Dirty Secrets

by Drummond, Lonaire

“We protect our client’s identities.”

  “I’m her grandson. She’s gone missing, it’s a matter of life and death.”

  “I am not able to verify your familial relationship.”

  “I will dismantle this store and your life piece by piece in the second it takes you to reapply your lipstick.”

  “Is there a problem here, Mr. Argentero.” The man’s figure seemed to appear from out of nowhere. The tailored suit he wore fit every nuance of his body perfectly.

  “Not if you tell me what transpired today, Normand,” Ambrogio said.

  Normand shook head in agreement and dismissed his assistant.

  “Your grandmother was here earlier, just as radiant as ever, although slightly agitated. She wanted cash for the jewelry. She also wanted to know the location of the nearest bridal salon. It was a tad bizarre, if you don’t mind me saying so,” Normand said.

  Adele noticed Normand’s posture slacken a bit when he finished the last sentence. Yanice, who had turned mute during their entire exchange, watched with nervous eyes. She wondered what he was thinking.

  “Where’s the shop?” Yanice’s voice lacked the playfulness it usually conveyed.

  Adele tuned them out, flabbergasted at how a series of no’s magically transformed into yes in a “jump, anything you say sir” kind of way when it came to the Argentero’s.

  Ambrogio, Adele and Yanice walked the ten blocks to Esmè Street. According to Normand, the bridal shop was the only one in St. Lucia.

  The further away they walked from the tourist mecca of Pointe Seraphine, the shabbier the stores became. The merchandise was far less impressive. Storefronts grew gloomier. Foot traffic from locals populated the streets. After a few blocks, the trio stopped at Tress’ Dresses.

  The store reminded Adele of a delicate page dog-eared in the book of time. An antique sewing machine sat long retired in the store window. Mannequins flounced in lace stood tall, laying in wait for their grooms.

  Not a girly girl, Adele’s heart still leaped at the collection of old gowns displayed before her eyes. Her admiration was cut short by Ambrogio’s stern face as he pressed her to enter the bridal shop.

  The smell of moth balls filled the air. An elderly woman sat at an old wood table, negotiating a sewing machine needle through the twists and turns of a garment .

  “I’m looking for a woman. She’s Italian with long silver hair.” Ambrogio cleared his throat. The woman raised her eyes first, followed by her head.

  “You’re family. Your eyes burn with the same fire as hers,” she said.

  “She’s my grandmother, and she’s very ill. Can you tell us where she went?”

  “She’s sick and determined, a dangerous combination,” she said.

  “I fear for her safety with every advancing minute,” Ambrogio said.

  “This store has seen many brides. During slavery times, only white ones. Now locals, tourists, and everything in between come in here to buy wedding dresses. I have never seen anyone with as much love in her eyes for her soon-to-be husband than your grandmother.”

  “Isn’t your grandmother married?” Adele rememebered the obese ruby ring weighing down Felicità’s marriage finger.

  “She had been married to my grandfather for thirty-five years. He died six months ago. My grandmother is still in mourning. You must be mistaken.” Ambrogio’s confusion marred his beautiful features.

  “I may be old, but my senses are as sharp as an owls. I know what you’re thinking before the thought creeps in your mind. Come here and help me with something,” she said.

  A puffy white cloud of hair covered her head. Her midnight colored skin pulled tightly against her frail frame when she lifted the tired piece of machinery, an ancient sewing machine, off the floor. Her firm muscles flexed with her effort.

  “Let me help you, Signora.” Ambrogio tried to pry the machine out of her strong-willed hands.

  “I don’t know who this Signora is, but my name is Seamstress. I go by Tress.” She placed the old machine on the table, unsettling snowflake-like scraps of lace varying in size and color.

  “Your profession is a seamstress. It cannot be your name.” Ambrogio cocked his head to the side.

  “I may look old but my spanking hand is young.” Tress patted her knees. Both Yanice and Adele turned away to conceal their impending belly rolls.

  “Did she say who she was marrying?” Adele asked.

  “Someone named Phillipe. He must be foreign. The only Phillipe I knew died in a car accident four months ago,” Tress said.

