by Beth Orsoff
“And what are we supposed to do with these?” I said, holding up the gold badge embossed with Special Investigator in black lettering. “Pretend we’re cops?”
“I think they’re cute,” Jane said. “Don’t you?”
I just shook my head and went to the kitchenette to pour myself another cup of coffee.
“Will you get me one while you’re up,” Jane yelled.
When I returned to the living room, Jane was sitting on the floor, inserting a 9-volt battery into the stun gun. “Would you mind if I tried this out on you?”
“Yes,” I said, jumping back and spilling coffee all over the rug.
“Never mind,” she said, rummaging through the box while I cleaned the stain. “It came with an instructional video.”
Unfortunately the lock pick set didn’t. After half an hour unsuccessfully attempting to pick the lock on the bathroom door, we both gave up. But with the curtains drawn and the lights turned out, the night vision binoculars worked just fine.
“Now what?” I asked after we’d played with all our new toys.
“Now we start the investigation.”
“And did you order a ‘Murder Investigation for Dummies’ book with the rest of this junk?”
“No,” she said, reaching for her coffee mug. “I think we’ve both watched enough Law & Order to do this on our own.”
“I don’t think it works the same in real life as it does on T.V. And besides, we’re not cops.”
“Maybe not. But I’m channeling Mariska Hargitay and you’re better looking than Christopher Meloni.”
“Gee thanks. And why do I have to be the bad cop?”
“Because if one of us is going to lose control and throw a punch at somebody, it’s going to be you.”
We both dressed in shorts and t-shirts, although Jane’s came from Barneys and mine were purchased at the Gap, and took the hotel’s shuttle into town. We could’ve walked, it was only half a mile, but Jane was breaking in a new pair of very cute Marc Jacobs sandals and didn’t want to risk the blisters.
As we walked the main street of Camus Caye, I pointed out all the buildings I knew—the police station, the Gables Guesthouse, a couple of restaurants and the disco.
“We should go dancing tonight,” Jane said. “I haven’t been to a disco in ages.”
“I thought you came down here to help me?”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t have fun too. But that’s for later,” she added, looking at the expression on my face. “Now we work. Where’s the morgue?”
“Why do you want to go there?”
“So the coroner can tell us how and when Michael died. Isn’t that what Detectives Benson and Stabler always do?”
“He died Wednesday night from being stabbed to death.”
“Maybe that’s just what it looks like on the surface, but that’s not what really killed him. Or maybe Sergeant Ramos just wants you to think that.”
“Or maybe Michael faked his own death and he’s really alive somewhere and the writers are planning on bringing him back next season.”
Jane stopped with her hands on her size two hips. “I came down here to help you. A little appreciation would be nice.”
“I do appreciate you. I really, really do. But this isn’t an episode of Law & Order or CSI or even Monk. Maybe there’s some corruption down here, I don’t know, but I do know that there’s no high tech crime lab analyzing DNA samples and no coroner working for the police department who’s going to help us solve this case.”
“Did you actually see Michael’s body?”
“Yes,” I said, shuddering from the memory. “I threw up all over the floor.”
“But did you see the stab wounds?”
“Jane, have you listened to a fucking word I’ve said?”
A couple with two small children taking pictures of a statue frowned at us disapprovingly.
“That’s why you’re the bad cop,” she said when the family had moved on.
“I’m sorry, but I’m just trying to insert a dose of reality here.”
“The reason I asked if you saw the wounds was because I wanted to know if he was stabbed in the front or the back.”
“I don’t know. Sergeant Ramos never told me and I only saw Michael from the neck up. Why?”
“Because if he was stabbed from the front, especially if he had cuts on his hands or arms, then he was fighting with his attacker, but if he was stabbed in the back, then he was running away.”
She at least sounded like she knew what she was talking about.
“Impressed?”
“Maybe.”
“Then maybe now you’ll start listening to me for a change.”
I walked Jane the three blocks to the hospital, but I refused to go in. One viewing of a dead body was enough for me. Not that I believed that they’d allow Jane to see Michael’s body anyway. I thought her scheme to pretend that she was a private investigator from the U.S. looking into Michael’s murder for his family back home was doomed to failure despite her fake badge, but she insisted.
I’d barely gotten through the first article in the free tourist newsletter I’d found on a bench outside the hospital when Jane reappeared with a triumphant smile.
“They actually let you in to see him?”
“Better,” she said. “They told me where to find his sister.”
Chapter 33
SHE FILLED ME IN on the walk back to Front Street. Jane used her private investigator line on one of the nurses, but the nurse told her she’d have to call Sergeant Ramos for authorization.
“So what did you do?”
“I asked her which way to the ladies room and I left. But on the way, I ran into a very friendly orderly who was more than happy to point me in the direction of the morgue. When I told him I was investigating Michael’s death, he told me the dead guy was getting more action than he was, which I took to mean Michael had had other female visitors.”
“How astute of you.”
“Thank you,” she said, choosing to ignore my sarcasm. “I probed a little more and found out Michael’s other visitor was named Mona Garcia.”
