Routines Storms and Murders: Det. Lt. Nick Storie Mysteries, #2

By C. D. Moulton

Three books from the Det. Lt. Nick Storie series.

Night Shift
Eight short mysteries

Hellstorm
Hurricane Andrew is crossing Florida. There are murders among a group of obnoxious wealthy land developers in a storm shelter.

Deadly Routine
A woman returns from a trip to Europe. Her husband is murdered within hours. There is a lot of evidence against her. Too much.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. D. Moulton
• Release date: Oct 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215392881

Book preview

Nick Storie Mysteries

Routines Storms and Murders

Three books

© 2020 by C. D. Moulton

all rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

These are works of fiction. Any resemblances to actual persons or events are purely coincidental unless otherwise stated.

Night Shift

Eight short mysteries

Hellstorm

Hurricane Andrew is crossing Florida. There are murders among a group of obnoxious wealthy land developers in a storm shelter.

Deadly Routine

A woman returns from a trip to Europe. Her husband is murdered within hours. There is a lot of evidence against her. Too much.

Contents

About the author

Night Shift

1 = Death of a Bitch

2 = Swan Song for an Agent

3 = Wrong Turn

4 = Fish Tale

5 = Bad Scene

6 = Comedy Ain't Funny

7 = You're Perkin With Harkin

8 = War Children

Hellstorm

Prologue

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Epilogue

Deadly Routine

Prologue

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Epilogue

About the author

CD was born in Lakeland, Florida, in 1938. He is educated in genetics and botany. He has traveled extensively, particularly when he was a rock rhythm guitarist with some well-known bands in the late sixties and early seventies. He has worked as a high steel worker and as a longshoreman, clerk, orchidist, bar owner, salvage yard manager, and landscaper and more.

CD began writing fiction in 1984 and has more than 300 books published in SciFi, murder, orchid culture, and various other fields.

He now resides in Gualaca, Chiriqui, Panamá, where he continues research into epiphytic plants and plays music with friends. He loves the culture of the indigenous people. He funds those he can afford through the universities, where they have all excelled. The Indios are very intelligent people, they are simply too poor (in material things and money. Culturally, they are very wealthy) to pursue higher education.

CD loves Panamá and the people, despite horrendous experiences (Free e-book; Fading Paradise). He plans to spend the rest of his life in the paradise that is Panamá

CD is involved in research of natural cancer cure at this time. It is based on a plant that has been in use for centuries, is safe, available, and cheap. Information about this cure is free on the FaceBook page: Ambrosia peruviana for cancer.

Night Shift

Nick Storie  Book four

8 shorts

© 1994 & 2020 by C. D. Moulton

Critic comment

The kind of things you like to read on a plane or while relaxing. Quite good, actually.

Moulton was in rock music, so Swan Song for an Agent is especially recommended.

1

Death of a Bitch

Prologue

Lutetia Ascot-Turens watched Francis drive his golf cart out the drive and turn toward the club. She sighed heavily.

What was there about golf that so involved all the men? He'd played all morning, and was going back now, after three o'clock, to practice his putts awhile? Hit a little white ball, get in your cart to ride to where it lands, and hit it again. The most important part of golf was the bar. At their age (early sixties) she didn't care if Francis did find some young golddigger there. They had plenty, and he wouldn't do more than delude himself with some fantasy, anyhow. He was only good for maybe once a week, in his more active periods, the last few years.

She went to the back terrace, slipped off her bathrobe, and laid on the chaise lounge. Her sunglasses and lemonade were on the table. She rang her little silver bell, told Mildred to send Steve around as soon as he came, picked up the Agatha Christie novel by her seat, and began on chapter seven.

The Foxes went out the canal in their too-fancy ocean cruiser. She didn't know they'd planned a trip, but they didn't use the larger vessel, except for their yearly extended vacations.

That would be easy to see!

Lutetia rang her bell to tell Mildred to bring her cell phone and number book. As soon as she had them, she checked for the SS number for the yacht, and called. Steve came out of the house just as Errol answered. She waved to the satchel of suntan lotion and towel by the massage table, as she said, Errol? Lutetia here. I saw you leaving and wanted to wish you two bon voyage.

Oh, I say! How thoughtful of you! Errol announced (He announced everything. He never simply said anything), then to the side, "It's Lutie, Lovie. Bon voyage, and all that.

Say, Lutie! We're toodling off to Cancun for a week or ten! You and Frank can buzz on over! We'll be at our villa! Plenty of room! Always good to have you along. Never boring, what?

She just hated it when people called Francis Frank. Her name was not Lutie, it was Lutetia. Still, it really was nice of Errol to invite them – considering.

"We'll take a rain check, Errol. Francis has to work with the stockholders on some business project or other. He simply won’t let Juliette and Kyle handle it. You know how he is when it comes to business."