  “Can you think of anything else?” Adele asked.

  “She bought a dress with a heap of cash and paid more than what it was worth, to be honest with you. She refused alterations. I ain’t never seen nothing like it. Such a shame about Phillipe. He was a good man and very handsome. His family lives in Marigot Bay. Rumor has it, he was carrying on with some rich foreigner in his hay-day. I’ve told you all I know,” Tress said.

  A light of hope beamed in Ambrogio’s green eyes.

  “Are you talking about Phillipe Montague?” Yanice asked.

  “Yes.” Tress went back to work on her latest masterpiece.

  “I can get you to his family’s house quickly,” Yanice said.

  Mute throughout the entirety of their hunt for Felicità, Yanice exercised his vocal chords when describing the shortcut he would take to Marigot Bay. Ambrogio heaved a thousand thank you’s onto the old woman, breaking her back with gratitude.

  Adele drifted away. Sure of nothing, but Yanice’s command of St. Lucia’s terrain. Adele settled on thoughts of who she was involved with. Empty handed, but full of optimism, they returned to the taxi in the hopes of finding Felicità. When Ambrogio took her hand in his, time and space collided, and all her questions surrounding the Argentero family splattered against the windshield when .

  Chapter 15

  Marigot Bay is home to the “well-to-do’s” and frequented by “lookie-lou’s” like Adele. The landscape was an inexperienced driver’s nightmare. Steep hills and curvy roads steered from the left side of the car, unlike God intended, made Adele dizzy. She leased a brief stay on Ambrogio’s solid shoulder for the duration of the ride.

  Thunder frightened Adele out of her slumber. The brilliant blue sky had been chased away by a rumbling sea of grey clouds. The wind intensified, picking up stray leaves and other objects as they reached the Montague estate.

  Stretched out like bread crumbs divining the path to tragedy, parked near the side of the mansion were several police cars. Their lights swirled in the air, intensifying the feelings of woe currently residing on Adele’s chest.

  Yanice, Ambrogio and Adele walked with quiet steps, their words paralyzed by dread amongst the Calla Lillies lining the footpath to the back of the house. Wind swept, the trio found it difficult to walk. Portly rain drops fell from clouds, lightly tickling Adele’s face at first and then drowning it.

  Small above ground burial plots came into view amid a gaggle of police officers and EMT’s, St. Lucia’s finest, suspended in animation. Next to the emergency workers stood a group of women who represented a different spoke in brown’s color wheel. They cloaked what appeared to be the oldest of the women in a circle of comfort as she wailed incoherently.

  Pale legs set against one of the sun-bleached tombs caught Adele’s attention. A lace wedding dress made transparent by the rain clung to the lifeless body. Strands of silver hair fanned out in all directions. The light of recognition was sudden and blinding for Adele. The bodied lying prone on a bed of leaves was Felicità’s.

  “Why are you just standing around? Help her!” Ambrogio attacked the officer who prevented him from approaching his grandmother in Italian.

  “Sir, this is a secured area. We’ve been told to stand down until the coroner arrives. I’m sorry, Mr. Argentero,” said a cement face police officer. The officer had a rather unfortunate look about him. His features overpowered his brown face like weeds did to grass.

  Struck d
own by grief, Ambrogio’s legs buckled, his pain capsized him into a heap on the saturated ground. Adele was just as thunderstruck, yet the cause of hysteria wasn’t Felicità, it was her father.

  Her mind took her back to one of the coldest mornings Chicago had seen in years. The police had converged a swing set. Adele’s all night search for her father had dulled her senses. The sleepy haze lifted, she focused on a body in the sandbox.

  By chance, she had decided to pass the park on the way to her parent’s house in the hopes of finding her father safe and sound. On another occasion, she had found her father pushing an empty swing. That time, he had convinced himself she was six-years old.

  A familiar pair of black leather wing-tipped shoes, Adele’s birthday present to her father from many Christmas’ ago, lay uncovered in the sandbox. Thrown aside like feathers in a hen house, the officers standing in front of the body were no match for the adrenaline coursing through Adele’s veins.

