Murder at the Canaveral Diner (A Florida Murder Mystery Novel) Read online

  MURDER

  AT THE

  CANAVERAL DINER

  JAY HEAVNER

  Canaveral Publishing

  Murder at the Canaveral Diner, Jay Heavner. Copyright 2019 Jay Heavner, All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, except where noted, are

  products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual

  people, living or dead, places or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other form or

  for any mean, electronic or mechanical, including

  photocopy, recording or any information storage system, without permission from the author.

  Formatting and cover design by Fineline Printing, Titusville, Florida

  All of the author’s books can be obtained from Amazon Braddock’s Gold Novels Braddock’s Gold Hunter’s Moon

  Fool’s Wisdom

  Killing Darkness

  Florida Murder Mystery Novels Death at Windover

  Murder at the Canaveral Diner

  Dedication

  To the men and women of the Brevard Sheriff’s Department serving our county.

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to my wife, Vivian, for suggestions and proofing.

  To Dutch Staggs for his helpful ideas and honest review of the unfinished project.

  Thanks, William Rowland for the first proofing.

  To Dan Mason and Cindy Foley, both fellow authors, for words of encouragement.

  And a special thank you to Wayne Stinnett for his advice and help, above and beyond.

  CHAPTER 1

  It was almost high noon when Bill pulled his pickup truck in front of the ancient trailer. Sweat ran down his chest and darkened his uniform. He looked through the open vehicle window, and he didn’t like what he saw. Quietly, he slipped out of the truck, checked his gun, and blackjack in his hip pocket. In his left hand, he held a manila envelope containing the legal paperwork. The fence gate was dummy-locked as he knew it would be, so he let himself in. The yard was a mess. Tall dog fennel grew up everywhere along with the invasive Brazilian pepper bushes.

  With stealth, he walked down to the trailer. He heard a menacing growl and stopped. “Hello, K9. How long are we going to continue this charade? I know you better than that. I forgave you for what you did to my truck.” The dog growled again, but with little intensity, laid her head down, and closed her eyes. “I thought so.” Bill smiled at the dog, opened the door of the screened porch and entered. He turned to the wretch sleeping in the La-ZBoy chair and shook his head. Bill kicked the chair.

  “Wake up,” he said firmly. The wretch shuttered in the chair, opened one bloodshot eye, and said, “Not you again.” The eye closed and he resumed sleeping. Bill had figured this wasn’t going to be easy. He waited a moment. The unkempt man began to snore, and Bill kicked the chair harder this time. “I said wake up.”

  The man jolted in the chair. His head covered with stringy hair and a week or two beard growth turned toward the voice. His eyes opened. “Oh, you’re still here. I thought you were part of a bad dream.”

  “I’ll be your worst nightmare if I don’t see some cooperation and respect.” “Okay, Flatfoot. You have my attention. I got to get me a dog. Never know what kind of riff-raff will creep in.” “You got a dog, remember? I helped you get her from the dog pound after your other one died. You remember? The one who pooped and vomited all over my truck?”

  “Oh yeah, that dog.” He smiled. “That was kinda funny.” “I still hear them call me ‘Stinky’ behind my back because of you and that little dog. Ain’t funny at all, Roger. Not at all.” “She ain’t much of a watchdog that’s for sure.”

  “She was when it counted. You’d be pushing up daisies now if it wasn’t for her.” “I can’t argue with that. Why are you bothering me, anyway? I ain’t done nothin’ wrong for you to come around here unannounced without a warrant and harassin’ a peace-loving citizen. Go away.”

  With all the patience he could muster, Bill said, “As an officer of the law, I’m doing a wellness check on someone who needs it.

  Do yourself a favor and cooperate.”

  The wretch seemed to be considering his options. “Oh, alright. What do you want?” “Well old buddy, I’ve been worried about you. You’re back to where you were when I almost had to use the powers invested in me by the State of Florida and drag you kicking and screaming into the local drunk tank and get you sobered up.

