It Takes Two to Mango

by Carrie Doyle

  Plum casually walked over to Damián’s desk. He had a stack of manila files in his outbox, and she quickly flipped through them. She wasn’t sure what she was searching for, but maybe there was something about Kirstie or her father, Jonas Adler, that would be incriminating. Perhaps Damián had discovered a murder weapon at the villa that she had rented. Plum knew it was absurd, but she was fueled by her hatred of Damián and her motivation to please Juan Kevin.

  After finding zero of interest in the files, she turned on Damián’s computer. It felt like an eternity before the old desktop model booted up. Plum sat down in his chair, tapped her fingers impatiently, and scanned the office. Her heart was thumping. She was doing nothing wrong, she told herself.

  Plum clicked on the icon that said Clients and scrolled through the Excel spreadsheet. Jonas Adler was listed as renting the villa, but other than his address and the confirmation of the wire transfer, there was no additional information to suggest homicide or controversy. Plum was disappointed. She was about to turn off the computer when she decided to click on the trash icon. There was a document that had recently been printed but had no name on it. Plum opened it.

  STOP INTERFERING OR ELSE

  It had been Damián who left her the letter! Plum was seething. How dare he intimidate her? What a pathetic turd. Emboldened, Plum opened Damián’s emails. There was nothing of interest in his inbox, so she decided to check his old emails. She found his back and forth with his clients as well as exchanges with tour operators abroad. There was spam from clothing websites, airlines, and restaurants. She was amused to find out that he subscribed to HairClub and tucked that knowledge away for the future. She had almost lost hope when she saw one from three weeks prior with Casa Mango in the subject line.

  When Plum opened the email, she was horrified. It had been a query about renting Casa Mango, and it included a reply from Damián that the villa was already rented. This was way before she had confirmed the bachelor party. Why had it gone to Damián? She clicked down and was aghast to discover there were further queries about the property—and many before she even dropped the price! Somehow Damián had rerouted them so they went to him instead of Plum! There had been interest in the villa for the busy holiday weekend, and Damián had interfered to ruin her.

  “What are you doing?”

  Plum had been so immersed in her reconnaissance that she didn’t hear the door open. Damián rushed over, pushed her out of his chair and stood in front of his computer, blocking her view.

  Plum staggered back, having lost her balance, but pulled herself up. “You threatened me and sabotaged me! How dare you?”

  “You have no right to search my computer!” he roared.

  “I can’t believe that you would tell my potential clients that Casa Mango was rented! And then you have the nerve to leave me that threatening letter!”

  “You are a liability!” he shouted.

  The yells became louder, with both Damián and Plum accusing one another of criminal mischief, deceit, sabotage, and trespassing. Neither of them heard Juan Kevin enter the villa. He tried to get their attention, but they were fighting so actively that they didn’t pay him any attention.

  “This man is egregious.” Plum fumed.

  “This woman is a catastrophe.” Damián seethed. “I want her arrested for invading my private property.”

  “And I want him arrested for leaving me that note! I found it on his computer!”

  Damian turned and gave Plum a scathing look. “It’s the firm’s computer.”

  Plum scoffed. “You had no right,” she said before turning back to Juan Kevin. “Damián also lied and impersonated me.”

  “Relax!” commanded Damián.

  The yelling continued until Juan Kevin put his fingers to his lips and blew a whistle. They stopped and stared at him.

  “Damián, what you did was wrong. Threatening someone is a very serious crime here in Las Frutas.”

  “It was a joke,” said Damián, shaking his head as if he were dealing with idiots.

  “I’ll be watching you,” warned Juan Kevin.

  A triumphant smile appeared on Plum’s face, and she folded her arms dramatically. “I want to wait and tell Jonathan,” she said.

  “I passed him earlier this morning, and he said he was off to a polo match. We have some time,” said Juan Kevin. “Let’s go get some coffee.”

