“How can you pass up an offer like Pop Pop’s?” His voice held a thread of humor again.
Slowly, I turned around, and our eyes met. “It’s hardthe oxygen and dentures are a potent combination.”
“Why were you and Madame Geri here tonight?”
“Uh … for my new gig as the Observer food critic. You know what a slave-driver Anita can be about getting stories out, and with `Taste of the Island’ coming up this weekend, she wants as many reviews posted to the blog as I can do-lunch and dinner. Can you believe that? I never ate much more than a sub or microwave dinner in my Airstream, but now I … I-” I broke off, my teeth beginning to chatter as the cold supercharged my motormouth.
“Let’s get out of this wind.” He took my arm and drew me back toward the front of the building.
That cut some of the breeze, though I wrapped my arms around myself to contain the maximum amount of warmth. Nick halted next to me, so close I could feel his body heat. Be still, my heart.
“So, this was just an innocent dinner with Madame Geri, and you weren’t here trying to get some kind of confession out of her that she murdered Marco Santini?”
Damn.
“I’ll take your silence as a yes.”
“Maybe-okay, it’s true. We’re all worried at the Observer that Jimmy might get jailed because of the shellfish articles found in his locker,” I blurted. There was no point in trying to hide anything from Nick; he knew me too well.
“I’m not arresting Jimmy, but he does need to explain those articles.”
“He was researching new ways to cook shrimp at the restaurant”
“It sounds plausible, I guess.”
“You don’t sound convinced.”
“Mallie, I have to pursue all leads when it’s a case like this one.”
My ears perked up, and I gazed at him with pleading eyes. “So it is a murder investigation? I need to knowfor Jimmy’s sake.”
He sighed, an echo that floated toward me in the wind. “I can’t say for sure. Marco definitely died from a reaction to shellfish, and since he knew about his allergy, it seems unlikely that he would knowingly eat any kind of shellfish.”
“So someone put it in his sauce?” Just as I had thought.
“Seems so”
“What about Carlos’ death? Is there a connection?”
He shook his head. “Carlos Santini died of a heart attack. His cardiologist told me that he had given Carlos only days to live after his last visit. He simply went home, apparently knowing he would die.”
“Really? That feels wrong to me, especially because he loved Beatrice so much.” The wind began to howl, almost like a wail for the lost lives of the Santini brothers.
“Something else feels wrong.” Nick leaned one arm against the wall and lowered his face to a level inches from my own.
My breath caught in my throat, as my heart began to beat with a nervous staccato. “I … I … uh … don’t know what you mean”
“Yes, you do” His dark eyes turned into liquid fire, burning through me. “You can’t just dangle Cole and me as if we were toys. You’ve got to choose.”
The staccato turned into a pounding allegro. “I’ve known Cole for a long time, and I can’t just pretend that we weren’t a couple.”
“He’s the past?”
“Sort of.” Okay, now I was making a total muddle of this whole conversation, but I couldn’t think straight when Nick stood this close to me. “Is that what you were talking to him about?”
“Worried that we might start a fistfight with Pop Pop over you?” One side of his mouth turned up with amusement. “Nothing so dramatic. I just ran into him inside the restaurant when he was taking pictures for Francesca, and I asked if he would do mug shots for me.”
“Oh.” A tiny tug of disappointment pulled at my heart. Silly, I know.
“But I would fight him for you.” Nick voice deepened.
“Pop Pop or Cole?”
“Both.” He lowered his mouth and covered mine with a searing kiss that went on and on and on. My arms slipped around his waist, and I leaned into the hard planes of his body. Desire flooded through me, stronger than anything I’d known, pulling me into emotional depths and raw feelings.
Whoa.
I pulled back, gulping the cold air as if I had just run a marathon. “Nick, this is too much…. I need some time.”
He searched my face, his own breathing ragged. “You can take an hour, a day, or a month, but you can’t hide from what’s between us. I know, because I’ve been trying to do that from the moment I set eyes on you. It just grows more consuming.”
