Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 01 - Peril in Paradise

by Marty Ambrose

  “Thank goodness he kept such good files,” Burt said.

  Betty moved to her husband’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We can now expose his plagiarism.”

  “I still don’t understand why he did it-” Burt began.

  “Writer’s block,” I pronounced. “I found out when I was doing research for my article. He hasn’t written a book in five years-since Men on Death Row.”

  Amazement passed across their faces, then realization. “Of course,” Burt said, “And that’s about the time he started the workshops and institutes. He’s probably been ripping off people’s stories and publishing them as his own. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but he was a two-faced, lying creep” He shook one, semi-limp fist in the air.

  “Do George and Chrissy know about all of this?” I asked.

  “No. We didn’t think they’d believe us. Both of them idolize Hillman.” Betty stroked the back of Burt’s head.

  “They don’t need to know.” I rose to my feet. “I’m going over to the Starfish Lodge right now. Are you coming?”

  “We might swing by the island clinic and have the doctor check Burt’s heart just to play it safe,” Betty said. When Burt started to protest, she held up a hand. “Be sensible, sweetie. We need to make sure you’re okay.”

  He gave a reluctant nod, then looked at me. “Are you going to tell that police detective you saw us here?”

  “Not as long as you don’t tell him you saw me here”

  “Thanks” Betty sighed in relief. “We’re eternally grateful.”

  “Just make sure you get publishing credit for that story of yours” I shook hands with them and left. I probably should’ve called Detective Billie, but what would that do? Burt and Betty hadn’t technically broken the lawjust crossed the yellow tape. They only wanted justice, and that’s what they’d got.

  Poor Hillman. Another black mark would be next to his name when the plagiarism scandal hit the publishing circles.

  I got back into Rusty and drove the rest of the way to the Starfish Lodge. My list of suspects was shrinkingback to Everett and the remaining members of the Writers’ Institute. But there had to be more. I was missing something.

  When I arrived, I spied Chrissy and George at the usual table. The dining room was deserted. It wasn’t quite time yet for the early bird two-for-one prime rib specials that attracted every islander over the age of sixty.

  “Hi,” Chrissy said as she waved me over.

  “Hi, yourself.” I pulled up a chair across from her and George. “I saw Burt and Betty on my way herethey’ll probably be along … sometime soon.”

  “Incredible news about Pete Cresswell’s arrest, huh?” George asked without a trace of a stutter. His hair was neatly trimmed, his face revealed. Not bad. Clear, olive skin and small, regular features. He appeared transformed from the shy, repressed man I’d met a week ago. “I heard you were there when he was arrested.”

  “Yes” I noted that Chrissy held George’s hand.

  “Just imagine. They think that guy killed Jack because of jealousy.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t seem like much of a motive-especially since Jack wasn’t fooling around with the guy’s wife anymore-“

  “If he ever did,” I hastened to add. Then, I took a deep breath and posed the sixty thousand dollar question: “Do you really think Pete killed Hillman?”

  Chrissy frowned. “I’m not sure.”

  George glanced at her, his eyes widening in surprise.

  “Sorry,” she shrugged, directing a rueful smile at George. “But I think Jack was up to something else-“

  “Whadaya mean?” The words rushed out of my mouth, cutting her off.

  “I remembered … something this morning.”

  “What?” I almost yelled out.

  Chrissy caught and held my gaze. “When we were in the hottub the day Jack died, I heard him on the cell phone talking to … this man … Dr. Emmit from Gainesville. He’s some kind of expert on historical things. After the call, Jack was elated.”

  My pulse quickened. “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely. I think he was trying to sell some kind of … antique things from the mound behind his house”

  “Yes!” I pounded the table; it was time to trust them with the truth since I now knew enough to rule out each one as a suspect. I filled them in on my theory of the priceless Caloosa artifacts. “I think someone found out and killed him so he could dig on the mound and sell the artifacts himself.”

  “Everett Jacobs?” Chrissy’s words tumbled out.

  I shrugged. “He’s one possibility.”

