Tall Pines Mysteries: A Mystery/Suspense Boxed Set

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  And now I’ve revealed another fault. I know. I hope you don’t hate me.

  Quinn set Ruby’s cage on the floor near the balcony aviary, then turned back to me. “Here. Let’s get rid of these blankets and wet clothes.” He folded both blankets on the suitcase stand and set the bags beside it. In his wet jeans and bare feet, he examined the door between our room and Thelma’s. “At least we’ll have a little privacy. There’s a lock.”

  “Yeah.” I took off my damp sundress and laid it across the top of the closet door. My underwear was still wet, too, but what I really needed was a hot bath. Quinn glanced at me, hid a smile, and stepped out of his wet jeans. He walked into the bathroom to hang them over a railing. His dark turquoise boxers were also wet. I couldn’t help but admire him. The bolo matched the boxers which matched his eyes. And of course, you know who picked out the boxers. The man looked like a Native American underwear model—I could just see him lying back among pillows, staring at the camera under his straight strong eyebrows, and wearing some Hanes and a feathered headdress.

  I smiled and pressed down on the king-sized bed covered with thick down comforters and down pillows. The white towel in the center was twisted into the shape of a bird. “This is unbelievable.”

  “Looks comfy.” Quinn winked at me and walked toward the balcony.

  Ruby jumped onto her swing and rocked it back and forth. “Gimme cookies!”

  Quinn chuckled, always a sucker for Ruby’s antics. “In a minute, baby girl. Let me check out your new digs first. I want to make sure it’s really safe.” He opened the sliding glass doors and stepped inside the spacious cage, where a faux grass plastic carpet covered the floor, tilted very slightly to the outside. A garden hose was coiled on a mount near the wall for easy flushing. Outside, a gutter collected the wastewater and took it off to some probably very smelly collection center.

  Several potted tropical trees filled the corners of the eight-foot high space, providing natural perches for guest birds. A few feeders hung empty and ready for Ruby’s food, and a two-foot wide perch swung in the breeze, suspended on brass chains from the top of the cage.

  Our little Ruby would never want to come home.

  I walked to the sitting area and fingered the rich tapestry hanging on the wall behind two silk-covered wing chairs. A gilt antique mirror tilted back on a cherry mantle, strewn with gold girandoles from which sparkly prisms dangled. Porcelain statues of white parrots with green eyes anchored each side. The gas fireplace glowed with blue and yellow flickering flames. Because the air conditioning was on high, the room was freezing. I shivered and stood for a while in front of the fire.

  Quinn wheeled Thelma’s bags through the connecting door. He laid them on the stand near her TV. He stared at the suitcases. “Do you think she’ll need any of these things at the hospital?”

  I followed him into the matching adjoining room. “Definitely. She’ll want a few changes of underwear if they keep her there for more than overnight, her pajamas if they’ll let her wear them, a sweater, and a fresh change of clothing for when they release her. And some reading material.” I unzipped her small bag. “Oh, and probably everything in here. Hand lotion. Face cream. Makeup.” I smiled up at him. “You know, the usual.”

  His strong face remained passive. “When you call her, find out when we can bring her stuff up. I feel bad that we didn’t go with her.” He stared blankly at her suitcase. “It all happened so fast.”

  I snaked my arms around his neck. “I know, baby. I feel awful. But she talked me out of coming. She wants Ruby to win tomorrow morning. Really bad.” We shut the connecting door and walked back into the room. “You know my mom. She just wore me down.”

  With a half smile, he squeezed my hand. “I can imagine.”

  He led me to the aviary. “It just seems so convoluted. Here we are in the lap of luxury, and she’s in the ER.” He pointed to the potted trees, temporarily distracted. “Those are real, by the way.”

  “It’ll be okay, hon. I’ll call her in a bit. You know she’s probably fuming in her room, wondering why the doctors aren’t getting to her quicker. I’ll bet she’s already torn into quite a few nurses. Poor things.”

  Quinn rolled his eyes. “God bless ‘em.”

  See? I told you he’s a Christian. When it’s convenient, that is.

  He rattled the cage walls and checked the clasps. “Looks pretty secure. I think she’ll be safe.” He took the still damp-feathered Ruby out of her cage and released her into the aviary.