Yes! Well! Errol declared. Got to get out before the low tide, what? We'll sit at the marker until later, and sail under the stars! Lovie and I both love the ocean under the stars! Always the romantic, hey?

They chatted a few minutes, then rang off. She'd learned everything she wanted to know.

Steve, be a dear and oil my back, will you? I think I've been overdoing the sun.

Steve was a masseur she paid to come around because he was so decorative – and because there wasn't one tiny bit of gossip among her small circle of close friends and acquaintances he didn't hear – except for the bits about himself.

Steve spent the remainder of his hour mostly sitting by the pool and chatting. Mildred came out around five to take the satchel into the pool room and to freshen Lutetia's pitcher of drinks. She told her dinner would be served at eight, if that was agreeable. Lutetia said it would be fine.

The kids came over, later, with their spouses, to say hi, but left again almost immediately. That was about ten after five.

Mildred Kerr, housemaid and almost slave to Lutetia Ascot-Turens, watched Juliette and Kyle go around the house with their own husband and wife.

Juliette was a rather plain girl, but was also enormously fun to be with. She didn't act at all like her mother.

Mildred was thankful for that! One Lutetia Ascot-Turens was more than enough for the world!

Julie's husband, Nigel, was very nice. He always made jokes about Having to wait hand and foot on that bloody old battleax!

Both of The kids had married well. Phyllis, Kyle's wife, was both pleasant and attractive. That she despised Lutetia was obvious to everyone but Lutetia.

Mildred waved at the four as they went around the house, then waved again as they left, a few minutes later. She heard a boat come to the dock and low voices from the terrace. She supposed it was Carl Keller, the man from down the canal. He always buttered up the Turens.

The boat left and came back again, a few minutes later, but Mildred was far too busy with dinner to look out there, by then. Sarah, the house cleaner, came to say she was leaving at six, then the boat left the dock, again.

Nash Folton, their boatman, wasn't around, that she knew of, but that suited Mildred, fine. He was a real first class pain in the ass! Thought he was God's gift to women.

Bob Stern, the groundskeeper, rode in on his tractor about then, too. Everybody went home at six. Everybody but Mildred. She lived there. She had her own private apartment. It was nice and convenient, but she could use a bit more freedom.

Oh, well! Another year and she'd have enough saved to tell that vicious bitch exactly where the hell she could stick that kind of job!

Francis Turens came into the drive and stopped to look at his house. It was a true mansion. He'd worked all his life, starting from nothing and less and had built his own fortune. It hadn't hurt marrying the Ascot name and money, but he'd made it on his own before then. Life had been good. He had everything a man could want.

He'd decided to sell out his part of the business. The kids could buy it for a reasonable price, or he'd put his fifty one percent on the market. There was no way all that pressure and worry was going to start, at this time of his life. Not again. He'd been through it all, already. Once was enough. He wouldn't have the heart to do it again.

You can blame the economy on anyone you please, but the money was already in the bank for the rest of his own life. He was not going to take it out and put it into the business. He could walk away from the company and let the kids have it. He'd never hurt!

Times were going to be hard for maybe another three years. He knew business, and knew the type of business would restart growing. Construction would very slowly pick up, and materials would come more and more into demand. He would tell the kids how to weather this kind of storm, but he was not going to bail them out of it. That would most definitely be the wrong message. Those kids had to learn the world wasn't an easy place. They would either learn business, or they'd lose the company. It had to be on their own. Not a given.

They could only buy enough to retain control between them, and raise money by selling the rest of it.

Francis went on to the house, put the golf cart in the garage, and went inside, where Mildred was preparing a delicious meal.

How did such a sweet girl put up with someone like a Lutetia?

He didn't kid himself about his wife, for one single minute. She was very selfcentered and vain, what most other women called a bitch. The only reason even he got along with her so long and well was because he was the stronger personality. She knew precisely how far she could go with him. The kids had learned how to deal with her, long ago, partly because he told them what to do. There were times he could gleefully throttle her. Most of the time, he was neutral about her. A few times, he still actually felt some affection.

She made remarks about him going to the club to meet bimbos, but he liked to talk to young people. They were usually so naive about life. It was refreshing to get away from the cynicism of friends his own age. He sometimes slipped away with a girl for a little fun and relaxation. He didn't mind paying for them. It kept all of it on an acceptable level of professionalism. Lutetia believed, because he was seldom interested in her, that he didn't look for sex with anyone else. It never dawned on her she might have lost any sex appeal to him, years ago. With her, it was more like an obligation he had to fulfill. He was always glad when it was over with.

She played her own silly games. She'd fantasize about that masseur and sneak off with Carl, who wasn't the only one.

Mildred and Sarah liked him. They'd let a few things out they didn't know about, such as the time, less than two weeks ago, when Lutetia had gone out on the bay boat with Errol Fox. She'd told him she was going to be playing bridge all afternoon, but she never showed up at the bridge club. Francis knew. He'd checked.

