The Deadly Ackee

by Joan Hess

  “Yeah, it’s totally mind-boggling.” Biff went to the window and looked down at the pool. “What have the police found out about Mary Margaret? Do they have any theory about what might have happened to her? I mean, it’s been less than twenty-four hours since she vanished, but something could have happened to her.”

  “I have the feeling that they’re not especially worried about her, that they continue to believe she disappeared for her own reasons,” said Theo. He noted the tautness of Biff’s shoulders as he added, “I have not yet told them that her father received a ransom demand this morning.”

  Biff spun around, a shocked expression on his face. “Holy shit! She’s been kidnapped? What does that mean, Mr. Bloomer? Shouldn’t we do something? Is she in danger?”

  “Kidnap victims are usually in some danger,” Theo said, wondering how Biff had made it through the entrance exams for his school—or even primary school. Nursery school. “I have some doubts that she was taken against her will, however. We were all sitting on the terrace, and we would have heard something had she been grabbed from behind. Count D’Orsini would have heard a scuffle, or even a muffled cry. He claims to have heard nothing, and Sitermann says he saw no traffic along the street.”

  “But, wow, a ransom note …” Biff sank down on the bed and stared blankly at the small pink hearts sprinkled on his shorts. “How much? Did old Win have a coronary when he saw the figure? Has he sent the money?”

  “Dorrie’s mother told him to ignore the demand, and she would not have tolerated a coronary in the breakfast room. She told me to deal with the situation from this end, and to bring Mary Margaret home intact.”

  “Have you figured out what you’re going to do, Mr. Bloomer?”

  “Not with any sense of direction. Any suggestions?”

  “No, sir. This is just an absolute mess, isn’t it? I think I’m going to start locking my door at night. But now that Eli’s dead, we won’t have anyone to keep the gate locked. It could be dangerous without any security system.”

  “Are you proposing to take charge of security?” Theo asked curiously.

  Biff gave him a bewildered look. “Me? No, sir. But I will call the police and tell them to station a man at the gate. If they’re toads about it, we can have that real estate woman send over a new man. After all, we’re paying for a full package of servants. There’s no reason why we ought to settle for anything less than that.”

  “Of course not,” Theo said. He put down his glass and went downstairs to see if Amelia and Emelda had returned. They had not. He considered calling Gerry, but opted instead to retreat to the terrace and let things proceed of their own accord. They seemed to be doing so despite his best efforts.

  When Dorrie joined him, he pointed to a photograph in one of the brochures Gerry had left for them. “I am thinking about taking the tour of Rose Hall,” he said. “It’s not far, and it promises to be interesting. Would you care to join me?”

  “A guided tour of an old house?” Her complexion, charmingly radiant, paled. “Uncle Theo, you know how much I detest being led around old places with a herd of sweaty tourists right off the street. I always get tired, and those guides absolutely expire if you so much as glance at a chair. It’s not as if I haven’t sat on Chippendale since I was a toddler. My high chair was Regency.”

  “This house has quite a legend, my dear. It seems the mistress murdered three husbands, took numerous lovers, had slaves beheaded, and generally spilled a lot of blood until her slaves revolted and murdered her in her bed.”

  “Really?” Dorrie said, covering a yawn.

  “Rose Hall is a restored plantation great house, built in the late-eighteenth-century Georgian style. Also, it is rumored to be haunted,” Theo persisted. “Annie Palmer’s grave is in the East Garden. I would like to catch a glimpse of a garden, even one marred by a grave.”

  “Oh, I am being beastly! I swore I’d go to all those gardens, didn’t I? You were a dear to come with us, and I ought to be a good sport and go with you.” Her lower lip crept out in a delicately girlish pout. “It’s just that I’ve made no progress to speak of on my tan. With all these policemen stomping around, I haven’t had any time at all to relax and work on that hideous white line across my back. But I will go with you if you wish, because you’re my very favorite uncle.” She studied him through her eyelashes as she produced a coy smile intended to disarm him.

