Houseboat Row

By J P Sheehan

The exciting thriller finds retired New York City detective, Bud Roth, plying his trade as a Key West private investigator and spying on cheating spouses to survive until he draws his New York City pension. When his girlfriend’s son is arrested for murdering a bombshell entertainer living on Houseboat Row, Roth pulls out all the stops to confuse the law enough to save the young man. Roth’s effort turns the tourist town into a hotbed of violence as he puts his life on the line and goes up against local heavy hitters, as well as their criminal allies.

The villain’s theft of priceless sunken treasure is successful until it collides with Roth’s agenda. Meandering through the tropical city’s gin joints and exotic points of interest, the murder mystery runs an exciting course until all seems resolved. However, all that it seems is not real as a shocking revaluation finally comes to light.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781532053115

J P Sheehan

Irish born, US Marine, J P Sheehan spent his youth in Brooklyn, NY, and adulthood in New Jersey. He now splits his time between Sebring, FL and Washington, MI. Touring America’s beautiful countryside with partners, Joyce and Ralphie, the pup, is a favorite pastime.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

A lmost a decade passed before the pain subsided enough for me to venture back down to Key West. Each time after that, I told myself it was the last. Yet again and again I would find my backside parked on the same old bar stool in the same old gin mill, sucking down the same Old Smugglers. and allowing my mind to drift back ten years to the day that had thrown one hell of a curve in my down-on-the-count life. I had tried so hard to forget Key West, but here I was again, slopping down the scotch while clinging to memories of Ramona’s lovely face.

The beginning of the end had begun like most days in my trade. I had been fighting a hangover from a late-night charade and trying to paint a smiley face over a serious problem that refused to go away. I watched the rain glittering in the lamplight as it whipped through the wagging palm trees and splattered against my windshield. A quick one, I had told myself as I parked my old Chevy across from the Green Parrot. I should have known I would overdo it and lose sight of the problem at hand. I should have faced the problem. I got dead drunk instead.

Later that night, I was zonked out on my bed when my cell phone rang. The black hole I had dropped into began to dissipate. Ramona was too agitated for me to ignore or drop back to sleep.

What now? I asked tiredly.

Oh God. She gasped and struggled for breath.

Calm down, Ramona. The stale smoke from my last cigarillo butt still shadowboxed with the paddle fan overhead. It’s okay, damn it. It’s under control, I lied. Don’t you understand?

It’s not, Bud. It’s not. Allen’s been arrested. I’m out of my head.

I swung my feet out of bed and reached for a cigarillo. Then she hit me with the full blast.

He’s charged with murder.

What? I dropped the butt.

I had done enough for her kid. I plucked the little cigar off the rug and stuck it in the corner of my mouth. We need this now? Go on, I said.

The victim was Gail Hadaway, a voluptuous blonde entertainer who lived four houseboats down the row from Ramona. Gail had ridden life like it was a wild horse, but she had not deserved to die. I didn’t know anyone who would have wanted to kill her, either.

Allen was innocent. That was for sure. A hustler, yes, he cheated and stole and milked his marks, but he avoided violence like a night in a padded cell. A quick high and the cost of that high came first in his life. If Key West had not been crawling with easy marks, he might have considered murder, but to actually snuff out a life, even for him, was too far of a reach.

Guilty or innocent, if it was left to me, he would rot behind bars.

Ramona covered for his habitual thievery, even when he lifted anything of hers just to buy a few hours in loony land.

That I cared that Allen had been arrested for murder was like saying my head didn’t ache, life was sweet, and I had finally won a bout with the bottle.

I should have known then and there that this job was destined to go ballistic and that when it did, it would change my life for the worse, as well as the lives of those around me, and all but bring Key West to its knees. But love was blind, and I did cartwheels to prove it.

CHAPTER 2

I pulled to the curb, killed the motor, and rolled out of my old Chevy and onto the wet street. Ramona’s emerald-and-pale-yellow houseboat looked like a miniature showboat. I climbed the gangplank and rang the brass bell fastened to the bulkhead. There had been a time when I’d just step through the door and she’d rush into my arms, whether I was sopping wet or not. But that was then, and this was now. She had tried to keep our romance on an even keel, but my restless heart had driven us apart.

You’re soaked. Why not give it a break for a change and use an umbrella? Her troubled face did not mirror the lighthearted remark.

Does a duck use an umbrella? My corny attempt at humor fell flat.