Errol Fox, bought and paid for with the Gunderson money he'd married. It would look like Lutetia could do better. Even she knew he was nothing but a pretty boy for Violet to play with. That phony British act was the first thing Nigel saw through when he started dating Julie. Nigel was real English royal stock, not that that was necessarily a recommendation, the way some of them were acting. Princess Di was the only one of that bunch with any real class.

The kids would buy him out, quickly enough. He'd make the terms easy on them.

Mildred told him Lutetia was still out on the terrace. She'd probably had one or two – or maybe five – drinks too many, again, even though Mildred made them weak.

Seven twenty five, they would dine at eight – and Lutetia was out there, bombed. She'd be inside and dressed if she weren't.

It wouldn't accomplish anything to remonstrate with her. He'd simply go wake her up and tell her it was getting late.

Well, he was going to have to do something about her drinking. It was getting out of hand when she drank herself into a stupor in the middle of the week, with absolutely no pressure on her at all!

––––––––

Case

Lt. Nathaniel Nick Storie came into work for the regular night shift, saw Lt. Jim Hill, day shift homicide, and Sgt. Marsha Blevins, aide/ secretary to their boss, Capt. James Paddy James, for the daily reports, chatted a few minutes, told them goodbye then sat at his desk.

Sgt. Shirley Kiser, the receptionist, waved at him when she left and pointed to the Gloom room to let him know Paddy was still in there. Paddy worked all hours. He was a conscientious cop.

Come to that, so did Nick! He worked whenever a case demanded it. The night shift was a lot more a day shift, anymore.

Dr. David Klein came out of Paddy's office with Anthony Tiny Menthorne, the county coroner. Nick waved and grinned to himself, thinking of both Paddy, at six four and three twenty five, and Tiny, at six six and two eighty five in one room. It was a good thing Klein was so thin and small!

Nick's desk phone lit up as Paddy came out, so he waved and took it. Storie. Homicide.

Nick? Ruth Tynan, EMS paramedic? came back.

Yo, Ruthie! How's tricks?

"You'd better get over here, Nick. Number six Fountainbleu Drive, Paradise Shores. Woman by the name of Lutetia Ascot-Turens was found on her terrace, unconscious.

"Nick, there's no verdict yet, but I do know cyanide poisoning when I see it."

Don't touch anything!

We haven't. I saw that blue and ordered no one was to get close. It's a terrazzo terrace, and it's spotless. There's a drink on the table, about half empty.

Not spilled?

No. It's not likely the stuff's in it.

I'm on my way! I'll bring the coroner's crew.

Paddy had stopped to listen to Nick’s end. He raised an eyebrow.

Disgustingly obscenely rich woman got a mouthful of cyanide at the shores, Nick told him. Paradise Shores.

Paddy rolled his eyes and groaned. With that kind of money, you’ll have to solve it within fifteen minutes or the commission gets calls, then I get calls. With my luck, it'll be less than twelve.

Twelve?

"Numbers one through twelve are the elite of the rich. They have the money to make your everyday multimillionaires look like paupers.

My usual luck. Less than twelve?

Nick grinned and nodded, then headed out. He stopped at the front desk to buzz the coroner's crew.

The place was fantastic! Nick knew there were places like that in the area, but he'd never been to one at quite that level of extravagance. It was a subdued extravagance, not ostentatious. The main building was like a large castle – well, no. It was much more modern than that. The grounds were beautiful. The curved drive was pink gravel. The gardens looked like they had been hand-trimmed by cutting each individual leaf. There wasn't one blade of the perfect, dark, solid grass out of place.

The EMS ambulance was in front of a gate to the side, so he parked and went through, to see a large marble pool with a terrazzo terrace to one side and a wide landscaped lawn down to a dock – with a yacht that was at least a hundred twenty footer moored to it. There was even a concrete helicopter pad to the far side of the house!

Ruth saw him, and came to lead him to the several people standing on a raised porch that went along the back of the house.

She's right there by the table, Ruth reported. This is Mr. Francis Turens, husband of the deceased, and Miss Mildred Kerr, the house manager.

The crew is on the way, now, so I'll try to get a little background before they get here, if you don't mind, Nick said, with a sympathetic look. "I have to know who last saw her, spoke to her, and everything else. I'll also have to know where everyone was since the time ... we have to establish that.

Were the two of you here the entire afternoon?

I was in the house, Mildred said. The Mr. was at the club. He came home and found her when he went to get her for dinner.

Mr. Turens, you were at the club? The country club? Nick asked. Francis nodded. What time did you arrive there? What did you do?

"I left here, about three, to go to the club. I practiced my putting with Bill Lamp and Harry Green then went to the clubhouse for a drink. I talked with a girl, Jilian Kocis, until about seven. We played the piano and sang a lot of old songs. Some friends of hers joined us. A Joe Somebody and a Donald Somebody and a Teresa Somebody.

