Big Jim gives directions to the wild crowd. They’re going to surround the park area. Everything from the road to the beach, from the edge of town to the tip of the island. Mom and I and a couple of others are going to wait on the beach while they come in all directions and try to encircle the boy. It reminds me of some National Geographic program I saw on TV where villagers flushed out a tiger in India. But in that program, they shot the tiger.
“Where are Bert and Allison?” I ask Jeremy.
“They’re watching at the end of the road to make sure the kid doesn’t escape into the mangroves or the residents’ yards.”
“I’m glad someone thought of that.” I look behind me and see the sun closing in on the water. “You’d better get going, not much time before dark.”
The crowd disappears and we wait. Then we hear the noise—banging, yelling, stomping—coming toward us from every direction. All sorts of creatures dart from the brush—rabbits, raccoons, possums, lizards, fruit rats.
The crowd is getting close and still no child. A few people reach the beach and stop. More are coming. I keep my eyes low on the brush, watching. The kid might be crawling or sliding along low, out of sight.
Big Jim appears in front of us, carrying a bundle in his arms, a huge smile plastered across his face. He places the bundle in Mom’s arms. Brown eyes full of fright stare at her. Skinny arms grab her.
“¿Cómo te llamas?” she asks. What is your name?
The child answers in a tiny, frightened voice, “Me llamo Manuel.”
Chapter 21
Our house is the center of a spontaneous happening. Everyone on Fisherman’s Island drifts in after the search and rescue, bringing food and drink. Plus ten or twelve more deputies stop by after their shift ends. It’s great news in the sheriff’s department when a child is rescued. It’s strange to see all those uniforms socializing with my neighbors. People sit or stand around on the porch, in the yard, at the beach, in every room of the house. Music blares, but I don’t recognize the song. The guests must have brought their own music. Anyhow, it won’t bring any complaints from the neighbors, since they’re all here. And who can you complain to when the cops have joined the party?
Manuel sits on Mom’s lap, while a parade of people stops to ooh and aah over him. He’s a one-child reception line. He’s clean as a whistle, hair curling softly around his face. A smile turns up the corners of his mouth now and then, but the eyes are dark and startled. He wears new clothes, probably bought for some islander’s grandchild—a bright yellow shirt and white shorts. Except for the bony arms and legs and the big brown eyes, he looks nothing like the child on the beach. A pile of children’s clothing lies on the bed in Mom’s room and toys are scattered all over the house. The island has adopted Manuel.
Across the room, Jeremy scowls at a woman dressed in a charcoal suit, hobbled by a straight, knee-length skirt. The kind of clothes I hate to wear. Who wears a suit on this island? Maybe someone returning from work? I don’t recognize her. I’d never forget that face. All bones and angles, capped by short gray hair, and dominated by a nose you could hang a towel off of. I wind my way through the obstacle course of people to get to them.
Jeremy smiles in relief at my interruption. “Ernestine Pratt, this is Ms. Entwistle, Child Services.”
Entwistle jabs a hand at me. I guess she wants to shake. I offer mine and she gives it a quick up and down jerk.
“I’ve been trying to explain that Manuel is quite comfortable here. No need to take him to the shelter,” Jeremy says. “We believe his parents are in Miami. We’ll make sure he’s returned to his family.”
“Well, I can’t fight the whole sheriff’s department.” Her voice is nasal and clipped. What child would want to go with her?
Jeremy smiles.
“This party can’t be good for him.” She stomps across the room toward Mom and Manuel with Jeremy and me in her wake.
“Can I see the child?” She doesn’t wait for an introduction. One look at her and Manuel buries his face in Mom’s chest.
“Who are you?” Mom asks.
“Ms. Entwistle, from Child Services. I need to check the boy.”
Mom narrows her eyes and holds onto Manuel.
Entwistle turns to Jeremy. “Deputy Thorpe, I need to inspect this child.”
Jeremy shrugs. “Let her see him, Jessica. She’s not taking him anywhere.”
Mom reluctantly hands Manuel to Entwistle. Manuel starts screaming. Entwistle immediately hands him to Mom.
