Mango Crush

by Bill H Myers

  “Still, the woman persisted. She wanted to repay me in some way. She asked me to come out to the parking lot with her so she could give me her phone number. She said I should call her if I ever needed anything.

  “I didn't think there was anything I'd need from her, but I went to her car anyway. It was a late model Lexus, light gold with a tan leather interior.

  “The woman opened the door, reached in and came out with a business card. She wrote her number on the back and handed it to me. She said, 'Call me if you need anything.'

  “She hugged me again, and she and her husband got into their Lexus and drove off. I haven't talked to them since.

  “When I got home, I jumped into the shower and forgot about the woman's business card. But later, I looked at it more closely and was surprised to see the front of the card had the logo of a major TV network. The job title under her name was executive producer.

  “All along I thought they were some poor, elderly couple who had come to the beach and run into some bad luck. But I was wrong. They weren't poor in either money or spirit. They were happy.”

  Taylor's story reminded me of something that happened while I was on the Treasure Coast. I, too, had met someone on the beach. A woman who had changed the direction of my life.

  I didn't tell Taylor, I just said, “Wow. That's some story. You did the right thing by finding their ring. And maybe it'll pay off. You said she works for a major TV network. Maybe she has connections that could help you find a job on another show.”

  Taylor shook her head. “I'm not going to call her. It wouldn't be right. And anyway, if you don't die on me, I've got a job. At least for the next few days.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  When Taylor mentioned her job, it reminded me that I needed to pay her. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the three hundred dollars I had gotten earlier.

  I held the money out. “Like we agreed. Three hundred dollars a day. Paid in cash.”

  She didn't take the money. Instead, she said, “We only worked half a day, so you only owe me one fifty. And you don't have to pay it today. We can settle up at the end of the week.”

  I shook my head. “You worked more than a full day. You arrived on time, you took me to the places I wanted to go, and you got me to the hospital when it was important.

  “You stuck around until the doctors were through with me and drove me back here.

  “It's after seven, so the way I see it, you more than earned the money. Please take it.”

  She shook her head. “I don't feel right about getting paid. I know we agreed on it, but it just doesn't feel right. I don't feel like I earned it.”

  I smiled and said, “You earned every penny. In fact, I feel bad about not paying you more. Take the money, and we'll talk about something else. Okay?”

  She shrugged, took the cash and quickly put it in her pocket.

  Then she said, “Earlier, I asked if you wanted me to stay the night. To be around in case something happened. You never gave me an answer, so I'm asking again. Do you want me to stay tonight in case you need a ride somewhere? I don't mind.”

  I shook my head. “I'm feeling pretty good right now. The meds have kicked in. I feel a lot better than I did this morning.

  “So I don’t think I need you to babysit me through the night. I do appreciate your offer, but I don't think it's necessary. I'll be fine. I'll eat dinner, watch the sun set over the gulf, and go to bed.

  “When you get here in the morning, if I don't answer the door right away, call me. I might be on the beach or in the shower. I'll have my phone with me, just in case. If I don't answer, feel free to kick the door down and come looking.

  “But I don't think that'll be necessary. I think I'll be up and ready when you get here.”

  Taylor nodded. “If you're sure you don't need me, I'll leave. Just don't die on me.”

  “Dying is not part of my plan, at least not anytime in the near future. But if I start to feel bad, I'll call you.”

  She nodded, looked around and stood. “I guess I'll be going.”

  She headed for the door, and I followed. She went out to her car and started it up, but instead of driving away, she turned off the engine, got out and came back to where I was standing.

  “Boss, do you mind if I leave my car parked here while I go out on the beach and metal detect? Your part of the beach probably hasn't been detected in years, and there's no telling what I might find. I'll go north to avoid the TV house, and I won't be out there for more than an hour. You can sit on the deck and watch me if you want.”

  I smiled. “You've got your detector with you? In your car?”

  “Always. Never know when I might find a good place to search.”

  “It fits in your trunk? How does that work?”

  She put her hands together. “It folds in half like this. Down to about the size of a tennis racket. I'll get it out if you want to see it.”

  She went to her Miata, opened the passenger door, and did something inside that made the trunk pop open.

  Then she went to the back, lifted the trunk lid and pulled out a tennis racket cover. She unzipped it and pulled out a metal detector.

  “This is my pride and joy. A Garrett AT Pro. Works on dry land and in the water. I've had it for three years and spent more time with it than I have with most of my friends.”

  I looked at her detector and nodded. It was the same make and model I had used on Treasure Coast.

  She pointed to a hinge device in the middle of the search rod. “See how it folds up? Just press the button on the hinge and it unfolds. To fold it, you press the button again. Then pull the search rod up to where it touches the coil. It's about half as long that way and easy to pack.”

  “Did the detector come that way?”

  “No, it's something I found on eBay. Called a ‘Fold and Go.’ Costs about fifty dollars. For me, it was well worth it. Without it, I wouldn't be able to get the detector in my car.”

