Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 02 - Island Intrigue

by Marty Ambrose

  “When did you hear-” I began.

  “I’ve read your articles-” he began.

  We both stopped abruptly.

  “You go first,” he said.

  “Thanks” I slipped off my jacket. “So when did you hear about Tom’s death?”

  He dropped down onto the sofa. “Yesterday. The whole island is talking about it. Poor guy. Rumor has it he took Kevin fishing and fell overboard after too many beers” His voice rose at the end in the form of a question. He’s fishing, I realized.

  So he hadn’t received the latest update from the gossip grapevine. “That’s the rumor.”

  “Everybody will sure miss him.”

  I sat down a little distance away from him. “Were you good friends?”

  “Sort of.” He hesitated. “We worked together on the shrimp boats for about six years. You get to know a man when you spend weeks at a time cooped up on a small shrimper.” He rubbed his hands up and down his jeans-clad thighs, fingers tapping the denim. A nervous reaction?

  “What kind of man was he?” I probed.

  “Okay when he was sober. But he liked his beer. And when he drank, he could get butt-ugly. You know what I mean? He’d say stuff that could cut you in two. I didn’t like that side of him. It made me want to-” He broke off, that cautious look in his eyes again.

  “Kill him?”

  “No” Frank’s whole face tightened as if my words had closed around his head like a vise. “Knock some sense into him.”

  I watched as he shifted around on the sofa. Even more nervous.

  “Of course, I’d never hurt him,” Frank continued. “But I sure didn’t like the way I saw him treating Sally Jo and Kevin after one of his binges.” His tone turned to disgust. “He also had women on the side.”

  I stiffened. “You mean affairs?”

  “He cheated on his wife, and everybody on Coral Island knew it. But this last one was more than a one-night drunken stand, and Sally Jo knew it.”

  “He was seeing someone regularly while they were separated?”

  “Yep. And it was eating up Sally Jo… “

  “How did you feel about it?”

  Anger flitted across his face. “I think Sally Jo was a fool to even think of going back with him. I heard he gave the other woman up, but once he started drinking again, he’d find another one to replace her down the road. Men like him don’t change.”

  “Maybe so,” I said, trying to take everything in. “When did you last see him alive?”

  “The morning he died. He was at the marina working on his boat engine. He told me he was going to take Kevin out fishing that afternoon. I said he was crazy to even think about it. The water was too rough. But did he listen? No way.”

  “Did you have an argument?”

  He frowned. “We had words.”

  “Where were you later that night?”

  “At the Fish and Bait Shoppe in Paradisio doing inventory.” His mouth thinned into a straight line.

  “Did anyone see you there?”

  He gave me a direct gaze. “I was closed.”

  I made a mental note to ask Pete if he’d noticed that Frank was still at the marina. “I’ve got something I’d like you look at” I reached into my cavernous bag for the fishing fly. After rooting around for a few minutes, I realized that I’d left it back at my Airstream. “Criminy. I forgot it.”

  “What?”

  “A fishing fly. It’s very elaborate … handmade. Nora Cresswell told me you were an expert on fishing flies, so I thought you might know who made it.” I refrained from telling him where I had found it.

  “Bring it by my bait store tomorrow, and I’ll look at it.” His tone was still cautious.

  “I’m making coffee” Sally Jo popped her head into the room.

  “Thanks. Do you mind if I talk to Kevin? Just to say hi?”

  Sally Jo flashed a quick glance in Frank’s direction. “I guess it would be okay. He’s still all cut up about his daddy, though, so please try not to upset him.”

  “I won’t.”

  I made my way down the hallway toward Kevin’s bedroom. “Kevin?” I knocked on the closed door. “It’s Miss Mallie.”

  “Come in.” His voice was muffled.

  I entered. The room was dimly lit by a small lamp on his computer desk. Looking around, I took in the aquarium in the corner, Superman-themed bedspread on the twin bed, and model airplane collection on the small dresser. A typical young boy’s bedroom. He sat on the floor with a Chronicles of Narnia book in his hands. He looked so small and alone, my heart went out to him.