“Good lungs.” Surprise! Entwistle has a sense of humor. Who would have believed it? “I’ll be going. Nothing I can do here.”
“How did she get here?” I ask as she walks away, taking small quick steps to accommodate the skirt.
“Someone at the sheriff’s office must have called. Or maybe one of your neighbors.”
“I meant how did she get here, by boat? How could she ride in a boat dressed like that?”
“She probably stays out of the water, unlike some people I know. And by the way, you don’t look so terrible that you couldn’t go to dinner.” He looks me over. When he gets to my red and white striped legs, he laughs. “You could have worn slacks.”
I show him my cat-slashed arm. “It’s not just my legs.”
“You’re a bit of a mess, I’ll admit. There’s a scratch here, too.” He puts his hand to the side of my face. “I could kiss them all and make them better.”
“You’re sick, Thorpe. Turned on by any damsel in distress. The first time you paid any attention to me, I’d just dragged myself out of the water.”
“Ah, but there’s a sexy beauty under that battered exterior.”
“You want to hear the story of how she got that way?” Allison appears beside us. “It was hilarious to watch.” She dives into an exaggerated version of my cat rescue. She paints a wild picture of me clinging to the palm tree, Maggie holding me up. Of Max jumping on Maggie’s head, of me and Mindy falling to the ground in a blur of fur and arms and legs. The story lasts longer than the actual event. Soon, everyone within earshot is laughing. The girl has a way with words. I’d be embarrassed but it’s too funny.
“Maybe that’s where I lost my phone.” It dawns on me as the story ends and people drift off.
“You lost it again?” Jeremy shakes his head in wonder. “You called me after the cat rescue.”
“That was Mom’s. I had mine on the boat and put it in my pocket. Maybe I lost it when I fell out of the tree.”
“Same tree you were sitting by on the beach. You would have heard it ring when I called.”
“Maybe it was turned off. I have a flashlight. Want to come with me to look?”
Jeremy looks around the crowded house. “Sure, I’ll walk the beach with you.” He has a look in his eyes that says “sex on the beach.”
I grab the flashlight in the kitchen and we head to the water. The noise of the party drifts after us. I shine the light on the sand in front of us, in case I dropped the phone on my way home. Muscles are beginning to ache in my back and legs. My arm hurts where Mindy slashed me. My legs are on fire from the rash and scratches, and I have a slight limp. Some romantic walk on the beach!
We finally reach the famous tree. It seems much farther than this afternoon. There’s an impression where my body impacted the sand. It hasn’t been completely obliterated by all the footprints. I drop to hands and knees and sift through the sand, while Jeremy holds the light. Shells, palm seeds, rocks, pieces of wood, beach trash, but no cell phone.
I abandon the search and lean against the tree. Jeremy sits beside me and turns off the flashlight.
“I need my phone. I’m expecting to hear from the car dealer and insurance adjuster, and all those contacts I’ve made chasing Allison’s brother.”
“You can get one tomorrow.”
“That might not be easy.” I can’t imagine getting another one from Frank at The Phone Booth. Maybe I’ll try a different store. I’m lost without my cell and my car. I want to curl up
in bed for a few days and heal. I don’t want to chase phones or cars or lost people or cats.
Jeremy brushes sand off my battered knees and leaves a hand lying there, sending sex signals into more than my knee.
The sound of the party drifts in the night air. “Why don’t we leave this crowded island and go to my place?” At least he doesn’t suggest sex in the sand. I tried that once when I was young and stupid. Never again.
“I can’t leave Mom alone to deal with the crowd and the lost boy.” And I’m tired and sore and don’t feel up to a marathon night with Jeremy.
“She has Bert and Allison.”
“Ha! Big help.” I should clear everyone from the house, so we can all get some sleep. But my body doesn’t want to move.
“What’s going to happen to Manuel?” I ask.
“We’ll take him to Miami.”
“Do you know his parents are there, or was that simply a story for the wicked witch, Entwisted... Endthistle... whatever.”
“When the deputies took your Cubans to Miami...”
“My Cubans? Do I own them?”
