Garden of Forbidden Secrets

by Eric Wilder

  “It could still happen,” Eddie said. “Josie might change her mind.”

  “Don’t know,” Adele said. “She’s got a hard head, just like her papa.”

  Eddie was on his second scotch, he and Adele still talking, when they heard the jet engine of Frankie ’s helicopter fly overhead.

  “Is that him?” Eddie asked.

  “Frankie has a chopper pad out back. It has got to where he takes that noisy monstrosity everywhere. I better get his scotch. Guess I’m the only one still drinking coffee.”

  It wasn’t long before Frankie Castellano, dressed in a blue pin-striped suit that probably cost more than all the suits Eddie owned, came bounding into the room. After tossing his coat onto the back of a chair and loosening his tie, he grabbed Adele and kissed her so overtly, it almost embarrassed Eddie.

  Frankie wasn’t a handsome man, though people were drawn to him by his smile and his strong personality. He shook Eddie’s hand in a powerful grip and then gave him a demonstrative hug.

  “How’s my future son-in-law?” he asked.

  “You might want to check with Josie for the answer to that,” Eddie said.

  “She’ll come around,” Frankie said, kissing Adele again when she handed him his scotch. “What did you think about Oyster Island?”

  “It’s too big, too secluded and doesn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of succeeding,” Eddie said. “That’s why I’m going to pass on your proposal.”

  Frankie sipped his scotch. “That’s what I like about you, Eddie. You don’t beat around the bush.”

  “I speak the truth, though I’m sure you’ve already figured it out. I know you want the best for Josie and me. You don’t have to manufacture an unworkable situation just to try and keep me around.”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “You apparently don’t know me as well as you think you do. Frankie Castellano never launches a project that has no chance of succeeding.”

  “Then maybe you better explain to me how you’re going to make this project work because I just don’t see it.”

  Frankie pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket. “Johnny, get the Oyster Island presentation ready to show in the conference room.” After returning the phone to his pocket, he said, “Prepare to be impressed.”

  “Trust me,” Eddie said. “Nothing would please me more.”

  Frankie put his arms around Adele’s waist and kissed her forehead. “Come with us, beautiful woman. This is something you also need to see.”

  Adele and Eddie followed Frankie down a long hallway to a room with an ornate conference table and comfortable leather chairs. Atop the conference table was a miniature diorama. Eddie recognized the restaurant and could see it was a rendering of the Oyster Island projected development.

  “This is what I expect Oyster Island to look like in six months to a year,” Frankie said.

  “Great,” Eddie said. “That still doesn’t explain where the customers are going to come from.”

  An overweight man in a rumpled sports coat entered the door.

  “Here’s the remote, boss. Just touch the top button when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks, Johnny,” Frankie said.

  “Just call if you need anything else,” Johnny said as he hurried out of the room.

  When Frankie touched the top button on the remote, a wall opened up revealing a small theater complete with a large screen and reclining leather chairs.

  “Grab a seat and prepare to be amazed,” Frankie said.

  As the back panel closed and the lights grew dim, Eddie said, “I’m impressed. Bet you guys don’t spend much money on movie tickets.”

  “You kidding?” Frankie said. “I usually get the new movies before they’re available in the theaters.”

  “How do you do that?” Eddie asked.

  “Tell him, Baby,” Frankie said.

  “Connections,” Adele said. “My man here knows more Hollywood producers than Brad Pitt.”

  They watched as the professionally filmed and edited presentation explained Frankie’s grand scheme for bringing commerce and customers to Oyster Island. The short film ended with credits and a burst of original violin music. Eddie clapped when the lights came back on.

  “Wonderful,” he said. “I know you’re rich, though I doubt even you have enough money to finance such a grandiose scheme.”

  “You’re right about that. Doesn’t matter because I always prefer using OPM for risky investments. I’ve already raised a billion dollars if I need it.”

  “OPM?” Adele said.

