“Thank you kindly, miss,” he said, picking up a French fry. “Yum.”
“Damn it,” said Kyle, trying to shake the shells out of his hair as he kept up the spatula attack. “Let go of me “
“Never!” said Guido, jerking his head from side to side to avoid the blows.
“Help!” I appealed to no one in particular.
“Whaddya say?” Pop Pop tapped his hearing aid.
“The guys are fighting over here, and they won’t stop.” I pointed down at the rolling, scuffling duo.
Pop Pop sprang into action: he grabbed the edge of the picnic table and inched to an upright stance, peering over at the trailer. When he realized what was going on, he thumped his hand on the tabletop. “Cut that out, youngsters!”
His burger basket flipped upward, and the meat patty fell to the ground.
“Oh no.” His face fell in disappointment.
“You can have my burger, Pop Pop … I need some assistance here.” I tried to catch Guido’s shirt, but they rolled in the other direction right at the moment I had almost grasped the collar.
“I’ll get my oxygen tank,” he suggested, making for the truck with the speed of a turtle. “One whiff, and I can take on both of them.”
Huh? I looked around in desperation. If this fight didn’t stop, they were going to end up hurting each other-by accident. I’ve got to do something. I scanned the outside part of the trailer and saw nothing but an old wooden broom. I paused, weighing its possible effect versus Pop Pop’s potential oxygen-tank rejuvenation. Then I spied Kyle reaching for a large rock as the guys rolled in the direction of a palm tree. Instantly, I snatched the broom and began to rap Guido and Kyle on their backs.
“Enough already!” I whacked them a couple more times, inadvertently hitting Guido in the face. He gave a little yelp and let go of Kyle, who scrambled away from him, dropping the rock and shaking the sand out of his hair.
“What’s the hell is the matter with you, dude?” Kyle exclaimed as he drew in a ragged breath.
Panting, Guido wiped the sweat from his brow. “I know what you did. Mr. Santini is dead, and you killed him.”
“You’re crazy.” Kyle picked sand out of his ear.
“I should’ve jammed it down your throat.”
Kyle glared at him. “Just try it.”
“Take it easy.” I clutched the broom, ready to strike if the boys started up again.
“I’m coming.” Pop Pop wheeled his oxygen tank in between the two boys, cranking it on and taking a deep whiff.
Guido’s dark eyes widened, taking in the menacing Pop Pop persona with his shriveled body hidden in a loose-fitting sports shirt, knee-length plaid shorts, and orthopedic wingtips.
Scary, all right.
Pop Pop straightened his skinny shoulders and shook a bony finger in Guido’s direction. “Now you’ve gotta deal with me, and I don’t take any guff, let me tell you.” He turned to Kyle. “And not from you either.”
Kyle muttered something under his breath, his body still tense and ready for another attack from Guido.
Pop Pop then started coughing and doubled over, dropping his oxygen mask on the ground. The two guys immediately rushed to his aid, grabbing his arms and holding him upright. I tried to take control of the oxygen-tank equipment, as I fumbled with the mask. Eventually, I managed to get it over his face.
“Take a few deep breaths,” I said, as I patted him on the shoulder.
He complied, but one side of his mouth turned up ward, and he gave me wink, whispering, “Geezer power.”
My mouth dropped open. He’d been faking the whole coughing fit to distract them.
Aging Machiavellian tactics. Cool. I was lost in admiration of Pop Pop’s craftiness-and his acting skills. Maybe there was something to that whole “not getting older but better” thing.
“Let’s get him into the truck,” I said, trying to sound very concerned over Pop Pop’s state of health. That probably worked better than the old broom at defusing the situation.
“Don’t forget my burger,” he added in a weak voice. “And the fries…”
“Sure thing.” It was the least I could do, even if it would give my truck a funky smell. I retrieved the basket with the crisped burger, paid the Goth waitress, who had retreated inside the trailer to put on another layer of black eyeliner, and reached my truck just at the point Guido was strapping the seat belt around Pop Pop.
Kyle opened the back door and set the oxygen tank on the floor. He stepped away as I approached.
