Third Strike Page 4

  “Perhaps the letters were left in the cabin at a later date and Francine wasn’t actually staying at the resort during the time she received them. Or she was at the resort when the letters were received and by the time she left Tom was with her and she was afraid he would find the letters. She might have decided to leave the box here until she had the opportunity to retrieve it.”

  “But she never did. Well, my curiosity has been stoked. I wonder if we can track down Francine after all these years.”

  “If she’s still alive.”

  “I was planning to head over to Gertie’s to ask her about helping me host a Thanksgiving dinner for the gang—to which you’re invited, of course. I think I’ll take the photo and letters with me. I’m not sure how old Gertie is or how old Francine would be if she’s still alive, but maybe she knows someone who might remember her.”

  “That’s a good idea, dear. Let me know what you find out.”

  ******

  “Afternoon, Gertie,” I said as I walked into the cheery café on the wharf, overlooking the marina.

  “Afternoon, suga. Coffee?”

  “Please.” I slipped onto a stool at the counter.

  “You lookin’ for some vittles as well?”

  “Something light. Maybe a sandwich.”

  “Ham and cheese?”

  “Sure. And a pickle on the side.”

  “So what can I help you with today?” she asked as she pushed my cup in front of me. “You look like a gal on a mission.”

  “I have several things I want to talk to you about, actually. The first is Thanksgiving. I’d like to host a dinner, but I don’t have any experience tackling a meal of that magnitude.”

  “So you were hoping ol’ Gertie could help?”

  “I was hoping you could oversee the whole thing. I’d help, of course. I’d pay you, if you’d like. And you’d of course be invited to attend.”

  Gertie chucked. “I’d be happy to take charge of your little party. How many are you thinkin’?”

  “George and Clara are definitely coming, and I’m pretty sure Alex, Brit, and Victoria will be in town. I plan to ask Jack and I’ll probably ask Deputy Savage. Then there’s you and me. Oh, and Meg Collins. I guess that’s ten.”

  “We’ll plan for twelve. Every time I’ve hosted a holiday meal I’ve ended up pickin’ up a stray or two with nowhere else to go.”

  “Twelve sounds perfect. Do you want to make me a grocery list, or should I just give you some money to buy the groceries?”

  “Shoppin’ for a meal like this will be a two-person activity. This place is closed on Mondays, so why don’t we plan to go together?”

  “Okay. I’ll put it on my calendar. And thanks, Gertie. There’s really no way I could pull this off on my own.”

  “Once you do a big dinner a time or two, you’ll start to get the hang of it. We’ll need pies. It’s best to bake them the day before. I plan to have the café open until noon on Wednesday for the breakfast crowd, so why don’t you come over here after I close up? We can bake them together.”

  I grinned. “I’ve never baked a pie before so I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but I’m excited to learn. Hopefully, we’ll have Alex’s mystery wrapped up in plenty of time to do everything we need to for the holiday.”

  “You kids got a new mystery?”

  I was thirty-eight years old and far from being a kid, but somehow, I loved it when Gertie referred to me that way. I didn’t think she was anywhere old enough to be my mother, but every time I was with her I felt cared for and nurtured, just the way I’d always dreamed it could be. My mom wasn’t really the nurturing sort, so I’d decided to enjoy the mothering that seemed to come naturally to my Southern friend.

  “We’re investigating the death of Trey Alderman for a book Alex’s writing.”

  “It’s about damn time someone looked at that situation. I told Deputy Savage a year ago that Mortie said that boy was murdered, but he didn’t seem inclined to do much about it.”

  Mortie was the ghost who had lived in Gertie’s house for more than thirty years and had, surprisingly, been helpful in solving mysteries in the past.

  “Did Mortie have any idea who may have drugged Trey?” I asked.

  “He didn’t give me a name, if that’s what you mean. Mortie isn’t all that good at names. But he did say it seemed to him the drugs that were in that boy’s drink were intentionally slipped to him so he’d miss the game the next day. ’Course, you need to keep in mind that Mortie doesn’t always get things right. He’s dead, after all.”

  “Mortie’s theory makes a lot of sense. Anyone who held a grudge against Trey—and it seems he was the sort to attract all sorts of grudges—could very well have wanted to mess up his chance to shine at the charity event.” I leaned over the counter and hugged Gertie. “Thanks for the info. I think Mortie might be on to something.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  “Now, for my last question. My contractor found a metal box hidden in the wall of one of the cabins this morning. There were letters in it dated more than fifty years ago, along with a locket and a photo.” I handed Gertie the latter. “I don’t suppose you know who the people in this photo are?”

  Gertie took it. “No. I’m afraid this looks as if it’s before my time. Did the letters have a name on them?”

  “The person who wrote them was a man named Paul who was stationed overseas during Vietnam. The recipient, who I imagine must have been the one to put the letters in the box in the wall, was a woman named Francine. No last names were mentioned, although there were references to a man named Tom, who seemed to be someone Francine was committed to in some way.”

  “Sounds like you got yourself a juicy mystery. You gonna investigate both this and Trey’s death?”

