Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 01 - Peril in Paradise Page 11

  Half an hour later, Rusty lumbered up the shell driveway that led to Everett’s house. I honked the horn a couple of times, just to alert him in case he had the urge to aim a BB gun at me. Of course, my horn didn’t work much better than anything else on my little truck. Instead of a loud blast, the horn emitted a sound that was somewhere between a high pitched squeak and a tortured groan. Instead of alerting other drivers and pedestrians to my presence, it generally made them look around to see if they had hit an animal or something.

  At any rate, my horn didn’t alert or alarm Everett. I got no response at all.

  I gave a few more pathetic toots.

  Finally, I heard a voice yell from inside the house, “I heard you all right, missy.”

  That was more like it.

  “I’d like to talk you,” I yelled out from inside my truck.

  “We already talked,” he shouted back. I could see the outline of his body behind the front screen door.

  “I have a little something for Mabel-to make up for my last visit. I know how much she means to you. And being a cat person myself, I wanted her to know that I care” So I was laying it on a bit thick. Food might be the way to a man’s stomach, but animals were the way to Everett’s sympathies.

  “A present?” He cracked open the screen door.

  “Yep. A little toy mouse and a catnip ball. Whadaya say? Can I get out of my truck without your calling Nick Billie on me?”

  He cackled. “He read you the riot act, huh?”

  “Just told me not to annoy you. And I fully intend to live up to my promise. I won’t bother you or trespass on your property-unless you give me permission.” I watched as he stepped outside his house. “I only wanted to pay my respects to Mabel”

  “Well … get out of that dadblamed wreck of a truck, will you?”

  “Sure” I reached for the door handle and it jammed. Damn. I’d have to do it the hard way. I curled my fingers around the roof and lifted myself out of the window, head first since I was wearing a blue jean sundress. Then I slithered my body out, careful not to flash too much leg in Everett’s direction. Not that he’d probably notice. But, hey, I still had some shreds of modesty left.

  When I finally cleared the window of my truck, I brushed off my sundress and grabbed the tiny package I’d picked up at Whiteside’s on the way here. I waved it in Everett’s direction.

  “Okay, already,” he grumbled. He wore the plaid shorts again, but obviously had gone for a more formal look by adding an undershirt. The front was stained with what appeared to be brown paint, but it could’ve been food or tobacco. I decided not to speculate further.

  When I reached his porch, I halted and held out the little plastic bag.

  He snatched it from me and peered inside.

  “Does Mabel like toy mice?”

  “She likes to kill real mice, but this one will do to train her to be more of a hunter.”

  Oh, goody. Everett can attack bunnies and maybe birds, while Mabel goes after the mice. They’d be a two-member attack team.

  “Mr. Jacobs, I really didn’t mean to harass you about Hillman’s murder last time I was here-“

  “Bullhockey. Snooping is part of your job” He lifted the catnip ball out of the bag and examined it.

  “Uh … uh-” For once my motor mouth failed me.

  “Go ahead, admit it. You think I’m an irascible old coot.” He gave a short bark of laughter and I noticed his right incisor was missing. “It’s true, I am. I don’t like people and they don’t like me”

  I had to give him points for honesty.

  “Everybody tries so hard to be nice all the time, when inside they’re just seething with anger and resentment. I don’t see any merit in holding back. It only makes you crazy. So, yes, I’m a mean old man and proud of it.”

  He scored a few more points.

  “That’s why I’m so attached to Mabel. Animals don’t have no hidden motives. They either like you or hate you” He opened the screen door and tossed the catnip onto the porch. “She’ll love that”

  I heard a loud meow and the quick patter of claws against the tile floor.

  “That’s my Mabel. She moves faster than you can say `jack rabbit’”

  The word “rabbit” made me think of the BB gun again.

  “Speaking of rabbits, I heard that the island has a problem with brown rabbits-“

  “Damn right we do. They eat my hibiscus bushes right down to the stalk. Especially when there’s no rain. There ain’t no grass for them to nibble on, so they take to my plants.” A sly grin peeped out from his bushy beard. “But I deal with ‘em in my own way”

  “And that is?”