“Look, thanks for helping with Pop Pop,” I began, handing the hockey-puck hamburger patty to my aging handyman. He eagerly gobbled down half of it before I could slam the door shut. Shuddering, I turned to the two guys. “You know I can’t just forget what happened here-one of you could’ve really been hurt-so I’m going to have to file a report with Detective Billie tomor row. In the meantime, Guido, hop into the back, and I’ll take you home.”
“What about my bicycle?”
“Throw it into the back of the truck.”
“Okay.” A shadow of fear touched Guido’s face. “Will I get in trouble for fighting with Kyle? I don’t want to be sent back to Italia and leave my darling Beatrice’specially not now. She’s all alone.”
I hesitated, chewing on my lower lip.
“Please, miss,” he pleaded.
“Let’s talk about it-I might be persuaded to put in a good word for you.” Of course, I didn’t add that my stock with Nick Billie had tanked lower than a Florida sinkhole.
He placed the bike in the back of Rusty and then climbed in. Kyle ambled back to the trailer, looking over his shoulder a couple of times. Then he aimed a rude hand gesture at Guido, who, luckily, didn’t notice.
“Jerk,” I mumbled, as I circled around the front of Rusty. Kyle might not be a killer, but he certainly needed a first-class attitude adjustment-and a grill that didn’t look like an outpost on the verge of Milton’s city of Pandemonium in Paradise Lost.
I cranked up Rusty’s engine and pulled out of the parking lot with my motley crew. After a few moments of inhaling the hideous stench of the burger, I rolled down my window. Of course, halfway down, it stuck. I gasped for some fresh air and then reconciled myself to possible asphyxiation.
As I turned onto Cypress Drive, the island’s main drag, I noticed the sun had begun to set. Various shades of red streaked across the sky like blotches of anger and dark menace.
Blood and fire.
I shuddered inwardly. What did it mean?
Had Marco Santini been murdered? What about his brother? I didn’t believe in coincidences, so my suspicions had been placed on high alert.
I glanced at Guido in the backseat. Had he been on to something when he accused Kyle?
“Want a bite?” Pop Pop shoved the burger into my face. I swallowed hard.
“Maybe a little one.” I took the charred lump from him and nibbled the tiniest piece I could manage.
I blinked. It wasn’t half-bad. Instead of tasting like charcoal, it had an appetizing, smoky flavor, much like you’d get at one of those expensive restaurants where they cook on a plank. I sneaked another bite-bigger this time-and savored the crunchy zing of Le Sink’s main menu item.
“Told ya.” Pop Pop retrieved the remaining burger from me and gobbled it down before I could come up with another excuse to get an additional bite.
Sighing, I contented myself by grabbing a few of his fries-and found those just as tasty. Crisp and lightly salted. Yum. Well, at least I’d have some positive aspects for my restaurant review. Le Sink might look like Le Dump and employ waitstaff who were Le Stupid, but they served a lean and mean burger. I’d be backand without Pop Pop as my date. Then, I remembered what had happened with my two erstwhile boyfriends and sighed again.
I’d probably be dining alone.
“Miss, can I explain what happened?” Guido asked in a tentative voice.
“Sure” I helped myself to a few more fries, thinking Pop Pop wouldn’t
see me. He moved the basket out of my reach. Damn. “First, tell me where you live.”
“At the island center-behind the Circle K.”
“Okay, so what’s your story, Guido? Why did you attack Kyle?” I glanced at his worried young face, shadowed dark eyes, and tight-lipped mouth. The picture of anxiety.
“I saw Kyle in the Little Tuscany kitchen this morning. He used to work for Mr. Santini in the restaurant, but he doesn’t anymore. So he had no business being there.” Guido shook his head. “Then Mr. Santini died, and no one knows why.”
My interest perked. “Why did Kyle leave his job at the restaurant?”
“Mr. Santini fired him.”
The perk had started to simmer. “Really? Why?”
“I think he was caught stealing money from the cash register, but I don’t know for sure.”
“So Kyle might be a thief, but that doesn’t mean he’s a killer,” I pointed out, the perk reaching a boiling point of curiosity.