  A warm breeze blew in from the outdoors, lacing the air with the scent of gardenias. Woodland birds chirped from the trees at the edge of the field behind the hotel, sounding deliriously happy.

  Ruby flew straight to the tallest perch, chattering and squeaking. After filling up the plastic birdbath and the water containers, Quinn stocked the dishes we’d brought from home with pellets and seeds. While he tended to Ruby, I unpacked our bags.

  He reached up to stroke her neck. “Good girl, Ruby.”

  “Good girl. Ruby’s a good girl.” She chirped and repeated the phrase four times.

  I dumped Quinn’s socks in the top drawer of the bureau I’d assigned to him. I had three times as many clothes as he did, so I needed the other three drawers.

  “That’s right,” Quinn said. “She’s a good girl. Ruby’s my baby girl.”

  “Baby girl,” she repeated.

  Quinn laughed, closing the sliding glass door to keep the air conditioning in our room and to allow the summer air to warm the bird’s feathers.

  “Whoa. You already unpacked?”

  “Almost.”

  He walked casually over to the bureau and looked inside. “Er. Thanks, hon.” I could tell it took every ounce of his strength not to realign the socks and underwear. His hands twitched and reached for them, but he seemed to shake himself and pulled away.

  I turned my back and pretended to fuss with my gown in the closet, knowing he needed time to organize and make things neat and even. Like I told you before, he likes things organized and tidy.

  I tossed six pairs of shoes toward the back of my closet and turned around. I didn’t let him know that I noticed all his sock balls were now neatly arranged in a line, and his underwear had been refolded and stacked in sets of three.

  “You want the bathroom first?” I perched on one of the chairs and rubbed my fingers over my tired eyes.

  He stretched, massaging his lower back. “I’m not sure if I want to sit with an Amaretto on ice in front of that fire or take a shower. How ‘bout you?”

  I looked with longing toward the door to the bathroom.

  “I really need a bath.”

  He clapped his hands together and grinned. “Well then, that settles it. You bathe, and I’ll get drunk.”

  I laughed and ran to kiss his cheek. “I’ve never even seen you tipsy, you crazy man, you.”

  My husband enjoyed a glass of wine from time to time, but because of what he’d seen on the reservation, he avoided having more than a couple.

  Had I not been so tired, I would have suggested we bathe together. We’d had some memorable moments in big tubs. Instead, I dug out some fresh underwear from my bureau and headed for the bathroom. When I pushed open the six-paneled wooden door, my jaw dropped.

  The sun-drenched room seemed more like a tiled spa where Cleopatra would be fed grapes and fanned with palm branches than a hotel bathroom. Unbidden images of Quinn in a toga flooded my brain. Sleek and Sexy Indian Brave goes Roman. I could just see the headlines.

  I smiled and stepped inside.

  The floor, covered with inlaid navy and white tiles, reflected the crystal ceiling fixture in its high gloss. The tub walls and sink borders boasted white glossy foot-wide marble tiles. White beaded wainscoting reached halfway up the wall just beneath elaborate silk wall coverings depicting tropical birds in a rain forest.

  The Jacuzzi could easily fit Quinn, me, my mother, Ruby, and three bellboys; distasteful as the image was. After laughing at the
idea, I tried to get the picture out of my head, but couldn’t. So I tried imagining us all in bathing suits. It didn’t work. I still shuddered.

  The tub stretched from one end of the room to the other, almost the size of an outdoor Jacuzzi, but narrower. Its gold scrolled handles were shaped like parakeets. Jets lined all sides.

  I hollered out the door. “Quinn, this is incredible.”

  He sauntered inside with a smile. “I knew you’d like it.”

  I twirled around the room, feeling like a teenager who’d just discovered her first shoe store. Or Liesl von Trapp in the summerhouse scene from The Sound of Music. All I needed was a young Rolfe to swing me around in my flimsy gauze dress and dancing shoes. “Look! Two sinks. One for you, one for me. And fluffy robes. Oh, feel this terrycloth. It’s so plush. And look at the birds embroidered on the pockets.” I took one off the hook and laid it on the antique cane chair beside the tub. I checked all the drawers, fawning over the scented oils, lotions, and the five-speed hair dryer.

