Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 03 - Murder in the Mangroves

by Marty Ambrose

  “It’s cool, babe. I’ll be hanging out in the van if you need to come over and talk.”

  “Thanks.” I turned up my face and brushed my mouth against his.

  He tucked my curls behind my ears. “I’m not going anywhere.” For now. The words were unspoken, but I could hear them in my mind. As he moved toward his van, I had a mad moment of wanting to follow him, hop in, pack up, and get the hell out of there. We could take up where we’d left off in Orlando and head out for some lighthearted romance and fun.

  So what if it was the “easy road”? Why did life and love have to be hard?

  I took a couple of steps in Cole’s direction-then halted. I couldn’t just take off and leave Aunt Lily right now. She needed me to find out what had happened to Gina. Like it or not, I had taken on responsibilities on Coral Island and couldn’t just toss them to the winds.

  Too bad.

  Sighing, I let myself into the Airstream, grabbed Kong, and made for my bed. En route, I retrieved the mango articles written by my mentally unbalanced predecessor at the Observer. Nothing like a couple of fruit stories to distract me and maybe even send me off to the land of nod. One could only hope.

  “Whaddya think, Kong? Where should we start?”

  He tapped a paw on “Mango Fever: The History of Mangos on Coral Island.” Yawn. I sorted through the rest of the articles, which contained more of the same. No wonder the poor reporter went berserk in the Dairy Queen drive-through. She was probably half-crazy from all the excitement of writing twelve stories about a piece of fruit.

  I settled into bed, Kong under one arm, and began reading. After twenty minutes, my eyelids began to droop. I’d made it through the early homesteading years when the mango groves began, right through a couple of hurricanes, the Depression, World War II … blah, blah, blah.

  I was about to doze off when a name stood out: Harold Palmer.

  Whoa.

  Sitting up, I refocused my eyes.

  The story zeroed in on the groves run by Bryan’s father during the 1950s. Apparently, he’d become quite wealthy by creating new varieties of mangos: primarily Palmer’s Pride, a mango that gained worldwide appeal. Palmer expanded his operation on Coral Island to include almost a thousand acres, employing over a hundred people. A picture was also included in the story, with the caption, “Harold Palmer, with his grove manager, Alberto Espinosa, and Judge Nathan Finch.” They appeared relaxed and happy.

  My breath caught in my throat. Aunt Lily had said that Alberto had been about to make a lot of money around the time this picture was taken. No doubt connected with Palmer. But was Finch involved?

  I studied each of the men, straining to make out details in the grainy picture. They all wore short-sleeved shirts, baggy white pants, and suspenders. Alberto’s dark hair and strong features stood out, as did Harold Palmer’s tall, lean form. Finch, unfortunately, didn’t fare so well; he had the same pinched, ferretlike face he’d passed on to his son, Homer. Bad genes have a way of staying put through the generations. Like my brother, who’d inherited the Dumbo-like ears of my father’s side. Very unfortunate.

  What was the secret these three men shared? Did Gina find out and end up paying with her life?

  I hugged Kong even tighter. He licked my face a few times, then dropped off to sleep. Nuzzling him, I lay back, trying to calm my racing thoughts. A quick “mugatoni” meditation helped. Then, as I closed my eyes, a blast of “Nights in White Satin” emanated from the ramshackle RV next door.

  Oh, no.

  I rose the next morning, bleary-eyed and cranky. It had taken three calls to Pop Pop Welch to propel the aging handyman over to the hippies-from-hell next door. When he finally did show, he banged on the side of the RV with his trusty cane and threatened them with eviction.

  They’d finally turned off the music. Pop Pop retreated to his golf cart, taking a couple of whiffs from his oxygen tank before he could make it back to his cottage.

  After that little altercation, I managed maybe four hours of restless sleep.

  I was in no mood for Bernice the next day when I rolled into the Observer As I entered the office, I scanned the premises for any sign of fish bait, a tree stump, or a greasy engine. Whatever was there, I vowed it was going out the front door.

  “Mallie? Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Sandy asked in a tentative voice. “You look a bit … out of sorts”

  “Black. No sugar. No cream. And keep it coming,” I growled, stalking toward my desk.

