Mangrove Madness: An Ernestine Ernie Pratt Mystery (Ernestine Ernie Pratt Adventures Book 1)

by J. C. Ferguson

  “It’s good that you moved.” Jeremy pats her hand. “You want to stay here tonight?”

  Jeez, Jeremy. You’re as bad as I am, taking in strays. Am I one of your strays?

  “No, I’m okay. I don’t think they’ll come after me at my new place. They’re looking for George Stark and Bruce Mondrone.” She unwinds a little.

  “Here’s the cop part of me talking. Do you think you could identify them?”

  “I don’t know.” Her eyes open wide. “Would I have to go to the sheriff’s office?”

  “Maybe we could do it without you going in. I could bring you some pictures, or we could use the computer.”

  “Okay. I could try.”

  Jeremy leads her into his office, puts her in front of the computer, and lets her look through some photos. What a scruffy bunch they are. I stay in the background and look over her shoulder, my mouth shut for a change.

  “I don’t see them here. They were more...I don’t know...they looked like they had money. They didn’t look like crooks.”

  “How many?” Jeremy asks.

  “Three. No, four.”

  “Could you describe them to a police artist?”

  “Maybe.” She’s disappearing again, sinking into Jeremy’s chair.

  “I promise no one will hassle you if you come in and sit with an artist. Could you do that?”

  “Let me think about it.”

  “Why were they looking for George and Bruce? They’ve been missing for months.” Jeremy prods.

  “George is back. He called me.”

  “Will you be talking to him again? Loads of people would like to find those boys. Family and friends who are worried about them.”

  “He’ll call. At least he said he would.”

  “If he does, arrange to meet him someplace and let us know. You shouldn’t invite him to your home and you shouldn’t meet him alone in case the bad guys are following him or you.”

  Susan shrinks further into herself and starts to cry. Too much for Jeremy. He puts his arm around her shoulders.

  “Stay here tonight. I have an extra bedroom.”

  “No, I have a dog at home. I need to go.” She stands and heads for the door. “Thank you. Both of you.”

  She has the right idea, get a dog. Who needs men in their lives? Dogs don’t talk back and they always love you. Jeez! Where did that come from, Pratt?

  “I’ll call you in the morning.” I walk with her to the door.

  “I’m working in the morning.”

  “Okay. Maybe I’ll stop by the bank and take you to lunch.” I give her a hug.

  She bolts through the door and into a beat-up old Chevy that coughs a few times when she starts it and then rattles off down the street.

  Chapter 30

  I standin the doorway watching Susan drive away. I’m worried about her. I wish she’d stayed.

  “Are you going to stand there staring the rest of the night or come inside and tell me the rest of the story?” Jeremy breaks into my thoughts.

  “After you tell me the rest of yours.”

  “How about some pillow talk?”

  “I know how that goes. We never get around to talking.”

  All this sex is getting in the way of doing my job. What are you feeling toward him? You’re sleeping with him. But you don’t really know him. Are you in love? Too soon to tell and who needs it? Falling in love is like a disease, an emotional illness, an obsession. Out of control, falling all over yourself. You do enough of that without love complications, Pratt.

  “Come on, Pratt.” He takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom. I may not be “in love” but I’m definitely “in lust.”

  #

  My head lies on Jeremy’s arm after another round of the best kind of exercise. Even his sweaty armpit smells good. And we’re friends. We like the same things, don’t we? I’m not even sure what he likes. We talk to each other; we get along. What more could I ask? Why worry about love?

  Speaking of talking, we haven’t had our conversation, yet.

  “You sleeping?” I ask.

  “No. Wondering when you’re going to tell me the rest of Susan’s story.” He reaches over and ruffles my hair.

  “Not much she didn’t tell you, except they beat up one of the kids and stole all their money and drugs.”

  “Not surprising.”

