by A W Hartoin
Get it together, girl.
The older guy rushed back in and, in a flurry of Spanish, indicated we should wait.
“There are eight more guests,” said Aaron.
Enzo herded a couple over. The woman had amazing hair. It defied gravity, rising six inches off her forehead in stiff curls and down her back, reaching to her elbows. If Aaron had been a normal guy, he’d have been staring at her breasts that defied gravity in a very missile silo way. Her husband introduced them as Frankie and Linda Gmuca. He was a good twenty years older than Linda and wore a conservative dress shirt and a pair of Versace sunglasses perched on his balding head. They loved Aaron instantly and got into a loud conversation about salami.
After that we were joined by another couple and their two kids. They looked like they could’ve modeled for the Land’s End catalog, being incredibly perfect and bland next to the Gmucas. Todd and Tracy Pell introduced their exceedingly bored children as Tara and Tyler. They liked T names and told us so.
While Tracy was schooling Mom on the long history of T names in her family, I spotted Lucia and Graeme Carrow across the room. They were happily comparing cameras with another couple, who had enough equipment to be photojournalists for National Geographic. Lucia looked okay to me. She smiled and stood close to Graeme, cuddling up to his side. That might not mean anything. She could be currying favor with her abuser.
Stop it! Don’t look. She’s not your problem.
Dixie stepped in front of me, her pretty face free of the heavy makeup she used to wear before Gavin died. Now it took me a second to recognize her. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but knock it off.”
“I’m just standing here,” I said.
“No, you’re not. I remember that look. I saw it for thirty years. You’re curious about something.”
I shook my head. “I’m not really. Just tired.”
Dixie spoke to Mom and I saw the Carrows speak to another native guy, probably about their resort. Thank goodness. It’s a coincidence that they’re here. Coincidences happen. They happen all the time. I couldn’t think of any that happened to me, but still.
The luggage carousel creaked to life and scattered pieces of luggages started coming through the opening in the wall. Ten minutes later, we had all of it on a rickety metal cart. I could practically taste the fruity drinks already.
“The gang’s all here,” said Mom, fanning herself and Aunt Tenne with Aunt Tenne’s big hat.
“I’m glad we found you. We were getting worried,” said a man behind me.
No!
I turned.
Yes.
Lucia and Graeme Carrow stood behind me, smiling with their arms linked. Graeme’s mouth fell open when he got a load of Mom and me, but he concealed his gaga for the Marilyn thing pretty well. I shook hands and tried not to look incredibly shocked at their going to our resort. Coincidence, huh? I don’t think so.
“Are you the Mercy Watts? The one from the website?” Graeme looked hopeful.
“That’s me,” I said.
“I know this is awkward, but could I take a picture with you later? My friends will lose their minds.”
“Sure.” I watched Lucia out of the corner of my eye. She was interested, but I didn’t see any signs of discomfort or jealousy. Either her brother was wrong about the affair or Lucia had no idea.
Enzo piled Lucia and Graeme’s luggage on top of the pile and led us through the door in the glass wall. The hot guy stood smiling on the other side. He introduced himself as Mauro, a dive master and sometime driver. His accent was soft and exotic, but I couldn’t even enjoy it, hot as he was. I was too mad. What were the chances I’d be on a vacation with Oz Urbani’s sister? I’ll tell you how many chances. None. Zero.
Mauro brought us outside to a short line of resort vans and loaded our luggage in the back of a van with “La Isla Bonita Beach and Dive Resort” painted on the side. Everyone started getting in, but I held Mom back.
“How exactly did we end up getting this trip?” I asked.
“Ava called and told me about it,” said Mom.
“Just out of the blue, she called you?”
“Yes. The trip came in and she thought we would like it better.”
“There were no penalties for canceling the cruise?”
“No. It was all taken care of.”
More than you know.