  You were doing much better when you had a cause, a reason to get up, and now look at you. You look like death warmed over, like something the cat mauled, and dragged in. I hate to see you wasting your life away. You’ve got so much to offer.”

  “My life to waste ain’t it? After all, I ain’t done punishing

  myself yet, so there.” “What would your wife have to say if she saw you like this?” From Roger’s expression, Bill could tell he’d gotten the drunken man’s attention. “You like to go for the jugular, don’t you?” Bill said nothing and Roger continued, “I don’t think she’d be very happy. Have you been talking with Rabbi Katz?”

  “Not for a while. Why?”

  “When you sent me to see him when we were working the case of the murdered girl found in the pond, he said something like that to me.” “Sounds like the good rabbi. Hey, you got any beer in the frig?” “Sure do. Get yourself one, but aren’t you on duty?”

  “I clock myself out one microsecond before the can hits my lips and back in when the can is empty.”

  “Sounds about right. Get me one too.” “Will do.” Bill went into the trailer and soon returned with two cold ones. He gave one to Roger. They popped the tabs and took long sips. “Good and cold and a great price, too,” Bill said.

  “Yeah, cheap just like you my friend, Chief of Police Bill Kenney. Really now, what brings your sorry carcass over to my humble abode? This ain’t no fitness checkup is it?”

  “It is, and I do have an ulterior motive.” “Thought so. What is it?” “As you know, I never un-deputized you after we finished the Windover case.”

  “No, you didn’t. Like to got me killed too.”

  “So officially, you’re still a member of the Canaveral Flats Police Depart- ment.”

  “Guess I am. Get to the point.”

  “Here. Look at this.” Bill handed him the manila envelope. “Open it.” Roger did as he was told. It contained several sheets of paper. He started to read out loud, “Summary. Missy McCoy was murdered September 14, 1980, at the Canaveral Diner, Washington Avenue, Titusville, Florida. McCoy was the manager and was closing up late that night alone. She was stabbed twenty-three times.” He stopped. “Just like old Julius Caesar, twenty-three times.”

  “Keep reading.” Roger resumed, “Twenty-three times post-mortem with a large kitchen knife found at the scene. Subject bled out over a drain. There were signs of sexual trauma, but no semen was recovered. Her body had no defensive wounds. Subject was nude, and her clothing was neatly piled on the floor nearby.

  Her left nipple had been cut off. No signs of forced entry were found at the establishment. Cause of death could not be determined.” Roger looked at Bill. “This is weird. No signs she put up a fight or any kind of a struggle. Nude, sex, and neatly folded clothing. If it was some kinky sex, you would have expected clothes thrown all over the place. No forced entry to the building and no real clues as to who done it. Why are you showin’ this to me?”

  “I know you’re a firm believer in justice and this woman’s killer needs to be brought t
o justice.” “Agreed, and you want me to find the perp?” Roger said. “You got it. I know of no one else in the area with your qualifications and tenacity when he puts his mind to it.”

  “Kind of like Mission Impossible? Here is your mission should you choose to take it and they always do.” “I was hoping you’d look into it.”

  “Same pay as last time?” “Guess so.”

  “Well, thanks for nothing, again.” Roger flipped to the next piece of paper and read, “Suspects-Bill Kenney, Jim Odom, unknown.” With surprise, Roger said, “You were a suspect? Why?”

  “She was my girlfriend until two days before her murder. We had a loud argument when we broke up, so I had motive.” “What about an alibi?” “None I cared to provide.”

  Roger looked at him with suspicion. “Who’s this Jim Odom?”

  “Her ex-husband. It wasn’t a pleasant marriage or divorce, but it was short. After a whirlwind romance and marriage, the infatuation died, and they found they hated each other. He had motive, but an alibi.”

  “What about this unknown person or person of interest?” Roger asked. “Police securing the scene felt they were being watched by someone or something. They heard noises in the brush behind the restaurant, but could not tell if it was human or animal created.”

  “So why do you want me to look into this especially if your name was number one on the list?”

