by A W Hartoin
“In time, after he’s recovered,” said Tabora.
“He can be questioned now,” said Dr. Navarro. “We’re thinking of discharging him soon.”
Tabora stomped past me and we all followed. He questioned Graeme about the drink and where he got it. Tabora got the same answers I got. Graeme didn’t know who sent it or why. He did know I saved him, which was a relief and a huge irritation to Tabora and crew.
“Has it occurred to you, Mr. Carrow, that Miss Watts has been orchestrating all these attempts herself?” asked Tabora.
Graeme yawned and a small, boozy smile crossed his lips. “Why would she do that?”
“In order to play the hero.”
“Does she look like a publicity hound to you?”
Everyone looked at me and lifted their lips simultaneously in a snarl of distaste.
Okay. So I didn’t look great. Geez!
“She may be after something other than publicity,” said Tabora.
“Like what?”
“We need to question her to find that out.”
I crossed my arms. “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”
“Where were you when the tainted drink was being delivered?” Tabora asked.
Anything but that. Stall. Stall.
“Why do you care?” I asked.
Crap. He knew he was on to something. I could see it in his increasingly beady eyes.
“I want to know if you could’ve poisoned the drink.”
“I didn’t.” I couldn’t exactly tell him I was breaking and entering the Gmucas’ bungalow. What incredibly bad timing.
“Tell me where you were and who you were with.”
Uhhhh….
“Miss Watts, I’m waiting,” said Tabora.
“I was…” Think, you idiot! “I was—”
“With me,” said Aaron, trotting into the room, carrying a picnic basket.
“She was with you? Doing what?” asked Tabora.
Aaron scratched his rear. “I don’t want to say.”
“You’ll have to say or I’m taking you both in.”
Graeme sat up, lurched to the side, and grabbed his bed’s metal railing. “Mercy didn’t do anything. She saved me. She saved Lucia. Look at her. She’s had the crap beat out of her.”
“Looks can be deceiving. You know what they say about an angel face,” said Tabora and his two companions looked at me with expressions that said, “Angel face, my ass.”
Thanks, guys. I needed that.
“I don’t care about her damn face. She didn’t do anything,” said Graeme.
Tabora glared at Aaron. “Where were you and what were you doing?”
Aaron chewed on a fingernail and then inspected his handiwork. He couldn’t have looked less creditable. Then he said it. The words that would haunt me for years. “We were having sex next to a trash can.”
Did he put trash can, sex, me, and him in the same sentence? No, he didn’t. That could not have happened.
The cops gave Aaron and me the once-over and nodded. They nodded! Those dillweeds thought it was possible that I would actually do that. I kept a straight face. At least I kept a not shocked and disgusted face.
“I knew you were a couple,” said Graeme.
“Me, too,” said Dr. Navarro.
“Makes sense.”
No, it doesn’t, you brain donors.
“Well,” I said, weakly. “You know how it is when you just…have to have…it.”
A little part of me died in that moment. I had absolutely no pride left.
Tabora eyed me like the sexual deviant I apparently was. “Do you have any witnesses?”
“To us”—Gag—“having sex?” I asked. “Um, no.” I would’ve asked what kind of a girl did he think I was, but that was already clear.
Aaron chewed another nail and pointed to my knees. All the cops nodded again. Graeme and Dr. Navarro turned pink at the tips of their ears. I looked down and sure enough there was evidence of me, Mercy Watts, humping next to a trash can in the dirt, if one chose to see it that way, which they did. My knees were scraped up and still had some sand crusted in the cuts.
“Alright then,” said Tabora. “But I’ll need your passport to ensure you stay on the island.”
“I’m not surrendering my passport,” I said. “You need a court order for that.”
“Where do you think you are?”
“I think I’m an American citizen who’s committed no crimes and isn’t being arrested. Besides, I don’t have it on me. My mother has it. You’ll have to pry it out of her cold dead hands and she’s got quite a grip.”