  “Fine,” said Plum, before turning to Damián. She wagged a finger at him. “You are dead meat.”

  He bristled. “Jonathan loves me. I have nothing to worry about.”

  “Let’s go,” urged Juan Kevin.

  There was a coffee truck that parked by the main gates to the resort. Most of the staff purchased their second cup of brew there (always having the first one at home), and the general consensus was that it was the best coffee on the island. That said, Plum had already heard so many Paraisons making different claims of which was the best coffee, it was hard to keep track. Paraison coffee seemed to be a source of patriotic pride.

  “That guy is awful,” said Plum as they stood in line to order. “I knew there had to be other interest in Casa Mango. On that front, I feel vindicated. But the fact that he left me that note is evil.”

  “Yes,” agreed Juan Kevin.

  “Jonathan will be enraged,” said Plum.

  Juan Kevin didn’t respond.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Do you think so? Is Jonathan Mayhew an ally of yours?”

  “Well, no, but that was a terrible thing to do.”

  “It was,” said Juan Kevin. “I only wonder if it was something that Damián would do without his boss’s permission.”

  “You think Jonathan wanted to send me that letter?”

  “Not overtly, but maybe there was tacit permission. The friction in your office is not unknown.”

  “Who said there was friction?”

  “Plum, it’s a small island and an even smaller resort.”

  “Humph,” said Plum. But Juan Kevin was correct, she had to admit. Jonathan was not on her side. She once again had to look out for herself professionally. It was exhausting.

  They ordered their coffees, and Plum also asked for a guava tart, which was full of cream cheese as well as fruit. She’d sampled one when Lucia brought them to the office, and she had regretted it ever since. They were delicious and addictive.

  After they paid, Juan Kevin said hello to a sporty blond woman who was in line behind them. She was in her late twenties, with prominent green eyes and a swinging ponytail. She wore a golf outfit that accentuated her good legs.

  “Plum, this is Cindy Snather. She’s Tony Spira’s fiancée,” said Juan Kevin.

  “Are you a golf pro also?” asked Plum.

  “No, I work in the golf shop. Sometimes I help with the kids’ camp if they are interested in whacking the ball around, but I’m usually setting up tee times and selling clothing and clubs,” said Cindy. She had a cheerful Southern accent.

  “It’s great to meet you,” said Plum.

  They said their goodbyes and started to walk away before Juan Kevin turned over his shoulder and addressed Cindy.

  “By the way, happy birthday!” he said.

  “Thanks, but it’s not my birthday,” said Cindy with surprise.

  “Oh, well, belated. It was this week, right?” asked Juan Kevin.

  “My birthday’s in August,” said Cindy. “But thanks anyway!”

  They continued walking.

  “That’s odd,” said Juan Kevin.

  “What was that all about?” asked Plum.

  “Don’t you remember that Tony said he couldn’t have dinner with Jason, Nick, and Deepak because it was Cindy’s birthday?”

  Plum jogged her memory. “You’re right, that’s weird.”

  “Maybe it’s nothing,” said Juan Kevin. “Anyway, ar
e you feeling any better?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “Good. I’m heading over to Estrella to finally interview Robert Glover. I’ll let you know what happens.”

  “Great.”

  He glanced up at the sky. “Looks like it’s going to rain, so be careful. It rarely rains, but when it does, it comes on strong.”

  Plum stared at the sky and thought Juan Kevin might be losing it. The weather was perfect. In fact, the humidity was not overwhelming, so Plum decided to take the time to walk back to her office. The more time away from Damián the better. It was also a good opportunity to walk off that guava tart.

  She ambled along the path underneath the coconut trees, which were weighted down with their fruit, before turning to the path that snaked through the links course. She passed two men on a tee box preparing to drive and watched as one sliced the ball into the pond. He shrugged and hit another shot. Plum tried to reconcile how that could be a fun activity.

