left the office, but she usually checked in regularly. I couldn’t help feeling some concern.

Marta Vining and I worked together in the same real estate office, Corbett & Associates out on St. Armand’s Circle. After two real estate salesladies had been raped murdered on Longboat Key over the past year, we'd gotten a kind of buddy system worked out to keep track of each other, both in and out of the office. I didn't like Marta all that much personally but the partnership seemed to work.

Reluctantly putting in her time on afternoon floor duty, Marta answered a call from a man who wanted to see the Hall place, that acre estate on the bay side about halfway up the Key. They're only asking $l.2 million for it because the outside of the house needs some work, dry rot, wet rot, things like that. But Marta'd had a pretty slow spell for the past few months (actually she hadn't sold much all year) and her eyes lit up with dollar signs when this man called on her own listing.

He gave his name as Pete Smithson.

I'm just in from New York for the day on business. I've been thinking about getting a place here and I saw an ad I liked in the real estate magazine.

How many times have we heard that story from tire kickers, even in the higher income brackets?

Rolling her eyes, Marta mouthed an aside to me:

Probably a waste of time, but he really sounds honest, Jennie.

She probably meant that he sounded rich. She made the appointment.

Let me go with you.

No Jennie, don't bother. He's coming by the office first anyhow so you can get a look at him.

I had a listing appointment right after that exchange, and wasn't there when he called back to suggest Marta meet him at the place instead.

I’m already out here on the island. Just finished some business meetings at the Hilton and I would prefer not having to drive all the way to St. Armand’s just to come back out here. Give me the address and I’ll meet you there.

By the time I got back to the office Marta had left. No message, nothing. I only found out when she didn't check in that this Pete character hadn't even shown his face there.

As I passed the trailer park on my right I thought again how out of place it seemed amid the general luxury of Longboat Key. Yet it had been there far longer than most if not all of the fancy condos lining the beaches. The mobile home owners jealously guarded its existence.

I finally reached the Juniper Restaurant and turned into the driveway leading back to the Hall house. I noticed the chain lying on the ground, off to one side,

It looks as though someone may be out there. God! what a gorgeous view! But I don't see any cars. Strange! Marta wouldn't leave the chain down after she left, not after Gene Hall kept bugging her about it right after she took the listing.

She'd even finally put the instructions into the computer so anyone showing the house would know to reattach the chain.

I pulled up to the garage, got out and walked around the back of the house, then over to the sea wall. The grass glistened in the sun, still wet from the regular late afternoon thunderstorm which had passed through less than an hour ago. I turned to look at the house, my back to the bay. Nothing unusual! The blue water in the pool shimmered in the hot sun, rippling only slightly as a little bug dive-bombed the surface.

Everything was eerily quiet, no sign of life. A shiver ran though me but I told myself not to be silly and walked to the front. I called Marta's name but got no answer.

I pulled out my lockbox key as I walked to the front door. The key went in easily. I set my combination and pressed the release. Nothing happened. I tried it a second time. Then, as I put my hand at the bottom to catch the key container, something made me move my finger to touch it. I felt the slot—no key container.

I tried the front door but found it locked. I walked around back again to try the pool cage door. It opened so I walked into the large entertainment area with its wet bar and built-in gas grill. I looked around again.

Nothing seemed out of place but I still had an eerie feeling. I tried the sliding glass doors, all of which pocketed, making the porch and the large living room seem like one big room. The sliders were locked but not all the verticals were pulled across so I cupped my eyes against the glass and peered in.

At first I noticed nothing unusual. But as my eyes got used to the light, my gaze caught a reflection under one of the matching recliners. A compact lay there, looking lost and forgotten

That looks an awful lot like Marta’s compact, I thought. She must be missing it by now.

By this time there was enough reason for me to feel even more unsettled. The time had come to look into things a bit more. Call it intuition or just silliness, but I was running a bit scared.

I’d better get my ass out of here fast. Something doesn’t feel right.

