Clearwater Diaries
Ambush 2012
By
Al Rennie
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Al Rennie
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Image Credit: Photographer – Marsha Rennie
Cover Credit: Rita Toews – probably the most patient and inventive cover creator ever!
Formatting Credit: L.K. Campbell – as always just great!
Dedication
For my wife – Marsha
Always there for me!
and
Ilker
Note to would be readers: Cathy Galbraith and her friend
Mia has insisted that I warn you that this book contains four letter words – it also has some with two and three and a few with five and even six letters – beware. She also instructed me to tell you that there are some pretty suggestive scenes. If you are under eighteen and read this book – you may go blind – or – you may win the lottery. Good reading bubba,
Doc
A few Reader Responses to Clearwater Journals after it appeared on Free e-books.
Brilliant! Couldn’t put it down, thanks – Catherine Cooke
What a riveting story with bouts of wry humor. Again Please. – Bruce
Excellent read with more twists and turns than a road through the mountains.
Enjoyed every minute! – Kingstonbears
A really well written book. Loved it a bunch. Hope he does another soon.
Maybe a series??? – Wa6ype
A truly fun read, great sense of humor and a good plot. I recommend this author
with pleasure. – Evelyn
Excellent writing, fast paced, liked it a lot. – Toerien
Gripping story, believable characters. Would definitely recommend.
Very well written. Thoroughly enjoyed it. – Rachel Caldicott
Put my life on hold until I finished it. Great read! You live the character’s
emotions and you can’t be sure of the outcome until the last page. – Charles Hough
Could not put it down – Alta De Lang
Enjoyable reading – a combination of a thriller and a love story – Pentii Grant
A page turner from the beginning – Marykay Monson
Chapter 1
Tuesday – Jan 3, 2012
I’m back in the Saddle Again – not really – it’s an old song
Mia and I were still lying in bed discussing how many of our New Year’s resolutions were still intact. Neither one of us had had to work today, so I expected that once I won this disagreement, we would either have a tourist day – Johns Pass perhaps – or maybe go over to the mainland and cruise Borders Books before hitting Smokey Bones for lunch. Life in paradise!
“So you are telling me Joey that you haven’t eaten a chocolate bar or told a single lie since New Year’s Eve,” Mia said as she amped up her B.S. detector. I can always tell because when she suspects I may be fibbing; she kind of squints when she looks at me.
“That’s right,” I lied – it had been a half a Snickers bar which only has a chocolate coating. “If you don’t believe me, ask Max – or Frank even. They will tell you that …”
“I would but – as you well know Bub – they are off doing a drug run or a money laundering deal or some such somewhere in the Caribbean in that big three million dollar yacht your brother owns.”
“That’s not kind Mia. They are on a fishing cruise and a recuperation holiday. Frank is devastated and still recovering from his wedding that never happened.” I whined. “By the way, how’s Joe junior doing? How was your doctor’s appointment?”
“No you don’t Joe – you are not going to distract me with your sudden concern for our baby. He’s fine and he will be until he puts in an appearance in late May. And Frank dumped the girl three days before they were to be married, so if anyone is recovering it would be his bride that wasn’t.”
My cell phone chirped out the opening bars to Moby’s Extreme Ways, vibrated and probably would have spit at me if I held it the wrong way. Frank had got me the latest HTC Android smart cell phone for Christmas. It can do everything but put out fires.
“Hey,” I answered tentatively.
“Joe – John Marshall – get your ass over to the condo here – I mean now. We have a big problem going down – and you are a part of it. I do mean now!” And then there was dead air.
“Who was that?” Mia asked reading the confused expression on my face.
“John Marshall – he wants me at the condo right now.”
“But you are on your day off Joe – what have you done?”
“I was asking myself the same thing.” There were only a few things I could think of quickly and none of them were all that serious.
“What are you going to do?” Mia asked in an indifferent tone.
“Go over there right away and get fired I guess.”
“Okay, but hurry back. We have things to do today.”
“Right – fired and hurry back – I’ve got it. I’ll grab my shower when I return. Wait for me – okay?” Showers with Mia are invariably fun.