  “That might explain why Jack and he argued so much about the boundary line between their properties. The old coot was probably trying to get full ownership of the mound,” she added, eagerness building in her voice. “But … this is all just a theory.”

  “If only we knew Dr. Emmit’s number,” George said.

  “Wait-I do” Chrissy reached into her purse and pulled out a pink cell phone. “Jack used my phone to call him from the hot tub that day”

  “Ohmygosh,” I exclaimed. “Does it store the numbers by date and time?”

  “You betcha” She pressed a few buttons and scrolled through the call log. “Here it is!”

  I grabbed the phone from her and dialed the number. “It’s ringing!”

  A man answered. “This is Dr. Emmit.”

  I blinked and tried to gather my wits. “Hello, my name is Mallie Monroe and I … uh … work for the Coral Island Observer. I was doing a story on Jack Hillman-“

  “I was very sorry to hear about his death,” he interrupted, regret in his voice.

  “Yes, it was tragic. But I was doing some research on him and learned that he might have found some Caloosa artifacts in the shell mound behind his house. Can you verify that?”

  “Only second hand. He said he’d found a couple of necklaces, a medallion, a knife-“

  “A what?”

  “A knife. He described it as very decorative, with a gold handle. Probably used for sacrifices. The Caloosa practiced human sacrifice, you know-“

  “Yes, I’d read that,” I cut in with some impatience. “Do you know what happened to those items?”

  “I’m afraid not. Unfortunately, I never had the chance to authenticate them. I told him to be careful, that these artifacts were very valuable.”

  “I think he knew that” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  “Yes, Mr. Hillman had a keen appreciation for the past”

  “Very keen” My heartbeat skyrocketed with excitement. Proof-sort of. Hillman must have found Caloosa artifacts on his property. “Thanks for your time, Dr. Emmit. I may call you back for further information.”

  “Certainly.”

  I clicked off the cell phone.

  “What did he say?” Chrissy’s eyes kindled with enthusiasm.

  “Jack apparently found Caloosa artifacts, but Dr. Emmit never actually saw them.”

  “Unb … b … believable,” George managed to get out, the stutter making a reappearance. I could hardly blame him.

  “My bet is that’s why he was murdered”

  “You’re s … s … so right,” he continued-sort of.

  “The killer knew what the artifacts were worth and he wanted to cash in on them himself.” I jumped to my feet, trying to ignore the fact that all this news caused George’s stutter to reappear. “I’m going over there right now-“

  “Mallie, maybe you should wait. Talk to Detective Billie and see what he says.” Chrissy reached a cautioning hand toward me.

  “It won’t do any good. He’s convinced that Pete murdered Hillman and, unless I can find real evidenceone of those gold artifacts-to prove the contrary, he’s not going to listen to me”

  “B … b … but if you tell him all of this he has to,” George interjected.

  “I’ll tell him-after I have evidence. It won’t take long.”

  “At least take my cell.” Chrissy handed me her pink phon
e. “If anything happens, use it.”

  “Thanks” I grabbed the phone and shoved it in my canvas bag.

  I jumped into Rusty and set out for the Mounds. It was turning overcast again with a few trailing remnants of the tropical storm, but no rain yet. Hooray. I wanted to hike to the dig at the top of The Mounds, and it would be easier if I didn’t find myself sinking up to my neck in the soft shell and sand.

  I accelerated, pushing Rusty to speeds that he hadn’t reached in years. And he didn’t let me down. Somehow, we made it to the Mounds in less than fifteen minutes.

  I pulled into Hillman’s driveway and looked around. Burt and Betty’s Cadillac was gone. No one else was there. Perfect. I slid out of my truck and started up the path between Hillman’s and Everett’s house. The sand and shell walkway squished under my sandals, but I kept moving. About halfway up, the skies opened up again. Not the driving rain of the last two days just a steady mist.