  Quinn winked at me. “Have fun with all this stuff. I’m heading for our mini-bar. It’s packed with snacks and every drink known to man. Only problem is I’ll bet a bottle of water costs five bucks. And a bag of peanuts is probably twenty.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Thelma’s paying for this, and she said we should enjoy ourselves for a change.” My mood dropped like a sack of wet cement flung over the side of a skyscraper. My poor mother was lying in the hospital, and here I was prancing around in a luxury suite, oohing and ahhing over the amenities.

  My mother’s recent generosity bothered me. Don’t misunderstand; I appreciated it. But we’d always managed to enjoy ourselves, and even though we pinched pennies pretty hard, we’d found satisfying alternatives to fancy digs and high-priced entertainment in the past.

  That was the past. This was now. The new Thelma was beyond generous. Whether it stemmed from the last appointment she had with her financial counselor or because of the nest egg my stepfather, Raoul, had left her, I didn’t know. But she’d changed from a tightfisted penny pincher to this newly generous gift horse.

  “Don’t take too long, honey. I’m starving,” Quinn said. He’d settled in his chair by the fire with his feet on the coffee table and ice tinkling in his glass of amber liquid.

  “I won’t.” I swung the door shut to keep the warm steam in the room and tried to figure out how to start the Jacuzzi. After a few minutes of fiddling with the controls, I finally did it and filled the tub, adding in some of the lavender bath salts and pink foaming bubbles.

  After peeling off my damp underclothes, I lowered myself into the steaming water, stretching my pearly orange toenails toward the tap. I turned on the jets and suddenly realized it would be hard to honor my promise to my husband.

  I might never get out of the tub.

  Chapter 7

  I forced myself out of the bath when my wrinkled fingers signaled it was time. After drying off with super soft white bath towels, I lost myself in the oversized hotel robe, which felt luxurious against my skin. I wrapped my wet hair in a towel turban, then swiped a clear patch in the foggy mirror. I smoothed Burt’s Bees skin lotion on my face, arms, and legs, and applied strawberry lip-gloss. I didn’t want to get too fancy tonight. I just wanted to be comfortable in a pair of nice slacks and a silky blouse for our dinner in the hotel restaurant.

  “You done?” Quinn knocked lightly on the door and cracked it open. Steam billowed toward him.

  “Yup. Come on in, honey.” My mood had lightened considerably after washing away the grime and perspiration.

  “Nice bath?” He leaned forward to brush his lips against mine. I kissed him back, tasting Amaretto. The rich almond flavor hinted at pleasure. We’d often started romantic evenings with ice clinking in glasses of the smooth golden liquid. In spite of—or maybe because of—the craziness of the day and the horror of seeing my mother almost die before my eyes, I was looking forward to an intimate evening with him.

  “It was a lovely bath.” I ran my fingers through his shiny black hair and looked into his eyes. “Sorry I was so cranky today. It was just so hot, and everything went wrong, and now my mom’s in the hospital…”

  He put a finger on my lips. “Shh. It’s okay. I hardly noticed.” His clear eyes betrayed the lie. I felt even guiltier. He’d always been fast to forgive. I felt a little shiver inside.

  I smiled and shook my hair out of the towel. “We’d better get ready, huh? I need to call the hospital to check on Thelma and our dinner reservation is in a half hour. Can you hand me the hair dryer, honey?” I reached for my brush.

  He rummaged in one of the drawers. “Here you go.”

  “You going to shower now?”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Hope you saved me some hot water.” Chuckling at his lame joke, he leaned into the shower stall and turned it on. I bet this hotel never ran out of water like we did at home.

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, we headed for the wing of the hotel that housed The Green Parrot Restaurant.

  I’d called the ER for my mother’s status while Quinn showered, and had received the news that she would probably be fine. Because of the risk of concussion, they planned to keep her overnight for observation, and they had scheduled an MRI to rule out a fracture. A morning exam was scheduled with a concussion specialist. I hadn’t known there was such a thing. They suggested I call in a few hours when she’d been moved to her private room and had her telephone hooked up.