  “Good,” Theo said, picking up the brochure and tucking it in his coat pocket. “Get your purse; I’ll meet you at the car.” He went down to the driveway and bent over to examine the air pressure of the tires, being careful to avoid any glances in the direction of the terrace. He did hear a sharp exhalation of breath, followed by a despondent word or two, and footsteps that seemed to drag across the surface of the terrace and ultimately into the dining room beyond.

  “How long will this take?” Dorrie asked as Theo parked behind a tour bus.

  “The tour lasts only half an hour, unless we chance upon a ghost or two. You can compare the furniture here with that of your mother’s, or simply sit in the shade while I explore the garden.”

  Dorrie eyed the group of tourists coming around the corner of the house. “Schoolteachers from Iowa,” she said under her breath. “I’m going to spend hours and hours and hours in the company of schoolteachers from Iowa. I should have made Biff come along, but he was acting very odd when I went by his room. He was as nervous as a junior golfer at his first tournament. What on earth could be wrong with him, Uncle Theo?”

  “He might be upset about the murder of someone he knew,” Theo suggested as they walked toward the house.

  “We’re all upset about that. I’m hardly accustomed to spending the night in dreary, grimy police stations, or having my lingerie pawed by policemen in Bermuda shorts. But I haven’t allowed that to cast a nasty shadow on my spirits, have I?” She caught Theo’s arm and stopped him. “Do you think he’s all distraught about Mary Margaret’s disappearance?”

  “I told him of the ransom note,” Theo said, nudging her back into motion as a tour bus bore down on them. “It’s quite normal to be concerned when one of your friends may be in danger.”

  “Friend,” she muttered under her breath, sending a malevolent look at the group spewing forth from the bus.

  They followed a guide dressed in a print skirt through the great house, obediently eyeing the furniture when instructed to do so, then went to the East Garden to ponder the grave of the Witch of Rose Hall. Dorrie had been quiet the entire time, and Theo was not surprised when she suggested they find a place to sit in the shade for a serious conversation.

  “What do you think is going on, Uncle Theo?” she asked once they were perched on a low rock wall. “Who left the poisoned rum for Eli? If Count D’Orsini didn’t, then someone else did. I can’t imagine either Amelia or Emelda having any reason to do him in, but it has to be someone with access to the villa. Do you suppose that real estate woman is involved?”

  Theo tugged at his beard for a moment. “She is a very good friend of Count D’Orsini and might do almost anything to save him from the clutches of the police. But the murder of Eli increased D’Orsini’s peril, rather than alleviated it.”

  “But it alleviated someone’s peril. The exchange of the film protected the identity of D’Orsini’s so-called associate. Don’t you think it was the same person?”

  “We have at least three unknown factors. Someone took an ackee from the kitchen and used it to poison a bottle of rum. We shall assume, for simplicity’s sake, that the same person then either presented it to Eli as a gift or left it in his room. That’s one person.” Theo held up a finger. “Someone exchanged the film from Eli’s camera with another. That’s two.” As he held up a second finger, he caught her sudden frown. Hurriedly, he added, “The mysterious business associate was implicated by the film Eli shot and might have chosen extreme measures to avoid blackmail. That’s three—unless any of the said factors are one in the same.”

  “Let’s g
o back to number two,” Dorrie said. “Eli couldn’t have taken that film; you yourself said as much earlier this afternoon. He was probably on my balcony that night to photograph the goings-on next door, but he didn’t take the shots of the unclad walrus.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her voice grew icy as she continued, “There’s only one other person at the villa with a camera, Uncle Theo. That person has been behaving very strangely lately. That person—”

  “Hey, could you do us a favor?” A woman in shorts, a T-shirt, and a straw hat approached them. “I hate to interrupt, but we’re, dying to get a group shot of all of us, so we can show it to our colleagues in the teachers’ lounge when we get back to Boise. Would you take a picture of us in front of the witch’s grave?”

  “I would be charmed,” Theo said, standing up to accept the proffered camera. He abandoned his niece, who was now growling with the vehemence of a pit bull terrier, and trailed the woman across the garden. He waited patiently as the group, identified through their chirps as Carolyn, Mo, Belinda, Angela, and Esther, jostled each other into position. When they had satisfied themselves, they produced bright smiles and Theo took the shot.