La Isla Bonita sat on the West Bay near the tip of Roatan. The whole thing was tucked away from the main road and only when we drove through the gate did I realize we were there. The armed guard was the giveaway. I guess Pete was right about the Wild West comparison. Heavy tropical foliage surrounded the wooden buildings and the resort sign was nearly obscured. Mauro stopped at a little building that had “Reception” carved into a wooden plaque and a stocky man in his forties wearing a La Isla Bonita tee came out. He introduced himself as Bruno and began unloading the luggage. I waited next to a fat palm tree while Mom checked us in. Skinny brown birds that resembled crows flew overhead, yelling something that sounded like, “Spaghetti.” I took off my shoes and my toes sunk into the warm sand. There were no sidewalks, just sand paths. I hadn’t looked at the website, but I knew there wouldn’t be any TVs or phones or clocks in our rooms. Fabulous.
Mom came out with our keys and Aaron appeared at my side with two ice cream cones. “Chocolate or coconut?”
“I didn’t see an ice cream shop,” I said.
“You didn’t look.”
“True. Thanks.” I chose chocolate, of course.
Aaron licked his cone and took his key from Mom. Aunt Tenne and Dixie were still in Reception, so we waited under a red bougainvillea bush. I’d never smelled such air. It was sweet with flowers but dirty and earthy all at the same time. Lucia came out of Reception with Tracy, the Land’s End Mom. They were discussing sunblock. Was fifty SPF enough or should they get one hundred?
Tara and Tyler ran up and interrupted their mother mid-sentence, wailing that they were hungry, tired, and bored. Tracy fed them chocolates out of her purse like they were two and promised that she would do anything they wanted as soon as they were checked in. The kids kept whining and tugging on her arms. Lucia hurried down the stairs with a glance of distaste over her shoulder and began rifling through her purse, searching for something. She kept talking, but the rifling got worse and worse.
Graeme came out, grinning and holding up their key. Then he stopped short. “What’s wrong, Lucia?”
“I can’t find my inhalers. I know I put them both in my purse,” said Lucia, her cheeks red. “I have to have them on me at all times.”
Inhalers. The one thing I didn’t bring.
“Are you sure?” asked Graeme.
I pictured Urbani’s worried face. Crap. An asthmatic without her inhaler wasn’t a good thing.
“I’m sure. They’re not here.” Lucia’s voice rose up in panic.
Graeme hugged her. “It’s okay. I packed extras. They’re in my suitcase.”
Lucia’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank goodness. Why’d you pack them?”
“Because you forget them.” He gave her the key and picked up their suitcases. “See you all later.”
We said goodbye and I watched them wander down a narrow path between palm trees. Lucia was saying she was sure she packed them and I got a feeling, a nervous Tommy Watts kind of a feeling. Dad was famous for his feelings. He knew when something wasn’t right and I’d started to develop his skill. Graeme said Lucia forgot her inhalers, not that she would lose them altogether. Where did they go?
I looked up to find Aaron watching me through his thick glasses. He already had drips of ice cream down the front of his Spiderman tee and sand in his hair that was standing up in weird cowlicks all over his head. My partner. Right.
“Got a feeling?” he asked.
“Maybe.”
Aunt Tenne and Dixie came out of Reception with a load of brochures, gave Tracy and her still whining kids a wide berth, and trotted down the stairs smiling. Dixie hoo
ked her arm through mine. “Let’s go check out our rooms.” Her voice was cheerful, but her face couldn’t have been sadder.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She sighed. “Just thinking about Gavin. For some reason, your face reminds me how much I’m missing him.”
“My face?”
“You were looking so intense just now. Like you were on the scent. Gavin loved the hunt. I can see that in you.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to do it. I’m not up to anything.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way,” said Dixie.
Mom came over. “Bruno will take our bags to the rooms. Let’s see the beach instead.”
“I’ll go with Bruno,” said Aunt Tenne.
“Suit yourself,” said Mom.