Go for it, a tiny voice whispered inside me.
Why not?
My hands slipped around his neck, drawing Nick’s face down to mine again, right at the moment when I heard the front door of the Taste of Venice open. Some sixth sense caused me to turn away from Nick-and catch sight of Cole.
For once, I was speechless. It felt like a replay of last night when both men had appeared at my Airstream, and I couldn’t find the words to express what I was feeling. I just didn’t know.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Cole said in a voice full of hurt.
“You weren’t,” I hastened to answer. “We were just talking about the upcoming `Taste of the Island.’ ” Lame.
“Sure.” Cole disappeared back into the restaurant, and I flinched at the shadow of distress that had passed across his normally upbeat face.
“Mallie-” Nick began.
“I’ve got to go. My heater is on the blink, and I need to make sure that Sam fixes it tonight, since there’s a hard-freeze warning.” Before he could respond, I dashed for my truck, started the engine, and got the heck out of there.
As I drove away, I checked in my rearview mirror; Nick just stood there, watching me drive off. For a few mad moments, I toyed with the idea of jerking the wheel in the opposite direction and taking up where Nick and I had left off.
But I was scared-really scared. And I couldn’t just dump Cole. We had a history. And since he’d come to Coral Island, I remembered how much fun we used to have when we were a couple in Orlando, despite my days spent sweeping litter at Epcot.
I headed north on Cypress Drive, trying to push all thoughts of Nick and Cole out of my mind. I couldn’t deal with the dueling boyfriends right now; it was too confusing, too painful, too exciting. Especially when I had more important things looming, like finding Marco’s killer before Jimmy was jailed.
Focus. My hands tightened on the wheel, and I straightened in my seat and mulled over the paucity of suspects.
Francesca certainly had the temperament of someone who might commit a crime of passion, but maybe she wasn’t calculating enough to plan a murder. Her son, Kyle, didn’t seem capable of planning his day, much less an elaborate plot to poison someone.
That left Jimmy; I knew he didn’t do it. And Guido didn’t appear to be much more than a volatile kid besotted with his first love.
No one else had access to the kitchen the day that Marco died-except Beatrice. And I didn’t believe that she could harm her own father. He might have been a bit of a tyrant, but she’d loved him; that much was pretty clear.
So that left me with … no suspects.
I bit my lip in frustration. I was missing something, but what?
All of a sudden, something hit my windshield, smashing against the glass. My hands flew up to cover my face, causing Rusty to veer into the left lane. I grabbed the wheel and jerked it to the right as I pumped the brakes, but I was going too fast. My truck careened onto the shoulder, moving ever closer to a massive palm tree.
I’m going to die.
No!
Steer into the skid, I suddenly remembered from my high school defensive driving class.
Instantly, I yanked the wheel in the opposite direction, and miraculously, my truck righted itself, and I slowly brought it to a halt on the side of the road.
Hands shaking and heart pounding, I tried to take stock of what
had happened. Luckily, the glass hadn’t shattered just cracked, with jagged threads stretching across the entire windshield. Could I have hit an animal and caused it to flip up onto the truck? Or had a bird dive-bombed my truck?
I checked on both sides of my vehicle. Nothing. Then my glance drifted to the side mirror and what might be behind Rusty.
A large coconut lay in the middle of the road.
I gasped. It was certainly big enough to have done that kind of damage to the glass, but how could it have dropped onto my truck when the tree was on the side of the road?
Just then, a car streaked out of the saw palmetto brush with its lights off and raced in the opposite direction. Before I could see the license plate, it was gone.
I jumped out the door, trying at least to catch the make and model in the dark.
Oh, hell, too late!
Kicking the toe of my pumps on the shell road in frustration, I took one last look around and climbed back into my truck. Then, as I fastened my seat belt, I started shaking again as the reality of my near brush with death set in.
Someone had tried to kill me.