Mia is the twenty eight year old, blue eyed, blonde beauty with the cheerleader body every teenage guy drools about at some time. She is petite – when I feel brave I call her vertically challenged – and incredibly fit. She has a quick intelligence and sly sense of humour and a wicked temper that even she admits has caused some problems. She also claims that she has better control of her temper now that she is in therapy. To tell you the truth, I haven’t noticed the change yet. Her past is not one we visit often – most train wrecks are neater. By her own admission she has done some pretty “nasty stuff” and regrets it. We have been together for almost a year now. It has been the best time in my life.
I pulled on an almost clean pair of faded blue jeans, my navy and white Snoopy T-shirt and scuffed into my Teva flip flops. I wasn’t going to wear the security outfit – I was off duty. I fired up the Jag and drove at a not too leisurely pace over to Sand Key which is just south of Clearwater Beach but still a part of it – if that makes any sense. The mounted radar warning sign caught me coming down the bridge into Sand Key at forty five – so I slowed it to close to thirty. There was no point running over a wandering tourist as well as getting fired and ruin my entire day.
I pulled into the condo complex – where I do the security work when no one else wants to – and parked. Big John Marshall was already waving his muscular arms and striding towards me. Marshall is a scary kind of old bald guy. He was in the Marines and Rangers and some other special units for most of his adult life. When we had our 2010 company Christmas party, he had shown up wearing a horrendous black Elvis wig his wife had given him. He looked like a total tool in that wig but I swear to God not one person – not one – drunk or sober – laughed at him. That tells you something about the respect or fear he commands daily. His knees are shot, so he kind of gimps when he walks now. During the last year, I thought my relationship with the guy was solid. Marshall was called the Executioner by most of the guards – just not to his face – because he was the one the company sends out to fire guys who had fucked up. I guessed it was my turn, but I wasn’t too worried about it – my bank account was so solid Mia called it – too incredibly constipated.
“John – what’s up?”
“That frigging old lady Ashworthy is holed up in the library with that loaded purse she carries. She said that she won’t come out unless you come and get her. I think she shot the pelican.”
So I wasn’t getting fired. “Why did she shoot the pelican?”
“How the hell would I know? She’s crazy – that’s why.”
“Okay, I’ll go talk with her. You say that she’s in the library?
“Yeah, the library – get her out of there before someone calls the cops and the crap really hits the fan.”
I went up to the second floor where the exercise room, hot tub, sauna, billiard room and library were. Library is something of an exaggeration. It is really a room with a table, some chairs and a few shelves of old books that anyone can borrow or just take. The shelves are regularly replenished with the books any rentals leave behind or any permanent residents don’t want taking up space in their condos anymore. When I got there, Jerry Dumphrey, another guard with some of his own history with Mrs. Ashworthy was standing to the side of the door staring at the door handle like maybe it was about to talk to him.
“Hi Jerry,” I said to let him know I was there. Marshall would be right behind me after he called in a status report to his boss.
“Jesus – you scared me Joe. Don’t do that creep up thing,” Jerry said grabbing at his heart like he was maybe having a heart attack.
“It’s soft rubber on marble Jerry. Next time I’ll hire a band. How is she doing – what’s happening?”
“There has not been a peep from her for almost fourteen minutes now,” Jerry said as he carefully scrutinized his Casio G-Force watch.
“Okay, let me talk with her.”
“Be my guest – just be careful. The old girl is armed and dangerous. I kid you not.”
“Got ya – thanks for the assessment – why don’t you go and keep a perimeter here,” I said to Jerry’s quickly retreating rear end. “Mrs. Ashworthy – hi it’s Joe. I’m out here, but I’d like to come in if it’s alright with you. Mrs. Ashworthy – please don’t shoot me.”
“Joe – is it really you?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Prove it,” she stated bluntly.
“Sara Teasdale,” I said.
“Okay – just a second I’ll open the door. But just you – no one else – okay?”
“You got it.”
The heavy blond oak door to the library swung open just enough for me to give it a gentle push and enter. Almost immediately, my eyes started to water. I knew right away why Jerry had not heard anything from the old Mrs. Ashworthy in fourteen minutes. She was knackered. A semi dense haze of very fine strong Jamaican marijuana smoke hung in the air. Even as second hand toke there was enough to stone out a soccer team in less than five minutes. I was going to have to work quickly. Mrs. Ashworthy’s other trademark – a Steel City Arms double deuce twenty two pistol – that she usually carried in her handbag – was laying on the reading table with her glasses and an empty Glad sandwich bag – the better to keep your weed fresh – I’ve been told.
