Pineapple Turtles

by Amy Vansant

  “Sonuva—”

  Declan, standing in Mariska’s foyer with Abby and Izzy on leashes beside him, jumped at the sound of the voice. He turned to find Bob walking through the door.

  “Hey, Bob.”

  Bob looked up, seeming equally as surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?” he looked down and pointed. “That’s my dog.”

  Declan chuckled. “Yep. Charlotte went out of town and she left Abby with Mariska. Remember?”

  Bob grunted.

  Declan paused until he realized that was all the answer he was going to get. “I thought I’d swing by and give the dogs a walk before heading home.”

  “It’s late.”

  “I closed up the shop and did bills for a bit. Catching up.”

  “Good, good.” Bob sighed.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Aah.” He waved his hand through the air as if swatting at a fly. “Some guy came to the bar talking about T.K.”

  “What’s T.K.?”

  “Not what’s. Who. The Tomato King.”

  Declan recalled the sign touting the freshness of the tomatoes of The Tomato King. He’d passed it a million times over the years. “Oh, that farm out there off three-oh-one?”

  Bob nodded. “He died. T.K. Couple of weeks ago.”

  “You knew him?”

  “He was a Gopher.”

  “Your drinking group?”

  “It’s a lodge.”

  “Right. Drinking group.” Declan grinned.

  Bob tried not to, but the corner of his mouth curled up for one brief second and he leaned forward to take Izzy’s leash. “Give me my dog, you smartass.”

  Declan laughed and handed him both leashes before leaning down to unclip them. The dogs had already sensed they were in for a story and sat down.

  “So you said someone came in looking for T.K.?”

  “Yeah. Looking to serve him papers, kicking him off his land.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah, yikes. His wife, Elizabeth, is still there. Tommy, Mac and Frank went out there to see if they could help.”

  “And you feel bad you didn’t go?”

  He nodded. “I was already late. Mariska would have—”

  As if invoked, Mariska appeared from the lanai.

  “What are you two doing? It’s late. Let the boy go home, Bob.”

  Bob grunted.

  “They both did their thing,” said Declan, motioning to the dogs.

  “Thank you.” Mariska’s gaze returned to Bob. “He saw me struggling out there trying to walk two dogs and helped out. You were too busy out drinking.”

  “There was an emergency,” said Bob, not looking at her.

  She scoffed. “Emergency need for a drink.”

  “No, someone’s trying to kick T.K. off his land.”

  “T.K.’s dead.”

  “Kick Elizabeth off then, you know what I mean.”

  Mariska put her hands on her hips. “Well, that makes more sense now.”

  “What does?”

  “Frank called Darla and Darla called me. He told her to tell me to tell you to meet them at T.K.’s in the morning. They’re staying overnight to keep watch. I didn’t get why at the time, but now it makes more sense.”

  Bob nodded. “Okay. Will do. You can send it back up the wire that I’ll be there.”

  “You can send it yourself. Who was that who brought you home?”

  “Herbert. He was going to watch House Hunters with me but he changed his mind.”

  “Lucky for you.” Mariska headed down the hall toward the bedroom. “Come on, dogs.”

  The dogs stood and trotted after her.

  “Sounds like you’re literally in the dog house,” said Declan to Bob as she walked away.

  Bob frowned. “You are a smartass. Hey, you wanna come?”

  “Where? The Tomato Farm?”

  “Sure. Why not? You working tomorrow?”

  “Not until four.”

  “Okay. Come pick me up. You can help us protest.”

  Declan smiled. Thanks to a small problem with his heart which resulted in low blood pressure to his brain and the occasional fainting spell, Bob had recently stopped driving. Or more correctly, Mariska had informed him he wouldn’t be driving until he got his pacemaker. She didn’t want him nodding off at the wheel.

  Bob hated spending the money on cabs, so Declan had a good idea why he’d been invited to join.

  “Don’t think Mariska will drive you to the farm to protest with your buddies?”

  He frowned. “Not a chance. Come on. It’ll be fun. There’ll be beer.”

