Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 04 - Killer Kool

by Marty Ambrose

  Half an hour later, still irritated that Anita had foiled me yet again, I drove up to my Airstream faster than I should have and jammed on the brakes.

  My head jerked forward with Rusty’s sudden halt.

  Get a grip.

  I slid out of my truck, hoping that Sam had dropped by to nurse my ailing heater back to health again. I saw a note on my Airstream, and a jolt of hope stirred inside my heart.

  I snatched it off the door and read, I need to see you. Cole.

  Oh.

  “Hi,” he said from behind me.

  Turning slowly, I tried to prepare myself for that hurt look I had seen on his face last night. I wasn’t wrong. His normally sunny, surfer-dude good looks appeared pinched and sad.

  Guilt flooded through me. “I’d ask you in, but I don’t think my heater is working.”

  “Sam was here about an hour ago, and I think he fixed it,” he said, his voice flat.

  “Well, let’s get inside and warm up” I unlocked the door and scooped up Kong as we entered the Airstream. Before I climbed the steps, I checked for that mystifying twin Airstream; it was parked there again! And I thought I spied a middle-aged woman inside, wearing an apron and holding up a retro-style Coke bottle. Huh?

  “When did she check in?” I turned to Cole.

  “Who?”

  I pointed to the site next to me. Empty. What the hell was going on?

  Hurrying inside, I motioned Cole to follow, and he shut the door behind us. Pushing all thoughts of the phantom Airstream out of my mind, I savored the warmth-and Kong’s happy barks-for a brief few moments.

  Once inside, I took a seat at the small kitchen table, and Cole sat across from me, still and silent.

  I lifted Kong onto my lap. “I heard that you were going to do mug shots for Nick.” I said. “That sounds really good, because you’re such a wonderful photographer, and there’s no one on the island who can do that. I’m sure it’ll work out so you can make some extra cash and … uh… ” My motormouth sputtered. The words sounded sort of phony, even to me.

  “I haven’t committed to the job yet. That was just his excuse for the dinner meeting, but he really wanted to know how things stood between us “

  “Nick didn’t tell me that.”

  “I let him know that we had unfinished business, but we weren’t exactly committed-probably why he took the opportunity to steal a kiss at the restaurant.”

  I didn’t answer, but I could feel the heat returning to my cheeks.

  He took in a deep breath. “I’ve had a little time to sort out what’s going on between us, and I want to ask you a question: Do you want me to stay?”

  My mouth turned to cotton. I couldn’t seem to form the words to respond.

  “Look, I know I was the one who took off when we lived in Orlando, leaving you at Disney when you’d been demoted to a garbage sweeper-“

  “I wasn’t picking up garbage-only litter,” I protested hotly.

  “Whatever.” He stretched his hands out to me. “We’ve always kept things light between us, but it doesn’t mean what I feel for you is superficial. I love you, Mallie.”

  The words echoed around the Airstream like a ray of light bouncing from wall to wall.

  Before I could stop myself, the corners of my lips turned up into a smile. Hey, it isn’t every day that a girl is told she’s loved. In fact, I’d heard it only once in my life, and that was when I was in college in St. Louis and one of the guys on the basketball team wanted to copy my American literature class notes.

  Whoa. Now my internal motormouth had kicked in. That only happened during times of extreme emotion. Did that mean I really loved Cole, despite my attraction to Nick?

  “Well?” he said, palms still open.

  I placed my hands on top of his.

  He toyed with my fingers. “Is that a yes? You want me to stay?”

  “I … I don’t know.” My thoughts spun around as if in a tropical storm, swirling and confusing. Nothing seemed clear, least of all my feelings about Nick or Cole.

  He squeezed my hands. “At least it’s not a no, then?”

  “Uh … uh …” My cell phone rang. It was Beatrice. “I need to get this call. Sorry.”

  “No problemo.” He squared his shoulders, doing his best Terminator imitation.

  I flipped open my phone. “Hi, Beatrice?”

  “I got your message while Guido and I were at the funeral home. We’re driving back to the house now.” Her voice caught on a little sob, but she caught herself. “What’s going on?”