Her face reflected her pent-up anguish. Her short, neat jet-black hair rimmed her soft pink ears and framed her eyes, which were puffy from crying. She came up to the bump on my nose without heels and had a figure that would crack any hourglass with envy. She wore white capris and a loose-fitting white-and-blue-striped jersey. She took my hand and led me to the sofa. My knees grew weak when she turned and planted a friendly peck on my cheek.

I’m so glad to see you. Wish it was a happier time. She choked back a sob.

I know, honey. I know. Another time, maybe.

Doubt wrinkled her beautiful brow.

Thought Allen was on the straight and narrow? Didn’t need him to screw up just now, did we? I said.

I’m truly sorry, Bud.

Don’t worry, honey. We’ll get him over this hump.

She tightened her lips and slowly blinked as she bowed her head.

Wherever my gaze went, there was a photo of Allen or Jim. Her loyalty to her deceased husband, Jim, did not faze me, but her blind faith in her loser of a son was troubling.

She curled up in the armchair across from me and kept her emotions in check as she related Allen’s latest fall from grace.

I needed no fortune-teller. The lord of highs had gone aboard Gail’s houseboat, found her dead body, and decided to relieve her of all her earthly possessions. There wasn’t even a phone call to me or an anonymous 911 call. Gail had been his friend, but his only obligation was to stroke his habit with the coins that Gail’s booty would bring.

I would later learn that, overwhelmed by the loot, he neglected a few simple precautions and had left his fingerprints around like a rat leaves droppings. Not one but four witnesses had spotted him as he lugged Gail’s stuff down the row to his mother’s houseboat. Had he hidden it? Nah. He had put it on display in his small cabin like it was a flea market. Didn’t even try to shove it under his bunk. Thus, the law had been gifted with a prime suspect and had put him behind bars soon after his final run.

Ramona’s retelling was weighted in her boy’s favor. Sure, she knew what he was, but Key West would turn to ice fishing before she faced it. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t trust him with my threadbare underwear. Yet I knew he did not commit murder.

Who arrested him? I asked as I leaned forward and took her hand.

She drew a labored breath. I don’t know his name, but he’s the redheaded one.

My lips tightened. Denny Badger. An angry man, Ramona.

I don’t know about angry. He seemed nice. He was okay, I guess. She let out a sob and then drew another weighted breath.

I leaned over and embraced her. Easy, I whispered.

You sure about the detective?

He changes moods like an old man with a butt rash, I said, wondering how her boy had fared with Badger when the latter had gotten him downtown.

The older one, I think, was in charge.

Graying hair, mustache, dark searching eyes? I pressed.

That’s him, I think.

Jose Ramirez. A good old bird. Smart as hell. The other one, Denny Badger—believe me—is a real jerk. He’s not smart like Jose, but he’s aces in his own head. He’s ambitious and nasty as hell, and that’s not good for Allen. He’d crucify his brother to get a leg up in the department.

That bad? Her face grew pale.

Believe me—he is. They cleaned out Allen’s cabin?

All the things that they thought were stolen. The man you call Badger took Allen aside, and Allen gave up what did not belong to him. I think they took some of Allen’s personal things as well.

Most of the stuff in his cabin was probably stolen anyway.

Why do you talk like that about him, Bud?

Well?

No, Bud. This is not the time. He needs our help. We need your help, I mean.

Serves him right. I could not keep my mouth shut. His sticky fingers got caught in a rattrap this time. My remarks did little to rekindle our relationship, but I thought she needed to hear the truth. I should have bitten my tongue and swallowed my spit instead.

You need to say that to me? I’m his mother. You don’t know Allen the way I do. When he was a little boy, there was no better kid. He’d do anything for anyone. If he had not gotten mixed up with the drugs and all, he would have turned out to be a wonderful young man. He’s not far from it now. Just another bad break in his miserable life. If only he had a stretch of good luck for a change.

Allen played his mother like a fiddle. It was always clear on his devious mug that he relished her gullibility. I had seen it. I knew it. But could I point it out to Ramona? Never. I’d have a better chance of laying my hands on the Holy Grail. One reason our relationship turned to ice was that she could not stand my efforts to show her the true face of the lord of highs.

It would be a gas to watch him sweat it out in the jug, but it would tear his mother apart.

He’s done this to himself, Ramona.

Stop it! She sobbed and gulped for air. Hiccupping, she managed to continue. I know what you’re going to say, Bud. You don’t have to throw it in my face. She stood, glancing around the cabin, and stopped for a moment to gaze at her favorite photo of Allen. Then she turned to me and stepped closer. You didn’t really mean that? He can be such a good guy.

