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

by Christopher Pinto

  “Couldn’t hurt. I plan on spending some time in Key West and don’t want to have to look over my shoulder every five minutes,” I said, meaning it. I was on vacation, dammit.

  “I’ll call him. You don’t worry about a thing. He may be the local law there, but my boys are there too, plus we’re in tight with the Navy base. By six p.m. everyone on the Island will know to steer clear of you. You sense trouble, you grab a sailor or deputy, got it?”

  “I’m hip. Thanks Sheriff.”

  “No problem. Thanks again for your help, Detective. I’ll make that call now.” He hung up, I hung up, and dropped another dime. I called Tiki Island again, asking for Melinda. I watched Jessica as I waited, sitting at the little OJ stand. The place was so small it only had four stools. The whole thing was shaped like a giant orange. The hand-lettered sign read, “Fresh Squeezed Florida Organge Juice”. ‘Organge’. Florida was a weird place, I thought.

  A voice came over the phone. It wasn’t Melinda’s.

  “Hello, Tiki Island,” the voice said. It sounded like a man in his fifties who’d been bred with the snootiest of demeanor.

  “I’m trying to reach Melinda Hawthorn,” I said, sounding official.

  “I’m afraid Miss Hawthorn is unavailable. Perhaps I can be of service, this is Mr. Bachman, the resort Manager.”

  Oh ho! So it was Jerry’s brother sounding snooty. Wow, what a difference from the Brooklyn boy his brother was. “Hello Mr. Bachman, this is Detective Bill Riggins, your brother’s bud,” I said as friendly as I could. After all, the man set me up with a suite and sweet deal.

  “Ah, yes, hello Mr. Riggins! Nice to finally speak with you. Jerry’s told me very much about you.”

  “Jerry’s a great guy. And I really appreciate the room and all.”

  “Our pleasure, Mr. Riggins. What is it I can do for you?”

  “Well, I had something I needed to speak to Melinda about. She’s been very nice to me these last couple of days, by the way.”

  “I’m sure she has, she’s a very pleasant person. She’s out on the grounds getting things ready for tonight’s luau. Shall I relay a message?”

  “Just tell her I called,” was all I said.

  “Mr. Riggins, is this something to do with the skeleton found on the property, by any chance?” he asked, and I wondered if the guy had me tailed.

  “Actually yes, it is. I got some info and wanted to let her know. I’ve already told the Sheriff.”

  “Would you mind telling me what it is you found?” he asked, the snootiness seeping through. I didn’t really want to tell him anything. I promised Melinda I’d tell her if I found out anything, not this guy.

  “I’d really rather tell her myself,”

  “Mr. Riggins,” he said snootily. Lot of snootiness flying around with this clown. “I am the General Manager of the Resort. I’d very much appreciate you communicating any knowledge of this to me.”

  I guess he was right, snooty or not he was picking up the tab for my vacation, the least I could do was give him the info.

  “Oh, of course. She was a victim of the 1935 hurricane, buried on the Island by the workers who cleaned things up. There are three others buried with her. The Sheriff plans on discussing the matter with Mr. Hawthorn this evening. He’s going to suggest you cover the body over and erect a memorial.”

  The line was quiet. I looked over and noticed Jessica was almost through her juice, and was getting impatient. The hot sun was dipping down into the gulf. It was getting late. “That’s pretty much it,” I said into the dead phone.

  “Well, that’s not so bad, I guess,” Bachman said. “I suppose it’s much better than a murder. Thank you Mr. Riggins. Will I see you tonight?”

  “Yes, I’m heading down to Key West for a bit, then I’ll be back to the Island.”

  “Very good. I should like to meet you, if you have time Mr. Riggins.”

  “I’ll make time,” I said.

  “Marvelous. Good afternoon, Mr. Riggins. I’ll see you this evening.”

  “Ciao,” I said, and hung up.

  Over at the Orange-shaped stand, Jessica was working on her second glass of juice. I walked over and joined her.

  “’Bout time,” she said as she handed me my drink.

  “Business, doll.”

  “I thought you were on vacation?”

  “Yeah, so did I.”