After several attempted calls to Sandy, Wanda Sue, and Madame Geri-yes, I was that upset-I finally had enough strength to head back to the Twin Palms RV Resort. I drove slowly, very slowly, almost like one of the aging tourists that I mocked for driving at a snail’s pace.
Eventually, I arrived home and parked in front of my Airstream, thankful that I was still alive. Someone had deliberately thrown that coconut at my windshield, hoping that I would be driven off the road and injured, maybe even fatally.
But who?
Marco’s killer?
Now my legs began to shake as well.
I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, taking in a few deep, calming breaths. Once I had the trembling under control, I took a cautious peep around my RV site. Cole’s van remained-still and dark-on one side, and on the other side, there appeared to be … the old Airstream. Dull and dingy, for sure. The shadow trailer echoing the silver, hutlike appearance of my own.
I tried to pinpoint more details about it, until a rap on the window startled me out of my reverie.
I glanced to the left and spied Wanda Sue.
Whew. A friendly face.
I climbed out of the truck and flung my arms around her in a huge hug of relief. “I’m so glad to see you!” I exclaimed, with a catch in my throat.
“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?” Wanda Sue tilted her head and gave me a speculative once-over. And that was no mean task while keeping her giant teased beehive hairdo intact in the strong wind.
“I think someone just tried to kill me.” I burst into tears.
“What!?” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Are you sure?”
I pointed at my cracked windshield.
“Lordy.” She put an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get you out of this cold.”
Wanda Sue at my side, we made for the Airstream door. As I fumbled with my key, I noticed that the twin of my trailer, which I had just seen, was no longer there. I paused, brushing the tears from my cheeks and blinking to clear my vision. I know it was there. “W-what happened to the Airstream parked next door? It was back.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“That old Airstream-it’s gone, but I thought I saw it right there again.” I pointed at the now-empty site.
Wanda Sue patted me on the arm. “No one checked in-trust me. But someone did drop by earlier.” She snatched up the note that had been taped to my door.
I fixed your heater. Namaste, Sam.
“Yahoo! Sam is the best.”
“What’s that `name mast’ thing?”
“Yoga-speak. It means ‘peace.”’
Wanda Sue frowned, then shrugged. “I don’t get all of that Bubba stuff.”
Did she mean Buddha? As I opened the door, Kong flung himself at me, barking and licking my face with an enthusiasm unparalleled by anyone else in my life. I pressed him to me and sighed happily. My pooch’s adoration remained the one sane and stable thing in my life.
“Let me walk him. You get changed and relax.” Wanda Sue took Kong’s leash and said, “Hey, little guy.” She leveled a stern glance at him; he promptly began to gnaw on her sequined shoes.
“He doesn’t like being called the L word,” I said.
“Pffffft. If the shoe fits, honey, you have to wear it with pride.” She exited the Airstream, tugging on Kong’s leash while he nipped at her legs, ankles, and feet.
That Wanda Sue is a real friend.
I dragged myself to the back of my Airstream, yanked off the fancy clothes, slipped out of the uncomfortable pumps, and eased into my comfy sweats. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and noticed that the pretty (well, sort of) made-up face had been replaced by pale, scared features.
By the time I’d put on a pot of coffee and settled onto my sofa, Wanda Sue had returned. Kong leaped onto my lap and buried his face under my arm, sighing in contentment. As I stroked his ears, the tension drained out of me like air from an overinflated balloon, and I related the evening’s traumas to Wanda Sue.
As she listened, she brought a cup of steaming coffee over to me and seated herself next to me on the sofa. “Do you want to call Nick to tell him what happened with the coconut?”
My cheeks grew warm at the mention of his name, as I conjured up the passion that had flared between us outside the Taste of Venice. “I … I think I’ll wait until morning. I need to get myself together first” In this state, I’d probably end up back in his arms again.
Wanda Sue’s mouth turned up in a knowing smile. “I get you. He’s just too hot to handle even when you’re thinking straight.” I tried not to smile myself as I got a load of her cold-weather outfit: skintight leggings and neon tunic, with a faux-fur jacket straining at the seams around her curves.