  Declan laughed. “Sure. Wouldn’t miss it. What time?”

  “Like seven?”

  “In the morning?”

  He nodded.

  Declan looked at his watch.

  So much for sleeping in.

  “Sure. See you at seven.”

  Bob nodded and started back up the hallway. “I’d like to be there at seven, so come a little early.”

  Declan nodded. “Sure.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Charlotte opened the door to her hotel room and stood at the entry, admiring it.

  So cute.

  Crisp white sheets peeked out from beneath a coral-patterned quilt. Sea turtle-themed art graced all the available surfaces, each item perfectly treading the line between art and Florida kitsch. A canvas painting of an orange sunrise peeking between the pilings of a tall pier hung on the wall above the bed, surf crashing in the foreground.

  Beach-themed rooms usually leaned towards tacky, but whoever decorated her room had taste. Charlotte was impressed, and a feeling of well-being settled over her. All thoughts of her odd experiences downstairs washed away with the surf in the painting.

  Charlotte tossed her duffle bag on the luggage stand and frowned at it.

  The room was too nice for duffle bag.

  I need to upgrade my luggage.

  She took a few minutes to lay out her bathroom things and freshen up. Feeling as if she’d been given the chance to start the day anew, she stood by the window and gazed down at the gently flowing waters of the Intracoastal Waterway. The sizeable lawn below separated the hotel from the water, where several boats sat docked at each of three piers. A pelican sat on one of the pilings trying to choke back a fish as big as its head.

  Charlotte took a deep breath and released it slowly. She took a photo with her phone and texted it to Declan before slipping the device into the pouch of her thin hoodie.

  Let’s do this.

  She spun on her heel and headed back downstairs, hoping the concierge had returned to her station at the desk.

  What was her name again? Something sort of sexy and exotic-sounding…

  Angelina.

  Sounded like a World War II Italian femme fatale. She hadn’t looked that old, though. Maybe early sixties.

  If Angelina hadn’t returned, Charlotte decided she’d go get some food and then hope to bump into her on her return. If she was avoiding her on purpose, she wouldn’t be able to hide all day.

  Charlotte was still thinking about the pelican on the piling and its chances of swallowing that enormous fish, when the elevator doors opened and she found herself staring at the back of a woman’s head.

  Dark hair. Sitting in the concierge’s seat.

  Helloooo, Angelina.

  She strode out of the elevator and, after a passing urge to park herself behind the chair so Angelina couldn’t scurry away again, stationed herself at the front of the desk like a normal human being. A tiny Yorkie sleeping in a faux-fur bed on the corner of the desk rose to its feet. The woman put her hand on the dog’s butt to hold it in place and looked up at her, smiling with bright white teeth. The dog and the grin melted away any irritation Charlotte might have harbored.

  How could someone with that dog and that smile be up to no good?

  High cheekbones, full lips, stormy blue eyes—Angelina had all the hallmarks of an aging beauty. There was no doubt s
he was the knockout in the photograph she’d admitted to being on the phone.

  Charlotte assumed Angelina lived and worked in Florida full time, but she wore dark tights and red boots with a V-neck black sweater that did an admirable job of promoting her cleavage. The outfit seemed wintery for the Sunshine State in any season, but as a fellow Floridian, Charlotte knew the locals’ blood tended to run thin. Fifty-five degrees in Florida was like sub-zero in other parts of the country. She guessed, though, the woman had come from a chillier clime originally, and never lost her love of black clothing.

  “Can I help you?” Angelina asked, her expression open and guileless. She looked as if nothing would make her happier than recommending a nice place to eat lunch.

  If only it were that easy.

  “Hi. Are you Angelina?”

  “Last time I checked.”

  Though the answer could be filed under smartass, the smile, again, made it impossible to receive the line as anything other than playful.

  “Who’s your friend?” Charlotte motioned to the dog. The Yorkie had sat beneath the weight of her mother’s insistence, but she stomped her front paws to show her need to say hi.

