The Deep Blue Alibi by Paul Levine

on purpose to throw off honest constables such as my
    own self?”
    “Yes,” Steve said.
    “No,” Victoria said.
    The whine of the Grumman’s props grew louder. The plane was about to splash down offshore, its nose pointed toward the beach.
    “Anything else, Sheriff?” Victoria asked.
    Rask made a show of removing his Oakleys, breathing on the lenses, and wiping them on his shirttail. “Now that you mention it, I did forget something.”
    “I knew it,” Steve said.
    They waited a moment as Rask slipped the sunglasses back on. Offshore, the seaplane hit the water with a splat and continued toward the beach. On the fuselage was a blue logo of cascading waves and the name “Oceania.”
    “Stubbs left his luggage in his room at the Pier House. Had a briefcase with the usual. Laptop, government papers, antacid pills. Plus forty thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills. Now, what do you suppose a civil servant was doing with all that money?”
    “Tipping big at Fat Mary’s?” Steve suggested.
    The seaplane rolled onto the beach, the pilot waving at them through an open side window of the cockpit.
    “We gotta go, Willis,” Steve said, above the noise.
    “Ah, almost forgot. One more thing. My dang memory …”
    “C’mon, Willis,” Steve said. “Give it up.”
    Rask shook his head, sadly, milking the moment. “That Stubbs fellow died this morning.”
    “Oh, shit.”
    “Yeah, Stevie. I figured you’d be broken up about it. And your guy Griffin? He’s facing a murder charge.”

Eight
     
    DEAD AHEAD
     
    The world was all blues and greens. The deep cerulean blue of the sky, the ever-changing turquoise of the water, the viridiscent greens of the endless string of wooded islands, fanning out like a string of emeralds in a balmy sea.
    Only Bobby seemed to be enjoying the view through the seaplane’s tinted windows. Steve was scribbling numbers on a pad, trying to figure how much they could charge for a murder trial, and Victoria was back on the cell phone with Hal Griffin.
    “Forty thousand in cash?” Griffin said. “Where’d Stubbs get that kind of money, Princess?”
    “I was hoping you’d know.”
    “Stubbs dying is bad. The money only makes it worse. Someone’s gonna say I was bribing the bastard.”
    “To do what?” Thinking Uncle Grif’s sympathy seemed to be reserved for himself.
    “Not that Stubbs didn’t hint around. Sees my house, says something about how he got into the wrong racket. Gets on the boat, same thing. ‘You builders got more money than Croesus.’ Jesus, Princess, this is just like with Nelson and me.”
    The mention of her father’s name startled her. “What do you mean?”
    “Those condo towers on the beach up in Broward. Some snitch claimed we were bribing zoning officers, but we weren’t. A competitor of ours paid the son-of-abitch to make it up. It’s one of the things that drove Nelson over the edge.”
    “What were the others, Uncle Grif?”
    “Aw, jeez, Princess. I’m not a shrink, and it was a long time ago.”
    She heard a voice in the background on the line, then Griffin told her a doctor needed to examine him.
    After the phone clicked off, Steve said: “Let me guess. Uncle Grif’s conscience cried out and he confessed.”
    “Do me a favor, Steve. When we meet Junior, drop the sarcasm.”
    “Why? Won’t he get it?”
    The Grumman swooped low over the crystalline water, the engines a peaceful drone. No one had spoken for thirty minutes—meaning it had been half an hour since Victoria reminded Steve she was sitting first chair—when Bobby shouted: “Dolphins!”
    They looked out the windows. Below them, two bottlenose dolphins leapt skyward, knifed back into the water, then leapt again. All in perfect unison.
    “Yeah, your buddies,” Steve enthused. Wondering if the dolphins were mates. Wondering, too, if the female complained, “Next time, I’ll say when we jump.” And was the male confused when she said she was tired of being treated like one