Murder on Tiki Island: A Noir Paranormal Mystery In The Florida Keys (Detective Bill Riggins Mysteries)

by Christopher Pinto

  “Things? What things?”

  The second cocktail arrived, and she used the interruption to try to change the subject. But I pressed her…curiosity had me by the neck.

  “Ghosts,” she said softly, “Ghosts from the past. Ghost of his first wife, mostly. He only told me once, after he’d been drinking quite a bit. He saw Vivian’s ghost, and that of another woman, who he never called by name.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me much. The shock of losing his second wife at a young age was enough to trigger some hallucinations. Seems textbook psychiatry to me,” I said, trying to calm her. Tears were beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. She dabbed them with the cocktail napkin and took a long pull on her drink. Then she continued with that hushed tone that gave my spine a chill, and not in a good way.

  “The funny thing is, it turns out he’s not the only one who’s seen ghosts on this island. Some guests have seen them too. And the staff. And even myself…I’ve seen a woman walk through a wall on the second floor.” She paused and sipped her drink. Her eyes didn’t come up to meet mine. “But it may have only been a trick of the light, right? The low lighting in here can certainly be misleading sometimes, don’t you think?” she asked, as if needing reassurance, needing it bad.

  “Sure,” I said, because it was what she needed to hear.

  “But now, now we have a skeleton of…of a woman, here on the grounds, in the garden. And so I don’t know what to think.” She was visibly holding back the tears now.

  “Listen doll,” I said; I put my hand over hers on the table and gave it a little squeeze. She looked up at me, her big brown eyes glistening wetly in the glow of the table candle, pleading for answers. “Listen, it’s probable that women was part of an old burial ground or something, laid down long before Hawthorn even built his first home here. And as for ghosts…I don’t believe in anything I can’t feel or see, and I ain’t never felt or seen no ghost, so as far as I’m concerned it is just a trick of the light or tormented man’s hallucinations. So don’t sweat it, OK? I’m sure we’ll find a reasonable, natural answer to why there’s a woman buried in the garden. So just hang in there kid, all right?”

  The smile broke through, and she thanked me. I would have kissed her right there, I’m sure of it, if the Deputy hadn’t come in to get me. Damn my luck, timing is always just a little bit off.

  “We’re ready, sir,” Curtis said. I winked at Melinda and said so long, and left with the Deputy.

  It was already getting dark when they lowered me into the hole. I had a powerful spotlight in one hand, a foot-long stick with a sharpened end in the other. High tech stuff.

  “Can you see her skull clearly yet, Riggins?” asked Sheriff Jackson.

  “Yeah, I’ve got a good angle here,” I yelled back, and shined the light on the caved-in face of the skull. The black topsoil contrasted so well against the yellow bones that it was easy to see details. Tiny pieces of gold glittered in the area of the mouth; gold fillings no doubt. The cloth that clung to the bones was much easier to see now…red or pink broadcloth, remnants of a belt around the torso, and even the criss-cross pattern of a bra could be made out. I reached down with the stick and moved part of the bone away from the soil, just enough to see the edges. My heart missed a beat. My fears were met.

  “Well, whatdya see?” came the voice from above.

  “The edges are pretty jagged, Sheriff,” I yelled up, “Can’t be 100%, but if I had to guess I’d say this young lady had her face bashed in with something like a lead pipe, or a brick.”

  They pulled me up. Vacation over.

  +++

  I’d been looking forward to my date with Melinda, but after having a skeleton dug up in her back yard I didn’t think she’d be up to it. She agreed though, said she needed to eat anyway and the company would be nice. She was still strictly professional though, and I began to think my infatuation with this heavenly chick was a one-way street.

  We met in the main restaurant, a little room they called The Hukilau, at nine. She had changed into a white, billowy sleeveless dress with white sandals and a white flower in her hair. It was the first time I’d seen her wear something without a floral print.

  “You look very elegant in white,” I said as I pulled the chair out for her.

  “Thank you. Here in the Tropics, we don’t really follow the rules of ‘no white after Labor Day.’ Seems somewhat silly when the temperature is in the eighties, don’t you think?”