  “Other people’s money, Doll,” he said. “Everyone’s looking for a dream. I’m here to supply them one.”

  “The movie was slick,” Eddie said. “Maybe a little too slick. I’d like to hear about the development in your own words.”

  “Glad I never had you prosecuting me, Mr. federal D.A.”

  “Though I’m glad I’ll never have to, I still need your personal assessment of the project.”

  “Let’s go back to the den,” Eddie said. “Our bottle of scotch is running low.”

  Adele let them walk ahead. “It’s almost lunchtime. I’ll go fix something up for us and bring it to the den.”

  “You got yourself a prize there, Frankie,” Eddie said.

  “Don’t I know it. Best woman in the world.”

  “Better than your mother?”

  “You were wonderful, Mama, God bless your soul, but Adele has edged you out, though not by much,” Frankie said.

  “Amen to that,” Eddie said.

  Frankie topped up their drinks from a fresh bottle of scotch retrieved from the wet bar.

  “The Oyster Island project starts with infrastructure. I had an engineering and geological study done to determine the best place to put a two-lane bridge from the mainland to the island. I plan to develop the island into a world-class resort; a destination location.”

  “The world is rife with world-class resorts. Why will people suddenly be drawn to Oyster Island?”

  “Water and location,” Frankie said. “There’s fresh water at only a thousand feet below the ground. I plan to put in a health resort and then market the hell out of it.”

  “And location?” Eddie asked.

  “Let me give you an economics lesson. How much do you think a sack of cement is worth?”

  “I don’t know. A couple of bucks, I guess.”

  “The answer is, it depends on where you live. If your home is in Oklahoma City, a place surrounded by limestone quarries, the price is low. If you live in New Orleans, where there are no quarries, the price is at least twice as much because of transportation costs.”

  “So what you need is a limestone quarry near New Orleans,” Eddie said.

  “If you owned one here, you could make a fortune. I don’t have a limestone quarry. What I do have is the closest vacation destination to New Orleans. A place where harried execs can go for the weekend and be rested and back on the job by Monday. A place with all the amenities.”

  “Such as?” Eddie said.

  “Endless beaches, a championship-caliber golf course, 5-star hotels, health spas featuring heated mineral water baths, casinos, live entertainment, and restaurants. What do you think?”

  “You’re persuasive, Frankie. I still don’t know if it’ll work.”

  “Then give it a try. You don’t have anything else going right now. All you stand to lose is time. Right now, you have plenty of that on your hands.”

  “Maybe so. I’ll need to pack my apartment first.”

  “No, you don’t,” Frankie said. “My boys are taking care of that little problem as we speak. You’re already set. I can warm up the chopper and take you to Oyster Island now.”

  “Not so fast, boys,” Adele said, appearing in the doorway with a tray of food in her hand. “No one’s going anywhere until they eat their cannolis and Italian pasta salad.”

  ***

  Eddie and Frankie
were soon flying high above Lake Pontchartrain, heading southeast toward the Gulf of Mexico. Frankie poured them both a glass of scotch.

  “I have to hand it to you, Frankie. You really know how to travel.”

  “Jet helicopter; the only way to fly,” Frankie said. “I’m starting a first-class chopper service out of New Orleans. First stop, Oyster Island.”

  “How many people can afford that?” Eddie asked.

  “Lots more than you think. The kind of people we want to visit the new resort, and then come home to New Orleans and tell their rich friends.”

  “You won’t be able to taxi enough people onto the island by chopper. The existing two-lane blacktop is only safe for four-wheel drives and military vehicles.”

  “I got friends in Baton Rouge. Money has already been earmarked to widen and improve the roads.”

  “How did you pull that off?” Eddie asked. “There aren’t enough taxpayers in this part of the parish to justify any road improvement expense.”

  “Neither a Democrat nor Republican be,” Frankie said with a grin. “You’d be surprised what a campaign contribution can turn in to.”