She led us down the path, whistling an aria I couldn’t place. We passed the dive shop filled with divers tugging on tight wetsuits surrounded by posters of native fish and maps of Roatan. A well-tanned woman with a tangle of sun-streaked hair waved to us. “Welcome to La Isla Bonita.”
We waved back and entered the heart of the resort. Curving paths took us past small bungalows with deep front porches and hammocks.
“That’s our building,” said Mom, pointing to a two story with four rooms. An outdoor staircase led up to the second floor. Brightly colored hammocks were hung next to each of the doors and a wide pail of water for cleaning sandy feet sat at the base of the stairs. No high-rise rooms with waitstaff for us. It felt slightly gritty but well-kept. I really didn’t need the white linen capris Sheila insisted I buy. For once my beloved cutoffs were perfect.
The path widened and we found the on-site restaurant and bar. I’d never seen a restaurant with a sand floor and birds’ nests in the rafters. To the right was a small pool with comfy deck chairs and a small waterfall, but straight ahead was the money shot. The ocean, ice blue and framed by palm trees. Dixie’s grip on my arm tightened and her lips pressed together so that they went pale.
“Dixie?” I asked.
“It’s so beautiful,” she choked out.
Mom turned around, gave me her purse, and hugged Dixie. “It’s alright that you’re here. It’s okay that you’re happy.”
“I should’ve made him come to places like this. He was always working. I should’ve made him rest and enjoy things,” said Dixie, tears streaming down her face.
“Aaron,” said Mom.
Aaron walked around us and went to the bar without another word from Mom. I followed him partially because I wanted to know what he was supposed to do and partially to get away from the crushing grief that hit Dixie at the most unexpected times. I didn’t know what to do with it. Waves of agony flowed out from her waif-like body and went through the restaurant, making strangers take notice. Their faces instantly changed to expressions of concern or remembrances of their own past pain. That grief made me think of things I’d rather forget, like Gavin’s body on the gurney, the face of his killer glaring at me from across a crowded courtroom. I had to do something, change something. Solving that crime wasn’t enough. It didn’t change anything and gave Dixie no relief that I could detect. My skin went all itchy. I wanted to run or fight. Something. Instead, I perched on a stool next to Aaron.
“Four Monkey Lalas,” he said.
“What’s a Monkey Lala?” I asked.
“Signature drink.”
“What’s in it?”
“Happiness.”
“Well, I could use some of that.”
The bartender, a smiling man with ebony skin and a lovely voice, sang a Shaggy song while he made our happiness. I rooted through my purse and found Oz Urbani’s card stuffed down in a corner. The bartender set a glass in front of me and Aaron was right. It tasted like happiness with a touch of Bailey’s and rum. Aaron took Mom and Dixie their drinks and I watched Dixie’s eyes crinkle when she tasted it. Just what she needed, that and an adventure all her own.
I got out my phone and walked down to the beach. Pete had sent me a couple incoherent texts. If it had been anyone else I would’ve thought they were drunk, but since it was Pete, I knew he was exhausted. I texted him back and pondered the card in my hand. Calling Urbani probably wasn’t the best idea, but my skin was still itchy, even with the help of a Monkey Lala and that Dad feeling just wouldn’t go away. I hated being manipulated, especially on my vacation.
The phone rang twice before Urbani answered, sounding quite smug.
“Ah, Mercy Watts. I was wondering when I’d be hearing from you.”
“You bastard. Do you know where I am?”
“Near a beach wearing a fetching bikini.”
“When pigs fly. Guess who happens to be at this resort?”
“Pretty woman. Looks a lot like me,” he said.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Helping my sister.”
“I’m not working for you,” I said.
“Let’s not say you’re working for me. Let’s say you’re observant and you hear things. Maybe you see some things.”
I thought about the missing inhalers and decided to keep it to myself. I didn’t want to encourage him.
“And maybe I call you when I get back to chat,” I said. “Is that it?”