  “I have my reasons,” Bill said. “And what if I find you done it?” “I know you’ll follow this wherever it leads you.” “You better believe I’ll do that, if I take it.” Bill grinned, “I know you will. Gotta go, old buddy. Duty calls. See ya.” “Wait a minute. I need more info on this case.”

  “I know. You have an appointment with the new cold case unit of the sheriff’s department down at their office on Merritt Island at 2 in the afternoon, not tomorrow, but two days from now. Ask for Agent Hernandez.”

  Roger snarled, “You dog. You dirty, mangy dog. You knew all along I couldn’t resist.” “Yup, I was counting on it. And get a shave and haircut and a bath. Put on some clean clothes. You look like a pig, and as a member of the Canaveral Flats Police Department, you must be presentable at the meeting. Don’t disappoint me.”

  Roger swore under his breathe. “What’s that you say?” Bill asked. “You really don’t want to know.” “I thought so. Like I said, I have to go.”

  “More like you better leave before I rip you a new one,” he muttered. Bill walked to his truck and drove away.

  Roger said, “Well dog, looks like I done got suckered into it again. What do you think?”

  She opened her eyes, growled deeply, and showed her canine teeth. “Yeah K9, that’s exactly how I feel right now, but it looks like my curiosity’s already in overdrive and runnin’ hog wild.” He paused. “And old Bill has me just where he wanted, but why?”

  CHAPTER 2

  Two days later, Roger pulled his truck into the parking lot of the Brevard County Sheriff’s Department off Courtney Boulevard on Merritt Island. The back of his shirt was wet with sweat from the Florida heat in the unair conditioned truck.

  The traffic on the Beeline also known as State Road 528 had been mov - ing well in spite of the tourists heading to the beach and nearby Kennedy Space Center. He’d caught a great view from the high bridge crossing the Indian River of the huge Vehicle Assembly Building, better known as the VAB, and many of launch towers at the rocket ranch, as the locals often referred to the government area.

  A cold rinse off in the shower and a trim to his overgrown beard and hair at Larry’s Barbershop improved his appearance and grooming some. He’d lunch at Umpa’s instead of his usual liquid diet, and he was feeling pretty good. Marsha had been there and made a special effort to stop and talk when she could. Running a restaurant with hungry customers coming and going wasn’t easy work. A beer at nine in the morning had satisfied his thirst and should hold him over till later after this meeting ended.

  He walked across the sweltering parking lot and felt instant relief when he opened the door to the building. “May I help you?” a young woman asked from behind the information counter. She spoke with a heavy Deep South drawl.

  “Why, yes. I’m Roger Pyles. I have an appointment at two o’clock with Agent Hernandez.”

  “Okay, Mr. Pyles. I was told to send you right in. Take the stairs up to Room 220. Y’all expected.”

  “Pardon my saying so, but I haven’t heard many accents like that around here. Seems like so many people are transplants

  from someplace up north like me even if I technically lived just south of the Mason-Dixon Line.” She smiled. “No, there’s not too many of us left. I’m fifth generation Floridian. My folks came down here just after the Civil War. The Space Center was what started the big change around here. This whole area used to be a sleepy place till the ‘60s when the boom started. Ain’t no goin’ back now.”

  “Guess not. What’s your name, Miss…?”

  “It’s Charlotte. I was named after the city. I have sisters Savannah and Florence, and a brother named Jackson.” “All named after cities?” “No, just us girls. My brother was named after my dad. His name’s Jack, and so my brother became Jackson.” “Any others in the family?”

  “Just my brothers, Beau and Leroy.” “Good southern names.”

  “Daddy always wanted a big family. He believed like the Psalmist, ‘Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them.’ And my mom’s name was Olivia.”

  “That’s definitely not a southern name.” “Nope, unless it’s south Italy. Not too many people get to pick and choose their names.” She grinned. “Bill said you’d be coming. He described you to a T.”

  “So you know Bill Kenney?”

  “Everybody knows Bill.” Her grin grew larger.

  Roger wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue this line of questioning any longer. “Could you point me to the stairs?”