  “What’s going on?”

  I sat down and buried my head in my hands. “Just some moronic RV-ers next to me who don’t seem to realize that the Twin Palms isn’t Woodstock. They cranked up the geezer rock big-time last night.”

  “Bummer.”

  “You’re telling me,” I mumbled.

  “Here, this should help.” She handed me a large, chipped mug filled to the brim with high-test, high-caffeine, hot-as-hell coffee. I raised my head and took a long, long drink. “Thanks. I needed that”

  “Take this too. You need it more than I do” She set a lovely, carb-filled Krispy Kreme delight in front of me.

  I gasped. “Are you sure?”

  “Yep.” Her sweet face beamed. “I don’t need it, because I’ve outsmarted Butthead Bernice.” She pointed at the empty cubicle.

  “I’m all ears” I waited eagerly as I gulped down more coffee and bit into the doughnut.

  “I thought I’d give Madame Geri’s curse a little boost” She pulled up a chair, brimming with self-satisfaction. “I called Jimmy’s fishing buddy, Tiko, to take Bernice out to the Seafood Shanty last night on the pretext that he might want to buy advertising for his tilapia farm. Tiko can drink a biker under the table. Anyway, they started with beer and ended up doing shots of tequila. So, after yesterday’s hangover and last night’s binge, Bernice is … out of commission.” A sly smile spread across her face. “She can’t even get out of bed this morning. In the meantime, I called the Finch and Harris law firm, and they want to buy advertising. Great, huh?” She held up a stand-up cardboard poster advertising the firm: LEGAL WOES? CONTACT FINCH AND HARRIS. Tasteful. Discreet. Better yet, it didn’t smell up the entire office.

  “Sandy, you’re a genius!” I sang out. “And send Tiko my compliments.”

  “Done”

  As the caffeine jolted my brain out of its semistupor, something clicked. “Did you say `Finch and Harris’?”

  She nodded.

  “Funny you should mention Homer Finch. In those mango articles that you gave me, there was a picture of Finch’s father-“

  “Old Judge Finch. He lived on Coral Island most of his life. His son, Homer, followed in his footsteps and went to law school at the University of Florida”

  “I met Homer at Island Decor a few days ago. He seemed… surly.”

  “He’s got the personality of a limp fish, but his advertisement did get that crummy engine out of here.” Sandy positioned the poster so it faced the front door. “And he’s respected enough to be one of the Mango Queen contest judges.”

  I blinked. “He was a judge?”

  “Yup. Rumor has it that he was the deciding vote for Gina.”

  Homer Finch had made Gina the Mango Queen. Could it be mere coincidence?

  Or something more?

  Just then, the phone rang, and I picked up.

  “Mallie, this is Nick Billie. I’m bringing in Rivas Fernandez for questioning in Gina’s death”

  I gasped. Not Rivas.

  He couldn’t be Gina’s killer, could he?

  .ave you charged him?” I asked, my hand tightening around the receiver.

  “Not formally. But his fingerprints were found on Gina’s insulin testing kit and-“

  “But he’s her brother. It’s likely that he touched the kit because they lived in the same house” I met Sandy’s alarmed look. She mouthed Rivas’ name, and I nodded.

  “His prints were also found in Island Decor’s stockroom when I investigated the possible break-in, and Isa
bel said he hadn’t been around there for months,” Nick continued.

  “Oh” That was harder to explain away. “May I come by to-

  “No” His voice was firm, final.

  “Then why did you call me?”

  “I wanted to give you a heads-up, the promise of an exclusive story when I make an arrest, and get your agreement to pull back on any further investigations on Gina’s death till I call you”

  “But-“

  “Mallie, I’m not asking this as the island cop, but as a … friend. Trust me just this once.”

  I raised my eyes to the ceiling in frustration. How could I turn down such an appeal? “Well … I’ve got to clear it with Bernice, and she’s out today.”

  “Does that mean you’ll sit tight?”

  “Define ‘tight.”’

  His voice took on a distinct edge. “Stay out of trouble.” He said each word slowly, carefully.