  “Oh, and they thought George and Bruce stole a cocaine shipment. But she told you that, didn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  A sailboat brought the Cubans here. They were supposed to be carrying drugs, which are missing. Drug dealers are looking for the crew of Farrell’s boat because they think they stole drugs. Farrell talks about bringing in Cubans. “Do you think there’s any connection to the Cubans’ boat ride and Farrell’s boat? That would be a strange coincidence, wouldn’t it? I know those things happen all the time on TV, but they don’t happen in real life, do they? The only two things I’m working on being related. It doesn’t seem real.”

  “Sometimes it happens, but with the cops it’s because we’re working on related crimes. We have lots of drug dealers floating around Florida and probably lots of missing or stolen shipments.”

  “So tell me what you learned on the call that we never got around to.”

  “I forget.”

  “Damn it, Thorpe. Tell me or I’ll torture you.” I discover a ticklish spot right below his ribs and I make use of it. He squirms, trying not to laugh.

  “I’m immune to torture.” He grabs my arm and rolls on top of me, pinning my arms over my head. All at once, we’re wrestling and playing. He’s much stronger, but he lets me get away with a lot.

  “I give up.” I’m panting from exertion and maybe a little from being turned on again.

  Jeremy nuzzles my neck and nibbles on my ear.

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “There’s nothing to tell. I told you we’d be keeping an eye on Jessica and Manuel.”

  “Yes, but there was more.”

  He half sits, leaning on his elbow. “Oh yeah. I called Perez and asked about the drug dealer in the apartment. He’s disappeared. She went to see Jose and Carlos again, but they wouldn’t talk. Perez thinks the drug guys have done something with the group that was headed to Fort Myers.”

  “Done what?”

  “Either kidnapped or killed them as a threat to the others.”

  “Damn! We’ve got to find these guys.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe our Cubans are connected with Allison’s brother and Susan’s boyfriend. We should keep an eye on Susan. She might lead us to the boys.”

  “I meant the drug dealers, not the boys. They’re the ones who are causing all the trouble.”

  “The cops in Miami and here are looking for them. Not much to go on.”

  Find the boys, find Farrell and his boat, find the drug dealers, find Manuel’s mother...and I thought I was only looking for one missing brother. What have you gotten yourself into, Pratt?

  “Tomorrow, we take Susan to see your artist. You can get her off work, right?” I ask. “Without making her lose her job.”

  “Yes, I can do that.” He collapses on the pillow and almost immediately, he’s snoring.

  Friday

  Chapter 31

  Jeremy leaves early in the morning, tossing the keys to his car onto the bed. Says it needs to be driven, he’s almost always in the cruiser.

  Snuggling in the king-sized bed that smells of Jeremy, trying to sleep, all sorts of thoughts scurry around in my mind. I’m worried about Mom. I’m worried about Susan. Why, Pratt? A few days ago, you thought she was a drugged-out loser.

  I’m itching to know where George is and if Alex is with him. Can we find the drug dealers that are threatening Manuel’s family—maybe even killed his mother? Are they the same people who are looking for George? I won't discover any of these things if I lie in bed all morning.

  After a shower I put on shorts and a tank top, the only thing other than my bathing suit I ha
ve in my bag that’s not dirty or torn. I stick my nose out to check the weather and realize it’s cold. It does that here sometimes in January. Should I put on the dirty white denims? Maybe Jeremy has something I can wear. I swim in his T-shirts. Wow, his jeans fit, a little long though. I never realized he had such a skinny ass. I settle for his jeans and one of his dress shirts tied at the waist and the sleeves rolled to my elbows.

  Jeremy gave me his password, so I go online and check my mail. Nothing important. Where are those photos he and Susan were looking at? Does he have access to Miami mug shots? Why not call and ask?

  “Hey, Pratt.”

  “Hey, Jeremy. Do you mind if I wear your clothes?”

  He breaks up.

  “What’s so funny? Your pants actually fit, skinny ass.”

  “This I’ve got to see.”

  “You will. Are you meeting Susan and me at the bank for lunch?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there. Is that why you called, to ask if you could wear my clothes?” I can hear his smile.

  “No. I called to ask if there’s any way to get at mug shots from Miami on your computer.”

  “Not at my house, but we can call and get access from the sheriff’s office. Good idea, Pratt. You make a good detective.”