  “Very silly indeed,” I replied, happy that she was taking things light.

  Everything she did was in slow motion, deliberate. She slid into the chair with the grace of a leopard, leaning over just enough to give me an eyeful. I wasn’t sure if it was intentional, but it sure got my attention. Then she slipped a cigarette from out of her purse and slowly brought it up to those ruby reds, those lips that were a roaring fire begging to be doused. I almost forgot to light her up, I was so taken.

  “So what’s good in this joint?” I said foolishly while lighting her stick. “They serve burgers and fries here or what?” Yeah, real smooth, that was me. Mr. Smoothy. At least it got a chuckle.

  She slowly took the cigarette from her mouth and handed it to me.

  “It’s for you, Bill. I don’t smoke.”

  “Thanks doll,” I said, kind of in a trance.

  “Burgers and fries are only on the kiddie menu. For us, I’d suggest something a little more…exotic. I think the roasted mahi for me; for you, I’d bet you’d enjoy one of our eighteen-ounce filet mignons fire-roasted over applewood, and flanked with barbecued jumbo shrimp and jumbo lump crabmeat.”

  “They have a lot of cattle in Hawaii, do they?” I snarked.

  “Only on Maui,” she joked back. She laughed, not as lovely as before; it was tinged with a little sorrow and worry, but it was a nice laugh.

  “The food we serve is actually not specific to the Pacific, so to speak. It’s an eclectic combination of Asian, Latin, American, Caribbean and Polynesian cuisines, fused together to create something different, something…exotic.”

  “You sound like you memorized that off the sales brochure,” I joked.

  “I not only memorized it,” she answered, “I wrote it!” The laughs came easier now, and it looked like dinner wasn’t going to be an awkward drag after all.

  We ordered and drank cocktails while waiting for the courses, talking about inconsequential things like Florida’s sunshine and Weehawken’s snow. The conversation drifted from the weather in the Keys to the hotels in Miami to the blue Chevy that I rented (a car I realized I really liked a lot, more than I probably should have). I smoked through a half a deck of Camels and drank a second round of drinks before the main course came, and the talk stayed light. She never mentioned skeletons or murders or Eliot’s ghosts or anything that would put the brakes on an otherwise great evening.

  She ordered Bananas Foster for dessert, and the waiter made a production of it tableside, setting it aflame before serving it up.

  “You kids don’t miss a beat, do you? Even pour rum on the bananas.”

  “The guests love it, especially when we set fire to it. We have several flaming dishes, and even a few flaming drinks. Care to try one?” she asked in that excited, still-at-work tone. I had other ideas.

  “No thanks, I think I’ll stick to the Mai Tais. Listen, what do you say you and I take a stroll along the beach? I hear the evenings are very beautiful down here in the Keys.” I was laying on the charm a little thick, thanks to the rum. I tell ya, I could drink Bourbon all night and not feel it. But throw a couple ounces of pirate juice down my throat and watch out, sister.

  “I can’t,” she said, taking me a little by surprise. “I have to spend some time with Eliot. He’s been a wreck since he found out about the…you know.”

  “I do know. I didn’t want to bring it up because I didn’t want to spoil a great evening. But since you did…”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it Bill. It’s very…disturbing. I may
need to have a doctor come for Eliot.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Yes, that bad.” She looked down at her drink. It was empty. She slowly spun the glass in her hand, making little wet rings on the table. I waited. “He thinks...” she said and stopped abruptly, then looked up at me with those Bambi eyes. “He thinks it’s his first wife. He thinks her body washed up here on the Island, and was somehow buried here after the storm.”

  “Well, what makes him think that?”

  “He says he sees her. Now he hasn’t told this to me directly, mind you. He talks…in his sleep. And sometimes I listen to him. He’s said over and over that he sees his dead wife, Vivian, in his room, walking the gardens. And now he thinks her ghost is here, because her body is here.”

  “Melinda,” I said as kindly as I could, “You have to understand, if he thinks he’s seeing dead people, he’s delusional. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

  “Are you so sure, detective?” she asked with a sort of odd tone.