  “I promise I won’t do anything without calling you first” I hung up before he could respond.

  “He doesn’t actually think Rivas killed Gina?” Sandy asked.

  “Dunno. Nick said he was only questioning him. There were incriminating fingerprints at Island Decor….”

  “Did you tell Nick about the phone calls and the sliced-up photo?”

  I looked down at my hands, suddenly preoccupied with a dry cuticle.

  “I figured you didn’t. That’s why I had to take matters into my own hands”

  “Uh-oh” My head jerked upward. “What did you do?”

  She shrugged and pursed her mouth. “I called for an expert to help protect you”

  “A bodyguard?”

  “Nope.. ” Just at that moment, the door was flung open, and Madame Geri strolled in, wearing a fifties-style rockabilly dress with platform sandals-and Marley at her side, of course.

  “Oh, no” I held up my hands as if to ward off an evil spirit.

  “She has to cleanse your aura, or you’ll be in grave danger,” Sandy protested.

  Madame Geri moved toward me, a black velvet bag in hand. “Everything on this island is out of balance right now-you, the mangos, the newspaper. Things are dying, withering on the vine, and we must work together to bring order back.” Her words rang out forcefully. I suppose I would’ve taken her more seriously if she hadn’t been wearing earrings in the shape of pink owls.

  “Just let her do her thingplease.” Sandy helped her unfold a dark cloth and place it across my desk. With a flourish, Madame Geri set her bag on top and pulled out her exorcism gear.

  My eyes widened as she produced a gem-studded wand, a jar of glittery dust, a tiny silver bell, and a bag of Cheetos. She opened the latter and helped herself to a few pieces, then offered some to me and Sandy. I took her up on the offer. What the heck. A few Cheetos might make the whole process easier to stomach-literally. Sandy declined.

  “Is this going to take long?” I asked, eyeing the wand. That thing looked almost lethal. A couple of whaps on the head could probably knock someone out.

  “As long as it needs to” Madame Geri threw some of the shimmery dust on me.

  I coughed.

  Then she started chanting in a low voice.

  “Thank goodness Bernice couldn’t make it into work today to see this. I’d never live it down” Blinking the dust away, I helped myself to another handful of Cheetos.

  “Bernice’s life will be very unpleasant till I take off the curse” Madame Geri reached for the wand. “No one can resist its power.”

  Sandy bowed her head in respect. I rolled my eyes and submitted to another sprinkling of dust. This time, I knew what was coming and closed my eyes and held my breath.

  Then she picked up the wand and waved it in a series of circular motions.

  Right at that point, the phone rang. No one moved. It kept on ringing.

  “May I take that?” I finally piped up.

  Madame Geri nodded, without a pause in her chanting.

  I picked up the receiver, careful not to entangle the cord in Madame Geri’s wand. “Hello?”

  “Mallie? This is Isabel Morales.”

  I took in a quick breath. “Did you find something?”

  “Did I ever! I played around on Gina’s laptop till I figured out her password: honeybuns. That’s what she called Brett: herhoneybuns”

  Jeez.

  “You were right; she kept a second set of accounts on it. The missing bill she invoiced the morning she died was from Homer Finch for a full day of `legal services.’” She paused. “Gina paid him only a hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “That’s all? Attorneys make more than that per hour.” My brow knit in puzzlement. “Then Homer’s bill had to be for something else … something he wanted to hide. Could it be connected with your decorating business? Had Gina asked Homer to do some legal work for Island Decor?”

  “No. I would’ve known about that. Gina and I made all our business decisions together.”

  “Then it had to be personal,” I mused. Madame Geri upped the volume on her chant and began to ring the bell right next to the receiver. Groaning inwardly, I shifted the phone to the opposite ear.

  “What? I didn’t hear you,” Isabel exclaimed.

  “Sorry. Madame Geri is doing some kind of aura cleansing-“

  “Wow. You lucky girl. I’ve tried to get her to do me forever. She’s booked almost a year ahead”

  “Yeah, fortune is smiling down on me”

  Madame Geri covered me with another wave of glitter dust. The wand circled faster and faster. Marley flapped his wings. I was getting dizzy and could barely breathe.