  I liked what I saw. So much so that when I bought a replacement detector, I'd definitely add a “Fold and Go” to it.

  I didn't want to keep Taylor from the beach, so I said, “Go out there and find treasure. You can stay as long as you want. But with one condition. You have to promise to show me what you find.”

  She picked up her detector and said, “I will. And if you change your mind about me staying over, just let me know.”

  She went back to her trunk, pulled out a sand scoop and started to walk the path around the house that led to the beach. It was the long way around, with no stairs. To get to the water, she'd have to climb down a twelve-foot embankment then climb back up after she finished detecting.

  I called out to her. “Taylor, no need to go that way. Come through the house and use the stairs off the back deck. It'll be easier. Come back the same way when you're done.”

  She stopped and shook her head. “I don't mind going over the dune. If I go that way, I won’t be tracking sand through your house.”

  She was right, if she went over the dune, and then came back through the house, she'd leave a trail of sand on the wooden floors. But there was an easy solution and I told her, “Don't go off the dune. Go through the house. It'll be a lot easier. When you come back, take your shoes off on the deck. That'll keep you from tracking sand in.”

  "Whatever you say, boss."

  She followed me through the house and out onto the deck. We scanned the beach and saw it was deserted. Not unusual because the only people who could get to it were residents or guests staying nearby.

  I watched as Taylor went down the stairs and walked to the water’s edge. She powered up her detector, pressed a few buttons, and started going north, swinging the coil slowly as she walked.

  I watched until I heard my phone chime with an incoming call. Since only Taylor and Abby knew the number and Taylor was on the beach, it had to be Abby.

  Chapter Forty

  The first words out of Abby's mouth were, “Tell me you weren't at the hospital t
oday.”

  I didn't know how she knew, but I wasn't going to lie. “Yeah, I was there. Nothing serious though. The doctor checked me over and said I was doing fine.”

  I tried to change the subject by asking, “How are things going where you are?”

  She wasn't going to let me off the hook so easily. She asked, “What happened? How did you end up in the emergency room?”

  Rather than go into detail, I gave her the abbreviated version. “I had a headache. Thought maybe I needed to check it out. I went to the hospital, and the doctor said it was because I wasn't taking my meds.

  “They did an MRI and said everything looked good. They said I'd be fine if I took the meds as prescribed.

  “Before you ask, yes, I plan to take them. Any other questions?”

  As soon as I said it, I knew I had used the wrong tone of voice. I sounded angry and shouldn't have. Abby was concerned about me. I should have been grateful that she cared.

  I immediately apologized. “Abby, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. It's just been a long day.”

  There was silence for a moment, followed by Abby asking, “Tell me about your day. Other than the visit to the hospital, how'd it go?”

  I answered quickly. “It went pretty well. I spoke to the insurance company this morning. They're sending me a check for my motorhome. Not as much as I wanted, but it'll help.

  “While I was talking to them, they asked if they could use footage of the wreck in their TV commercials. They said they'd pay me ten thousand dollars if I agreed.

  “They're sending me the contract tomorrow.”

  Before I could tell her more about my day, Abby interrupted. “Don't sign the contract until I see it. It might screw up what I've got going on up here.”

  I was surprised with her answer. She had only briefly mentioned that the purpose of her trip could somehow be related to my accident. I wanted to learn more. “Tell me what you’re doing. I need to know.”

  She paused then said, “Walker, there isn’t anything to tell, not yet anyway. Just promise me you won't sign any contracts until I come back. It's important. If you sign the wrong thing, it could mess everything up.”

  Since she sounded serious, I said, “Okay, I won’t sign anything. But you've got to tell me what you're working on.”

  She paused again then said, “Okay, here's the deal. I met with the owner of the Corvette. He's the guy running for a Senate seat in New York.

  “When we met, he had his attorney with him. I guess rich people do that. Anyway, I talked about how the accident ruined your life and how the medical bills were piling up.

  “At first, they said it wasn't their problem. The Vette had been stolen, and they had no control over the actions of the thief.

  “I agreed with them about that. But I assured them they still had liability. They were the owners of the car; they were the ones who stored it in a way that it could be stolen, and they were the ones who should have known the car was a danger in the hands of the wrong person.

  “Still, they didn't want to accept any responsibility. They said they were sorry for your losses, but they weren't going to do anything about it.

  “That’s when I pulled out a New York Times poll that showed the guy was only a few points ahead in his Senate race. They had already seen the poll, so they weren't impressed that I had it.

  “Then I pulled out a mock newspaper front page with the headline, 'Senate candidate refuses to take responsibility for accident that put a man in hospital for ten days.'

  “I showed them the headline and asked, 'How would something like this affect your standing in the polls? Think the voters would like you more?

  “Then I mentioned I had a meeting scheduled with a reporter from the New York Times the next day, and I could give him the story. One of two ways.

  “I could tell them the accident was caused by a car the candidate owned and he is refusing to take responsibility for the damages.

