Bahama Mama

by Tricia Leedom

  Jonas grabbed Peabody’s arm and ushered him around April with very little effort.

  April’s face was pinched with worry as she watched them head for the house.

  Cheyenne clutched her backpack to her chest. From the late-night seaplane landing to the appearance of the anxious Mr. Peabody and the Romeo/Juliet-esque forbidden lust thing going on between April and that tattooed mercenary, there was something very weird going on at Casa Linus. “Is, um, everything okay?”

  “I don’t know,” April said distractedly. “Wait here.”

  “But…”

  April started up the path.

  “Can I still check out your seaplane?”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  When April disappeared around the trees, Cheyenne turned in the opposite direction to head toward the plane. The sound of a man’s voice coming toward her on the path stopped her in her tracks. She’d forgotten about the other man Peabody had mentioned. What if he was as scary as Jonas? She shivered at the thought. Heart thumping against her ribcage, she stepped into the shadows and bent to hide behind a shrub.

  The man was talking on the phone. A dark shape on the shadowed path, he spoke with an accent. Jamaican maybe. “Jonas is bringing him up to the house as we speak. He’s still hasn’t shared anything useful.” A pause. “I understand. I’ll take care of it myself.”

  The man proceeded up the path, disappearing into the darkness with the others. More weirdness. Maybe she was just letting her imagination run wild again. Ma always said she could daydream herself into a disaster. She emerged from her hiding spot and slid her backpack over her shoulders. April didn’t seem frightened of those men because there was no reason to be. Jonas, at least, worked for Mr. Linus.

  The seaplane sat alone in the water and was tied to the dock like a boat. Half red and white, it was bigger than she’d expected. It had two large front-facing propellers, a chunky body, and long floats bobbing gently in the water. It was the coolest thing Cheyenne had ever seen, but then, she’d known it would be. When she was ten, she discovered a book series called The Adventurers. It was about a girl and a boy who flew around the world with their pilot father in a seaplane just like this. Though she’d matured into reading more complex mystery and science fiction novels, that kids’ series was still one of her all-time favorites. She’d have to share it with Obie. He’d probably love it just as much as she did.

  The door hung open toward the dock. Cheyenne approached cautiously in case someone else was inside the dark plane.

  “Hello?” she called into the open doorway.

  When no response came back, she smiled as a little thrill spiraled through her stomach. She grabbed the handhold and stepped over the gap to reach the first step. The plane dipped slightly beneath her weight but not enough to deter her. She climbed into the fuselage and waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The small door to the cockpit stood open, letting in a sliver of dusty moonlight. The space smelled of cherry Twizzlers and exhaust fumes.

  Peeking into the cockpit, she saw all the knobs and dials on the dashboard and decided it was best she not go in there. Instead, she wandered down the center of the plane, taking in the plush seats—two on either side of the aisle. More moonlight crept in through the windows, illuminating her way. The sound of a motorboat in the distance made her pause to listen. There were other homes along the canal but they were spaced fairly far apart. The boat was just passing by.

  She sat in the third row to test out the seat and something lumpy poked her bottom as the cellophane around it crunched. She rose up just high enough to pull it out from under her and discovered an open package of Twizzlers. After helping herself to one, she dropped her backpack and the candy package on the seat closest to the window.

  This was nice. So much cozier and roomier than the seats on commercial airlines. Not that she was an expert. She’d only flown twice before, but she remembered it was tight. She could totally imagine Cassie and Steven Cavendish sitting in these seats, studying their old-fashioned paper maps as they planned their next adventure. If Cheyenne found the Firefly Emerald, she’d be able to buy Molly one of those historic houses in Old Town she loved so much and they could go on a vacation. A real one. Maybe to the Bahamas on a seaplane like this.