  “This is Harley.” Angelina gave up holding the dog in place, and she trotted across the desk to get pets from Charlotte. When the love-fest ended, the Yorkie returned to her bed, and Charlotte pulled the newspaper clipping she’d found in the attic shoebox from her pocket. She unfolded it and pointed to Angelina in the photo.

  “Is this you?” she asked.

  “Oh, look at me,” said Angelina, resting her chin on her hand. “I loved that shirt. I wonder what I did with that?”

  Angelina beamed at the photo with such longing Charlotte found herself wondering what the woman might have done with the pretty blouse in the picture before pulling her mind back to the task at hand.

  Time to get to work.

  “I’m Charlotte Morgan. I called asking about Siofra?”

  “Mm.” Angelina’s grunt rang neither positive nor negative. She remained staring at the photo.

  “Is this her?” Charlotte moved her finger to another beauty, this one younger and unsmiling. Her eyes weren’t on the camera, but looking at something to the left of the photographer. “Or maybe this?” she moved to another woman in the photo about the same age. This one was blond and smiling, chipmunk cheeks humped beneath her eyes.

  Angelina looked up at her and licked her lower lip. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

  “Charlotte Morgan.”

  “Morgan. That’s a nice last name. Like Captain Morgan. Are you heir to the Captain Morgan fortune? Can you get me a discount?” Angelina laughed.

  Is she purposely trying to dodge my question?

  Charlotte forced a chuckle. “Different branch of the family, I’m afraid.”

  Angelina shrugged. “That’s okay. I don’t drink rum anyway. I might switch if you gave me a discount, though.”

  Charlotte waited a moment, hoping the silence would start Angelina talking.

  I’m not going to forget what I asked you.

  Angelina’s expression shifted, as if she’d heard Charlotte’s inner dialog. “Where did you get this picture? It’s old.”

  “I found it in a box in my grandmother’s attic.”

  “Really? She maybe stayed here? Kept it for her scrapbook?”

  “Maybe. But everything else in the box was about a girl named Siofra. I couldn’t help but think she was one of the people in this photo.”

  “Your grandmother?”

  “No. Siofra.”

  Angelina grimaced. “Hm. I’m embarrassed to say I haven’t had a chance to ask around about a Siofra since you called. I apologize. Right after I got your call some things came up—small emergency in the kitchen—you know how it goes. I wasn’t expecting you to stop by.”

  “I had to come over here on business anyway.” Charlotte swallowed.

  Why did I lie?

  “Oh? What do you do?” asked Angelina.

  Crap. Now she takes an interest. Figures.

  Charlotte said the first thing that came to her mind.

  “Health Inspector.”

  She did her best not to cringe. Angelina had just mentioned the kitchen, and it triggered her brain to say she was a health inspector. Maybe she wanted to intimidate Angelina a little. The woman knew something. She could feel it.

  Angelina laughed. “Uh oh. Are we in trouble?”

  “No, I’m here for a conference.”

  “In Jupiter Beach?”

  Charlotte nodded.

  I have to get off this topic before I dig this hole any deeper.

  “Do you know any good places in town to eat? I should grab some lunch before, uh, my meetings. I guess you have a restaurant here?”

  “Would I tell you if we did?” Angelina winked.

  She actually winked.

  On any other person the effect would have been cheesy and off-putting, but, somehow, it only endeared Angelina to Charlotte.

  What is it with this woman? She’s like a siren.

  “Just kidding,” continued Angelina. “We’ve got nothing to fear. For one, we don’t have a restaurant—just light room service and bar snacks. But if you’d like to go out, I have a list here of different places that offer lunch.” Angelina opened a drawer and pulled out half a white sheet of paper to hand to her. A list of restaurants and their cuisine type lined the page, printed in a large font for easy reading.

  “Great.” Charlotte let her eye run over the list as if it was totally absorbing. “I’ll go grab something to eat. In the meantime—”

  “I’ll see what I can find out for you,” finished Angelina.

  “That would be great. Thank you.”

