I looked at my phone again. Birdy Tupplemeyer, Joel Ransler, and Tomlinson had all left phone messages, but it was Birdy’s number that I had selected. My thumb had remained poised, though, while Mica talked. The question I was asking myself was Is he exploiting the truth or does he believe what he’s saying? because much of what he had said was true.
Exploiting, I decided. It didn’t take long to make up my mind.
MICA HAD GOTTEN some coaching. It showed when he went into his sales pitch, telling me, “Picture a whole room showing what the Smith family did for Florida. Old photos of your Aunt Hannahs, your grandfolks, all the famous Smiths.” He used his hands to create a wall for me to imagine. “Your granddaddy’s fishing gear, that would look good up there, too, wouldn’t it? Same thing for my family-a place where tourists could enjoy our family’s pictures and antiques.”
I wondered if he’d practiced these lines on Mrs. Padilla and the others while he continued, “Then you got your Browns and Weeks families. The Padillas, the Hamiltons, and Joiners-you know all the names. Hell, the Woodrings alone should have a whole room. Same with the Chatham family and the Colliers-don’t matter they’re rich or poor,” Mica smiled while his eyes sought my approval.
“The Chathams, huh?” I said, suddenly more interested. “Are they paying to have this museum built?”
“Everybody’s got to chip in. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.” Mica stood straighter, his smile broadened.
I had to smile, too, when he said that. “You were never known for fairness, Mica Helms. Tell me the truth. How much you charging Loretta and the others to get into this museum of yours?”
Before he answered, he studied me, his manner now asking Can I trust you? It was his reluctance that told me my suspicions were accurate.
“What you’re really doing,” I said, “is tricking old people into signing over their property, aren’t you? Especially waterfront. That’s why your mother moved out of Munchkinville, I’d bet. She signed over her cottage, then you got her preaching to her friends and handing out donation forms. Mica”-I tried to stop myself but couldn’t-“Mica, did it ever cross your mind that your mother might still be alive if she’d lived closer to her friends? I’m not going to let that happen to Loretta!”
He glared a glassy warning, then tried to settle himself by lighting another cigarette. He smoked and paced in a circle, but he was too mad, and too mean, not to punish me for guessing the truth. Finally, he stopped and faced me. “You always did act like Miss High-and-Mighty. Well, let me tell you something, girl. You’re just mangrove trash, no better than the rest of us.”
I deflected the insult by replying, “If that’s true, maybe I’d understand why you’re stealing from your own people.”
Mica pretended to give that some serious thought, then seemed to drop his guard a little. “Well, honey, truth is, I ain’t the dumb little kid you remember. I figured something out. Back in the day, folks around here made money. I’m talking piles of cash. Now that they’re old, most of ’em are happy to donate to a place that will show off their family history. Plus it helps ease the guilt they feel-which I’m sure you already know.” He let that sink in before adding, “Mamma was tickled pink to help spread the word about Fisherfolk. Same with your own sweet Loretta. So I don’t see it as stealing.”
What was that supposed to mean? I told him, “I didn’t hear you mention any pot haulers on your list of names.”
“Didn’t I?” he said, and gave me a look that asked How can you be so damn naïve? At last, I understood. He was hinting that Rosanna Helms and Loretta had both been involved in smuggling drugs.
“That’s cruel, even for you,” I said. “Your mother’s not even in the ground yet, and Loretta hated boats. Still does! Show some respect!”
Mica laughed that away while a silky wink came into his tone. “Instead of fighting me, you could be helping collect donations. I wouldn’t expect you to work for free. You’d be paid on a percentage basis-like all charities do it. Hannah-han”-he spoke my name as if I was already a conspirator-“some of our people had so much cash lying around, they didn’t know what to do with it. You think they put it in banks? You think they paid income tax on that money? Hell no! They hid it-and killed more than one man to protect what they were doing.”
“You’re talking about your father,” I said.
“Goddamn right I am! Didn’t you hear me say folks around here got reasons to feel guilty? Daddy was a mean sonuvabitch, but he wasn’t dumb. Think how much you could sock away if you made ten, twenty million cash, and didn’t pay the IRS? If I’m right, someone owes us both. Think of this as collecting your inheritance, ’cause that’s the way I see it.”
Once again, taxes had been mentioned, but that ended the conversation as far as I was concerned-and also explained why Mica Helms might have ransacked his own mother’s house. Hunting for cash, hunting for something. I started toward the gate while tapping numbers on my phone.
“Hey… hey! Who you calling?” Mica followed, the cigarette clinched between his teeth.
“That sheriff’s deputy,” I replied. “I’m less tolerant of bullying since Friday when you chased me with an axe. Or was it him?” I looked toward the trailer, but Spooner had vanished from the steps.
“You’re crazy!” Mica hollered, but then surrendered in a rush by promising to return Loretta’s donations if I hung up the phone.
Too late. Birdy answered, saying, “You better not be backing out. My friend loaned me his night vision dealie.” She was talking about the plans we’d made for tonight.
I remained formal. “Deputy Tupplemeyer, you said I should call if I had any problems at the junkyard.”
Mica groaned and spun away while the redhead became all business. “If you’re in trouble, give me a landmark, I’m on my way. In danger, say something about-shit, I don’t know-say your watch broke, that’s why you’re late. Then pretend to hang up-but don’t.”
Looking at Mica, I said, “No trouble so far, but you asked me to check in. Can I call you back in twenty?”
“Is this about that charity scam?”
“Seems so.”
“You’re trying to scare some asshole,” Birdy guessed. “No problem. I’ll call you back in five. Put your phone on Speaker before you answer.”
I replied, “Well, if you’re already in Glades City, that’s fine,” and hung up.
Mica was lighting another cigarette, his nerves and starving brain on overload. “Shit, that’s just dandy. I give you a chance to make some real money, but you go crying to the cops anyway!”
I pointed to the metal building and said, “Not if we find Loretta’s things in there. Otherwise, the deputy and I are just meeting for lunch.”
“Lunch! With a cop?” Mica studied me, suddenly suspicious. “You stay away from that storage barn. Hear me? It’s up to Harris whether he gives us the keys or not.”
For the first time, I took a real look at the building: corrugated roof and siding, with sliding doors like a garage but bigger, and they were padlocked. Against an outside wall was a stack of car batteries and piles of trash that included metal cans-the kind that hold paint thinner. I sniffed the air and suddenly understood why the area had a nasty chemical smell. The building was probably a meth lab.