  Cheyenne’s ears prickled at the sound of voices. One voice, actually. Mr. Peabody. Was Jonas bringing him back? She peered through the small round window nearest her seat and her heart jumped. Mr. Peabody and the Jamaican were rushing down the stone path at a brisk pace. They’d already passed the hedgerow of sea grapes. Panic flickered in Cheyenne’s chest. She backed away from the window and started for the door. Remembering her backpack, she went back for it and stopped again. She was being silly. She was doing nothing wrong. She was April’s guest and had permission to check out the plane. She’d just explain that to—

  “What are you doing, Wade? Wade, stop! No! Please!”

  The fear in Mr. Peabody’s voice made her stomach turn over sickly. The back of her ears prickled as she stood very still, listening. When she heard nothing, she stooped to peer out the window. The small, terrified man was standing on the dock, close to the edge, facing the Jamaican who was pointing a gun at him.

  “Oh, my God,” Cheyenne whispered beneath her breath as her mind tried to wrap itself around what she was seeing.

  “You knew what would happen if you betrayed him.” The Jamaican’s light, lilting tone didn’t match the animosity radiating from his body. He was ten times scarier than Jonas despite the fact that he was wearing a stuffy three-piece business suit.

  “Please, Wade. I have an ex-wife and three children. They’re expensive. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You always have a choice. You made the wrong one.”

  “No!”

  Thwump. Thwump. The gun hardly made a sound as it discharged two bullets, plugging Mr. Peabody in the chest. He flew backward and landed in the water with a splash. Cheyenne slapped a hand over her mouth and reared back, a horrified scream caught in her throat. Looking for a place to hide, she ducked behind a row of seats. No, it was no good. She’d be seen if the man called Wade decided to walk down the aisle. She turned in a panicked circle and then spotted the two doors at the back of the plane. Movement outside the windows caught her eye. She ducked to peer out the window again, then realized if she could see him then he might be able to see her.

  He was coming. Heading toward the plane at a brisk pace.

  Grabbing her backpack and the Twizzlers, she headed for the back of the cabin.

  She started to open the bathroom door but changed her mind. What if he needed to use the bathroom? The closet would be safer. She opened the door to the right of the bathroom and discovered a narrow, curving staircase that led to the belly of the plane.

  Wade was just outside, doing something to the aircraft. It bobbed in the water and drifted slightly away from the dock. He was untying it from its moorings.

  The plane dipped under Wade’s weight. He was at the stairs. He was coming.

  Cheyenne dove into the stairwell and carefully shut the door behind her. Plunged into darkness, her sense of hearing became more acute, but the only thing she could hear was the pounding of her heart and the harsh sound of her ragged breathing. She felt her way along the curved wall, being careful not to trip down the narrow, metal steps. Her instincts screamed at her to hurry, but she couldn’t fall. If Wade found her, he’d kill her.

  She was certain of it.

  The smell of exhaust fumes was stronger in the cargo hold. Below was also cooler compared to the stuffy cabin. She took a few deep breaths and forced herself to calm down so she could listen.

  Slow, heavy footsteps walked to the back of the cabin. She looked up, following the sound with her eyes. Had she closed the door all the way? She pressed her lips together and waited, her entire body vibrating with fear. If Wade came down here, where would she hide? She couldn’t see anything.

  A door opened somewhere, but it wasn’t the door to the
cargo hold because the light didn’t change. Everything was still black as death. The sound of a long stream of liquid hitting water told her he was peeing. Opening her backpack, she fumbled around inside of it, searching for her phone. It wasn’t there. Dang it. She’d left it somewhere. At home or maybe Molly’s purse.

  She needed to hide.

  Now.

  Reaching out in the darkness, she stepped cautiously away from the stairs. She had to duck because of the low ceiling. There was a square object just off to the right. A wooden crate. She followed the rough edge for about four feet until she reached the end. Finding a narrow space between this crate and the next one, she wedged herself in between them, backing up until she touched the wall. Curling her legs into her chest, she cradled her backpack on her lap and stayed very still.

  The heavy footsteps left the bathroom, walked halfway down the aisle, and stopped just over her head. Wade stood there unmoving. Doing what, she didn’t know. Tightening her grip on the backpack and Twizzlers, she had the sudden, heart-sinking feeling he was looking for his missing candy. Why had she grabbed the stupid candy?