“How do you know it’s Michael’s sister?”
“Because that’s what she wrote down on the form when she signed for Michael’s body.”
“She took Michael’s body?”
“No, not yet. She’s flying home with him tomorrow night.”
We walked a little ways in silence while I digested this information, when it occurred to me to ask, “How did you get this guy to tell you all this?”
“I just happened to mention that I’d be at the disco tonight and I’d be extremely grateful for the information.”
“What did you do that for? Now he’ll be waiting for you.”
“Which is why we’ll be going tomorrow night instead.”
Jane and I had to return to the hotel for lunch because we couldn’t find a restaurant in town that served a grilled chicken breast salad with fat free dressing on the side. While Jane ate her six grams of protein, no fat lunch at the Tradewinds poolside patio, I devoured a cheeseburger and fries.
“Oooo La La,” Jane said, pushing down her sunglasses for a better view.
I turned and followed her gaze. “Oh my God, that’s Jack.”
We both stared openly as he climbed out of the shallow end of the pool. With the sun reflecting off the water, his chest literally glistened.
“I thought you said he looked like Owen Wilson.”
“I said he was cuter than Owen Wilson and without the broken nose.”
“He’s way cuter than Owen Wilson. He’s practically Brad Pitt.”
“He doesn’t look anything like Brad Pitt.”
“Maybe not Brad Pitt now, but remember him in Thelma & Louise?”
I did remember. I was fourteen years old and on my first real date with Craig Heins. He spent the whole movie trying to feel me up and I spent the whole movie trying to figure out exactly what Brad Pitt had done to Geena Davis to make
her so happy. I didn’t find out from Craig.
“He’s bigger than Brad Pitt.”
“I know,” Jane said, “he’s Matthew McConaughey.”
I watched three teenage girls giggle and swoon as Jack demonstrated the correct way to clear a mask. “Yeah, I’ll give you Matthew McConaughey.”
We finished our lunch and went back to the villa without talking to Jack. Jane wanted to meet him, but I refused. He’d made it pretty clear the last time I’d seen him that he didn’t want to have anything to do with me, and I’d had enough rejection for one week. Besides, we had work to do.
I pulled out one of my guidebooks and made a list of all the hotels on Camus Caye. I took A through L, handed Jane M through Z, and we both started calling front desks asking for Ms. Mona Garcia. I found her on my third try—the Coconuts Hotel. The clerk told me there was no phone in her room, but he could take a message.
“Do you know if she’s in?” I asked.
“I doubt it,” he said. “It gets pretty hot in the rooms this time of day.”
“Do you think she might be out by the pool?”
“We don’t have a pool. The beach is only two blocks away.”
I thanked him for his help and got directions before I hung up. “If the place has no air conditioning and no pool, she’s probably not going to be hanging around in the daytime, but she has to come back eventually. I think we should go over there around five and wait for her.”
“Good plan,” Jane said. “It’s two-thirty now. What do you want to do until then?”
I didn’t want to sit by the pool and oogle Jack, which is what Jane wanted to do, so I sent her by herself while I snuggled up on the couch to take a nap. Of course I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about this case.
Maybe we were going about this the wrong way. After all, I hadn’t been charged with Michael’s murder, only smuggling antiquities. Maybe we should be spending our time trying to figure out who planted the jade in my suitcase and why. I assumed it was Michael since, besides me, he was the only one with a key. But if Jane could buy a lock pick set then a criminal certainly could. And a criminal could probably figure out how to use it.
I bounded out to the pool to share my new theory with Jane, but stopped short when I caught her flirting with Jack. He was staring at her chest, which wasn’t unusual, most men do. I turned back as soon as I saw them, but Jane had already spotted me.
“Lizzie, wait,” she called out.
I didn’t.
A few minutes later she was standing in the living room in her bikini top and a beach towel wrapped around her waist. “That wasn’t what it looked like.”
“Oh no? It looked a lot like flirting to me.”
“I was just scoping out a suspect.”
“Since when is Jack a suspect?”
“Since now,” she said.
Chapter 34
“JACK COULDN’T HAVE KILLED Michael. He was with me the whole night.”
“You don’t know that,” Jane said, plopping down on the chair across from me. “You were passed out on the bed. In fact, maybe you weren’t drunk. Maybe he drugged you.”
“He didn’t drug me.”
“How do you know?”
“I woke up with a hangover. I know what that feels like.” Especially on this trip.
“Just because you drank, doesn’t mean he didn’t drug you.”
“Jane, Jack didn’t kill Michael.” Thinking that was the end of the discussion, I went into the kitchenette for a bottle of water, but Jane followed.
“How do you know?”
“I think I’d know if I’d spent the night with a murderer.”
“You see what you want to see, Lizzie.”
I slammed the fridge door shut. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The handwriting was on the wall with Steven for a long time. You chose to ignore it.”
“I was supposed to know he was going to dump me at the altar?”