  “Gee thanks, Deputy. Are you going to let me join the force?”

  “I hope you’re not wearing one of my uniforms.” He’s laughing again. I click off.

  When I call Mom, she starts sputtering about cops.

  “Hey, Mom. Big Jim will be hangin’ around. You can’t complain about that.”

  “He would have been here anyway.”

  “Dangerous characters are looking for Manuel. They may have kidnapped his mother.” I don’t tell her that Manuel’s mom might be dead.

  “I know. But who’s going to look here?”

  “They left the Cubans on our island. Why wouldn’t they look there?” I try to remember if Jeremy told the drug dealer about Manuel. But how can I remember a conversation in Spanish? I don’t think he said anything. Hopefully, the drug guys think Manuel drowned. On the other hand, they knew his mother was headed to Fort Myers to look for him. I shake my head to kill that train of thought. Duh! Manuel was on TV with Mom.

  “The deputies are all good guys, Mom. Ignore them or feed them and dump them at the beach. You didn’t mind having them at the party the other night.”

  “That was different.”

  “Can I talk to Allison?”

  “She’s walking the beach with Bert. Call her.”

  “I’ll see you tonight. I have to come home. I need clothes and I’ve left my client Allison to be seduced by my brother.”

  That gets a chuckle out of Mom as she cuts the connection.

  I call to tell Allison I may have a new lead on her brother or at least George Stark. She wants to know everything but I’m not going to say more until I learn more. Drug dealers and kidnappings and someone who thinks the boys stole from them. Whew! What if none of it’s true? Why worry her?

  A shiny black Toyota Supra sits in the garage. Jeremy said something about treating her nice. I guess it’s a rare car. Old, eighty-something. Maybe I’ll research it on the web before I leave. I find the manual in the glove compartment and take it into the house. The book says it’s a 1988 Toyota Supra Turbo-A. It is old. I Google it. Wow! This is a special car. Really hot for its day and only five hundred ever made. I’d better be careful.

  I gently roll the car out of the garage, down the street, and onto Palm Beach Boulevard. This car is spotless inside and out, no squeaks or rattles, just a soft rumble from the exhaust, kind of like a tiger purring. Neat car. At a stoplight, I forget about being gentle and stomp on it. The Supra leaps forward. That’s enough of that, Pratt.

  There’s time before lunch, so I drive over to the Edison Mall and go shopping—something I hate to do. It takes me about ten minutes to buy a pair of jeans, a short sleeve sweater, and a jacket, and wear them out of the store. Jeremy’s cruiser is sitting in front of the bank when I arrive. We invade the place together. When the manager sees Jeremy’s uniform, he comes to greet us. “Is there a problem, Deputy?”

  “I need to borrow one of your employees for the afternoon.”

  The manager frowns. “Did he do something wrong?”

  “No, she was a good citizen and reported a crime. I need her to come to the station to see if she can identify the criminals.”

  “Oh, of course.” Relief shows on his face. “Who is it?”

  “Susan Bain. She’ll be with us for the rest of the day if that’s all right.”

  “Yes, yes. No problem.”

  “You’ll be a good citizen and pay her for the whole day, right?” I can’t help myself. I always butt in.

  The manager frowns at me but nods his head.

  “Lunch first,” I tell Jeremy as we leave.

  “I thought you were wearing my clothes.” He looks me up and down.

  “I bought new ones. Needed something warm.” The temperature is still cool, and a breeze is blowing. Susan is shivering in a short dress.

  “Which car, Deputy Thorpe?”

  “Both. I don’t want to leave the Supra or the cruiser sitting around.”

  “Where to?”

  Jeremy points to a fish place at the other end of the strip mall.

  I make a face. “Fish again?”

  “You pick, Pratt.”

  “There’s a breakfast and lunch place across the street, Dogs & Donuts.” I haven’t had breakfast and I’m starving.

  Susan rides with me in the Supra. She runs her hands over the leather seats and dash. “This is some car. Is it yours?”

  “No, my car was wrecked. This is Jeremy’s.”

  “It’s old, isn’t it? But it’s like new.”

