Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 01 - Peril in Paradise Page 10

  Illegal drugs? That was usually the answer for someone living on a Florida island who appeared to be making money without any gainful employment. And Anita had told me when I first arrived on Coral Island that the Observer had run a lot of local drug-trafficking stories the previous year. Nothing with Hillman that I could remember, but that might only mean he hadn’t been caught-yet. It was a fast way to earn big amounts of money-and sometimes a quick trip to that giant Airstream in the sky. At least that was my vision of heaven. A brand-new, fully loaded, gleaming silver Airstream with wings.

  A car horn blared behind me. I was jolted out of my reverie and noticed Rusty was barely tipping thirty-five miles per hour. I rammed down the pedal, knowing my truck’s maximum speed barely topped fifty.

  I’d never been to the Seafood Shanty before. Located on the road that led off the island, it was a hangout for local fishermen and bikers-kind of a seedy place. The owner had painted FAMILY RESTAURANT boldly across one side of the building, but I don’t think it fooled anyone. The motorcycles parked in front told the real story.

  As I approached the place, I noted it looked run down. A long, low building with a sagging roof, it boasted a ramshackle front porch, torn screens, and peeling paint. At least Rusty would look right at home parked in front of the place.

  I made for the front porch, carefully stepping around the holes in the floorboards. As I entered, I realized the inside was just as run down as the outside-same peeling paint and uneven floor. Assorted fishing nets were strung across the ceiling-presumably for decorationand a large anchor hung on the wall behind the bar.

  About half a dozen men were seated at the bar, and two biker couples occupied a table toward the back of the room. Otherwise, the place was quiet. Except for the country western music that played in the background. Not being a fan of that kind of music, I couldn’t tell who was singing-except that it was a man with a twangy voice. That probably narrowed the field to under a hundred.

  Several large paddle fans whirled overhead, which was a good thing. The Seafood Shanty wasn’t airconditioned, and I was already feeling the heat. I dreaded to think what the kitchen looked or smelled like.

  I sat down at a small table toward the side of the building where dirty screens offered the possibility of a breeze.

  After a few moments, a young woman in shorts and a tank top approached. She had dyed blond hair swept up in a messy ponytail. The color had grown out, and dark brown roots showed near the scalp. Her face, though unlined, already had that haggard look of someone who worked long hours for little pay. And the flat look in her eyes said she knew her life wasn’t going to get better any time soon.

  “What can I do ya for?” She slid a pencil out from behind her ear and held it poised above her order pad.

  “Does Nora Cresswell work here?”

  “Yeah”

  “Is she here today?”

  “Yeah”

  “Could I speak with her?” I persisted.

  She fastened a hard look in my direction. “You’re talking to her. What do you want?”

  “Just a few minutes of your time.”

  “No, I meant what do you want to drink?”

  “Uh … iced tea?”

  She exhaled impatiently. “Look, honey, this is a bar and we serve booze here. What do want?”

  “A beer?” I inquired. “I’m not sure what brand-“

  “You got it.” Scribbling a few words on her order pad, she turned away.

  “Could I talk to you?”

  She was already gone. Damn. It might be difficult to get Nora to open up to a total stranger. But I didn’t have a motor mouth for nothing.

  By the time she returned with my beer, I was ready.

  “Thanks so much. It’s incredibly hot today, isn’t it? I couldn’t believe the heat and humidity when I left Mango Bay-a cloudy morning and it was already hitting around eighty-five degrees. And it wasn’t even ten o’clock. I can only imagine what it’s going to be like this summer. Just hot, hot, and more hot.”

  “Hot,” she echoed in a bored tone.

  I reached into my canvas bag and rooted around until I found a pack of gum. “Care for spearmint? It’s cooling.” I held out a piece.

  “I don’t mind if I do. Thanks.” She popped it in her mouth and began to chew.

  “Have you lived here long, Nora?” I summoned what I hoped appeared to be an inviting smile.

  “Long enough” She placed one hand on her hip, still bored.