“Mrs. Ashworthy – what are you doing? You don’t look well. How can I help you?” I asked as I walked across the library to the windows looking out on the beach. After I cracked one window open a little bit – I didn’t want to be responsible for polluting the entire beach all at once or stone out the seagull population – I turned to look at her. Mrs. Ashworthy and I had had some interesting moments in my time here. Last year I had stopped her from walking into the surf wearing a trench coat with its pockets full of sand – her suicide attempt – what she called a Sara Teasdale. On that memorable night, she had also done a fair bit of high quality grass.
“Joe – I peed myself. How can I get back to my unit looking like this?”
And indeed she had. She was wearing tan shorts and sandals with a loose fitting multi-colored blouse. She had also been crying.
“No big deal there Mrs. Ashworthy – I’ve done that a few times myself. How about if you pack your gun in the handbag there, and you wait for me a second? I swear I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t leave me Joe. Please – don’t leave me.”
“I promise – count to twenty steamboats – I’ll be back,” I said over my shoulder as I slipped through the doorway and closed the door tightly.
Marshall and Jerry were waiting outside. I almost knocked Jerry over in my rush to get to the sauna. “Don’t go in there,” I hissed. “She’s armed.”
Six steamboats … I grabbed a white terrycloth robe and a large towel from the locker and ran back to the library. Marshall intercepted me – fifteen steamboats…
“Joe – what the hell is going on?”
“Not now – give me … Okay Mrs. Ashworthy – see I’m back.”
I wiped up the small puddle that had accumulated on the marble floor beneath where Mrs. Ashworthy had been previewing a book when she had had her accident. I wrapped her in the robe and tied the belt. She would look like she was just coming back from a refreshing dip in the pool – just a little bit high. I went to the door and asked Jerry and Marshall to go back to the guard shed before we came out.
“Jerry – will you please bring me the shoe box you’ll find under the telephone books. I’ll meet you in the main lobby in five minutes. The pelican will be okay. Everything is fine. We’re cool.”
As soon as I knew they had left the area, I hustled Mrs. Ashworthy to the elevators and rode with her up to her condo unit – 17-A – a three bedroom job that before the recession would have run and million and a half. She had shared the big space with her husband until he went to putt out at his happy golf course in the sky.
“Thank you Joe. I knew I could count on you,” Mrs. Ashworthy said when we arrived safely at her unit.
“No problem Mrs. Ashworthy. Listen why don’t you go get a shower and I’ll be right back. There is something I’ve been meaning to show you.”
“Maybe you could join me for a cup of tea?”
“That would be very nice. I’ll be right back – promise.” I hate tea.
“How many steamboats will it be this time Joe?” Mrs. Ashworthy asked with a wavering smile.
I chuckled – “Well – more than twenty. Jerry doesn’t move too fast.”
I met Jerry and John Marshall in the lobby a few moments later. Jerry was holding the blue Nike shoe box I had asked him to retrieve.
“Is that crazy old bag going to be okay?” Marshall asked. “We checked the pelican and you were right she missed it – and everything else. I guess she’s losing her touch – and that’s a good thing. She used to be good for a seagull about every other month.”
I knew about the dead gulls. I had done burial duty a few times myself. Mrs. Ashworthy used to go out on the beach with good intentions and bread crumbs to feed them. But when they all started screeching and dive bombing her, she got frightened and started shooting. The pelican was a life like full size statue that sits by the door to the library. For the guards it represented the half-way point of the prescribed hourly rounds as laid out by Marshall.
“Blanks,” I said. “The last time I visited her, I replaced the bullets with blanks while she was making some tea. And she’ll be fine.”
I took the box from Jerry and removed my Kobo reader. Marshall shot me a look like what was I doing reading on the job? Because the job is frigging boring was the look he got back with a quick shrug of my shoulders.
“Just give me some time with her. I’ll be right down and we can fill in the incident report together.”
