We got back to the table and settled in. The music was mellow, very romantic. Not sure if that had anything to do with it but Jessica started to open up to me, in a way that made me wonder if she was feeling the same things I was feeling about her.
“Someday I’d like to move away from here, maybe up to Palm Beach, where things aren’t so crazy,” she started with. “I know if I stay in the Keys they’ll eventually kill me.”
“Why do you say that, kitten?”
She paused a minute and looked over at the Hula girls before answering. “It’s just too crazy down here, you know? Living in Key West is like having a party every night. The noise, the booze, the…” she trailed off, and I wondered what she was going to say next. “It’s just a hectic lifestyle,” she resumed. I had a feeling she just stopped herself from going too far.
“I guess there’s a lot of trouble down here, behind the scenery they put up for the tourists, huh?”
“No, not a lot of trouble. We have our insanity just like any city, I guess. Sure, there’s more problems with some things, like guys running drugs up from Cuba and all, and the occasional biker gang fight, but nothing much different than anywhere else.”
“Listen doll, I work in New York City. Believe you-me, ain’t nothing worse than that.”
She saluted and pretended to smoke a pipe, and said in a funny voice a la Reams, “I’d imagine you’re right about that, I’d imagine!” We both laughed at that, maybe a little harder than we should of because of the rum, but it sure as hell seemed funny at the time.
“What would you do in Palm Beach?” I asked, still laughing a little.
“I dunno, maybe get a job as a waitress while I look for a rich husband. Lots of wealthy men up that way, if you don’t mind the grandfatherly type.”
“Eek!” I said laughing again, and took another drink. Boy were these mangos strong. Eh, pineappleees, I mean.
It was then that a middle-aged man in a tan crepe suit walked over to our table. His hair was slicked back old-style, and he sported a moustache that would have been in high style around 1939. He was a tall, lanky egret with a thin cigar sticking out of his mouth. His tan buckskin dress loafers made it difficult for him to walk in the sand, but he hid it well.
“Mr. Riggins?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“That’s right.” I instantly recognized the snootiness in his voice.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir, I’m Rutger Bachman, Gerald’s brother.” Well, that explained the getup. The bird was on the clock, which accounted for the attire. I’m guessing he didn’t come out to the luaus much, as they were Melinda’s baby. “Mind if I join you a moment?”
“Not at all, Mr. Bachman, go ahead and park it.”
“Please, call me Rutger.”
“It’s your dime,” I said, and motioned over the waitress. “You a drinking man, Rutger?”
“Yes, normally but I am working at the moment, so just a club soda with lime for me, please.”
“Kookie. We’ll have two more of these pineapple concoctions,” I said to the waitress, “And a club soda and lime for the boss.” She bowed her head and slipped away. “Rutger, I’d like you to meet Ms. Jessica Rutledge. You two have a lot in common, your names both have “r-u-t” in them,” I said, getting cornier as I got more inebriated.
The egret looked at Jessica with a smarmy half-smile that I didn’t like so much. But the rum was clouding things up, so I wasn’t sure what I didn’t like about it.
“I already know Ms. Rutledge, she’s worked for us on several occasions, helping greatly during our private events. Isn’t that right, Miss Rutledge?”
Jessica looked the slightest bit unsure of what to say next.
“Yes, thank you Mr. Bachman,” Jessica said, slightly embarrassed. Maybe more than slightly. Her cheeks flushed red, but it may have been the five rums.
Bachman turned back to me and spoke. “I trust you’re finding your accommodations satisfactory?”
“Oh, yeah, sure,” I said while swallowing a big chunk of meat. I guess this was talk time. The food would have to be put on the back burner for a while. “Yeah, the room is terrif. I can’t believe the view. It’s really swell of you kids to go all out for me like this, God knows I needed a real vacation.”
“Well, Mr. Riggins, after what Gerald told us about you, it’s our pleasure to have a hero staying at the resort.”
“Ah, come on, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that,” I said humbly. The rum was really hitting me. I should have remembered how hard that stuff could pack a punch.
“Nonsense, imagine all the lives you saved by finding that murderer and bringing him to justice. Top notch police work, Detective.”