  Plum heard voices behind her and saw two ladies in their sixties speed walking. They were clad top-to-toe in colorful spandex outfits, each had a large visor on her head, sunglasses with polarized lenses, and thick coats of makeup on their skin and lips. They wiggled their butts as they moved—as speed walkers do—and kept their fists clenched and pumping the air as if grasping imaginary ski poles. Plum moved aside to let them pass and happened to overhear their conversation.

  “Leslie doesn’t really like Carmen, but she was in a fight with Alexandra, so she invited Carmen to Piñas and Penises instead of Alexandra,” said the brunette with curly hair.

  Plum’s interest was instantly piqued. Were they talking about Leslie Abernathy and Carmen Rijo? They had to be. She sped up, breaking into a trot to continue eavesdropping behind the women.

  “Alexandra Rijo is just as tricky as the new Mrs. Rijo,” said the other woman, a heavyset woman with platinum helmet hair. “Frankly, best to avoid all of them. Too much drama.”

  “I agree,” said brunette. “I don’t think Leslie will be inviting Carmen again.”

  Plum was panting, and the women turned and gave her sidelong glances. “Can we help you?” they asked.

  Plum wanted to ask them for more information, but she thought it tactless, not to mention fruitless, as she doubted they would divulge their conversation.

  “No, sorry,” Plum said and slowly fell back.

  This was an interesting update. Leslie made it seem like she adored Carmen. But maybe it had riled Leslie that Nick preferred Carmen to her. Something to consider.

  ***

  A livid Jonathan Mayhew ushered Plum into his office when she returned to the office. His normally unruffled demeanor was absent, and a look of pure fury was on his face.

  “This is not working out,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” asked Plum.

  “I just received a call from a boorish man named Jonas Adler who said that his future son-in-law and his friends were being held prisoner at our resort and it was the responsibility of Jonathan Mayhew Caribbean Escapes to liberate them. Furthermore, he said that he will press charges and use all of his connections to destroy my business.”

  “Sounds like a jerk,” said Plum.

  “That is not the response I would like to hear from you,” said Jonathan.

  “Don’t worry, as soon as they arrest someone for Nick’s death, they are free to go.”

  Jonathan folded his long fingers and gazed at Plum with hostility. “At whose cost are the men remaining at the resort?”

  “Um, I’m not sure.”

  “The rooms at the hotel are not inexpensive.”

  “Fine, you can take it out of my commission.”

  “Do you think they will still pay after their friend was murdered? Jonas Adler already told me he would like a refund for the deposit they placed.”

  Plum hadn’t considered the financial ramifications of the murder.

  “I’ll cover it,” she said.

  “You will,” he agreed. “And Damián has informed me that you broke into his computer and were casting around for some sort of information with which to blackmail him?”

  “Categorically untrue. He left me a threatening letter telling me to stop interfering.”

  “He said he did it because you had been snooping on his computer and he asked you to stop.”

  “Lies. Did he mention that several people had actually wanted to rent Casa Mango before the bachelor party and he told them it was unavailable?” she said, triumphantly.

  “Yes. He told me he did background research on them and found them to be unsavory. Something you should have done with the bachelor party.”

  “And you believe him?” asked Plum, aghast.

  “He’s worked for me for several years and has been a complete success. You haven’t even worked for me for a month and have been a total disaster. Who shall I believe?”

  “Me.”

  “Additionally, I do not have faith that you have made any progress with the article in the Market Street Journal. In fact, I think you were lying about that. Therefore, before you incur any more damages and completely ruin the business that I have worked for decades to build, I am terminating your employment.”

  It was fitting that for the second time that Plum had been fired, it started pouring as she made her disgraced journey home. Juan Kevin had been correct. He was a regular Al Roker. And, like all tropical rains, it happened so abruptly and virulently that it sent golfers and bathers scattering to find shelter. The wind had collaborated with the rainfall and was flinging it sideways, straight through Plum’s sluggish golf cart. Her entire back was soaked. At least she didn’t have a soggy box of belongings to lug this time. She was the only soggy element.

