A Sporting Murder Read online

  A Sporting Murder

  An Eve Appel Mystery

  Lesley A. Diehl

  Camel Press

  PO Box 70515

  Seattle, WA 98127

  For more information go to: www.camelpress.com

  www.lesleyadiehl.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover design by Sabrina Sun

  A Sporting Murder

  Copyright © 2015 by Lesley A. Diehl

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-939-8 (Trade Paper)

  ISBN: 978-1-60381-940-4 (eBook)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015938970

  Produced in the United States of America

  * * *

  As always, to my cowboy and biker

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  “Sharks? You’re worried about sharks?” I leaned back in my chair and let the wind blow the sweet smell of salt water into my face. I sat with Madeleine, my best friend and business partner, on deck in the stern of the cabin cruiser, the sun warming us as we headed down the mangrove-lined waterway.

  Madeleine moved her head from side to side, gazing into the water rushing past us. Droplets of ocean spray in her hair caught the sun, creating prisms of tiny lights in her red curls.

  “We’re here to relax, not worry about some big ol’ fish. Besides, sharks usually only come out at dawn and dusk. To feed. We’ll keep an eye out.” I reached for the sun block and stretched out my legs to apply it. My legs were fish white. I needed to get outside more often. Both of us did, but that was the downside of owning a retail business. You worked six days a week, and exhausted, slept the seventh.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a break in the mangroves. “Take a look at that boat. Grandy and Max said it’s been there for years and that someone lives on it.”

  My words had the desired effect. They took Madeleine’s attention off her fears and focused it on the beaten-up sailboat that lay anchored in a small canal to our left. It looked as if it had been wedged there for decades.

  Alex, a private investigator and my current squeeze—and he really was a man any woman would love to squeeze and often, towering just a bit over me and blessed with intense deep-set azure eyes and a full head of sun-bleached hair—turned his head to look and nudged David Wilson, our captain and Madeleine’s new boyfriend, to take a look at the wreck.

  “Yep, it has been there for a while.” David backed our craft off plane, and we drifted by at idle speed. “I heard they’re trying to remove it, but as long as she floats and someone lives on her, there’s not much that can be done.”

  I raised my binoculars to my eyes and caught a glimpse of movement on the sailboat. “I see the guy. He’s pretty scrawny. He looks about as bad as the boat.” I handed them to Alex to take a gander.

  The guy on the boat looked in our direction. I waved and smiled. He gave us the finger. I guess he thought we were invading his privacy. David pushed the throttle forward and we sped off, back on plane and down the waterway to the bay beyond.

  We were on our way to Nest Key, one of the small islands near Key Largo, to meet my grandmother, her husband Max, and some of their friends for an afternoon of swimming and sunbathing. David kept his old Chris Craft cabin cruiser docked in the same marina where Grandy and Max’s boat was moored. Since David’s boat slept four, we decided to spend the afternoon on the island, stay for dinner cooked on the boat, then return to Key Largo. We’d anchor in Sunset Cove and do an overnight there.

  It was Sunday, the only day Madeleine and I closed our consignment shop, Second to None, in Sabal Bay. We would have to return early tomorrow to reopen, but we thought it was worth giving up our one day of rest, since we rarely got out of rural Florida and almost never found the time to visit Grandy and Max, who ran a fishing charter in Key Largo.

  David and Madeleine had only been dating for about a month, but it looked like she’d finally met her man—one who wasn’t afraid of her. Not that she’s so scary, but my friend is unusually clumsy, and she’s been known to wound her dates in the first few minutes of getting to know them. Not on purpose, of course. So far David had been lucky. Or Madeleine had. We were both lucky, I thought. David was not only very fit and handsome in a Brad Pitt way—on the short side for me, but tall next to Madeleine—but he also had this great old boat, and we got a ride in it. How much better could a Sunday be? Sharks? Forget it.

  A cigar boat approached us from the opposite direction. On the weekends, the wealthy from Miami drove their boats south to Key West to dock at the bars along the way. On their return north, the boats’ pilots were too often drunk, although the bikini-clad girls alongside them didn’t seem to worry about their driving, only about whether the sun was deepening their tans and streaking their hair. The men drove full throttle ahead, throwing out a rooster tail of water and swamping every small craft unfortunate enough to try to share the waterways with them. Canoes and kayaks were particularly vulnerable.

  Although this channel was marked at idle speed, the boat continued racing down the waterway, throwing a wave of water toward us. It would have inundated a smaller craft or one not piloted by someone as expert as David. He steered toward the oncoming waves, and our bow cut through them.

  Madeleine jumped out of her chair and headed for the side of the boat.

  “What are you doing? Get back here. You’ll fall overboard.” I grabbed for her and missed.

  She leaned over the side for a few minutes, then straightened up. “I thought I was going to be sick.”

  “I thought you said you liked David’s boat?”

  “Shush. I don’t want him to think I don’t. I like it when it’s smooth, but I hate that bumpy feeling.”

