Three Tequilas (Althea Rose 3)

by Tricia O'Malley

  Perched on one side of Tequila Key, the Tarpon Inn was a cute motel where the rooms were arranged in a small strip set off from the main office. Painted a violent turquoise shade with hot pink doors, it wasn’t the type of place where I’d have thought an esteemed professor would choose to stay. Not that we had a lot of options in Tequila Key – but I’d certainly expected him to be staying somewhere like the sleek Seashore Sands Hotel in the fancy part of town.

  “The Tarpon Inn, huh? Not exactly what I was expecting,” I said to Trace, as he pulled into a parking spot in the near-empty parking lot. One lone light shone in the front office, but I knew it was for show. Nancy, who ran the inn, would be upstairs sleeping. The front office didn’t open until 8:00 am.

  “I know, I said the same. But Professor Johansson insisted he wasn’t fussy. It seems he was given a stipend for traveling – and the less he spends on hotel costs, the more ends up in his pocket.”

  “I suppose that’s economical of him,” I shrugged. “Though wouldn’t you think he’d want something with a little more security? What with this being such a high-stakes mission and all?”

  Trace laughed at me, the sound long and low, sending a tingle through my belly. I ignored the tingle, but smiled back at him.

  “I don’t know if I would call this a ‘high-stakes mission.’ It’s not like we’re on a covert op or something like that. We’re just helping these guys with some research.”

  “Right. ‘Research’ that’ll yield them millions of dollars and the find of the decade. But, you know, not high stakes at all.” I slurped my coffee and eyed the motel.

  “I mean, it’s probably super exciting for a bunch of stuffy administrators holed up in their offices. But it’s just business as usual for us, right? It’s not like we get a piece of the pie or anything,” Trace pointed out, drumming his hands on the wheel.

  “Which is kind of stupid, actually, now that I think about it. Why go on an expedition that has, historically, always yielded bad results without getting anything for it?” I scoffed and leaned forward, taking a hair-tie off my wrist and twisting my curls into a bun on top of my head.

  “Oh? Since when is fifty thousand dollars nothing?” Trace slanted a look at me.

  “Okay, fine, you’ve got a point,” I grumbled.

  “Don’t act like you aren’t super excited about going on a treasure hunt as well as getting a huge chunk of change in your bank account,” I said.

  His smile flashed in the light coming from the front of the motel.

  “Oh, I’m excited. I feel like a little kid on Christmas morning.”

  “Well, it’s time to get started. Is he supposed to meet us at the car? Do we go knock?” I said, my eyes on the hotel. None of the lights were on in any of the rooms. As I began to really focus on the motel, instead of on the conversation with Trace, my psychic instincts kicked in.

  “Trace…” I interrupted a spiel he was giving about the rudeness of people who are always late.

  “What?”

  “I’ve got a really bad feeling about this,” I said softly, my eyes trained on the motel.

  Trace was well aware of my psychic abilities, so he didn’t discount what I was saying or waste time arguing. Instead, he reached into the console and pulled out a small handgun while handing me a diver’s knife. My mouth dropped open in shock.

  “You own a gun?”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, I’ve found that hanging out with you often requires being armed.”

  “What! As if!” I exclaimed.

  Trace raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Maybe only once or twice,” I mumbled, unsheathing the knife. “Whatever. Now’s not the time. Do you know what room he’s in?”

  “Room six.”

  “Let’s go check it out.”

  “Maybe you should let me. Do you think we need to call the police?”

  I thought about it.

  “I’m going to say yes. But there’s no way I’m going to just sit around waiting until the police get here.”

  “I figured as much. We might as well go knock on his door,” Trace said, slipping his cell phone into his back pocket, the gun held comfortably in his hand. The sight of Trace with a gun in his hand made my stomach turn – and not in a good way. I’m not a big fan of guns, and hate the finality they represent.

  “Stay behind me,” Trace whispered as we walked quietly towards the professor’s room.