  “It’s over there through the oak fire door. At the top of the stairs, turn right. Hernandez’s office is second door to the right.”

  “That should give her a great view of your parking lot, but it’d also be a good place to see a rocket launch.”

  “It is, but the rooftop is even better. You better get going, or you will be late. Hernandez is a stickler for time.” “Thanks.” He bounded up the stairs taking two steps at once. Someone had propped open the fire door at the top of the stairs. He went through the open space and to the second door on the right. It was closed. He rapped on the door. “Come in,” a voice said.

  Roger did. A woman with light olive skin and dark hair pulled back in a bun sat behind a desk. She was writing on a yellow legal pad. Her white blouse accented her figure. She said, “Please take a seat. Be right with you. Get yourself a cup of coffee if you like while you wait.”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He poured a cup into a white Styrofoam cup, sat back down, and took a sip. “Good coffee.” She continued to write as he waited. “I’m here to see Hernandez. I have an appointment about a cold case.”

  “I know,” she said. “Is he in?”

  She stopped writing and looked at him. “I’m Hernandez, Agent Gloria Hernandez.”

  “Sorry,” Roger said surprised. “No disrespect meant.” “None taken. You’re not the first one who’s done this. I’ve got a pretty thick skin from working in this line of work with all the testosterone flow- ing around me daily.”

  “I expect you would.”

  She smiled, and he looked at her strangely. “What?” she said. “You seem to have a question.” “Yeah, you look familiar. Have you ever been to Las Vegas?” “Yes, twice. Once on pleasure and once on business.”

  “Was the business one a forensics symposium?” “Yes, it was. How did you know?” “I was there. You and I spent every free moment we had together, most of it undercover between the sheets, and your last name wasn’t Hernandez then.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Would you shut the door, please?” Roger did as asked. He wasn’t sure what to expect next. He sat back
down. “Yes, I remember,” she said. She was trying to keep a straight face, but a look of surprise and maybe even pleasure betrayed her. “I’d almost forgotten. Can we keep this to ourselves?”

  “Yeah, I think we can try to keep this professional, though it may be a little awkward at times.”

  “Agreed. I think I need to do a bit of explaining.” “Whatever you care to share.”

  She cleared her throat. “I was going through a very rough time in my life. My husband had just left me for another woman.

  Seems he’d been playing the field the whole time we were married.” “The old story about how you’re the last to know,” Roger said. “Exactly. I’d been faithful to that bastard the whole time, and I was angry when we met at the bar after the seminars the first night.”

  “I remember. It was at the blackjack table, and we hit it right off. You asked me if I was Sam Elliott. I get mistaken for him all the time.” “Yes, I remember that conversation now,” she said. “I have a devil of a time convincing some people I’m not him. Anyway, we were pretty well plastered when we left for my room, and I think we were up about five hundred bucks.” “We were. And I wanted to get even with that son of a bitch cheatin’ husband of mine.”

  “And that’s where I came in.”

  “Yes. Roger, I don’t want to make it sound like any gigolo would have worked. I truly enjoyed the time we were able to spend together, and the sex made it even better. You were what I needed, and I’m glad we met.” “Yeah, we did have a good time there. This is gonna complicate it, but I do want to try and keep it professional and only professional as I said.” “Agreed. And the reason for my different name?” she said. “I took my maiden name back after our divorce. So tell me, what’s been new with you?”

  “Is the nutshell version okay with you?” “Sure,” she said. “Go for it.” “I went on with my training in forensics, helped solve several cases in the area where I live up north, met the girl of my dreams, and married her. The liberal university where I worked as a professor was trying to get me fired because I started to think and ask questions. I was no longer the politically correct good ole boy like them and became persona non grata. They tried to get rid of me. I fought back. It wasn’t pretty, and in the middle of this, my wife and our two-year-old son were killed in a car wreck. I was devastated and still not over it now. In the middle of this, the university offered to settle. I had no fight left in me, and I took it. Been living down here for the last year, me and Jim Beam, till Bill Kenney drafted me to help him with the Windover case.”