  +++

  We pulled into Key West around seven-fifteen. Surprisingly, it was still light out – the sun seemed to linger around forever in the evening here. In New York the sky would have been dark already, and the streets would be glowing with fluorescents and neon. There was a curious lack of neon here. I guess it never caught on so far detached from the rest of the world.

  I parked the Chevy on Duval close to Jessica’s apartment. Then we just sort of sat there for a minute.

  “Listen kid,” I finally said, “I don’t want to be presumptuous…but the big luau is tonight on the Island, and since as it is I’ve never been to one, I’d like to hop on over…and I’d like you to come along.” I made my intentions pretty clear, I thought, without coming off as a letch.

  “I’ll get my overnight bag, if that’s ok with you,” she said. Not much emotion in her voice, but she looked demure.

  “That’s A-OK with me, dollface. I’ll wait here.”

  She smiled big, got out of the car and hoofed it up to her apartment. I lit up a smoke while I waited, scanning the street. Lots of people walking around, a few riding bikes. A couple of Vespas went by with screaming teenagers having a ball. Here and there a few old-timers strolled the sidewalks in sear-suckers and boaters, swinging bamboo canes. An occasional souped-up buggy or hot rod would tear down the strip, only to get hung up at the traffic light on the corner. Corny ragtime piano music seeped out of the bar next to where I was parked. Across the street, a couple of greasers in black T’s and chinos were loading drums and electric guitars into another bar where a dozen motorcycles were parked. It was gonna be a rockin’ night over there, that’s for sure.

  Less than five ticks slipped by when Jessica came down with her suitcase. It was an old brown leather job, well worn but still held together. It didn’t have any of those port-of-call stickers on it like you see on most bags. She hadn’t done much traveling, I guess.

  “Toss it in the back,” I said, “We’ve got to get moving or we’re going to miss the seven-thirty boat.” She tossed it, hopped up on the doorsill, swung her long legs around and slid into the seat.

  “Let’s motorvate,” she said.

  “I’m hip,” I responded and dropped the hammer.

  I parked the car just in time to get the boat before she shoved off. Handing the keys to the same old man I said, “Sheriff Roberts says no one is to go near that car except me and you. Anything happens to it, heads will roll.”

  “Don’t you worry sonny,” he replied with a wink. “I’ve got no love for ole’ Lem either.” So the word was out already. Good.

  A few minutes later we were making the trip towards Tiki Island, just like we had a few days before. We ordered cocktails, both Mojitos, and sat along the edge of the aft deck.

  “So you make this trip a lot?” I asked.

  “A few times a month. When they need me.”

  “What exactly is it you do on the island?”

  There was a slight pause before she answered, just long enough for one of those gears in my head to click, but I didn’t notice.

  “Mostly I hostess during private functions. You know, sit with people, tell them about the Resort and all it has to offer, stuff like that. Sometimes I help out in the back-of-the-house, or with banquet setup, that sort of thing. Easy work, not too exciting but it pays the bills. Got a smoke?”

  “Sure,” I said, and lit two. “You do the same in Key West?”

  “My, aren’t we inquisitive tonight?” She said, being funny, a little laugh in her voice.

  “Just curious about you, that’s all. I hardly know a thing about you.”
r />   “Not much to know. I was born here, raised here, live here, will probably always live here. I like rum and Bourbon, country-western music and rock ’n’ roll. My favorite color is yellow and I’ve never owned a car. I believe in civil rights, and although I’m against communism I feel that people shouldn’t be railroaded for going to a meeting. I was too young to remember much about the big war, but I’m deathly afraid of being incinerated by an Atom bomb. I had my first drink when I was twelve and kissed a boy for the first time when I was fourteen. Oh, and my favorite food is spaghetti and meatballs. That about cover it?”

  I laughed and she did too. “That pretty much sums it up, huh? Will there be a quiz later?” I asked, and as I did her eyes met mine directly. Martin Denny’s Hypnotique played over the boat’s hi-fi. The Tiki torches danced to the rhythm.