“He also said mean things to Beatrice.” Guido’s mouth thinned in anger. “No one talks bad to my bella Beatricenot even her father. He wasn’t always nice to his own daughter.”
“Young love … isn’t it wonderful?” Pop Pop commented with a benign smile.
“Lovely,” I echoed, checking on Guido again. A flicker of rage passed across his features, but then he got control of himself and resumed his normal nice-guy persona. Could he have done something bad to Carlos to protect Beatrice? He was obviously head-overheels, smitten-to-the-core in love with the girl. And, if she had been upset over her father’s treatment, maybe Guido had decided to take matters into his own hands and eliminate the problem.
Was it possible?
I gave myself a mental shake, realizing that the events of the day must have skewed all my common sense. Guido was nothing more than a guy in love who’d seen his girl collapse in grief as her father died in front of her eyes. That’s all. And that was enough.
I couldn’t take much more myself. The last twenty-four hours had included a dire prophecy, an agonizing death, and dashed dreams of actually having two men vie for my affections. Not to mention that I’d reached a new low of having a rebound dinner date with a man on oxygen.
I needed my Airstream, my teacup poodle, and a good night’s sleep. Things would look better tomorrow in the a.m.
“Oops. My dentures just fell out,” Pop Pop pronounced.
Great.
The morning seemed a long way off.
It had turned dark by the time we dropped off Guido and made our way back to the Twin Palms RV park. When we arrived, I had to get a flashlight to locate Pop Pop’s missing false teeth, which had rolled under the seat. Yuck.
Ready to tear out my curls, I finally deposited him, his dentures, and his oxygen tank at his cottage and revved off to my Airstream.
Needless to say, it wasn’t exactly the end I’d imagined to my big date night. My spirits sank lower than a gator in the mud, to quote Wanda Sue. And it was nothing more than I deserved for trying to be a dating diva.
Sigh. I parked in front of my Airstream and took in the blue-and-white striped awning flapping in the light evening breeze coming off the Gulf.
Ah. Home, sweet home.
I could hear Kong barking in excitement as I turned off my engine, and despite my fatigue, a little glow lit inside me. At least my dog still provided unconditional love, constant attention, and ankle licking whenever I needed a boost. As I unlocked the door, Kong came bounding out, and I scooped him up in my arms. I allowed myself to revel in his adoration for a few moments before I grabbed his leash and made for the surf.
After a long stroll along the beach, I headed back to my Airstream, its shiny hull bathed in the moonlight. Cole’s van remained parked on one side, though his bicycle was gone, so I assumed he was riding in the dark, trying to forget my two-timing behavior. Couldn’t say that I blamed him.
My glance trailed to the other side of my RV, and, just as had happened earlier today, I thought I saw the outline of another Airstream. A light glowed from the inside, but the shades were drawn.
I squinted in the dim light, trying to focus my eyes more clearly. Then I blinked, and it was gone.
Strange.
I gave myself a mental shake. Somehow it must have been a reflection of my own Airstream, but … not exactly a twin image.
“I’m either losing it,” I said to Kong, “or I need glasses.”
He barked.
“Okay-maybe both.” I hurried him along, taking one last longing glace at Cole’s van before Kong and I retreated inside. I fixed myself a bowl of soup, gave my poodle a gourmet doggy treat, and powered up my laptop to work on my restaurant review of Le Sink while I ate my dinner-for-one (person, that is).
Needless to say, my evaluation was mixed: a one-trick menu, surly waitstaff, and ghettolike ambiance. But I had to admit, the burger tasted scrumptious-thick, juicy, and smoky-flavored-and the French fries were crisp and salty. I gave it two out of five stars-one star deducted because of having to break up the fistfight with a broom.
Thinking about that part of the evening made me sit back in my chair and reflect on the events of the day. My mouth also began to water, remembering the brief taste of Pop Pop’s burger in my truck. Instantly, I dumped the soup in the garbage and heated up some leftover pizzaserved with a side of potato chips.
That’s more like it.
