It Takes Two to Mango

by Carrie Doyle

  “Very.”

  She could not have fled his car faster. She thanked him for dinner then rushed into the town house, locking the door behind her. She went to her bedroom, tore off her dress, lathered herself up with more aloe, and put on a nightgown. When she was finally in bed and the initial shock had elapsed, she laughed at herself. Why should she believe Martin? He was the scary one. Plum was being ridiculous. She quickly fell asleep.

  ***

  The noise was so subtle that Plum might not have roused if she hadn’t been having a nightmare about Martin. He had been beckoning her to follow him down a blackened road, telling her to trust him. He led her to a door and slowly turned the knob. Inside the murky room, she discovered Juan Kevin and Carmen in an intimate embrace. Martin cackled wickedly and kept repeating, “I told you so.” Juan Kevin motioned for Plum to leave. She tried to, but she couldn’t open the door. She woke up in a cold sweat.

  Plum glanced about, disoriented. Her heart was pounding, and she was breathing heavily. It took a minute to sink in that it was only a bad dream. (Although, oddly, her rage at Juan Kevin for dismissing her felt very real.) She sat up in bed, her eyes darting around her darkened bedroom, trying to compose herself and calm down. It was just a nightmare, she repeated. But then, just as she began to relax, a strong surge of fear enveloped her. Something—no, someone—had woken her up.

  Her eyes focused on her bedroom door. She was certain she had left it open when she went to bed. But now it was completely closed. She stared at the knob, her eyes narrowing. It was slowly turning. Someone was either leaving and quietly closing it or…trying to enter! Plum leapt out of bed and scanned the room for something to use as a weapon. She didn’t have time to unplug the table lamp, and it would be too clunky to maneuver anyway. Think! She had thrown her stilettos in the back of the closet when they strangled her feet and didn’t have time to rummage around for them in order to stab him in the eye with the heel. There must be a potential weapon in her room. If only she had mace or a stun gun, she could spray it at her intruder. Hair spray would do the trick!

  Plum slunk into the bathroom and grabbed the can off her vanity. She peeked through the crack in the door and could see her bedroom door open. Someone was coming in. What was the best move? To hide in the bathroom and wait and see if the intruder came in? At this point she figured he could hear her heart beating or the adrenaline coursing through her body. She gripped the can tightly and kept her eyeballs glued to the gap in the door, waiting for the perpetrator to emerge from behind the half-open door. The air felt heavy with anticipation. Plum was choking in fear. Was someone about to jump out and kill her? She waited. It felt endless. Nothing happened.

  Why? Plum wondered. Was he lying in wait? Did he see she wasn’t in bed and that made him stop? Plum strained her ear and thought she could discern faint footsteps. Was the intruder calling in reinforcements? Or retreating? Unfortunately, she was charging her phone in the kitchen and was unable to ring for help. And who would she call, Juan Kevin? Could she trust him? She had no idea if she even had neighbors, so to yell out the window for assistance could be futile. Did 911 exist in Paraiso? Plum couldn’t live in this suspended terror; she would drop dead of a heart attack before the killer reached her.

  Plum slowly crept into her bedroom. She had once been sent to a New Age retreat to do a story on the benefits of yoga and meditation, which she quite honestly dismissed as a waste of time and had only attended because she wanted to visit Nepal, but now she tried to channel the breathing exercises. In and out, she told herself, trying to calm her nerves. She exited her bedroom, her grip on the hair spray can so tight that she thought it might slip out of her sweaty hands. She cocked her head into the living room. The intruder was there. Dressed in all black, in a ski mask, looking like a ninja from a very scary slasher film. Going through her handbag. She didn’t think he saw her.

  Plum pivoted back to the little hallway off her bedroom and took a deep breath. In and out. The leader of the sanctuary had been a stinky, dreadlocked white guy with body odor and dirty toenails, and she had been convinced that he was a scam. Now she desperately wished she had paid attention to his lecture on channeling warrior energy to overcome predators. She never thought she would need it before, but now she did.