  “I doubt it. I’m an ex-government prosecutor if you haven’t forgotten.”

  “Tell me about it,” Frankie said. “You’ve put some of my best connections in jail. I’m glad you’re on my side now.”

  “Me too. Just don’t ever ask me to do anything illegal. Capisci?”

  Frankie smiled as he saluted Eddie with his glass of scotch. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  They were soon flying over the Gulf, following the coastline. Eddie could see how erosion had begun exacting its toll on the landscape.

  “Louisiana’s dissolving into the sea,” Eddie said. “What’s your plan for preventing Oyster Island from disappearing in the next twenty years or so?”

  “Erosion will get it, though not in our lifetimes,” Frankie said. “And not because of anything I did.”

  “Why then?” Eddie asked.

  “Geologic luck. Unlike most of coastal Louisiana, Oyster Island is growing rather than shrinking.”

  “How so?”

  “According to the report I paid dearly for, the island is sitting atop a structural scarp, protected by strategic barrier islands and situated in a perfect place to receive sediment from drainage into the Gulf. The center of the island is ten feet above sea level. There’s a stand of old-growth hardwood trees that have never suffered seawater encroachment. It’s the perfect seafront property, and I bought it for a song and a dance.”

  “Who’d you have to kill?” Eddie said.

  “Don’t ask,” Frankie said.

  “What’s the story on Jack and the big Indian?”

  “When it comes to Jack, what you see is what you get. He’s a little nuts, but he is also reliable and intelligent. If he says he’s going to do something, then you can pretty much count on it.”

  “And the Chief?”

  “One strange duck. Don’t know much about him except he owns twenty or so acres on top of the hill and wouldn’t sell it to me. Not for any amount of money. He lives in a teepee.”

  “You have to be kidding,” Eddie said.

  “Nope, it’s true.”

  By now, they had reached their destination and were circling over the island.

  “It’s bigger than I thought,” Eddie said.

  “Almost twenty square miles,” Frankie said. “Some of it is a swamp, or too low to develop. The rest is perfect for what I want to do.”

  “Remind me again,” Eddie said.

  “Decades ago there were places away from the city where people went to escape the heat, noise, and bustle. Such places featured fine restaurants, bandstands with lots of entertainment, places to swim, bathe, gamble and cavort. I’m going to bring all that back, and you’re just the man to help me do it.”

  “When do we start?” Eddie asked.

  “When Jack called and told me he thought you liked the place, I sent a crew of carpenters, painters, and artisans to put the restaurant back to the way it was during Prohibition. Welcome to Oyster Island, Eddie. You’re gonna love it here.”

  Chapter 15

  When Eddie arrived, the restaurant was a beehive of activity. The workers had started with the suite of rooms where he would call home. His clothes and belongings were already waiting for him, the refrigerator in the kitchen freshly stocked, as was the large larder.

  As he sat on the veranda overlooking the cove, all the workers had gone home for the day. Yesterday’s rain had finally moved north, a hazy moon peeking through the cloudy sky. Not wanting to fire up the stove and cook a meal, he was eating crackers and drinking scotch instead, his feet propped up on the railing surrounding the deck.

  Eddie’s suite, in the center of the building and on its highest level, afforded him a wonderful view of the beach. The past few days had been stressful, and he’d gone without much sleep. He was about to nod off in the chair when a cool breeze blowing in from the Gulf caused him to open his eyes.

  As he started back into the building to get a sweater, he saw something down by the beach. The faint glow of a campfire cut through the darkness. He decided to investigate.

  The old restaurant had no elevator, new lighting and electricity yet to be installed. A commercial generator on the roof electrified Eddie’s suite. He used a flashlight to make his way down the stairs, the odor of mildew almost overpowering. He also sensed something else.

  During a late night visit to the Charity Hospital in New Orleans, abandoned after Hurricane Katrina, Eddie had seen ghosts. Though he saw none now, he could feel their presence. It caused him to wonder how many people had died in the old restaurant, and how many spirits resided there. He let the thought pass as he ambled across the covered walkway to shore.