  I gritted my teeth and focused on getting to the top of the mound. Unfortunately, debris from the heavy rains littered the path. Thorny prickly pear branches scraped against my jeans and sea grape clustered around my feet. But I stepped around these obstacles as best I could. My breath started to come in short, staccato gasps. My calf muscles burned.

  “When all of this is over, I’m hitting the island gym,” I said aloud when I finally reached the top. Leaning down, hands on my knees, I took in a couple of labored breaths. My legs trembled slightly-not with fear, but overexertion. I kept taking in deep breaths. Eventually, I could straighten again and survey the area.

  I stood in front of the archaeological dig. Nothing much looked different, except the bottom of the pit was filled with about two feet of water, and the ropes that squared off the excavation site sagged to the ground in a couple of places. I scanned around the walls of the dig held up by a mesh-like grid. No gold beads peeped through, no gold-hilted knife stuck out. I didn’t even see any pottery pieces.

  What did I expect?

  In my haste to get here, I hadn’t actually figured out what kind of evidence I expected to find.

  So I was still going off half cocked. I couldn’t change overnight. In frustration, I toed a broken shell and kicked it into the pit. There had to be something here to indicate that Hillman had found valuable artifacts. I just had to find it.

  I circled the dig. Then began to poke around in the saw palmetto and pine trees that ringed the site. Nothing but a fast-food bag and two empty styrofoam containers. I sighed. That and a dollar wouldn’t get me into the Cinderella’s Castle at the Magic Kingdom.

  The mist turned into a light steady rain, soaking my white cotton shirt.

  I hunched my shoulders in defeat. All I’d get from my mad dash here was a wet shirt and sand-encrusted sandals. Great. Just great.

  Turning back to the dig, I scanned it one more time. Then I kicked another shell off into the saw palmetto. It didn’t strike the ground immediately. More like, it fell a few feet and then hit water. I froze. After a few seconds, I slowly moved in the direction of where I’d kicked the shell.

  I parted the saw palmetto and stepped through it. Just a few feet away was a second pit. Smaller than the other one, it wasn’t roped off and didn’t have a neat, square shape. The driving rains must’ve caused the sand and crushed shells to wash away because one side was completely caved in. The others jagged and uneven. But it was still clearly an excavation. And something gold stuck out of the crumbled side.

  My hand shook as I reached for it. My fingers closed around the object as if it were as delicate as feather. Once I had it in my palm, I stepped back and slowly opened my fingers.

  A gold medallion. I closed my eyes briefly. I had the proof I was seeking. Rubbing my thumb over the small rectangular artifact, I studied the design. A circle that resembled an eye was etched on the top, with crosslike lines radiating from the center. Two smaller circles decorated the bottom half, a horizontal line beneath them, and three upturned U-shaped lines even lower. What was it supposed to be?

  “It’s the Tree of Life,” a masculine voice said from behind.

  I turned around. Bradley Johnson stood before me in a hooded yellow rain jacket and rain-stained silk trousers. His glasses fogged, his features drawn in discomfort against the rain.

  “You’ve seen it?” I asked. What was he doing here?

  “Seen it? I’ve found three similar ones already” He held out a hand.

  I hesitated, blinking with growing alarm. Uh-oh.

  He snatched it from me. “See, the top circle is the sun, the bottom circles raindrops, and the lines underneath represent roots. The Caloosa worshipped the sun, but they understood the rain also nourished life. Both were necessary for the seed to grow into a tree”

  “How … do you know all of this?” I stammered.

  “Because you stupid fool, I’m the one who’s been selling these artifacts.” His tone was congenial, friendly even-in spite of the insult. “And I’m the one who murdered Hillman.”

  You … you’re the killer?” I blurted out as my body tensed in shock.

  “Of course” Bradley let out a long, low laugh of contempt. “Did you think it was Everett?”

  “I did at first, but then I wasn’t sure” I kicked myself mentally. “After I realized you were mistaken about the Caloosa gold, I grew even more skeptical.”