I guess not, I lied. After pursing my lips and swallowing my feelings, I flashed her my Sunday grin.

At first I had thought Allen’s problem might be just the match that would reignite our relationship. I hadn’t considered my lack of empathy.

Her sobs and hiccups began to fade. Please, Bud. I’m afraid for him. Tears rolled down her face, and she threw her head back as if to keep from choking on her swelling emotions.

Ramona, honey, Allen didn’t kill anybody. You know it. You know it! I know it, and I’ll prove it. Now relax. I pressed my lips into a thin smile.

I’m terribly worried, Bud.

The cops are usually thorough enough, but they miss things. They don’t know what belongs in Allen’s cabin. It’s no trouble for me to turn up a clue and kick-start the investigation. Let’s check out his cabin.

‘Investigation’? What are you saying? She seemed lost as she sifted my words through her mind. As cheerless as the moment was, I could not help but admire the swing of her hips as I followed her to Allen’s cabin.

In deep thought, I was not aware that I sat on Allen’s bunk until Ramona sat beside me. She took my hand.

Twisting my torso, I faced her with a warm grin. There’s nothing here, honey. I shouldn’t have put you through this. I’m sorry.

Her breath was short and gasping. No. Don’t be.

Next stop, Gail Hadaway’s houseboat. I frowned.

Her face blanched. You mean search it?

I nodded. Exactly.

"You can’t," she muttered. Her lips began to tremble.

We didn’t expect to find anything here. It was a roll of the dice. Hadaway’s boat may be different. The law might have been shy about disturbing the crime scene and could have left something important behind. Even overlooked it.

She stood up and leaned against the oak drawers. The slight roll of the boat flattered her figure as she spread her legs to keep her balance. How can you search Gail’s boat? The police blocked it off with yellow tape. There’s a policeman standing by her gangplank at this very moment.

Not now, honey. I saw that cop when I arrived. Drawing a cigarillo from my pack, I wielded it like a magic wand. I need a smoke. Let’s go out on deck.

She followed me outside.

The cop over there—I leaned on the rail—he or one like him will guard the Hadaway houseboat for a couple of days. They won’t expect a fool like me to search it right under their noses. I just might find something to put this problem to bed.

You sure about this?

In a couple of nights, I’ll paddle over in your dinghy and come up on Gail’s boat from out in the channel. It’s dark at night out there, and I’ll be hard to spot. The law won’t be the wiser. Understand?

She touched my cheek. But if they catch you?

You’re joking. I threw my hands onto her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. This is my business, honey. Remember? No way I’m getting caught. With a wide grin, I shook my head.

Her mouth trembled, but I could not tell if it was for me, for Allen, or from all the emotions that had almost suffocated her over the last few hours.

I’m terrified, Bud.

Keep yourself busy, I suggested firmly.

She didn’t reply. I grabbed her arms and planted a kiss on her lips.

She started like the first time I had kissed her. A familiar cloud of doubt darkened her face. She said, As much as I long for us to get back together, right now it would be like I’m pressuring you for Allen’s sake. I want you only when you’re sure of me and I am of you.

I know, I replied with a weak smile.

She looked up toward the light streaking through a wisp of pink clouds. Morning was coming. Her gaze focused on the shadowed deck. You must understand that I don’t want you to think that I’m using you.

I raised her button of a chin on the crook of my index finger. For God’s sake, we’re friends, Ramona. We might not sleep together, but we’re still friends. I care for you. Fact, I love you. I’d do anything for you. Do you think I could turn my back now and kiss you off like … like—I snapped my fingers—like you’re a throwaway in my life?

No. Not ever. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and buried her face in my chest. My heart pounded. It felt like old times.

CHAPTER 3

T rouble was not a stranger in my game. This time it came in the usual form of Detective Sargeant Dennis Badger. Always eager to throw a curve my way, he urged the DA to bar me from visiting the lord of highs in the county lockup. I caught him outside police headquarters.

A retired Big Apple detective, I kept my flat feet on the ground as a Key West PI and always countered the redheaded jackass with a play of my own. In turn, Badger spent half of his working life looking for an excuse to kick my backside out of Key West and back up north, where he felt I belonged.

His counterpart was Detective Sargeant Jose Ramirez, a wise old cop. Low-key, shrewd, and perceptive, Ramirez kept his partner on a short leash. Patient and methodical, easygoing and thoughtful, he had a nose for business and kept ahead of the pack.