  He directed a penetrating stare at me. “That’s for me to know.”

  Okay. Move on to another topic. “Looks like we might have a heck of a rainstorm brewing.”

  “Stop beating around the bush, missy. Go ahead and ask me”

  I paused. “Did you murder Hillman?”

  “Everybody thinks I did. Can’t say I blame them. We argued constantly. We couldn’t stand the sight of each other.” He hooked his gnarled thumbs in the expansive waistband of his shorts. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say I killed him.”

  “So you’re saying you didn’t murder him?”

  “Thought about it lots of times … but I couldn’t take another human life. Even if it was a low-down, nasty piece of work like Hillman. And that’s exactly what I told Detective Billie.”

  I’m sure that was convincing. “He hasn’t arrested you, so I guess that says something.”

  “I also have an alibi,” he added.

  “You do?”

  “I just said I did.”

  “Okay. I was just affirming what you said.” It was lame, I know. But nobody ever said I had the hang of questioning suspects yet.

  He waved a hand in disgust. “I was on the mainland getting parts for my lawnmower, and I have witnesses who’ll say they saw me there, too-around five P.M”

  “You don’t use the Island Hardware?” Keep him talking; he might trip himself up. Even if he went off the island, he had ample time to get back to the island and murder Hillman. Weak alibi.

  “Them people? No way. Not since I found they were charging two dollars apiece more for a bag of nails. Told ‘em so, too. We had a big blowup two years ago and I haven’t been back since.”

  Now why didn’t that surprise me? “What did Detective Billie say about your alibi?”

  “Nothing. He don’t use a lot of fancy words and waste my time.” Everett gave me another pointed stare. “What about you, missy? You’re a suspect ‘cause you found the body. You got an alibi?”

  “Not a specific one per say, but I had no motive to murder Hillman.”

  “Hah. Just knowing him was enough of a motive as far as I’m concerned”

  “A few days ago I might’ve agreed with you but, since that time, I’ve found out a couple of things about Hillman that have made me see him in a new light. He wasn’t a total jerk, by any means”

  “Says you”

  `Bradley Johnson seemed to like him.”

  “More’s the fool.”

  “I thought I saw you with him this morning at the Starfish Lodge-“

  “There you go snooping around again.” His mouth pulled into a tight line.

  “I wasn’t snooping. I was meeting the writers’ group there and just happen to see the two of you leaving,” I hastened to defend myself. “It was sort of hard not to notice since you seemed to be having a disagreement with Bradley.”

  He cleared his throat and spit off to one side. “I stopped in to pick up a bagel just minding my own business-and that fool comes up and tells me those rock crunchers up on the shell mounds-“

  “The archaeologists?”

  “Grave robbers if you ask me” He spit again. “They want to start digging a new site on the mounds-on the highest spot closest to my house. I told him no way anyhow. I will not have all that commotion up there disturbing Mabel”

/>   “And that’s what you were arguing about?”

  “Damn straight.”

  “What happened?”

  “He saw my point of view.” A flash of yellow teeth appeared. “And I’d better not see anybody up there or I’ll ..”

  “Or you’ll do what?” I prompted.

  “Nothin’” He spit again and I stepped back. Either he was aiming for me or his vision was off, but I felt a sprinkle on my sandal. Yuck.

  “I guess I’ll be going.” I didn’t want to take a chance on where his next stream of spit was going to end up. “I hope Mabel feels tip-top soon. My own pet has been having some problems with local birds. They’re all over Twin Palms and upset him to no end. Have you ever had that problem?”

  “Nope. Mabel and I like birds. Especially the big vultures … they pick up roadkill and move on, cleaning up the roads and minding their own business.”

  “So you’d never harm a bird?”

  “Why would I do that?” He began to clear his throat and I knew what was coming.

  “Okay” I stepped back. “See ya”

  Turning on my heel, I moved away just in time. His stream of spit barely missed my left foot.