  “How ya doing?” I asked.

  He looked up at me, his eyes sad-too sad for a boy his age. “Everybody keeps asking me these questions like I know what happened to my dad. But I don’t. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, he was gone. I don’t know anything.” He stood up and threw the book down.

  “I believe you, Kevin.” I kept my voice soft and soothing. “Grownups like to have answers, and your dad’s falling overboard is kind of a mystery. People want to know why.”

  He slumped on the bed. “I wish I did know. It would make me feel a whole lot better.”

  I settled onto the bed next to him. “It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

  “Mr. Billie thinks so” His mouth trembled. “He asked me if I was mad at my dad. If I ever yelled at him.” He hung his head. “I did get mad at him sometimes. Still, I wanted him to live here with Mom and me….

  “That’s pretty normal to want your dad to live with you. I wouldn’t blame you if you were angry with him.”

  “But Dad told me when we were out fishing that he was moving back in. That he had to take care of something first, but he loved me and Mom.” Kevin sniffed.

  “Did he explain the `something’?”

  “Nope” Kevin dropped his head into his hands. “I wish I had stayed awake. Then maybe I could’ve stopped him from falling overboard.”

  I slipped an arm around him. “You can’t think like that, Kevin. Accidents happen, and no one can prevent them”

  “My daddy wasn’t drunk! I told Mr. Billie that.” His head snapped up, and he looked at me, tears in his eyes.

  “I know,” I said in a quiet voice. “You told the truth, and that’s so important. But let me ask you something: Is it possible that someone else came aboard the boat? Someone who wanted to … uh … talk to your daddy?”

  His eyes widened as he looked up at me in surprise.

  “They would’ve come up in another boat,” I continued, keeping my arm around him.

  “I … I thought I heard a boat engine!” he exclaimed.

  “You did?”

  He jerked his head up and down. “It was right before I fell asleep. I thought Dad started up the engines to throw off algae. But maybe it was another boat”

  “Maybe so. Did you tell this to Detective Billie?”

  “Uh … yeah. He didn’t say much about it.”

  I didn’t respond, but puzzlement nagged at me. Wouldn’t Nick have pushed for more information?

  Kevin gazed up at me again with solemn eyes. “It’s a good thing I remembered, isn’t it?”

  I hugged him. “It sure is.”

  As I let myself out of his room a little while later, I weighed the possibility that another vessel had approached Tom’s the night he was murdered. If so, it could’ve been Jake Fowler or Frank King. Both were experienced boaters, and both had motives to kill Tom. If Nick Billie didn’t think so, I’d nudge him along to see it my way pronto. Anything to clear Kevin.

  Feeling pretty good about my hypothesis, I strolled into the living room just in time to see Frank and Sally Jo spring back out of each other’s arms. It was more than a comfort hug. They’d been kissing. Passionately.

  Not knowing what to say, I muttered a hasty goodbye and got the heck out of there.

  Oh, yeah. Frank King was a suspect, all right.

  it took me about five miles before I could shake off the upset of seeing Sally Jo and Frank
wrapped in a passionate embrace. In those moments, she sure hadn’t seemed like the grieving widow I’d comforted only two days earlier.

  What had happened? Had she found out about Tom’s rumored affairs? Or was the whole distraughtwidow thing a phony act to disguise something more sinister? Maybe she and Frank had been lovers and plotted together to kill Tom. And where did that leave poor Kevin?

  I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck. I was tired. Between hauling Madame Geri around all day, digging up clues about Tom’s death, and dealing with his son’s sadness, I was worn out.

  Being the kind of person that others could count on was exhausting, to say the least. Maybe too much for me. It was so much easier to have only a teacup poodle to answer to.

  I pressed down Rusty’s accelerator and sped along Cypress Road toward Mango Bay. No cars passed me in the opposite direction, and no one was behind me. I’d learned that when it grew cold, most islanders liked to stay inside. They said your blood thinned when you lived in Florida too long. Not so. I think it was because the basic Florida wardrobe thinned after a few years, and no one had any decent cold-weather gear, except for out-of-date polyesters and velour warm-up suits.