  Although she was mortified, she took solace in her reaction to her dismissal. She didn’t grovel, accuse, or beg. She stood up wordlessly and exited. A victorious Damián had been at his desk—no doubt he had been alerted earlier and only showed up to watch her humiliation—but she refused to make eye contact with him. Lucia had tactfully made herself scarce, and Plum was grateful. A sympathetic look from Lucia would have made Plum weepy.

  Plum knew she had made mistakes. She directly defied her boss’s orders not to rent out the villa to a group. And in the end, it was the worst case scenario: murder. She couldn’t deny she was somewhat responsible. It was a horrible feeling.

  When she entered her town house, Plum opened the sliding glass doors in the living room and stepped out on the balcony. The sky had darkened and was a bruised shade of purple. An extended flash of lightning speared down over the Caribbean followed by growling thunder. So, this is it, Plum thought. Her little Caribbean experiment was over. It was strange to think that she would be returning to New York and leaving Paraiso. It had been her plan, yet…other than the whole murder fiasco, she felt that she was getting into her groove at last. But now there was nothing for her here.

  Plum retreated into her bedroom and took off her damp clothes, throwing them in a ball into the hamper. She felt chilled by the oscillation between warm and wet weather and put on a cozy, fleece nightshirt and slipped under her bedcovers. After turning off her phone, she fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter 25

  It was pitch black outside when Plum woke up. She was disoriented and had no idea what time it was or where she was. She picked up her phone and saw that it was only nine forty p.m. She had several missed calls from Juan Kevin, who had also left a voicemail. She didn’t even want to listen to it. If he had heard from Lucia that she was fired, he was calling to commiserate, and if he hadn’t, she would have to break it to him. Either conversation was unappealing. The rain hadn’t completely abated, but it had softened into a dulcet pitter-patter.

  Jonathan had given her a week to pack up and head back to New York. She wasn’t sure she would stay in Paraiso the entire time—what was there for her here? But at
least she didn’t have to hop on the next plane. It was funny, because at the rate she was going, she would probably be allowed to leave before Jason and Deepak.

  She lay back and put her head on her pillow. Her mind drifted to the murder and all the potential suspects and motives, and the same questions floated in her mind. Why had Nick been killed? Had it been impulsive or premeditated? If it was the latter, it would have to be someone who had a grudge against him and had carefully planned this, like Nick or Deepak or Kirstie. Or even Kirstie’s powerful father. If it were impulsive, it would be Martin or Leslie or Carmen. She would love for it to be Carmen. The merry widow had a dark side, and maybe she had been spurned by Nick. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Like Leslie, who had possibly been seen by Robert Glover in an embrace with Nick and was angry that he chose Carmen over her at the end of the night.

  Something was niggling at Plum, and she couldn’t figure out what it was. She had questioned so many people that week that she’d barely had an opportunity to process the information she gleaned. Yet she had a strong feeling that something of importance was either exposed or alluded to. Who had revealed a clue? Suddenly, she shot up out of bed. She remembered. It had been subtle, but there was an edge to the statement that required further questioning.

  Plum pulled her hair into a ponytail and quickly dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She had a yellow windbreaker with a hood; she threw it on over her shirt. There was a debate as to what footwear to don. She hadn’t brought rain boots and her brand-new designer sneakers were more for style than sport and would get drenched. Flip-flops were appealing because they didn’t become waterlogged. But they were hard to move quickly in. She went with the sneakers.

  The streets were slick with rain, and very few cars were on the road. The pokey little golf cart’s headlights were weak and only illuminated a small patch of about two feet ahead, where raindrops danced. The resort instantly felt shadowy and menacing. Plum knew she probably could have called, but the person she wanted to talk to had been so evasive that a phone call would not have garnered any intelligence.