Falafel Jones - Max Fried 02 - Payback's a Beach by Falafel Jones Read Free Book Online

walked to the computerized cash register at the waitress station near our table. She pressed a few buttons, came back, and said, “They cashed out at 8:57 pm.”
    “How come you remember them?”
    “Her date tried to pay by credit card but Chuck, the manager, balked because the customer’s signature didn’t match the one on the card. Guy said he sprained his wrist fishing and paid cash. He must have been embarrassed because he left me a very nice tip.” She smiled.
    “Anything unusual happen?”
    Amber looked surprised by my question. “Yeah, and I just told you about it.”
    “I’m sorry, I meant like any conflict between the guy and his date?”
    Amber stuck out her lower lip. Then she raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “No, nothing. Just another happy couple on a date in paradise.”

CHAPTER SEVEN  

    We finished our drinks and caught the next water taxi home. When we got into the house, Mariel asked me, “Now, what will you do?”
    “Well, it was a nice ride but I didn’t get anything much from the restaurant. Whatever led to Fisher’s death must have taken place after they left. I’ll see what facts I can find online. What about you?”
    She reached for her computer tablet and said, “I’m going out to the pool to listen to the radio.” Mariel had an app she used to listen to talk radio programs from New York, California and Florida. I entered my office and sat down at the computer.
    The first place I looked was www.volusia.org  where I clicked the link to the beach web cams. From there, I retrieved a list of the tides the night Drew Fisher died. Amber verified Brenda’s story that they left the restaurant at 9:00 p.m. and the M.E. told me the time of death was about 9:30. The tide table reported high tide that night at 9:46 pm. Roofies kick in after 20 to 30 minutes so Brenda’s story was starting to make sense. If drugged at or soon after dinner, she might have been in a stupor below decks while someone killed Fisher in the cockpit. The murderer could have escaped leaving the Amante to drift fifteen minutes or so until the incoming tide carried it into the navigation channel. It could have floated there all night until Floyd found it during his sunrise paddle.
    Next, I visited www.marinetraffic.com   where I searched for the Amante. More than one ship had that name so I located the paper Senior Chief Forest gave me and searched for the boat’s MMSI number. I found the boat’s last known position at the Coast Guard dock in New Smyrna Beach. Before docking there, it docked at the Coronado Yacht Club and before that the East End Yacht Club on Long Island in New York State. I decided to see what the New York folks knew about the dead man. I got the phone number from their web site and dialed.
    “East End Yacht Club, This is Douglas. How may help you?”
    “This is Commodore McCarthy at the Coronado Yacht Club. We have a Drew Fisher applying for membership and he listed your club on his application.”
    “Caller ID says Max Fried.”
    “Um, we’re having a membership committee meeting at the Fried compound.”
    “I see. Are you asking about Drew Fisher from the Amante ?”
    “Yes.”
    “Why would he list us? He wasn’t a member here, just a guest.”
    Mariel entered the room and said, “Max?” loud enough for Douglas to hear.
    “You sure you’re the commodore?” he asked
    I said, “Max isn’t here Miss, look on the deck.” Then I asked Douglas, “But you know him?”
    “Look, Admiral, I don’t care who you are. If you’re calling about Fisher, I want everybody to know about this guy. He showed up a few months ago and spent his time drinking and chasing married women. A couple of the husbands didn’t like that.”
    “A couple? You mean some did like it?”
    “Nah, I mean only a couple found out about it.”
    “Oh, so why didn’t you give him the boot?”
    “Couldn’t, one of the board members invested money with this jerk and wanted to keep his eye on him plus