I guess Tabora got the whole mother and her cub thing, because he left, saying something vague about interviewing me later. Dr. Navarro followed him out to check on Graeme’s bloodwork. I waited until they were long gone before I turned to Aaron. I didn’t know whether to hug him or rip his lips off, so he could never repeat his story again ever.
“You hungry?” he asked, holding up his basket.
“Aaron…you…I…what the what?”
“What’s wrong?” asked Graeme from the bed, reminding me there was a witness.
“Ah nothing,” I said. “What did you bring?”
“Food,” said Aaron. “You said you needed me to cook for you.”
“I did say that, didn’t I? What did you make?”
Please not lionfish. Please not lionfish.
“Crab cakes.”
Now I wish it was lionfish.
“What else?”
“Pablano remoulade, tomato corn salad, and parmesan pepper orzo.”
Why couldn’t there be chocolate? I’m a girl. I need chocolate.
“And baked hot chocolate,” said Aaron.
“I think you just made it up to me,” I said.
“What?”
I glanced at Graeme. It was best, although humiliating, if he thought we were a couple for a while longer. “Nothing. Let’s eat.”
“Can I eat?” asked Graeme in a little boy voice.
“If you think you can handle it. Do you like crab cakes?”
“Love them.”
You can eat mine. Hoorah!
Aaron opened a orange container and the smell of crab filled the room. “I brought two for each of us.”
Damn.
He made a plate for Graeme first. It had two oversized juicy crab cakes on it. Yuck. Then he made mine and the crab seemed even bigger. I admit they looked tasty. If only they didn’t smell like crab on steroids. I tried everything else on the plate first. Delicious. Those cakes were sitting there like crusty eyeballs. Aaron watched me, leaning forward and biting his lip. I was going to have to eat that crab. He just saved my bacon. I had to do it. Plus, Graeme was watching and we were supposed be a couple. A guy would know if his girlfriend hated crab with a burning passion. Not a guy like Aaron, mind you, but a normal guy would know. Pete knew. Even Chuck knew of my crab loathing. I had to fake it.
“Hmmm. Looks incredible, like everything you make,” I said.
Coward. Just do it.
And I ate one crab cake. I got it down with a smile and only two involuntary heaves. It was juicy. Oh so juicy. Thinking about it later made me dry heave. That actually came in handy later in life, so I ended up appreciating that cake, but that’s another story.
“Aaron, you are a genius. That was the best crab cake I’ve ever eaten,” I said.
And the only one.
He grinned at me and then looked at the other cake on my plate. Nope. I couldn’t do it. My mouth had sacrificed enough.
“Maybe you should have this one…honey. You know I’m on that diet and I really want that baked hot chocolate.”
Aaron looked at the ceiling, probably contemplating the words Mercy and diet going in the same sentence. A feat that had never happened before or since. While he was occupied, I scraped the hated cake onto his plate and captured the first—and still the best—baked hot chocolate of my life. He’d made them in red mugs and when my spoon broke the crust nothing else
mattered. So people thought I’d do things in the dirt next to trash cans with Aaron. So what? I had chocolate. The Beatles were wrong. All you need isn’t love. It’s chocolate. Of course, when Chuck found out he would make my life a living hell, but at that moment everything was perfect. Too bad it couldn’t last.
Chapter 11
WE GOT GRAEME back to his bungalow and in bed two hours later. Lucia was hobbling around and fussing over him. He was loving it. She tucked him in and got him a bottled water. Pretty good for someone with an open infected stab wound, but I’ve noticed that women usually rise to the occasion when someone they love is wounded or ill, no matter their own condition. I wanted to tell her to knock it off and lie down, but it would’ve done no good. She had to take care of him. It was nice to see them together like that. They smiled and touched each other’s hands. I don’t know how I could’ve suspected him. Oz had totally thrown me off the trail with his suspicions. Of course, there were the bruises he’d noticed and he was right. Lucia was bruised to an unnatural extent and I hadn’t explained that yet. I supposed I couldn’t really eliminate Graeme from the list of suspects until I did. Plus, I was curious. I couldn’t help myself. Too much Dad in me.