  “No,” I answered. “While I’m interested in Francine’s story and would like to find her if she’s still alive, I told Alex I’d help him with his book and that’s what I intend to do. Still, I figure it won’t take a lot of time to ask around about Francine while I’m investigating Trey’s death. Can you think of anyone who was around back then and might remember her now?”

  “Have you asked Garrett? He would have been a little kid back then, but if the woman stayed at the resort for any length of time, he might remember something about her.”

  “He’s in the hospital having some tests done and won’t be back until Saturday, but I think I’ll call him. If he doesn’t remember himself, he might have an idea who to ask.”

  “Let me think on it a bit too. I’m sure I can come up with a few folks who are old enough and have been on the island long enough. Bring me by a copy of the photo so I can show it around.”

  “Thanks, Gertie. I’ll have Jack duplicate it, then bring you a copy. We can talk some more later about Thanksgiving. And if you have anyone you want to invite, feel free.”

  “Thanks, suga. I just might invite a date, if that’s okay.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “A date?” I’d never known Gertie to even mention a man in a romantic way, past or present.

  “New man in town. He’s got a right nice look about him.”

  “Does this new man have a name?”

  “He does.”

  “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  Gertie winked. “Not just yet. As soon as I know if the man is interested in what ol’ Gertie has to offer, I’ll let you know.”

  “He’d be a fool not to want what you have to offer, and I have a feeling you wouldn’t be lookin’ to hook up with a fool.”

  Lookin’ to hook up? Geez, I was beginning to sound like Gertie.

  She chuckled. “You got that right, suga.”

  Chapter 3

  Friday, November 17

  Thursday had been an odd day between my interview with Nicole Carrington and finding the letters in the box in the wall. I’d called Garrett, who didn’t remember anyone named Francine who’d stayed at the resort when he was a child, but he’d said he was happy to look at the pho
to if I wanted to bring it to the senior home on Saturday. Today I had plans to jump into Alex’s investigation. I grabbed a quick bite to eat before heading to the Gull Island News.

  The fact that a superrich, supersuccessful author would buy a failing newspaper had shocked everyone in the literary world, but after having spent some time with Jack, I could understand why he would walk away from his glamorous life to spend his days in a dingy office running newspapers off an antiquated press. Of course, Jack hadn’t given up his old life completely. He did live in an oceanfront mansion and still published a best-selling novel every year; it was just that his life between the novels had evolved from champagne brunches and world travel to working harder than most men did to make a go of an enterprise that was probably doomed from the start.

  “Morning Jack,” I said, setting a bag of his favorite glazed doughnuts on the counter. “Thanksgiving, the retreat. You in?”

  “I’m in. You know how to make a turkey?”

  “Nope. I’ve never tried, which is why I invited Gertie. She’s going to steer the ship and I’m going to help. You can bring the wine.”

  “I know; the good stuff.”

  “Exactly.”

  Jack poured me a cup of coffee and set it on the counter in front of me. He even remembered the cream. “So, are you ready to do some sleuthing today?”

  I took a sip of my coffee. “I am, but I have two questions I want to ask you first that have nothing to do with the case.”

  Jack took a huge bite of his doughnut. “Okay; shoot.”

  “You know we got final clearance for the second three of the cabins we’re renovating, right? Victoria took one of them, which leaves me with two. I interviewed someone yesterday who’s looking for a short-term rental. While her credit checked out and I’ve confirmed she’s a legitimate writer, I’m hesitant to accept her application because of her personality. I don’t like to think of myself as an elitist, but I do feel I have a responsibility to find tenants who’ll complement and not hinder the rapport our group has established.”

  “What’s wrong with her personality?” Jack asked.

  “She seems really cold, although I had Clara sit in on the interview and she seemed to think the cold exterior is a defense mechanism of some sort. Clara thinks she’ll loosen up a bit once she gets to know us, but I’m not so certain. She as much as said she wasn’t interested in becoming involved with us socially.”

  “Is that a deal breaker? As long as she isn’t confrontational and doesn’t stir up trouble, does it really matter if she wants to keep to herself?”

  I thought about Jack’s comment. A tenant who kept to herself shouldn’t be a problem as long as she wasn’t out to cause trouble.

  “I guess you’re right, and I do feel like I should get the units leased as quickly as possible. Garrett is footing the bill for the renovations and I’m sure the extra income would be welcome.”

  “Did you ask him about it?”

  “I didn’t ask him about this person specifically, but we did discuss guidelines for leasing the cabins. Basically, he said I should use my best judgment when it came to making decisions about the resort. I think he wants me to take ownership, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do. And are you comfortable taking ownership?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never owned or even worked for a small business before, and I certainly don’t have a background running a resort. I’m not qualified in the least to take charge of the place. I tried to tell that to Garrett, but he just said I had good instincts and would figure it out.”

  “You do have good instincts. What does your gut tell you about the applicant?”

  I paused and thought about it for a minute. I remembered the haunted look in her eye, as well as the look of longing as she walked through the cabin. “I guess I’m willing to give her a try. If she wants to keep to herself, I don’t suppose that will negatively affect anyone.” I looked at Jack. “Thanks for helping me work through this.”