Knock it off, Dennis. Jose’s voice was as low as a funeral director’s. He shot a soft, dark glance at his partner. We got problems enough without you going at it with Roth.

Badger’s close-set hazel eyes froze in their sockets as he stroked his razor-sharp nose with a long, thin finger. You’re right, Jose. He turned his haughty head toward me. I’m not done with you, Roth. Get in my way and you’re through in this town. Understand?

Up yours, Denny. I extended my favorite finger.

You son of a bitch, I’ll—–

Dennis, Jose interjected.

Okay, okay, Jose. I’m good. Badger turned back to me and caught my arm.

I squared my shoulders. When I solve the Hadaway murder you’ll be the first to know, Denny. That I promise. I brushed his hand off my arm.

Leave it at that, Dennis. You can’t stop him, Jose said.

As Badger cussed and carried on, I chose a wiser path and crossed Whitehead and slipped into my old crate.

Three nights later, I visited Ramona. I was always thrilled to see her, but that night was all Hadaway business.

I spent an hour on deck studying the shadows to double down that there was no law, uniformed or plainclothes, in sight. Strung as it was with yellow ribbon, Gail’s boat looked as chilling as a cooler drawer in the county morgue.

Ignoring Ramona’s pleas, I made my way aft and set out in her dinghy toward Gail’s houseboat. There was hardly a ripple in the channel, and my paddling made no more sound than the water slapping against the houseboat’s hull. Decked out in black, from running shoes to watch cap, I melted into the darkness of the moonless night like a fly on tar paper.

I stretched a pair of black cotton gloves over my knuckles and boarded Gail’s houseboat from aft. To avoid dealing with the police-sealed main door, I jimmied the lock on a window and slipped into her bedroom. Furniture, clothes, and bric-a-brac were strewn everywhere. I entered the main cabin and studied the chalk outline that marked where Gail had spent the last moments of her life.

The TVs and computers were missing. No doubt the law had found them in Allen’s cabin. There were no photographs in sight. Obviously the law’s doing as well. Using my flashlight, I returned to her bedroom and gave it a second-story man’s toss. Her clothes would have filled a lady’s boutique. I sifted through the clothes on her bunk and found a sweater tossed against the bulkhead. It was a male’s Irish fishermen sweater, gray instead of the usual beige. I buried my shapeless nose into the sheep’s wool and found that the lanolin odor was crowded out by an expensive cologne. I made a mental note of the scent.

To save time, I focused on what else the lab boys might have overlooked. Gail’s books were tossed about. That was not the law’s doing. They would have been neater about it. I decided to leaf through the books if I had time. I searched in corners, on shelves, and under cushions and sofas and came up with a big fat zero. I glanced at my watch. It was 3:12 a.m. As I went through the cabinets, trying to think like Gail, the books hammered in my head. Lack of time dictated that I let them go.

The law never looked through books only to toss them aside; they searched them and replaced them. What did that mean? Perhaps Allen, or someone like him, had tossed the books helter-skelter in a frantic search for anything that could be pawned, sold, sniffed, or injected. Maybe not. There was only a flea’s dropping of a chance that the law had missed something. It didn’t help that she had read and collected so many books. But again, that might be a good thing.

I checked the time. My carcass should have been out of there already. But there was no way I could leave the books. I fell for my own bait and began leafing through those within reach.

Not more than a half hour had passed when I came upon a photo of what looked like a gold broach with emerald clusters. I turned it over. The letters and numbers seemed to have legs. What did they mean? There were sets of letters—initials perhaps—and dates scratched in pencil on the back of the photo: CL and PB and GL and 1991 and 1993. There was also an 1635 or 1835; the second number was smudged and hard to read. Then there was DDST, which looked like a monogram. My game was always a crapshoot, and this clue, if it was a clue, was many throws away from making my point. I looked at my watch. It was late. I glanced at the remaining books and frowned. I left the way I came in.

The night had been a bust. In desperation, I made my way around the deck on all fours, hoping to find something, anything. My flashlight illuminated a small green wrapper under the leg of a deck chair. It could have been dropped by anyone or blown there by the wind. It looked like nothing, but cases had been broken with less. I stuffed the wrapper into my pants pocket and went on. After half a turn around the boat on my hands and knees, I was about to pass the gangplank when a beam of light crashed into my eyes. I blinked the dots out of my head as my hand swept under my shirt, toward the small of my back.

Go there and you’ll need a button for a new hole.