  Kong jumped off my lap, trotted over to Cole, and launched himself onto his lap. A sign? Shaking my head, I rose and walked into the kitchen area. “I was working on my blog for the Taste of Venice, and I noticed that you had added a comment to the Little Tuscany review.”

  “I … I had to tell the truth, even though I know Dad wouldn’t have liked it.” Her words came out haltingly. “I noticed that you said my father developed the secret sauce recipe. It was Uncle Carlos who came up with the ingredients.”

  “For real?” My hands tightened around the cell phone in excitement. “Did he share the recipe with Francesca?”

  “I don’t think so, but she did win all that money for her sauce, which seemed similar… .” Beatrice hesitated. “Maybe she stole the recipe from Uncle Carlos, but he never said anything.”

  “What about your dad? Did he have the actual ingredient list?”

  “No. I’d have to swing by Uncle Carlos’ house on the day before we needed the sauce. He made it from scratch at his house, and then I’d take it to the restaurant, put it in the fridge, the flavors would settle overnight, and Dad would add a few herbs of his own the next day, taste it, and then serve it.” She gave a small laugh. “Just so it had his stamp.”

  “So the day your uncle died of the heart attack, you picked up the sauce at his house?” My breathing spiked into a tumult. “Was there anything odd that you noticed that morning?”

  She didn’t respond. “Not really. He said he’d had some visitors that morning.”

  “Who?” I almost shouted.

  “He didn’t say. Guido was with me; let me ask him.” She must have covered the phone, because I could hear Guido’s muffled words in the background. “He didn’t tell Guido anything either.”

  “Do you think it could’ve been Francesca? She might have been there, trying to cover up that she stole the recipe-and then doctored the sauce to knock off Marco, so he couldn’t rat her out,” I said in a rush of words. “That’s why she got so incensed with Madame Geri last night.”

  “M-maybe.”

  “Could you give me your uncle’s address and meet me there?”

  “Sure. It’s at Gumbo Limbo Preserve, one of those senior neighborhoods not far from the Twin Palms.” Oh, yeah, I’d passed it many times: a “manufactured”home-translated: trailer-community for those fiftyfive and older. Lots of bingo, shuffleboard, and water aerobics. And an ambulance stationed at the gatehouse.

  Beatrice gave me the street and house number. “Guido and I can get there in about thirty minutes; we’ll let the security guy know you’re coming.”

  “Great.” I hung up, grinning wildly at Cole. “It was Francesca all along! She killed Marco after Carlos died, so she’d be the only one with the secret sauce recipe.”

  Cole cast a doubtful glance at me. “You think she would have killed someone over a sauce?”

  “It was worth fifty thousand dollars, maybe more. Enough for her to try to frame Jimmy and attempt to kill me,” I added, filling him in on the shrimp shells and the coconut incident, while I reached for my purse and truck keys. “I’m heading over to Carlos’.”

  He stood up and placed Kong on the floor. “I’m going with you. This could be dangerous.”

  “We’ll call Nick on the way,” I said, causing an immediate wince by Cole, as if I’d sucker punched him. “For police protection only.”

  Cole’s mouth fastened into a thin line. “Sure.”

  I c
ouldn’t focus on him right now. I had a murderer to catch.

  And time was running out.

  Cole and I hopped into Rusty and drove toward Carlos’ house, not saying a word. I did notice that he traced the cracked windshield with his forefinger but didn’t comment. The cracks had deepened, but I still had enough room to see the road.

  About halfway there, I flipped open my cell phone and called Nick to let him know we were heading to Marco’s house. He didn’t answer, so I left him a voice mail.

  We arrived at the entrance, waving at the skinny, white-haired security guy wearing a name tag that read RoRY. We gave him our names, and he lifted the gate.

  “You know, this windshield looks like it’s taken some damage.” Rory slipped on a pair of reading glasses to get a better look and tapped on the windshield. “Yep, it’s damaged, all right.” The cracks expanded.

  “Thanks. I noticed.” Accelerating slowly, I pulled away.

  “You have to wonder what he sees without the glasses,” Cole commented.