“We might bump into each other.”
“I’ll make sure we don’t.”
“You’ll like Lucia. She’s a wonderful person. Volunteers at Children’s Hospital. Packs food for the homeless. Does those breast cancer runs.”
“There are other detectives, if you’re so worried.”
“None like you,” he said.
“Alright. I’ll grant you that, but I can’t work for you.”
“Me specifically or my family?”
“Same thing.”
“It is and it isn’t. You checked me out, didn’t you?” he asked.
“My dad did.”
“Then you know I’m clean.”
“You’re a Fibonacci,” I said. “You’re all clean. Technically.”
He laughed. “Some more than others, but I don’t think it makes a difference really. You can’t help yourself.”
I took a big gulp of Monkey Lala for strength. “What makes you think that?”
“Because I checked you out. You’re your father’s daughter. He specialized in crimes against women and had the best conviction rate in the state, maybe the country.”
“I didn’t go into the family business.” More Monkey Lala.
“Not officially, but a rape case comes into an ER, if you’re working, you get it. You’ve got good victim rapport. You’re known to follow up with victims, make sure they get services, etc… And there’s the Holtmeyer case, among others.”
“It’s my job, dillweed. What’s your point?”
“My point is that your dad never walked away from a victim and you don’t either. If that asshole is hurting my sister, I don’t think for a minute that you’ll leave her hanging.”
“Do you really think Graeme Carrow would be fool enough to beat up your sister?” I asked.
“Men do lots of things they shouldn’t,” he said, softly.
“I’m surprised your family hasn’t done something already.”
“They don’t know and I have to be sure before they do. Understand what I’m saying?”
I hung up on him. “Shit.” I understood alright. Payback was a bitch and the Fibonaccis didn’t play.
Mom trotted down the stairs and looked at the phone in my hand. I quickly stuffed it and Oz’s card back in my purse.
“I’m not even going to ask,” she said.
“Good. How’s Dixie?”
“Better. Sometimes she just needs to cry.”
“How long is this going to go on?”
“As long as it takes. You know that better than most.” Mom rubbed my shoulder. “So they have spots for the open water certification class tomorrow.”
There was that pesky feeling again. “Who’s going?”
“The Gmucas. I don’t know what she’s goi
ng to do with that hair.”
Whew!
“Oh, and Lucia and Graeme.”
“Are you kidding me?” I asked.
“No. Why?”
“Nothing. I’m in.”
Mom clinked her glass against mine. “To the island. Who knows what adventures await.”
I smiled, but I was starting to get an idea of what awaited me. An asthmatic loses her inhaler on an island known for subpar healthcare. Her husband, who might be beating her, just happens to have spares. And she’s going scuba diving. A sport contraindicated for asthmatics with meds she hasn’t had under her control. I was definitely in that class. Damn that Oz Urbani.
Chapter 6
I GOT WOKEN up by the crazed spaghetti birds at the crack of dawn. They’d added a new call of “meatball”, which did not make their racket any better. Sleeping in would’ve been nice. Aunt Tenne was snoring in the other bedroom, having come in at two o’clock in the morning. I knew because I was up sitting on our porch, thinking about my parents and The Girls, while listening to Graeme not beating Lucia in their bungalow across the path. I’d turned into some kind of freaking stalker. Our internet was in and out, but I’d been able to research Graeme just enough to know he was boring. He had a thriving dental practice on The Hill, the Italian section of St. Louis. He’d met Lucia at St. Louis University and they’d been married five years. That was all on his website. I didn’t have Uncle Morty’s skills when it came to web snooping and I couldn’t ask him. He’d tell Dad first thing. There were several competitors I could hire. Snakebite was Uncle Morty’s arch nemesis and it was sure to get back to him that I’d gone to someone else. It wasn’t worth the asspain. I didn’t know if anything was going on for sure other than the nagging feeling that something was up.