  Maybe he was listening for something. Realizing she was breathing heavy again, she forced herself to take long, deep breaths as quietly as she could. Her heart pounded in her ears but she knew he couldn’t hear it. She held still, afraid to rock the plane in a way that would let him know he wasn’t alone.

  After what felt like forever, the heavy footsteps started moving toward the cockpit. The plane leaned to the left as he did something on that side of the cabin. She heard the whining creak of some bolts followed by a solid bang.

  He’d shut the door.

  Heart leaping, she started to get up from her hiding spot, struggling to squeeze herself out from between the two heavy crates. The engine rumbled to life. Four small lights came on above her head, dimly illuminating the four corners of the cargo hold.

  A quick scan of the space revealed several smaller crates toward the front of the plane and a hatch big enough for the largest crates to fit through directly across from her. It appeared to open outward like a hatchback’s upward-swinging rear door.

  Kicking herself for not looking for an exit sooner, she scrambled across the floor and searched for a handle. There was a notch at the bottom of the outward-curving panel. If she opened the hatch, she could slip into the water and swim to the far side of the dock. The far side of the dock… Where poor Mr. Peabody floated dead in the water.

  The gruesome image made her hesitate a split-second too long. The locks slid into place with a click. She grabbed for the handle, but nothing happened when she lifted it. She tugged again, more forcefully than the first time. Still nothing. It was no use. The aircraft was moving away from the dock. And she was trapped.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Molly had experienced her fair share of hangovers, but she couldn’t recall the last time she’d been this torn up. It seemed like the older she got the harder it was to bounce back. This morning she felt about as bouncy as a medicine ball.

  Lying in bed with her eyes closed, she could’ve counted the pulse beats pounding in her temples. She felt the room shifting behind her eyelids as she listened to the soft whirring of the ceiling fan. If she tried moving too quickly, she was pretty certain she’d throw up.

  The phone beside her bed rang. Its shrill noise slashing her tender head to shreds. She sat up sharply and the world titled as her head spun. The strident sound filled the room again, and she dove for the receiver, desperate to make the punishment stop. She caught herself on the edge of the nightstand and croaked a hello into the phone.

  “Molly? Are you all right?” It was Sue.

  “Mm-hmm.” She closed her eyes tightly and flopped back on the bed.

  “Was that a yes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When you disappeared last night, I was worried about you, but then someone said they saw you leave with Anders—”

  Molly’s eyes flew open. “Oh no.”

  “What? Is something wrong?”

  Ignoring her screaming head, she darted a look toward the other side of the bed, found it empty, and scanned the room. Her gaze dropped to the bridesmaid’s dress she still wore. She reached up under the skirt, looking for her panties but came up with a handful of bare ass. Images from the night before came rushing back in a jumble of incoherent snapshots, flipping through her brain like a poorly edited music video. She and Anders drinking way too much on the rooftop of Dixie’s, coming back to her apartment, kissing up against the wall, and—

  “Oh, God!” She’d had drunk sex last night and not just with some schmoe she picked up in a bar. Nope. She’d done it with multi-Grammy-award-winning, three-time CMA Entertainer of the Year, two-time People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, Anders fricken’ Ostergaard. How did this happen? Ordinary people like her did not hook up with megastars like him in real life.

  But it had happened. The details were fuzzy and scattered in her brain, but she was certain of it.

  “Shit.”

  “You’re scaring me, Molly. What’s going on?”

  “It’s nothing. I just—” Molly swung her legs over the side of the bed and immediately regretted it as the urge to puke rushed up her throat. “I’m going to be sick.”

  She made it to the toilet just in time. It wasn’t pretty, but she felt better when it was over. Her poor stomach was a bit tender, but the spinning had stopped and the headache was just a dull thud. After rinsing her mouth out, she’d peeked into the main room of the house just to make certain Anders was truly gone, before she padded back to her room and picked up the phone she'd tossed on the bed. She didn’t expect Sue to still be on the line.

