by Cathy Ace
As we made our way to the car, I was aware of the fact Nina hadn’t answered my direct, final question. But she had given me a lot of food for thought.
Fishing and Floundering
Back at the estate, we all agreed to have a few minutes to ourselves, then to meet up beside the pool. I changed into my swimming skirt and tank top, then covered up with one of the lightweight flowy things I’d been all but living in prior to John and Lottie’s arrival, which had coincided with more regular rain.
Sheila and Lottie were already enjoying cool drinks beneath the largest cobalt-and-white striped parasol when I joined them. Sheila’s lean figure and short bob suited her canary yellow one-piece, while Lottie looked stunning in a white bikini that was barely there. I’ve never had the sort of flat tummy that allows a bikini to look good – well, not since I was about twelve, in any case – so I sat up as straight as I could when I joined them.
“Nina Mazzo is quite a character,” said Lottie as we all sipped our drinks.
Shelia nodded. “You could feel the energy coming off her in waves.”
“And still rather beautiful, even at her age,” added Lottie.
“What did you think about the information she gave us?” I asked eagerly.
Sheila gulped her drink then said, “She didn’t like Freddie, did she?”
Lottie laughed. “You’re not kidding. Did you see the way her eyes lit up when you described how his body was lying on the floor, Cait?”
I nodded. “I think she’d developed a healthy dislike for Freddie, but maybe that’s not so surprising if they’d been fighting over an access road for decades.”
“It seems downright mean of him to not let her have a better road to her place,” said Sheila. “I think it’ll take a week for my neck to get over being bumped around on that awful track. I wonder why he wouldn’t let her buy that piece of land from him so she could do a better job of it than he would.”
“Maybe we can carry out some enquiries at the local newspaper,” Lottie suggested. “They seem to have covered all the court proceedings over the years. I could track down one of the reporters, who might know a bit more than they actually published.”
Having found Lottie’s enthusiasm to be, initially, quite endearing, her constant volunteering to investigate was starting to grate on me. Yes, she was bright, but did she need to be quite so ebullient?
“Hello girls,” boomed Jack as he emerged from the Whites’ bungalow. “Had a good morning?”
Sheila popped up from her chair and gave her husband a peck on the cheek. “Fancy a drink, love?” she asked excitedly.
Jack squeezed his wife’s waist. “John’ll be along in a minute or two, I guess, and Bud had to do something with the fish, in the kitchen. We caught a good few – certainly enough for dinner for all of us – and decided to come back earlier than planned.” Jack sounded triumphant. “Bud said he’d bring beers with him when he came through. That’ll do me.” He kissed Sheila and she smiled.
I smiled too as I thought to myself, “They’re such a smashing couple – I only hope Bud and I are as happy as them when we’ve been married as long as they have.”
“I’ll catch John in our place, then,” said Lottie, rising and heading toward their bungalow. “Won’t be long.” And she was gone.
Jack rolled his eyes. “Young love?”
Sheila sighed. “Well, she’s young, alright. But John? Not so much. He’s your age, isn’t he, dear? Early sixties.”
Jack took a seat and chuckled. “Hey, so you’re saying I’m an old man? I think I have a few years on him, but Bud’s the baby boy here. Still in his fifties, lucky guy. You too, now Cait, eh?”
I managed a smile. “Just fifty, thanks, Jack. Rub it in, why don’t you.”
Sheila patted my arm. “Well, you’re lucky you made it at all, given what I understand happened in Budapest. Getting older isn’t fun, but it’s a lot better than the alternative.”
“Hear, hear,” said Jack, quickly followed by: “Good man!” when Bud approached with a collection of beer bottles poking out of an ice bucket.
“Fancy a cold one, Wife?” Bud asked as he dumped himself into the chair next to me. The wicker shook and creaked as he settled in.
