Lucie's Boys: Misfits, Mayhem and Murder On Florida’s Treasure Coast

By Linda Reddington

Unhappy with her job and lack of social life, Journalist/photographer Lucie Justis decides to accept her mother’s offer to move to Port St. Lucie, FL. Little does she know that the man who broke her heart 15 years ago, has moved right next door to her mom, with his husband-to-be. Some of the rest of the neighbors are eccentric, if not certifiable, and the man across the street, who traps cats, may have murdered his wife. Lucie finds a job at a weekly newspaper called the Port St. Lucie Eye, where every day is eventful. There is romance, some laughs and before the end, somebody dies in a highly unusual manner.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Sep 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781684710508

Book preview

LUCIE’S BOYS

Misfits, Mayhem and Murder On Florida’s Treasure Coast

LINDA REDDINGTON

Copyright © 2019 Linda Reddington.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

ISBN: 978-1-6847-1051-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6847-1050-8 (e)

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.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 09/13/2019

This book is dedicated to my Florida friends, including Carole and Eileen, who have moved to more northern climes; my cousin Irene, a true snowbird; Ronda, who has passed on to a different Paradise, and Jim and Peter who still are the sunshine in the Sunshine State.

For readers, though a few places described in the book are real, many are not. And (unfortunately) there is no Port St. Lucie Eye newspaper. There also is no I Love Lucy Coalition protesting the pollution of the St.

Lucie River, thought there should be.

This is a work of fiction. The characters and events are a product of the author’s imagination.

Any resemblance to actual events or people is purely a coincidence.

1

A GAME OF SQUASH

Just two months ago, on her fortieth birthday, a few minutes after receiving a box of fudge and a card from her coworkers with the message: Lordy, Lordy, Lucie’s forty, Lucie Justis received word from the executive editor that her weekly newspaper had been purchased by a national chain; her entire section was to be eliminated to cut costs; and she was going to be shipped up to the corporate office, nearly fifty miles away, to sit at a row of desks and edit somebody else’s copy all day.

That was the day she decided to accept her mother’s oft-repeated invitation to move from New Jersey to live with her in Florida.

Now she was here, where it was hot all the time.

She was barely beginning to enjoy a one-woman self-pity party, when Caroline, the office receptionist, screamed.

Those little bastards!

Lucie looked up from her computer about the same time the rest of the newsroom crew did, and laughed.

For the second time this month, three pairs of bare, pre-adolescent buttocks were pressed up against the big bow window of the Port St. Lucie Eye.

Don’t it make my brown eyes blue.’ crooned Sol, which made everyone laugh again—except Caroline.

"For Christ’s sakes, isn’t anybody going to do anything?" Caroline wailed.

It was obvious none of the men in the newsroom were.

They just sat there, smirking, so Lucie got up, grabbed Caroline’s big, potted schefflera, hefted it painfully across the room and onto the window’s ledge with a ‘thunk,’ effectively blocking most of the view.

By the time Leroy, the biggest guy in the office, decided to pick up a pica ruler and head for the door, the kids were already pulling up their jeans.

And by the time he opened the door, they were halfway across the street, laughing and flipping him off.

The weekly newspaper operated out of a former storefront, and even with the gilt letters that covered the large, central pane, the big showcase window gave passersby a clear view of the staff.

What had been a bra and girdle shop for more than a decade, now housed two reporters, Sol Broude and Dean Hazen, a lifestyle/copy writer/editor (Lucie), a commerce writer, Leroy Thomas, who also helped delegate stories to a few stringers and Caroline Lipowsky, whose job, was answering the phone and taking classifieds when she wasn’t sucking up to editor/publisher, Graydon Poole.

There also was a sports editor/writer, whose copy magically appeared on deadline, but Lucie had never seen him since she had moved to Florida. The only signs that he existed, were the remnants of fast food left on various desks in the morning.

The advertising and circulation departments took up the other side of the place and were separated by paneling.

Graydon walked out of his office … the only private place in the building other than the bathroom and a small morgue filled with back issues and file cabinets.

He looked at Caroline and then at the window.

The mooners again?’’ he said, looking amused. Whose idea was the plant?"

My plant, Lucie’s idea, Caroline answered, still out of sorts. I’d like it back now, thank you.

Ah, he said, ignoring Caroline. Initiative. I like that, Justis.

He didn’t even look at her when he said it, but Lucie felt her face flush. She was the only one of his employees he called by her last name, and for the first three weeks it had embarrassed her, but now she kind-of liked it.

You know what?’’ he added, turning back toward Caroline. I think it looks rather nice there. "Caroline, why don’t you come in a little bit later tomorrow.

I’ll call the manager over at Gnome Depot and tell him you can buy as many plants as you want and he can bill them to me. Deal?

Caroline looked pleased. Spending money was always a pleasure, and Lucie didn’t know how Caroline felt about it, but being around plants and flowers always put her in a good mood.

Lucie felt better as well except for the muscles in her lower back, which were starting to pay for her initiative.

There was an advantage to be able to watch the world go by outside, but much better if it wasn’t vice-versa.

Your schefflera saved the day, Caroline, she said, eliciting a genuine smile in return.

She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, saying, See? a little kindness goes a long way.

Things were quieting back down when Dean, the youngest reporter, suddenly jumped up from his desk. He was wearing shorts, and she noticed her boss’s disapproving look.

Graydon liked his staff to look somewhat professional, even if this was Florida and people here tended to dress down.

Whoops, gotta go get the police log, see you later.

Dean was out the door in an instant.

"What’s that about? He never moves that fast unless somebody’s got free food," Lucie said.

Caroline wasn’t listening. Her eyes followed Dean as he headed for the red pickup truck, illegally parked in the handicapped spot just outside the door.