  “Like I said before, if I can’t see it or handcuff it, I don’t believe in it. I’ve seen plenty of people hallucinate over the years. The mind can be a powerful movie projector when it wants to be.”

  She leaned forward and looked into my eyes. I felt like she was using x-ray vision to burn right through me. It was a kookie feeling, and not a good one.

  “What if I told you I saw her too?” she said, dead serious. Well I wasn’t about to call her nuts, or a liar. I’d have to play this cool.

  “I’d say tell me more.” That was a smart move.

  “Three times,” she said, leaning back. “The first time when we first moved here. I was just a child, but I remember it clearly. I was in the garden, very near where the…body…was dug up today. I heard something behind me and turned to see what it was. I saw a misty, translucent form in the shape of a woman, hovering over the flower beds. She was wearing a large hat, so it seemed, and was looking down at me. Then she just disappeared. This was in the middle of the afternoon mind you, not at night when I was half asleep. At the time, I thought I was seeing things. Overactive imagination. Then I saw her again, when I was nineteen.”

  “What happened that time?”

  “Almost exactly the same thing. Same place, except this time I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. When I turned, I saw the shadowy figure moving away through the garden trail. I followed, but found nothing.”

  “Not a trick of the light?” I asked. I had to ask.

  “No, I don’t believe it was. If light did tricks like that, I should have seen it more often.”

  “Good point. What about the third time?”

  “I don’t think you’ll believe me,” she said, signaling the waiter for another drink.

  “Lay it on me. I have no reason to doubt you.” I didn’t, really.

  “Last night, in Eliot’s room. I walked in to say good night. He was sitting straight upright in his bed, staring at the far wall, a pale, painful look on his face. He was trying to say something, I think maybe ‘Go’ or ‘Gone’. He frightened me. I thought there was actually someone else in the room with him. I looked over to the wall, and for only a second…less than a second…” The drinks came and she took a long pull, trying hard to keep her cool. It wasn’t working. She started to tremble just a little. “I saw that billowy image, that trick of the light. It was floating at the foot of Eliot’s bed, arms spread wide, and I could see it clearly…” again she took a slug, and choked back tears and fright. “It was a woman. Her face was vague, her eyes...just dark, vacant ovals...And she looked…angry.” That was too much for her. She turned away, then covered her face with her napkin. Before I could say a word she jumped up and made a run for the ladies’ room. All I could do was wait, and let her words roll over in my mind.

  Ghosts. She thought she was seeing ghosts. What the hell was that all about? With all the death I’d seen, from the battlefields of Korea to the streets of the City, I’d never seen, heard or even suspected I’d seen a ghost. Phantoms were fairytales made up to scare kids, not a thing more. But this doll had seen something. I was sure of it. Maybe not a ghost, but something, and it was scaring her silly because the timing was rotten, and a twenty-plus year-old corpse was sitting in her flower bed.

  I finished my drink before she came back. She was well composed and looked great, as professional as a princess and twice as beautiful.

  “You OK, kid?”

  “Yes, I am now. Just needed a moment. I’m sorry I can’t stay with you much longer, Bill. I really do need to stay with Eliot tonight. I’m afraid for him. I’m afraid this may drive him over the edge.”

  “But listen,” I said, “What exactly is it that you think is going on here? I mean, do you think he’s seeing things, or do you believe there’s really something haunting Tiki Island?” I tried to sound sincere, not come off like a jerk. The rum wasn’t making things easy for me.

  “I don’t know what to think,” she answered calmly. “Maybe there is something here. Maybe that woman’s ghost was trying to tell us she was buried here, although I can’t imagine why. Maybe it is…no, that’s impossible.”

  “Impossible that his first wife’s body washed up here, or that her ghost is running around the place?”

  “Both, I’d imagine. After all, she was lost in the upper Keys, in the marshes just south of the Florida mainland. It would be highly unlikely that her body would have come down this way. It’s over one hundred miles,” she added, taking another long sip of her cocktail. “I think that woman can be anyone. But it does raise a good point,” she said, giving me a minute to think about it.