As I munched the thick cheese and pepperoni, I tried to get back into the Le Sink review, but I couldn’t. I stared at my computer screen, but the image of Marco’s death, Beatrice’s reaction, Guido’s fight-and Pop Pop’s dentures-kept reverberating through my mind. They all had to be connected (except the false teeth), but I didn’t know how.
And how did these events relate to Carlos Santini’s death a few days ago? Two brothers within a week? It just couldn’t be a coincidence.
“What do you think, Kong?” I asked my canine companion, but he had curled up on my sofa and fallen asleep.
I mulled over the events one more time, but nothing occurred to me. Maybe Madame Geri knows.
Okay, now I knew it was time to pack it in and get some rest, but first, I had to finish the review.
Once I knocked it out, I scooped up Kong and headed to the bedroom part of my Airstream, feeling a sudden chill.
Was it all this contemplation of death? I shivered again and then slid into bed and flipped on the TV.
A perky blond weathergirl in a low-cut top and tight skirt appeared, pointing at a map of Florida. “A cold front is dipping down into southwest Florida, and the temperature might drop thirty degrees overnight,” she said, smiling into the camera with a flash of even white teeth. “Time to get out the sweaters and scarves.”
I flipped my thermostat to HEAT and cranked up the dial.
Nothing happened.
The Florida winter had begun early, and my heater was on the blink.
Yikes.
By the time morning arrived, I awoke under my heavy layer of quilts, aware that Kong had snuggled under the blankets with me-and that the temperature inside my Airstream had taken on a distinct chill.
Reluctantly, I slid out of bed, easing Kong onto the floor and wrapping the quilt around me for warmth. I picked up my cell phone and dialed Sam-the island’s handyman. If there was one person who could figure out how to get my heater working, it was Sam.
My fingers drummed against the cell phone with impatience as I waited for Sam to pick up. But he didn’t. I got his voice mail instead.
“Sam, my heater is broken, and I’m desperate. I can’t call Pop Pop to help out because we had a date last night at Le Sink, then there was a big fight, and I ended up taking Guido home, and Pop Pop later lost his dentures in my truck.” Okay, despite the cold, my motormouth hadn’t officially chilled out. “Anyway, I’m freezing my patootie off in the Airstream.”
I clicked the cell phone shut, debating whether or not I could manage a shower without getting hypothermia. Then I heard a knock at my door.
I swung it open and beheld Pop Pop, wearing a blue flannel shirt, baggy sweatpants, and gloves. He looked like a scarecrow. “I thought you might need this, since the cold front came through, and I know your Airstream is kind of old.”
Holding up a space heater in one hand, he managed to balance the oxygen tank and a bouquet of flowers in the other.
I grinned at the sight of the heater and seized it as if it were a lifeline.
“I have to take care of you now that we’re dating.” He held out the flowers.
The grin faded. Huh?
“We most definitely are not a couple, but I will take the heater.” I closed the door on him quickly. That’s all I needed: a geriatric suitor to fill in the gap left by the hasty departures of Cole and Nick last night. I wasn’t that desperate. Besides, they’d be back-or so I hoped.
I peeped out my window and saw Pop Pop rev off in his golf cart. My glance slid over to Cole’s van-still no sign of him.
Regretful, I turned away from the window, heater in hand. At least Pop Pop had left before anyone had seen him at my door with flowers.
I headed for the shower.
An hour later, I strolled into the Observer office. Sandy greeted me from her desk, ensconced in a brown and yellow knit poncho. Anita stood next to her, sporting a pea green velour warm-up suit. Needless to say, my own outfit of jeans and moth-eaten sweater wasn’t exactly an ensemble out of Vogue. But it so rarely turned this frigid in Florida, people tended not to invest in cold-weather gear-including me.
“That temperature drop last night caught me off guard,” I commented, sitting at my desk and flipping on the computer. “Brr.”
I rubbed my hands together for emphasis.
Sandy giggled.
“What’s up?” I swiveled my chair around. “I thought you’d be a basket case after Madame Geri’s prediction and the events at Little Tuscany yesterday.”
“That’s before we heard you were dating Pop Pop,” Anita responded with a wry nod. “You’re hitting the bottom of the barrel, kiddo.”
Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 04 - Killer Kool Page 6