  “There may be,” she said slowly, breathlessly, “So I hope you were listen…” Our lips met, that fire that burned so hot and bright two nights ago returning with a vengeance. We didn’t care that anyone might be watching; it was our moment and we were in it, full blast. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and my hands found her back and I drew her in closer. The kiss intensified. It was like krazy, like wild. I’d never felt like that kissing a dame before. Oh sure, I got hot, I got pleasure, but not like this. Something was different, in a big way.

  Somehow, somewhere along the line I’d started falling for this chick.

  I knew it was bad news but I didn’t care. Maybe after a week I’d never see her again. Maybe I would. Maybe I’d quit working in the City and get a job with Sheriff Jackson kicking Roberts’ ass all over town. Maybe I’d…

  She pulled away slightly and the kiss ended. She was smiling. The breeze brushed her golden blonde hair over her face, over her brilliant blue eyes. She was beautiful.

  “One more smack like that and I might fall overboard,” I joked like a goof. That was me, Mr. Smooth.

  “If you did I’d jump in with you,” she said coyly. “I need a refill. We still have twenty minutes before we get to the Island.”

  After the refills the conversation turned to me. I wasn’t too happy about it since I’d lied to her about being a cop. I could have told her right then, but I didn’t want anything to spoil the mood. Later, I’d fill her in. Then I’d tell her all about me afterwards.

  “So were you born in New York?” she started with after the first sip of the second drink.

  “No, Weehawken New Jersey, a city just across the Hudson. Lot of commercial shipping there.”

  “Why did you move to New York?”

  I laughed. “If you saw New York in person, you’d know why.”

  “I don’t think I’d like it much. Too big. I even think Miami is too big. I like a small town where you can walk everywhere you need to go.”

  “I walk all over the place,” I said, “I don’t even own a car.”

  “But what about that roadster?”

  “It’s rented. When I go home, it stays.”

  “Oh, I see. The way you pet that thing I thought it was all yours!”

  “Pet it? Hey now hold on sister, I like the jalopy but I don’t think I ever pet it.” We were laughing again, and I stole another kiss. Just a small one this time, but still potent.

  “So have you made any friends since you came to the Keys?” she asked, and the strangest thing happened. An image of Melinda flashed across my mind, of her in the white dress and white flower in her hair. Hadn’t I felt strongly for her just a day ago? I started to think that switching from Bourbon to rum was playing tricks on my head. Melinda, beautiful Melinda. What was the last thing she said to me? ‘I can’t’.

  “Bill, you OK?” came a sweet voice from in front of me.

  “Oh yeah, I guess I was just drifting for a minute. This rum is crazy, it really sends me up.”

  “You get used to it after a while,” she said somewhat sullenly, then quickly added, “Kind of a crazy story about that skeleton, huh?”

  “Yeah, very crazy. And spooky too. Did you know that people claim they see the ghost of a young woman on Tiki Island?”

  Suddenly Jessica’s demeanor changed. The smile broke loose from her lips and I could detect a slight twitch in her face. She seemed very serious now.

  “For real, Bill? I mean, for real people have said that or are you just makin’ fun with me?”

  “No, seriously, there have been claims. Even the woman who runs the Island says she’s seen it.”

  “Melinda Hawthorn?” Jessica asked, as if she knew her.

  “Yes, that’s her. The Entertainment Director.” Like, wow man, duhhh…of course she knew Melinda, she’s worked for her.

  “She never said anything like that around me. Then again, I guess it’s not really the topic of general conversation.”

  “Hey now wait a minute, Jessica, you don’t buy all this ghost and ghoul crapola, do you? I mean, come on!”

  Jessica didn’t seem amused. In fact, she seemed borderline angry.

  “Listen Bill, just because you don’t believe in something doesn’t mean it’s not true. There are plenty of things science can’t explain. Just look around you. When this boat you’re sitting in was built, Television didn’t exist. The hotel room you’re staying in was built before rockets or A-bombs were invented, and it’s not even twenty years old. Hell, just over fifty years ago doctors didn’t wash their hands in hospitals. We learn new stuff all the time, you know?”

  “Ok, kid, don’t get all defensive. I see your point. Just I’ve never seen a spook, and I tend to believe in things I can see, or touch, or at least measure somehow.”

  “Yeah, well…” She looked away. I put my hand on her arm; I could feel her shaking.

