by Mary Bowers
I lay my head back lazily and let a row of fishermen pass before my eyes, all of them standing in a line on an old section of the overwater highway that got bypassed and closed to traffic. The original Key highway had been built over a railbed, doggedly constructed by Henry Flagler over 100 years before, in the face of hurricanes, tropical storms and the lives of many workingmen. With enough money, you can bring your rich friends with you wherever you go, and Flagler had enough money to build a bridge around the entire planet.
When I stopped talking, Michael prompted me. “And when Ed got to Key West with his paranormal reality show, this Oswald fella called him and got him over to the shop,” he said. “Do you think he was hoping to get on the show, once he heard they were there? Haunted places in Key West are big business, second only to the place at the bar where Ernest Hemmingway used to get plastered.”
“Actually, Ed said Oswald called him about the teacup before they even got there. He went straight to the antique shop as soon as he got to Key West, while the rest of the crew got settled in the bed-and-breakfast.”
“How did this Oswald know that Ed’s reality show was even coming to Key West, then?”
I paused and looked at his profile. “That’s a good question. I’ll have to ask Ed.”
Michael shrugged. “Probably not important. But curious. Maybe he follows the Haunt or Hoax? website.”
“No, that’s not it. They stopped posting their current location on the site. Too many weirdos were showing up at the shoots.”
Michael quirked a smile. “You mean besides the cast and crew of Haunt or Hoax?”
I soft-punched his arm. “Now, Michael, shame on you. You know what dedicated scientists they are – just a small, courageous band of researchers, human and canine both, united in the face of the unknown – hoping that at the end of each episode they’ll all still be alive . . . and sane – ”
“Stop. You’re making me carsick.”
“Yeah, me too. Let’s talk about something else. Look at that island over there. Wouldn’t that be a nice place to put up a shack and live on lobsters and seaweed for a while? Not all the time; just every now and then. Next Key we come to, let’s stop at a real estate office and see if that island’s for sale.”
He grinned. “Nope. But keep talking about it anyway. It’s a nice dream.”
* * * * *
We had left Tropical Breeze before the crack of dawn, so we got to Key West mid-afternoon, around 3:30. It was too early to look around for a place to have dinner, and we were tired, so I called Ed and told him we had arrived and asked for directions to The Sailor’s Rest Bed and Breakfast.
The B&B turned out to be a glorified clapboard cottage on a side street east of Duval Street, a stone’s throw away from a big cemetery (of course). Ed had mentioned that the B&B was struggling, and I could see why. It was several blocks from the watering holes of the main drag, and just as far in another direction from the trendy area around the Key West Bight. Most of the year, Key West is too hot for long walks in the daytime. Even after dark, when it cools down, it was going to be a long crawl back from the bars.
Ed was standing by the curb, and when he saw my white SUV coming around the corner, he stepped into the street and began to semaphore with both arms.
“Just leave it here,” he said as Michael rolled the SUV to a stop and put the window down. “Arielle will move it. Her private parking lot is very small, and she likes to jimmy her guest’s cars in together kind of close. I’ll help you with your bags.”
He moved to the back of the car, staring into it hopefully, and when he didn’t see a cat carrier he sagged a little.
“Sorry, Ed,” I told him, “it’s just me and the boyfriend.”
“We really need her,” he said softly. “Still, you’re here. That’s the main thing.”
So he was expecting miracles again. I always hated to let Ed down; he was so hopeful when it came to that holy grail of ghost hunters, the real-deal haunting, and for some reason, he’s decided I’m a paranormal magnet.
It would have been easy to discount Ed, if you didn’t know him as well as I did. His appearance was not impressive. I’m 5’9” and I have to look down several inches to get to eye level with him. When I do, half the time there’s so much light reflecting off his glasses I still can’t see the brown of his eyes. Underneath his shock of bristly white hair, I can always see the worry lines in his forehead, though. He’s wrapped a little tight, and always seems to be yearning for something just out of reach. Most women find him socially invisible, but those of us who do notice him always want to mother him, to give him a cookie or something, anything to ease his worried mind.