“Oh, well thanks buddy. All in a day’s wor…”
Jessica looked at me with eyes as big as pot pies. Her whole face lost its beauty in the second, replaced with a sort of combination of hate, anger, guilt and surprise. The rum had betrayed me. I wasn’t thinking straight and now the cat was out of the bag.
“Will you both excuse me for a minute,” she said, then quietly got up and left. I didn’t know whether to follow her or what. Bachman kept on spieling.
“I’d like you to know that all of the Island’s accommodations are at your disposal. Just ring the front desk, or my office for anything you need, and we’ll be sure to satisfy you.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I said, trying to shake off the rum. “I’ll do that.”
“But I see you’ve already found some of our most…eh…interesting accommodations,” he said with sly smile, the way you’d tell someone you just pick-pocketed some old rich guy.
“Uh, yeah, sure. Listen, I’d hate to cut you off but I think I should go after Jessica, she seemed a little…”
“Oh, come now Mr. Riggins, she’ll be back, of course.”
“It’s just that I hadn’t told her I was a cop, I think that kind of set her off a little.”
“Ohhh! I see, how foolish of me, of course you wouldn’t tell her. I’m very sorry to have said anything.”
“Ah, don’t mention it,” I said.
Click.
“I’m sure she’ll be back any second,” he went on, “so before she does, I’d like you to know I’ve spoken with Mr. Hawthorn about the, eh, incident in the garden…and he’s decided he needs to think things over before making any rash decisions. In the meantime, we’d appreciate your discretion with the matter. We’d really rather not have this made into a media event.”
My head was clearing up a little now. “Isn’t that Ms. Hawthorn’s department? Public relations and all that? Not that I’m going to go blow a trumpet about your little graveyard, but shouldn’t she be the one handling the press and all?”
It was then that I first started to really dislike Rutger Bachman. He sat up very straight in his chair, as if it gave him some sort of stature, and said, “Mr. Riggins, Melinda Hawthorn is the Entertainment Director of this Resort, nothing more. I happen to be the General Manager, and I report directly to Mr. Hawthorn. It is my responsibility to make sure the reputation of this establishment remains unmarred, and I will continue to do so as I see fit.” His demeanor was so snide I damned near slapped him in the puss just to knock him down a peg. But a free room was a free room, and I didn’t want to get bumped out because of a rum-soaked lack in judgment.
“Ok, Bachman, take a deep breath, no one’s challenging your position.” I took a short pull of the rum. “So take it easy. Your skeleton’s safe with me. Besides, the last thing I want is to be involved with any police biz. I’m on vacation, you know.”
He smiled, then laughed. “Vacation? Of course I know! Your vacation is costing me a mint!” he said, then got up and held out his hand. I took it and shook it. “Well I hope you have a marvelous stay, Mr. Riggins. Remember, anything you need, just give me a buzz. Anything. Although I think you have just about everything you need,” he added, then winked and walked off. As he did, Jessica walked up behind me, and sat.
Click.
<
br /> “Hey kid, have a smoke?” I asked, holding out the pack. She shook her head quietly. “You ok? What gives?”
She didn’t answer at first. I just stared at her until she spoke.
“Why did you lie to me, Bill? About your job. Why did you lie about it?”
