Pineapple Mystery Box: A Pineapple Port Mystery: Book Two (Pineapple Port Mysteries 2)

by Amy Vansant

  “Maybe we could move Gloria in with Seamus and you could come and stay with me instead,” she mumbled.

  He rubbed his cheek against hers and she rested her head on his shoulder. She spotted Kim just outside the kitchen staring and as their eyes met, Kim covered her mouth, tittering at their public display of affection.

  PDA. The acronym from grade school rang through her mind. Turned out PDA wasn’t as awful as the kids in grade school made it seem.

  The bartender placed a boat of sushi in front of them and they sat back to enjoy it. Charlotte picked up her saki cup and tried to take a sip, the grin on her face making it difficult to wrap her lips on the edge of the cup.

  Ochoko.

  She said the Japanese name word for the saki cup in her head to distract herself from how much she wanted to grab Declan and kiss him. She’d Googled the name of it the last time they’d stopped by the restaurant.

  Ochoko. Ochoko. OchokoOchokoochokoochokoochoko…

  She sneaked a glimpse of him as he stirred wasabi in his soy sauce and watched the sinews in his neck move beneath his tan skin.

  I might have to say it a few hundred more times…

  Distracting herself with Japanese language trivia wasn’t going to cut it. She still wanted to grab him. That’s when she remembered he’d had a big day as well.

  “Oh! You have to tell me about your day!” she said.

  He nodded and put down his own ochoko with his well-manicured yet manly fingers…

  OchokoOchokoochokoochokoochoko…

  “My day? Well, my ex-girlfriend stopped by to tell me she technically owns my pawn shop.”

  Ocho— wait, what was that now?

  Her perma-grin tilted on her face like a hung painting in an earthquake.

  Ex-girlfriend?

  She took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.

  “Wow. I didn’t think there was any way you could top my day.”

  “You don’t know how sorry I am to disappoint you.”

  “This wouldn’t be the crazy ex-girlfriend you told me about, would it?”

  “It would.”

  “Oh. Yikes.”

  “Yikes would be one way of saying it…emergency sirens wailing would be another…”

  “How is this possible?”

  “To prove I own the shop I have drunken scrawlings on a napkin—her words—and she claims to have a real will stating Bonehead left the shop to her mother, who, if I never mentioned it, was his ex-girlfriend.”

  “Lot of ex-girlfriends in this story.”

  “Yup.”

  “It doesn’t sound good.”

  “Nope.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He put his elbows on the bar and dropped his head into his hands.

  “I don’t know. I probably need to talk to a lawyer, but lawyers are expensive. This whole thing is going to end up costing me a fortune. I know it.”

  Charlotte stared at the bar top for a few minutes and then jumped, an idea shooting through her as if she was strapped to an electric chair and someone had just flipped the switch.

  “You could talk to Tilly!”

  “Who?”

  “Tilly. She’s the neighborhood busybody but she was also a lawyer. Possibly for the mob.”

  “For the mob? Seriously?”

  Charlotte shrugged. “I mean, she doesn’t introduce herself as Hi, I’m Tilly who worked for the mob, but yes. There’s talk she might be in witness protection, but who knows…when rumors get flying around here it’s best not to assume anything. Once we weed through the exaggeration we could find out she was a plumber in Kansas.”

  “But you’re pretty sure she’s a lawyer?”

  “Yes…retired of course. When people talk about lawyer-stuff my eyes glass over but I think she did something with property…or business…I dunno. Either way, she might be able to help.”

  “Do you think it’s too late to see her now?”

  She looked at her watch. “It’s seven…that’s pushing it around here…we could give it a shot though. She wasn’t home when I tried to talk to her earlier so I need to interview her anyway. Maybe she’s back now.”

  They scarfed down the rest of their sushi, paid their tab, checked their pockets to be sure Kim hadn’t accidentally slipped inside of them, and headed back to Pineapple Port.