  Though the rain had passed, a cold mist hung in the air as Eddie shuffled across the sand toward the beach. For the first time since arriving on the island, he smelled the salty air and heard the sound of waves crashing into the shore. Someone had pitched a small tent away from the beach. A fire was burning, and there was no one to watch it.

  A large backpack mounted on an aluminum frame sat near the tent. The camper had spread an old red blanket on the sand in front of the tent, a speargun cocked and loaded lying atop it. The front flap of the tent was zipped shut. As Eddie watched from the shadows, someone emerged from the water and walked toward the fire.

  The person dressed in a black wetsuit was small, no taller than five feet. When they dropped their mask, Eddie saw it was a young woman. When she pulled off the rubber piece protecting her head from the cold, her long blond hair cascaded in tight curls to her shoulders.

  Consumed by voyeuristic attraction, Eddie remained locked in place as the young woman sat on the blanket and wrestled off her rubber pants to reveal a tiny, blue bikini bottom. When she removed the rubber top, he saw she was wearing nothing at all. A branch cracked when he stepped backward. He had little time to react as she dived for the speargun on the towel beside her.

  “I see you, and you’re about to get skewered. Step out into the light.”

  With his hands held high over his head, Eddie did as the woman directed.

  “Don’t shoot me,” he said. “I give up.”

  “Stop right there. You get your eyes full?”

  Eddie couldn’t help but grin as the woman pointing the menacing speargun at him hadn’t bothered covering her half-nude body.

  “If I didn’t, I am now,” he said. “Why don’t you put that fish sticker down before you hurt somebody?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she said.

  “I’m not a mad rapist if that’s what you think. I moved into the restaurant earlier today and saw the light of your fire from my window. I came down to investigate.”

  “No one lives in that old building except ghosts,” she said.

  “Well, they do now. You didn’t see all the workmen here earlier?”

  Eddie’s question seemed to puzzle th
e young woman.

  “I wasn’t here earlier,” she said. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

  “Frankie Castellano is remodeling the restaurant. I’m running it for him. I’ve never touched another soul in anger my whole life. Can I lower my arms now?”

  The woman pulled the trigger on the speargun, the spear burying into the sand beside her. She dropped the weapon and patted the knife sheathed on her tiny waist.

  “My knife is sharp as a razor. Make one false move, and I’ll cut your balls off.”

  “Whoa!” Eddie said, lowering his arms. “I’m a good guy. Ask Jack Wiesinski, or Chief if you don’t believe me.”

  “You know Jack and Chief?”

  “Yes, I do. They’ll vouch for me.”

  The woman took her hand off the hilt of the knife. “Who are you?”

  “Eddie Toledo, and you?”

  “Odette Bellefleur.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Odette. Are you Cajun?”

  “What was your first clue?” she asked.

  “Your accent and now your name.”

  “You got that right,” she said. “Cajun born and bred. Where you from?”

  “New Jersey originally, though I’ve lived in New Orleans for the past several years.”

  “Doing what?” she asked.

  “I was a government prosecutor.”

  “Figures,” she said. “Every lawyer I ever met was kind of kinky.”

  “Why do you think I’m kinky?” he asked.

  “You were standing in the shadows peeping on me. I’d call that kinky. You some kind of peeping tom?”

  “I may have my foibles, but so do you. You haven’t bothered covering your tits. Are you an exhibitionist?”

  Odette had a smile on her pretty face when she said, “Well played.”

  Odette’s long blond hair was beginning to dry into tight curls. It didn’t exactly go with her dark eyes and Cajun sass. Reaching into the backpack, she removed a tee shirt that said L.S.U. and pulled it over her head. If at all possible, the effect of her protruding nipples poking through the white cotton fabric provided an even more erotic effect than her former nudity. Her eyes narrowed when she saw he was staring.