“Come on, Pratt. You know what I mean. The Cubans we found here on the island.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Anyhow, one of the women kept saying her child was lost. She wasn’t coherent and they thought she meant the child had drowned.”
“It might have helped if there was someone who spoke Spanish.”
“There was.” He shakes his head at my snips and snipes.
“When are you taking Manuel? Tomorrow?”
“You and Jessica can come with us if you like. He seems to have bonded with your Mom.”
“Why do you take Cubans to Miami?”
“Miami has the resources to process them.”
“What if his parents aren’t there? Can we keep him?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You should find his parents before we let him go.”
“Do you really want to keep him?”
Do I want a little kid running around? It might be fun for awhile, but not long. “Mom will want to keep him.”
The distinctive sound of a helicopter approaches, getting louder and louder, until it drowns out the party and every other sound, including the thoughts in my head. Lights flash on the beach and it passes in front of us, low and slow.
“Is that one of yours?” I ask Jeremy.
“Looks like the TV-news chopper. The media has arrived.”
We hurry along the beach as fast as we can, which is about as slow as a turtle, with gimpy me hobbling along. Jeremy gets impatient halfway to the house and throws me over his shoulder. The hand holding my bum feels good, but his shoulder in my gut is threatening to make me puke. Thank God, I have a strong stomach. We make it home before I lose my dinner down his back.
A reporter and a cameraman swoop in on us, blinding us with their lights, as Jeremy puts me on my feet. “What happened? Is she under arrest?” Jeremy is in uniform.
“She fell out of a tree rescuing a cat.”
The reporter is speechless. He probably thinks Jeremy is pulling his leg. I wonder if this is live. The camera lights shut down and the newsmen head for the house. Inside, a female reporter is trying to interview Mom over the noise of the crowd and the music. People gather around, trying to get on camera. Two deputies shuffle the newspeople out of the house.
In all the confusion, Manuel slips away from Mom and heads for the door. Nobody seems to notice. I run after him but I know I can’t make it. I dive through the air and tackle him as he reaches the door. Wham! My head hits the doorframe. Everything goes black. Someone lifts a struggling, screaming Manuel out of my arms. All other sound has stopped. No music, no voices.
“Hey, Pratt. You okay?” Jeremy lays a hand on my forehead. My vision starts to focus and I see a crowd of people leaning over me, Jeremy crouched beside me.
“Not with that shining in my eyes.” A spotlight is pointed at my face, giving me a splitting headache. Or was it sudden contact with the doorframe that caused it? I close my eyes, but it’s bright with flashing colors even through my eyelids.
“Get back, you guys. The lady is hurt.” I recognize Big Jim’s high voice. The light dims. “Come on kid, I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“I’m okay.” I sit up and look around. People start talking again, but no one turns on the blaring music, thank God.
“You may have a concussion.” Jeremy’s hand touches my neck, feels good. He holds my face and looks into my eyes. “Your eyes look okay, but you should get checked at the hospital.”
“A boat ride to the mainland is not what I need right now.”
“We could take you in a chopper. Maybe the TV-news would lend theirs.”
“And I’d be the star of the late news. No thanks.”
“You probably already are.” He grins at me and I start laughing. Ow! That hurts.
“Let’s chase everyone out of here and get some sleep.” Mom stands over me with Manuel in tow. “You have a big bump on your forehead, Ernestine. Are you sure you won’t see a doctor?”
Geez! Everyone wants to take me to the hospital. “No, Mom. I’ll be fine.” A bump on my head added to everything else. Maybe I’ll hide in my room for a week. Or a month.
“At least let the Doc look at you. I’ll find him.” She’s gone before I can protest.
The room is starting to empty. Even the news people are gathering their equipment and heading for their helicopter on the beach. I sit with my back against the wall, head pounding. Jeez, Pratt, you sure know how to clear a room. I close my eyes. Want to rest a minute.
Jeremy pulls me to my feet. “Don’t sleep, Pratt. If you have a concussion you should stay awake.” I must have drifted off.
