Murder, He Guessed: CD Grimes PI, #8

By C. D. Moulton

A very powerful behind-the-scenes politician witnesses several murders, but they were obviously staged – then she is murdered  What does money laundering and NASA have to do with it?

Critic comment
A little confusing in spots, but that was the idea behind the tale. Confusion was a weapon being used against CD and the police.
Actually, quite good
    – GGL ***1/2

• Language: English
• Publisher: C. D. Moulton
• Release date: Jul 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201531263

Book preview

CD Grimes

Book eight

Murder, He Guessed

© 1988 & 2019 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 other 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.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to persons living or dead is purely coincidental

A very powerful behind-the-scenes politician witnesses several murders, but they were obviously staged – then she is murdered! What does money laundering and NASA have to do with it?

Critic comment

A little confusing in spots, but that was the idea behind the tale. Confusion was a weapon being used against CD and the police.

Actually, quite good

– GGL ***1/2

Contents

About the author

Prologue

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Interim

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Epilogue

About the Author

CD began writing fiction in 1984 and has more than 300 books published as of 3/15/16 in SciFi, murder, orchid culture and various other fields.

He now resides Gualaca, Chiriqui, Panamá, where he continues research into epiphytic plants and plays music with friends. He loves the culture of the indigenous people and counts a majority of his closer friends among that group. 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.) 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 has proven effective in all cases, so far. It is based on a plant that has been in use for thousands of years, is safe, available, and cheap. He was cured of a serious lymphoma with use of the plant, Ambrosia peruviana.

Information about this cure is free on the FaceBook page Ambrosia peruviana for cancer. CD asks only that all who try it please report on its effectiveness on that group.

Prologue

CD, this is Len. Call me as soon as you get the chance.

That's me, CD Grimes.

Len (Stewart)'s sheriff and a close family friend, the message was on the answering machine, which I was listening to after coming in from the gulf.

Jim Barrow, a girl named Connie, Alma (My wife) and I had just come in from a run down to the keys in the Stamas. Lou and Paulo, our housekeeper and groundskeeper, had taken their brat and our two for two weeks' vacation (For Alma and me. Now we would keep their kid for two weeks while they took a vacation) so we could go after some lobster and general messing around.

Jim is my boatman, Connie was his choice morsel of the moment. I think her last name was Dorset or something like that. He has a different one every time you see him, so we don't really keep track. The two weeks with Connie might be some kind of record for him. I'll have to ask.

I picked up the phone to call Len back, who said something interesting had come up. Maybe I'd like to meet him in the morning at the Harde Luck Café?

I agreed, then went out to help Jim transfer the lobster, red snapper steaks, conch, and assorted other goodies to the freezer in the house from the one on the boat. Connie and Alma were in the kitchen, fixing a snack, putting the clothes and linens into the washer, and doing the other little chores that crop up from a trip. We had our snack, then checked the orchids.

I had a Miltonia-Odont cross blooming for the first time I thought was special. Alma prefers the Catts, so she said it was pretty, while Connie said the flowers looked like the enamel-on-bronze brooches her grandmother used to wear. They were a rich bronze-tone background with red and white patterns.

She was right. I decided to name it Odontonia Bronze Brooch, but Jim said we should name it something in honor of Connie, so I'll name it Connie's Brooch.

The orchid house where the Odonts grow is underground. They're cold growers, and Florida's warmth is definitely not appreciated by them. The cool house is buried to maintain exactly the right range of temperatures, humidity and light ranges. I have the Odontonias, Miltonias and brightest growers on one end, the cyps and those types in the middle, and the Masdevalias, Maxillarias and darker growers on the other end. They all like the same temperatures, so I can use less lights on one end for a good balance.

There was a Paphiopedalum Tommie Hanes cross blooming, too. It would be as as spectacular as its major parent. I decided to call it Paph. Key Lime Pie – mainly to get Alma started on the way I name the crosses, but she grinned, held up a nice little blue Lc and said, Good name! I'll call this one Lc. Blue Poo!

Gee, it's the same color as my grandma's Wedgewood! Connie exclaimed.

How delightful! Alma cried. It's going to be named Lc. Grandmother's Wedgewood. This one even has a white border on the lip.

See how long and hard we think to get exactly the right name?

We checked the other houses, then went inside. Jim packed some of the food into his Jeep, along with Connie and their clothes, then headed for his place on Englewood Beach. Alma and I decided to drive in to Giorgio's for dinner, so she wouldn't have to cook, called Lou at her hideaway, got a report on the brats (Little Scotty had gotten into poison ivy, Alma – Lou and Paulo's – had cut her hand, they were all almost crazy, and things were just fine. They'd be home day after tomorrow), then we took off for a perfect night. We got home early enough that we could watch Nova on PBS, then went to bed.