  “Smart girl. That old man was my best cover. As long as he kept ranting at Hillman, nobody-including younoticed what I was doing.” He settled into an amused smirk. “But you were getting closer, and you’re tenacious, I’ll give you that, Ms. Monroe. I tried everything to throw you off the trail. The dead bird-“

  “No” Get a grip, I told myself. As long as he’s talking, he can’t hurt me.

  “Yes. I thought it would scare you, but you kept poking your sunburned nose into places where it didn’t belong.”

  I touched my nose defensively. “So I’m a little sun sensitive.”

  “It’s most unattractive.” He tossed me a dismissive glance. “Anyway, since you wouldn’t give up, I decided to enlist your services to help me frame Pete” His smirk widened into a sly smile.

  “You put that note on my truck to talk to Nora?”

  He nodded. “I figured it would keep you tied up for awhile. Then, I stole Pete’s fishing knife and threw it into Hillman’s yard, knowing the police would find it. It was all working so well. But then you came into the museum and I got worried. So I slashed your tires to teach you a lesson”

  “I was trying to do my job-writing my news story” I eased my sweaty hands down to my thighs, glancing around the dig for something I could use as a weapon. Nothing presented itself, aside from a few broken shells and pine needles. They’d be a big help. “Besides, I had to know what happened.”

  His brows rose in two delicate arches above his glasses. “You want to know the truth? It’s not very exciting. Jack and I were selling artifacts together and making a lot of money. He dug up the items, I’d get them authenticated and find a buyer. It was really very simple.”

  “But I thought you revered history-especially the Caloosa,” I said, shifting my weight to my heels so I could start backing up. Unfortunately, my feet didn’t want to move.

  “I do, but I revere money even more. I’m afraid that I have very expensive tastes-and a love of gambling.”

  Gripes. I suddenly thought back to the Corvette in the museum parking lot. I should’ve known better than to ignore my vehicular psychology. It never failed me.

  “It all started three years ago when Jack found a gold beaded necklace. He brought it to the Island Museum and I told him how much I thought it was worth. I could see the greed in his eyes”

  “He was having financial trouble”

  “I know.”

  “So you decided to capitalize on it for your own gain.” I started inching away from him.

  “I had some pressing debts of my own in Miamiand those people don’t take no for an answer.”

  “Oh.”

&nbs
p; “Sadly, Jack decided to cut me out of the action completely. He got careless. Started arguing with Everett about full ownership of the mound. I knew that was so he could expand the dig. Then one of my buyers called me and said Jack had tried to contact him directly.” He shook his head. “Things were breaking down, and I had to do something. I came over to try to talk some sense into him and keep me in the loop, so I could continue to sell the artifacts discretely. But he wouldn’t listen. He taunted me, waved a Caloosa knife in my face, telling me that I’d never see a dime after he sold it.”

  “And you stabbed him with it.” I had eased away almost a foot by now, and was gauging how fast I could make it to the path. Considering my muscles were clenched as tight as a drum, it wouldn’t be too speedy.

  “I didn’t mean to. It caused me much distress.” He wiped the moisture from his face and pushed his glasses up on his nose. The rain had let up again and was only lightly misting. “But seeing that gold hilt on the knife incensed me. I had to have it. I reached for it, but he wouldn’t let go. We scuffled. He fell backward into the chair and somehow the knife ended up buried in his chest”

  “You could go to Detective Billie. Tell him it was an accident,” I said.

  “Like he’d believe that”

  “But-“

  “Not to mention, I intend to keep trafficking in the artifacts. Jack left his part of the mound to the Henderson Research Center, and I’ll see to it that the excavation never ends. There’s a lot more up here and it’s all mine, now.” His smile widened into a ghastly grin as he leveled a gun at me. “I’m sorry, but you’ve only got yourself to blame.”

  I gasped. Panic like I’d never known before welled up in my throat. “You … you can’t shoot me. The main murder suspect, Pete, is behind bars”

  “He’s made bail. Everyone will think he followed you up here and shot you. After all, you’re the one who helped bring him in.”

  I felt as if my breath was cut off. I was running out of options.

  “Move over to the pit.” He gestured with the gun.