Michael isn’t much taller than Ed, but his presence, when he came around to the back of the SUV, was a complete contrast. He’s a retired lawyer, and he has the assuredness of the man who has achieved all his goals in life and done well for himself. From a distance, you might have mistaken Ed and Michael for brothers: the same heads of white hair and the same lean bodies, but they came by them differently. Michael was fit and trim because he was active and healthy, and his hair was white because like me, he was in his sixties. Ed was slightly built because he kept forgetting to eat, and as for the hair, yes, he was in his fifties, but his hair had turned white when he was barely past his twenties.
But the real difference was in the eyes. Close-up, Michael’s were ice-blue and tranquil. Ed’s were puppy-dog brown and worried. Always.
“Michael,” Ed said formally, “hello and welcome.” He inched closer as they shook hands and murmured something to Michael that I didn’t catch. Michael nodded in acknowledgment and the moment was over. They both turned to me, then moved to retrieve the luggage.
“You’ll like Arielle,” Ed said to me as we rolled along with the suitcases. The way he said it communicated to me instantly that I wasn’t going to like her at all. “She’s the innkeeper of The Sailor’s Rest. She does everything herself – a gourmet breakfast, cakes and goodies in the afternoon, wine and cheese in the evening, and throughout the day, of course, advice on local activities. Also, simple companionship, if you’d like it. Yes. She’s quite a lady. You’ll . . . um . . . you’ll like her.”
I shared a doubtful look with Michael behind Ed’s back.
“Ah, here she is now,” he said, as a formerly attractive woman in her mid-forties came out the front door and walked toward us.
She looked me up and down critically, just about the moment I realized I was doing the same thing to her. I suddenly became glad that I’d worn fresh clothes that went together well, instead of wearing road clothes and opting to change into something nice when we got to our destination. I was unwrinkled in white stretch capris and an oversized, charcoal and black tee shirt that said, “Cats and books – purrrfect!” on the front. Rather tasteful, as message tee shirts went, and the white capris showed off my long legs – longer than hers.
“Arielle Barkley,” Ed pronounced, “these are my friends, Taylor Verone and Michael Utley. They will be assisting us in our investigation.”
“How nice to meet you both,” she said, zeroing in on Michael. “Call me Elle.”
Oh, yeah, a maneater. It made me tired, really. Michael is as true-blue as a German Shepherd, so she could paw at him and lick his face all she wanted. He’d just smile at her, then come back to me and sit pretty, metaphorically speaking.
I’ll begin at the top and get down to the bare feet in a minute. Her hair was fluffy blond (over-processed), and would have been more flattering about four inches shorter (like mine). As it was, it hung down in confused tendrils, and her bangs needed a trim. Her complexion had kissed the sun a few times too many. It wasn’t quite beaten to leather yet, but if she kept it up, in about ten years it would be. For now, it was a permanent tan, which tended to make her misty green eyes pop. Her eyes, in fact, were pretty much the same color as mine, except mine are clear. Like cool limeade in the summertime, or so I’ve been told. I don’t stand at the mirror and analyze my eye c
olor, but it’s been pointed out to me by an objective observer whose judgment I trust. Just painting a picture for you.
She was wearing a jungle-flower bikini top and white cotton shorts, and as a fair and honest woman I will simply say that her figure warranted the exposure, though the décolleté was showing signs of wear and tear. She was long, lean and firm, except, you know, right there under the arms. Where the crepe begins? Inner thighs, too, I figured, but I tried not to look.
She was tall, like me, but whereas I was in my strappy white sandals with the slightly elevated heels, she was barefoot, as I said, and her cherry-red toenails in her very brown feet looked like popping red eyes, staring at you all the time.
Okay, I didn’t like her. But I could tell right away that she didn’t like me, either, and for a much more primitive reason: she didn’t like other women. Any other women. I like plenty of women; I just didn’t like her.
“Nice to meet you, Ella,” I said politely.
