Too Much Stuff

Em took her eyes off the road for a second, looking at me. “We call the sheriff’s office.”

“The less of those guys, the better.”

“No, no. Not to tell them that there’s a ghost. What we need is verification. Of the dead man’s identity.”

I thought about that for a minute.

As Em pulled into the parking lot at Pelican Cove I said, “He could have called himself Weezle or Markim. In reality I suppose he could be Peter Stiffle.”

The corners of her mouth turned up. She seemed to be somewhat amused herself.

“Yeah, there have got to be a lot of guys out there who are dying to change their names to Stiff from Weezle or Markim.”

“Stiffle.”

“Whatever. Skip, we need to know, once they’ve taken the fingerprints or whatever else they do for identity check, who the dead guy was. Then, we’ll figure out who the live guy is.”

“The ghost guy.”

“He’s not a ghost.” She opened her door and stepped out.

“No?”

“Guaranteed.”

“Great. I was beginning to wonder.”

“Trust me on this one.” We walked to the stairs. The elevator took too long.

“You’re sure it wasn’t a ghost?” Playing with her.

“Positive.”

“And just how can you be positive? That’s a pretty bold statement.” I paused, then remembered one of my favorite movies.

“You’re talking ghosts here, for God’s sake.”

“Skip, I know we’re talking-” She took a deep breath. “Your humor isn’t exactly on target today. We’re talking about dead people, and for some reason this ghost thing is not funny.”

She drew a deep breath, rolling her eyes at me. “But the line you just handed to me is a quote from the Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore movie, Ghost. Right? I got that, didn’t I?”

She’d nailed me.

“Well, there’s got to be an explanation other than your ghost theory. I’m wondering if you weren’t wrong about the dead guy’s identity.”

“I’m starting to doubt it too. Different name, and then I see who I think is the real Weezle at a state park.”

Em went up to our room. James wasn’t in his, so I walked over to Holiday Isle, hoping I’d run into my partner. I was pretty certain he’d be entertaining the married Amy since she was leaving for her other life tomorrow. Back to the husband and kid.

I wondered how it was to want the things that you can’t have. And then it hit me that maybe Amy was able to pull that off. She wanted a fling when she wanted it. A serious relationship when that suited her.

And maybe that wasn’t so bad. Maybe it kept things in balance.

And, I couldn’t wait to tell James the ghost story. He’d have some take on it. I’d also remembered a quote that I wanted to run by him. It was from the first Ghostbusters movie. I was sure he’d remember it. It was only eight words long, but it described what I hoped was going to happen with this entire case.

We came, we saw, we kicked its ass.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The lovebirds were at the bar, the bad guitar and singer drowning out any chance that James would hear me yell his name. The second-floor, open-air bar was fairly crowded with a bunch of middle-aged people down from Miami for some race. They sported race hats and T-shirts with race car numbers on them, and names that I didn’t know. Bottles of Budweiser lined the bar top and brightly colored race banners and checkered flags hung from the rafters.

Walking to the back of the bar, I put my hands on James’s shoulders.

“James, we need to talk.”

“We can talk here.”

“No.” I motioned to the stairs that led to the mini-tiki huts one flight up.

He leaned into Amy, saying something in her ear. She shrugged her bare shoulders, and we walked up the steps.

I told him about the body double, and he gave me a skeptical look.

“Skip, I’m about as positive as I can be that the dead guy in our room was Jim Weezle.”

“And I saw him today. I swear I saw Weezle.”

“Impossible. He was dead. That wasn’t some sleight of hand trick. Some magic. I mean, I got hauled down to that jail because they thought I had something to do with it and-”

“I know. I know. But James, somehow there are two different people. One dead, one alive.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Em’s calling the sheriff’s office right now. We’re going to confirm the dead guy’s real name.”

James didn’t even smile this time. He sipped his Bud and stared out at the water over the railing.

“Got a thought, amigo.”

“About the ghost?”

“No. About the boat.” He turned and looked at me. “We got nothin’ till tomorrow morning when we hopefully get to read that letter.”

“Agreed.”

“Well, I say we make another trip to the vacant property this morning. Three thirty in the a.m.”

“Are you crazy?”

“We position ourselves on that residential side and watch through the openings in the trees. I want to see if another boat comes in.”

“James-”

“We don’t have anything else to do, Skip.”

“Sleep might be a good thing.”

“You can sleep anytime.”

“And what’s it going to prove? If we see the boat?”

“Then we’ll know it’s a regular occurrence. We’ll find out if it’s the fishermen who are in that tournament. We’ll pay more attention. And, before all the stores close, why don’t you go to that camera store up by O’Neill’s and Malhotra’s office and get a couple pairs of binoculars?”

Running up and down the highway, we’d seen the store three or four times.

“James, those cost some serious money.”

“Dude, we need the equipment. It’s for the job. If the lady is willing to up our pay to two mill, she’ll spring for the glasses.”

“And why aren’t you going to get the binoculars?”

“Skip, this is Amy’s last night in town. We want to make the most of it.”

There are times when I want to punch him right in the face, but he wouldn’t understand.

We drove to the camera store, then to the drugstore for the nail file.

“The guy who was killed came up as Peter Stiffle.”

I kept both hands on the wheel. I didn’t want to piss Emily off by driving with one hand, and besides, the car felt more alive when I was totally engaged in the driving process. I know, it was about a two-mile round-trip drive, but hey, it was a Porsche Carerra. And this time I was in control.

“Damn. So it must be Weezle that we saw.” She stared out the windshield.

“Who is Stiffle?” I asked more rhetorically.