It Takes Two to Mango

by Carrie Doyle

  “Yes,” he said flatly.

  “You said it was your friend Jason who’s getting married?”

  “That’s right.”

  Plum quickly gleaned that he was disinterested in small talk (he didn’t even remove his sunglasses!), so she opened her desk drawer and retrieved an envelope with the keys and information on Casa Mango.

  “Here’s everything you need. Would you like me to escort you to the house?”

  He cut her off and swiftly jerked the envelope out of her hand. “That won’t be necessary.”

  She was slightly disappointed, as she would have been proud to show off the renovation and have someone applaud her hard work.

  “Of course. Well, do you need anything else?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  He left without saying goodbye. Plum sunk back into her seat, wondering if she had made a mistake.

  ***

  Lourdes Viruet arrived early Saturday morning to fix breakfast for the guests at Casa Mango. The house was quiet, and she was not sure what time they would arise, but she set about preparing the coffeepot and slicing fresh mangoes, papaya, pineapple, and passion fruit before placing them neatly on a platter. She covered it with cheesecloth so the flies wouldn’t get to it. It wouldn’t make sense to start the eggs or toast until she saw a sign of life, so instead she made her way out to the living room to tidy up. There were some empty beer bottles and a bag of chips that she gathered and deposited in the trash, all the while fluffing pillows and straightening the items that had been displaced on the coffee table. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until she went out the back to the pool area and noticed a big clump of clothing lying next to the Jacuzzi. She picked up a towel by the screen door and went to gather the clothes, only realizing at the last minute that it was not clothes but a person.

  “Señor?” she asked hopefully.

  He did not move. He was a big man with unkempt, sandy hair, who lay facedown on the concrete. Lourdes assumed he was drunk, and she was unsure what to do. She couldn’t leave him, but would he be angry that she had woken him? She was paralyzed by uncertainty. The sun was already strong, and his white skin seemed susceptible to burning, so she became emboldened.

  “Señor?” she said louder.

  Once again, he remained immobile. She looked closely. It appeared he wasn’t even breathing. Lourdes touched his shoulder with hesitation, but he didn’t move. She shook it but again incited no reaction. She slowly turned him over and recoiled in horror. His face was bloated and contorted, and there was blood trickling from his forehead. Lourdes backed away with her mouth agape. She was seized by a desire to escape as quickly as possible, and she ran through the hedge to the neighbor’s house, where her friend Nina worked. Lourdes was so hysterical that it took a minute for her friend to calm her down and find out there was a dead man lying in a heap at Casa Mango.

  Chapter 5

  Plum almost fainted when she received the call. It was her worst nightmare come true. She was sorry the man had died, but that was eclipsed by her rage that Damián and Jonathan Mayhew had been correct. Not to mention this would blemish her career.

  “Something bad?” asked Lucia, reading her face when she put down the phone.

  Plum could only nod.

  “Casa Mango?”

  “You were right,” whispered Plum.

  “I always am,” Lucia replied, matter-of-fact. “I’ll go with you.”

  There were several cars and golf carts parked in the driveway of Casa Mango, and people were coming and going. A cluster of both uniformed men and women and people whose jobs were unidentifiable stood chatting in the entryway, and at one point, a woman burst out in laughter. The festive atmosphere didn’t match the dread that Plum felt.

  Lucia followed her as they made their way out to the pool area. The sun was strong, and the birds were carrying on as if nothing had happened, singing their songs to whomever would listen. A crime scene photographer was snapping pictures, and a couple of official-looking people stood to the side, smoking. Two medics were setting up a stretcher. There was a man in a blazer who stood in the middle with his back to her, and when he moved to the side, Plum’s eyes flitted to the ground in front of him, where the lifeless body of the deceased lay. She felt despondent. When she glanced up, Plum was horrified to realize the man in the blazer was Juan Kevin Muñoz. Her first thought was to jump behind a bush, but a quick glance around revealed she wouldn’t have time to dash away. And Juan Kevin was moving toward her. She would have no choice but to pretend she had never laid eyes on him before.

