Quint Mitchell 01 - Matanzas Bay by Parker Francis Read Free Book Online Page A

they reach their twentieth anniversary.”
    She was accustomed to my so-called humor, and shook her head before answering, “I’ve never seen her in person, but she seemed quite attractive in the newspaper photographs. You can judge for yourself when you meet her.”
    ***
    Unlike what’s portrayed on TV shows, a private investigator’s life isn’t very glamorous. Most of my days are spent on the computer or telephone tracking down people who are trying to avoid their debts. We call them skip traces, and I had one major client who paid me a good monthly retainer to find several hundred of these supposedly missing persons. I spent the rest of my time on background checks for sensitive positions and a growing number of insurance scams. If desperate, I’d been known to accept a few adultery cases, following and photographing wayward husbands and wives.
    I paged through the outstanding skip traces, trying to focus, but my mind kept wandering to the dead man in the wicker basket and Jeffrey Poe. I eventually gave up and called Poe to tell him about Erin Marrano.
    “She seemed to be a big fan of yours,” I said. “She wants to hire me to find her husband’s killer.”
    “She does? That’s a surprise.” He said this without sounding the least bit surprised.
    “You do know her, don’t you?”
    “I used to speak to her classes when she was teaching, and we’ve run into each other at some city functions from time to time. That’s about it.”
    “Since I’m coming to St. Augustine to meet with Mrs. Marrano, I was wondering if I might drop by your office first.”
    “Of course, if you don’t mind being seen with a suspected murderer.”
    I told him I’d be there in an hour or so. I left unasked the key question, not wanting to speak about it on the telephone. When we were face to face, I’d ask him about the bayonet.
    My next call was to Serena Howard. I’d been avoiding this task since last Wednesday when she introduced me to her Uncle Walter. The gut-wrenching experience still reverberated in my mind. When Serena and I parted company afterwards, she seemed to close the door on any future we had together. I hoped we might meet for lunch today and perhaps find a way to resolve the growing tension between us. But Serena had other ideas.
    “I have a lunch date with a client at noon,” she said when I reached her on the phone. I felt a touch of frosty air clinging to her words.
    “Earlier then?”
    She paused before saying, “How about a quick cup of coffee at eleven-thirty?”
    Checking my watch, I swiftly made the mental calculations—travel time, my meeting with Poe at ten-thirty—and agreed.
    ***
    Poe’s office door was open. He stood over an ancient desk that might have been hanging around since Woodrow Wilson’s administration. Head down, rummaging through some papers, he didn’t see me standing there. His desk was surrounded by shelves of books and a cluttered table in the corner with two mismatched chairs.
    Through an open connecting door, I glimpsed what may have once been a conference room, now packed with shelves and low tables overflowing with boxes of artifacts. Stacked on a workbench were trays of human bones spread out like a butcher’s display. Bowls of bone fragments balanced precariously atop the trays.
    The mess reminded me of his home on Anastasia Island with its spare bedroom storing the growing piles of rubble from earlier civilizations. I knocked on the door jamb and Poe looked up, dark rings evident below his gray-green eyes.
    “Quint, come in. Come in.” He shuffled a box from one of the chairs and gestured for me to sit before closing the door and sitting in the other chair.
    He studied me a moment, a self-conscious look on his tired face. “I have to confess I wasn’t totally honest when you called this morning.”
    “How’s that?”
    “I knew Mrs. Marrano was going to call you. She phoned last night and told me she didn’t believe I killed her husband. A wonderfully