The Killings Inthe Keys: The Prayer Wheel Murders

By Colonel John J. Koneazny

Frankly, I dont know whether to call this manuscript fact or fiction. I know that what I have been able to check is fact, but this is mainly hearsay, as told to me by the real Harley Grant.

I met Harley Grant (of course I have changed his name) in Public Market just as I have had Mike Bender meet him, in the beer isle. The second time I ran into him, I invited him over to the Green Flash our houseboat tied in Losers Lagoon for a drink. Dottie invited him for supper and after supper we sat around drinking Sam Adams.

Dottie finally went to bed and we were still batting our gums.
It was then that Harley told me this story that he swears is true. It was two in the morning when he finished. When he finished I shook my head in disbelief. I told him that I was going to check on it. He told me that I would find nothing. Big oil had destroyed any trace that it had ever happened. This I took with a grain of salt.

I told this tale to a friend, a Lt. Commander in the Coast Guard. He said, Let me check on it, maybe I can find something in one of the old logs.

I had almost forgotten about it when he got back to me. Jack, there may be something to that story you told me. I found this entry in the ships log of one of the decommissioned 84 foot cutters. Be on the lookout for a 70 or 80 foot yacht with xs and zs in its name which was last seen in Key West!

This rekindled my interest and I went back to Harley and asked him to show me Hidden Cay. He took me down to the gate, but he said that Mike and Lois were on an extended stay in Goa. Yes, there were peafowl on the property!
But that is the only verification that I could find, except I did locate Neal Forest and in a drunken stupor he admitted that he did row a couple of Chinks out to a big yacht.

In this book I of course invented much of the dialogue and changed all the names. I tried to keep it as realistic as it was when Harley first told it by having Mike Bender tell the story. Further research proved fruitless. I was stonewalled everywhere I went! I even had one threat not to write a book about it. To hell with it, I am going to write it and call it FICTION!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463410018

Colonel John J. Koneazny

Colonel Koneazny enlisted in the US Maritime Service the day after he graduated from high school on his 18th birthday in 1943. He trained as an ordinary seaman, and able bodied seaman and then attended Merchant Marine OCS. He earned his Third Mates Ticket. He then received a direct commission in the US Army Harbor Craft as a 2nd Lt. before his 19th birthday. He served two years in the E.T.O. earning two battle stars. After World War II he joined the Army Reserve and served as Battery Commander of a 105 battery and later a 4.5 rocket battery. He is a graduate of the Field Artillery School, The Field Artillery Field Officers School, The Industrial College of the Armed Forces and a high honors graduate of The Command and General Staff College. He served as Commanding Officer of a Logistical Command until his retirement when he was awarded the Meritorious Service Medal. He did volunteer work in the Retirement Activities Office at the Homestead Air Base in the winter. Colonel Koneazny was a partner with his brother in the Peerless Tree Expert Co for 40 years. He served on the original Sheffield Planning Board for seven years and Chairman for five years. He was instrumental in the founding of the town park and worked as the first chairman of the Committee. Jack and his wife Dottie spent 19 winters on their sailboat Fayaway sailing the Bahamas, the Keys, the Virgin Islands and the Greek Islands. They divide their time between Sheffield and Key Largo, Florida.

Book preview

The

Killings

In

The Keys

The Prayer Wheel Murders

Colonel John J. Koneazny

missing image file

AuthorHouse™

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© 2011 by Colonel John J. Koneazny. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 05/26/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4634-1002-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-1001-8 (ebk)

Printed in the United States of America

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Books by J. J. Koneazny

Dedication

Authors Note

List of Characters

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

PART II

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty One

Chapter Fifty Two

Chapter Fifty Three

Chapter Fifty Four

Chapter Fifty Five

Chapter Fifty Six

Chapter Fifty Seven

Chapter Fifty Eight

Chapter Fifty Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty One

Chapter Sixty Two

. . . Two years later

About The Author

Books by J. J. Koneazny

Signal Hoists for Yachtsmen

Only the Best

An International Cookbook

The Moose Cookbook

100 ways to cook your moose

(8th printing)

Behind Friendly Lines

Tales of World War II

Tales of the Intercoastal Waterway

18 years on the ketch Fayaway

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my wonderful wife and constant companion, Dottie.

Also

Richard Curtis who’s sage advice is always welcome.

John Gilson and Doug Elliott have kept my old 10 candle power computer running long after it should have been consigned to the computer graveyard and Betty Gilson for helping with the editing of the book!

Authors Note

Frankly, I don’t know whether to call this manuscript fact or fiction. I know that what I have been able to check is fact, but this is mainly hearsay, as told to me by the real Harley Grant.

