Gina the Mango Queen was dead.
peered at Gina, too stunned to move. She couldn’t be dead. For goodness’ sake, I’d just seen her laughing and talking with her friend. She was too young. Too full of life. Too beautiful.
My heart began to thump erratically. I reached for my cell phone, a crazy mixture of hope and fear rising up inside of me. Maybe she wasn’t really dead. Maybe she was only resting. I checked her pulse. Oh, yeah, she was dead all right.
I punched in 911 and told the dispatcher where I was and what had happened. After that, my legs gave out, and I sank down to the ground next to Gina, my eyes closed to the horrible reality of her death.
That’s where they found us.
The ambulance, fire truck, and Detective Nick Billie all arrived simultaneously.
As Nick helped me to my feet, I watched the paramedics check Gina’s vitals. After several long minutes, they shook their heads.
She was gone.
“Mallie, are you okay?” Nick’s familiar deep voice wafted over me like a velvet balm as he touched my arm in reassurance. Because he was Coral Island’s chief deputy, I knew he’d be the one to answer the call. He’d be the one to take charge of the situation and make everything okay. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring Gina back to life.
“No, but I’ll survive.” My voice sounded as shaky as my legs still felt. “You know, I was doing a story-a simple story on the new Little Coral Island trail. That’s all. Granted, it was hot as Hades, and my feet got soaked from all the salt water, but other than that everything seemed normal. As normal as it can when having to trudge three miles to look at animal dung and a few pathetic birds and-“
“Okay, I know you’re still in shock, but try to calm down” He fastened his eyes on me-deep, dark pools of concern. “I need to know exactly what happened and how you found the body. Keep it simple and straightforward.” He kept his own tone quiet and steady.
Still, a dead body sprawled on the grass only a few feet away. Could I help it that when I got nervous, I couldn’t stop talking? Some people smoked. Some people drank. I talked and talked and talked.
“Okay, I’ll try.” I took in a deep breath and began with that morning, when Bernice had assigned me the story. I spent almost ten minutes divulging the shock of having Anita’s nutty twin appear at the Observer.
“Could you get to the actual trail hike?” he inquired.
“All right.” I started to fill him in on all the details as briefly as possible, but I was finding it hard to focus on the sequence of events. Gina’s motionless body kept distracting me. I tried not to look at her, but out of the corner of my eye I could see her long brown hair flowing out from her lovely face. I stumbled over my words several times yet somehow managed to finish up.
Nick Billie took notes but said nothing until I’d finished. Another deputy snapped pictures of the scene, and then the paramedics took Gina away. I sighed inwardly. Her image would be with me for a long time.
“Is that all you remember?” he pressed me.
“I think so…. Can we get out of the sun?” I brushed perspiration from my forehead. We moved under the shade of the huge black mangrove, but it still felt like an inferno. “Did you know Gina?” I asked him.
“Not really.” He shrugged. “I’d heard she was elected the Mango Queen a few days ago, that’s all.”
“Is that really such a big deal?”
“It’s Coral Island’s version of the Miss America pageant. Women campaign for a solid year to win the title.”
“That’s odd. Anita didn’t have me cover the story last year or this year.” I felt my lips pucker in confusion. “She’s usually so dogged about every little thing that happens on the island.”
Detective Billie smiled. “Everything except beauty contests. Anita is a dyed-in-the-wool feminist when it comes to that kind of thing.”
“Figures” Although I wouldn’t attribute her motives to feminism. She preferred stories that “wrench your gut,” as she so delicately put it. Not something as warm and fuzzy as the Mango Queen. Of course, now that a death had occurred, it was her kind of story-or, rather, Bernice’s type of story.
“Anything else you want to tell me?” he said.
“Now that you ask … on the hike, I noticed that Gina’s friend, Brandi, seemed a bit jealous. I mean, she appeared to be happy about Gina’s being the Mango Queen, but I thought I detected a vibe. And I noticed that syringe near Gina’s body. Do you think she was into drugs? Could her death have been an overdose or-“
“I’m going to stop you right there.” Nick flipped his note book shut. “I’ll be investigating Gina’s death, and you know I work alone.” He stressed the last word with pointed emphasis.