  “No problem. I’m always happy to help a friend in need. You said you had two questions…”

  “My contractor found a metal box hidden in the wall in one of the cabins yesterday. Inside was a photograph of a young couple, a locket, and a stack of letters.” I described the contents of the letters I’d read. “I don’t suppose you have any idea how to track down a person with only a first name?”

  “Not a clue. It’s intriguing. Are you going to investigate?”

  “Not formally. At least not now. I promised Alex I’d help him, and he deserves my full attention. Once we wrap up his case, maybe I’ll look in to the letters. It’s been over fifty years since they were written; a few more weeks until they’re returned to their owner can’t make all that much difference.”

  “I agree.”

  “So, have you found anything new about Alex’s case?”

  “I have. Trey’s death, unlike the last ones we looked in to, occurred recently. That means information about it is more readily available. Add to the fact that Trey died on national television and the result is that there are a lot of news articles to pull from. In some ways, there are almost too many resources. The tricky part is going to be weeding through everything to figure out what’s relevant and what’s hype.”

  “But you think you might have found something relevant?”

  Jack popped the last of his doughnut into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before answering. “I think I might have. Hang on and let me get my file.”

  I took another sip of my coffee while I waited for him to get something from his desk. He’d done a lot to clean the office up, but it could still use a couple of coats of paint and some new furniture. Not that Jack entertained here, but I thought it would get old spending time in a space that was this drab and old-fashioned.

  “Okay, here’s what I have.” He set the folder on the counter between us. First, he pulled out a photo of a man I assumed was Trey, stretched out on home plate with the umpire, his teammates, and a coach surrounding him. Trey had died during a public event, so it made sense there would be tons of photos in circulation at a time when everyone had a camera readily available on their phone.

  “What am I looking at?” I asked.

  Jack pointed to the photo. “Look over here. In the crowd. See the man in the light blue shirt?”

  “Yeah, I see him. Is that someone important?”

  “That’s Coach Cranston.”

  I squinted to get a better look at the slightly balding man. “So he went to the game. Alex said all the suspects were there. Is the photo in some way significant?”

  “Maybe. Look at the man standing next to him.”

  I glanced at the tall man with dark hair and a thin frame. “So? Who is he?”

  “Jett Strong’s father.”

  I looked at the photo more closely. Both men were looking toward home base, but neither looked particularly shocked.

  “Was Jett from this area as well?”

  “No. As far as I know, he grew up in the small town in Kansas where his parents still live.”

  “So Mr. Strong came to Charleston to watch his son play in a televised charity event and he just happened to be standing next to Trey’s high school coach at the exact moment Trey died, leaving Jett the sole superstar in college baseball? Seems suspicious.”

  “I agree.” Jack set that photo aside and pulled over another one. “At first I was giving them both the benefit of the doubt. It made sense that they’d be at the game, and in the first photo I found that included them in it, they were standing side by side but not speaking or even looking at each other. It was possible they just happened to be watching the game from the same place. But then I found this.” Jack pointed to the second photo again.

  “That looks like Jett’s dad and Coach Cranston in the parking lot. The sun is still high in the sky, but no one’s around, so this was probably taken during the game.”

  “Very good. When I first saw it, I wasn’t aware of when the game was played, but because ther
e aren’t any people coming or going, I assumed the photo was taken while the game was going on. They seem to be having an intense conversation. Look at Coach Cranston’s jaw. It’s as if his entire mouth is clenched. And while Jett’s dad is the one doing the talking, look at his focus. His eyes are narrowed and his lips tight. I’d be willing to bet neither of them was aware that someone was taking their photo. The question is, why was someone taking their photo? If the game was still going on, Trey was still alive. Nothing had happened yet to cast suspicion on either man. Why would some random passerby take a photo of these particular men?”

  “Maybe the person taking the photo wasn’t a random passerby. It could have been someone who either knew something was going on between them or suspected it. How did they even know each other?”

  Jack frowned. “I don’t know. I did some checking and could confirm that Coach Cranston stopped by the party the previous evening. I was also able to verify that Mr. Strong wasn’t on the island that night. He flew into Charleston and spent the night in a hotel. As far as I know, Trey didn’t tell Coach Cranston he was going to sign with another agent until some point during the week he was home, so it’s unlikely these two men would have had the opportunity to seek each other out and hatch a plot. Coach Cranston was involved in the world of baseball and Jett was a top player, so I suppose it’s possible they met in the past at some event or game. When we meet with Coach Cranston we can ask him how he knows Jett’s dad. If he’s guilty of cooking up a plot to keep Trey from playing in the charity game, he’ll most likely lie, but if he’s innocent of wrongdoing, he won’t have any reason not to give us the information.”

  “Jett didn’t sign with Coach Cranston when he went pro, did he?”

  “No. He went with a well-known professional, which is exactly what Trey had decided to do. Keep in mind, Jett would have gone pro whether Trey lived or died. I think the difference is that by the time Jett was drafted, he was the biggest thing in college baseball, not the second biggest. It may be a small thing to us, but to those with big egos…”