She gave me an evil flutter. “Elle, dear. Elle. Ella is your grandmother; Elle is your competition.” Then she laughed, demonstrating that it was just a joke, and I laughed, demonstrating that I knew exactly what she meant, the bitch.
If the men understood the subtext, they didn’t show it. Only an extra brightness in Michael’s eyes made me wonder for a moment, but when I looked again it was gone. Ed, of course, was still talking away about the Key West project, and how the focus was shifting from the cemetery to the antique shop, even though Teddy was still hoping for an axe.
“Here, dear,” Arielle said, lifting my tote bag from my shoulder, “let me take that. It’s much too heavy for you.”
“Thank you, dear,” I said, letting her take it. Not because I couldn’t handle it. Because it was her job.
“I’m afraid I only have one room available, but maybe Ed will let you stay in his room with him, Michael,” Arielle said as we went into the bed-and-breakfast.
“Oh, Taylor and I will be staying together,” Michael said. “We’re a couple.”
“I see,” Arielle murmured. I smiled at her brilliantly.
“So this is The Sailor’s Rest,” I said, looking around. “Where are all the sailors? Are we near the harbor?”
She gave a tinkly laugh, and I knew I’d scored a bull’s eye. She was in a lousy location and she knew it. “Everyone in Key West is a sailor,” she said airily. “Didn’t you know that? When I bought the B&B, I knew right away I needed to update the décor to go with the new name. Victorian B&B’s are getting to be such a cliché. I’m in the middle of redecorating, and you’re in luck; your room is one of the ones I’m finished with.”
The entrance parlor was actually nice; light, bright and cool. White-painted furniture with dark blue and white patterned upholstery (anchors, of course), did give the place a nautical look, and the slightly open plantation shutters let in cheerful daylight without letting in heat. The floors were weathered-gray porcelain, giving the look of a ship’s deck, and the artwork was in the same theme, all framed in barnwood.
Our room was the smallest, of course, since we’d arrived last and hadn’t been expected at all, but it was charming and fresh. The walls were painted a pretty, light blue, and the furniture was whitewashed pickling against darker blue fabrics.
The bathroom was tiny. Michael and I were definitely going to be using it in shifts; there wasn’t enough room for two people to even stand up straight in there.
“I’ll have cookies and coffee in the front parlor by the time you’re unpacked, and we’ll be having wine and cheese at six,” Arielle said. “Let me know if there’s anything you need.”
She left, leaving the door open, since Ed was still with us.
Ed, as if he’d been released from the starting gate, began to intensively describe the history of the teacup, and seemed driven beyond endurance when Teddy stepped into the room and began to schmooze. It made me realize how desperately Ed had been waiting for me.
“Hey, nice,” Teddy said, looking around at the décor, after shaking hands and gazing soulfully into my eyes, like he always did. “Arielle’s doing the place over. She’s only finished with this room, the ones Wyatt and Elliott are in, and the one she calls the parlor.” Wyatt and Elliott were the reality show’s behind-the-camera crew. Their rooms must have been tiny, or Teddy would have taken one of them. “She hasn’t even done her own room yet. This place used to be called The Mulberry Tree and was decorated in Early Victorian Tchochke. You should see my room. It’s a nice size, but the only thing not breakable is the floor.”
The mention of breakables made me think of Porter, and as if I’d summoned him, he suddenly came spinning out of the turn and knocked me onto the bed. He’s the love tank – he’s so happy to see you he rolls right over you. He can break bones just saying hello. Your bones, of course; being a bulldog, his bones are protected by a tough layer of solid muscle. I surrendered to the assault and let him slobber all over my face, grunting, snorting and heaving hot breath on me.
Teddy stood at the end of the bed grinning at us. When he said, “My turn!” and made as if to jump onto the bed, I sat up and stared him down.
Then I looked at Michael. “Aren’t you going to defend me?”
He just smiled. “I’m not worried. You’re good at handling bad dogs.”
“Of any species,” I added, giving Teddy a look.
Teddy sat down on the edge of the bed, no offense taken. “Even mutts like me, right?”