“Why not?” I replied, noticing I’d already finished my Ting. Bud grabbed the long neck of a Red Stripe Melon beer from the bucket, snapped off the top and handed it to me. I would never have put money on me drinking a melon-flavored beer, which I initially thought sounded disgusting, but I shall miss it when we leave; they tell me you can’t get it anywhere but Jamaica. Maybe it’ll make it to Canada one day, then I can relive the wonderful memories I’ve had on the island by drinking beer – which is a pretty good idea as far as I’m concerned.
“So, what’s she like, this old movie star?” asked Bud, having downed almost half a stubby Red Stripe himself.
Sheila and I recounted our impressions of, and time with, Nina Mazzo for Bud and Jack. They made the most of the fact that Lottie was out of earshot to pepper us with questions about whether we thought Nina might be capable of killing Freddie. We all agreed it was unlikely – especially since we couldn’t work out how he could have been killed up in that tower, locked in, and all alone, in any case. Nina didn’t look as though she could have scaled the tower to get into or out of the room where he was found.
“The land dispute thing might be relevant,” concluded Bud. I told him about Lottie’s energetic offer to gather more information on that matter, and we agreed between us it would be a useful way to give her something concrete to do while we all freed ourselves up to do whatever else was necessary for the men’s mission.
By the time Lottie and John joined us, we were happy to move on to other topics, which was just as well because it transpired that Lottie had made a reservation for an early dinner for us at a place about an hour away that accepted fish you brought in yourself; they prepared and cooked it, then presented it with all the trimmings. We were due to hand over the catch of the day in a few hours’ time, so I scuttled off to freshen up and change my clothes. Bud offered to help, and a round or two of ribald comments ensued.
Closing the door of the bungalow that gave access to the pool area, thereby gaining as much privacy as possible, I asked Bud the question I’d been desperate to know the answer to: “So, did you find the papers you’re after?”
He laughed. “Calm down, Cait. Not yet, but we did finally get a concrete lead. We can follow up tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“After dinner. Has to be done around midnight.”
My interest was piqued. “Why around midnight?”
Bud sighed. “Can’t say.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“I know. Just trust me. It’s nothing bad.”
“Or dangerous?” I was immediately worried.
“Not at all. It’s just we need to see someone who’s easiest to locate around midnight.”
I pottered about in the bathroom, feeling left out of things, then stuck my head back into the bedroom – so I didn’t have to shout – and asked, “Can I come too?”
Bud shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t want you in harm’s way.”
I grabbed my chance. “You said it wasn’t dangerous. You’ve lied to me. Now you have to tell me the truth.”
Bud sat on the edge of the bed. He was quiet for a moment, then replied, “We’ve tracked down a man who might know where what we’re looking for was once kept safe. He might even know where it is now. His current circumstances mean the best time to have a confidential word with him is going to be around midnight. That’s all.”
“In what way would it be dangerous for me to come with you?” I pressed.
“Because only I am going, alone, so that I’m less conspicuous. Only one of us needs to talk to him.”
I gave his words some thought. “And this chap knows where you can find what you need?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.�
�
I felt frustrated. “Bud, can’t you give me a straight answer?”
“No, because I don’t have any answer other than that. Now, what about all this property ownership thing? Do you think it could be something to do with Freddie’s death? That he was killed to make it easier for this woman to get her hands on the land, or something along those lines?”
“You’re changing the subject. And I don’t know. Nina Mazzo wants to own a strip of insignificant dirt so she can build an access road to her property. She seems convinced that’ll be easier with Freddie gone, as does her lawyer, she said. But how could the desire to own one small piece of land lead to murder?” As I heard myself say the words, I realized how stupid they were and added, “I know – value is in the eye of the beholder, and if someone saw that strip of land as more important to them than Freddie Burkinshaw’s life, then they’d kill him to get it. But she could have done that at any time. And she seemed convinced she now had some new evidence that would give her a watertight case. So why now? Why not before?”