I stuck a butt in my mouth and lit it with the Zippo, blew a big puff of smoke out into the night. It hung between us for a second, pierced by the glow of the torches. She seemed a million miles away just then. “I didn’t want anyone down here to know I was a cop. I’m on vacation and all I wanted to do was relax, maybe do some fishing, maybe meet a pretty girl…The only ones who knew were that guy Bachman and Melinda Hawthorn. I liked it that way. For a week I get to pretend I’m someone else, someone who doesn’t care about crime, or drugs or any of it. But lucky me, the day after I arrive they find a twenty-year old stiff in the front yard. And it’s a mystery who the stiff is, and like a big jerk I offer to help and sure enough the local law says ‘oh sure, we can use the help’ so I’m the guy who gets to flat-foot it all over the Florida Keys to find the answer. I pay for mileage on the rental car so I’m getting to pay a nice fat chunk of change for that, too. On top of everything else I got whacked in the head by a fat, corrupt cop for my troubles, and lost almost a whole day of my vacation. So yeah, I lied to you. I’m sorry about that, and I actually planned to tell you in the car on the way up to Islamorada but we were having such a gass I didn’t want anything to goof it up. So the cat’s out of the bag. I’m a cop. I’m a vice-squad detective with the New York City PD, and I bring down pimps and pushers and hookers and con artists and scumbags of all kinds every day, and I got in a heap of crap for knocking around some poor sap who probably didn’t deserve it but was a wise guy and needed to learn a lesson about respect. Now that kat is holed-up in my apartment with a bunch of cops watching over him for his own protection, and I get to high-tail it out of town on a little vacation, courtesy of my buddy Jerry and his brother, Rutger Bachman. So am I sorry I didn’t tell you? Yeah. Is it really a big deal? No. Everybody has secrets. You’ve got secrets, I’m sure. But who cares? I like you honey, you’re a damn straight-on doll that’s fun to be with and can hold a conversation that doesn’t include pulling bubblegum. So unless you’re a pimp, a hooker or a Horse peddler, you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about being around me. Ya dig?”
She seemed to shudder just a little with that last line, but remained quiet. Then she said, “What if I were a pusher, or a pimp? Which would be kind of funny, but just say I were…would you still like me then? Or would you send me up the river, like a good cop.”
I didn’t have to think twice. “Lady, I don’t care if you murdered the mayor. I’m on vacation.”
We’d somehow come closer during my little speech, close enough that I was looking straight into her eyes, into her soul.
If I hadn’t fallen for her, I wouldn’t have liked what I had seen.
Our lips met. The fire from the Tiki torches was nothing compared to what passed between us. The jungle drums beat a heavy cadence as fire-dancers jumped and twirled and twisted in front of us. We didn’t notice.
Minutes later she was in my suite, first in my arms, then on the couch. I turned the lights down low and cued up Music for Lovers Only by the Jackie Gleason Orchestra. Then I fixed a couple of simple Cuba Libres at the bar, and brought them over to the thing of beauty displayed on my sofa. She never took her eyes off me. I stood in front of her and handed her the drink.
“Sit,” she said as she stood up slowly. I sat. She slowly unzipped the dress, and with a fluid motion let it drop to the floor, exposing her young, naked body, shadowed in the glow of the soft lights. “Let’s try something different,” she said softly, turned and walked over to the Tiki Bar. She motioned for me to follow. I did. She drew me in close and kissed me, that fire burning hot as hell. Then she slowly turned around so her back was to me, took my hands and moved them up her body. She was warm, very warm, and quivered under my touch. Her breath got heavy when my hands reached her breasts. Breathlessly she said, “Take me,” and slowly bent over the bar. I obeyed.
Down at the luau, Melinda Hawthorn sunk back into the shadows from where she had been standing. She wasn’t crying. She would be soon.
+++
Thursday morning brought heavy clouds and a threat of rain with them. Jessica and I had breakfast on the lanai overlooking the Keys while pelicans dove into the sea for fish right in front of us. Quaker parrots flew from palm tree to palm tree, searching for snacks. By the time we knocked back breakfast, the clouds had moved on and the sun was shining clear and yellow in a cyan sky.
I looked up at Jessica over my java. She was gorgeous in the morning light. “So what should we do today, kitten?”
“I thought maybe we’d go back to Key West, let me show you around the island. There’s a lot to explore. We’ll go back there, and see how it goes.”
“What do you mean, see how it goes?”
She took a long sip of her OJ, keeping her eyes on me. The glass made a solid clink as it settled on the table. It seemed like an eternity before she spoke, just looking at me with those big blues.
“I mean, no visions last night. No ghosts. Maybe you were right, maybe it was the heat or something. I won’t know for sure until I go home.”
“Then home it is, dollface. Anything in particular you want to do?”
“Oh, the usual Key West stuff. Shop. Drink. Go to the beach. Go to the sponge market. And one other thing.”
“What’s that?”