  Oh, great. That “bumpy feeling” would probably continue if there were other craft on the water. On the weekend there were lots of them, and many would be as discourteous as the last one.

  “What are you looking for, Madeleine?” asked David after he rode a second wave caused by yet another boat.

  “Hmm? I was looking at some fish.” She shot me a look, warning me to silence.

  Our afternoon of pleasure threatened to turn into a landlubber’s disaster. But once we were out of the channel and into the open waters, fewer boats came near us. Or perhaps, suspecting Madeleine’s problem, David gave them a wide berth.

  When we arrived at Nest Key, other boats were already anchored off the island. We had to anchor farther out because David’s boat was an inboard and needed a draft of several feet of water under the rudder and propeller. The others, all outboards, were steered by moving the prop right or left, which meant they could be tilted out of the water to avoid the bottom.

  “Do we have to swim ashore?” asked Madeleine. She bit her bottom lip as her eyes took in the expanse of blue water separating us from the island.

  “We don’t, but you might.” I thought she’d catch my joke. She was so short she’d have trouble keeping her nose out of the water unless she did swim. I was doing it again—being insensitive. She didn’t think my little joke was funny. Ever since someone pushed her into the rim canal that circled the Big Lake, she’d been uncomfortable around water, even water as warm and inviting as the azure blue of the Keys.

  Fear filled her blue eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” I reached out to pat her shoulder, but before I could, David took her in his arms.

  “I’ll carry you in,”
he said.

  Alex and I grabbed our cooler and basket of food and toted it all onto the island, careful to keep everything out of the water. After depositing Madeleine on the sand, David went back to the boat for our chairs. Max and Grandy waved at us through the crowds of people talking in groups, lounging in beach chairs, or sitting in the shallow water. A volleyball game was about to begin. Alex and I joined in while Madeleine and David set up the chairs and flopped into them. Someone handed them each a beer. The party was on for the afternoon.

  Grandy and Max introduced us to their friends, some of whom were fellow boaters living on board at the marina; others were from a campground in Key Largo. With the mix of nationalities—some from Canada, others from the U.S., a smattering of Germans and English—the island became its own tiny world community.

  After the game, Alex and I walked into the shallows and sat in the water. I glanced down at my arms and legs. Despite having a fair complexion—who am I kidding, my spiky blonde hair comes out of a bottle—I tan up easily. I hadn’t had this much color in years. I wiggled my toes in satisfaction and scared away a school of tiny silver fish. As the sun began to slip lower on the horizon, people gathered up their picnicking articles and began to leave.

  “Why don’t you stay and have dinner with us?” David asked Grandy and Max. “I brought plenty. I’ve got a barbeque grill on deck and we’re doing steaks. Stay. I know Eve would be thrilled to have more time with you.”

  I nodded. It would be great to catch up with them. It seemed that lately Grandy and I only got together when someone was killed, and then we were often joined by my mob friend, Nappi Napolitani, who knew his way around murder and could lend a hand bringing the bad guys down.

  Grandy must have been thinking the same thing. She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head. “I’ve had enough food for one day. Besides, we came with our friends, who have a smaller boat than ours.”

  “We’ll take you back. You can just eat salad or have a piece of key lime pie,” David said.

  “We’ve got two charters tomorrow,” Max said. “One in the morning, the other in the afternoon. We should get the boat ready.”

  I waved them goodbye and watched the boat move away from the island then gain speed as it raced for deeper water.

  “You know, I’m with Grandy,” I said. “I’m so full I don’t feel like eating now.” I continued to stare at the boat as it turned into a tiny speck on the calm water.

  “So let’s stay here for a while and relax. Then we’ll take off for the bay and grill our steaks there. How about you, little girl? You hungry yet?” David put his arm around Madeleine and squeezed her to him.

  “I think I’d like to get all this sand off me. I need to take a swim,” said Madeleine.

  “Are you okay with that?” asked David. “Not afraid of the water now?”

  “Of course not. I’m fine.” Madeleine walked out into the shallow water, then farther out and began to do the breast stroke. She was a strong swimmer, but not as comfortable in the water as I am. I’d grown up in Connecticut and spent my summers on the shore. She teased me that I had gill covers. Madeleine had recently been tossed into the dark waters of the Rim Canal with her hands tied behind her back, an experience that would traumatize even the best swimmer. As I watched her confidently cut through the water, I gave a silent cheer. It looked like she’d put that horrible experience behind her.

  While David watched Madeleine swim back and forth near the boat, Alex and I wandered down the shore, wading in the warm water, holding hands, and talking about nothing in particular.

  The sound of an engine drew my attention away from Alex. A fishing boat pulled up near ours and anchored.

  “That’s an outboard,” Alex said. “He could come in closer. I wonder what he’s doing.”

  Madeleine paid no attention to the boat, but continued to swim, turning over to slowly backstroke near our boat.

  David waved to us and called out, “I think he’s ruined the romance. Let’s pack up and go.”