  I said, “It could be anyone…anyone who drowned in that storm twenty years ago. The workers your father hired to clear the Island probably found her, and since there were so many bodies and no place to put them, they set her down nicely where she now lays, and poured the topsoil right over her, giving her an instant grave.”

  “Yeah, that would make sense, wouldn’t it Bill?” Melinda finished off her Mai Tai and signed the check. Everything on the house. I had a feeling I was gonna earn it, and then some.

  “I really must be going, Bill. It’s after ten and Eliot shouldn’t be alone.” We got up and I walked her out to the lobby elevator.

  “Can I see you again tomorrow?” I asked, and it was obvious to her now that I wanted more than a history lesson, more than just company. I wanted a date, and I made it plain and clear.

  “I don’t know, possibly. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day for me; it’s Wednesday, and there are a lot of things going on. I’ll let you know.”

  Disappointing. “Ok, kid. Good night,” I said, and leaned in to give her a good night kiss. At first I thought she would pull away, she seemed hesitant. Then suddenly she surrendered; her lips met mine in a hungry passion fueled by the hot tropical night, and she gave herself to me completely, if only for a few, exciting seconds. Then she pulled away, and the look in her big browns was one of passion mixed with fear, and pain. I’m not sure what was going on behind those peepers just then, but she said the three words no man ever wants to hear.

  “Sorry. I...I can’t.”

  She pulled away, got into the elevator and went up and out of the moment, following me through the glass with those dark, sad eyes.

  Chapter Two

  Key West Florida, Tuesday, October 23, 1956

  The white linen stuck to her like wet glue. Little drops of sweat slid down her cheeks and onto her nightgown, giving her a rained-on look. Blonde hair seemed almost chestnut as it matted itself against the soaked pillow and the side of her face.

  The open window and the electric fan did almost nothing to quell the late October heat of the Key West flat. By five a.m. Jessica Rutledge had given up on sleep, given up on even getting any rest. The humid heat, the noise from the street below, the sounds from the next apartment, the slimy sweat and the incessant hum of the fan all worked together in a terrific effort to make her thoroughly miserable. They did a bang-up job.
>
  On nights like this a few drinks (or something a little stronger) was usually enough to get her off to la la land. But tonight was different. She had a lot on her mind, and her brain raced with the events of the last few days. She had gone to Tiki Island to get away from…from her life, as it were, to take a few days to get cleaned up and rested and back on her feet so she could come back home with a little better outlook, a little better chance of survival. But it hadn’t turned out that way. Jessica didn’t get any rest, she didn’t get cleaned up and she certainly didn’t get away from it all. In fact, she had invited it in, on her own terms, and she thought that might give her a little feeling of control over her own life. Instead it made her sad. Sad that she had no control at all. Sad that she could have one night and one day of happiness sandwiched in between a dozen months of loneliness and hardships. Sad that she was stuck hiding on this little two-by-four island they called Key West. Sad she couldn’t get away, no matter how much dough she saved or how many favors she gave; she was trapped in the Keys, in her life, and the only way out was to marry a millionaire or be carried out in a pine box.

  Jessica stood up and peeled the wet linen off her body. For a second a cool whiff of air brushed her naked body, and she was relieved. But another second later the sub-tropic humidity closed in on her like a sauna to the point of nearly choking her. She had enough. Jessica struggled a thin, two-piece swimsuit over her sticky skin, grabbed a towel, and headed downstairs.

  Her flat was on Duval Street, just above one of the busiest bars near the west end. Automobiles ran down the road even at this late hour, filled with drunken pirates and teenagers on a spree. The bars closed at four, but locals knew they could stay as long as they wanted, as long as they were friendly with the owners. Her place was noisy, but it was cheap.

  She slipped out the backdoor of her building and headed straight for the beach a few blocks away. Surprisingly she didn’t encounter any late night (or early morning) walkers along the route, and made it to the beach in a few minutes. It was dark but lights from the town and a few stars made walking along the shore easy. She found a nice spot as far away from the houses and hotels as possible, laid out the blanket near the surf, and stretched out.