The Price of Candy sr-2 Read online

  The Price of Candy

  ( Sandy Reid - 2 )

  Rod Hoisington

  A prominent Congressman gives a beautiful hitchhiker a ride to Florida. His fascination with her becomes an increasing obsession as he mistakenly projects her romantic acceptance of him. When her naked body is subsequently found on a Florida beach he risks having his misdirected passion exposed and his reputation and prosperous way of life devastated. A dramatic, fast-paced murder mystery.

  Read what critics are saying about

  One Deadly Sister

  Five Star rating

  *****

  “...an excellent plot which keeps readers glued to the pages until the very end. A great read!”

  --Goodread.com

  “...a clever plot enfolds, firmly supported by interesting characters. If you like mysteries, you'll enjoy this one. No loose ends.”

  --Scripps Treasure Coast Newspapers

  “...a murder mystery at its best...a great and realistic story line that will keep you guessing till the end.”

  --Michele Tater, ReviewTheBook.com

  "If you enjoy mysteries that keep your mind guessing and racing until the very end, you don't want to miss this story."

  --Feathered Quill Book Reviews

  "A very creative and enjoyable first novel...grabs hold of you early on and you can't get away from it."

  --Betty Gelean, ReviewTheBook.com

  The Price of Candy

  by

  Rod Hoisington

  Copyright 2010 Rod Hoisington

  Also by Rod Hoisington

  One Deadly Sister

  A passionate wise man will dance down the path of a fool.

  Chapter One

  Beyond the solid screen of sea grapes that lined Highway A1A and down a gentle sea oat covered slope laid an isolated patch of sandy beach, warmed that late afternoon by one of the celebrated southerly breezes that enhance Florida in November. Only the murmur of the ocean disturbed the quietness. On that secluded beach, cast in the slanted shadows of the sunset, were two men and a woman. The two men were alive.

  One was a sturdy younger man, scarcely thirty. He wore a Miami Dolphins’ sweatshirt and slouched with his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his faded jeans. The other man was dressed precisely for business except fine sand had scattered across his well-shined Testoni shoes. He walked away from the body, put both hands to his head, and walked back. He took off his tailored suit coat and covered the face and upper body of the woman on her back in the sand. Her orange bikini bottom and bare legs remained exposed below his coat.

  The younger man knelt beside the body and started to lift the coat. “She really dead?”

  “Don’t move that. Don’t look under there!”

  “I’m not looking at her. Looking at her body. She’s not in there anymore. Gone, like up in smoke or whatever happens.” He raised the coat and made an unhurried consideration of the body.

  “You’re looking at her.”

  “Ask her if she cares. Don’t often get a free peek like this, you know. I’ll just close her eyes so she’s not staring back at me.” The younger man passed his hand over her face and the woman’s hushed hazel eyes closed easily.

  “How’d you know that?”

  “That’s what they do in the movies. Read someplace where some people believe if the eyes are left open, the dead will look around and spot someone to take with them.”

  “Keep your hands off her.” The other man reached down and readjusted the coat to cover as much of the face and upper body as possible.

  “Who knows what the dead are capable of? This one’s doing a good job messing with your head.”

  “Don’t touch her again, okay?”

  “Why, she your wife?”

  The man shook his head. “I...think I’m going to be sick.” He pulled the knot of his silk necktie loose, tilted his head back, and took in a deep breath.

  “Girlfriend, huh? Lucky man...at least up until now. She’s definitely from another world. You rich guys get all the goodies.”

  “I don’t think about things that way.”

  “You don’t think about money at all. Like you don’t think about that fancy car parked up there. Just ask for the best or pick what you want. Like you picked which girl you wanted. Of course, now you can’t bear to look at her. Guess you’ll just have to pick another.”

  “I don’t need to justify anything to you.”

  “Yeah, the rich never have to justify.” He made a wide grin. “Your money won’t help when you try to explain to your wife how you happen to know Miss Universe here and why her top is off. You’re shaking already.”

  The other man stiffened. “Her top came off when I put my arms around her from the back, you know, that Heimlich maneuver, squeezing her to stop her choking.” He combed his fingers through his thin brown hair.

  “If you say so. When I first looked down you were behind her with your arms around her. I saw her top fall off and her boobs bouncing around. You bet I remember that part.”

  “I couldn’t get the damn thing back on.”

  “Must’ve been fun trying to stuff ten pounds in a five pound bag.”

  “Do you have to talk about her like that? It’s not decent. She deserves our respect. She was a nice girl.”

  “You knelt down beside her with your head down for a long time. What was that?”

  “Just thinking.”

  “Just crying over her is more like it. Okay, I guess you tried to save her. Don’t know how you screwed up the Heimlich. Any dork can do it.”

  “I’ve never thought about learning such things. Things where I must actually touch people. There’s always someone around to do it. Of course I regret it. Someone trained might have saved her.”

  “You drove here together. I saw you.”

  “You saw us? Oh...I didn’t realize that. She’s sort of a friend.” He wiped his palms on the front of his trousers.