"I came back here, made a business decision I've been considering for some time, and came in for Mildred to tell me Lutetia was out on the terrace. It was late, but she was tending to drink a lot the past few months, so I came out here to tell her to get ready for dinner.

"I called, but she didn't respond, so I shook her. I thought she was probably passed out, so I called Mildred to help me get her inside.

Mildred couldn't find a pulse, and called nine one one.

Did you touch or move anything near the body?

No. We stood by the door until the ambulance came.

The coroner's van pulled up in front. Nick excused himself and went around to tell Frog Forest, the forensic chief photographer, to concentrate on pictures in certain areas and to get a panorama sweep on camcorder of the whole place, then went back around as the crew went to the body.

Would it be better to talk somewhere else? Nick asked.

Mildred said it definitely would, and that she could make coffee. Turens said he'd rather answer whatever questions Nick had, then go inside to call his son and daughter. Nick agreed there wasn't anything else, for the moment, but he may have something more, after the preliminary by the crew.

Mildred led him to the huge kitchen and offered him a seat. She poured him hot coffee, took a huge tray with a lot of cups and a twelve-cup pot of gourmet coffee out to the crew, then came to sit across from him, expectantly.

OK. Just tell me whatever you think might be of any importance, Nick said. It's too early for me to even know what questions to ask, yet. Start from the time that Mr. Turens left.

"Well, the Mrs. rang her bell for me to tell Steve – Steve Bellows, the masseur – to go on out when he came. She called again for the cell phone and the number book. She leaves them on the hall table every day, and has me take them out every day. Today, the Foxes were going out on their big yacht, and she wanted to know where they were going.

"Steve came, and I took him out and filled her drink pitcher. I mix them weak so she won't get so wasted, but sometimes she does, anyhow.

"Steve left, after an hour. The kids came about five o’clock. She'd said to have dinner at eight.

"I heard a boat about six or so. It left and came back, then left again. I was mostly in the kitchen, because we're having the special sweet and sour pork that takes three hours.

"The crew all checked out to go home at five – except Nash Folton. He wasn't here, I don't think.

The Mr. came home and went out to get her.

You say a boat came, left, and came back? Isn't that unusual?

It was Mr. Keller, I believe. He’ll drop in sometimes, when she's out there. I didn't look, because I have to stir the sauce for twenty minutes straight. If I stop, it doesn't come out right.

Mr. Keller?

Mr. Carl Keller, next door, at number eight. He stops to talk to the Turens, sometimes. He has an outboard he uses to fish in the inner bays. That's how I know when it's him. Nobody out here uses those outboards. Nobody else! Nick could hear and feel her resentment.

Don't much care for Mr. Keller? he asked her, with his most understanding grin.

"Oh, he’s all right! Mr. Turens is all right, too."

Slight extra stress on the Mr. She didn't much like the Mrs. Nick couldn't question her about that in that house. He understood how people look at loyalty, and he knew Mr. Turens could walk in at any moment.

I see. What business is Mr. Turens in?

"Wha..? I ... You don't know?! she exclaimed, then grinned back at him. I guess you aren't impressed with all the money, being a murder cop. I read Travis McGee, where he said you can't tell the blood of the rich from the blood of the poor.

Mr. Turens owns TBCS Industries. Him and his son and daughter, with only a few other minor shareholders. He owns most of it.

Which does what?

She gave him a little laugh. They're wholesalers and distributors of building supplies and home repair and maintenance materials. They sell almost everything. Plumbing, electrical, appliances – you name it.

Pretty good business, if they live out here.

Oh, yeah! He owns fifty seven stores in nine different countries. Distributors. He owns the sawmills and fabricators and all of it.

I see why he can afford a place like this!

`Fortune Today' lists his net worth at well over two billion dollars, but his son and daughter own a big part of it.

Tell me about the son and daughter.

"Juliette's the daughter. Juliette Flanders. She married Nigel Flanders, from Whitefordshire, England, about four years ago. She's about the most fun person you could ever know. Nigel's fun, too.

"Kyle's the son. He married Phyllis Doorne, a year ago. He's nice, and Phyllis is like a sister.

The kids – we call them the kids – take after their father. He always taught them to be themselves. Normal people.

Again. Pointedly. The good traits of The kids had nothing to do with mama.

They came around five?

They came about then. They walked around the house and right past that window. We waved at each other. They left about ten minutes or so later. Julie did one of these (She stuck her thumb in her mouth and tossed her head back) to let me know the Mrs. was getting sloshed. She kept at the Mr. to make the Mrs. get counseling or put her in Betty Ford or something.

Did Kyle and Juliette get along well with Mrs. Turens?

"That's Ascot-Turens! she replied, haughtily. Nobody ... I mean, they knew how to handle ... I mean, yes."