  I laughed, finding the street easily. But the house was another matter. Each “manufactured” home was spaced about six inches apart, identical in appearance, with all the mailboxes on one side of the road. So it was nearly impossible to tell which box went with what house. Almost pounding the wheel in frustration, I reached for the cell phone to call Beatrice again, when an aging couple passed me on a tandem bike, wearing identical powder-blue warm-up suits.

  I stopped and rolled down the window. “Hi, could you tell me where Carlos Santini lived?”

  “Last house on the left,” the woman answered as she extended a pointed finger in the direction of a black Buick Regal. “That woman just asked us the same question.”

  My glance darted up the street, just in time to see Francesca disappear through the front door of Carlos’ house.

  Busted!

  “Cole, call Nick again.” I handed my cell phone to him. “I think we’ve caught Francesca red-handed.”

  “Okay, but let’s wait until he gets here to do anything,” Cole urged as he hit the REDIAL button. “We don’t know what’s going on.”

  Ignoring his warning, I coasted toward Carlos’ house. Using the gas pedal would be a dead giveaway with Rusty’s aging, chugging engine.

  I stopped about two houses down from where Franc esca had parked her car, which meant about fifty feet separated our vehicles. Turning off the engine, I peered through the hazy, semi-shattered windshield to monitor Francesca’s whereabouts.

  “Damn, I can’t make out much of anything.” I poked my head out the window. It still didn’t help.

  “Just sit tight,” Cole said. “I left Nick a message, telling him to get here right away.”

  Drumming my fingers against the steering wheel, I felt the minutes tick by. No Beatrice. No Guido. No Nick. If I waited much longer, Francesca might be able to cover her tracks and whatever she had done to steal Carlos’ secret sauce.

  “I can’t wait!” I exclaimed, jerking open my door.

  “Mallie-stop!”

  But I was already making a beeline for Carlos’ place, jogging across the tiny front yards of his neighbors. When I reached my destination, I crept toward the front of the house, squinting to see through the jalousie window. I couldn’t see anything, but I heard Francesca moving around through the thin walls.

  Tiptoeing around the side of the house, I tried another window. Eureka! Francesca stood there, leaning over a desk in the living room, as she tossed and sifted through a stack of papers.

  I’d wager my nonexistent raise that she was looking for the recipe.

  I glanced back at my truck; Cole had jumped out and was heading in my direction, shouting on his cell phone.

  Oh no!

  Francesca would hear him, and she might try to escape. Waving both arms, I motioned him to stay back. But he kept coming.

  Taking in a deep breath, I circled back to the front door and burst into the house.

  “Caught you!” I yelled out. Shaken, Francesca slapped a hand against her chest, causing her to drop a small 3x5 card.

  “You nearly gave me a heart attack, you nutcase,” she snarled.

  “Serves you right.” I bent down to retrieve the card, but she reached for it at the same time. We knocked heads and staggered back.

  Dazed, I rubbed my scalp. She did likewise but took an extra couple of seconds to clear her head just long enough for me to pick up the card.

  “Give me that! Now!” Her face crinkled with a vicious expression. “It’s mine.”

  Backing up a few steps, I glanced down at the oldfashioned handwriting on the card. Yes! “It’s Carlos’ recipe for his secret sauce. I knew it! You’re were trying to hide the evidence, because you stole it from him, and then you murdered Marco to silence him forever.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  “You’re a thief and a killer!” I held out the recipe card like a talisman. “And here’s the proof.”

  “Carlos gave me that recipe, you idiot, so I could win the cooking contest, win the fifty thousand dollars, and open my restaurant.”

  I laughed as I placed my hands on my hips. “And why would he do that?”

  “Because he hated Marco and wanted my restaurant to compete with his.”

  “Then why did you come here to steal the recipe card?” I waved it in her face.

  Her dark eyes narrowed. “It’s the only copy, and I didn’t want anyone else to have it. Even Beatrice doesn’t know what’s in that sauce. I could market it all over the world as Francesca’s Five-Herb Sauce and make millions.”

  “So you’re a killer and a swindler!” I exclaimed.

