Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 03 - Murder in the Mangroves

by Marty Ambrose

  “Sure. But … why?” She produced one.

  “Reporter’s tool.” He’s still going to kill me. I shouldn’t be doing this. I edged aside the papers with the eraser tip and sorted through them, shoving the letters into one pile and the green order forms into another. The letters were just short notes, saying when a certain item would arrive or confirming a fabric change. But the order forms listed every recent item Island Decor had provided for its clients. I sifted through them as best I could by date. “Did you usually have an order going out every day?”

  Isabel began to cry softly.

  “I know this is hard for you, but I need you to try to hold it together.”

  She swiped the back of her hand across her face and sniffed. “Uh … yeah, we usually had orders going out every day.”

  “How were they delivered?”

  “If they were big-ticket items, our handyman would deliver them. Gina or I would drop off smaller pieces. Then, afterward, we’d stamp the invoice and file it.”

  An idea began to germinate inside of me as I flicked my trusty eraser head through the order forms again. There appeared to be a form for every day during the last two weeks- except the day Gina died.

  “Was she delivering anything that morning of the trail hike?”

  Isabel’s tear-filled eyes met and held mine. “I … I don’t know. Maybe” She shook her head. “I just can’t remember right now. My brain isn’t working on all cylinders.”

  “I understand” I turned away from the desk with a resigned shrug. Then I noticed a small laptop computer under a pile of fabric. My breath quickened as I eased the slim orange MacBook from under the stack of tropical cottons and handed it to her. “I don’t suppose you cross-filed your hard-copy orders on this laptop?”

  “No-sorry. We kept saying we were going to install a computer system for our inventory, but we never got around to itjust like fixing the back door. We always thought there would be time.” She brushed her fingers across the neon surface of the laptop. “This was Gina’s personal computer.”

  Another dead end. “Still, there might be something on it that we could use. If you could do a quick run-though of her files, you might find something useful.”

  “I guess so” Her voice sounded as hopeful as a sigh lost in the wind. “I’ll give it a shot”

  “You also need to call Detective Billiejust to play it safe” I set the pencil on the desk between the two paper stacks. He’d know what I’d done. There was no point trying to hide it. The man saw everything.

  She nodded, clutching the laptop to her chest. “Do you think someone took the invoice?”

  “Maybe.”

  Dawning recognition widened her still-teary eyes. “That means the intruder might be a client of ours.”

  We hugged for a few moments, and then I left. I climbed into Rusty, leaned my head against the steering wheel, and closed my eyes.

  The phone calls, the cut-up picture, the missing invoice. It all added up to one thing: the killer was getting worried-and maybe ready to strike again.

  Yikes.

  y the time I had pulled into the Twin Palms RV Resort on Mango Bay, I felt slightly more composed. Or maybe I was just numb from the mixture of recent events and the stifling heat in my truck. Even with the windows cracked and the airconditioning (such as it was) blasting valiantly, I was pretty much drenched with sweat from the short, fifteen-minute ride.

  But the sight of my gleaming silver Airstream put a smile onto my face. There was something so reassuring about that 4,225-pound antique trailer. I could take anything as long as I had my Airstream-and Kong, my teacup poodle. Oh, and my mugatoni meditation.

  I parked Rusty alongside the Airstream and climbed out, ready for a blast of oldies rock from the tenement on wheels next door.

  Nothing just blessed quiet.

  Goody.

  As I came around the front of my Airstream toward the awning, I spied an unbelievably welcome sight. My rough, sun-faded picnic table had been covered with a white linen tablecloth. Two large candles held it down on either side, and fresh hibiscus flowers were scattered around, lending a splash of scarlet color. Paper plates and paper napkins completed the elegant table setting.

  “Hiya, babe!” Cole waved a pair of tongs in my direction. He stood off in the sandy area, next to a barbecue. “How was your day?”

  “Weird.”