Nobody got along with Lutetia very well, but me, Detective, Turens said, coming in the door immediately behind Mildred. Nick had seen him coming across the dining room, but hadn't been able to warn her.

"Don't be so embarrassed, Lieutenant. I lived with her for twenty six years, so I know how she was. She was difficult. The kids knew how to handle her because I taught them, when they were about ten.

"She was insecure, so she compensated by playacting the grand dame. She was a spoiled brat who never grew up, which was less her fault than her parents’, which didn't make it any easier to cope with her. She was also capable of being a very different kind of woman.

I suppose Millie's told you she was developing a drinking problem?

She mentioned the kids thought she should get help. That was a recent development?

Yes. Over the past three years. Very slowly getting worse. I was soon going to change my business position, then she was going to get help, like it or not.

Change position?

Sell the kids controlling interest, and get out. I've got mine, now somebody else can have the headaches and tensions.

I guess things tend to get a bit hectic in a recession.

"Depends. You learn to go with the flow, trite as that sounds. If new construction falls, it generally means, automatically, that lots of older places will be repaired.

My profits were down, of course. I only cleared around sixty-odd million, last year. Should have been a hundred.

You can have it! Nick grinned, deciding he liked Turens, who obviously didn't take his money too very seriously.

"I damned well do have it! Turens grinned back. Despite what you too often hear, it definitely is not a horrible, sad lifestyle!

"Before you ask a lot of carefully phrased questions to spare my feelings, I honestly did love my wife. I also almost hated her, at other times, but we had a comfortable relationship, for most of the time.

"The only way to handle a woman like Lutetia is to make it very clear from the first who's boss. Never let that slip, or she'll make life living hell for you and herself. She felt a degree of security, with me. If she was in control, she would never know any peace."

I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask some hard questions of everyone, in this mess, if it turns out to be murder, Nick warned, seriously. I’ll also tell you I'm not the type to try to spare peoples' feelings.

"Good! And I'm not the type to try to go over your head for things that are necessary if you're to do your job. It's murder. There's no way her personality type committed suicide, and the girl from the EMS told me she was sure it was cyanide poisoning.

Anybody isn't forthcoming in answers for you, let me know.

Tiny waddled in from the outside door, wiping his wide forehead with a towel he carried around for that purpose. "Cyanide. Don't yet know how it was administered. Less than two hours.

Found this under the table. He held up a plastic bag with a piece of gold-colored foil inside.

What? Nick asked.

Diamond Perfection chocolate covered cherry Supreme.

Think the cyanide was in it?

DPSes. Lutetia loved those things! Turens exclaimed. Those gourmet candies are specially imported. White cream chocolate coated on specially grown cherries.

They cost about two dollars each, Mildred said. We've been out of them for a couple of weeks, so where did it come from? The Mrs. would never save one. She always popped them as fast as she could open them!

We'll find out, Tiny promised. You want to check the scene before we move anything?

Nick nodded, and stood. He told Turens and Mildred he'd have to speak with them, later, and went out to inspect everything.

There was a boat about six, he said to Frog. Be sure you cover the dock and everything around the pool.

Frog nodded. He wouldn't miss an inch of the place.

Just look at this lawn! Ruth cried. Poor little ol' us'ns has to have water restrictions, but I bet they don't have them out here in Super Moneyland!

Turens, who was standing behind her (He seemed very adept at coming up behind people, Nick thought) said, We do, but they don't apply, in this case.

She jumped.

I see. Special circumstances? Nick grinned.

Some of these snobs, yes. Notice the gutter drains from the house. He walked over to the house with Nick, who saw the drainpipes went into the ground. He raised an eyebrow at Turens.

"There's a forty two thousand gallon holding tank under the helipad.  We catch rainwater and use it for watering the lawns. We use it in the house, too. Filter it.

For the lawn, we inject various fertilizers and insecticides. There's no waste, here. Don't believe in it. No reason the rain should all run into the canal. Gulf's got plenty of water, already!

Do you use cyanide any compounds in those insecticides?

Certainly not! Turens snapped, then softened. Sorry. You have to ask that, but we don't have cyanide on the grounds. We have some on the boat. When we go to Mexico or the islands, we use it to make sure we don't carry any rats or insect passengers. Almost everybody has it on their boat, here. It's sort of standard equipment. All the captains know how to use it safely.

Don't you have to register it when you buy it?

No. You can get it in any pharmacy in several countries.

This place is beautifully kept. I have a friend who does some landscaping. I thought, at first, he'd done this, but he goes for more of a natural look. The front's far too formal, which he wouldn't do.

Oh? Maybe I've heard of him? Turens asked, interested.

Lonnie Micks. He works over around the Palms, mostly.

Beautiful Lonnie! I tried to get him, but he wasn't about to work out here.