  She yanked the tarp away from the body. A scream broke lose from the pits of her stomach when her worst fears came to fruition. Adele’s father lay face down in a sandbox, frozen like a hunk of meat in a butcher shop.

  A violent surge of memories broke through the levees of Adele’s mind, drowning her in sorrow. Someone else’s anguished cries snatched Adele from the past and back into the present. Hearing Ambrogio lament the loss of his grandmother in his native tongue served to emphasize Adele’s own internal heartache. To her surprise, Yanice held Ambrogio aloft and out of the mud, despite his appeals to be left alone.

  A groan heard between thunderclaps caught the attention of those standing idly by. The time between each interval of groans grew shorter, until they turned into one consecutive howl. All attention centered on the cemetery where the sight of thrashing legs popped the cork on a steady flow of movement from EMT’s, the police and Ambrogio.

  “She is alive,” Ambrogio said.

  Adele watched, cemented to the ground where she stood as Ambrogio scooped Felicità up into his arms, her paleness magnified against Ambrogio’s Olive skin.

  “Non voglio partire mio Phillipe,” Felicita buried her face into her grandson’s chest.

  The woman once encircled by her family broke free from their arms intent on distrubing the Argentero’s happy reunion.

  “She’s responsible for my father’s death. Get her off this property right now!” Her warm brown skin reddened in anger.

  The woman’s allegations added a new layer to the puzzle surrounding the mysterious Argentero family. Seconds after the outburst, Ambrogio and Felicità disappeared behind an ambulance’s closing doors while Adele watched enfolded in Yanice’s embrace.

  “I will take you back to the hotel, Adele. Sit in front with me.” Yanice tailed the yelping ambulance down the street, impatient tires firing gravel at them in all directions.

  Compliant, Adele climbed in the first seat, the fight in her suppressed by the urge to cry at any given moment. The once picturesque town of Marigot Bay now appeared tattered and torn like a postcard forgotten in a pocket.

  “Let me walk you back to your cottage.” Yanice pulled onto the hotel property after what seemed like days.

  “No, I’ll be okay. Go to Marissa,” Adele said.

  Damp clothes bonded to her skin, Adele walked the short distance to her cottage. She curled herself into a ball on the bed still dressed, not caring what became of her sheets as she drifted off to sleep, images of her father still nestled stubbornly in her mind.

  Chapter 16

  A failed attempt at outrunning her memories during the night left Adele agitated. She prayed. She begged. She even promised to call her mother more often, yet in her mind her father remained. Idol time spent in St. Lucia would be Adele’s undoing, so she decided to leave, the sooner the better.

  Showered, dressed, packed, and determined, she sought a way off St. Lucia.

  “I’m cutting my vacation short,” Adele said.

  “Why?” Celeste stopped shuffling the weeks receipts in order to give Adele her full attention.

  “It’s nothing you did. It’s not the hotel. I’ve had a great time here, but I need to leave. Free time isn’t always a good thing.” Adele had a feeling Celeste took her early departure as a personal affront to her customer service skills.

  “I wish you would reconsider,” Celeste said.

  “I won’t. I don’t want to look to the past anymore. My future awaits.”

  With a heavy heart, Adele boarded a taxi, disappointed her trip wouldn’t end in the soothing embrace of Yanice’s cool island logic.

  Besides an obligatory “How are you doing,” the driver barely regarded her presence. So to guard against the compulsion to unload her life’s woes onto this unsuspecting person, Adele donned a pair of oversized glasses and dozed off.

  “We’re here.” The taxi driver woke Adele out of an Ambrogio induced trance. She hoped she hadn’t kept the driver waiting too long.

  Trepidation gnawed at her heels amidst the organized chaos of the airport. Travelers loaded and unloaded, planes rose and fell, huggers embraced and criers sniffled, yet through it all Adele thought only of Ambrogio.

  Dim and dull, the interior of the airport reminded Adele of Grand Central Station in New York City. An immense brass clock lorded over travelers. Combining the old with the new, digital time tables advertised the day’s traffic in an ominous red. The airport’s gloomy ambiance enhanced by her sunglasses, Adele promptly removed them just as a man dressed for a funeral approached.