  Chapter Ten

  Tilly’s ancient Ford Taurus, rusty and missing all four hubcaps, sat in her driveway. Charlotte stared at it and then looked at Declan.

  “Maybe she wasn’t that great a lawyer.”

  “Any help would be welcome.”

  They parked and knocked on the door.

  Tilly answered wearing black yoga pants that accentuated her knobby knees. Her oversized tee featured a glitter-covered sand dollar. The word Sanibel blazed beneath the shell in orange script. Her dark hair was short and spiky and the Florida sun had turned her skin the color of nutmeg.

  “Hi Tilly,” said Charlotte. “I stopped by earlier but you weren’t around.”

  Tilly cocked her hip and rested her knuckles on it.

  “I know. I wasn’t here so I remember being somewhere else.”

  Her voice was low and smoky. She looked at Declan. “You got your hair cut,” she said, jutting her chin in his direction.

  Declan’s hand rose to touch his hair.

  “Couple of days ago… Have we met?”

  She snorted a laugh and then turned back to Charlotte.

  “Whaddya need?”

  “Well, two things. I came earlier to ask you if you’d seen anyone suspicious in the neighborhood.”

  “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  Charlotte’s gaze shot to the closed-circuit television camera above her head. Tilly had cameras everywhere, some at her home and some hidden around the neighborhood. Little escaped her attention. Rumor had it she owned a mythical tome known as The Book, in which she noted everything of interest that happened in Pineapple Port. No matter how sneaky people thought they were, their shenanigans were probably logged in The Book. In a way, Tilly served as a minor deity; people didn’t misbehave for fear she was watching.

  Some residents knew about her surveillance, but few minded. Not many of them had things they needed to hide, and she’d become the head of the unofficial neighborhood watch. Her vigilant observation served as a free security program and it helped that she wasn’t a gossip. She’d answer questions about the comings and goings of the neighborhood if asked, but never offered information.

  “Someone switched the lawn decorations. People with gazing balls woke up to find fishing frogs, people with sports flags had flamingo flags, that sort of thing.”

  “Last night?”

  Charlotte nodded.

  “I was out of town. I haven’t had a chance to review the tapes. I’ll have to check the feeds but if someone was messing with things, I’ll find them.”

  “That would be great!” Charlotte fished in her purse and found her notebook. “Here’s the list of people who reported changes.” She handed it to Tilly, who looked it over and then returned it.

  “Got it.”

  “Don’t you want to keep it?”

  Tilly rolled her eyes.

  Charlotte slipped the notebook back in her purse. “Okay…I have one other question for you.”

  “I’m going to have to start charging you.”

  “You can, if you like,” said Declan. “It’s a law question.”

  She waved a hand at him. “I’m kidding. What else do I have to do? Hit me.”

  Declan looked at Charlotte and then continued.

  “I inherited my shop from my uncle’s business partner, Bonehead—”

  “Who would go into business with a man named Bonehead?” asked Tilly.

  “It’s a nickname my uncle Seamus gave him; something to do with head-butting people back in Ireland. Anyway, his real name was Tommy O’Malley. He and Seamus owned the shop together, and made a deal that my uncle wouldn’t take his full share
when he left town under the condition that the shop would go to me if Tommy died. Tommy didn’t have any kids, so when he died of cancer, I took over the shop. I have the napkin they signed when they agreed upon it. So I was wondering—”

  “It’s a holographic will,” said Tilly, cutting him short.

  “What?”

  “Holographic. It means a handwritten will. Florida doesn’t recognize them.”

  “What?”

  “The shop was never yours. What’d you do? Just start paying the bills?”

  “I…basically, yes. I even closed up the original shop and moved it across town, all at my expense.”

  “And someone is contesting?”

  “Yes. Maybe. I’m not sure yet. Bonehead’s ex-girlfriend might have had an official will stating she inherited the shop.”

  “Might have had?”

  “She died.”

  “Gotcha. Go on.”

  “She mentioned the will after Bonehead’s funeral, but she’s a bit of a nut, so no one believed her and then she admitted to lying about it anyway. But now her daughter contacted me, claiming she found the will and plans to use it.”