I met Harley Grant (of course I have changed his name) in Public Market just as I have had Mike Bender meet him, in the beer isle. The second time I ran into him, I invited him over to the ‘Green Flash’ our houseboat tied in Losers Lagoon for a drink. Dottie invited him for supper and after supper we sat around drinking Sam Adams.

Dottie finally went to bed and we were still batting our gums.

It was then that Harley told me this story that he swears is true. It was two in the morning when he finished. When he finished I shook my head in disbelief. I told him that I was going to check on it. He told me that I would find nothing. Big oil had destroyed any trace that it had ever happened. This I took with a grain of salt.

I told this tale to a friend, a Lt. Commander in the Coast Guard. He said, "Let me check on it, maybe I can find something in one of the old logs.

I had almost forgotten about it when he got back to me. "Jack, there may be something to that story you told me. I found this entry in the ship’s log of one of the decommissioned 84 foot cutters. Be on the lookout for a 70 or 80 foot yacht with x’s and z’s in its name which was last seen in Key West!

This rekindled my interest and I went back to Harley and asked him to show me Hidden Cay. He took me down to the gate, but he said that Mike and Lois were on an extended stay in Goa. Yes, there were peafowl on the property!

But that is the only verification that I could find, except I did locate Neal Forest and in a drunken stupor he admitted that he did row a couple of ‘Chinks’ out to a big yacht.

In this book I of course invented much of the dialogue and changed all the names. I tried to keep it as realistic as it was when Harley first told it by having Mike Bender tell the story. Further research proved fruitless. I was stonewalled everywhere I went! I even had one threat not to write a book about it. To hell with it, I am going to write it and call it FICTION!

Jack Koneazny Key Largo

List of Characters

Chapter One

It was one of those days that happened so seldom in New England, but was the norm in the Florida Keys. A light breeze from the Northeast, a few cumulus clouds floating around without any destination in mind, warm enough for shorts and T-shirts in the middle of January. We had been down for enough time so that our white legs image was gone and the natives had to do a double take to decide whether we were long term snow birds or permanent newcomers.

We didn’t know a soul in the Keys and were looking to get to know some of the locals. It proved to be easier than we could believe. The Conchs are not in a hurry to do anything or go anywhere unless it’s an invitation to go fishing or to have a beer. It doesn’t take much to start a conversation in the Keys. The natives are friendly! When you hire a contractor and he says he will be there in the morning, it should be understood that if it’s a good fishing day, the day after tomorrow he will be there, and will think you are a damn New Yorker (pronounced as one word) if you make a fuss because he didn’t show up yesterday.

I first met Harley in the beer isle at the Public Super Market. I had just put a couple six packs of Sam Adams in my cart when he came up to me and asked me how I liked their new brown ale. He had sandy hair and a well trimmed beard. He wore a pair of khaki shorts of ancient vintage, with a T-shirt with the message on the back, The beatings will continue until the moral improves. There were a scull and crossbones on the pocket. Just fine, I replied. I’ve been a fan of Sam for years. I thought I would size him up, so I continued, I like the oxymoron on your shirt. Yea he replied, that word oxymoron comes from the Greek, translated as pointedly foolish. That’s me, pointedly foolish. My name is Harley Grant. What part of Yankee land you hail from? I could see that I was not talking to an uneducated redneck. I answered, I’m a Connecticut Yankee in King Harley’s Court. King Harley! That’s a good one. You got some sense of humor. What did you say your name was? I didn’t say, it’s Mike, Mike Bender, and I’m from Hartford, the town where Mark Twain spent many years. Glad to meet you Mike. I’ve got to run, but I do a gig at the Caribbean Club on weekends. Stop in and I’ll buy you a Sam. Thanks a lot, Harley; you just might see us there."

That’s how it all started, a simple encounter in a grocery store. I had no idea how that meeting would change our lives! I must write it all down while it is still fresh in my mind.

When I arrived back at the villa that Lois and I had rented for the winter, she was sunning by the pool in her little bikini, the one that left very little to the imagination! She never opened her eyes but just held out her hand and I slipped her a cold beer. I never tired of looking at her in a bathing suit. She at 36 had the body of a 20 year old. She watched what she ate and drank and she would run about a mile a day, before I even raised my head off the pillow. Lois tried to get me to run with her in the morning, but I told her that I was here to recover a little, as they say in the army, R R & R. This of course means rest rehabilitation and recuperation, or is it relaxation? I was on a leave of absence from the Hartford Police Department while I recouped from a bullet wound to my gut from an arrest that went sour.