“Yes, but if you remember, I’ve helped you solve murder cases in the past, and-“
“No. You interfered in my cases and almost got yourself killed both times.”
“That’s not exactly true” I folded my arms across my rather flat chest. “You asked for my help at one point.”
“Only to rescue a missing boy-not to apprehend his father’s killer.” His sharply planed features hardened. “Mallie, let me do my job.”
“And I have to do mine. Bernice will want to make this a front-page story.”
“That’s fine. You stick to writing your stories, and I’ll stick to law enforcement.”
I heaved an exasperated sigh. Not so much at his implacable attitude, but because I found myself-in spite of my recent trauma-becoming aware of his tall, muscular shoulders and handsome face. I was okay when I didn’t have to see him. But as soon as I was in his presence, my senses flared with an attraction as powerful as a wildfire.
“By the way, you’re working on one heck of a sunburn,” he commented.
“No kidding.” I placed my palms on my cheeks. They felt warm-as well as sore and tender. Jeez. “I had no idea I’d be on the hike from hell when I set out this morning; otherwise, I would’ve slathered on my SPF 45. I’ll probably have a few thousand new freckles from today.”
“You need to be more careful.” He fingered one of my curls.
My breath caught in my throat. “I thought you were still sort of irritated with me about that murder case last fall.”
“When you barged into the elementary school to confront the killer without waiting for me? Almost got yourself knifed? And jeopardized Madame Geri’s life to boot?”
I lowered my head in guilt. “That would be the one”
“I’m over it-as long as you learned something.” He dropped the curl, his fingers brushing my shoulder.
“I did, trust me” My head shot up again, a tiny jolt zinging through me. “Uh … when do you think you might know the cause of Gina’s death?”
He paused. “In a few days.”
“I’ll drop by your office on Friday for an official statementif that’s okay.”
“Agreed,” he said, one side of his mouth turning up slightly. “By the way, don’t mention the syringe to anyone. I don’t want any rumors starting up before we have the facts” He took my hand and held it gently. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah … Nick.” The word sounded odd coming out of my mouth, as if I was overstressing the last consonant.
We stood under that mammoth mangrove in awkward silence for few moments, hands touching. A death had taken place, and we had crossed a boundary.
Everything had changed.
I drove back to the Observer office and barely made it in the door before Sandy leaped out of her chair. “Is it true, Mallie? Is Gina the Mango Queen dead?”
My mouth dropped open. “How did you find out already? No, don’t tell me. The Island Hardware store grapevine? Big Benny at the Circle K hotline?”
Sandy shook her head. “Neither. Miss Rose and Miss Emily from your Aunt Lily’s quilting group were at Detective Billie’s office reporting a stolen rocker-only it turns out it wasn’t stolen. While Miss Rose was filing the paperwork, she remembered that she had taken it to the hardware store for the
owner to paint. Anyway, they heard the news come over the police scanner in Nick’s office. As soon as they picked up on Gina’s name, they turned up their hearing aids and heard everything. Then they called your Aunt Lily, and she called here. She left you a message to call her cell phone” She handed me a small piece of paper. “She wants to meet you at the Seafood Shanty for lunch and-“
“What?” Had Sandy suddenly taken on my motormouth? Maybe all the ice cream had addled her brain.
“Which part didn’t you get?”
I blinked. “Did my aunt really say she wanted to meet me at the Shanty?” Aunt Lily had sworn off that place months ago when a palmetto bug sashayed across her table and flipped itself into her iced tea.
“Yup.” She leaned in closer and lowered her voice. “What really happened out there on the trail? What happened to Gina?”
I explained the sequence of events, ending with the last tragic scene under Old Blacky.
“So it could’ve been heatstroke or something,” Sandy pondered aloud. “Speaking of which … uh … you’re going to be peeling like a gumbo-limbo tree from that sunburn.”