Ha! I suppose they'd insist he wears clothes? Nick said, with his ever-present grin.

Anyone else, they definitely would. I kind of doubt it'd be an issue, with him. He said he didn't fit here, and wouldn't work here.

No. Who do you think killed your wife? Nick asked, suddenly, a tactic that would sometimes work.

Not this time! I don't have any idea. Anybody who was around her for long went through stages where they could strangle her, but it wasn't real, if you get me.

"Like an `I could just kill you!' sort of thing?"

Exactly. I don't know who might have done it.

Steve Bellows?

Would Bellows kill her? Whatever for? Turens asked, thinking. "She would have him over to sit around and gossip with, but that’s part of what she was, and what he does. She paid him a hundred bucks an hour, twice a week, to make the other women jealous.

They didn't have anything going on, if that's what you mean. He's smarter than that!

Because, if he actually did anything, he'd have to do it with all of them?

With the kind of money he works for, half the husbands would have detectives checking on him. He wouldn't last a week.

Nick nodded. Your groundskeeper?

Bob Stern? Stayed away from her. I told him how to avoid her. He's not the type she'd share any deep secrets with. Not cultured. Too old. Not pretty.

Your boatman? The one who wasn't around today, Mildred thinks? Any chance there?

Nash Folton. I suppose if he thought he could get away with it and bleed her for cash it wouldn't be past him. Turens grimaced. He's really good with the boat, but he knows better. Same reasons Steve doesn't take any chances. Too much to lose, too little advantage.

Anyone else work around the place?

"Sarah McKay cleans the house. Millie's our cook and sort of private servant to Lutetia – damn it! She was insulted if even her husband used a nickname! She would be insulted when my friends called me Frank! It had to be Francis and Lutetia!

"Sorry. Funny thing to fixate on, at a time like this.

Sarah wouldn't do anything like that for any reason I can think of. She could simply quit. Several people would grab her, in a flash. You can see how the house is kept.

Mr. Turens, you're eliminating all my suspects as fast as I can come up with them! Now I'm left with just you!

Call me Frank, Lieutenant. Not practical! I wasn't around!

Call me Nick. You didn't have to be around.

How you figure? he asked, a small amused smile playing at his lips.

Because that chocolate was around.

Mmm. True. Anybody could have left it.

They talked about half an hour more, then Nick headed back to the office.

There was one thing that didn't fit, yet. He'd have Paddy put Bill Jenks on the night shift tomorrow, and start the day early. He had several questions he wanted answered. Frank wasn't going to answer them, and the kids weren't going to answer them. Maybe one of the people who worked there would, or maybe one of the other people mentioned had the information. It was legwork time.

Nick's personal rule was to solve the case within seventy two hours, before the trails cooled off. Getting proof usually took longer, but he wanted to know within that time limit.

Well! Hello Lieutenant! Mildred greeted him, at the door, the next morning. Did you find out anything more, yet?

"Not really. I’ll have to ask everyone a couple of questions.

Is Mr. Turens around?

"No. He went with the kids to the office, hours ago. He says starting early will keep you ahead of the game. Everybody else is here.

I'll pour us some coffee. It didn't ever dawn on me until you were gone that I could have found that chocolate as easy as anybody, and eaten it! I didn't sleep a wink!

"I really don't think so. Someone put that one chocolate out there for her to find.

I’ll have to know some more things about Mrs. Lutetia Ascot-Turens, and what went on here when Frank was away playing golf, or whatever

She played at the great queen. She had Steve come over so she could be seen out there with him, because he's so goodlooking. The only massage he ever gave her was when he put on suntan oil.

She never actually played around, that you knew of? She was very attractive, for her age. She took care of herself.

So! You've heard? she asked. Nick raised an eyebrow, and grinned.

Well. She did sometimes go off with ... people, she suggested, conspirationally. Mr. Keller. She also went out in the bay boat with Mr. Fox, last week – and told the Mr. She was going to play bridge! She never!

But were they the only ones?

"Well now, she does sometimes take a car out, always on her hair-do Wednesdays. She gets her hair done, but she stays a lot longer than that takes.

Now, Mr. Keller's been going on for a year or better. Mr. Fox was only the once, that I know about. I don't know anything else.

Well, that's about what I thought. Where will I find Sarah?

She's upstairs. I can call her, if you like.

I’ll have to look over Mrs. Turens' room, anyhow, so I'll just go on up. Which one is Mrs. Turens' room?

How did you know they had separate rooms? He tell you?

Personality types. That much togetherness would have meant deadly violence, years ago.

She laughed, and said it was the one at the top of the front staircase, So she could throw open the doors and make a grand entrance when they had guests.

There wasn't anything to be found in Lutetia's room beyond what he expected. She had some pictures of herself with various people in various places. Nick took the ones there wasn't anyone but her and one other in. She had them all dated, on the back. Most were Polaroids.

