Page 37 of Hello, Summer
“Your mama was always the most stylish woman in town,” Conley said. “I always used to love her clothes.”
“I’ve got three big trash bags at home if you need some church dresses,” he said. “I still don’t have the heart to just throw ’em out.”
“Your mama was like a size 4,” Conley said. “I couldn’t get in one of her dresses if my life depended on it.”
“I doubt that.”
“Hey,” she said, deciding it was time to switch up the topic of discussion. “I detoured by the Bronson County Sheriff’s Office on the way into town earlier to pick up the police report on Symmes Robinette’s accident.”
“Oh yeah? Anything interesting?”
“Not really. I’m hoping to talk to the sheriff in the morning. Merle Goggins. You know him?”
Skelly shook his head.
“I need to find out if the cops have any idea of what caused that wreck. We sure didn’t see any cars coming or going, right?”
“Right.”
“And then, the obvious question is, what was a seventy-seven-year-old man doing cruising around way out in the boonies at that hour? The police report said Robinette’s house is someplace called Sugar Key. Where’s that? I’ve never heard of it before.”
“It’s a newgated communitysome developer built out at the end of Pelican Point,” Skelly said. “Very ritzy. Very exclusive. There’s an eighteen-hole golf course and a swim and tennis facility under construction, but only about nine or ten houses have been sold so far. From what I’ve heard, the cheapest house starts at around two mil.”
“Huh. From what I remember, Pelican Point has to be at least thirty miles from where we found that wreck,” Conley said. “And that’s mighty rich real estate for a Podunk place like Silver Bay. I wouldn’t have guessed there were that many folks with that kind of money living in this part of the state.”
“Believe it,” Skelly said. “They keep it low-key, but they’re around. I hear the CEO of GulfBanc has a second home out there, and a venture capital guy from Birmingham lives there full-time now. And of course Miles Schoendienst.”
“The railroad guy? From Atlanta?”
“Yeah. You know him?”
“I knowofhim. He’s a big political donor—supports both Democrats and Republicans, depending on the issue.”
“Huh,” Skelly said. “So that’s just Schoendienst’s vacation house? Damn! It’s huge. Must be at least ten thousand square feet. Right at the point where the bay meets the Gulf. But it’s so far off the road, you can only see it from a boat. It looks like a Spanish castle.”
“You party with the likes of Miles Schoendienst?” Conley asked, only half joking. “The drugstore business must be in way better shape than weekly newspapers.”
“Not,” Skelly said. “Family-owned pharmacies like mine are a dying breed. We can’t compete with CVS and Walgreens. Not to mention the online pharmacies. I’ve been out to Sugar Key exactly twice—both times, come to think of it, were to drop off prescriptions for Symmes Robinette.”
“You still make deliveries?”
“For old customers, yeah. Mom always said service was what separated us from the chain stores. We don’t advertise it, but I make deliveries if somebody requests it.”
Conley was intrigued. “What kind of stuff were you delivering to Symmes Robinette?”
“Nice try. You know about HIPAA regulations, right? There’s such a thing as patient privacy.”
“But this patient is dead,” Conley pointed out.
“Doesn’t matter. Let’s talk about something else, okay? I shouldn’t even have mentioned that he was a customer.”
“Was Robinette sick?” Conley knew she was pushing, but she couldn’t help herself. “Maybe that’s why he crashed the Escalade.”
“No comment,” Skelly said firmly.
“You’re no fun.”
“That’s what my ex always said too.”