The security service required a written record of any unusual incident that happens during any guard’s shift. The report – signed by both the guard and his supervisor – could be available for any future legal action even if the guard wasn’t. This deal with Mrs. Ashworthy definitely qualified as an unusual incident.
I spent the next half hour with Mrs. Ashworthy sipping lukewarm tea that tasted a bit like dish water and nibbling stale Arrowroot baby cookies. During that time, I explained how the Kobo e-reader worked. I showed her my library and invited her to read any and all of it – as well as the one hundred free classic works that came with the device. Before I left the condo and my e-reader, she asked me if I would mind downloading something from the Kobo store just to show her how it was done. I said no problem and we did a quick search. The author she wanted was one I had never read – Selena Kitt – and the book we downloaded was an XXX-rated erotic title with explicit warnings about all kinds of interesting – yet deviant – sex acts called Babysitting the Baumgartners. As my old grandmother used to say – it takes all kinds – deviant for one – neat for another.
Before I left to take the rest of my day off, I worked with John Marshall and Gerry filling in the incident report. When we finished the report, I knew that it was innocuous enough to be virtually useless in any court of law. It could not come back to bite anyone. Marshall had admitted to me that sometimes he is a little too black and white in his thinking, so when he needs to fudge something like a potentially dangerous incident report, I help.
“Joe Holiday, you are a piece of work,” Marshall said – not for the first time. “My bosses still want you to work for them as an investigator because of that Burdines thing. I know the Canadian citizen status is in the way, but they are working on a green card deal. Enjoy your days off.”
When I got back to Mrs. Reilly’s house that Mia and I rent and call home, I expected that Mia would be waiting for me. She wasn’t. There was a scribbled note saying she had gone for a walk along the beach towards IHOP. I knew she would be doing her physiotherapy exercises and enjoying another beautiful Clearwater beach day. I could understand that. I loved living here. But this was not what I had expected to be doing when I moved to Florida – worrying about Mia most of the time, pacifying crazy old ladies, working. No – I was supposed to be a dedicated bachelor beach bum working at nothing more than getting the best tan in Clearwater and mentally hustling the beach bunnies in their tiny bikinis. Now I was going to be someone’s father – poor kid. Mia had told me that she was pregnant just before Christmas. The walls were closing in. My cell chirped again before I could get to full mental rant. I was tempted to shut it off, but it was a smart phone. It would probably work out how to turn itself back on and bite me.
“Hey.”
“Joe – where are you?” Mia asked.
“Looking for you – I just got back home a few minutes ago. Where are you?”
“In the lobby of the Hilton Hotel.”
“Why?”
“Just as I was leaving for my walk, Tiffany arrived at the door. She had been looking for Frank or his yacht at the marina. Somehow, she ended up talking with that fishing guy you work for sometimes – what’s his name?”
“You mean Frankie Donner?”
“Yeah – that’s him – and he sent her to see us.”
“That’s nice – I guess. Why was she looking for Frank? And who is she?”
“Duh – Joe – remember – he was supposed to marry her last month. Remember – Frank asked you to be his best man.”
“Oh – yeah I remember that.” I hate it when she duhs me. “And you are now in the Hilton lobby because – why?”
Mia’s tone moved even more in the direction of duh sometimes you are a total moron.
“That’s where Tiffany is staying. Maybe you could get in touch with Frank and tell him we have a situation here. Oh yeah – Joey – did you get fired?”
“Not yet, but hold your horses there Sweet Cakes. Do you really believe that Frank is going to want to stop his fishing trip to come back here and meet the woman who jilted him at the altar – colour me curious here Mia?”
“Maybe – maybe not but she has something she wants to tell him and she claims that it is life or death important. And Frank dropped her – remember.”
“Can’t she just text – okay wait there. I’ll be right over. I’ll just grab a quick shower.” I didn’t want to tell her that I still smelled of Mrs. Ashworthy’s fine cannabis – too many questions to answer there.
But I didn’t make it over to the Hilton lobby right away. Just as I got to Mandalay Avenue, I met Mrs. Ida May Thornberry – my librarian friend and sometimes pro bono deputy – who had to tell me how her grandson, Danny, was doing. I really didn’t care that much – the kid was a dork – but his grandmother was my friend. Apparently, Danny was doing well. The gunshot wound he had suffered down here before Christmas was healing nicely. He had moved back home up north with his mom and dad. They were trying to be a family again. Good luck with that one! It had been suggested that I had saved the little kid’s life. Modesty prevents me from saying – Damn right I did!