  “Okay, that’s enough-I can’t think or hear.” I jumped to my feet, placing a hand over the receiver’s mouthpiece.

  Madame Geri halted ringing the bell. “But I’m not finished.”

  “I don’t care. I’d prefer having a dirty aura to this New Age nuttiness.” I held up the phone as if it were a talisman warding her off. “Now, back away.”

  Madame Geri drew up to her full five-foot-two height and glared at me, and Marley seemed to mirror her affronted expression. Then, she took a step backward.

  “Mallie? Mallie?” Isabel’s voice came through the phone with a muffled sound.

  “I’m here.” I kept a wary eye on our resident psychic. “Um … make a copy of the bill, and take it over to Detective Billie. He’ll want to see it right away.”

  She agreed and hung up. I needed to talk to Mama Maria again. She might know why Gina had hired Homer.

  Madame Geri set the wand and bell on the velvet square. The glitter-dust jar was empty. “The only reason I stopped is because the spirit world directed me to. They told me that your aura is your destiny, and it needs to remain unchanged”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re on the path you need to be on”

  Ironically, I felt let down. “After all that rigmarole, I’m not even partially cleansed?”

  She folded up the psychic paraphernalia inside the velvet cloth. “I placed a protection spell on you. That may help.”

  “Gee, thanks”

  “What about the mango balance?” Sandy rushed to help her tidy up the rest of her aura-cleansing gear.

  Madame Geri’s mouth turned down. “The island fruit will not flourish till the murderer is brought to justice.” She turned to me. “I’m ready.”

  “For what?”

  “To go with you to see Mama Maria.” She tucked her bag under her arm, keeping Marley close. “Let’s roll.”

  I gritted my teeth. How in the world did she do that? I absolutely and unequivocally refused to believe that she was the real deal. I’d worked a psychic hotline as one of my many undistinguished jobs, and I knew for certain that those Miss Mystic Wannabees couldn’t foretell a hurricane if they were standing in gale-force winds. “Just keep that bird under control. I don’t want him messing up my truck.”

  “That would be a crime.” Madame Geri stroked his turquoise feathers.

  “Hey, watch it. My poo
r old truck, Rusty, is doing the best he can. So he’s had some deterioration. I like to see what you’d look like after pulling a four-thousand-pound Airstream.”

  “Uh-huh” Madame Geri pivoted and headed for the door. I followed her out to Rusty. We both climbed in and immediately rolled down the windows, the heat from the seats enveloping us in a suffocating embrace. Even Marley seemed to droop a bit.

  I cranked the engine. After a few attempts, it roared into life and provided a meager wisp of air-conditioning. We left the windows partially lowered.

  “By the way, anyone could’ve guessed that I was heading to Mama Maria’s.”

  Madame Geri said nothing.

  “It makes sense. I needed more information about Gina.”

  Her silence continued.

  “A child could’ve predicted that.”

  She smiled.

  Drat her anyway.

  By the time we pulled up to Mama Maria’s restaurant, it was close to lunchtime. The lovely aroma of fried food wafted out and assailed my senses, and for a moment, I was lost in a fantasy of burritos, tacos, and enchiladas. Yum.

  Then I remembered why we were there.

  I parked Rusty and took a few seconds to gather my thoughts. “I don’t want to upset Mama Maria, but I need to know why Gina hired Homer Finch to do legal work for her.”

  “You can count on Marley and me to help. I’ll know just what to say.”

  Oh, goody.

  We entered the restaurant and caused an immediate stir among several lunchtime diners. I knew better than to think I had much to do with the reaction. It was Madame Geri. People practically bowed in awed respect everywhere she went on the island. I found it irritating as all get-out, but what the heck? People preferred phony psychics to nosy reporters any day.

  “Is Mama Maria around?” I asked one of the teenage waitresses. She had blond hair and a sweet face.

  “Round back in her house, I think,” the young girl said. “She got really upset this morning when the policeman came for Rivas.”

  “Oh, no” I motioned Madame Geri to follow me through to the back door.