  She heard the intruder moving through her living room, opening drawers. What was he looking for? Wouldn’t he hit the fancier houses? She was basically living in the most low-income zip code in the resort. Then it hit her: he was after the spy camera. There could be no doubt. The camera that was currently nestled safely under her brassieres, which were stacked according to color and level of fanciness. Needless to say, the less fancy ones got the most rotation.

  Plum decided to be brave. And proactive. She couldn’t wait for the intruder to come for her. Taking a deep breath, which that sham guru would be proud of, Plum let out a wail that was something between a primal moan and the sound a chicken makes when its neck is broken. Then she rushed into the living room at full force.

  The intruder turned around and put his hands up. Plum charged at him and squirted the hair spray into his masked face. The intruder yelped and put his fingers to his eyes. She was about to smash the can on his head when he fell to his knees and spoke.

  “Please! Stop! I’m not here to hurt you,” he begged before adding, “ah, my eyes!”

  “Who are you, and what do you want?” roared Plum in a warrior voice that would make the guru proud.

  “Please, help, it’s burning. Can you get me water for my eyes?”

  “Who are you?”

  Plum held the hair spray high, prepared to spritz him again.

  “Robert Glover. I’m a private detective. You can check my wallet. It’s in my pocket.”

  “I’m warning you, don’t try anything funny. I have a gun,” she lied.

  “I won’t. Please, my eyes are burning.”

  Bravely, Plum ripped his mask off his head.

  “It’s you,” she said. The man who had come to her office claiming to be Nicholas Macpherson. “What do you want?”

  “I was hired to do surveillance on Jason Manger.”

  “Did you kill Nick Macpherson?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “No.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Look at my ID. I’m a private detective. I can give you references.”

  “Who hired you?”

  He sighed. “Please have mercy and get me water for my eyes. Then I will tell you everything.”

  “Fine.”

  Plum went to the kitchen and got him some water and a dish towel. She also grabbed her cell phone and the largest knife in her butcher’s block.

  “Once again I want to remind you that I am armed and dangerous,” she said, handing him the water and dish towel.

  He immediately poured the water in his eyes and dabbed them. “Thank you.”

  “Now start talking.”

  “Jonas Adler hired me. His daughter, Kirstie, is Jason Manger’s fiancée. Mr. Adler doesn’t think very highly of Jason and wanted to make sure he didn’t get up to any funny business this weekend. Or if he did, Mr. Adler wanted to make sure that he knew about it so he could call off the engagement. He gave me the names of the groomsmen, and since I don’t look like a Deepak Gupta, I pretended to be Nicholas Macpherson.”

  “Why did you think it would be so easy to get the keys from me?”

  “Well, wasn’t it? I mean, I didn’t even have to say my name. You asked me if I was Nicholas Macpherson, and I said yes.”

  Plum wanted to state that it was a lie, but she wasn’t sure and that irritated her. “Then you put the spy cams in their rooms?”

  “Yes. I figured I could monitor and record any action that took place in the bedroom, and at the same time I could follow Jason around the resort and see if he wen
t off with a woman anywhere else.”

  “Then you broke in to get them back?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I went to salvage them and was able to get two out of three, but Jason woke up. It was my lucky day when you came and took it off the ceiling. I tracked you here and entered to retrieve it.”

  “Broke in, not entered.”

  “It’s still entering.”

  “But illegally.”

  “That’s a technicality.”

  The line of questioning had become absurd. “Why bother try and retrieve it?”

  “It’s state-of-the-art equipment. Very expensive.”

  “But risky. I could have shot you.”

  “I know. It was a bad idea. But I’ve just branched out on my own and can’t afford to waste any money.”

  “I see,” said Plum. He did sound believable. Definitely inept, but believable.

  “Was Jason cheating?”

  “No. Didn’t even look at another woman.”

  “So, all for naught.”

  “Any chance I can get up now? My knees are killing me.”

