Pier Pressure by Dorothy Francis Read Free Book Online Page A

word—suicide?
    “You may have a workable idea, Jass. Do you remember a murder case a few years ago? I think the victim’s name was Alexa Chitting.”
    “Sounds familiar.”
    “The police had been sure a street person had murdered her during a robbery. When the family hired a private detective to investigate, they were able to prove murder.”
    “Help me make a list, Keely.”
    When I could get my mind to focus, I thought about my own plight. In Margaux’s case, a verdict of suicide would certainly make my life easier. If the police called Margaux’s death murder, I’d be high on their suspect list. Once they finished investigating Beau, they’d start in on me. The person who finds the body is always of special interest to the police.
    “What do you say, Keely? Are you going to help me?”
    “What does Punt think of all this?” I asked.
    “Why not ask Punt in person?”
    Punt had entered the room so quietly it startled me to see him there. His head almost touched the top of the arched doorway near the back stairway and his six-foot frame looked rangy but totally at ease. For once he wasn’t wearing his mirrored sunglasses. I hated the sinister look they gave him. He wore his usual cutoffs and a blue tank top that matched his eyes. He’d pulled his long auburn hair into a neat ponytail much like Jass’s and a leather thong held it in place. People call Punt the black sheep of the family. Maybe they’re right, but I’m not into name-calling.
    “Hi, Punt,” Jass called. “I think we need your help.”
    In spite of all the gossipy talk against Punt, I still liked him and in a way I felt sorry for him, felt sorry for anyone who felt so unhappy he had to turn to drugs to solve his problems. Punt and I had dated a lot in high school. He reigned as the school’s top jock football hero until he started doing drugs and got kicked off the team. That’s when I’d dropped him, too. Reluctantly. Plenty of girls tried to save him from himself, but druggies seldom want to be saved. I had slightly more respect for him now than I had then, although he’d merely graduated from recovered druggie to local beach bum.
    If Punt had ever worked a day in his life, he kept it a secret. Why should he work when he could draw on Dad’s generosity and Mama’s trust fund? I couldn’t respect that. Punt watched the world through his mirrored shades, but his laid-back actions belied his love of speed—in cars, boats, and maybe women, too. I’d seen him tooling around town with several different barmaids who reminded me of Playboy bunnies seeking the warmth of the Keys—or Punt’s bed. Punt was like a warning sign, cautioning everyone to keep their distance.
    “Where’ve you been?” Jass asked him before he could ask what sort of help we needed.
    “At Dad’s on Grinnell. I wanted to see the death scene up close and personal. I hear the police are still talking suicide.”
    “We can’t let them do that, Punt.” Jass stood and paced. “You understand that, don’t you? We can’t let it happen.”
    “How can we stop them? We can’t dictate to the police. They might listen to you and Dad, but no way are they going to give me the time of day. I’ve seen them from the wrong side of the desk too many times.”
    “We’ve gotta convince them that someone murdered Margaux. That’s what Keely and I were talking about. Dad and Keely might be suspects, but we know they’re innocent. Help us, please. We’re making a list of likely suspects.” Jass sat again and picked up her pen and paper.
    “Ha!” Punt flopped onto an easy chair across from the coffee table. “Margaux had few close friends in Key West. Your list could be a long one.”
    “Okay. So we know few people beside Dad really liked her,” Jass said. “We’ll need to narrow our list of suspects to those who had strong motive and adequate opportunity. That’s pure logic.”
    “You and I and Beau might be the first three to head the list,” Punt said.