“Let me take a look.” It’s Doc Poser. He looks older and more shriveled every time I see him. He must be going on a hundred. He keeps a part-time office on Main Street, shared with the vet and a nurse who do more doctoring than Doc. He and Jeremy lead me to the couch.
Doc pokes and prods and shines his little light in my eyes, making my headache worse. He cleans my cat slashed arm and some of the worst cuts and scratches on my legs, feeds me an antihistamine pill for the reaction to the scratches, and repeats what Jeremy told me about not sleeping. That’s all I want to do. Sleep.
#
“Oh, no! That’s me.” I point at the television. The late news has a long piece on Manuel’s rescue. They caught me at my worst, when Jeremy dumped me off his shoulder, and then crashing into the door. Mom looks good on camera, sitting, holding Manuel, talking calmly. Some of the neighbors look drunk and disorderly. The news didn’t explain that the cops were attending the party. With all the uniforms around, it looks like we’re being raided.
“You put on a good show,” Big Jim comments.
“She has talent,” Jeremy says. “Slapstick comedy.”
“Pratt falls,” Big Jim adds. Everybody groans.
“Hope the world gets a good laugh at my expense.” I punch Jeremy’s shoulder where I’ve been leaning, almost sleeping.
Jim and Jeremy stayed when everyone else left. Even Bert and Allison disappeared. Who knows where? Jim sits in a recliner, holding the sleeping boy. The kid took to him. He must like the bald head.
Mom flicks off the boob tube with the remote. “Time to call it a night.” She takes Manuel from Jim. The boy doesn’t wake as he shifts from one shoulder to another.
“Can I bring my granddaughter over in the morning? See how they get along?” Jim asks.
“I thought you were working.” Mom heads for her bedroom and we all follow, watching as she lays Manuel on a borrowed cot. No one wants to take their eyes off the little guy.
“My shift starts at noon.” Jim answers.
“Aren’t we were taking Manuel to Miami tomorrow?” Jeremy asks.
I scowl at him, which hurts my forehead.
“Okay, Pratt. We’ll find his parents first. Another day or two won’t hurt.”
Mom gla
res at him as she pushes us all out of the bedroom. “Go home, boys. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Can I sleep now?” I ask. “No one said how long I was supposed to stay awake.” It’s been two hours, maybe three.
“You seem to be your normal mixed-up self. Do you remember what happened?” Jeremy asks.
“I never forgot. Besides, how could I forget when they show the graceful me on television?”
“Still have a headache?” Mom asks. She’s herding Jim and Jeremy toward the door.
“No, just a sore forehead.” I touch the goose egg above my eyes.
Jeremy kisses my bump before they leave. “You’ll be all right.” That’s what they tell patients dying in hospital beds, too.
Wednesday
Chapter 22
Sunshine and happy voices drift in through my window. I drag my stiff body from the bed and peek through the curtains. Mom, Big Jim, Bert, and Allison are playing with Manuel and a little girl. Splashing, lifting, tossing, having a great time. Maybe I’ll crawl back into bed. The clock says nine-fifteen. A bit late to be sleeping.
I should call Jeremy. Damn! No phone. Might as well join the others. The saltwater will be good for my injuries. I slip out of my oversized T-shirt and into a bathing suit. By the time I get to the water, everyone’s playing in the sand. I go for a swim, alone. Feels good, relaxing—the stiffness in my muscles subsides. I roll onto my back and float, letting the sun warm my face, listening to the water lapping and the cheerful sounds from the beach. The crew is building a sand castle. I swim to the beach and pitch in, hauling buckets of water.
The girl, whose name is Sweetheart or Tina or Kristina or Tiny, depending on who’s talking, is not tiny. She’s stocky and six inches taller than Manuel.
“How old are you, Tina?” I ask.
“Four, almost five.” She stands and stretches tall to show me how big she is. Stay proud of your size, little one. Soon enough people will be mocking you.
Big Jim beams at her. “She takes after her granddad.” Maybe, but he’s not fat, he’s all muscle.
Mangrove Madness: An Ernestine Ernie Pratt Mystery (Ernestine Ernie Pratt Adventures Book 1) Page 12