  “Molly, what happened last night?”

  Molly pressed her lips together tightly, thinking it best not to talk about it, but the words just spilled out of her with a surge of shame and bemusement. “Anders stayed over.”

  “Oh no. Oh, God.” Sue repeated Molly’s exact words from earlier.

  “I know!” Molly sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor.

  “Is he still there?”

  “No.” Her gaze strayed to the white mesh wastebasket beside her bed. It was empty except for a lipstick-smeared tissue and a gooey, shriveled-up condom. “Oh God.”

  “All right, let’s be calm.”

  “I am being calm,” Molly snapped, sounding anything but. “What am I going to do?”

  “You’ve had one-night stands before, haven’t you?”

  “No. Yes. Maybe one or two.” Molly got up and started pacing the width of her room. “But I didn’t work for those men. And I didn’t have to see them the next day.”

  “You don’t report to Anders. You report to Jimmy, so you’re good there. And you don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. He’ll be gone in a few days and—”

  “He will?” Molly’s heart dipped suddenly, and she hated herself for it. After last night, it would be better if she didn’t see him ever again. “It was awful, Sue. We were awful.”

  “Drunk sex is never glamorous.”

  Molly snorted. “That’s for damn sure.” She gripped the phone tighter, trying to sound nonchalant. “You heard he’s leaving town?”

  Sue sighed. “Look. I don’t need to tell you Anders is a big star. He doesn’t have a significant other by choice. He likes to play the field. Oscar has told me stories about—”

  “I don’t need to hear the stories.” Something caught on Molly’s foot and she tripped. Catching herself on the dresser, she looked down and bent to pick up her discarded panties. The ones she’d worn to the wedding.

  “But you catch my meaning?”

  “Yeah, I’m just another notch on his Texas-sized bedpost.”

  Sue said nothing, letting the silence answer for her. It was like being dunked in a pool of ice water. She’d known it would be cold, but the reality of it was a shock to her system. In a daze, she paced to the corner of her room and tossed the panties into her wicker clothes hamper. �
��I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Don't be. He’ll probably forget all about it in a few days.”

  That hurt. Sue wasn't the type to pull punches, but she was usually right. Molly paced back to her bed and sat down. “So, what do I do?”

  “Avoid Dixie’s, or if you can’t avoid going there, then avoid him.”

  “And if I can’t avoid him?”

  “Pretend it didn’t happen.”

  As if that was even possible. Molly swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “I'll try. Thanks, Sue.”

  “Glad I could help. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Actually, there is. I left my car on the side street behind Dixie’s. Would you mind picking me up and bringing me over?”

  “Only if there’s breakfast in it for me.”

  “You bet, but I really need to take a shower first.”

  The bookstore was closed because Molly had known she was going to be tired after the wedding and figured missing one off-season Sunday wasn’t going to break them. After showering, she changed into comfortable clothes. An old well-worn pair of jean shorts she called her Daisy Dukes even though they weren’t quite as short as all that. And a purple T-shirt with small white letters across her chest that said: I’m not short, I’m fun size. The shirt, given to her by her brother Marcus as a Christmas present two Decembers ago, was intended as a joke, but she happened to agree with the statement and liked the flattering cut of the V-neck. Hair tied back into a ponytail, Molly was slipping on a pair of white Keds when Sue rang the bell.

  When Molly opened the door, the morning sun hit her square in the face. Pain darted through her head as she shielded her eyes with a groan.

  “What’s the matter? Too early for vampires?”

  “You’re funny. Hang on a sec.” Molly snagged her sunglasses off the kitchen counter along with her purse and house keys. “I think I got everything. Let’s go.”

  Following Sue down the stairs, Molly held on to the railing as an extra precaution. Cheyenne had scrubbed the slippery step, but Molly was still sore from her fall. The bruise on her outer thigh was fifty shades of purple now. It was healing, but she wasn’t interested in a sequel.