  She screamed something in Italian and lunged at me, trying to seize the recipe. I whipped it behind my back, holding out the other arm to fend her off. She slapped my hand away, spitting Italian obscenities (not hard for me to translate), as she picked up a large antique book that had been lying on the desk.

  Francesca swung it at me, but I ducked, calling out for Cole. Then she grasped the book in both hands and came at me, holding it out like a battering ram. I sidestepped her attack, but she couldn’t halt the momentumand ended up slamming against a wall. Amazingly, she didn’t drop the book.

  “Mallie!” Cole and Nick said in unison as they appeared at the front door.

  Francesca took the opportunity to hurl the book at my head. I hit the floor, but the book kept going and flew toward Cole and Nick. They jumped to either side, and the book winged its way through the door, where it came to rest on the lawn.

  “You!” Nick pointed at Francesca. “Get on the floor, and put your hands behind your back.”

  She immediately dropped down, whimpering.

  “Cuff her!” I shouted. “She killed Marco and came here to steal the secret sauce recipe! And I’ll bet she’s the one who tried to frame Jimmy and threw that coconut at my truck.”

  “Not true,” she responded, face muffled by the carpet. She turned her head. “At least the killing part. I did put the shrimp shells in Jimmy’s locker, and I threw the coconut at your rusty old truck to scare you enough to back off. You were getting too close to the truth behind the secret sauce. But I didn’t murder Marco.”

  “Liar!” I retorted.

  Cole retrieved the book and strolled back inside. “This is one lethal tome.”

  I took it from him and curled my hands around the hand-tooled leather cover, keeping it safely away from my assailant.

  Nick handcuffed Francesca and hauled her to her feet.

  “I only wanted the damn recipe, so I could win `Taste of the Island’ Best Sauce, market it, and become a millionaire with my own TV show,” she muttered, glowering at me.

  “Says you.” I clutched the book even tighter, glancing down at the title. Dante’s Inferno. Fitting. “This is evidence.”

  “I’ll take that,” Nick said in a calm voice. As I handed it to him, a letter slipped out and floated toward the floor, as gracefully as a palm frond dropping to the earth.

 
Puzzled, I caught the folded letter before it landed on the carpet.

  “Mallie, don’t-” Nick began, but I was already reading it aloud.

  “My Dear Beatrice,

  When you read this letter, I will be gone. The doctor told me it was a matter of days. But do not grieve, my dear. I’m ready to join your mother, my beloved Delores. She was my soul mate, and you are the child of our love. And that is why I could not allow Marco to divide you and Guido. I put the shrimp in my secret sauce, knowing he would taste it and die. I know I will pay for this sin, but I hope you will forgive me.

  My mouth dropped open, and I glanced up to behold Beatrice and Guido standing there, realization dawning in their eyes.

  She gasped, and Guido made a choking sound. I managed to sputter an apology as I handed Beatrice the letter.

  “I told you I didn’t kill Marco,” Francesca grated out between clenched teeth. “All I did was try to steal the recipe card.”

  “And commit attempted battery-with a coconut and a book,” Nick added in a grim tone.

  “Did you know that Carlos killed his brother?” I demanded of Nick, anger welling up inside of me.

  “Only this afternoon, when I received Carlos’ confession in the mail. He must have sent it the day he died. He also stated that he left the letter for Beatrice in the Dante book on his desk. That’s why I tried to stop you.” Nick lifted one dark eyebrow. “If you had just waited and talked to me before coming over here half-cocked, I could have told you.”

  “Like when? How can I trust that you would have let me in on it?”

  “That’s the problem, isn’t it-trust?” Nick said, regarding me with a hushed silence before steering Francesca out of the house.

  Beatrice took Guido’s hand and solemnly placed the letter in his palm. Then they slowly exited the house as well.

  Cole put his arms around me, and I buried my face in his chest. “I messed up big-time again, didn’t I?” 1 moaned.

  “Not really. Your heart’s in the right place.” He smoothed my curls with a loving, soft caress. “With me.”

  I pulled back in disbelief. “After all of this, you still care?”

  “You bet. We belong together.”