Read Online Daiquiri Dock Murder by Dorothy Francis - Free Book Online Page B

speaking, of course.”
    “Be real, Kane.”
    Kane arrowed my car into a narrow visitor’s slot. I sighed, admitting to myself that this questioning might be one in a long string of question/answer sessions Ramsey and Lyon pre-planned for suspects. I remembered Lyon saying others would be with us answering questions this morning. I wondered who.
    Leaving the car, we approached the buff-colored building on foot, skirted around the coral rock fountain in front of the doorway and stepped inside a small entryway. The police stations I see on TV with their green walls and their tobacco-spit brown floors always give me a stay-out-of-here feeling. Key West’s station offered a more benign look. White tile floor. White walls. White plastic chairs alongside one wall near the elevator. Everything gleamed in a whiteness that contrasted with the dark smell that descended on us like an evil miasma.
    After we entered the building, I stepped outside again long enough to grab a deep breath of fresh air. I held it, refusing to fill my lungs with second-hand cigarette and cigar smoke for as long as I could. Kane strode to the elevator and punched a button and in moments we entered a compartment small enough to cause claustrophobia. After listening to the elevator hum until we reached the second floor, we stepped into the hallway. Detective Lyon emerged from a doorway where he’d been waiting and motioned us to join him. With great reluctance, I let myself exhale and breathe again.
    Although we had driven here quickly and circumvented several situations that might have delayed us, we were the last to arrive. Everyone stared at us when we entered the room. I hated the ‘bug under a microscope’ feeling. I’m not afraid of snakes, but I always like to see one before it sees me. But why was I comparing these people to bugs and snakes! I knew everyone in the room and none of them had frightened me before. But today Ramsey and Lyon thought one of these people might have murdered Diego. Which one? I hated the idea of being in the same room with a killer.
    The group waited, sitting in a semi-circle of straight backed folding chairs arranged in front of a battered oak desk. The fragrance of gardenias permeated the room—a pleasant scent that frequently traveled with Threnody. Did she use eau de cologne to help her pretend the air in Ramsey’s office was smoke free? A good idea. At least nobody in the room was smoking.
    Brick and Threnody sat side by side. Brick wore one of his many specially tailored silk shirts, khaki Dockers, and beach Crocs. His bald head and his carefully trimmed beard pulled my gaze away from his weathered face and steely blue eyes. I feel sure he prides himself on his penetrating gaze that tends to make the other person look away first. This morning I looked away first.
    I returned Threnody’s weak smile. Kane’s ‘high-maintenance’ description popped into my mind. Her dark hair, styled in a casual do, touched the shoulder of the hand-print caftan that matched her sling-back sandals. Today she projected a Sunday-morning look suitable for a trophy wife a decade or so younger than her husband.
    Their son Jessie had practiced his casually elegant look to perfection. I wondered if he’d planned for his black silk shirt and white slacks to contrast with Kane’s faded jeans, tank top, and flip-flops. Don’t know why Jessie always reminded me of a one-eyed Jack—maybe because his eyes weren’t a matched set—one blue, the other brown. Nobody knew why. Sometimes Jessie seemed secretive about it. I thought he used his eyes like magnets—attracting women to him.
    To my surprise Dolly Jass sat near the door in her trademark poet’s outfit. How did she fit into this scene? But much more important than these people’s costumes were their closed-book expressions.
    So far nobody had said a word, and we listened to the breathing of the air conditioner until Chief Ramsey entered the room and stood behind his desk. I’d been