She had a diary with a locked strap around it. He slipped it into his pocket and found the key in a compartment of a purse in the vanity drawer.

There were some letters hidden behind the vanity drawer. That was a favorite hiding place he always searched in these cases.

He found Sarah McKay in the next bedroom. It was Frank's room, and had an adjoining door.

Mrs. McKay? I'm Nick Storie, with the police, he said, looking around the room. May I ask you a few questions?

She stood looking expectantly at him.

You stayed here until six o'clock, then left. When was the last time you saw Mrs. Turens?

"Ah, well, let's be seein' then. I try to stay out of 'er way.

She was puttin' on a skimpy bathin' suit, 'twas nigh onto twoish. Maybe two twenty. She ordered – good at givin' the orders, she was – I was to vacuum under the bed, which I allus do without any uh her special instructions. Didn't see 'er again to talk to. Saw 'er talkin' to somebody as I was comin' down the stairs to go.

Mr. Keller? From next door?

'Twern't 'is boat, but might'a been 'im.Her an' 'er high-and-mighty hanky-panky! Somebody else, I say. 'Twern't 'is boat!

You didn't see who it was, but you saw the boat?

"Couldn't see nothin' but the shadow've 'im. Table's under the balcony from the stair, but it were already late enow t'show the shadow.

Keller, 'e's got one o' them sixteen footers. V-front. This'n were a twelve footer flatbottom Johnboat. His's the white'n yeller. That'n were green. That wern't 'is boat.

You didn't see her or anyone else, after that?

'V course I did! Saw Millie 'n Bob's I was goin' out. ‘N Nash were at the gate, comin' in.

Thank you, Mrs. McKay. You've been very helpful.

Y'mean that's it?! Ain't you gonna ask me nothin've the Mr.?

No. He wasn't here, and can prove it, can't he? Nick answered, with a feigned surprised air.

Then I owe you a big apology! I was shortish 'cause I thot you police always tried to get people to say things!

All I want is the truth. If I trick you into saying something else, it smacks me in the teeth when we get to court. I don't need that! What I've found, so far, is Mr. Turens and the kids are nice people, and she was a bitch on wheels.

Then you've got it straight enow! she said, warming up. You can't blame the Mr. if he looked for a little ... interest ... elsewhere, cold as she were. Perfectly normal! A man has needs!

Nick knew better than to pursue that, at the moment. He could lose her.

What I hear, she wasn't all that cold to ... certain others, Nick confided. She and Sam Keller had their own thing going. Fox cut a piece, now and then. She spent an awful lot of time getting her hair done, sometimes.

"Ain't that the truth! Her'n Keller, I could see, sorta. Same age, and 'im not so bad to look at, but Fox? How could any woman chase after that greasy gigolo?

"The hair thing, I don't think he did anything but lay on the blarney for the tips. He’d be more apt to like that Fox feller, if you see how the stream flows."

I sure wish I knew who was in that other boat!

Y'think it might've been the killer, do ya?

"Yes. Very good chance it was. Somebody gave her that chocolate laced with cyanide."

I don't like to say ill of the dead, but 'er time was past overdue. God rest 'er soul. It's over, now.

For her.

It was slowly coming together. Nick could start one of his box charts with the careful chronological, moment-by-moment study of the victim and all the suspects. That boat was the most important clue, at that point. He'd have to check on Frank's girlfriends – and the boatman, apparently, was there, coming in at around that time. Maybe time enough?

Mildred told him Bob Sterns was out by the roses, so he went out and around until he found him. Sterns was thin and tanned almost to a dark mahogany color. His hair was a dirty silver. He could be anywhere from fifty five to eighty.

Nick introduced himself, and asked about the afternoon before, but Sterns was working in front all day, out by the wall. He knew nothing. He heard nothing. He saw nothing.

Nick headed to the canal. There was a man on the dock with a big power sprayer, washing down the yacht. Nick introduced himself, and asked, You say you weren't here yesterday afternoon?

I wasn't here yesterday, at all, he replied, shortly. I was off playing poker with friends.

You got back around six, which was plenty of time, Nick replied, as shortly.

Says who?

People. You're not invisible. Now why would you lie about that, hmm?

I don't have nothing to say to you! I don't have to answer any of your damned questions! You get out of here and leave me alone! Stay away from my dock!

It's Frank's dock, not yours, Nick said, silkily. "I'll go anywhere I please here, with his permission.

"I think I'd better have a full check made on you!

Know something? Your whole life's in some machine, somewhere. I can have it all laid out by simply punching a few buttons on a keyboard.

Then do it! I got nothin' to say to you!

"Oh, you've definitely got something to try to hide from me. Nobody comes on like you are if they don't have some pret-ty big secret. I will be seeing you again! Count on it!" He turned, and started back toward the house.

"It was her!" Folton whined.

Tell me about it, and I might drop it.