  “I hope my friends do a better job if I choke.”

  “She needed a ride, that’s all...she needed a ride.”

  “A ride to the beach? That what you’re saying?”

  The man folded his arms across his chest and didn’t answer.

  “I stood up there at the top of that knoll and watched you. Funny, when she got out of your car and started changing into that bikini, it looked like you were trying to peek at her. You’ve never seen your girlfriend naked? She moved to the other side like she didn’t want you to watch her undress. She didn’t notice I had pulled in. I’m the one who got the show.”

  “So she was modest. Stop saying things.”

  “Modest then, won’t bother her a bit anybody looks at her now.”

  “But it bothers me. You shouldn’t speak of her in that manner. It’s not...honorable. Just keep my coat over her.” He folded and unfolded his arms again. “You know I tried to help her. You know I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Relax, it’s an accident. Like you say, she choked herself to death. Crazy way to die.”

  The older man said, “My phone is in the car....”

  “I’ve already called the police. Told them send along an ambulance.”

  “Oh, you already called them? That’s good...I guess.” He turned away from the body and rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re not going to believe me...they’re not going to believe me.”

  “You’re really sweatin’ this, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I’m shaken. A person just died before my eyes. Her dead body is lying there.”

  “I suppose you’ve got big deal friends, a big deal job, a big deal reputation.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. You wouldn’t believe the fallout there’s going to be about this.” He
tilted his head back and closed his eyes tightly.

  “So take off.”

  “What?”

  “Go...leave. You’ve got nothing to do with this. It happened like you said. She happened to be on the beach. You happened to be on the beach. You tried to help her. That’s the way it was, wasn’t it?”

  “I guess.”

  “So, go. Get out of here. You don’t have to get involved. I’ll look after her. Things like this happen all the time.”

  “I don’t think I should leave her. Should I go? I don’t think I should.”

  “No sweat. Nothing else you can do here. Get moving the police will be here any second.”

  “Then you’ll be in trouble.”

  “No, they know me. I live around here. I take care of some things around here. Nothing bad happened. There’s been no crime. The M.E. will find she died of choking. Case closed.”

  “The medical examiner?”

  “Yeah, like on TV. Now come on we’ll walk up to your car. You leave and I’ll wait up there for the police.”

  “I should take my coat.” He reached back and picked it up off the body. He paused to look down at her. Freddy, you always want things nice and neat. Good lord, he thought, does it end this way?

  “She should have something over her,” he said. “I don’t have a blanket in my car. Do you?”

  The younger man shook his head.

  They reached the top of the sandy knoll and could now hear the occasional hum of vehicles going by on A1A beyond the screen of foliage. The older man stopped abruptly and pointed. “Is that your SUV parked there? Wait a minute, I saw it at that truck stop up in Jacksonville. You’re lying. You’re not from around here. You pulled out right behind us on 95.”

  “Not me, buddy. I’ve been here all day. Haven’t been out of town in a month. Now you should get out of here.”

  “I was certain it was your white SUV that followed us.”

  “You’re saying you gave Miss Universe a ride down here from Jax so she could go to the beach?”

  The nervous man didn’t answer.

  “Stop talking and go.”

  “I can’t leave. I won’t do it.” He wondered just how much he owed her anyway. He could stay and identify himself to the police. That wouldn’t bring her back and might destroy him. Certainly he didn’t owe her that much. “I don’t know. Will she be okay? Nothing’s going to happen to her?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen to her. I’ll keep an eye on her. Now leave.”

  “Well, I guess it’s all right, since the police are on the way. I truly appreciate your doing this for me. So, you’ll stay up here and wait up here until they come, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Chapter Two

  Six weeks later, on a too-chilly-for Florida January afternoon, Sandy Reid was studying at the well-worn oak desk in Jeremiah Kagan’s law office in Park Beach. She stuck a bookmark in Manipulations of Evidence, placed the brick-like textbook on her yellow legal-size pad, and pushed them aside. She replayed the voicemail: “Surprise, Sandra, a voice from the past. Abby Olin here. Let’s get together and catch up on old times.” The message was clear enough, but she didn’t remember any Abby.

  Since kindergarten, her friends had called her Sandy. The caller no doubt had read her formal name somewhere, possibly in the newspaper, although she’d been out of the news now for a couple of months. Chances are she didn’t know any Abby Olin and she had an instinctive distrust of anyone who suddenly showed an interest in her.

  Catching up on old times with someone she didn’t remember held no appeal for Sandy. Although skilled at it, she considered all small talk with incidental acquaintances a bore. However, she’d transformed making small talk into one of her professional talents.

  As a field investigator with a defense law firm up in Philadelphia her job had been to find witnesses who didn’t want to be found and small talk them into giving statements they hadn’t intended to give. She was particularly adept at eliciting an immense amount of often-intimate information from a stranger in a very short time, like during three minutes on an elevator.