  “Mind if I keep the photo to show around?”

  Charlotte glanced at the newspaper clipping. It was the only evidence she had of her mystery aunt and she felt protective of it. On the other hand, it would be unreasonable to ask Angelina to ask around about the photo without the photo.

  “Didn’t you say you had a copy?”

  Angelina seemed amused. “I do. Somewhere. But it would take me the entire time you’re gone to find it. I’m not what you’d call an organized person.”

  Charlotte shifted, trying to keep herself from snatching up the photo.

  Somehow, I think you’re a very organized person.

  Her fingers twitched but she found a way to stop the urge.

  Let it go. No reason this woman would steal the photo.

  “Okay. Sure. Of course you can keep it. I’ll see you when I get back?”

  “I’ll be here.” Angelina stood and moved in front of the desk. She put out her arm and draped it over Charlotte’s shoulder, nudging her forward to walk her toward the front door.

  “I’ll find someone who remembers something about this photo. We have a very loyal staff. Many of them have been here since the beginning.”

  Behind them, Harley yipped once, obviously to show her annoyance at being abandoned.

  “That’s great. The, uh, rooms are adorable,” said Charlotte, unable to think of anything else.

  “Thank you. We aim to please.”

  Angelina tripped on her high heel boot and Charlotte shifted her weight to catch her.

  “Are you okay?”

  Angelina laughed. “Old wooden floors. Little lumpy.” She patted Charlotte’s back hard enough to come just short of pushing her toward the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Charlotte nodded and left the hotel.

  “Crabgrass kittens,” said the doorman, tipping his hat.

  She turned. “Thank you.”

  He smiled.

  “Stuffing.”

  Charlotte strode to her car and sat inside with her hands on the wheel for as long as she could until the first bead of sweat began to drip from her hairline. She’d parked in the sun, so it only took about two seconds.

  Did she trip on purpose to make me catch her? To make me care about her?

  She put he
r key into the Volvo and turned up the air-conditioning.

  I think I’m going crazy.

  Chapter Twelve

  Angelina watched Charlotte leave the resort. Once the old Volvo had crunched out of the stone parking lot, she stood and scurried over to Croix, who’d been watching their interaction and trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t.

  Harley barked again.

  “Shush it.” Angelina handed Croix Charlotte’s phone. “Open.”

  Croix smiled at the stolen item.

  “Nice move.”

  She took the phone and stepped into the back. When she returned she had a black gadget in her hand, which she plugged into the bottom of the phone. A minute later she handed the phone back to Angelina, unlocked.

  “Ta da.”

  Angelina flipped through the device.

  “Boyfriend, I’m guessing,” she said, holding up the phone so Croix could see the picture of a young man in swimming trunks on the screen.

  Croix’s eyebrows raised. “Wow. Hottie.”

  Angelina nodded and scrolled through some text threads. “Not too shabby. Declan. Nice Irish name. She’s got a dog, Abby. Mariska. Mother? Maybe. What was the passcode?”

  “You just said it.”

  Angelina looked up. “What?”

  “One, two, two, twenty-five.”

  She cocked her head. “Twenty-five?”

  “A-B-B-Y. One for A, Two for B, Y is twenty five.”

  “Ah. Remind me I need to teach you to count cards. We’re going to make a fortune.”

  Croix giggled.

  Angelina crooked her finger, beckoning to the girl with a long, crimson-painted nail. “I need everything you have on her.”

  “I have her room key.”

  “Big deal. I have the master key. What about her credit card?”

  “I told her we trusted her.”

  Angelina rolled her eyes. “You have to stop doing that. We can’t actually trust everyone. It’s a business.”

  “Yeah, yeah. But half the people here—”

  “I check them in personally. Don’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  “You check in the civilians. Those people need to give us a credit card.”

  “Got it.” Croix looked crestfallen and then perked. “Look at the back of the phone.”

  Angelina flipped over the phone and saw the edge of a plastic card peeking out from a slit in the leather. She pulled it out and frowned.