It was four twenty in the morning when the phone rang. Very few people know that number, so I knew it was important. I have a talent that's very handy – not really a talent. More a way I've trained myself. I can be totally wide awake in less than five seconds.

CD? I thought I saw Jim drive by last night, and took the chance you'd be there. This is Len, a very tired-sounding voice said. "I know it's an ungodly hour, and I know you don't work for the county or state or anything, at the moment, but this mess is getting out of hand.

"Could you come over to the Warne place? You know the one? That island estate just before Burnt Pine Island? I'll have a man at the gate to let you in. Bob Minns. Redheaded kid. You know him.

These people are going to drive me crazy!

Off seven seventy one?

Seven seventy six. Take the right branch, then in through the little palmetto stand before the river.

I know it. What've you got?

Well, it's another damned murder, I think.

You think? Another? Who and how?

We won't know until we find the body, now will we? he asked, sarcastically.

Chapter one

Len Stewart doesn't make bad jokes. He doesn't make jokes at all, so this was something special. I wrote a quick note to tell Alma I was called away on a murder case (I have a talent to awaken easily and completely. Alma wouldn't wake up if the murder were to happen right there in the room), got the car out, and was halfway down the drive, then changed my mind, and put it back. I'd take the bay boat. It would be faster, easier, and we might need a boat. I could go right through the river mouth into the island without any problems. It was high tide, the moon was still bright, and the channel was a familiar one.

I called Len en route on the short wave from the boat to tell him the route. He met me on the dock. "This is one hell of a miserable damned mess! I'll say right now that, if it weren't for the politics, I'd tell the whole bunch of them to stick it.

"C'mon to the house and hear the whole thing. You're not gonna believe this one!

"I hope your trip to the keys was fun and relaxing, because none of this crap is! Warne – Godfrey Warne – is very bad news, politically speaking. He's not terribly bright, but his lovely wife, Narnie, reports everything that happens to me, personally. She also reports the local gossip, along with what she thinks may have happened.

This is the second one in as many nights. It seems this stuff has to only happen well after midnight to people who can reach me directly.

She doesn't report who or how?

She.... I'll let her tell you. You can see they're wallowing in money, so, most likely, they're impressed with it. I know damned well you aren't, and they won't impress you, so maybe you can sort it all out for me. Len said, as we went into the house.

The path from the dock was made of railroad ties cut in half with white river pea gravel around and between, making for difficult and dangerous walking. There was a red brick border to keep the gravel in and the grass out, then a low planting of bulbs and annuals, then larger shrubs, backed by cedars. The grounds were well-kept.

We had crossed a wide terrazzo terrace with wrought iron and glass furniture (It's pretty and picturesque, but uncomfortable as all hell. I suppose there were cushions around to sit on. It looked used) and a lot of big cement pots with shrubbery sitting around, apparently at random. There was a small glasshouse to the east end with some orchids and bromeliads showing through the glass. It was fully automatic, so they could leave for a year and nothing would go wrong. Even the pots had osmotic feeder/watering bottles attached.

Len said there were extensive lawns behind the cedars, but they were so thick you couldn't see through them, even in the daylight. The entire estate was walled, though the point of that was lost. It was an island!

The doors we entered were in a white marble arch, flanked by that phony off-colored rock that looks phony. There were vertical blinds on the tall French windows. The floor was imitation marble, in the room in which we found ourselves, while the furniture was Danish modern. There was a large chandelier in the center of the room, an open hearth fireplace with a gas log in it, and some rugs thrown around, apparently at random. None of them matched the furniture, which didn't match the room, which didn't match the windows.... I was surprised the furniture was gold and white instead of fuschia and orange. The crowning touch was the huge centerpiece on the low coffee table before the long low sofa: Silk orchids, white: silk dogwood, white: silk ferns, green(ish): silk daisies, yellow with black centers: silk roses, white and yellow. This had a tall spike of pampas grass flower dyed pink standing in the center, with dried sea oats of a natural color around and below the pampas grass. Len saw me staring in disbelieving shock, with my mouth hanging open.

The other rooms aren't quite so tasteful. The occupants are in the library. Brace yourself for a real treat.

We went down a hall with an odd assortment of statuary. A few pieces were obviously good, and a few were as obviously garbage. There was one of those fine antique oak tables with the brass claws around glass balls on the legs. Alma would give her soul for that kind of thing, but it had a cheap plastic clock and a clamshell ashtray sitting on it. There were water rings from wet glasses all over the top. Next to it was a plastic waste basket with some nondescript flower print glued onto the side. Next to that was a cheap plywood magazine box with a Mallards In Flight decal stuck on it, crookedly. There was a piece of fine driftwood on one wall and, across from it, one of those gaudy black velvet paintings of a bullfighter with an ultra-violet light making the colors glow in all their gaudy, clashing, cheap glory.