Nobody that annoying has the right to look that good, Caroline remarked.

For once, Lucie thought, she and the Drama Queen agreed on something. It was often Dean’s looks rather than his skills that resulted in readers confiding in him and calling in news tips.

Outside, a man was getting out of a filthy, battered sedan, next to Dean’s truck. Lucie hadn’t seen a Studebaker since she was about seven years old.

Her uncle Frank used to have one. Her dad called it The Crop Duster because so much smoke billowed out of the tailpipes.

Uncle Frank was the reason Lucie’s mom had moved to Florida. Frank had suffered a stroke six months ago and her mom had moved here to take care of him.

The man outside the front door appeared to be trying to get Dean’s attention but Dean avoided making eye contact, backed out quickly and sped off.

Caroline made a beeline for the bathroom and closed the door. Graydon also left the room swiftly, shutting his office door behind him.

What the hell was going on? Lucie turned to see a stooped, slight, but wiry man of about seventy, trying to maneuver his way in while struggling with two pale green zucchinis, bigger than baseball bats.

Lucie moved to hold the door open and felt a blast of humid Florida air.

He dumped the zucchinis on Caroline’s desk, wiped his hands on his pants and looked around.

Sol had disappeared into the men’s room and Leroy was typing away, his eyes never straying from the screen.

Where is everybody? The boss here? asked the man.

Lucie pulled Caroline’s chair out and motioned for the old man to sit, then stuck her head into Graydon’s office and called, Mr. Poole, there’s a gentleman here to see you.

The office was empty.

Sorry, she said, turning back to the visitor. He seems to have stepped out. May I help you?

The man announced himself as Salvatore Feruzzi, in a manner that suggested just the sound of his name should explain everything.

When she didn’t answer, he held out his hand. She took it briefly, resisting the temptation to wipe her palm on her best black slacks, as he explained, "I’m pretty famous around here. I grow the biggest gagootz on the Treasure Coast.

What? Spell that, Lucis said.

Gagootz? CU-C-U-Z-Z-A he told her, adding, Every year the Eye publishes my picture in the paper with my squash. This time I got a 12-pounder. Biggest sucker I ever grew.

Lucie sneaked a look at the infamous twelve-pounder.

I been tryin’ to get the News to write me up, he went on, "but some snotnose over there told me it wasn’t their thing. All those big papers, all they ever write about is bad news, like that pervert on the loose.

I dint move down ta Florida from Brooklyn to hear about depressing crap. I coulda stayed there for that.

Lucie didn’t bother to mention that the Eye was also following the story of an inept pedophile who had tried to snatch two boys so far, each of whom had got away.

Feruzzi was obviously one of those men who only read the sports scores.

No wonder newspapers are going broke. He went on. He was never going to shut up.

"Except the Eye, a’ course. Everybody likes your paper. You guys know what people like to read about.’’

(Yeah, like some geezer’s backyard produce.)

So,’’ he said, picking up the largest of the three squashes, where do ya want me?"

Where do ya want me to stand while ya take my picture? he clarified.

Last year I stood out in front of the door so people could read the newspaper’s name behind me.

I have an idea, Lucie said. Let’s take it in Mr. Poole’s office.

She took the company camera out of the file cabinet and held Poole’s door open for the old man, who walked in sideways, cradling the nearly four-foot-long vegetable as if it were a baby.

Leroy, the only one left in the newsroom, was typing like mad, but she could hear him chuckling to himself.

Lucie posed Feruzzi on the corner of Poole’s desk, and made sure to move the wooden sign that read "Graydon Poole, Editor-in-Chief’’ as close to her subject as possible.

She took a couple of shots from different angles. What the hell, let the old guy feel important.

Before he left, Feruzzi insisted she take the largest of the squashes and told her she could give the others to Caroline and her boss. The mental image that remark elicited lifted her mood instantly.

Don’t forget, that’s F-E-R-U-Z-Z-I,’ he reminded her. Lucie promised to remember. She watched him get back into his dirty car, then turned to see Caroline dabbing at her ruined mascara.

It’s good thing I was in the bathroom.’’ Caroline hiccupped. I was trying so hard not to laugh, it made me pee.’’

Lucie walked back into Poole’s office, picked up the zucchini Feruzzi had left there, and propped it vertically in her boss’s chair. As an afterthought she took his desk sign and sat it on the chair in front of the squash.

She took one last look at her handiwork, smiled, and went back to her own desk.

Thanks a lot, Caroline. If I see some clown heading in here with a big tomato in the near future, I’m going to beat you to the John.

Caroline’s phone rang, ending the conversation. You got out just in time, Caroline was telling the caller, while glancing over at Lucie.

"You should have seen her face. What? Oh my God. No, Gray’s not here.

How did you manage to get it? I guess that was lucky.

Who is it? Lucie hissed.

Caroline ignored her.

I’ll tell Gray as soon as he gets back. OK, OK. Call back when you have more. Caroline put down the receiver just as Poole walked in through his office.

Houdini returns, Lucie thought.

"More what?’’ Poole said, shooting Lucie a grin, then walked over to Caroline’s desk to see what she had scribbled on her notepad.

"An alligator bit a tourist,’’ Caroline said.

"One of the employees at the nature center in the Savannas preserve heard a scream and ran out to investigate.

"Seems a woman waded out into that shallow lake to get some close-up pictures of some lily, and the gator bit her leg.

Dean says she was carrying on more about her camera falling into the muck, than her injury."

Caroline was practically out of breath with excitement.

"And the cops allowed Dean on the scene?’’

Poole was unaware he had made a rhyme. Lucie was thinking ‘Dean on the Scene’ would make a great title for the weekly police reports.

He was in the station, getting the police log, Caroline said, "when the dispatcher got the call and relayed it to all the cops