I sauntered rather quickly back to my car and grabbed my cell phone. As I punched the speed dial number to call the office, I carried my phone with me and walked around to the back again. I looked out across the bay. About two hundred yards from the sea wall, an empty skiff bobbed up and down as the tide seemed to carry it farther and farther away. It looked like the Hall’s skiff.

I muttered to myself: C’mon Jennie. You’re not a boater. You can’t really tell one skiff from another, particularly at that distance.

But still it seemed strange--no one sitting in it and no fishing lines hanging over the side.

Our secretary answered the phone.

Oh hi, Betsy. Didn’t know you’d still be there.

She usually booked out on the dot of 5:30 and my watch showed 6:30 p.m.

I had a few things to finish up and I’m taking a couple of hours off tomorrow. Just trying to make sure I put my hours in and...

My interest in her schedule of minimal importance at this point, I interrupted her as politely as I could.

Is Callie still there?

Callie Morgan was our manager, a rather tough woman in her mid-50's with dark hair and very angular features, the kind of person you either liked or you didn't, with not much in between. I liked her and got along fine with her but not all of the other agents did.

Callie came on the line with …just on my way out.

Callie. I’m out at the Hall place and Marta is nowhere around. I’m getting a really weird feeling. Anyone still hanging around the office who could come out and bring me our extra key?

Why don't I run it out for you? I didn't get a chance to see that house on caravan when Marta had it open for us. This will give me the opportunity.

I hung up, debating whether to stay put and wait in my car or go for a quick soda. I decided on the latter course. I really didn't want to stay around that house alone any longer. A diet Sprite sounded particularly appealing just about then. I could have walked, but feeling much safer in my car, I drove the short distance to the nearby convenience store.

A few minutes later I drove back and parked behind the Juniper to sip my soda and wait for Callie to show up. I didn’t have to wait long. Now close to 7 p.m., traffic had eased up even more so it hadn't taken Callie all that much time to travel the l0 miles up the Key from the office

I drove back to the house, Callie following almost too close for comfort. I speeded up just a bit and pulled to one side in front of the oversized garage, leaving her plenty of room to pull in next to me, closer to the front door.

She got out and handed me the key.

I don't understand why you're concerned. Marta probably got her customer to invite her over to the Hilton for a drink after the showing. And who knows after that...

No, Callie, we had an agreement and she's always stuck to it. When one of us is out showing property alone, we check in hourly. If we expect to be out of contact for longer, we definitely say so. No, I'm a bit worried.

Besides, I added, the entrance was unchained, which would give Mr. Hall fits if he ever found out. And on top of that, not only is the lockbox key missing but so is the insert.

Callie still seemed rather skeptical but followed as I unlocked the door and walked in.

The entryway to the house felt rather grand. It had a very high dome-like ceiling and a mirrored wall opposite the entrance, reflecting the light from the large clerestory window above the front door, but also forcing you to look at yourself as you walked in. A very expensive crystal chandelier seemed to drop from almost nowhere into the center of the hallway.

Callie quickly wandered through the living and dining rooms, the kitchen and the four bedrooms, three on one side and a humongous master suite on the other with one of the fanciest bathrooms I had seen in quite some time. I followed closely, not knowing what to expect or what we might find. Callie seemed oblivious to my apprehensions.

Leading the way back into the living room, she announced: Quite a place. It should sell pretty easily, even at the $l million+ price.

We opened one of the sliding doors and walked out onto the lanai. Callie hardly looked at the view and certainly didn’t seem to notice the empty skiff. She turned on her heels and walked back into the living room, heading for the front door. Passing the blue recliner as I followed in her wake, I remembered the compact. I bent down to see if I could find it. There it lay, almost as though it had been kicked under the chair. I picked it up and held it out to Callie:

"This is definitely Marta's compact. Her case always has her initial on it and the color is definitely hers.

Why would she just leave it there and not pick it up."

Probably too busy flirting with whomever she had here and didn't even notice that she dropped it, Callie retorted cattily.

No Callie, I'm really concerned. I think we should call the police.

Absolutely not, Jennie, unless you want to make a fool of yourself. You'll see, she'll be in the office tomorrow with some story that will make you wonder why you even worried.