  “I figured that. You take a shower, get comfortable, and let the Cole-man take care of dinner. I’m grilling some fresh grouper and veggies. Baked potatoes are in the microwave. Oh, and I walked your minuscule mutt”

  “Wahoo. But watch the `tiny’ dog talk-he’s got size issues,” I joked, trying to cover my mixed emotions. Many a time when we’d lived in Orlando, this very scene would play out after I’d spent a hard day of trying to be a professional on one of my many pre-Disney World jobs. Needless to say, I don’t do “professional” well.

  “You okay?” Cole asked. His blond hair glinted in the lateafternoon sunlight.

  “Sure” This was all so familiar-too familiar. And comfortable-too comfortable. Cole had been gone a long time, and I wasn’t sure exactly where he fit into my life right now. “Gimme a few minutes.”

  “Just a few. Your Great-Aunt Lily called, and she’s coming over with somebody named Sam”

  “Tonight?” In spite of my fatigue, I perked up. Maybe I could get some answers out of her about the photo I had found at Mama Maria’s house.

  “She was very insistent.”

  “It’s all right.” I pushed back my curls from my sweaty forehead. “You’ve never met her, have you?”

  He shook his head.

  I smiled. “You’re in for a treat” Opening the door to my Airstream, I was greeted by an apricot fluff ball cannoning toward me, barking rapidly as though he hadn’t seen me in a year. “Good dog-even if you are a minimutt.”

  He barked again.

  I needed a shower. Then I could put the day into perspective and ready myself to talk with Aunt Lily. The Cole thing would have to wait. I couldn’t even begin to analyze how I felt about having him here, maybe taking up where we’d left off in Orlando.

  “Kong, why does everything have to be so complicated?” Nuzzling his tiny black nose, I carried him into the bathroom. I stripped down and enjoyed a long, long, cool shower, soaping and shampooing with extra relish. The heat just poured off me and, with it, some of my fatigue.

  Afterward, I fluffed my red curls, dressed in a fresh pink T-shirt (with no advertising slogan), and white Capris. Not exactly dinner garb but, for Coral Island, almost formal attire.

  Now I could at least think straight.

  First, a snack to tide me over. I opened the fridge, spied some of the mango slices left over from the trail hike, and nibbled on them, leaving a small piece for later. Yum. Manna from heaven.

  Fortified, I reached into my canvas bag for the framed picture I’d swiped from Mama Maria’s, careful not to break the glass. I studied it for a few moments, marveling at how much the young Aunt Lily looked like me.

  Genetics, I guess.

  Then I focused on the other two people. The young girl had to be Mama Maria-her features were unmistakable. But the Latino man was a mystery. Her father? Slightly taller than Aunt Lily, he stood proudly with his shoulders squared and chin high. He had dark hair, a trim build, and classically hand some features. But it was his eyes that caught my attention. They appeared soulful-and somehow sad.

  Was he a friend of Aunt Lily’s? If so, why had she never mentioned him?

  A tap on my Airstream door startled me.

  “Mallie? It’s me,” Aunt Lily called out as she swung open the door.

  My gaze shifted from the picture to my real-life aunt. It took a few moments to adjust from the young image of her to the older, somewhat timeworn version. Red hair threaded with gray, freckles mixed with lines, slight sun damage covering her body. Still, in spite of her age, a radiant vitality emanated from her being. Aunt Lily would never “go gentle int
o that good night,” as Dylan Thomas had pronounced. She’d fight every step of the way.

  “I wanted to see if you’d found out anything-” She broke off as she saw the picture. A wistful expression crossed her face. Then she turned to Sam, who stood behind her. “Would you help Cole with the grilling? I need to talk to Mallie alone, please.”

  “Sure” I caught a brief glimpse of his squeezing her hand. He knew. Whatever this photograph was about, Sam knew.

  Aunt Lily closed the door. Slowly, she moved toward me, not saying anything.

  She picked up the picture, and a soft smile spread over her face. I’d never seen her looking like that. A golden glow lit her features-a glow of … love. “I haven’t seen this in a long time.” She took it over to the sofa and slowly seated herself. “I assume Maria gave it to you”

  “Sort of.” Add theft to my misdemeanors. I sat next to her. “I recognized you right away, of course. And the little girl is Mama Maria, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then who’s the man?”