I heard a high pitched scream and glanced over at the south side of the Hilton just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of a female body dropping through the air right before she landed loudly on the roof of the parking portico outside the main entrance to the hotel. That had to hurt I thought before I remembered that Mia was waiting for me in the same hotel. I quickly excused myself from Ida May and ran for the entrance. The confusion was just starting to build as people started to understand what had caused the major league thump. I scanned the lobby activity and could not spot Mia.
I wasn’t too worried that the thump had been Mia – not yet anyway. Mia is too light to make that decibel level. But where was she? One of the elevator doors opened. Mia was sitting on its floor shaking and crying. Her big straw bag had tipped out onto the floor. I didn’t like what I saw. I rushed over to her. She saw me coming and did her elevation trick –sitting to standing in .3 seconds – and grabbed me hard. She was still crying and getting my Snoopy T- shirt all wet as she tried to tell me what had happened.
Between sobs, gasps and nose blowing – how does that work? – I pieced together the story Mia was trying to tell me. It went like this.
She and Frank’s ex – Tiffany Shorthouse – finally gave up waiting for me to arrive and left a message for me at the reception desk that they would be in Tiffany’s suite on the top floor. Part way up to the room Mia changed her mind and told Tiffany that I would never ask for directions and would wander around the lobby – probably forever. Tiffany gave Mia a second plastic electronic key and when the elevator stopped, Tiffany set off to go to her room. Mia stayed on the elevator to return to the lobby and wait for me. That move probably saved her life but just as likely confirmed the attempt on Tiffany’s. When Tiffany got off the elevator on the top floor two guys were waiting there like they were going to get on the elevator to go down – only they didn’t. They walked away as if they forgot something in their room. Mia had returned to the lobby and waited for me …
And then there were EMS people and cops all over the lobby.
“Do you want to go back up to Tiffany’s room now? Did you leave anything there?” I asked although I sensed where this was going and it wasn’t nice.
Mia just shook her head – No – so we went into the hotel snack bar and found an empty table for two. Mia was starting to get it together after I bought two small bottles of grapefruit juice from a vending machine and then sat down to wait. Getting the best tan on the beach had suddenly seemed unlikely for the next few hours. As I sat waiting for Mia’s story to continue, I spotted the tall young cop I had met when I saved Danny’s life last November. Rob Pogue was the cop’s name, and while he was still only a uniform, I had been fairly impressed with him when we met. I told Mia I would be right back.
“Rob,” I said loudly enough for him to pick up on me. “We need to talk.”
“Not right now Sir,” he clipped off before realizing it was me. “Oh – knock me over and call me Nancy – why am I not surprised? We get four murders and a suicide – not counting Kemp – in the last four months on the beach and who has had a finger in all of them? And that’s not counting the guy we found in your house about a year ago who almost bled to death because you shot him – twice. What do you want Joe? I’m busy.”
“Was that a trick question there Rob or were you being rhetorical?”
“What?”
“The question you asked – why am I not surprised? – were you just being rhetorical?
Apparently Rob Pogue wasn’t in the mood for conversation as he just repeated his question. “What do you want Holiday?” he snapped. Well, he didn’t actually repeat it word for word but the meaning was the same.
“I think maybe you should come over here and listen to what Mia has to say. She may have information on what just happened.”
“You mean about the suicide?”
“No, it’s probably the murder.”
Rob just did a quick head shake a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes. But he did follow me over to where I had left Mia.
“Go on babe – tell Rob here what happened,” I coaxed Mia who looked like she was – at any second – going to start crying again. I looked around for another box of tissue.
During the next minutes, Mia told Rob everything she had told me. Almost as soon as Mia started her story, Pogue was scribbling in his notebook. He had detective potential as he let her get out her story. The questions – and there would be a lot of them – would follow – most likely asked by the detective in charge. The young cop told us to stay where we were so that he could connect with his superior. I held Mia’s hand and tried for a few of my own questions. The overriding one was – what the hell are we doing here?