“I know. But that’s not as bad as my poor feet” I raised one crusty shoe. “Not to mention that my Keds have turned into salt clodhoppers, thanks to Bernice’s-“
“Did someone mention my name?” Bernice stood at the door to Anita’s office, fiddling with her bracelets.
Anger bubbled up inside of me. “It would’ve been nice if you’d told me how long that stupid trail hike was, so I could’ve picked up my hat and sunblock.”
“A little sun is good for you. Look at my skin-smooth and supple as a baby’s bottom”
I tried not to recoil. She’d hit “bottom,” all right. Her face, legs, and arms had the texture of a dried-up riverbed-cracked and shriveled.
“I heard you had some trouble?” A hopeful note entered Bernice’s voice.
“Trouble?” I heaved my canvas bag onto my desk. “I guess you could call it that. We spent two hours of torture baking in the sun as we waded through the soggy wetlands, one of the hikers ended up dead, and I was the one who found the body. So I guess that qualifies as `trouble.’”
“Dead?” She frowned, deepening the lines between her eyebrows. “Who was it?”
“Gina Fernandez, the Mango Queen”
“Oh, no! I was there when she was crowned” Bernice’s body stiffened in shock. “I can’t believe it.”
Some of my anger dissolved at her reaction. Maybe she was more humane than the mean twin, Anita, after all.
“Hot damn! What an opportunity.” She whipped out a new lollipop, her face kindling in excitement. “‘Terror on the Trail.’ Yes, I love it. But I don’t want a who, what, when, where thing. I want a juicy, first-person narrative. `Mallie Meets Terror on the Trail’-that’s even better. Talk about the hike-how you trudged through the swamp water, roasting in the sun. Then the emotion builds, and you relate how you found the body-a beautiful young woman cut down in the prime of her life. Bittersweet. Sad. All that kind of sentimental crap. And every step of the way, you’ll delve into your deepest feelings. That’s what people want to read about as you plumb the depths of human suffering. I want everyone to connect to your pain and-“
“I hardly knew Gina-not that I wasn’t upset. But I can’t say I’m … grieving,” I protested. “Besides, this isn’t a tabloid. We have to print the plain facts and unvarnished truth”
“Truth-schmuth” She waved a dismissive hand. “People want the nitty-gritty, and that’s what we’re going to give ‘em.”
Sandy made a choking sound and reached for her candy bar drawer.
“Bernice, we don’t even know how Gina died. At this point, all we should do is print a story about her death and give some details about her life. More like an expanded obit.”
” Boooooring! I want reality journalism.” Bernice waved the lollipop in my face as if it were a weapon. “Look, Miss Priss, if you refuse to do it, I’ll get someone in here who can. Writers for a rag like this are a dime a dozen”
I glared at her. She was not going to drive me out of my job. If I’d withstood the buffeting storms of Anita, I could ride out Bernice’s turbulence too. I hadn’t learned to stand up to challenges over the last year for nothing. Bernice was not going to find an excuse to fire me. “All right. But I refuse to write anything that could be considered libelous. I draw the line there” I folded my arms across my chest in defiance.
“Agreed” She weighed me with a critical squint. “Keep the sentimentality to a minimum, Miss Priss, and start writing that article-now. Chop-chop.” She ducked back into Anita’s office.
I turned my face toward the ceiling and gave a soundless scream. Could the day turn any worse?
Sandy handed me a large chocolate bar and started in on one herself. “Eat up,” she urged. “It’s the last resort of the downtrodden worker.”
“I guess one won’t hurt” I unwrapped the chocolate and bit into the creamy, thick food of the gods. “Did you find out where Anita went?”
She shook her head. “I checked her desk calendar, called her voice mail at her house, even stooped so low as to ask some of her neighbors. But no one seems to know-or carewhere she’s gone. Our last hope is Mr. Benton. I called his office, but he was out. His secretary didn’t know anything, but she said he might have a vacation address that Anita left with him. So maybe he’ll call this afternoon when he gets in…
“In the meantime, we’ll have to cope with Butthead Bernice on our own.” I finished off the chocolate bar, smacking my lips. “We’ve got to keep the Observer going with some semblance of journalistic integrity-if for nothing else than out of respect for Gina.”
