Wild Secret

back to the station, and JD filled out a report. Afterward, we caught up with Denise.
“You’re going to find this interesting,” she said. “I dug into your yoga instructor friend.”
“He ain’t my friend,” JD said.
“His real name isn’t Aaron Pennington.”
JD and I both lifted a surprised brow.
“Who is he?” I asked.
"I went to the yoga website, grabbed his picture from their instructors’ page, then ran it through the facial recognition database. His real name is Aaron Patterson. And, he was a person of interest in another murder."
Denise had our full attention.
"Apparently, he was having an affair with a married woman in Pineapple Bay. Her husband was shot during a mugging, and the woman collected a $1 million insurance policy. I talked to Deputy Hooper, who worked the case. He said they looked into Aaron, but they couldn’t make anything stick. The woman's name was Vanessa Redman, and her husband was Ray. Deputy Hooper said that her relationship with Aaron didn't last long after Ray's death. As soon as Vanessa got the insurance money, Aaron talked her into investing in a startup that went bust."
"Sounds like Aaron might be a con man," I said.
"Ellie is set to inherit a sizable sum,” Denise said. “Factor in her survivor pension, the 401K, the basic life insurance, plus the supplemental policy Chuck bought, Ellie will be well taken care of.”
“And I’ll bet Aaron has his eye on all of that,” JD said.
“So, Aaron staged Ray’s death to look like a mugging gone wrong,” I said.
"That's the theory. Hooper thinks Aaron was working with an accomplice. I told him I'd keep him posted about the situation here. And before you ask, I double-checked ballistics. There is no connection between the Ray Redman murder and Chuck."
“I think Ellie needs to know who she’s dealing with,” I said.
“I hate to say it, but she may be in on it,” Denise replied.
I frowned. I didn’t want to think that way about Ellie. “You got the number for Vanessa Redman handy? I think we need to have a little talk."
"I sure do. Also, Brenda tracked down the shipping info of that barrel Skyler was found in. The sodium hydroxide was shipped to a soap company here in town that went out of business in the ‘90s. It was owned by Randy Murdoch at the time, then later sold. The warehouse they operated in is now vacant. Randy still lives here in town. I'll send you his address along with Vanessa's contact information. Randy Murdock is close to 80 now.”
I looked at JD. Randy could be our married man. He was the right age.
We left the station and grabbed a bite to eat at Gators before heading over to the Breakwater Estates to speak with Randy Murdoch. It was a nice community filled with French Colonial houses in pastel colors with plenty of palm trees and picket fences. It wasn’t Stingray Bay, but it was nice.
On the drive over, I called Vanessa Redman.

25
Vanessa didn’t want anything to do with me. All I could get out of her were a few unsavory words about Aaron before she hung up. Hell, if I conspired to have my significant other murdered, I wouldn’t want to talk to a deputy either.
Randy Murdoch lived in a villa with a Spanish tile roof. A 6-foot wall surrounded the property, and there were wrought-iron gates at the pedestrian entrance and driveway.
A carport kept the sun off a black Mercedes. Palm trees and other foliage shrouded the house. He’d clearly done well for himself in the soap business. The two-story home had a pool out back and was a little oasis just two blocks from the beach.
We parked at the curb, pushed through the wrought-iron gate into the courtyard, and climbed the steps to the front porch. I rang the bell and waited for a response.
Mrs. Murdoch peered through the distorted privacy glass in the door and asked, “Who is it?"
I flashed my badge. "Coconut County. Is Randy available?"
She pulled open the door and eyed us with suspicion. "He's not here right now. He's at the country club, playing golf. Might I ask what this is in reference to?"
She was a frail woman, close to 80, with a slight hunch to her back. She had a narrow face, bushy grey hair, and thick glasses. Her skin hung on her bones, spotted with age.
I didn't want to give away everything just yet. "We think your husband might be able to help us solve a cold case."
That seemed to pique her interest.
I pulled out my phone and showed her a picture of Skyler from the yearbook. "Do you happen to recognize this girl?"
She studied the image, looking down her nose through her multi-focal glasses at the image. "I can't say that I do."
The remote gate opened, and a white Mercedes drove inside the compound.
"That's Randy now," Mrs. Murdoch said.
Randy parked the car, killed the engine, and climbed out. He gazed at us with curiosity. He walked around the trunk and ambled down the path toward the main steps.
"Randy, these gentlemen are here from Coconut County. They want to talk to you." She had an uneasy tone in her voice.
Randy grabbed hold of the handrail and climbed the steps to the porch. He was pretty spry for a man of his experience.
We made introductions and shook hands.
"What seems to be the trouble?"
"No trouble," I said. "As I was telling your wife, we're just trying to wrap up an old cold case."
Randy smiled. "Anything I can do to help."
I showed him Skyler's picture. He squinted and studied through multi-focals of his own. I watched his face carefully for any hint of a reaction or recognition. He kept a stone face. "Nope. Don't know her. Who is she?"
"Skyler Locke?"
A wave of recognition washed over his face. “That’s the girl they found in the barrel, right?" He looked at the picture again. “Now she looks familiar. I just saw that on the news the other day. But I didn’t have my glasses on