As we walked back toward the front, I moved toward the door leading from the foyer into the garage to be sure it was locked. It was, but I opened it just the same and peered into the 3+ car bays. The Halls had left one car to use whenever they were in residence, but there were two cars in the garage. I recognized one of them as Marta's white Mercedes. Callie came over to see what I was looking at.

Marta would never leave her car behind. There really is something wrong.

But Callie had an answer for that too: She probably went off with him and didn't want everyone to know so she parked her car in the garage until she could come back for it.

I knew Callie’s explanation made sense and yet, knowing Marta, it just didn't feel right. Yes, her manner was always flirtatious, and yes, she could get carried away if a handsome man were around (particularly if he were rich as well), but she’d never ever in the three years I’d known her left her car anywhere but home or office. I’d known her to wheedle her conquest into following her to the office where she would safely park her own vehicle and jump into his--but never this.

I really have to get going now. I have a lot of work to do tonight and I can't hang around here worrying with you. If you call her at home, I know you'll find her there--by tomorrow morning at the latest.

She strode out of the house leaving me standing there, key in hand, ready to lock up. It still felt all wrong but I decided to follow Callie's advice. I didn't know what else I could do. I knew the police would probably react the same way Callie did.

On my way back down the Key I tried calling Marta from my car phone but only got her Hi, this is Marta. Leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can in the throaty sexy voice she affected when recording for her answering machine. She once told me that she imagined her caller to be the man of her dreams when she taped the message and she wanted to be sure to seduce him into leaving his number.

I knew it would be fruitless but I even drove over to her condo on Lido, using the entry phone to buzz her just in case she might happen to be there, but for some reason chose not to take her phone calls. No luck there either.

I looked across at the beach with its few stragglers watching one of those panoramic red and orange sunsets. They were the kinds of scenes painters and photographers relished.

Finally it was getting dark. I headed home across the Causeway, the bridge and onto the mainland. Within 10 minutes I pulled into the driveway of my pretty little home in South Gate. It was nothing fancy but I loved it, and enjoyed sharing it with my two dogs.

We were sometimes joined by an occasional visitor like my son, when he deigned to take some time from college to spend with his Mama, or some of my northern friends who would contact me mostly during the winter months when the cold got too much for them.

My home had become my haven, the womb to which I could always return when life and its vagaries overwhelmed me, which seemed to be happening more and more as I got older.

Thirty-six isn't old, I kept telling myself, but my life had been quite eventful and it felt as though I had lived many more years than that. I thought of my mother out on that fifty acre farm back in a holler outside of Abingdon in Southwest Virginia, a brilliant artistic woman who for some reason unknown to me had chosen to hide herself away with a totally uncultured country boy who never seemed willing or able to appreciate the woman who gave up her sophisticated life for him.

A wonderful artist, the mother I knew held in her two beautiful hands the ability to capture life in everything she set to canvas But she would hide it all away when her husband came home, whether for lunch, dinner, or for whatever reason.

I don't know whether ESP or pure coincidence, but I could hear the phone ringing as I put my key in the front door. The ringing seemed to have an insistence about it. By the time I got inside my answering machine had picked up.

Listening to identify the caller, I heard my mother's voice sounding upset, more like distraught, not at all her usual calm serene self. I dove for the phone to catch it before she could hang up.

Mama, I just came in the door. What's wrong?

Oh Jennie, I'm so glad you finally got home. I've been calling all afternoon. Tommie Lee left a week ago and I found out he was headed for Sarasota, so I came after him. I hoped I could stay with you but I forgot where you worked and couldn't get you at home...

Her voice trailed off as she got tangled in the rush of words which became almost incoherent and uncontrollable.

Where are you now?

I'm at the bus station. I got in a few hours ago and figured I'd better stay put until I could find you.

Just stay there and I'll be right up to get you. It shouldn't take more than l5 minutes.