  “Let me check your ID first,” said Plum. She awkwardly thrust her hand into his pocket, trying to be careful not to touch any part of his anatomy that she would regret, and clasped a wallet. She extracted it and flipped through. There was a driver’s license identifying him as Robert Glover as well as a private detective license and some credit cards. He also had business cards with his name and contact information. “You named your company Poirot Detectives?” she asked.

  “Yeah, catchy, right?”

  “I was always a Miss Marple fan,” said Plum.

  “It was never believable to me that an old woman could solve crimes,” said Robert.

  “That’s sexist! What about Jessica Fletcher and Agatha Raisin?” she snapped.

  “Who?”

  “Whatever,” said Plum. “Why don’t you sit on the sofa and tell me everything you saw the night the real Nicholas Macpherson was killed? No detail is too small.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “It’s either this or I call the police.”

  Chapter 18

  Although she had very little sleep after she released her intruder, Plum was wired the next morning when she awoke. Nervous energy was pumping through her veins, along with caffeine from several cups of coffee. She arrived at the office early to work on her publicity pitches so she would be able to continue her investigation later in the day. It remained a conundrum as to how she would coerce Gerald Hand into writing a travel story on Jonathan Mayhew’s Caribbean Escapes. She looked up the weather in New York and saw it was in the low thirties with forty-miles-an-hour winds. She decided it would be a good time to impress upon him that a trip to the tropics was a good idea.

  “Are you freezing your butt off?” she asked Gerald when he answered the phone.

  “Who is this?” he snarled.

  “It’s Plum. I was thinking about you because I heard it’s just awful there today, and it’s sunny and gorgeous down here, and I have an amazing villa for you to stay in.”

  “Desperate.”

  “Okay, maybe I am. And I want to apologize to you for, you know.”

  “Elaborate.”

  “Fine. For firing you. But they made me,” she insisted.

  “You were gleeful and spiteful.”

  “True. That was cruel. But I’m a changed person.”

  “That quickly? I doubt that.”

  “Let me make it up to you.”

  “If I come down there and do a big feature on your company, it only benefits you. And I am not feeling particularly charitable right now.”

  She decided to try a different tactic and remind him that they had once been friends. “Is it that turd Leonard? He was always a loser, jerking you around. It’s great to be done with him.”

  “We’re back together.”

  “How fabulous! Bring Leonard. I’d love to catch up with him.”

  “You’re shameless.”

  “Determined.”

  “Goodbye, Plum.”

  Undaunted, Plum fired off emails to other journalists, updated promotional materials, and reached out to acquaintances she thought might be interested in renting a villa. She had one idea of how to get Gerald to do the story, and although it was a reach, she placed a call that ended hopefully. When she had finished, it was still too early for her colleagues to come rolling in to work, so she sliced up a mango to nibble on and reapplied aloe to her fried skin, which was fortunately showing some improvement. She transferred money from her dwindling bank account to the animal shelter in Long Island and went to their website to look at the pictures of the dogs recently placed in homes. After that, Plum noticed the plant in the corner of the room was drooping, so she gave it a hefty dose of water and snipped off some dead leaves. After draining another cup of coffee, she made a new batch and organized the packs of sugar and stirrers in the basket next to the machine.

  It was quite obvious that Plum was at a loss as to what to do with the information Robert Glover had provided. Instinct wanted her to call Juan Kevin and apprise him of the news, but she was conflicted. Firstly, she was very mad at him for embracing Carmen in her dream. It was irrational, but the feelings that dreams elicit are rational, and she couldn’t deny them. Secondly, Martin’s words still rang in her head. What if Juan Kevin was a bad guy? A murderer? And what had happened with his ex-wife? Had he criticized her the way he criticized Plum?

  When Lucia entered, Plum was tapping her anxious fingers on the table and appeared jumpy.

  “Everything okay?” asked Lucia warily.

  “Yes, fine, yes,” Plum said quickly.