  “I guess you know just about everybody on the island then.”

  “Pretty near.”

  “What about Jack Hillman? Did you know him?”

  She stopped chewing, her interest sparking. “What’s this all about?” her voice hardened.

  “Okay, I’ll give it to you straight. I’m Mallie Monroe and I work for the Observer. I’ve started writing a series of articles about Hillman’s murder-“

  “I don’t know nothing about that.”

  “I heard that you … uh … knew him.”

  “He came in here and had a couple drinks every so often. We were friends. That’s all.”

  “Did he ever talk to you?”

  “Sure. He had to give me his orders.” She started chewing her gum again with rapid, jerking motions of her jaw.

  “Did he mention that he had any enemies?”

  “No” Her features shuttered down.

  “I don’t mean to upset you. I just wanted to know-“

  “If he and I had an affair? Go ahead-say it. Everyone on the island thinks it, but they’re wrong. I never cheated on my husband. Never.” She thumped the table with her hand.

  The bikers glanced in our direction.

  “Nora, take it easy. I believe you.”

  “Really?” Surprise laced through her voice.

  “Yeah … I do”

  “Well … you’re probably the only person who does”

  “I know what it feels like to be gossiped about. Not on Coral Island, but in the Midwest where I was raised. My family just couldn’t comprehend why I didn’t want to settle into a career, get married, and have kids-all in that order. They whispered behind my back at timesjust because they didn’t understand me” I paused, crossing my fingers at the lie. A lot of it was true. “I’m not asking you about Hillman just because I’m writing the story. I was the one who found his body-“

  “Oh, no. How awful for you.” She slumped into the chair next to me and dropped her head in her hands. “I just can’t believe he’s dead … it’s so horrible. To think that someone could’ve killed him like that.”

  “I know.” Memories of the body came surging up in my mind like water spewing up from an underground well. Dark, deep, and hidden. I could see him dead at his desk as though he were in front of me right nowhead flung back, blood stains on his shirt. Don’t think about it.

  “Most people thought Jack was a real jerkface … even my own husband, Pete.”

  “Did he, too, suspect you and Hillman had an affair?” I asked gently.

  She turned her face up, her eyes tear-stained. “Yeah. But it wasn’t true, I swear it. Pete was in jail, and I was lonely … All Jack and I did was go out a few times and talk. Nothing more.”

  “And the next thing you know is you’re being branded a scarlet woman?”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing” Nix the Hawthorne reference.

  “When Pete got out of jail, some of his so-called buddies couldn’t wait to tell him that I’d been carrying on with Jack. Pete was furious. He’s always been such a sweet guy, but when he heard about me and Jack, he went berserk. Swore he’d get back at Jack if it was the last thing he’d do”

  “When was that?”

  “About a month ago” She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. “Pete hasn’t spoken to me since.”

  “Nora, do you think he could’ve … murdered Hillman? Was he that angry?”

  She dropped her eyes to the floor.

  “Nora?”

  “I �
�� I don’t know,” she whispered. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been afraid even to think about it.”

  “Did Detective Billie question you yet?”

  “No, but I’m expecting him any day. I don’t know what I’m going to say.”

  “The truth … it’s always best” I patted her hand. “Do you know where Pete is?”

  “He hangs out at the Trade Winds Marina with some of the other fishermen. They’re okay guys. But sometimes I think they sit around and talk too much about old times. The fishing industry isn’t what it used to be since the net ban. Fishermen who’d cast nets for generations couldn’t fish with them anymore, but a lot of the guys did it on the side. Pete’s their hero because he went to jail and refused to rat out the guys who worked for him.” A touch of admiration lit her voice.

  “I see”

  “I’m not saying he did the right thing, but he took his punishment like a man.”

  “Have you told Pete that you’re still in love with him?”

  Her mouth trembled. “It shows, huh?”