Sandy reached for her candy bar drawer again.
“No, Sandy.” I seized her hand. “One bar only. You’ve got to be strong and not let Bernice get to you. Remember how long it took to reach your target weight on the diet? And how many times Anita drove you to distraction? Bernice isn’t any worse than any of that. You can’t give up now.”
Sandy’s lips trembled as she visibly fought temptation. “I’m not sure how long I can hold out. She’s got me on the phone every hour with potential advertisers, including that creep, Fishin’ Frank, who runs the Anchors Away nautical store”
“Not the guy who snaps out his fake eyeball and tosses it from hand to hand as he talks?”
“I’m afraid so”
I swallowed hard. He’d grossed out everyone at the last Town Hall meeting, including me, with a new trick: removing the glass eye and popping it into his mouth. The vision was burned into my memory. “Listen, Sandy, I know it seems bad, but chocolate won’t help. It’ll make you feel worse in the long run. You’ll not only have to deal with Bernice, but you’ll have to go back to wearing your clothes with the price tags tucked in so you can return them when your weight starts going up. You can’t go back to those days” I didn’t release her palm.
With a long sigh, Sandy withdrew her hand.
“That’s more like it. I’ll pick up an extra stock of Ozone Bars to keep you on track until this crisis is over.”
She groaned. “I’m soooooo sick of those things.”
“I know, but they work.” I gave her a brief hug of encouragement. “Why don’t you try Mr. Benton again?”
As she moved back to her desk, I reached for my phone and dialed Aunt Lily’s cell.
She picked up on the first ring. “Mallie? I heard that you found Gina’s body this morning. Are you okay?”
“Sort of.” Visions of the Mango Queen’s lovely face frozen in death rose up in my mind. I shivered and pushed the images away. “It was a real shocker. I mean, for her to die so suddenly like that-“
“It’s worse than you think,” Lily cut in with an urgency to her voice I’d never heard before. “I need to see you as soon as possible. I’m at the Seafood Shanty.”
“Sandy already told me. Are you sure that you want to meet there?”
“I can’t take a chance of run
ning into anyone I know, because what I have to tell you is top secret”
My fingers tightened around the receiver. “Aunt Lily, what’s wrong?”
She paused, and I could hear a loud male voice in the background, shouting an obscenity. Some biker wanting another brewsky?
“Hello? Aunt Lily?”
Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. “Gina’s death was no accident. She was murdered.”
I gasped, clutching the phone tighter. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure”
“I’ll be there in half an hour.” Hanging up, I sat back in my chair. Was it possible? My aunt never lied, never exaggerated, never even embellished. If she said something was true, you could set your clock by it.
That meant one thing: a killer might be loose on Coral Island once again.
kay. In thirty minutes, I had to meet Aunt Lily at the Seafood Shanty. But how to make a quick exit?
I pretended to work on my story for a few minutes, while I formulated a plan to trick my temporary boss. I had to give Bernice what she wanted while secretly doing my own thing. She needed to think I was working on the “reality journalism” expose of Gina’s death. After a few minutes of mock “work,” I rapped on the door to her cubicle, then swung it open.
“What?” she grumbled, her attention on her computer screen. “Bernice, I just got a call from a lead who might be ready to spill the beans about Gina’s `secret life.’”
Bernice turned away from the monitor and rubbed her hands together in glee. “What are you waiting for?”
I bit my lip in imitation distress. “But I thought you wanted me to work on the `Terror on the Trail’ piece-chop-chop.”
“Chop-shmop.” She waved a dismissive hand. “You’ll have time to do that later. The important thing is to lock down that source. We want sleaze, sleaze, and more sleaze. The sleazier, the better. I want it so sleazy, you’ll have to take a shower after you write the story. Readers don’t want to know the good that people have done in their lives. They want to know about secret marriages, illegitimate children, and eating disorders-in no particular order,” she hastened to add.
Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 03 - Murder in the Mangroves Page 3