  “Let’s do a really goofy one,” one of them suggested. “After all, this witch was a first-class murderer, and we ought to go for the drama of the locale. How about if I’m strangling Esther in front of the house, while the rest of you cringe in the background? Mr. Wooten would love it.”

  “You’re perfect as the witch,” another said, laughing, “but I’m not sure I can play one of your husbands. Let Belinda do it—her voice is deeper and she does have that darling little mustache.”

  “I beg your pardon! I do not have a darling little mustache. I spent a fortune on electrolysis, and you couldn’t find a hair on a bet.”

  “How much do you want to bet, sweetie?”

  “How about your pension, honey?”

  With a vague smile, Theo returned the camera to its owner and went to find Dorrie. She was in the same position, as if made of marble, although he could detect a faint line across her forehead. Her expression was as stony as the wall on which she sat.

  “Biff took those photographs, didn’t he?” she said as Theo sat down beside her. “He took a whole roll of Mary Margaret in the flesh, so to speak.”

  Theo nodded. “Once I examined the angle from your balcony, it became obvious the photographer was stationed in the center of the upstairs story, rather than the corner. I confronted your young man, and he admitted it.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “He asked me not to,” Theo said apologetically. “He did not want to upset you any more than necessary.”

  “How totally considerate of him.” Dorrie snatched up her purse and began to stalk toward the parking lot. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he had kidnapped Mary Margaret and stashed her in a love nest in some seedy hotel,” she added as Theo caught up with her. “They arranged for the ransom note to be delivered to dear old Daddy, hoping to take the money and elope to South America or some such primitive place. Eat tamales and watch the sun set over the ocean. Servants to bring those icky drinks with umbrellas in them. Silk sheets and—” She broke off with a gulp, then ducked her head to wipe her eyes with a trembling hand.

  “Now, Dorrie,” Theo said, alarmed at the un-Caldicottish public display of emotion. “It was a boyish prank, very typical of the mentality. Boys do buy magazines with photographs of … of women in disarray, but it hardly implies they’re sex maniacs or conspirators in kidnap schemes.”

  “Right.” She got in the car and slammed the door. “I’d prefer to return to the villa now, if you don’t mind.”

  “How about a nice drive along the coast? It might give you an opportunity to cool off before we go to the villa.”

  “Why ever would I want to cool off, Uncle Theo? I’m perfectly composed at this moment.”

  In that her words had been spat from between clenched teeth, Theo was less than convinced. He saw no way to divert her, however, so he put the key in the ignition and turned on the engine. He was fumbling with the gear shift when a hand rapped on his window. A florid face loomed over the windshield, grinning gleefully.

  Theo reluctantly rolled down the window. “What, Sitermann? We were about to leave, and it’s too warm for idle discussions.”

  “I saw you with those lovely ladies with the dimpled knees and luscious rumps, you old Romeo, you. Are you trying to set a record for wooing women in paradise?”

  “They requested that I take a group photograph. I did. Now, if that’s all, we’re leaving. You may follow us if you wish, since it seems to be your favorite hobby these days. Perhaps it will help you to know our destination—the villa.”

  “Me following you?” Sitermann put his hand over his heart as he gave Theo a pained look. “Is it not possible that I am visiting the touristy highlights of the island, attempting to soak up some sense of history and culture, exploring the traditions and lifestyles of the natives?”

  “No.” Theo began to roll up the window, risking a glance across the car at his niece. She still resembled a marble statue, her face frozen and her jaw extended to an ominous angle that forebode ill for Biff. If she had heard any of the previous remarks, they had not interested her.

  “Well, Bloom,” Sitermann yelled through the glass, “I guess I’ll see if your lovely lady friends over there need any technical assistance from a real, live Hollywood producer.”

  Theo rolled down the window a cautious inch. “What they need is a male to portray a husband being throttled. Would you like me to scribble a recommendation for you to play that part? I would be more than delighted to arrange for your death scene, mock or real.”