  I squashed the tendrils of guilt by repeating to myself: She told us to have a nice dinner. It’s what she wants. You couldn’t help her even if you were there. She wants you to have fun.

  It sort of worked.

  I distracted myself by looking at my husband. Quinn looked handsome in his polo shirt and khaki Dockers. I always loved the contrast of his tanned skin and black hair with a clean white shirt. I took his muscled arm and followed the hostess to our table by the fireplace.

  “How’s your mother?” she asked.

  With a rapid double take, I recognized the strawberry blond piano player from earlier in the afternoon; the same lady who’d given my mother CPR.

  “She’s going to be fine,” I said. “And I didn’t get a chance to thank you earlier for what you did.” I took her hand and squeezed. “Thank you.”

  She smiled broadly. “You’re welcome.” With an elegant gesture, she motioned to the table, set with a green linen tablecloth and sparkling glassware. “Enjoy your meal, folks.”

  We gazed at each other over a flickering candle, then surveyed the menu.

  “A bottle of semi dry Riesling, I think,” Quinn said.

  “Sounds perfect. Maybe with swordfish. Look, they have it here with mango salsa.”

  “Let’s go for it. And I definitely want shrimp cocktail.” He traced the menu with his finger and squinted at the small print. “The swordfish comes with buttered baby snow peas and parmesan couscous. I’m sold.”

  We ordered and toasted to the evening ahead and to Ruby’s class the next morning. “It can only go up from here,” Quinn whispered.

  The ice cold Riesling trickled warmth to my stomach. While I sipped it, I played with the opal pendant at my neck, remembering the day Quinn bought it. It had been an impulsive, totally out of character move on his part. “Just because,” he’d said. He hadn’t realized it was my birthstone. A surge of affection passed through me, even though he’d rearranged our silverware several times over the past few minutes. A napkin lay square on his lap and his three forks sat parallel, spaced evenly beside his chilled salad plate.

  I told you, he likes things even.

  After a delightful meal, we wandered back to our suite. I called my mother, actually reached her, and was pleasantly surprised at how mild-mannered she seemed. It might have been the drugs.

  “So, honey, you just have a nice sleep tonight. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. And call me as soon as the class is judged. I’m dying to brag about our little Ruby to all these nice nurses.”


  Nice nurses? Thelma never called anybody nice. It had to be the drugs.

  “Okay, Thelma. Try to get some sleep. And I’ll call you as soon as her class is over.”

  Quinn had been hovering around the phone, rearranging the little white hotel pad of paper and the pen beside it so they were parallel. He leaned down and moved my hair out of the way, kissing the back of my neck. His soft lips tickled my skin. I yelped and dropped the receiver onto the cradle.

  “That tickles!”

  “Sorry.” He undid my two top buttons and pulled my blouse aside, moving his lips over my collarbone and shoulder. “Better?”

  I reached my arms around his strong neck and smiled into his clear eyes. “Not bad. It shows promise.”

  He laughed and slipped his arm under my knees, then picked me up and waltzed me to the bed as if I didn’t weigh my full hundred and forty pounds. He almost made it, but his foot slipped and we both tumbled onto the comforter in a tangled heap.

  I raised my head from under his elbow and made a face. “Very romantic, mister.”

  He cracked up and rolled onto his back. “Just call me Casanova.”

  Ruby squawked from her perch. “Call me Casanova!”

  A laugh snorted out my nose. “Oh my God. Ruby’s going to watch us?”

  He scurried to the cage, closed the glass doors, and grabbed the green brocade curtain that separated the cage from the room. “Sorry, little love. This is private.”

  She cried again, her voice strident. “Not tired! Ruby’s not tired!”

  Quinn burst out laughing. “Yes, you are. You’re very tired, little lady. Now go to sleep.”

  Quinn jumped back onto the bed and rested his head on his hand, staring at me. “Maybe she’ll go to sleep now.”

  “Gadzooks!” Ruby shrieked from behind her curtain.

  Of all the sayings for her to pick up, she had to mimic my mother’s favorite phrase. I rolled my eyes, drawing Quinn close to me. I brushed my lips against his. “Got any earplugs?”

  Chapter 8