  “Is she Bonehead’s kid?”

  “Stephanie? No. She was little when her mom started dating Bonehead. Her real father is the devil, more than likely.”

  “Well, I hate to say it, kid, but if she’s got a real will signed by two witnesses, she’s probably going to win this fight. She could even try to sue you for selling the original shop and moving it. Damages. Whatever. Hopefully she likes you.”

  “It’s his ex-girlfriend,” said Charlotte.

  “Ha! Oh, you’re in trouble, buddy.”

  The blood drained from Declan’s face. “I feel sick.”

  “Now…I’ve got some old friends who could take care of this problem of yours…if you’re not particular on how it gets done. They could make her an offer she can’t refuse…”

  Declan, holding his stomach, peered down at Tilly.

  “Uh… That’s sweet, and it is tempting, but—”

  Tilly cackled and slapped his arm. “I’m kidding. Everyone thinks I used to work for the mob.”

  “So you didn’t?” asked Charlotte.

  “No. Not me, personally. Why don’t you two come in for a second? I’ll run through my footage and see what I find.”

  She turned and rolled toward the back of her home on her skinny, bowed legs, beckoning them to enter by shaking her hand over her shoulder as she went.

  Charlotte and Declan stepped inside the foyer as Tilly disappeared into the back of her home. It smelled like lavender and stale cigarette smoke.

  “What does not me, personally mean?” whispered Declan.

  “I don’t know. It wasn’t exactly a definitive I’m not connected to the mob, was it?”

  Declan sighed. “This holographic will stuff isn’t good news. What am I going to do?”

  She rubbed his back with the flat of her hand. “We’ll figure something out.”

  He groaned and she hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her and they rocked back and forth for a moment.

  “Hey Char,” called Tilly. “Quit lovin’ on your man. I think I have something. C’mere.”

  Charlotte and Declan jumped back from each other.

  “Does she have cameras in here?” whispered Declan.

  “Yes, I have cameras everywhere,” said the husky voice from down the hall.

  Charlotte offered Declan a froggy yikes! face and walked down the hall to Tilly’s office, first door on the right, like most of the homes in Pineapple Port. The room held only a large desk, a rack of humming electronic equipment and the framed black and white photo of a young man propped beside an older model desktop computer. Above his head, a large sign said Fralin in script font. Even framed, she could see the photograph had one ragged edge, as if someone had ripped the person standing to the left of the man from the scene.

  “Is that your son?”

  Tilly looked at the picture and then glared at Charlotte.

  “Look at how old that photo is. How old do you think I am for crying out loud? Plus you know I don’t have any kids.”

  “Oh, no, I didn’t. Thought maybe you’d ripped out a girlfriend of his you didn’t like or something.”

  “No. I tore off myself. I was standing next to him.”

  “Bad hair day?”

  Tilly arched an eyebrow. “You want to see this video or not?

  “Sorry. Yes. Whatcha got?”

  She pointed at a paused video. “Recognize anyone?” She hit play.

  Charlotte watched as a familiar figure waddled toward a collection of gnomes and gathered them in her arms. Behind her, another person entered the screen holding a round sphere in front of her like a mystic priestess, except, she wasn’t wearing a priestess gown. She was wearing a black tee shirt with white lettering that said Sea Hag.

  “Mariska and Darla,” she mumbled. “I’m going to kill them.”

  Tilly attempted a chuckle that morphed into a rattly cough.

  “Is there any way you could send me a clip of this to my phone?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you have any footage of Gloria’s house?”

  “Sweet Gloria or crazy Gloria?”

  “Sweet.”

  “No, you know, I don’t have any cameras over there. She’s over in the older section, right?”

  “Yes. You wouldn’t happen to know a reason why anyone would want to kill her, do you?”

  She expected Tilly to laugh, but instead she pulled at her chin, seemingly deep in thought. After a moment, she clicked through files on her screen until she found the one she wanted.