As I hung up, I began to wonder what had been going on up there in Abingdon. My mother Anne had met and married Tommie Lee Samples when she had been on a lecture tour with an art exhibit in l958. Her visit to the Abingdon area included four different high school visits over a two day period. On the first day she met Tommie Lee, good looking in a rough country sort of way, and, according to her story, he just swept her off her feet. It was a hard story to believe when you got to know Tommie Lee, since sober he never showed much emotion and his attitude, at least towards my mother, always seemed cold and passionless.

I was six years old when they met, Mama 26 and Tommie Lee three years her junior. But, as she told me:

He’s a ‘real man’, Jennie, what I really need right now.

His quiet strength and ability to take care of her just when she needed it most overcame her usually sensible assessment of people. Those features later turned out to be nothing more than the typical male chauvinistic attitude of that area. Taking care of a woman meant you made all the decisions, never told her anything that was going on, and expected her to see to your every need. Facing a major crisis in her life, something I knew nothing about at six years old, Mama couldn't, or chose not to see past the sexy exterior with the long arms which could enfold her and shut out the rest of the world.

She left the tour a few days after they met. Two weeks later they were married. Not too long afterwards, Mama sent for me from New York, where I'd been staying with my grandparents. She and Tommie Lee met me at the bus station in Abingdon.

Hi, little girl. Welcome to Abingdon, Tommie Lee said in what seemed to me even then a fake hearty voice. He hugged me and gave me a big kiss on the lips, something no one had ever done before. From the beginning I felt uncomfortable around him.

The drive out to Tommie Lee's farm was one I'll never forget. It was my introduction to life in the country, scenically awesome . During part of the drive we were on a dirt road, paralleling a pretty stream. The crystal clear water wound its way through the woods, bubbling over rocks and splashing down small precipices creating charming little waterfalls.

After about ten miles total, a turnoff led onto a kind of tractor path which curved back to the fifty acre spread and an old country farmhouse where we were to live.

When I first got there I loved it. I loved the country, the peace and the quiet, and the animals on the farm. But then I had to start school. My world changed quickly.

Where y’all from. Ya sure ain’t from ‘round heah. Ya talk funny.

Everyone teased me because of my strange accent. They all sounded alike and I, the only one who sounded like me, was outnumbered. I loved my classes and the learning but had few friends. I dreamed constantly of getting away from the kids who were so rotten to me—and away from Tommie Lee.

All of these thoughts ran through my mind as I drove to pick Mama up at the bus station. There she stood, slim and attractive even at 56, with her long grey-flecked hair rolled in a bun at the back of her neck. She always looked to me as the stereotypical starving artist, ethereal and delicate.

I knew she was stronger than she looked, but I also knew she had some weaknesses about which she had never told me and which had led her to accept a life so totally alien to what I would have expected or wished for her.

Mama, you look great, I lied. There were dark circles under her eyes and her entire body looked weighted under a burden it almost couldn't handle.

I opened the car door for her, made sure she settled in and put her small suitcase in the trunk. As I sat behind the wheel and started off, I could sense her body relaxing just a little, molding itself to the seat.

I had a million questions for her but I thought it better to wait until she wanted to tell me what had happened and why she’d come here after Tommie Lee.

As we drove down Tamiami Trail I saw Mama close her eyes. I began to think that this was probably the first time in a long time that she’d felt comfortable enough to let down her guard and rest. I let her be.

As we pulled up in my driveway she opened her eyes.

Pretty house.

Yes, it is. I like it, and I figured you would too. You know how many times I've asked you to come visit me.

I know, but Tommie Lee didn't want me to be gone. Her voice trailed off again as she mentioned his name.

Come on in and I'll show you to the guest room. It may need a bit of dusting 'cause I wasn't expecting anyone to be using it, but otherwise it's ready for you. You even have your own bathroom.

I took her into the house, showed her to her room, and left her to unpack or whatever she might want to do.

I'll wait for you in the family room. Just come out when you're ready.

As I settled into my favorite lounge chair, my mind went back again to the farm and what had happened out there.

For the first four or five years things were OK, not great mind you, but OK, at least for me. Tommie Lee kept busy on his farm, raising his tobacco allotment, along with his regular job as a gym teacher at the high school. Most of his work there consisted of helping to coach the after school sports activities.