Lily appeared at the doorway and said, “Teddy, get off the bed and get out of there. They haven’t even unpacked.”
I was stunned. Once upon a time, Lily and Teddy had planned to get married. The last I’d heard of her, Lily had broken off the engagement, quit the show and dumped Teddy for good. The company had found a new producer who was doing an excellent job keeping them all in line, and I never expected to see Lily again. Naturally, Ed hadn’t mentioned the little detail that she’d be there.
“Lily!” I said, genuinely happy to see her. “You’re back!” She was a friendly, gamine little thing with the look of the urban gypsy about her, and I’d always liked her. She was going to be a lot of fun going to resale shops with, and I suddenly hoped Ed wouldn’t take up too much of my time.
I glanced from Lily to Teddy and back again, unable to find a graceful way to ask if she was here for business or pleasure, or even both.
“Oh, it’s strictly business,” Lily told me, reading my mind. “Right, Teddy?”
“Oh, yeah, right. She’s producing the show again. Strictly business. No fooling around, right, Lily? Not going to be a problem. I’ve always been a gentleman, haven’t I?” he added, giving Lily a wistful look.
“You’ve always been a handful, but I know how to handle you, so there won’t be any trouble.” She turned back to me. “Welcome aboard. I’m as shocked as you are that we both have the lousy judgment to get tangled up with this bunch again. What have you let Ed talk you into this time?”
“Really, ladies!” Ed snapped. “I’m sure we’re all happy to see one another again, and now that the preliminaries are over, it’s time to act like the professionals that we are. Teddy, Lily, I think we should leave them to unpack now. Mr. Grist has kindly agreed to meet us at the shop, even though he is usually closed on Sundays. I think it would be rude to keep him waiting. Please come to my room when you have, er, freshened up, Taylor. I’m in the room called The Quarterdeck, across the hall. I’ll leave the door open. We’ll discuss strategy as we walk to the antique shop.”
“What about my cookies?” I asked, as if I really did want some, which I didn’t. What I wanted was a Rum Runner, and at some point in time, dinner.
Michael said, “I thought we’d start the trip off right and have a drink at Sloppy Joe’s. I’m not sure they have any vegetarian meals for you, but there are probably some appetizers you can have.”
“An excellent idea,” Ed said firmly. “We’ll meet you there when we’re done at the antique shop.”
It isn’t o
ften that Ed stands his ground against so many people, but it was obvious he wasn’t in the mood to negotiate.
I gave Michael an apologetic glance and he looked back, clearly communicating that we’d come all this way to help Ed, and I may as well get started.
Ed was adamant. “Teddy,” he said, “your dog. If you will get him off the bed, I’m sure Taylor and Michael would like a few moments alone to freshen up before the investigation begins.”
Teddy gave in with good grace. He hunkered down with his hands on his knees and looked into the dog’s bright brown eyes. “Porter . . . COOKIES!”
The evacuation was immediate. They went so fast they almost took the air out of the room with them, and Michael and I could only stand back as they thundered by.
The door seemed to close behind them by force of suction, and we were suddenly alone.
Chapter 4
“Ella seems nice,” I said mildly as Ed and I walked along.
The heat of the day was peaking, but soon it would begin to cool off. I’d thought about bringing a jacket along for later but decided not to. I hate carrying things, and if I got cold, a glass of wine would warm me up. Maybe, since I was in Key West, I’d go for something more serious than wine.
Having arrived on the island fresh and unruffled, I hadn’t found it necessary to change clothes.
Ed gave me a sidelong glance, and said, “Now, Taylor, let’s not behave like children.”
I gave him the wide, limeade eyes. “What?”
“If you can’t bring yourself to call her Elle, I think you should stick to her full name.” He sighed. “I was afraid of this. You may think me insensitive to vibrations from the living, but I knew that there would be trouble between you and Arielle; you’re so alike.”
I rounded on him, ready to deny it, but after one sharp syllable I froze, shut my mouth and continued to walk along quietly. After we’d gone half a block, I muttered, “She’s much more tan than I am.”