  “Hello, Lucia,” he said, greeting her colleague warmly, and Lucia did so in return. Then he turned his attention to Plum.

  “Miss Lockhart. How are you today?”

  “Obviously not great,” she retorted with condescension. Unfortunately, that was her fallback tone when she felt defensive.

  “Yes,” he said. “I can imagine.”

  “Do we know who died?” asked Lucia.

  “It was the best man, Nicholas Macpherson.”

  “He’s the one I met.” Plum sighed. “Too bad, he looked very stressed out. He really needed a vacation.”

  “I suppose now he will rest in eternal peace,” said Juan Kevin.

  Plum wanted desperately to avoid eye contact with Juan Kevin, but she could tell he was gazing at her with a penetrating look. She met his eyes and saw a flash of amusement behind them, which irritated her. She did not want this security guard to think he had something on her or that they were somehow buddies just because he had escorted her home when she was drunk. She purposefully forgot she had harbored romantic fantasies about him for twenty-four hours.

  “What happened?” she asked briskly.

  “The police say that it appears he slipped and fell.”

  “That’s terrible,” she said.

  “Yes,” agreed Juan Kevin.

  “Think of the liability. For sure his family will sue us,” lamented Plum.

  Lucia gave her a sympathetic look. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

  “According to his friends, he had too much to drink,” added Juan Kevin.

  “Really?” asked Plum, perking up. “Do you know where they are? I’d like a word with them.”

  “They’re inside,” said Juan Kevin.

  Plum rushed into the villa. She had to contain this situation before lawsuits erupted. If she could get some statements from people that Nick Macpherson was out of his mind on booze, a sympathetic judge might toss a potential civil case. A similar situation had arisen when she was on a travel junket in Peru. A journalist with whom Plum had been rooming (and had despised on sight as she had taken the better bed and refused to trade, despite the fact Plum’s magazine was way more prestigious) had collapsed and been hospitalized, and the rest of the group’s ascent to Machu Picchu was in jeopardy. But when Plum had informed the trip coordinator that the journalist hadn’t taken her altitude sickness pills despite Plum encouraging her to, the group was able to carry on.

  Plum found the remaining bachelors huddled in the corner of the living room, talking in hushed tones. Introductions were made, and the men were identified as Jason Manger and Deepak Gupta.

  “This is a nightmare,” whispered Jason, the groom. He was a very fit man, medium height, in his midthirties, with dark-brown hair closely cropped into a buzz cut and a prominent square jaw that a caricaturist would certainly accentuate. There was an intensity about him that Plum was sure existed even before his best friend had died.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” said Plum.

  “It’s so annoying…typical Nick to get drunk and end up dead. He didn’t know when to stop,” said Jason with irritation. “That was his problem with everything.”

  “Yeah, but Jason, he’s dead, let’s not bash the guy,” said Deepak, in a decidedly British accent that sounded fancy to Plum. He was
taller than his friend, dark-skinned, and slight, and he appeared absolutely stricken. Already there were shadowy bags forming under his eyes.

  “He agreed that this would not get out of control, and sure enough, he partied himself to death,” complained Jason.

  Deepak shook his head with sorrow.

  “It was terrible telling his girlfriend…” said Deepak. “She was so upset.”

  “I can imagine,” murmured Plum.

  Juan Kevin appeared in the hall and motioned for Plum. She called for Lucia and asked her to sit with the men before excusing herself and following Juan Kevin out to the courtyard, where he stopped in front of a short, bowlegged man.

  “This is Captain Diaz. He’s with the police,” said Juan Kevin.

  “You are the owner of this villa?” Captain Diaz said in an unfriendly tone.

  “No, but I represent the owner. He lives in Switzerland, and I have full authority to act on his behalf.”