Bud nodded slowly. “It’s that aspect – the timing of his death – that bothers me. There’s nothing from the coroner yet, about the autopsy. I checked with…people who would know. Any news on what’s going to happen to the estate itself? If it’s not about a small bit of land, could it be about ownership of the entire estate? Could someone have wanted Freddie dead so they could get their hands on the whole thing?”
I ducked into the bathroom, and started the water running in the shower. “That’s much more likely. I could talk to Amelia to find out if she’s any the wiser about the inheritance situation – she might know.”
“When? We’re off out soon.”
I stepped into the shower rather than answering, because I don’t like to waste water. As I soaped myself, I reckoned I could get over to Amelia’s bungalow and back again before we needed to leave. Checking if we could use the Suburban again that evening would be good cover for a visit, and there was an outside chance someone might have been in touch with her about Freddie’s wishes regarding the estate.
Bud’s head appeared through the shower curtain. “Don’t be too long – I need to get in there too, and shave. My hours of fishing have left me a bit grubby.”
“I don’t believe you went fishing at all – other than for information. Where did you get the fish we’re taking with us tonight? Did you buy it down at the beach?”
Bud had gone and didn’t answer.
Morgan, Cait Morgan
I was approaching Amelia and Tarone’s home when I heard raised voices; the grandmother and her grandson were arguing. Rather than interrupt, I crept toward an open set of jalousies as quietly as I could and listened. Even though they were almost shouting I couldn’t catch everything; when interacting with us, they both used their best Jamaican-accented English, now they had reverted to the local patois. I’d taken every possible chance to listen to the wonderful Creole-based language as we’d traversed the island, but it’s difficult to pick up on all the nuances, and to understand all the vocabulary. That said, I thought my comprehension skills weren’t too shabby.
The gist of the heated conversation was that Tarone believed his grandmother should tell us all to leave the estate before our due date; that if she and he weren’t going to be paid, they shouldn’t have to look after us.
Amelia replied to the effect that Freddie’s lawyer had already told her they would be paid in full for the time we were due to be at the estate, so they should continue with their duties. So, Freddie’s lawyer is in the picture. I wonder who she or he is, and what she or he might know.
Amelia was pressing home her point that she and Tarone would have a safe future on the estate. I edged forward. Why does she sound so sure of herself, even in the face of Tarone telling her she’s talking rubbish?
I crunched some shells on the edge of the path. The couple stopped shouting, and I had no choice but to call out, “Hello? Anyone there?”
Amelia came to the front door, which she opened. “Mrs. Cait, how are you? How may I be of service?” She sounded a little out of breath.
I smiled – probably too broadly – and flapped my arms about a bit. “I just wanted to check on how you’re doing. Are you coming to terms with things at all? Tarone, too, of course…if he’s in.”
Tarone joined his grandmother in the doorway. “We both here, you see it,” he said. His tone had an edge to it I’d never heard before.
“Good, it’s wonderful to have family to rely upon at a time like this,” I said, beaming. “And, well, we wondered if we could borrow the Suburban for the evening. Would that be okay? We’ll drive ourselves, of course. You can stay with your grandmother, Tarone. We wouldn’t dream of asking you to leave her.”
“Of course you can. Not our Suburban. It for paying guests,” he snapped.
Amelia smiled nervously. “My boy worry ’bout how things be here, now Mr. Freddie gone,” she said quietly.
I took my chance. “But of course, you must both be concerned. Have you heard anything about what will happen to the estate itself? To you two?”
“We gonna always be here. This is our home,” said Amelia with confidence. Or was it bravado?
“That’s good,” I replied. “Do you know that Freddie left provision for you, in his will?” I hoped I wasn’t going too far.
Amelia continued to look nervous. “Mr. Freddie always tell me we be looked after when him gone. Him know this is our true home. Him make sure we be safe. Secure.”
Tarone looked down at his grandmother with a glint in his dark eyes. “You don’t know this, Granny. Him owe us nothing. Him gravalicious, too.”