  She ran her fingers over the frame. “Maria’s father-and my … boyfriend.”

  A wave of shock slapped me. “What?” For once, my motormouth stalled.

  “I guess I need to explain.” She sat back, clutching the picture. “Your Great-Uncle Rich-my husband-died during the last year of the war, somewhere in Germany. I was heartbroken. He’d been my childhood sweetheart, my friend, my companion for over ten years. Then he was dead at twenty-six. And I was left alone with a failing citrus grove and no money. That’s when I met Alberto Espinosa. He managed several of the mango groves on the island. He was the one who persuaded me to convert my grove from citrus to mangos. It didn’t take long for me to be in the black again-or to fall in love with Alberto.”

  “But I always thought you were like … uh … the grieving widow all these years.”

  “I was. I thought my life was over when Rich died.” She sighed. “But Alberto made me want live again. He was so different from Rich. Passionate, fiery, magnetic. We argued constantly, and I couldn’t resist him-or my own desires.”

  I swallowed hard. Aunt Lily? Desires? Yikes.

  She patted my hand. “I know it’s difficult to hear that from an old person, but I wasn’t always this age. I loved two men with all my heart. Rich was my childhood sweetie, and Alberto was my mature love. I don’t regret any of it.”

  Whew. This was heavy stuff after the crazy day I’d had. “Why did you keep it a secret all these years?”

  “That’s my one regret” Her face crumpled and suddenly looked old. “I know it sounds stupid in this day and age, but back then racism was alive and thriving on Coral Island. Alberto was a Latino farmer, and I was a respectable Anglo widow. Marrying him would’ve exposed us to dangerous repercussions. Sure, it was okay to have him manage my grove, but marry him? No. People would’ve never accepted it. It was easier to love him in secret”

  I cast my eyes down at her wrinkled, age-spotted hand on top of mine. I turned my palm around and clasped hers. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too. I took the easy way out. I didn’t follow my heart. `Passion should believe itself irresistible.’”

  “Shakespeare?”

  “E.M. Forster.” She laughed. “And you call yourself a comparative-literature major.”

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “Poor Alberto. He never reproached me once, but it must’ve been so hard for him to lie and hide his feelings from others-even his own daughter.”

  “Mama Maria isn’t your daughter?”

  “I wish, but no. Maria was his daughter from his first marriage. Her mother died when Maria was born. But I loved her as if she’d been my child. I helped her start the restaurant, paid for her wedding, put Gina through decorating school. I wish I could’ve done more”

  “You did a lot.” I glanced down at the picture again. It now seemed all the more poignant because of knowing the secret that bound the three of them together. “Did Maria know?”

  “I’m not sure. We never talked about it. She must’ve, though.”

  I took in a deep breath. “What happened to Alberto?”

  She began to weep. “He died in the early sixties from cancer. It was one of those fast-acting, inoperable kinds. At least he didn’t suffer. I don’t think I could’ve taken seeing him in pain.” She tilted her head back, fighting for control. After a minute or two, she’d mastered her emotions. “He’s buried in the grove, near the first mango tree we planted together. And I’ve left instructions in my will that I want to be buried next to him. Please make sure that happens”

  “I promise I will.” I felt the sting of tears in my own eyes.

  “Now you see why I was so upset about Gina’s death. She was like my own grandchild. That’s why we have to find who killed her.”

  I shook my head, trying to clear my mind of Aunt Lily’s shocking revelations. Focus. Focus. “I guess it’s okay to tell you this: you were right. Nick Billie told me this morning that a poisonous substance was found in Gina’s bloodstream. He thinks someone placed it in the syringe she used to give herself insulin injections.”

  “I knew it!” Aunt Lily exclaimed.

  “Look, I’ve been digging around, and while there are people who didn’t like Gina, no one seems to have had a strong enough reason to kill her. Brandi wanted to be the Mango Queen, Brett’s parents didn’t like his engagement, and Isabel Morales owed her money. But none of it adds up to a real motive for murder.”