  A man with long black hair and dark skin came toward the bow of the boat with a bucket in his hand.

  “What the …?” said Alex.

  “He’s throwing something into the water. It looks like—”

  “It’s bait. That idiot is tossing bait into the water. Doesn’t he see Madeleine?”

  David threw his hands into the air and yelled, but the man seemed not to hear him and continued to toss chunks of bloody fish into the water. Then he upturned the bucket and poured out the remaining slurry.

  David finally gave up trying to get the man’s attention and directed his yells to Madeleine.

  “Get out of the water, Madeleine. That guy’s dumping fish bait. It’ll attract ….” The last of David’s warning was carried off by the wind, but I knew what he’d said. It would attract sharks.

  Chapter 2

  David began running toward Madeleine, his heels kicking up the sand. Once he was in the water and it was deep enough, he dove in and began swimming.

  “Oh, good. Now the sharks will have two people to dine on,” I said.

  Alex grabbed my arm and turned me toward him as if to reprimand me for such an insensitive remark, but when he saw the expression on my face, he knew my comment was my clumsy way of dealing with the horror of what could happen.

  “Let’s go,” I said. “We might as well make it a four person stew.” We both ran in and began swimming for the boat. Maybe more people would frighten the sharks off or confuse them. Who knew how their fishy little brains, if they had any brains, worked?

  Madeleine, seeing the water turning bloody near her, panicked and began to flail her arms around as if trying to beat off whatever was causing the blood. When she spotted David swimming toward her, she must have assumed he had been injured and she began to paddle in his direction.

  “No, no. Back the other way. To the boat.” David continued to stroke toward her. Alex and I were not far behind.

  A gray fin cut through the water nearer the fishing boat. A sandy-haired man had joined the other one, and a cheer went up from them when they spotted the fin.

  David and Madeleine collided in the water. He grabbed her and began swimming her toward the boat. They reached the dive platform and pulled themselves onto it. Now Alex and I were the freshest items left on the dinner buffet. The fin swept past the fishing boat and toward ours. A huge mouth with rows of sharp teeth erupted from the water, grabbing a large piece of bloody chum. It then submerged and was lost to our view.

  “You think he’s full?” I asked Alex. I was breathless, not from the exertion of swimming but from the fear that he and I might end up in the shark’s belly—or at least parts of us. “Where the hell is it?” It was frightening enough seeing the fin, but terrifying when I couldn’t, imagining the creature sneaking up on us from behind. Or below. Dun, dun dun, dun. The theme from Jaws ran through my head.

  A dark red piece of chum floated toward me, and the fin surfaced behind it, narrowing the distance between eater and stuff to be eaten. I stopped swimming for a moment, reached for the bloody piece, and flung it back toward the fishing boat. The fin turned and followed. The dive platform was now only a few feet away. We pulled ourselves out of the water.

  Safe. We were all safe.

  The platform was still too close to the water for my comfort. I sprung into the stern of the boat and grabbed Alex’s hand to drag him after me. We were all shaking. I knew my trembling was from fear, not from the cold, even though my teeth were also chattering. Madeleine looked like a ghost. Even her freckles faded into the grayish color of her skin. Her lips were blue.

  After throwing us towels, David began yelling at the men in the fishing boat. “Didn’t you see there was someone swimming in the water by our boat? What’s wrong with you throwing all that bait out here?”

  This time the sandy-haired man heard him. “Hey, we didn’t see anybody but the three of you on shore. We figured it was safe. We wanted to get ourselves a shark.”

&nb
sp; “There’s one here now.” The man who dumped the bait spoke nonchalantly and turned his back on David.

  “You almost killed one of us. How can you be so irresponsible to toss bait around a boat people have to swim to?”

  “We weren’t going to be here long,” the man said, his tone dismissive. “We’d get our shark and clear out. We figured it would be safe for you to swim out then.” He never turned his head in our direction but continued to play the fish on the line.

  “It’s not going to be safe around here for a long time. Now the sharks think this is a feeding ground. I ought to—”

  “What ought you to do, Mr. Wilson?” The man who was fishing handed his rod to the other man and came around to face our boat.

  “I should report you.” David spoke calmly, but I could tell by the red flush beginning to work its way up his neck that he was furious.

  “Really? You think you have a private claim to these waters, do you? It was a mistake. Like my man here said, we thought you were safely on shore. No one got hurt. What’s your problem?”

  “Ah, damn. He got away, boss.” The other man began to reel in the line.

  “Then we go. Have a nice day.” The dark-haired man’s lips twitched into a crooked smile.

  They hauled anchor and started their twin outboards.

  I was so angry at their casual attitude that I wanted to bite them. A chunk of chum bobbed toward us. I grabbed it out of the water and threw it at their boat. It landed in the stern.

  “Lucky toss, Eve,” said Alex.

  I smiled. “You don’t know how lucky. The top was open to the box where their deck cushions are stowed. It landed in there with them.” I pointed to the gory mess as it slid down into the box between the cushions.