  “Jess, baby, what is it?”

  She looked at me. The fire in her eyes had turned to fear, simple, primal fear. “Jess?”

  “I’ve seen it,” she said in a voice that made me shiver. “I’ve seen it, more than once. I saw it a few weeks ago, then a few nights ago, and I came to Tiki Island to get away from it and clear my head. Then I saw it the morning after I stayed with you. That’s why I left so fast. I saw it again last night, and I couldn’t sleep. Now I’m coming here tonight, with you, and I hope it shows up again because if it does and you see it, it means I’m not crazy!”

  She buried her face in my chest and sobbed quietly. I put my arms around her, squeezing her tight. “I don’t think you’re crazy,” I said, “If you say you saw a ghost, that’s good enough for me. If I see something tonight, all the better. After what happened here in ’35, I wouldn’t be all that surprised if this place was haunted.”

  She said very quietly, “Thank you, Bill.”

  Just then I looked up. “There’s the Island. Look, you can see the Tiki Torches dancing,” I told her. And once again, like Monday night, we were heading toward the entrance of Tiki Island.

  “Take the lady’s bag to my room,” I told the porter as we exited the gangplank to the dock. “Jessica, do you think we’ll have time to freshen up a little before we hit the luau?”

  “Certainly,” she answered, “The seatings start at eight-thirty but the entertainment won’t go on until after nine.”

  “Good, I want to change this shirt.”

  “And I have a pretty Hawaiian dress I want to put on. It’s very tight. Shows off my hips.”

  “I’m hip to your hips,” I said as we headed up to the suite.

  Drums. Krazy, kookie, wild Polynesian drums filled the night with sound as the flickering red and yellow glow of innumerable Tiki torches lit the darkness of the Island’s South Beach. A hundred people or more were sitting around large wooden tables decorated with citrus candles, tropical plants and flower garlands. A grand buffet table, at least sixty feet long flanked the hotel side of the beach, framed by a black, lava rock backdrop fifteen feet high, complete with waterfalls. Chefs in pristine white jackets with teal cuffs and collars and tall hats carved fresh roast beef, turkey and pork. Two giant pigs were being roasted in pits adjacent to t
he buffet, and at the center of the long table a pile of tropical fruits, coconuts and pineapples made a six-foot high display surrounding a hand-carved Tiki totem. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was in Hawaii.

  A small band of steel and slide guitars began to play along with the drums as a pretty waitress in a grass skirt and coconut bikini top led us to a table at the front of the stage. I had to really hold my tongue not to say ‘nice coconuts’ to her. But I couldn’t resist saying it under my breath to Jessica after she walked away. I got an elbow in the ribs for my efforts. As we sat, another pretty girl in similar attire placed two very large, fresh pineapples on the table in front of us. Straws stuck out of the tops.

  “Compliments of the house, Mr. Riggins,” she said, “They are our specialty, Tonga Cocktails, served only during the luau.” I smiled and said thank you. But I wasn’t too happy. It’s not that I wasn’t grateful, it’s just that the only way this doll could know me was if someone who knew me spotted me and told her. And the only one who knew me on sight was Melinda.

  “What’s in this drink?” Jessica asked, breaking my line of thought.

  “Five different rums from the islands, fresh pineapple juice, Curacao, lime juice, and a few secret ingredients,” the pretty hula girl replied. Yeah, secret ingredients like arsenic, or maybe cyanide…

  Jessica said, “What’s the matter, Bill, I thought you liked rum?”

  I guess I wore my thoughts on my face. “Oh sure, I dig rum. Not so sure about five kinds all mixed together, but I guess there’s only one way to find out!” I said, and took a sip. Good stuff. Strong, but good.

  Five more Hula girls came out from behind the band and began to dance along with the music. They switched from the heavy drums to a more soothing, old-style Hawaiian repertoire as the native girls told their story in dance. A minute later they opened the buffet, and we got in line for our grub. Man, that food was fantabulous. Fresh-sliced pork roast and beef, egg rolls, Crab Rangoon, plus a mix of Chinese food and good old American dishes blended in such a way that it made sense and tasted great. These guys really had it down pat, I thought.