Free Octopus Alibi by Tom Corcoran Page B

the police on child-abuse charges if she didn’t wait her turn.”
    “Maybe she should’ve been a cop instead of a news liaison.”
    We both quit talking, and thought about what we’d been saying. An idea came to mind. “Marnie, who found Naomi?”
    “I asked that question, too. The police weren’t sure. The call came from Naomi’s home. The officer I talked to figured that a neighbor found her. He said that a lot of people didn’t want to get caught up in legalities. Maybe she had a housekeeper.”
    I shook my head. “No woman as active as Naomi Douglas would need a housekeeper.”
    Marnie shrugged and stood to leave. “She was always on the go, maybe she didn’t want to spend time cleaning. Knowing Naomi, we also could guess that she employed someone who needed the money.”
    “Was it a woman’s voice or a man’s that called?”
    “You’re not going to believe this. The call came through on a line that wasn’t recorded. The dispatcher who took it couldn’t recall if the voice was male or female.”
    *   *   *
    I was unlocking my bike when I heard the phone ring. If I waited three more rings my answering service would pick up. I had eighteen seconds to decide: win big or lose big. I got it just in time.
    Jack Spottswood, attorney-at-law. “Alex, have you ever been executor of an estate?”
    “I’ve been called some bad-ass things, but never that.”
    “Guess what. You’re up to bat. Naomi Douglas named you in her will.”
    “Why would she leave me money?”
    “That’s a minor part of it. What I’m getting to is that she asked that you handle her estate, the financial details. As executor, you’ll get a set fee. But don’t go ordering a new car.”
    “Don’t executors get asked or warned in advance?”
    “Most of the time, yes. Not this time.”
    “When do I execute?”
    He asked if I still lived on Dredgers Lane.
    I told him I did.
    “Can you come down to the office about three o’clock? We can go over the papers.”
    I said, “Tell me about the time factor.”
    “You got a conflict?”
    “I leave tomorrow for a seven-day job in the Caymans.”
    “Come down here and sign papers, I can put this in motion. Some of this can take weeks and months. The sooner I start it, the better. The rest, we’ll do it when you get back.”
    She had planned it, and I had to laugh. Naomi would be part of my life, and I would stay part of hers. Amazing woman.

7
    I RECALLED THE WORK crew in 1998, tossing chunks of drywall and flooring into a Dumpster at the Fleming Street curb near Duval. The West Key Bar had been one of the classic wood-floor saloons on the island, but there is a huge difference between classic and classy. It’s amazing what plans, paint, glass and cement will do. The first level is now a glitzy clothing store. The Spottswood law offices are upstairs. A lot of old woodwork remains in salute to the structure’s history. Today’s pale walls, mahogany furniture, and office art would baffle the old bar crowd.
    I sat in Jack Spottswood’s office while he finished two calls and rejected a third. He asked a woman named Robin not to interrupt unless his daughter called. He sat back in his leather chair and took a deep breath.
    “There won’t be a funeral, Alex.”
    “We could pack a church,” I said.
    “That was Naomi’s decision. She left a directive letter with her will. The only thing she wanted was a gathering on Louie’s Afterdeck. There’ll be a jazz group, champagne, and six tables of hors d’oeuvres. Anyone who cries has to donate a hundred bucks to AIDS Help and leave the party.”
    Perfect, I thought. “Her sense of style plays on.”
    “It does. She had fun on this island. She put a lot into it, too, but I don’t have to tell you that.” He checked a file. “Her body’s at the funeral home on Simonton. They’ll cremate. We didn’t want to taint the directive, so she gave me verbal instructions. She wanted her ashes scattered at Woman Key.”
    “This is a