  “Or I could tell them that, even though the candidate wasn't driving the car, he stepped up and paid the victim's medical bills.

  “I asked them which version they wanted me to give to the reporter. I knew what their answer would be, but they asked me to step out of the room so they could discuss it privately.

  “I went outside and waited while they talked it over. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I could hear someone shouting. Then the voices got quiet.

  “A few minutes later, the politician’s attorney came out and told me they had decided it was in everyone's best interest for the candidate to cover all your medical costs. They said they had already called their insurance company to make sure it was going to happen.

  “I knew better than to trust an attorney or a politician, so I asked if they would mind if I called the hospital to see if the bill had been taken care of.

  “They said, ‘Go ahead, call them.’

  “I called the hospital's billing department, told them I was your wife and wanted to know the status of your bill.

  “It took them a few minutes to look it up, but they were able to confirm an insurance company had called earlier and was covering everything. Even your latest visit. That's how I knew you were at the hospital today. They told me about it.

  “So, anyway, your bill has been taken care of. When I speak to the reporter, I'll tell them that the candidate did the right thing.”

  She paused, so I jumped in and said, “You're amazing! You got a New York politician to actually pay for something. That must be a first. I can't believe you got them to cover the hospital bill.”

  She continued, “That's the good news. There's some bad news too. When I asked them about paying for your motorhome, they stood firm. They said, 'No way.'

  “But then they let something slip. They said, 'Talk to the father of the kid who was driving. His office is not too far from here.'

  “They wouldn't tell me who the father was, but they did say he was a wealthy investment banker whose son was starring in a reality show being shot in Florida.

  “Since there aren't too many TV shows being shot near where the Corvette was stolen, I figured it was the one next door to us.

  “The question is who on the show has a father who is an investment banker in New York? If we can find that out, we'll know who the driver was.

  “I haven't seen the show, and don't know anything about it, but if I can find out who the father is while I'm still in New York, I could pay him a visit.”

  When she paused, I filled her in with what Taylor had told me. “I know who the guy is. His name is Chance. Chance Boudin. His father is bankrolling the show.”

  I could tell she was surprised by my answer because she asked, “Walker, how do you know that? Have you been reading TV Guide?”

  I laughed. “No Abby, I haven't been reading up on the show. But I had a chance to talk to one of the people working on it. She told me things like who's in it, the basic story line, and the money behind it.”

  Abby thought for a moment then asked, “So this Chance Boudin guy, the guy on the show, has a rich father? Do you know if the father lives in New York or what he does for a living?”

  I took a deep breath and said, “I'm not sure what the father does, but if I had internet, I could probably look it up. But I can’t; there's no internet here. Doctor's orders.”

  She laughed. “Good to know you're following at least some of what the doctor said. Too bad you didn't take the meds he prescribed like you were supposed to.”

  She continued, “I've got internet here. I'll look him up. If he has an office in the city, I'll see if I can set up an appointment to talk with him tomorrow. If I can, it'll probably mean I'll have to stay another day. But it would be worth it if I can get him to pay for your motorhome.

  “In the meantime, see if you can dig up any evidence that this Chance kid might have been the driver. Anything you can come up with might help.”

  Until Abby told me that the driver of the Vette's father was an investment banker in New York,
I hadn't even considered Chance as being involved in the wreck. I wasn't even looking for the driver. I was trying to find Bob and get my life back to where it was before the accident.

  But now that it looked like Chance might have been the driver, I needed to dig deeper. I needed to find an insider who could tell me more; someone like Taylor.

  Abby was still on the phone, so I decided it was time to tell her about her. I took a deep breath and said, “Abby, I know someone who's been working on the show. An audio technician. She's worked on every episode and knows Chance. Maybe I can get her to find out more.

  “She got fired earlier this week, and I hired her as my driver. I'll see her early tomorrow morning.”

  Abby was silent for a moment then asked, “This driver you hired, she's a woman, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Before I could answer Abby's question, I heard tapping on the sliding glass door leading out to the deck. I looked up to see that Taylor was standing there.

  She was grinning like a Cheshire cat and waving like she wanted me to come see what she'd found.

  Abby was still on the line, but I wanted to see what Taylor was so excited about, so I said, “Abby, someone's at the door. I've got to see who it is. I'll call you back in a few minutes.”

  Not waiting for her answer, I ended the call. Then I went outside to see Taylor.

  Before I could ask what she'd found, she said, “You're not going to believe this!”

  She leaned her metal detector against the deck railing and reached into her pocket. She grabbed something and pulled it out, keeping it hidden in her closed hand. She held her fist out toward me but didn't open it.

  She smiled excitedly and said, “I found this on the north side. Not a treasure, but more than I expected.”

  She opened her hand revealing five corroded pennies, a busted Hot Wheels car, and what looked like a child's promise ring. Typical beach finds; not anything to get excited about.

  Still, I didn't want to discourage her. So, I said, “You found a ring! That's pretty cool. Is it gold?”