  “Uh-huh,” I said, ignoring Trace and walking next to him, already lost in my head as I reached out to scan the room for a mental signature.

  “Shit,” Trace swore, at the same time I exclaimed, “This is bad.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Trace swore again and pointed at the bottom of the door, where a small puddle of blood had leaked beneath the doorframe. It gleamed dully in the low light, as out of place on the doorstep as the gun was in Trace’s hand.

  This shouldn’t be happening, I thought.

  Trace kicked in the door and I jumped back, surprised at his ninja-like moves.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Trace said, immediately turning to shield me from the view.

  It was too late, though. I’d already seeing the professor’s glassy eyes staring at the wall, a mass of blood staining the tiles below him.

  Chapter Six

  Even though the morning was warm, I’d wrapped a sarong around my shoulders to ward off the chill that seeing death up close had brought on me. I sat on the stoop in front of the motel, dully registering the police activity that swarmed around me.

  “Tea,” Trace said, nudging my shoulder as he sat next to me and handed me a paper cup.

  “Thanks,” I said softly.

  “I figured you were coffeed out.”

  “I am. I’m jittery as all hell,” I admitted, leaning into him, just a little, for support. Trace took the cue and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” Trace said.

  “Yeah, ’cause it’s your fault? Please. I’m a big girl. I just… it doesn’t get easier, is all. I’ve seen a couple of dead bodies now – well, people who met an unfortunate end – and it doesn’t get any easier. I honestly don’t know how cops do it. Seeing death all the time like that? No thank you.” I sighed and took a sip of tea. “It’s just… it’s so incredibly sad, you know? It’s not right. Life shouldn’t be ended that way.”

  Even though I knew that death wasn’t really the end – after all, I do speak to ghosts – it still saddened me.

  A throat cleared next to us and I turned, shielding my eyes against the light of the early morning sun as I looked up at Tequila Key’s Chief of Police.

  “Althea, thanks for staying,” Chief Thomas said, his eyes sharp as he measured me. “I have to say – we seem to be finding ourselves in this position more often than I’d like.”

  “You and me both,” I said.

  I’d first met Chief Thomas when Trace and I had recovered a dead body on a dive. He’d been working with the Coast Guard at the time, and had since taken over the Chief of Police’s job in Tequila Key. This would be the third time we’d met under such circumstances, and I could only imagine what his opinion of me was.

  “Can you tell us how he died?” Trace asked.

  “It appears to be from the bullet hole in the back of his head – though the coroner will, of course, look for any other causes of death.”

  “Nobody heard anything?”

  “I haven’t gotten that far yet. We’re just keeping the scene secure for now, and gathering evidence. I’ll have to take your formal statements – but for now, can you tell me what you guys were doing here at such an early hour?”

  I glanced at Trace and he nodded. Sliding his hand through his hair, he tied it at the back of his neck as he looked up at the Chief.

  “We were here to pick him up for a dive. He’d booked the week with us.”

  Well, it wasn’t a lie.

  “It’s pretty early for a dive, isn’t it? And don’t they usually
meet you at the boat?”

  “He’s British. Wasn’t interested in trying to drive on the other side of the road,” Trace pointed out.

  “Ah. Can you tell me more about him?”

  Trace rattled off his name and occupation, and then shut up. I held my breath for a moment and waited.

  “Althea? Do you have anything to add?”

  “Nope, I was just along for the ride. I do underwater photography on the side, you know… so I was just coming along to get some more pictures for the blog.”

  Okay, now I was the liar. But since Trace hadn’t offered any information as to why we were taking the professor diving, I wasn’t about to either.

  “There was an… unusual marking on the wall. It almost looks like a snake. Would you know anything about that?”

  I widened my eyes in shock and shook my head at the Chief.

  “Can we see it?”

  “Will you keep it quiet? Because if it gets out, it could compromise the case,” Chief Thomas pointed out.

  Shit. Now I felt bad. If he was going to show us something we technically shouldn’t be seeing, it wasn’t totally fair that we weren’t letting him in on our knowledge. I slid a quick glance at Trace and saw a grimace cross his face.