I told you the rest of the house wasn't so well appointed, Len said, sarcastically. Here we are!

I'm sure there was fuschia and orange in that room – along with every other color combination you could imagine. The furniture had no two matching pieces, and none of it belonged in such a room. One wall had bookshelves filled with romance novels, Penthouse, Stud, Scuzz, and Crap magazines, a full bound set of Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine, Ellery Queen's, same, and National Geographic were contrasted with them on the other end of the shelves. There was a large TV screen on one wall, and a stereo set with records beside it. There was a dual cassette deck, a CD player, a VCR, and a cable box.

The records were all Glen Miller, Doris Day, Johnny Mathis, Frank Sinatra and that sort of stuff, intermixed with a few of the raunchier comics. A tape of Deep Throat was on the top of the VCR.

I didn't want to see any other rooms in that house! I didn't think I was ready for that – or that I ever would be!

A rather ugly woman rose from the sofa, and offered her hand, as Len introduced, Mrs. Warne, Mr. Grimes, the expert I told you about.

He indicated the very proper, tailored, thin, rather handsome, somewhat younger man at the desk – a flat table with a lamp and a phone on it – to the right. And Mr. Godfrey Warne, he added, speaking in short bursts, unlike him. CD Grimes. You may have already met. Mr. Grimes owns all those Crane companies. I believe you do business with them. Everyone does.

Godfrey offered his hand. It was like a wet, somewhat limp fish. I couldn't drop it fast enough. I was sneakily wiping it on my pants as Len continued, hiding his little smirk, If you will simply tell Mr. Grimes the whole thing, right from the first, I think he will get a much clearer picture than I could give him secondhand, Mrs. Warne.

"Well, first I'd like to apologize for the state of this room, Mr. Grimes. We really only concentrate on comfort in here, and don't care how it looks. We very seldom entertain at all, and never in here. It may look disorganized, but I'm sure you'll find it as comfortable as any room you've ever been in! (How the hell could I be comfortable if I felt like I was going to puke?)

"I think it all started when I couldn't sleep last night – I suppose it's night before last, now.

"I went out onto the terrace to have a little drinky-poo to relax. Just a little half shot of Gordon's Gin with lime, you see. It makes me sleep better than those stupid pills. I found that out years ago.

"I was sitting there in the dark, watching the water. There was a lot of phosphorus, so the mullet and ladyfish could put on a real show! It's like diamonds when they splash!

"I do so love diamonds, with their icy cold fire, don't you? I never could understand those strange people who don't like diamonds – and emeralds – and cats ... where was I? Oh yes.

"Anyhow, I saw this boat in very close to our dock. It was only a silhouette in the dark, but there was a light inside the cabin, so I could see right in, except for the curtains. It was like shadows, with the curtains in the way. Sort of like those shadow shows we used to make when we were children, with a sheet hung and lights behind the actors, so all you could see was silhouettes. You know?

Do you think drapes would be better than the blinds?

What?

Godfrey says we should have drapes, instead of blinds, on the French doors. Do you agree, or have I done it right?

Well, I like cloth, so I would naturally opt for drapes.

Yes. Maybe you're right. I tried to study interior decorating, but it didn't make much sense, with all that texture and flowing forms and open space and intimate areas. I'm supposed to be bold, and I really have tried to be.

I'd say the decor is extremely bold, as well as innovative. What happened on the boat?

See, Gods? she said, then continued, "Well, where was I?

"Oh, yes! There was the shadow of a man and a woman in the boat. She was sitting in a chair by a little table. The man was sometimes in the window, and sometimes somewhere else, but it was as clear as day when he came up behind her and wrapped the towel around her throat from behind and twisted it and drug her out of the chair! He fought her for I don't know how long, and finally she didn't fight anymore. He just twisted the towel tighter, and held it forever, then he sort of threw it from himself, and went out of the light in the window.

"The boat started away, and I ran in and called Sheriff Stewart at his private number. We have the number in case of emergencies – all the artwork here, you know. And I keep my jewels in a safe here at home. Gods says I should keep them in the bank vault, but that can be so inconvenient, when we're going out somewhere. I think probably I should keep the jewelry here seasonally, don't you? Fall jewelry in the fall, and spring in the spring – that way, I could keep most of it in the vault, but then, I could still have something to wear around the house.

We never go out anymore, so maybe I should put them in the vault. What do you think?

I'm not the one to ask. My wife keeps some at home, and some at the bank.

It's actually the same thing, Len quipped. You bought that bank chain, didn't you?

Her eyes lit up. I saw what Len was doing, so I went along.

I don't know, I said, offhandedly. "Tony's always buying and selling banks and