  Some other time, some other year. Perhaps when she wasn’t overloaded with law school studies and an onrushing date with the Florida bar exam, she might have time for the luxury of small talk. She wasn’t complaining about law school; she was quite comfortable immersed in her studies, if everyone would just back off and leave her alone for the next four months. Even if this Abby was a gilt-edged, ideal new friend, Sandy didn’t have the time for a new friend.

  Yet the sly mention of old times hooked her. There were no old times here in Florida. With only a four-month history, she was a newcomer. Any old times had to mean up north. So the caller at least knew that much about her.

  She decided to return the woman’s call partly from curiosity and partly because it meant a possible reconnection with Philadelphia, which remained an agreeable part of her.

  The Abby person answered sounding pleased. “Here we are, both of us down here in Florida. We’re old soul mates from Philly, the juvenile rehab center out near the airport, remember?”

  The words jerked Sandy back hard to her teenage years. She recalled having few friends while trapped in that shameful place. Of course, she was joined in sisterhood with every other teenage girl locked up there, but was too angry with everyone at that time to realize it. A rehab sister wasn’t exactly the same as a friend. Now that she thought back, she did recall having at least one friendship, but the girl’s name wasn’t Abby.

  What was her name? Some young girl from the sticks. Every place between the Mississippi River and California was the sticks to Philadelphia girls. One time they had huddled together in the supply closet to avoid clean-up duty, peeking out through the crack of the door like children playing some mystery game. Sounded corny when she thought about it. The girl talked continually about her hometown in Iowa, or was it Arkansas?

  Gloria it was...yes, homesick, depressed, and vulnerable. Red meat for a certain counselor. Poor, stringy-haired Gloria, a lamb to the slaughter. Sandy suffered more than one sleepless night agonizing over whether to volunteer to take Gloria’s next inglorious turn with him. He’d welcome the opportunity to get at Sandy. She considered it seriously. She could handle it; it was tearing Gloria apart. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. She admitted sadly that she hated the thought of him more than she cared for Gloria. Someone else would have to save the world.

  Thinking about Gloria brought a dreadful question to mind. Was Abby one of the abused girls confined in that juvenile rehab facility? If she had endured the exploitation, Sandy wanted to meet with her.

  She didn’t remember her at all in spite of her mention of being a soul mate. Some people, she supposed, are truly fortunate enough to have soul mates. None of Sandy’s friends rose to that level, certainly none of her teenage cellmates. Unless Abby was considering all of the girls soul mates by virtue of their common experience.

  “I never forgot juvie rehab, but can’t place you, Abby.” The rehab affair was not an experience Sandy cared to rehash. “You say we were both in there at the same time?”

  “Yeah, same giggle of girls,” Abby said. “I saw your picture in the local newspaper down here last month and I thought, hey I know her. You must be one hotshot lawyer to solve the murder of that politician and get your brother out of jail.”

  “Not a lawyer yet, still a law student.” Four months ago, she had reluctantly quit her intern job with a criminal defense firm in Philadelphia to come to Florida. Temporarily, she assumed, to help her brother. He hadn’t bothered with her for years and then, after he was seduced and framed for a murder in Park Beach, he desperately phoned her in Philadelphia and sought her help. She resented having her life interrupted. At first, she had told him to go to hell.

  “His arrest and confinement was appalling,” she told Abby on the phone, “but I created enough havoc and reasonable doubt to get him cleared of all charges.”

  “Getting him released wa
s one thing, but according to the paper you didn’t leave well enough alone and went after the true killer.”

  “I had help. Do you need a lawyer? Is that what this is about?”

  “No, don’t need a lawyer. Can’t I just phone an old juvie buddy? Well, in fact, I do have a little problem. But let’s just get together and talk. I’m out in West County. Do you ever get out this way?”

  Now she was curious about meeting Abby. As Sandy recalled the rehab situation, she alone had escaped the sexual exploitation. If Abby was there at that time, that creepy counselor might have gotten to her too. Psychological effects could persist and meeting with Sandy might help. Issues from that old juvenile detention experience up north remained in the back of her own mind as well. She’d been walking around with uncomfortable thoughts from the past for too long. Perhaps recalling some of those concerns with this alleged juvie buddy would help. She agreed to meet her despite the bad vibes.

  Chapter Three

  Abby Olin snapped her phone shut and smiled. With that call, she had successfully involved an old rehab acquaintance, Sandra Reid, in the murder scheme. The scheme in which Abby would get lots of money despite Toby, her so-called boyfriend. He was going after the same money, was willing to give her some, but that wasn’t good enough for her. She intended to have the lion’s share, and any truthful lion will tell you Lion’s Share means all of it.

  Toby assumed he’d get the money and he assumed he’d get laid. He gets the money, gives some to her, and she puts out. What’s the problem? What he was going to get was dead.

  He was ten years younger than Abby, okay looking, and bursting with energy. Why let all that virility go to waste, she had asked herself. Why not make out with him a few times? Wait until he starts to cool off then shoot him. An interesting interlude, but she decided going directly for the gold was more important.