  They stared at each other cautiously. He was a severe-looking man—completely bald, with pockmarked skin and black eyebrows shaped like two upside-down Vs. Despite the fact that Plum was taller than him, he exuded a menacing presence. She thought he looked not unlike the villain in a Saturday Night Live skit about a Spanish soap opera.

  “We have not removed anything from the scene, and I am confident no one has touched anything, other than to ascertain if the victim had a pulse. We do not have a warrant yet, therefore we need your permission to search the premises. It will most likely be perfunctory; it appears our victim was intoxicated and fell and hit his head.”

  “Of course,” said Plum.

  “We will look in the rooms, and then we can remove the body,” Captain Diaz said.

  The two policemen parted and walked in opposite directions, finally affording Plum a good look at the deceased. His position was contorted, as if twisted into a pretzel, with one leg dangling over the edge of the Jacuzzi, the other near the edge of the adjacent pool. There was a crushed highball glass next to his hand, a murky, brown liquid spilling out of it. A small umbrella that one would place in a fruity drink lay crushed a few feet away. Plum’s eyes swept up toward his face, and she gasped.

  “That’s not him!”

  Everyone froze and turned towards her.

  “What do you mean?” asked Juan Kevin.

  “That’s not Nicholas Macpherson!”

  Captain Diaz’s eyes flared. “What are you saying?”

  “There’s been a mistake.”

  Captain Diaz stared at her for a moment before he quickly went inside and returned instantly with Jason and Deepak, who were followed by Lucia. He pointed at the victim.

  “Is that your friend?”

  Deepak glanced quickly at the body and looked away. Jason’s eyes remained on the body. “Yes,” the groom said.

  “That is Nicholas Macpherson,” repeated Captain Diaz.

  “Yes, that’s him,” repeated Jason.

  They all looked at Deepak, who nodded. “It’s Nick.”

  Everyone turned and looked back at Plum. “It’s not him,” she insisted.

  Captain Diaz sighed impatiently. “Señorita, his own friends have identified him.”

  “I understand…maybe it is Nicholas Macpherson,” she said slowly. “But that’s not the person who came to my office to retrieve the key and said he was Nicholas Macpherson.”

  “How can you be sure?” asked Captain Diaz.

  Plum pointed at the victim. “This man has thick, blond hair. The man who came to my office had short, brown hair. And this—Nick—is a big guy. Looks like a rugby player. The man who identified himself as Nicholas Macpherson was thin and wiry.”

  “Do you know who she is talking about?” Captain Diaz inquired of Jason and Deepak.

  They both shook their heads.

  “The house was open when we arrived,” said Deepak. “Nick never even went to get the keys.”

  “Then who was it?” asked Plum.

  Jason shrugged. “All I know is this is our friend Nick. The other guy…well, I don’t know who that was.”

  “There was an impostor?” asked Juan Kevin.

  “What did his passport say?” asked Lucia.

  “I didn’t look at his passport,” Plum confessed.

  Lucia’s eyes bulged. “When he checked in, what ID did he produce?”

  “None.”

  “You just handed him the keys?”

  “Yes. He said he was Nicholas Macpherson, and I gave him the keys. Was I supposed to ask for proof?” demanded Plum. “I honestly didn’t think that someone would pretend to be my client.”

  Lucia clucked disapprovingly, which made Plum defensive.

  “No one told me I needed to get his ID.”

  “This tragic accident has made you confused.” Captain Diaz sniffed. “This was the man you gave the keys to. This is Nicholas Macpherson. You are mistaken.”

  Plum bristled. “Not so fast, señor. Maybe something sinister is going on.”

  “Nonsense.” The captain bridled. “Nothing sinister happens in Paraiso.”

  Chapter 6

  After the captain’s pronouncement, Casa Mango quickly cleared out. Jason and Deepak went to their bedrooms to rest, Lucia went back to the office, the police officers dispersed, and the body was taken away. Only Plum and Juan Kevin remained. Now that she was alone with him, she again felt a deep wave of embarrassment over the fact that he had carried her to bed and wished he would get lost, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave.