  “The motive may not lie in the present, but in the past.”

  “Do tell,” I queried. She knew something else. “This isn’t the time to hold back on me, Auntie.”

  She pursed her lips. “Right before he got cancer, Alberto told me he was going to make a lot of money-enough for us to leave the island if we wanted to. He never told me the particulars; then he got sick, and it didn’t seem to matter anymore. All I know is, right about that time, Bryan Palmer’s father came into a lot of cash-while Alberto managed his mango grove.”

  My mind raced ahead, trying to figure out the implications of what she was suggesting. “So you’re saying Gina’s death may be connected with something her grandfather knew?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I hate to ask this, but … do you think Alberto was involved in illegal activities with the Palmers? Gunrunning, or whatever they did back then?”

  “No” Her voice was firm. “Alberto would’ve never done anything like that”

  “What, then?”

  “I don’t know” She shook her head negatively. “But it’s nagged at me all these years-the feeling that Alberto was somehow cheated out of his rightful dues. Something that Bryan Palmer might kill to hide-“

  The door to the Airstream swung open with a sudden clatter. We both jumped.

  “Dinner is ready,” Cole announced. His smile dimmed when he saw us. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “It’s okay. We’ll be right out,” I said.

  He closed the door quietly.

  I turned to my aunt. “Are you okay?”

  “Surprisingly … yes. It feels as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders to be able, finally, to share the secret with you.” She stood up and smoothed down her cotton top. “I’m just sorry it took such a tragic event to give me the courage to confess.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find out what happened to Gina. If Bryan Palmer is responsible, then he’ll pay for it.”

  “Be careful, though. If he was willing to kill once to hide the truth, he could do it again.”

  Instantly, the image of the cut-up photo rose in my mind. “I … I may need to share this with Nick Billie.”

  “I know. It’s okay.”

  “He’ll be totally discreet, I’m sure”

  “Oh, yes. I don’t think wild horses could drag a secret out of Nick.” She managed a choking laugh. “In fact, he reminds me of Alberto-passionate on the inside but strong and restrained on the outside. He’s the kind of man who’ll
be a rock in a storm” She winked at me.

  “I like to stick to sunny weather.” I reached for the doorknob, but Aunt Lily stopped me.

  “Mallie, don’t make the same mistake I did. Cole is nice, but is he really what you want? Love isn’t comfortable. It knocks you sideways, and you’re never the same again. And that’s how it should be”

  “You sound like Sam” Alarm bells went off inside me. “I … just don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do.” She touched my arm. “Don’t take the easy road. You’ll regret it.”

  I swung open the door and stepped out of the Airstream. The warm, late-afternoon sunlight greeted me. Then Cole approached, his eyes rueful as he held up a grilling utensil. “I hope I didn’t burn your grouper. The fire was still a little intense.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine”

  But would I ever be the same after Aunt Lily’s revelation?

  It had rocked my world.

  The next two hours passed in a blur. Sam and Aunt Lily kept up a steady stream of conversation. I don’t know how she did it. I was a wreck. Cole must’ve sensed something, because he didn’t say much, eitherjust went about the business of serving everyone.

  How could I concentrate on eating? My beloved great-aunt had had a lover, a secret that she’d hidden from me. It had been a long-term relationship, and no one in my family even knew about it. Unbelievable.

  Was there anything else about her I didn’t know? I kept glancing at her in dazed puzzlement.

  Eventually, the dinner ended; then Aunt Lily and Sam left-she giving me a hug before they drove off. But I was still in shock.

  “Are you okay?” Cole asked as we watched Sam’s serviceable Volvo disappear into the twilight. Clouds had drifted in off the Gulf, and a cool breeze finally wafted in. It should’ve felt refreshing, but instead, it scattered my senses even further. Cole moved closer. “What’s going on?”

  “Just a lot of … stuff. I mean, I need some time to decompress. This murder case has stirred up feelings inside me, and I’m not sure how to deal with them” Not to mention I’d learned about family secrets that had shaken me right down to my Birkenstocks.