I’m a Lt. of detectives and I caught one thru the back as we arrested a suspected bad guy. Who the hell ever expected his girlfriend to have a gun hidden under a pillow and to use it on a cop! Yeah, I know the answer to that: a Lt. of detectives should have, that’s who! My partner Billy Madison blew her away before she finished me off, but the bullet chipped a rib and gave me a tummy ache that put me in the hospital for a month. It’s a good thing she was using a 22 caliber double barrel Derringer and it’s a good thing she didn’t get the second barrel off. I owe my life to the fast action of my partner. Billy and I had been on the force for 12 years. We met in the Police Academy and had remained buddies ever since. We were both up for promotion to Lt. And when I made it over him; I think it bothered him for a while. When he would have a few too many he would sometimes call me Brown nose. I overlooked it and he gradually got used to working for me. He saved my life; he can call me brown nose all he wants!

When I got out of the hospital the doctors thought that I was not ready to go back to work so the chief gave me a leave of absence until I felt well enough to get back to the job. That’s when Lois got the idea to come down to the Keys for the winter…

Mike, instead of hanging around here all winter looking out the window at the snow, let’s go down to Florida for a few months. I can get Betty to come in to run the office and I can handle it mostly by computer with a few phone calls. The sunshine will do you a world of good! Let me think about it, I replied, but I knew it sounded pretty good and I had a hard time thinking why we shouldn’t go. We would have to get someone to watch the house, unless we shut down the heat and drained the water pipes. We can have Phil come over and help with the water and stuff, she answered. He will be glad to help.

After sleeping on it overnight, it was decided we would go. When Lois came up with a list of places to rent the next day, I didn’t have to be hit by a Mack truck to figure that this idea had been in the back of her mind for some time. She plays me like a Stradivarius. I don’t mind, she can fiddle with me all she wants! We get along most of the time, but she is always after me to quit the police force. She has a good little business and it would be enough to support us, but I don’t think I could hack going to an office every day, and besides I love my job! She kept saying the job was too dangerous and of course the bullet in my gut proved her right. At any rate I was ready for a sabbatical. We both needed a break.

We had heard lots of sad tales from friends who went to Florida for a couple of weeks and spent most of their time bundled up with winds up to 30 and temperatures in the 50’s. We did not want this to happen on our first trip to the land of oranges and Spanish moss, so after a little research we decided on the Keys.

Boy, did we hit it lucky! Lois found it on the internet. It looked like the home of a millionaire, a lovely Spanish villa, right on the water. A pool, hot tub and a boat dock. It was much more than I wanted to spend but Lois said that she had been putting some money aside and we could afford the palace. What the hell, you only travel this road once as far as I know, why not go first class for once? My father always said, The only things I regret in life are the things I didn’t do. O.K. dad, I hear you. The guy that owned the palace was real careful who he let rent his villa. We had to Post first, last and security, three letters of recommendation and answer a questionnaire. He asked everything but our blood type and I was about ready to tell him to shove it up his ass, when his agent called and said we had the place.

After we arrived, I could see why the owner was so fussy about whom he let rent his villa. The place was perfect. There wasn’t a blade of grass out of place. There was a minor arboretum up the long drive. The drive was lined with every type of tropical fruit and flowering tree. Peacocks were eating the dropped fruit. There must have been a dozen prancing around as we drove in. The agent who came in to show us around said that the owner (who he declined to name) considered pea foul good luck. It sounded like an Arab oil millionaire to me, but Tom Slaven, the agent didn’t show any sign, one way or the other when I suggested it to him. I bet he is a good poker player. I let it lie; it was none of my business anyway.

We learned from Tom the maid service and a gardener were included in the deal and we could have guests, only if they filled out a questionnaire. We had not planned on any guests, so that did not bother us at the time.

The help were a Mexican couple, Marie and Jose Lopez. They both spoke passable English and I would guess they were about 35 or so, but I would be the first to admit I could be ten years off, either way. Marie was a pretty woman, about twenty pounds overweight, but still had a good figure. Jose was about five foot five inches with a wonderful smile. He had a gold tooth up front that he was real proud of. He was a happy man! He was in the U.S. with a good job, a good wife and a green card. He had a nice apartment over the garage and a full belly, what more could a man want? He worked long hours pruning trees, planting flowers and keeping the estate a show place. He seemed to always have nearby work when Lois came out in her bikini. Hell, I couldn’t blame him; she was a pleasure to ogle with those gorgeous breasts, the narrow waist and perfect legs. Ogling her was my favorite pastime. No, I take it back; that is my second favorite pastime.

