Daiquiri Dock Murder by Dorothy Francis

locked up before I left sometime around seven o’clock.”
    The replies to the chief’s queries were all of a similar nature until Ramsey’s gaze and attention focused on Dolly Jass.
    Dolly looked down as she patted the head of a black kitten that peeked over the edge of the straw tote on the floor beside her chair. If Ramsey or Lyon noticed the animal, they never let on. Nor did anyone else. I’d seen Dolly’s kitten many times around our hotel and it didn’t surprise me to see that she brought it with her.
    “Miss Jass, please give your full attention to my questions.”
    “Of course, Sir.” Dolly looked directly at Chief Ramsey, but she continued to pat the kitten’s head.
    I smiled to myself, wondering if the chief resented being upstaged by a kitten.
    “Miss Jass, when did you last see the victim alive?”
    Dolly looked around the room at each of us before again meeting Chief Ramsey’s direct gaze. She crossed her legs. She moved her tote bag to a spot on the floor near her left foot. I sensed her enjoying her moments in the limelight as everyone awaited her reply.
    Dolly reached down to give the kitten one more pat before she raised her eyes slowly and looked at Ramsey in the flirty way she reserved for most men. “I saw Diego late afternoon yesterday.” Her low sultry voice might have held the promise of a fun time to come, had she been speaking under different circumstances.
    “Saturday, right?”
    “Yes, Saturday. Yesterday. The afternoon before the Fiesta Fest parade.” Dolly lowered her gaze.
    “How late in the afternoon?” Ramsey asked. “Do you remember the exact time?”
    “Around five o’clock or perhaps a bit after five.”
    “Where were you at the time?”
    “At the Vexton’s Marina.”
    “Do you go there often at that time of the day?”
    “No, Sir.”
    “What were you doing there yesterday afternoon?”
    “I sat relaxing, sitting at an umbrella table a few yards away from the chandlery office and near the water. I took my time enjoying a cup of tea—hot tea, because a cloud bank covered the sun and an onshore breeze suddenly chilled me.”
    “Was going to the Vexton marina for late afternoon tea your usual habit?”
    “No. Not at all.” She fluttered her eyelashes, first at Brick and then at Ramsey before she continued. “I went to the marina yesterday afternoon to compose a poem—free verse—a poem about the sea. I need to surround myself with the subject I’m writing about in order to start my creative juices flowing. I also chose to go to the marina because I needed to get away from the parade noises and the rambunctious crowd taking over many of the streets in Old Town.”
    The chief nodded as if he understood, as if he, too, sometimes sought out quiet spots amid turmoil. “And were your creative juices flowing yesterday afternoon at the Vexton marina?”
    Was Ramsey making fun of Dolly’s response? Patronizing her? Either way, his question raised hackles in my mind. In most situations, I’m usually for the underdog. This morning Dolly displayed an innocent schoolgirl persona when answering Chief Ramsey’s questions. I wanted to help her stand up to this man, but I couldn’t. Not today. Not at this time. I kept silent.
    “No,” Dolly replied. “No creative juices flowed for me yesterday afternoon. Sometimes that’s how it goes, and I accept a writer’s block as part of a poet’s life. I merely nodded a greeting to Diego as he passed me on his way to welcome an arriving boat captain and help him claim his slip and hook up to an electric outlet. Soon after that I gave up creating a new poem and left the marina, biking to my room at the Vexton’s mansion with a blank notebook.”
    “Rafa Blue.”
    I jerked to attention, startled to hear my name when I expected the chief to have more questions for Dolly.
    “Rafa Blue.” Ramsey called my name again, pausing for a moment as he looked directly at me. “When did you last see the victim alive?”
    I tried to