“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” I asked.
“Sure,” said Lucia as she got on the bed and cuddled up to Graeme.
I went into the bathroom and closed the door. It was a duplicate of the Gmucas’ bathroom, except it didn’t have any butt prints on the counter and had a stunning lack of shampoos. Lucia and Graeme were as neat and orderly as I expected. She had a small makeup bag and he had a man’s travel bag hanging open from a hook with guy stuff like a nose hair trimmer, tweezers, and Icy Hot. They also had something else the Gmucas didn’t have. Another travel bag, black nylon in the shape of a little suitcase. I’d seen those before and it wasn’t for shampoos. I didn’t bother to open it. There was no need and I felt guilty, the way I always did when I found out a secret that I had no business knowing.
I flushed the toilet and went back into the other room. Aaron had come in and was unpacking another basket. Lucia and Graeme had realized their mistake, because they were sitting bolt upright and were watching me with big eyes.
“Aaron, can you keep a secret?” I asked.
“Huh?”
I sat at the end of their bed. “He can, mostly because he won’t remember it, but still whatever you say is safe. We won’t tell.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Lucia in a high voice.
“You’re a diabetic.”
She didn’t answer and picked at the coverlet.
“That’s why you have all those bruises.”
“Yes.” She slumped.
“Why are you hiding it?” I asked.
“You don’t know my family. If they found out, they’d be all over me. They’d want me to fly to a special doctor. They’d want to go with me to the doctor. You just can’t understand.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I understand overbearing. I think my family finds new definitions for the word.”
“My family’s special. I can’t explain why,” said Lucia.
“When were you diagnosed?” I asked.
“Six months ago.”
“Have you considered a pump?”
“My endocrinologist wants me to have one, but I just…” Her eyes filled with tears.
I patted her foot. “You’re not ready.”
“No,” said Graeme. “She’s not. I’m not either, I guess. Our lives have changed so much already.”
“I understand.” I swallowed the desire to lecture, to persuade. If she wasn’t ready to be hooked up to an insulin pump, she wasn’t ready. “So that’s why you didn’t drink that sweet tea either time it showed up at your chair.”
Lucia wiped her cheeks. “I can’t drink that stuff.”
“So…” said Graeme. “The diabetes kind of saved your life. Suddenly, I feel better about it.” He kissed her forehead.
“I’m glad you do.” Lucia laughed a little and it was good to hear.
“Do you mind if I check your leg? I meant to do it earlier, but what with Graeme almost dying, I got distracted,” I said.
“Excuses. Excuses.” Lucia grinned. “Go ahead. It feels a lot better. I didn’t think it would.”
“That plastic was quite the irritant. Now that it’s out, you should heal quickly, assuming your blood sugar levels are under control.”
I lifted the blanket and peeled back the bandage. Not bad. There was only a little seepage and the wound was packed correctly. I was worried that proper wound care wouldn’t be followed in a hospital on a shoestring budget, but they’d done a good job.
“Looks good. I’ll repack it tomorrow for you.”
“That looks good?” asked Graeme. “What’s with the gauze stuffed in there?”
“It makes sure the wound heals from the inside out, leaving no pockets of infection.”
Aaron came to my side and held up two plates. “You hungry?”
For once, he wasn’t asking me and I wished he was. The smell coming off those plates was straight up amazing.
“I’m starving,” said Graeme.
“I thought you just ate?” asked Lucia.
“I can always eat, unless it’s broccoli, then I’m full.”
Lucia rolled her eyes. “What did you make, Aaron?”
He lowered the plates and I almost cried. Burgers. Big fat ones, dripping with mayo and covered in bacon. I got the crab cakes. I was being punished for the whole breaking and entering thing. That was the only explaination.
Must distract myself from burger.
“Do either of you remember which waiter brought the sweet tea?” I asked.
Graeme swallowed and wiped his chin of the heavenly juices of what was probably the world’s best burger. “It wasn’t a waiter. It was Bruno. I think he’s some kind of handyman.”