Catchy, I said, trying to make light of a serious moment.

The New York City habit that had saved my bacon so many times had almost cost me. I’d not been packing since my Big Apple days, so going for a gun was like juggling razor blades. My hand slowly joined its mate and both inched toward the night sky as I rose to my feet.

Not knowing who was behind what I assumed was a gun, I forced my lips into a sour grin. I’m not packing. Relax, I said.

What the hell are you doing up there?

I glanced down at my black shirt and pants and felt like I had been caught naked in Macy’s window. I didn’t reply.

Can’t you see the tape? You know this is a crime scene?

I smiled at the beam of light like a Hollywood hopeful mugging for a camera. You the law? I asked, squinting, and stepped toward the light.

Exactly. Keep your hands high and keep coming slow like. The voice was high-pitched and eager. He was a rookie for sure. As his shadow fell back, the beam of light swayed and I weighed the thought of leaping into the channel. It was a fool’s risk with a rookie, so I opted to go down the gangplank and greet my fate with my gloved fingers raised to the warm night sky.

The rookie spun me around and poked the nose of his pistol into my spine. Step over there and put your hands on the hood of the cruiser. It was doubled parked next to Gail’s Sebring convertible.

I can explain, I said.

Save it for the station, he said and put a notch on my backbone with the barrel of his pistol.

Easy with that piece.

Put your hands on the roof and spread your feet.

I knew the position but was usually on the dealing end. I’m an ex-cop, I said.

He laughed, wrenched my arms behind my back, and snapped handcuffs on my wrists. Make a move and you’re a dead ex-cop.

He called for backup, and in a matter of minutes, two patrol cars nosed up behind his. A second cop patted me down for a gun and read me my rights. Then he lifted my scraps of evidence, wallet, lighter, pens, and recorder and heaved me into the back of the first cop’s cruiser.

As we started toward downtown, I could not help but look back and see Ramona peering down from her deck as she wiped tears from her troubled face.

CHAPTER 4

T he camera peering out from the black globe on the ceiling was a new pal of the two-way mirror on the wall. I had been in such rooms before, on both sides, and the globe and mirror were old friends and did not intimidate me as intended. Even so, when Denny Badger stepped into the room with a ghoulish grin, I gritted my teeth and tucked in my chin. He straddled a chair across from me and dumped my wallet and the contents of my pockets from a manila envelope onto the table between us. It was all there, down to the green candy wrapper.

What were you doing on the Hadaway houseboat? he asked, arms dangling over the back of his chair. His pen flirted with the items from my pockets, as well as my gloves and watch cap.

Take a guess, I replied, my voice a bit too biting.

We traded insults for the next hour. He pushed and prodded while I gritted my teeth and forced a smile. At one point, his eyes narrowed into slits, his thin, sharp nose twitched, and his lips began to tremble. He obviously wanted to reach across the table and wring my fool neck.

He picked up the green wrapper between his thumb and index finger as if it were a used Band-Aid. Didn’t know you went in for this kind of crap.

I shrugged and flashed him a jaded grin. This bullshit is about candy? I asked. Then it hit me: it was cough drop wrapper. I hadn’t noticed that when I picked it up on the deck of Gail’s houseboat.

You’re in big trouble, Roth. You killed Gail Hadaway and dressed in that black outfit to return to the scene. Maybe you wore that stupid outfit when you killed her.

Denny, you read too many comic books.

It’s obvious, Roth. You murdered Hadaway and returned to the crime scene. The freckles on his cheeks seemed to grow darker. What were you looking for? You drop something?

What are you looking for? I asked. Don’t hold your breath while trying to pin Gail’s murder on me.

His face grew redder. It’s Gail, is it?

Get real. She was Gail to everybody. I’ve seen you in the Brave Bull drooling over her. Called her Ms. Hadaway, did you?

That’s enough, scumbag.

I pointed my finger at him. You didn’t call her Gail?

He began to spring to his feet but then seemed to think better of it.

You murdered her, and you’ll pay for it.

I was never in her cabin.

You were on the boat.

Book me then.

He leaned across the table. We’re booking you, all right. Maybe not murder right now, but you’ll be behind bars.

I sat up in my chair. Wanna bet? I bluffed. I held my neck stiff and watched him sizzle.

Throughout Badger’s antics, my gaze kept straying toward the picture of the gold-and-emerald broach that lay on the table. I had no clue as to why it held such an attraction for me. As I studied the picture, my stomach began to sour, and I swallowed hard to