  I yanked on Rusty’s driver’s side door and, miraculously, it opened. I said a quick prayer to the saint of ancient, ramshackle cars and slid in behind the wheel. As I drove off, I peered in the rearview mirror. Everett was still standing there, watching me. I saw him crumple the brown bag containing the stuffed mouse and toss it on the ground. Oh, well, at least my catnip ball had been a hit.

  No matter what he said, the jury was still out on whether he’d put the dead bird on my hood. And his alibi the night Hillman was murdered seemed shaky.

  I headed back to Mango Bay, more than ready for the restful peace of the Twin Palms resort.

  As soon as I drove up to my RV site, I scanned the picnic table. No more dead birds. Whew.

  Humming in relief, I made for my Airstream, when I noticed a book on my top step. Coral Island: Paradise Forgotten. I leafed through it and a piece of paper fell out.

  Dear Mallie,

  The present is always tied to the past. You might find the answers you seek in these pages. At any rate, it makes better bedtime reading than bike path committee minutes.

  Sam

  Two notes in one day. I had to admit that our omnipotent handyman was on the ball.

  Kong barked-reminding me that his little bladder was ready to burst.

  “Okay, K.K., I’m here,” I exclaimed as I swung the Airstream door open.

  Kong came bounding out. I picked him up and buried my face in his soft apricot fur. “Sorry, buddy, I’ve been an all-around thoughtless airhead for leaving you so long.” He licked my face in instant forgiveness. As I reveled in his complete and non-judgmental licks of love, I wondered why my family couldn’t be like that? Accept me for who I am? I’m Mixed-up Mallie, and that’s all there is to it.

  All of a sudden, a thought rang with the clarity of a church bell inside of my mind. Maybe it’s time to grow up. My eyes met Kong’s. “What’s happening to me? Is this what being involved in a murder investigation does to someone?” I inquired of him. He stopped licking my face.

  A spurt of apprehension shot through me. Full-blown, four-alarm adulthood conjured up images of little white houses behind neat little picket fences in boring little towns. Serious. Nose-to-the-grindstone. Dull routines. Oh, no. I’d become just like my parents.

  Mercifully, I was spared any further nightmarish speculation when the clouds finally opened up. Big, heavy drops fell on the back of my head and drizzled down my neck. I grabbed Kong’s leash, took him for a quick walk, and lowered the awning of my Airstream. I’d been through tropical storms before, and this one promised to be in the words of Wanda Sue “a frogstrangler.” My honeymooning neighbors had taken in their swimsuits and already closed their awning. No doubt they intended to ride out the storm in their own way.

  Sighing, I battened down inside of my Airstream with only Kong and Sam’s book for companionship.

  Alone.

  It was time to grow up.

  The rain fell in torrential sheets most of the night, accompanied by wind gusts that roared through the trailer park like a rushing train. I was grateful for every one of the four thousand two hundred and twenty-five pounds of my Airstream as one blast of rain and wind passed through after another.

  I tried reading the Coral Island history book for an hour or two, especially the part on the Caloosa Indians. I learned that they lived by hunting and fishing, but also had a complex social network all throughout Southwest Florida.

  I was just getting to the part about ritual sacrifice when the power went out. I flipped the book shut, huddled under the covers with Kong, and tried to ignore the howling wind outside. Eventually, I must’ve dropped off to sleep because the next thing I knew it was morning. My Airstream intact, my body not yet sacrificed by the Caloosa, my dog snuggling in the crook of my arm. Hooray. I’d made it through the night, though still no power.

  I peeped my head outside the Airstream. The sky, a gunmetal gray, looked threatening, and rain continued to fall in a gentle, steady rhythm. Evidence of last night’s tumult appeared everywhere. Palm fronds lay scattered on the ground along with stray branches from nearby pine trees. Leaves, bits of garbage, and downed power lines gave the RV park a ragged, tattered look.

  The behemoth next door survived, its generator humming.

  I wondered if my honeymooning neighbors had even noticed that a storm had passed over.