  “As old as you or older.”

  I park the car away from the other cars so it won’t get dinged, and we join Jeremy in the little café. Everyone seems to know him, employees and customers. Guess he’s been here before. I order an egg on a bagel. No rabbit food for Jeremy this time, he orders a meatloaf sandwich. Susan gets a hotdog and fries.

  “Watch your fries,” I tell her. “Jeremy will steal them.”

  At least that makes her smile. She looks scared and small again today. I don’t think she likes going to the police station. Maybe she’s had a bad experience.

  “You don’t need to come with us, Pratt,” Jeremy says.

  “Oh, no, please can she come?” Susan almost drops her hotdog.

  “I’ll take you. I won’t leave you with this terrible monster.”

  Jeremy rolls his eyes.

  “Why are you afraid of the sheriff’s office?” I ask.

  She ducks her head. “I’ve been there before.”

  Stupid question, Pratt. She was busted for drugs. Maybe she spent the night in jail. Of course she hates it.

  “We’re going to the main office, not the station on Fort Myers Beach. You’ll be fine.” Jeremy tries to reassure her.

  Susan and I follow Jeremy’s cruiser. When he starts speeding, I drop back. No way am I going to let him accuse me of reckless driving in his precious car.

  I almost carry Susan into the sheriff’s office. Jeremy drops us off with the police artist and I hang around until Susan seems to be getting comfortable, then join Jeremy at his desk. We browse through Miami mug shots on separate computers. Some of these guys don’t look like crooks. They look like rich businessmen.

  “Hey, Jeremy. Isn’t this the guy from the apartment building in Miami?” I can’t believe I spotted him. His name is Chester “Che” Brown.

  Jeremy slides over on his chair. “Looks like him.”

  “Do you think he’s one of the guys who trashed Susan’s beach house?”

  “We can ask. But she’ll have to pick him out. I’ll set it up. You want to get her?”

  I find Susan bending over the artist’s work.

  “Can I steal her for a minute?” I ask.

  “Three down and the fourth
almost finished. Give us a few minutes and she’s done.”

  “This is fun,” she says.

  I stand and watch the process. The artist works on paper and with computer graphics, building a composite face. It is fun.

  “You have a good eye,” he tells her. “Are you an artist?”

  “No, but art was my favorite subject in high school.”

  “You should take some classes.” The man reaches into his desk for a brochure and hands it to Susan.

  When we go to see Jeremy’s mug shots, he’s printed an array of faces. “Do you recognize any of these, Susan?”

  She studies them for awhile and points at two of the men. One is Daniel “Dante” McPherson and the other is the man Jeremy and I recognized, Che Brown. Wow! The connection is real. The drug dealer from Miami showed up looking for George and Bruce.

  “Do you want to look through more photos for the other two?” Jeremy asks.

  “Sure.”

  He sits with her at the computer and she starts flipping through the files. Seems like hours later she finishes with no luck.

  #

  Back in the Supra, I ask Susan if she’d like to visit a hairdresser. She gives me a blank stare.

  “I thought you might want to change your appearance. That blond hair stands out, draws attention.” You’re insulting her, Pratt.

  She halfheartedly agrees. I get a trim and sit reading magazines while she gets a dye job. Glamour, Vogue, Style. I wouldn’t be caught dead in some of these clothes, and some of the hairstyles look worse than my Bart Simpson imitation when I fell in the water.

  “Ready to go?” A different Susan stands in front of me. Her fluffy hair is a soft brown with reddish highlights. She looks much calmer and prettier.

  “I like it.”

  “Thanks. It’s my natural color. Let’s get outta here. Gotta go take care of my dog.”

  As we climb into the Supra, I spot a familiar car moving through the parking lot. An old Explorer with broken headlights and a smashed in grill. Sure enough, the driver is Gorilla Bob. Can’t miss him. I cut through the lot so I won’t have to pass him. He won’t recognize this car.

  Waiting for the light to change at McGregor, a car pulls up on my left. Damn! It’s him. I step on it and yank a right into traffic. No way is he going to ruin Jeremy’s car.