  “Good,” said Lucia, turning on her computer. “I brought some coconetes, would you like some?”

  She held up a box of coconut cookies. Plum took one.

  “These are really delicious.”

  “Have some more,” prompted Lucia. “Coconetes are our national cookie.”

  Plum selected another and popped it in her mouth. “I could eat these all day.”

  “Help yourself.”

  “I think I’m stress eating.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “A strange thing happened last night. A man broke into my house. Not just any man, but you know, the man who came here pretending to be Nicholas Macpherson. And it turns out he’s a private detective…”

  Plum rambled on for a solid minute as Lucia’s eyes widened. Finally, she stopped.

  “I think you’ve had a shock,” said Lucia calmly. “Maybe you need to see a doctor?”

  “No, no, no, I’ll be fine. I just, I would call Juan Kevin, but I’ve been told he’s dangerous, and I don’t know if I can trust him. Oh, the coffee’s ready, would you like some?” Plum said, popping up.

  “No, thank you,” said Lucia. “Why do you think Juan Kevin is dangerous?”

  “Martin told me he was,” said Plum, pouring herself a steep cup, adding some condensed milk from the refrigerator and guzzling it down as if she were a junky getting a fix.

  “Martin Rijo? Why would you ever listen to Martin? He’s trouble.”

  “But why would he say that?”

  Lucia sighed, as if debating whether or not to be candid, before deciding to be.

  “Because Martin is jealous. Emilio loved Juan Kevin like a son, and Martin saw him as a rival. When Emilio died, Martin tried to have Juan Kevin fired, but Carmen intervened. Even Martin’s mother, Alexandra, intervened. Everyone knows Juan Kevin is a good person. He grew up on the island. I’ve known him since he was a boy.”

  “What about his ex-wife? Martin implied something sinister happened there.”

  She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but she thought a hardness flickered through Lucia’s gaze. It quickly dissipated.

  “
No. Nothing sinister.”

  “But why did they divorce?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Lucia. She began to straighten the mail on her desk, intentionally avoiding eye contact.

  “Are you not telling me something? You wouldn’t keep a secret.”

  Lucia glanced up. “I would not. I can tell you that the ex-wife was the one who caused trouble and could not be trusted. Juan Kevin behaved in a dignified manner. I would trust him with my life.”

  “What did the ex-wife do?”

  “I really don’t like to gossip. But she is not a good person.”

  “Okay, really? I should call him. Yes, I’ll call him,” Plum said, taking another sip out of her mug. She was relieved that Juan Kevin’s ex-wife was awful.

  “You must tell him about the intruder. As director of security, he should know who it was. But one word of advice, if I may?”

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t think you should have any more coffee. I fear it is agitating you.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  ***

  Plum had arranged to meet Juan Kevin at Casa Mango. When she arrived, she saw he had beaten her there (surprise, surprise, considering her snail-paced cart) and had entered the villa. She put on a wide-brimmed hat to avoid additional sun damage and walked through the now-empty house.

  Juan Kevin was standing by the pool. He didn’t see her. She paused to study him. He wore his requisite blue blazer and khakis—the sort of effortlessly elegant but simple outfit that was becoming on any man and especially handsome on him. Very handsome. Her emotions confused her. His words had been hurtful and blunt when he accused her of being hurtful and blunt. It was hypocritical and judgmental. And worst of all, he had wounded her pride. It wasn’t the first time people had made similar reproaches, and yet his words stung like no one else’s had. Why was that? What did she care what a security guard said?

  But she did. She had to be honest with herself—she wanted Juan Kevin to regard her with the same affection he reserved for Carmen. Something about him made her want to be a better person. But why? Was it because he was guileless and uncalculating? And nice? Because Lucia seemed to hold him in high esteem? Whatever, it didn’t matter, she told herself as she looked at him. Carmen was probably enjoying that body every night, Plum thought. He looked up, as if suddenly aware of her presence, and smiled. She shook herself out of her reverie, put on her most efficient and businesslike air, and approached.