  “If I didn’t know you better, I’d let my tender soul be wounded by that, old man. But I know you have a genuine fondness for me, so I’ll let your petty little ripostes go right over my head.”

  “I would like to leave now,” Dorrie said.

  “A wonderful idea.” Theo rolled up the window, gave Sitermann a small wave, and backed around the tour bus. They bumped down the rutted road to the highway, also rutted, and drove back toward Harmony Hills. The name seemed increasingly incongruous with each hour that passed.

  They drove to the villa in cold, cold silence. Once Theo had parked, Dorrie got out of the car and swept inside, her expression the essence of Caldicottian fury. Theo hesitated for a moment, wondering if the walls were apt to come tumbling down, then eased through the side door and listened intently. Nothing. He checked the kitchen, but it was exactly as he had left it and still quite unpopulated. He returned to the dining room and listened once again for sounds of conversation or violence from upstairs. It was, he thought soberly, very much like the calm before the storm. If he had judged Dorrie’s mood correctly (and he feared he had), then the storm would be a full-blown hurricane, worthy of both name and notoriety in the annals of meteorology.

  Feeling a little silly, he tiptoed across the dining room and went out to the terrace. Bitsy was occupying the chair under the umbrella, the magazine replaced by a paperback novel. The boys were nowhere to be seen, and Dorrie was likely to remain upstairs, sharpening both her tongue and a fingernail file.

  “Are you enjoying the sun?” he called as he went down to the pool. “Would I be disrupting your solitude if I joined you?”

  Bitsy glanced up with only a flicker of annoyance. “No, I’d love some company, Mr. Bloomer,” she said as she closed her book and put it in her lap. “Sandy and Biff walked down the hill to the golf course, although Biff didn’t look very excited about the prospect of a round of golf. Now that I think about it, the poor baby looked rather distraught. Sandy must have been desperate for company. Some man from the real estate office came by with a key; it’s on the dining room table. Where did you and Dorrie go?”

  He told her about the jaunt to Rose Hall and a synopsis of its legend. He mentioned the group of schoolteachers who had asked him to take their picture, but his voice trailed off before he fini
shed the story. He was staring at the wall beyond the pool when Bitsy tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Bloomer? Would you like a glass of water?”

  “No, thank you,” he said, still perplexed by a surprising … a thoroughly bewildering idea. Heretical. No, not heretical. Hard to believe, but not impossible. That sort of thing did happen. Not in the ordinary daily progression of life, of course. He caught himself wishing he could find the schoolteachers and hug them, but instead he turned to Bitsy. “Where is Trey?”

  “I have no idea. For that matter, I couldn’t care less if he has been dragged off by Rastafarians to be sacrificed over a barbecue spit. I’d gladly chip in for the sauce.”

  “They don’t do that anymore,” Theo said drily. “Do you think he might have gone to his room to change for dinner?”

  “Are we having dinner? The kitchen is rather bare, and I’m not about to whip up ackee quiches for everyone. I’m on vacation. I doubt you can convince Trey to carry so much as a glass of water to the dining room table; he’s so stoned these days he can’t find the dining room, not to mention the table. It’s simply disgusting, but exactly what one would expect from his sort.”

  “Dorrie mentioned that you and he were once engaged. If you’ll excuse the curiosity of a snoopy old man, what did he do to cause you to terminate the relationship?”

  She snatched up her book and opened it. “I really don’t care to discuss it, Mr. Bloomer. I can assure you that it was disgusting. The very thought of it makes my skin crawl to this day.”

  “Goodness,” Theo murmured. “It wasn’t anything illegal, was it?”

  “Just disgusting.” She flipped a page and pointedly began to read. Several pages flipped by at an improbable rate. Then, with a martyred sigh, she closed the book and looked at Theo. “I came back to my dorm room one evening and found him there. He was prancing around the room in …” She gulped several times, and her eyes filled with tears. “He was wearing my underwear, if you can imagine such a thing. My new black bra and panties, both trimmed with lace, panty hose, a half-slip, and my best black pumps that I wore all the time. They were stretched hopelessly out of shape. I put all of it in a bag and threw it away in the trash can behind the dorm.”