“Bruno?” Oh, no. That’s not good. I had to clear him before Mom found out and threw a fit. “Did he bring the first sweet tea?”
Please say no.
“I really don’t remember,” said Graeme. “You don’t think Bruno had anything to do with this? He seems like such a nice guy.”
“He’s a suspect. Everyone is, except the four of us in this room and my family. They didn’t have access.”
“Why would Bruno want to kill me? He doesn’t even know me,” said Lucia.
Time to come clean.
“He doesn’t have to know you, if he was hired,” I said.
Graeme and Lucia lay on their bed with their mouths firmly shut.
“I have to tell you something and I don’t think you’re going to like it, but try to remember that I saved you both.”
“Okay,” said Lucia, slowly.
“I know your brother,” I said.
“Darrell?” asked Graeme, hopefully.
“No, Lucia’s brother, Oz.”
“You know who I am?” Lucia sat up and pushed her plate away. Aaron whisked it away. “You’ve known this whole time. Did my dear brother send you here to spy on us?”
“This is unbelievable!” said Graeme.
“I’m sorry but yes, he did. But I was unaware of it until we arrived on the island.”
“How the hell can you be unaware that you’ve been hired to spy on us?”
“I met Oz a few days before this trip. He found me in a boutique and wanted to hire me. In his defense, I’d say he loves you very much and he thought Graeme was abusing you. He’d seen the bruising and you wouldn’t talk to him.”
“Love isn’t an excuse for everything,” said Lucia.
“In my family it is.” I went on to explain how we ended up on Roatan and that it was her brother who made sure she’d be watched, which ended up saving her. Not such a bad thing, considering.
“I can’t believe this,” said Lucia.
“So you think someone’s trying to kill Lucia because she’s a Fibonacci,” said Graeme.
“Yes, I do. It may be payback
for a hit done in New York recently. Although I admit my theory isn’t perfect,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because hitmen are usually more direct. The tampering with your regs, the stingray barb—those were designed to hide that a crime had ever taken place. Somebody doesn’t want to get caught. I’d expect a hitman to shoot you in the back of the head in a parking garage or something like that.”
“What about the poisoning?” asked Lucia. “That’s direct.”
“It is. I think he’s desperate. The regs were planned ahead of time and so was the barb with the succinylcholine, but they didn’t work. Antifreeze is widely available. That plan was on the fly.”
“But I’ve never been involved with that part of the family,” said Lucia. “Never.”
“I know, but somebody’s gone to a lot of trouble to arrange your death and I don’t think it’s because you do charity work.”
Lucia laid back on her pillows and her face became soft and tired. “Why didn’t you tell my brother what was happening? If he knew, he’d hijack a plane to get down here.”
“I know and I’m sure my father’s keeping an eye on your brother. He found out about Oz’s offer and had his own freak out. If my father knew I was on vacation with you, I’d never hear the end of it. Honestly, I wasn’t completely convinced the regs weren’t an accident. I was holding out hope that I was wrong, then the barb happened. I thought I could handle it.”
“Why? You’re not a cop,” said Graeme.
“It’s in the blood. I’ll tell you my story sometime. Right now, I’m going to find Bruno and see if I can trace those drinks.”
I got up and Graeme grabbed my hand. “I’m not thrilled that you were spying on us for Oz and I’m not even sure why you did it, but I’m glad you did.”
“I saw the bruises, too. Oz was right about me. I couldn’t leave his sister hanging.”
I found Bruno cleaning the pool with a long-handled net. The storm had blown palm leaves, coconuts, flowers, cups, and two deck chairs into the normally crystal clear water. Bruno hauled out a coconut and carefully placed it on a pile with five more. My patience was at an all-time low and my rough edges had the bite of a cheap steak knife. Only one thing stopped me from stomping over there and accusing him of giving Lucia those drinks. Aunt Tenne was stretched out on a lounge chair with eyes so full of hope and unguarded love that I just couldn’t ruin it. So she watched Bruno clean and I stood behind a wide palm tree thinking it over.