“No, I thought you’d get married and then divorced a few years later when you realized your mistake.”
“Screw you!” I said, and stomped back into the living room where I flung myself onto the couch.
After a few seconds, Jane followed. “I’m sorry, Lizzie, but it’s the truth.”
“I can’t believe this. You were supposed to be my maid of honor.”
“And I would have. I had the dress, the shoes, I even wrote the toast.”
“Even though you knew Steven didn’t love me?” I said, trying to hold back the tears.
“Even though I knew you weren’t in love with him.”
“Yeah, I was faking it for five years.”
“You were comfortable. So you took the next logical step, you got engaged. I know on some level you loved him, just like you love those sweatpants with the holes in them that you refuse to throw away, but you weren’t in love with him.”
“Oh don’t give me that bullshit. Maybe your life’s a fairy tale with your fabulous vacations and your trust fund, but the rest of us live in the real world.”
“And people don’t fall in love in the ‘real world,’” she said using her fingers for quotes.
“Obviously not the way you do,” I yelled before I ran out. Our villa faced the ocean, so that’s where I headed. But I didn’t get far. Our stretch of beach was deserted, so I collapsed on the sand in front of our room and let the tears roll. The worst part about it was that I knew Jane was right, at least a little bit. I loved Steven, but I wasn’t head over heels. But honestly, after five years together, was I still supposed to light up every time he walked in the room? Every married person I knew says the passion always fades. But I suppose it should still be there when you’re walking down the aisle.
This whole thing was giving me a headache. I was debating whether to go back to the villa and hibernate or take a walk on the beach when Jane showed up. She sat down next to me in the sand and we both stared out at the ocean in silence. For ten seconds.
“Are we speaking yet?” she asked. “Because you know I hate it when we’re not speaking.”
“You really think I didn’t love Steven?”
“I think you didn’t love him enough to commit to him for the rest of your life. And I was right, wasn’t I?”
“No, he left me.”
“He just did what you wanted to do, but were too afraid to do because you didn’t want to disappoint everyone.”
“You really think so?” I didn’t actually believe her, but I wanted to.
“Absolutely. Once that wedding train pulls out of the station, it’s pretty hard to stop.”
That much was true.
“Friends?” she asked.
“Friends,” I said, and we had one of those awful Hallmark moments with the hugging and the crying. All that was missing was the sappy music.
Then Jane looked at her watch. “We gotta go. I don’t want to miss Michael’s sister.”
Chapter 35
WE NEEDN’T HAVE HURRIED. Jane and I loitered in the Coconuts Hotel’s small lobby for almost an hour, before the desk clerk finally got so annoyed with us that he told us Mona’s room number just so we’d leave him alone. She was in room number eight—one flight up at the end of the catwalk.
Unfortunately he wouldn’t give us her room key too, so we had to sit outside her door waiting for her to arrive. As we neared the end of the second hour, Jane wanted to call it a night, but I refused. Mona was our only lead for more information about Michael and I didn’t want to take the chance of missing her before she left.
Fifteen minutes into hour number three, I sent Jane on a mission for food and entertainment. She came back with bananas, bottled water, one copy of Vogue, and a deck of cards.
“Jane, this Vogue’s in Spanish.”
“I know, it was that or People. At least this one we can look at the pictures.”
“And what’s with the fruit? They didn’t have any Cheetos?”
“You know I don’t eat that crap.”
“Well I’d be happy to come back in the morning if you’d like to go out for a real meal.”
I peeled myself a banana and started shuffling the cards. After I’d won $54 off of her playing Black Jack and five card draw, she read Vogue and I switched to solitaire.
By nine o’clock I was ready to strangle her. The light was too low, the air was too muggy, the concrete floor was too hard on her butt. I was bored and hungry too, but you didn’t hear me complaining. I begged her to go back to the hotel without me, but she refused. She insisted it wasn’t safe for me to wait alone. I finally promised her if Mona didn’t show by ten, we would leave her a note and try again in the morning. Forty-five minutes later she arrived with a man on each arm.
Mona was short and plump, but her tight mini-dress revealed both shapely legs and a lot of cleavage, and her pretty face was framed by wavy black hair. As she moved closer, I could see the resemblance to Michael, especially around the eyes, which were big and brown and surrounded by a thick fringe of lashes that I could never duplicate no matter how much mascara I used.
Mona and her buddies were talking so loud we knew they’d been drinking even before we saw the bottle. Unfortunately they were speaking in Spanish, so we still had no clue what they were saying.
“Are you Mona Garcia?” I asked as the threesome approached.
“Si,” the woman answered.
“Michael Garcia’s sister?”
“Yes, who are you?”
“I’m Lizzie Mancini and this is Jane Chandler. We were friends of your brother.”
“Wait a minute,” the man with the beer said. “Is one of you the girl he pretended to marry? The one who came down for a honeymoon sin un marido?”
“Without a husband,” Mona translated.
“Yes,” I said, bristling at the description, despite its accuracy.
The three of them looked from me to each other, then burst out laughing.