  “Like a beacon”

  “I haven’t told him. What’s the point?” She sniffed and blinked back a fresh flow of tears. “I don’t think our relationship has a snowball’s chance of making it, but I still hope…”

  “You never know.” It was lame, I knew. But anyone who worked in a place like the Seafood Shanty needed encouragement. “Did Hillman ever say anything about being short of money?”

  “Him?” She looked up, her eyes wide in surprise. “No way. He always tipped big.”

  “Just curious.”

  “Now that you mention it, he did say a couple of times that he worried about the high cost of college tuition. I just thought he was making conversation … you know, how expensive everything is-that kind of thing.”

  College tuition? Something clicked in my brain. Of course. I mentally snapped my fingers. If Todd Griffith from Big Brothers/Big Sisters was finishing up high school, he’d be going to college this fall. Hillman needed money for his tuition.

  “Is something wrong?” Nora asked. “You look like you swallowed a lemon or something.

  “No, I’m fine” I’d compressed my lips so the motor mouth wouldn’t kick in and reveal what I thinking.

  “I don’t really think my husband could’ve killed Jack,” she added.

  “That says a lot. You still believe in him.”

  “I guess I do.” A tiny glimmer of optimism brightened her face.

  “Nora, baby, we’d like some more drinks over here,” a burly biker shouted the other side of the room.

  “I’ve got to go back to work.” She rose, brushing back strays hair with a shaky hand. “Thanks for listening-and the gum.”

  “Anytime.”

  As she made her way toward the biker group, I tossed a few dollars on the table for the beer and added a generous tip. If anyone could use a break, it was Nora.

  I emerged from the Seafood Shanty as if I were coming out from under a cloud into the sunlight. Speaking of clouds … I looked up. Still overcast, the sky looked the same. Flat gray clouds hovered low, and not a hint of breeze stirred the heavy, humid air.

  When the rain began, it was going to be a doozy.

  I hopped back into Rusty and covered the short distance to the Trade Winds Marina in no time. Located down the road from the Seafood Shanty, the marina separated Coral Island from the mainland, with a tiny fishing village, Paradisio, in between. I’m not sure if the name really reflected this little assortment of fishing shacks and bait shops, but I guess it depends on your point of view. I pulled into the marina and spied a group of fishermen next to the docks stacking rods and reels.

  “Hi, have any of you seen Pete?” I asked in my most polite, I’m-just-a-nice-girl tone.

  No one looked up, but I thought I heard one or two of them grunt. The group contained men of various ages and stages of sun damage, but all of them wore kneelength white rubber fishing boots. Locals referred to them as “island Reeboks.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  An old, grizzled-looking man with nut-brown skin and a couple of missing teeth grunted what sounded like, “Smaint fear.”

  “Huh?” I moved closer. The smell of fish and salt water assailed my senses.

  “I said he ain’t here,” the old man enunciated the last two words with slow, careful emphasis.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “Nope” He began winding line around a battered fishing reel.

  “Would you tell him that Mallie Monroe from the Observer wants to talk to him?” I directed my comments to the same old guy. At least he was talking. The other men just ignored me. But I had the sense that they were listening keenly.

  He grunted again, focusing on his task.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” I placed my card on the overturned bucket in front of him where he’d set his fishing knife. “Have him call my phone number at the Observer.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I turned around and slammed right into Detective Billie’s rock solid chest.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you.” Breathless, I stepped back. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt and jeans, his dark skin contrasting with the light fabric of his shirt in an intriguing way. Every time I saw him, he was progressively more casual. Perhaps next time in shorts and a muscle shirt? Briefly, images of his wide shoulders and nicely developed arms flitted through my mind and, before I could stop myself, my mouth curved into a smile.

  “You look like the cat who’s lapped up the cream,” he said.

  “Actually, I had three donuts this morning.”

  “It doesn’t show.” One dark brow lifted as he raked my boyish curves.

  “I’ve got a fast metabolism … runs in my family. Everyone on my mother’s side can eat and eat and eat and never gain weight. It’s absolutely incredible. You wouldn’t believe what I can put away in one meal. Appetizer, entree, dessert-you name it. I can eat-“

  “And talk and talk and talk,” he quipped.