“Something like that.” I looked down at Kong, not wanting Wanda Sue to read the truth of my feelings on my face. “I’ll call him in the morning.”
She sipped her coffee and unzipped the jacket. Her tunic had a huge black-and-white picture of Dolly Parton printed on the front. Cute.
“Sounds like a plan,” Wanda Sue said. “Sometimes you have to remember that when life throws you a curve ball as crooked as a dog’s leg, you just have to throw it back.”
Huh?
My teacup poodle raised his head.
“She didn’t mean you, Kong.” At least, I didn’t think so from what I could make out from that bizarre southern ism. For a few quiet moments, I soothed him with some long strokes. “Okay, Wanda Sue, I’ve got two things to ask you. First, what’s the story with the phantom Airstream next door? Is someone moving around from site to site?”
“Can’t say.” Her features took on a cagey expression. “You know I have to keep all my clients’ identities private.”
“Yeah, I remember when you had my parents living next door and never told me. That was a major freak-out.”
“Sorry, hon.”
“Okay, question two, and this one I really need to know the answer to, were you good friends with Beatrice’s mother, Delores?”
“Oh, sure thing, I can tell you that.” Her face brightened. “We were like two peas in a pod-bestest friends. She and I grew up here, and we got married about the same time, though she had a daughter and I didn’t have any youngsters. But I was like a second mother to Beatrice.”
“And she thinks the world of you,” I assured her.
“I hope so,” Wanda Sue said, and then she paused. “Anyway, as Delores and I grew older, we stayed friends. Even when she divorced that mean snake, Marco, we still met every week at Carlos’ ice cream parlor. She’d order a big banana split, while I ate a measly little vanilla cone-and she never gained a pound. But I could have just applied the ice cream right here.” She reached down and pinched her hips. “Just ain’t right.”
I wagged my head in agreement, anxious to hear the rest of the story. “And Delores died a few years ago, from lupus, right?”
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“Yep. It was heart-wrenching.” Wanda Sue’s face crumpled into sad reflection. “She just withered away. Beatrice lost her mama, and I lost my best friend.”
“I’m so sorry.” And I meant it. Wanda Sue might dress like a tacky tropical version of her idol, Dolly Parton, but she had a heart of gold. “Was it awkward to meet in the ice cream store where Delores’ ex-brotherin-law worked?”
Now it was Wanda Sue’s turn to blush. “Not exactly.”
“Okay, what’s the story?” I made a “gimme” gesture with my hand.
“Delores and Carlos were … uh … more than friends-“
“Lovers?” I cut in excitedly. “They had a thing going?”
Wanda Sue exhaled in a long, drawn-out note of sorrow. “When they were teenagers, they fell in love. But Carlos got drafted and went to Vietnam as a helicopter pilot. He was a hunk.”
“Carlos, a hunk?”
“He didn’t weigh three hundred pounds then.” She waved my question aside with some impatience. ‘Anyway, he was shot down, and they thought he was dead. So Marco moved in faster than fleas on a dog. He pushed Delores to get married, and I think she was still grieving too much to think straight.”
I sat up, enthralled. “Go on. So when did Carlos come back?”
“A year after they were married.” Wanda Sue folded her arms on her ample chest, her face kindling in anger. “Delores stuck with Marco ‘cause of her religion, but she always loved Carlos. He was so kind. But Marco had a mean temper, and it just grew worse and worse over the years, and Delores … Well, she started up again with Carlos.”
“So that’s when they began the affair? How old were they?”
“Maybe in their thirties.” She paused and shifted on the sofa as if the cushions had suddenly become made of cement.
“There’s more?” I prompted.
“Beatrice is Carlos’ daughter,” she said in a flat voice. “That’s why he loved her so much.”
I sat back, stunned. Desperate Housewives had nothing on Coral Island.
“That’s why the brothers had a falling-out. I think Marco knew. But I can’t say for sure, ‘cause Delores never told me.”
Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 04 - Killer Kool Page 11