Lois was getting real brown and I said, How long have you been out in the sun, you’re not getting sunburned, are you? I’ll give it a few more minutes, take a swim and go in and shower. Meet any interesting people at the store? I then told her about Harley and his invitation to the Carib Club. Is that the place where they filmed Key Largo, with Boggy and Bacall, she asked. That’s what the sign says out in front. Let’s go down there on Saturday night and hear the music. O.K. (I’m a man of few words when a few words will do).

Chapter Two

By the end of the week I was feeling quite a bit stronger. The roasting in the Florida sun seemed to infuse new energy every day. I began to realize how sick I had been. I was waking up in the morning after a good night’s rest without pain. Oh, I was a long way from being 100%, but heading in the right direction. Part of one lung was gone so I tired easily and was not a candidate for the track team. The sawbones told me that with lung exercise I would be able to get back to normal. I had a little machine that was suppose to strengthen my lungs and I breathed into it several times a day. I guess it works, or maybe giving up the cigars was doing the job. I know one thing: I’m not going to try and save myself for a healthy old age. No alpha sprouts and bean curd for me but a nice rare Porterhouse smothered with onions and mushrooms and a baked potato loaded with butter and sour cream. Add some corn on the cob and finish it off with a piece of homemade apple pie with a healthy chunk of cheddar melted on top. I, at one time, belonged to the Clover Club. Their motto, painted over the bar: WHEN WE LIVE, LET’S LIVE IN CLOVER, BECAUSE WHEN WE ARE DEAD, WE ARE DEAD ALL OVER.

Saturday morning when I came down the stairs, I heard Lois talking with someone. I thought she was on the phone talking to her sister, but as I entered I found Marie and Jose having coffee with my lovely wife. They both stood up as if to leave, but I told them to keep their seats. Even McGoo could see that they were not comfortable sitting with the rich tenant. Lois was trying to find out a little about the owner of the villa. She didn’t have much luck. They really didn’t know much about the owner. She learned that he was not an American and his skin was not white, but not black either. He very seldom used the place and when he came, he only stayed a day or two and he always had four or five people with him. They were given time off when the boss was around and were told to stay off the property until the owner left. I could see that Jose had ants in his pants, so I told him he could leave when he wanted. He did not need a second invitation; he blurted something out to Marie and headed out the door. Marie went upstairs and started the vacuum cleaner.

Lois said to me, Are we going to see your friend Harley tonight? He is not my friend; I only spoke to him for a second. Yes, we can go there tonight if you wish. I wish.(Occasionally Lois is a woman of a few words. I think she learned it from me).

Chapter Three

The parking lot was full when we pulled into the club. I had to park alongside the highway and I wasn’t happy about it. The Overseas Highway was the necklace that tied the Keys together. Being the only road to Key West, the traffic was constant and heavy. Sometimes one could wait ten minutes to cross US 1 in the Keys. I hope some damn drunk doesn’t come along and sideswipes ‘Mary’ while we are inside, I said as I parked my pride and joy, a 1929 yellow Lincoln Convertible. A car I had brought back to life from a relic I discovered in an old barn up in the Berkshires. The hours that I spent restoring her were therapeutic hours. I could come off a case and totally immerse myself in the restoration until the headache and the pain of the job slipped into the background and I could join the ranks of the living again. I had many offers to sell Mary (I named her after Abraham’s wife, not that I was a big fan of Mary Lincoln but I thought a car, like a ship should be feminine. And then again Abe might have been a hard person to live with, so maybe she deserved a little recognition).

Lois replied, There is not a spot anywhere in the parking lot, perhaps you could leave it across the street in that spot under the street light. I think I will leave it here. Some kids might be tempted over there.

The band was hitting some hot licks when we walked in the door. I spotted Harley right away. He was playing a guitar and he nodded when he saw us walk in. The place was packed but we found a table in a corner and ordered a couple of beers.

The band sounded pretty good, but it was so loud that conversation was difficult. We sat sipping our beer and listening to the music. Lois was getting the eye from most of the men in the bar. She kind of enjoyed it, I think. I noticed that there were quite a few single males in the place. From the bikes in the parking lot, I guess most of them were bikers. What is it with bikers and beards? It looks to me that 75% of the biker bunch has a beard. I’ll have to ask a psychiatrist, the next time I run across one. Beards, tattoos, and beer bellies, the bar was loaded with them.

One biker stood out from the rest. Not that he was any different from the others, bushy red beard, dirty blue jeans and a T-shirt that stated in loud