She dabbed her lips with her napkin in such a way that made me melt. “There’s an old house at the end of the Key, been abandoned for years. They say it’s haunted. I want to go check it out. If there really are ghosts, maybe they’ll be there.”
I thought before I spoke. I honestly thought this was all a load of bunk, but I sure as hell didn’t want to say that to Jessica. Whatever was happening to her, whether it was in her head or something real, it wasn’t my business judge. “Ok, fine. We’ll check out your little haunted house. Do you think bullets are any good against ghosts?”
“I doubt it,” she laughed, and as she did she stood up and slipped the terrycloth bathrobe from her shoulders, once again baring that perfect chassis that could stop a steamroller in its tracks. “We don’t have to leave right away, do we?” she asked, standing there in the morning sunlight, backed by the bamboo wall and Tiki gods. What a sight.
“No kid, we’ve got all the time in the world.”
+++
Sheriff Jackson came over on the ten a.m. boat from Sugarloaf Key. His shirt was already damp with humidity He met Melinda Hawthorn in the lobby, and said a silent prayer of thanks for air conditioning.
“Several sources confirm it, Miss Hawthorn, it’s almost definitely a victim of the 1935 storm. Not too surprised, myself.”
Melinda was glad to hear the news, though she had other, more pressing issues on her mind. There had been couple of complaints about last night’s luau which she needed to address, and the morning’s breakfast buffet had run out of grits already. Four of the room maids were sick with a cough, and one of the ice machines was broken. As Bachman was not much for coordinating day-to-day problems, the problems fell on Melinda to fix.
“Well Sheriff, if you’re sure that’s all it is than I guess that’s great news. So what do we do now? Remove the remains or just cover them over?”
“I suppose that’s up to Mr. Hawthorn and you. I’d say it’s best to just recover the grave and leave a marker.”
“And that’s just what we’ll do, Sheriff. Good morning, darling.”
Melinda turned to see Eliot Hawthorn walking up behind her, dressed in cream silk pajamas and a red smoking jacket. He walked slowly, using a cane for support. As he walked up behind Melinda, Jessica and I walked up behind the Sheriff.
“And you must be Mr. Riggins, from New York. Melinda has told me much about you, sir.”
His demeanor was old-school charm and aristocratic, m
ore of a statesman than a hotel owner. His face wore his age well, and a full mane of white hair topped off the look. It was his eyes that got me, though, bright blue eyes with a look of youth behind them, not age. Yet the corners revealed a sadness; years of death and destruction had settled into the crow’s feet that finished off the edges of the man named Eliot Hawthorn.
“Yes, Bill Riggins, a pleasure to meet you Mr. Hawthorn,” I said shaking his hand.
“Oh please, call me Eliot, this is a vacation resort, not the state seat.”
“Fine, then call me Bill. And this is Jessica Rutledge, of Key West.”
Jessica held out her hand and blushed just a little.
“Oh, of course, I thought I recognized you, you’ve worked for us on some occasions, have you not?”
“Yes,” she answered awkwardly, “In the banquet hall.” Her voice trailed off, oddly. I cut in with,
“And hello to you Melinda, and Sheriff Jackson. How’s everyone doing this morning?”
The Sheriff answered. “Hello Bill. We were just discussing the, eh, remains in the garden.”
“A touchy subject,” I said, “Have you come to a decision on what’s to be done with them?”
All were silent for a moment. Eventually all eyes turned to Hawthorn. Hawthorn was looking straight at me.
“As a matter of fact, Mr. Riggins,”
“Bill,” I interrupted.
“Yes, Bill, of course. As a matter of fact, that is the precise reason I’ve come down here today. I don’t often come down from my loft during business hours these days; the light and the noise does not agree with me, as a condition of an ailment of age. But I felt this event warrants my complete attention. Therefore I have decided that I need to witness the remains myself, if you’ll indulge me.”
Again our little crowd was quiet, not knowing what to say next. I looked around, the others looked at Hawthorn, then me, as if they needed my consent or some krazy thing. I motioned to Hawthorn.
Murder on Tiki Island: A Noir Paranormal Mystery In The Florida Keys (Detective Bill Riggins Mysteries) Page 17