  “Howyadoing?” Wanda Sue said as she stopped at my site. A large garbage bag in one hand, a soft drink can in the other, she appeared to be a one-woman clean-up crew. Pop Pop Welch was no doubt occupied with his usual morning nap. Amazingly, her hair was still standing, not a hair out of place in its six-inch-high beehive.

  “I made it through the storm” I stepped outside, checking to see if anyone else was around. I didn’t particularly want anyone to see me in my knee-length Mickey Mouse sleep shirt. I made a mental note that if I indeed intended to grow up, I probably needed to get rid of all my Mickey regalia-except the watch. I really loved the watch.

  “We just made it through the first part of the storm,” Wanda Sue said, picking up a crumpled paper plate. “The rest of the system is stalled a few miles out. We’ll probably have more heavy rain for at least a couple of days”

  “Will we have to evacuate?” For once, images of hooking up my Airstream behind Rusty didn’t cause excitement to build inside of me. I wanted to stay and solve Hillman’s murder.

  “I don’t think so-not yet. All around Mango Bay the power is out and there’s standing water up to your wazoo” She pointed to her knees for emphasis. I thought the “wazoo” was located higher, but I could’ve been wrong.

  “The roads are still passable, thank goodness,” she continued. “We should be okay as long as the rain doesn’t get too bad. But just to play it safe, be ready in case they announce an evacuation.”

  “What about the power? I really, really need a cup of coffee”

  “Sorry … no go for a while.” She shrugged. “All the RV’s are going to have to rely on their generators for awhile.”

  Oh, boy. Needless to say, I didn’t have one.

  She strolled off, her industrial-size garbage bag trailing behind her. I was still momentarily entranced by her hair helmet, wondering how many cans of hair spray she went through each week.

  I gave myself a mental shake and walked Kong. We didn’t linger. I had things to do. People to see. A darkhaired detective in particular.

  I took a quick, cold shower and donned my usual uniform of T-shirt and jeans, taking a few minutes to finger comb my curls. With the humidity so high and no airconditioning, my hair resembled a cross between a bird’s nest and brillo pad. Oh, well, it was the best I could do.

  In half an hour I was on the road, maneuvering Rusty through the rain-soaked streets of Mango Bay. Water pooled in deep pockets, running with litt
le currents across the road in low spots, and tree limbs lay scattered in lumpy piles. Luckily, my truck managed to lumber through the obstacles, and I was on Cypress Road, heading for the island center.

  As I parked in front of the police station, only one car was in the parking lot-the black truck. Oh, goody. Just Detective Billie and me. He could berate me to his heart’s content and no one would hear. I climbed out of Rusty. The driver’s door was working again-why, I don’t know. I’d just learned to accept my beloved truck’s idiosyncrasies without question.

  “Hello?” I called out as I stepped inside.

  “Back here,” Detective Billie said in a curt voice.

  “How’s it going?” I entered his office. He was on the phone barking orders to someone.

  He nodded and motioned for me to take a seat. I decided to remain standing. If I didn’t get too comfortable, I might get out of there sooner as opposed to later. That way, he couldn’t browbeat me, and I could keep my heart from racing at the sight of his handsome face.

  “There’s no need to panic, Bob. We’ll monitor the weather reports and decide our course of action in an orderly, careful manner. If, and I repeat, if we have to issue an evacuation order, we’ll can do it through the emergency radio broadcast system,” he was saying. “You’ll have plenty of time to leave the island.”

  Salty Bob must’ve disagreed because Detective Billie frowned into the phone. “Look, I’ve got someone in the office I need to see. I’ll call you back”

  He hung up, muttering something under his breath.

  “Don’t tell me, Salty Bob is worried about his bike path easement flooding.”

  He nodded. “Every year it’s the same thing. A little heavy rain and some wind, and people are ready to head for Tallahassee” He raked a hand through his dark hair and looked up at me. His eyes appeared tired, his face drawn with a five o’clock shadow that stretched to midnight. Darn. My heart already began to race. That ragged, edgy look was enough to make my engine hum.