As a student, he had been a football and baseball star for Abingdon High and they had jumped at the chance to get him to coach after he got back from serving his tour in Germany. He had no teaching license, but then you didn't need any in those days just for gym and coaching.

On weekends, though, Tommie Lee would bring home lots of beer and drink one after the other while working around the farm. By the time he came back in the evenings, he would already be pretty soused.

I know Mama worried about him working with the farm machinery in that condition, but whatever his condition, he never had a problem or an accident. Trouble was, when he got all tanked up he would get into mean moods. One minute he could be so sweet and friendly, but one word would set him off getting his anger into high gear.

Drunk and angry turned out to be a frightening combination, making him horny and needy. If his behavior turned my mother off, she never let on to me. Still, aware she just shut off her real feelings at those times. I watched her start retreating into herself when his temper would start flaring. She knew what came next.

At first he would take her to the bedroom when he wanted her. But after a while it didn't matter if I was there or not. He would simply take her wherever and whenever he wanted.

Go outside and play for a while, Jennie, Mama would say.

But after Tommie Lee slapped her a few times across the face when she did that, she stopped. It didn’t take a lot of smarts to get the idea, though, and when he would get in that mood, I would just automatically go out looking for something else to do as far away from the house as possible so I didn't have to listen to the sounds when he got rough. Mama never cried or screamed when he hit her but I knew she must have suffered under the humiliation. Why she took it remained a mystery to me.

After his needs were met and his anger spent, Tommie Lee would usually go to sleep. When he woke up and came downstairs later, he acted as though nothing had happened. Mama and I went along with the farce. Sometimes Mama would have bruises around her cheeks and eyes but after the first few months or so, I stopped asking her about them. I knew how she got them.

Mama seemed to accept the whole cycle as part of her life. The rest of the week she seemed content enough, if not really happy. I knew that she particularly enjoyed the times when Tommie Lee was away and she could finish her chores early enough to set up her easel.

Jealous of her love of painting, Tommie Lee attempted to put a stop to that one activity he knew she loved. To get supplies, she would sneak into the art supply store in Bristol when she could make an excuse to go to the city. She reused her canvasses as many times as she could.

Finding a place to hide her paintings started out as a challenge until Mama discovered that Tommie Lee never went into any closet which was crammed too full. She picked one deep closet under the stairs. The canvasses she really wanted to keep went from the back of the pantry to the back of that closet. The front of the closet was filled with boxes and odd pieces of furniture which, unknown to Tommie Lee, could easily be slipped out when she had a new canvas to add to her collection.

When I got to be around ll or 12, things started to go downhill for me. There was a glint in Tommie Lee's eyes when he looked at me. Even in my younger years he would sometimes touch me in ways I felt sure he shouldn’t have, and in places I knew absolutely he should not have. For a while, it never went beyond that so I just tried to stay away from him as much as possible. Luckily I got to spend the summers with my grandparents in New York City. The rest of the year I stayed busy with school and Tommie Lee with his work and coaching, so it wasn't that hard to avoid him.

Finally my luck ran out. I think I was around ll. My mind blotted out some of the details and that's one of them. I was in the barn grooming my horse Joshua. I thought Tommie Lee had plenty of chores to do out in the tobacco field so I relaxed, taking my time, enjoying the quiet and lack of pressure. Suddenly I heard a noise behind me. As I started to turn, I felt two arms come around me, fingers fondling my just developing breasts. I jumped but his arms held me like iron clamps. I couldn’t turn or move away.

Tommie Lee. Let me go. Ow! You’re hurting me.

He pulled me around towards him and covered my mouth with his. One arm held me tight while the other hand wandered all over, including between my legs.

After the first surprise, I tried to fight him but when he hit me I almost passed out. Having seen his strength with my mother, I knew that fighting was useless.

Don’t, Tommie Lee. Leave me alone.

He didn’t. It was the first time, but not the last. Oddly,, in his way he tried to be tender with me instead of