  “Well, there’s this…”

  She double-clicked a video file and expanded black and white footage of the parking lot outside the recreational building. Gloria appeared, scurrying toward a white car. She stood beside it and looked around before squatting and making a stabbing motion. After four thrusts, she stood and wandered out of frame.

  “What was that?”

  “She flattened Trey Oakford’s whitewall.”

  “What? Why?”

  Tilly used the mouse to close the video and then circled the name of the file with the glowing pointer.

  Charlotte leaned forward to read it.

  Gloria A - Bingo dispute.

  “She stabbed his tire for something that happened at bingo?”

  Tilly nodded.

  Charlotte thought about her dog, home alone with her houseguest. Hopefully, Abby hadn’t cheated during a game of fetch.

  “So you’re a detective now?” asked Tilly.

  “Not officially. I’m interning though, so I can get my license.”

  “With who?”

  “Declan’s uncle has a license.”

  “The same guy who likes to work with boneheads?”

  “Very funny.”

  Tilly chuckled at her own joke. “Well, if you ever need anything, just call. I’ve got the Port wired, as you know.”

  “Thank you. I definitely will,” Charlotte looked around the room, admiring the high-tech equipment. “Whatever made you do all this?”

  “Habit from my youth.”

  “When you worked for the mob?”

  Tilly made a noise that sounded like someone trying to gargle small river stones. Charlotte guessed it was laughter. “I told you, I didn’t work for the mob!”

  Charlotte squinted at her. “So when you say I didn’t work for the mob…”

  “Time for you to go, missy.” She stood and gave her arm a gentle shove.

  “Fine. You’re a tough nut to crack.”

  “I’m a regular walnut.”

  “Well…thanks again. I really appreciate the help.”

  “No problem.”

  Charlotte moved toward the front door and found Declan there, leaning against the interior wall.

  “We’re going,” she said.

  “Okay. Thank you, Mrs…” he faltered.

  “Call me Tilly.” />
  “Right, Tilly. Thank you for your help.”

  “No problem. Felt good to flex my legal muscle again.”

  Declan and Charlotte returned to his car.

  “I think I need to return to my houseguest,” she said.

  He nodded and put the car into drive. They were only a few blocks from her house.

  “I think I need to find a new job.”

  “Aw…” Charlotte placed her hand on his, which rested on the shifter. “Every time I think my problems are piling up, you’ve got even worse things going on.”

  “I love being the best. What can I say?”

  “We’ll figure things out. Maybe you can just talk to her.”

  He sighed. “I’m supposed to meet her.”

  Charlotte felt a pang in her chest.

  Was that jealousy?

  “When?” she asked, trying to sound as unconcerned as possible.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t want to. It’s going to be a nightmare.”

  “Well…we’ll prepare for it. We’ll go through every option and possible scenario.”

  He pulled up in front of her house.

  “Okay,” he said. He offered her a weak smile and she leaned forward to kiss him goodbye. His hand slid forward to cup her face as their lips touched. He lingered a moment before pulling away to stare at her, his eyebrows in the shape of a squiggle that spelled worry.

  “It will be okay,” she said.

  He nodded. “Sure. Worst case scenario I’ll become a detective. Everybody’s doing it.”

  She slapped his shoulder, slipped out of the car and waved as he drove away.

  As he passed by Orchid Lane, which ran perpendicular to her own street, a car pulled out and followed him toward the exit of the neighborhood. The streetlamps were bright enough for her to see the car was red and sporty, very much like the one she’d seen while waiting for Declan.

  She wished she knew more about cars. Maybe she could find a flashcard set to practice identifying makes and models. Maybe they had those for training police? She’d have to ask Seamus.

  Abby greeted her just inside the door, tail wagging. At least her furry baby had avoided Gloria’s petty wrath for the evening.

  She dropped her purse on the living room table and walked to her chalkboard wall to add Trey Oakford-flat tire to the never-ending list of Gloria’s victims.