She ... oh, Jesus Christ! I'll lose my job! You can't tell Mr. Francis! I got a mortgage!

Oh? She started it lately? Nick asked, trying to piece enough of it together to be able to ask the right questions.

She'd get drunk and make me do it! Only a couple of times, but I tried to not be around here when Mr. Francis wasn't home, anymore.

I think the booze was changing her personality for the worse over the past couple of years. It can do that.

She was even older than my mom! You know what it’s like, having to....

She didn't have enough with Keller, Fox, and the hairdresser?

Foxie? Did she really do that? Keller, yeah. The hairdresser probably couldn't get it up for a woman. It was all I could do to get up with her, but she claimed she'd have me fired if I didn't.

I don't think Frank would care much, but I won't say anything about it. He found his on the side, too. He told me that.

Nothin' serious. Now and then, he'd pay for a piece with one of the girls at the club. He knew all about Keller, and said turn about's fair play. She wasn't fun anymore.

Well, did you see anything when you came to the boat?

I didn't come right to the boat. I stayed in the garage awhile to tune up my bike. The carbs sorta want to wander out of sync.

You ride the Harley?

Harley? No. I have the Honda Eight Hundred. There ain’t no Harley here.

I only saw it from the drive. It was a big job, so I thought it was a hog.

Don't I wish! It's a good bike, but I'd like a hog. I always wanted one, but I got the Honda cheapie when a friend got busted and needed money, fast.

You should choose your friends a bit more carefully, Nick said. You didn't see a green Johnboat when you came to the dock last evening?

Green? Johnboat? No. It was getting dark when I came down here. I was on my way in when Mr. Francis came up the drive in his golf cart.

Thanks. I guess I'll have to put all this crap together. I'll go to the club, next, then I'll tackle the kids.

"The kids? They'll be real easy. There ain’t a lying bone in their bodies!

I'm sorry I came on like some ... thanks.

I'm here investigating the death of Lutetia Turens, Nick announced, to the bartender at the golf club indoor bar. I'd like to ask you a few questions.

"That's Lutetia Ascot-Turens! The bartender grinned. I'm Mort. Mort Goodman. Shoot!"

Which of the professional girls are Frank's favorites? Nick asked, bluntly, making Mort suddenly very nervous.

Girls? Favorites?

It's no secret. She messed around, he messed around. One of them's his alibi.

Huh-uh, Mort shot back, pointing toward the piano. He was right there, all afternoon, until after six.

Playing the piano and singing old songs with a Jill Kocis and three other people. That was after his putting practice with Bill Lamp and Harry Green. You're not doing him any favors.

It was Joe and Don Pruitt and Teresa Anne Silva. Betty Lester and Georgia Johnston were his favorite girls. It wasn't very often.

I see. Did the lovely Lutetia come in often?

Not lately. She used to come a lot, but she'd get blasted and start trouble, so Frank sort of put a stop to it. He said she drank at home, and had stopped being any good in bed, so he'd pay one of the girls, now and then. The girls sorta hang around. They aren't connected with the club. If they get too obvious or cause trouble, we eighty-six them, fast and permanent, so they watch it.

She started off normally and slowly got worse?

"I've only worked here for a little over a year. At first, she was alright. A little hoity-toity maybe, but no trouble – unless you called Frank by his first name. The world was to call him Mr. Turens! Even their close friends couldn't call him Frank. It had to be Francis. She'd go critical mass if anyone called her Lutie. It was Lutetia!

She drank a little bit more, each time. After awhile, she seemed to have some kind of contest going with all other wives, trying to get their husbands to flirt so she could gloat.

She’d get sloshed and loose?

"Yeah. She was a looker, at one time, I guess. Couldn't stand not being the center of attention. What I hear, she never was. Goodlooking, but such a pill nobody would have much to do with her. If a guy said something to her she'd spread it around to make sure the wife heard about it.

She was a bitch. That's about it.

So any guy who made the mistake of giving her a rise might have a reason to kill her?

"Him, maybe his wife. She'd definitely use it to humiliate any woman she could.

I hear it was poison. Isn't that a woman's weapon?

Arsenic or Paris Green, yes.Even a bit of strychnine, if she hates enough. Not often with cyanide. I don't know why that is.

Well, I got customers, Mort said, as four people sat at the end of the bar. Anything else?

Not for now.

That's Georgia, the blackhaired one with the shape, Mort said, pointing to a girl who came in the door with two men.

Mort moved up the bar.

Nick walked over. Miss Johnston? May I speak with you for a moment?

She's busy, so back off! one of the men snapped.

Nick flipped open his badge case, and replied, Official business. Wanna interfere with a police officer? The guy put his hands palm up, shrugged, and stepped back. Georgia smiled at him, and asked what he wanted.

"I'm investigating the murder of Mrs. Turens. I'd like to speak with