  “Yes, we will,” Trace said and then cleared his throat. “Um, well.”

  “Yes?” Chief Thomas waited.

  “I think he mentioned something called El Serpiente – which I’m thinking means the serpent,” Trace offered.

  Chief Thomas jotted it down on his notepad and nodded.

  “And that’s what he was here for? To find El Serpiente?”

  “Maybe. He’d mentioned it a possible interest. But we didn’t get too far into it,” Trace shrugged and I felt guilty for holding information back from Chief Thomas. He’d come to my rescue on more than one occasion, and hadn’t asked too many questions in the process.

  “Trace,” I said, sliding him a glance.

  “Althea,” he shot back, and the Chief waited.

  “Here’s the deal,” I said, making up my mind. I pointed to where other officers were working on the crime scene. “That – over there – that’s bad news. And if people are killing for it, it’s even worse. I’d rather you didn’t know any more than we’ve given you. It’s for your own protection. Plus, I don’t know who might be around here – watching us. I’d prefer to make it seem like we’re completely ignorant,” I said, shrugging with my hands up and shaking my head in the universal “I know nothing” gesture.

  I’ll say this much, Chief Thomas was quick. He nodded down at us and closed his notebook.

  “Thanks, guys. Too bad you weren’t able to offer any help,” he said loudly, and then gestured for us to follow him. “I’d still like you to take a look at the crime scene to see if anything jumps out at you.”

  “Sure,” I said and Trace stood up, pulling me with him, tucked at his side.

  “Are you sure that was a good idea?” Trace murmured into my ear.

  I looked up at him and shrugged. “He’s always been fair to me.”

  “You’re right. But we need to be careful how far we pull him into this,” Trace whispered and I shivered, realizing that we, most certainly, were now in deep.

  “Shit, Cash is going to be pissed,” I swore.

  “What? Pretty boy can’t handle this stuff?” Trace asked, delighted to have a reason to take a stab at Cash.

  “More like he doesn’t want his girlfriend putting herself in danger. And don’t even start – it’s not like your little hussy wouldn’t have screamed and fainted at the sight of blood.”

  “Children? If you could?” Chief Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow at us.

  “Sorry,” I said under my breath, and directed my attention to the Chief.

  “I’m just going to let you see the drawing on the wall. I don’t want you touching anything, and you aren’t allowed to step inside the room. Stand right here,” Chief Thomas instructed, pointing to a spot in front of the door, just inches from where the blood puddled.

  I gulped at the sight of the blood and folded my arms over my chest. Trace kept his arm around my shoulders, and we turned to look into the room.

  Thankfully, Professor Johansson’s body was covered now, so I was spared having to look at his dead body again. I wondered if they’d closed his eyes. Shaking my head, I looked to where Chief Thomas pointed.

  The room – its bright colors screaming Florida Keys – was ruined by the damage wreaked upon it. Every drawer in the credenza that lined one bright yellow wall was thrown on the floor, the clothes strewn around the room, and the bedspread was torn from the bed. Noticeably absent were any signs of papers or a computer. Wouldn’t a professor bring a computer with him on a research expedition? Before I could ask the question, my eyes landed on the wall that Chief Thomas pointed to.

  This wall was painted the same light blue of the tiles, as an accent to the sunny yellow that covered the other three walls of the room. Centered above the bed was an S-shaped design – decidedly crude, yet at the same time surprisingly intricate. It was as though someone had dipped a paintbrush in the Professor’s blood; the lines were much thicker than a fingers-width. As I looked at it, it dawned on me that the drawing wasn’t deliberately crude. It was a replica.

  “I… I think I know what that is,” I said, and Chief Thomas’ head whipped around to look at me.

  “And? I mean, it looks like a snake.”

  “It’s a replica. It’s the Aztec depiction of a snake. I’ve seen it somewhere…in my studies and all,” I finished lamely.

  “The Aztec depiction of a snake?”