I wondered what Freddie had ever done to make Tarone think of him as greedy. “Why gravalicious, Tarone?” I asked.
Tarone sucked his teeth and turned away. “She know,” was all he said as he loped inside.
I looked at Amelia, hoping I was radiating sweetness and light. “Mr. Freddie seemed to be quite a generous host,” I opened.
Amelia smiled demurely. “Him always good with guests,” she said, studying her toes.
“Maybe his lawyer will tell you what his will says sooner than you think,” I said brightly.
“Him already tell me I’s to come to him office tomorrow,” said Amelia, still not making eye contact. She finally looked up. “If you don’t be needing it at that time, we could use the vehicle. Maybe Tarone him drive me. Him can miss training for one day. Kingston a long way on the bus,” she added.
I took my chance. “I’d be happy to drive you myself. I could do with one last visit to Kingston. We only have a few days left before we go home – there must be some bits and pieces I can pick up before I leave.”
Amelia’s eyes grew round. “Oh no, I couldn’t be askin’ you to drive me, Mrs. Cait. Tarone will do it for his old granny.”
“Not at all, it’s no bother. What time’s your appointment?”
“Half nine. Sharp, him said.”
I did a bit of calculating; the drive, parking, washroom before meeting. “How about we leave here at seven, then? That should do it. We can take the A1 highway pretty much all the way; that’s the way Tarone took us when he drove us there a few weeks ago.” Even as I said it, I was a bit horrified at the prospect of such an early start.
“You a kind woman, Mrs. Cait. Thank you. I bring the snacks and drinks.”
I was alarmed that Amelia thought we were going on such a long journey that we’d need refreshments, but was delighted I’d managed to create a potential opportunity to hear about the contents of Freddie Burkinshaw’s last will and testament as soon as possible. I felt rather proud of my underhandedness; Bud would be pleased at his non-CSIS-trained wife’s natural abilities to gather intelligence.
“You all goin’ off the estate tonight, then?” asked Amelia, sounding a little more like her usual cheery self.
I explained about the fishing trip – in all its fictional glory – and named the restaura
nt we’d been booked into by Lottie. Amelia sucked her teeth – something I had already learned meant, in her case, that she was thinking hard about something. I wondered why the restaurant’s name had caused her to react this way, and was immediately concerned about hygienic food handling.
I had to ask. “Is there something wrong with the place we’re eating? Is it not clean?”
Amelia looked me up and down, almost as though she were seeing me for the first time. “Not bad. You like it. Big plates. But I think it hard for Miss Lottie to go there. Her father had bad blood with the old man who ran it. Him son there now. Growed up with Miss Lottie back in the day him did. Might still be bad blood.”
I tried to wrap my head around what Amelia had said. “Miss Lottie grew up here? In Jamaica?”
Amelia sucked her teeth again. “Mr. Freddie tell me I not to say I know her when she come, and I do as him tell me. I hear her talk to all you good people and she say she come here for holidays. Them some long holidays. She here for years. Go to that fancy private school for rich kids, along the way there. Her father, him come here sometimes, but her mother with her here all the time.”
I wanted to make sure I’d understood. “Lottie and her mother lived here in Jamaica for years, and her father would visit?”
Amelia nodded.
“How old was she when she left?”
Amelia closed her eyes. “’Bout sixteen, I think. Look like a little kid, then. Not like now. Now she curvy. Then she straight.”
I laughed it off. “I’ve only just met Lottie, so maybe I’ll talk to her about her time here on the island this evening, at dinner. Though if you say there were problems between her father and the father of the man who runs the place where we’re due to eat tonight, things could be a bit awkward. Do you know what the problem was?” Please know!
Amelia stepped toward me and leaned in. “Everyone know. Her father try to get the restaurant away from the man who own it. Irish man. Drank. The man dead now. Son a lawyer, and him own the restaurant these days.”