  My thoughts drifted back to the fishing fly. I’d take it in to Frank King’s bait shop tomorrow and see if I could solicit any information from him. Watch his expression. Decipher his body language.

  Then I’d tell Detective Billie about my little piece of evidence.

  I realized that I should probably tell Nick about the deceiver first, but I’d promised Wanda Sue that I would protect Kevin and try to find Tom’s killer. A promise was a promise.

  Wow. I was taking my duties as a friend seriously. Maybe there were depths to my character that I hadn’t suspected. I was curious to find out-

  All of a sudden, Rusty heaved forward. My head jerked backward.

  What the heck?

  Was the accelerator sticking again?

  Thump. My truck lurched again.

  No, it wasn’t Rusty. Someone had just hit me from behind. I glanced into the rearview mirror and could see only glaring headlights. The vehicle sat a lot higher on the road than my truck, so I couldn’t make out anything except the lights. And they were on high beam.

  Thump. This time the vehicle hit me harder. My whole body jerked with the impact.

  I beeped my horn, rolled down the window, and motioned for it to go around.

  The vehicle remained behind me.

  Who was it?

  I couldn’t take the time to find out. I had to get away from whoever it was before they drove me off the road or, worse, flipped me into the ditch.

  I floored it. Of course the speed increased only about ten miles per hour, making the grand total of 60 mph. The other vehicle easily closed the distance between us and steadily bore down on me.

  Sweat broke out on my forehead as I braced myself for another impact.

  The headlights grew larger in my rearview mirror.

  “Hold on, Rusty. This is it.” My hands tightened around the steering wheel.

  Just then another car appeared in the opposite direction, and the vehicle behind me broke off its pursuit.

  Realizing this was my chance, I quickly turned off Cypress Road and took a detour through The Mounds the highest point on the island, where ancient Caloosa Indians had lived.

  I kept a watch in my rearview mirror all the way, but the vehicle disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

  After a few minutes I eased off the gas pedal and drew in a shaky breath.

  Had someone just tried to kill me? Me, Mallie Monroe? Disney World dropout and all-around semiflake? Why would anyone want to hurt me? Was it the same person who’d sent me the e-mail? Salty Surfer? If so, he had just raised the stakes. Now he wanted me off the case-permanently.

  I had a mad desire to call Nick Billie. He wouldn’t be at the station at this hour, but I knew there was an emergency number. This was serious. Besides, I needed a strong shoulder and a pair of comforting arms right now.

  I flexed my fingers to keep my hands steady. No, I needed to drive back to my Airstream and get my head together. I’d report the incident to Detective Billie tomorrow when I had my wits about me.

  Somehow I made it back to the Twin Palms RV Resort in one piece.

  My Airstream had never looked so good. Without so much as a glance in the direction of the Wanderlodge, I let myself in. I scooped up Kong and burst into tears.

  So much for willpower.

  The next morning, I smiled slowly as I realized it was Saturday. Thank goodness I had the morning to sleep in before I had to be at the marina to cover the Autumn Festival fishing tournament. I’d slept fitfully after my brush with death on Cypress Road last night. I kept replaying the scene in my mind, trying to figure out who might’ve done it.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t get a good look at the make of the vehicle. Too bad. My car psychology never failed me. In minutes I might’ve had a handle on who was trying to kill me.

  Someone must feel I’m getting too close to finding Tom’s killer. And he decided to either scare me-or worse. If I’d hit a telephone pole or flipped, I could’ve been seriously injured.

  I shivered under my old quilt. Kong snuggled in closer to me.

  I turned my face into the pillow, not wanting to think any more about my mysterious attacker last night.

  Kong tunneled his nose toward me and started to lick my face. After reveling in his canine adoration for a few minutes, I threw the Windbreaker over my pajamas, hooked the leash onto his collar, and swung open the door to my Airstream.