  “Yeah. See how the lines form those little triangles and zigzags? It’s not meant to be messy. At least that’s not the vibe I’m getting.”

  Trace’s arms tightened around my shoulders at my words.

  I knew what he was thinking.

  El Serpiente’s legend was at work.

  Chapter Seven

  After promising to come down to the station later to give our statements, Trace and I left the crime scene, unsure of what to do next.

  “I think we need to go to Lucky’s. I know the Chief said not to say anything, but I’m starving and I need to call Miss Elva.”

  “You’re thinking rally the troops?” Trace asked.

  “I’m thinking we’re going to need backup. You know our friends won’t say anything. But this is big-evil kind of bad. The likes of which we shouldn’t face alone.”

  “Do you think anything more will come of it? I mean – technically we’re off the hook, right? We don’t have to dive any more, since the professor is dead.”

  “Was the contract we signed just with the professor?”

  “Ah… no, actually. It was with a subsidiary – I think of the institute. I’m going to have to check that,” Trace said as he drove his Jeep towards Lucky’s while I texted Miss Elva and Luna to meet us there.

  “I can’t remember either. I kind of flew through the papers.”

  “I feel like we’ll need to notify the institute too,” Trace said, pulling into a spot by Lucky’s Tiki Bar.

  Lucky’s was owned by one of my best friends in the world, Beau. He’d purchased it shortly after high school after receiving an inheritance, and had turned it into the hottest spot for a margarita and cheeseburger in Tequila Key. Perched higher up on a bit of a cliff at the end of the main drag, Lucky’s looked like a tiki hut, with a thatched roof, screens to keep out the bugs, and pufferfish lamps hanging from the ceiling. Beau was close to opening his second restaurant at the other end of the strip – one that would bring high-end seafood and steak dinners to downtown. He was smart to cover both ends of the dining spectrum, and I couldn’t be more proud of him.

  “Think he’s open? It’s only ten,” Trace asked.

  “Yeah, he’s always here early on Mondays to take inventory,” I said, walking up the gravel path and swinging the door open. A long circular teakwood bar dominated the room, and the walls were covered with my und
erwater photos and fishnets arranged in a kitschy, yet fun, manner. Beau popped his head up from where he was kneeling behind the bar.

  “Whooee! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? I haven’t seen you in damn near a week, girl,” Beau exclaimed, bringing a hand to his hip and raising an eyebrow at me.

  It was mannerisms like this one that gave Beau away as being gay – but to the casual observer, he was just a handsome man, tanned, with a perfect build and a preppy yet surfer-casual cool. I’d watched more than one girl sigh after him as he served drinks in the bar.

  I offered Beau a shrug, realizing suddenly that I was dangerously close to tears. He must have seen it too, because he slid out from around the bar, his arms outstretched.

  “Come to papa, sweetie. What happened? Did you and Cash have a fight?”

  Beau embraced me and I leaned into his solidness, holding on for a moment as he clucked over me. I barely held the tears back, but managed to do so even though there was a lump the size of Texas in my throat.

  “We found the client we were supposed to take diving today murdered on the floor of his room at Tarpon Inn,” Trace said succinctly.

  Beau didn’t say a word. Instead he released me and, keeping my hand in his, tugged me over to the bar.

  “Sit,” he ordered, all but pushing me onto one of the stools.

  I sat.

  Beau ducked behind the bar and pulled out a bottle of Irish whiskey. Leaning over, he poured out three shots and slid two across the bar for Trace and me.

  “Drink.”

  We drank.

  The whiskey burned its way down my throat, breaking through the lump that was lodged there, and screamed its way down to my belly. I met Beau’s eyes. He raised the bottle in question.

  “One more,” I said.

  Nodding, Beau poured us another round and we all drank silently. I traced my hand over the smooth wood of the bar, uncertain where to start.

  “This had better be good,” called Luna’s voice from the doorway, and I turned.

  As soon as she saw my face, Luna crossed the room and wrapped her arms around me.