  They both stood contemplating the spot recently occupied by the body of Nicholas Macpherson.

  “We are thinking the same thing,” announced Juan Kevin finally.

  “And what am I thinking?”

  “About our night together.”

  “What? We didn’t have a night together. That’s slander,” said Plum crossly.

  He cut her off. “I’m kidding. But I felt I should acknowledge it.”

  “I don’t think that was necessary. I was obviously suffering from food poisoning, and it affected my ability to walk and talk. I appreciate you taking me home, but I don’t want to revisit that again.”

  Juan Kevin smiled. “All right, then. I hope you are feeling better.”

  “I am. I have chosen to stay away from local fare.”

  “Ah, yes—the food. But as I recall, you hadn’t eaten anything.”

  “Were you taking notes?” she snapped. “Or is this a mean-spirited attempt to make me feel bad?”

  His expression changed. “I apologize. That wasn’t my intention. I was trying to make you feel more comfortable with me, but I failed.”

  “I’ll accept your apology,” Plum acquiesced. A man who apologizes is refreshing, she thought before moving her mind back to business. “And, since you are not a mind reader, you should know I’m thinking this is very suspicious and that police captain of yours is completely inefficient.”

  “He is being thorough.”

  “He’s being lazy, in my opinion.”

  “That is a bold statement.”

  “I am full of them.”

  Juan Kevin appeared concerned. “You believe someone deliberately caused Nicholas Macpherson’s death?”

  “Look, I’m not a detective, but I know that this at least is worth looking into. This smacks of something bad, and I think we are standing in the middle of a crime scene.”

  “How’s that?” asked Juan Kevin.

  She gave him a haughty gaze. “I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who noticed his face. It was bruised and mangled, as if Nicholas Macpherson—if that’s really who he was—had been attacked by a frying pan. It was not the sort of bruising one gets from a fall.”

  Juan Kevin shifted his stance but nodded. “His injury appeared almost…personal.”

  Plum’s eyes fl
itted around the area where Nicholas’s body had lain. “And look at these marks.”

  She pointed to where the body had been, then she stepped off the slate patio and continued down to the row of palm trees and bushes lining the fence that separated Casa Mango from its neighbor. “The path I just walked has flattened grass and disturbed stones. It looks as if he was murdered near the trees separating Casa Mango from the neighbor’s house and then dragged so it seemed as if he fell by the Jacuzzi.”

  She bent down and scanned the lawn. There was a cigar, almost completely unused, lying in the grass. She pointed to it.

  “It’s Cuban. Expensive and illegal to buy in the U.S., not to mention disgusting.”

  “Disgusting is a matter of opinion. But yes, I agree it’s unusual that it was discarded.”

  Plum walked back toward the Jacuzzi.

  “And we should find out what he was drinking. There’s a beer over here by the pool, and look at this.” She picked up a tiny, squashed umbrella, the sort one finds in fruity cocktails. “Someone had a daiquiri. And then here, this highball glass”—she picked it up and sniffed it—“smells like rum. Why didn’t the police take it to be tested? Maybe it was poisoned.”

  Juan Kevin smiled with amusement.

  “Why are you giving me that odd look?” Plum bristled.

  “I am impressed with your theories.”

  “They are more than theories. They are…” She was about to say something, but a glint of something deep in the frothing, blue Jacuzzi water caught her eye. She slipped off her heels and waded down the steps of the hot tub.

  “Are you going for a dip?”

  She gave him an infuriated look. She bent down and ran her hand on the bottom of the Jacuzzi. Her fingers scraped around the floor until she grasped what she had been looking for. She held it up.

  Juan Kevin squinted and moved closer. “An earring?”

  “Yes.”

  It was a dangling, turquoise earring. Not expensive, thought Plum.

  “Doesn’t necessarily mean anything, could have been there before.”

  “Juan Kevin, I made sure this place was immaculate when I leased it. I can assure you there was no earring in this hot tub when we rented it to these men.”