  I jumped back with a gasp as I beheld Madame Geri standing there with her trusty bird perched on her shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?” I managed to get out.

  “Your life is in danger. If you don’t act now, you’ll be dead”

  Kong stared up at Marley and growled low in his throat.

  “Come on in.” I sighed. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

  I took Kong for a brief walk and then rejoined Madame Geri, who’d parked herself on my sofa and was sipping coffee out of my Epcot stoneware mug. Actually, it was my only stoneware mug-courtesy of my tenure at Disney World.

  “Make yourself at home,” I muttered.

  “I had to come,” she pronounced, slipping Marley off her shoulder and onto a cushion. This morning she had donned a retro print dress, long sweater, and dangling earrings. The dreadlocks were pinned up with a large bow. Interesting look.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Sandy-she and Jimmy drove me here” She stroked Merlin. “Last night I was finishing Anita’s astrological chart, and I felt a cold draft-“

  “The wind?” I poured myself a jumbo cup of coffee and slid into a chair a safe distance from that bird.

  She shook her head. “My windows were closed. It was a warning from the spirit world. They told me a malevolence was after you.”

  A tiny chill ran down my spine. “What time did you get this … uh … warning?”

  She looked affronted. “I don’t keep clocks in my house. Time is irrelevant.”

  “Can you estimate?”

  “About nine forty-six.” She patted the bottom of the sofa, and Kong inched toward her, keeping a canine watch on Marley.

  “That’s a pretty specific guess.”

  “I could tell from the position of the stars in the sky. That’s much more reliable than anything manmade like a clock.” She reached down and stroked Kong’s apricotcolored fur. Surprisingly, Kong permitted the intimacy.

  “He doesn’t usually take to strangers-except Nick Billie,” I said, waiting for him to nip at her fingers. But nothing happened.

  “We’re not strangers, are we?” She smiled down at him, and he wagged his tiny tail.

  What that meant, I didn’t bother to inquire.

  “It’s an odd coincidence, but a car almost drove me off the road last night about the time you had your psychic `warning,”’ I revealed reluctantly. I didn’t
want to encourage Madame Geri’s nuttiness, but, then again, I was in no position to ignore her predictions. My life had been threatened.

  She waved a dismissive hand. “There’s no such thing as coincidence. The spirit world wanted me to know that you were in danger.”

  “Did they tell you who was after me?”

  She shook her head. “Not specifically.”

  I gritted my teeth in frustration. “You can tell the spirits for me that I think they’re annoyingly vague. What’s the use of all these feelings and visions if they’re not going to lead to answers?”

  She stroked the top of Kong’s head with gentle motions. “Maybe they’re clear, and it’s we who cannot understand the truth”

  “Mumbo jumbo, if you ask me.”

  “No, the danger is real, and you need help.” She reached into her leather bag and pulled out a silver chain with a tiny ball on it. “Wear this amulet at all times.”

  I stretched out my hand. She dropped it into my palm and closed my fingers over it. “Marley and I will stick close to you”

  Oh, great. I’ve got a crazy psychic, her beady-eyed bird, and a piece of jewelry to protect me from a murderer. I’d be safer waving a rubber chicken over my head and reciting some kind of protection chant. “We’d better bring in a professional,” I said, slipping the necklace around my neck.

  “An exorcist?”

  “A police officer.”

  “Oh” She sat back, disappointment etched in her face.

  “Let’s go see Detective Billie after I take a quick shower.” Even though it was the weekend, I didn’t need a psychic to tell me that he’d be working. The man practically lived at his workplace, and, right now, that was comforting. He had a murderer loose on the island and wouldn’t let up until he’d made an arrest.

  “On Saturday?”

  “He’s there-trust me” I needed him to know that I might be the killer’s next target.

  By the time I pulled up in front of the police station, I was rethinking my decision to involve Detective Billie. What was I going to tell him? I’d had a threatening e-mail, and the island psychic spooked me after my encounter with an aggressive motorist last night?

  He already thought I was a flake. This would probably confirm his suspicions.