  Several of the fishermen erupted in loud guffaws, and Detective Billie touched my elbow to move me away from them.

  “That’s another trait from my mother’s side-my great aunt, Lily, can talk the stripes off a zebra”

  “I know.” One side of his mouth twisted upward in an ironic semblance of a smile. “Look, I was driving off the island and saw your truck. Did you get my receptionist’s message that I wanted to talk to you?”

  “Uh … sort of, but I had an urgent errand to run.” I guess it was hard to ignore Rusty … he was one of a kind.

  “At the marina?”

  Desperately, I scanned the grounds for some kind of reason that would’ve caused my pressing need to be here. I spotted the Paradisio Seafood Market sign. “I needed to buy some … shrimp. Yes, some shrimp for dinner tonight. I really like my shrimp fresh and wanted to get it right off the boats, if you know what I mean”

  He didn’t look as if he was buying it.

  “I’ve gotten spoiled since I came to Coral Island with all the fresh seafood that’s available … grouper, snook, snapper, not to mention smoked mullet. That’s my favorite.” Truthfully, I hated smoked anything, but it was a Coral Island specialty and I wanted to show that I knew my seafood.

  “Okay, you’ve made your point,” he said wryly.

  A boat engine roared into life next to us, causing a cloud of exhaust to spew out.

  We both coughed.

  “Any new developments on the murder case?” I managed to get out between choking and coughing.

  “One or two leads” His dark eyes fastened on me. “What about you? Find out anything you’d care to pass on?”

  “Nothing earth-shaking” I licked my suddenly dry lips.

  We averted our heads in opposite directions. We were both lying, and we both knew it.

  “What about Everett? Dig up anything new on him?” I finally asked. In spite of the morning’s revelations, he was still my number one suspect.

&n
bsp; “No” His voice was firm, final. Okay.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” I finally inquired.

  He checked his watch-sleek gold with a brown crocodile strap. Functional elegance. Needless to say, it didn’t have a Mickey Mouse figure in the center with tiny white-gloved hands pointing at the hours and minutes. “I don’t have time to go into it right now because I’ve got to see Hillman’s attorney about funeral arrangements.”

  “You?”

  “There’s nobody else. He wanted to be cremated and have his ashes spread in the Gulf. No ceremony. No fuss.”

  I tried not to grimace. It sounded so cold. Like the disposal of the dead egret.

  “Could you come by the police station tomorrow?”

  “On Sunday? Most people take that day off.”

  “Most people don’t have a murder case to solve.”

  I sighed. “What time do you want me to come by?”

  “Late morning.” He checked his watch again. “See you then.”

  “Oh, I dropped the transcript with your receptionist this morning.”

  “Thanks” He turned and strode toward his truck. Applying my handy-dandy vehicular psychoanalysis, I noted he drove a black, Ford F-150. Cap-covered bed, clean sidewalls, and shiny finish. Wow. A symbol for a man who appeared to have everything under control. That truck could take on anything that the road had to offer.

  I looked back at Rusty with his semi-bald tires, dull paint job, and dented front fender. Not pretty by any stretch of the imagination. But he could pull my Airstream and get me where I had to go. That’s all I thought a truck needed to do at one time. But now I wondered if maybe I needed more.

  For starters, it sure would be nice to have airconditioning.

  Was I becoming a yuppie like my siblings? Next, I’d be trading my sandals for sling-back pumps.

  Not likely. I glanced up the road to make certain Detective Billie was out of sight. Then I climbed into Rusty, fired up the engine, and patted him on the dashboard. “Don’t worry, old buddy. We’re in this together.” He backfired a couple of times.

  I headed back to the island. Detective Billie would be on the mainland for the afternoon. Hooray. I had free rein to talk to suspects. But who? Pete was out of the question until he contacted me. Burt wasn’t a particularly promising possibility. That left Everett. It was time to talk to him again, but now, I knew his weak spot: Mabel.