Death in the Sunshine (Retired Detectives Club, #1)(58)

It’s one way to explain it, thinks Philip. ‘Very wise.’

‘Yes, I thought so.’ She looks at Rick. ‘I assume you’d like to ask him some questions?’

‘We’d sure appreciate that, Miss Betty.’

‘Of course.’ Betty raps the bottom of her walking stick on the wooden floor three times. ‘Martha? Where is that girl?’

Martha comes scuttling into the room. ‘Miss Betty?’

‘Fetch Mikey. Tell him he’s got some visitors.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Philip takes a sip of his sweet tea. It’s really very good.

Rick clears his throat. ‘While we’re waiting for your grandson, there’s something else perhaps you can help us with. The security gatehouse has a record of Mikey arriving about a month ago, but after that there’s no record of him leaving or arriving. I’m assuming he has though, so I—’

‘I gave him my auto-device for the barrier,’ says Miss Betty. ‘I don’t have a car any longer so I have no need for it myself. I told him to put it in the wagon.’ She shudders as she says the word ‘wagon’.

Rick nods. ‘Makes perfect sense.’

‘Yes, it does,’ says Miss Betty. She glances at Philip, as if expecting him to disagree.

Philip says nothing. He wonders if the gatehouse has a log of the residents’ comings and goings. He doesn’t remember anything in the paperwork they signed about their movements being logged, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. There was so much paperwork involved in becoming a resident. As he’s making a mental note to check, he hears the door behind them open. Turning, he sees a young, dishevelled-looking bloke hurry into the room.

‘Gram, you wanted me?’

Mikey Graften is nothing like Philip had expected. He looks shifty for starters. And although he’s slim and tall like his grandmother, he doesn’t have her poise. He stands slightly hunched over, which rather than making him look smaller, as Philip expects he’s trying to, exaggerates his long frame and makes him look more like a weeping willow sapling.

‘Mikey, these gentlemen want to talk to you,’ says Miss Betty, gesturing towards Rick and Philip.

‘What about?’ Mikey crosses his arms over his stomach. His gaze flits from his grandmother to Philip and then Rick.

‘About the young woman that died in Manatee Park,’ says Rick, getting out his phone and showing the picture of the dead woman to Mikey. ‘We think you might have known her.’

‘I . . . oh Jeez, it’s just, it’s not . . .’ Mikey looks pained, like he might vomit. He runs his hand through his hair, tugging on the top.

It looks even messier now, thinks Philip. It’s the sort of look his daughters would call ‘bedhead’. Personally he thinks the boy should damp it with some water and give it a good comb. ‘We’ve got an eyewitness who puts her in your car a few nights ago, son.’

Mikey looks down. He shakes his head. ‘This can’t be happening. It can’t. I just . . .’

‘Tell us what happened,’ says Rick.

‘Are you the cops? Have you come to—’

‘These are good people,’ says Miss Betty, putting down her glass of sweet tea and fixing Mikey with a steely gaze. ‘They help keep this neighbourhood safe. So you’re going to tell them everything you know, and you’re going to tell the truth, otherwise I’ll cut you out of my will and then you’ll be stuck driving that godawful car forever.’

‘Yes, Gram.’

‘Good. So speak. Tell them.’

Mikey hugs himself tighter and looks away from the picture on the phone that Rick is holding up. ‘I know – knew – her. I mean, we’d only known each other a few weeks, but I . . .’ He shakes his head. His eyes are watery. ‘We were kind of dating.’

‘Kind of?’

‘We talked, and hooked up, you know, and we just kind of vibed.’

‘You vibed?’ Philip shakes his head at the absurdity of the word. ‘What the hell is that?’

Mikey looks uncertain. ‘How’d you mean?’

‘He means, could you tell us about her,’ says Rick, shooting Philip a look that says ‘steady’.

Philip drowns his irritation with a gulp of sweet tea. He should be leading the questioning. This is his investigation. Rick shouldn’t be telling him to back off. He takes another gulp. The ice has almost melted, so the tea is more diluted now. It’s spoiled it really. Philip puts it down on the side table. The bang as it hits the coaster is louder than he’d intended. Mikey flinches from the sound. Miss Betty raises an eyebrow.

‘Her name’s Kristen Altman and she’s a croupier at the Flying Mustang Casino over in Conaldo Plains.’

Interesting, thinks Philip. Conaldo Plains is another district of The Homestead, Ocean Mist’s neighbour to the south. It’s a bigger neighbourhood and home to a big square with several casinos, a theatre and some fancy eating places that The Homestead residents have nicknamed Little Vegas. ‘How did the pair of you meet?’

‘In a place called Showtime Grill over in Little Vegas. I needed a drink in someplace more lively than here, and she had just gotten off shift. We were drinking the same bourbon. We got talking and . . .’ He shrugs. ‘Vibed.’