  He clipped a few people in his haste to get to her, flinching each time due to one of the worst cases of sunburn she had ever seen. Adele became uncomfortable just looking at him.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “You’ve been selected, randomly, for a security screening.” The base in his voice boomed with authority.

  “I haven’t even checked in yet,” Adele said.

  “It’s procedure.” He adjusted a sleek headset hooked in his ear. Its light came alive every few seconds in a burst of blue.

  “I’ve heard of random searches after check in, but not before. I could be picking up a friend and not going anywhere near a plane. Why me out of everyone else in the airport?” She asked.

  “Hence the term random screening. Come with me. It will be over in a second. You won’t feel a thing.” He offered her a reassuring smile which never quite reached his eyes.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

  “A search or jail, those are your only two options.” He took a firm grip of her arm. After a few fruitless attempts to wrench it free, she started to panic. Her stomach dropped and her heart skipped several beats.

  “I want to speak to your manager.” Adele channelled Robynne’s fighting spirit.

  How she heard her name yelled in earnest over her pounding heart, she would never know. The familiar voice sent waves of relief throughout her body.

  “Non la tocchi.” Ambrogio grabbed the security guard by the lapels.

  They moved out of Adele’s earshot. Adele didn’t need to listen to know the man’s fate. Chopped down a peg or two, Ambrogio sent him away, but not before shoving the guard in the chest several times.

  “Dove vai?” Ambrogio asked.

  “I’m leaving, isn’t it obvious. Shouldn’t we report him? What if he’s a serial rapist or something?” she said.

  “Forget about him. Felicità asked to see you,” Ambrogio said.

  “I think I should let her rest. Do you think he even works for the airport? I should have asked to see his badge. Robynne would be so disappointed in me.” Afraid of discovery, Adele eluded Ambrogio’s persistent stare.

  “Robynne?”

  “She’s my friend. I’m going to talk to somebody about the security guard.” She spotted a police officer standing nearby an information desk.

  “He does not matter. I’m certain he will get what’s coming to him. Felicità wants to apologize for ruining your vacation,” Ambrogio said. Branded by his touch, s
he stood motionless, her eyes downcast.

  “She’s being silly. I—I will see her tomorrow,” Adele said.

  “Fine, I promised to call her when I found you.” Ambrogio pulled out his phone which Adele waved away once he connected with his grandmother.

  The thing about piss poor planning, Adele learned, is that on some occasions it resulted in little to no repercussions. Armed with nothing but a smile and a freshly activated credit card, she had intended to use them to charm her way onto a flight. Thanks to Ambrogio and his white BMW, she hadn’t gotten far.

  “You think my cottage is still available?” Adele asked on their way back to the hotel.

  “You will stay with me,” he said. Adele didn’t like the way the “will” sounded.

  “I have no choice in the matter?” she asked. An escape attempt gone awry was not the way she envisioned this day playing out.

  “You’re choice, as always, would have been wrong. To save time, I decided for you.” Ambrogio focused on the road. Adele straddled the fence between annoyed and horny, struggling to contain the smile forming on her lips.

  At the hotel, Celeste directed an ensemble of workers as they removed chocolate boxes from a truck, her smile toothy and self-congratulatory. The trade winds created by her vigorous waving could have propelled her into flight when she watched Ambrogio snatch a set of luggage out of Adele’s hands.

  Chapter 17

  “Are you hungry,” Ambrogio asked once they arrived in his cottage.

  “Not quite.” She hadn’t eaten anything for over twenty-four hours, yet she recognized a different breed of hunger twitching alive in her nether region. Aware of her lecherous ogling, Ambrogio rid himself of his burgundy button down.

  “I’m not hungry either, but I could use a swim. Join me.” His invitation blazed on his outstretched, upturned hand.

  “Maybe later.” She had already mounted him in her mind. A brazen Ambrogio discarded his Khaki pants.

  “Maybe when you’re done ravishing me in your mind.”

  He climbed into the swing, spreading his limbs outward to welcome the sun, his black briefs barely concealing his bulge.