“All right.” He stopped wringing his hands. “For the last couple of months, I’d go to Tropical Tilapia two or three times a week to trim bushes, pull weeds—the usual kind of landscaping work that Bucky and I did for Travis. But a little while ago, I got the sense that Travis was watching me.”
My interest perked up in spite of Kong’s persistent barks. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t say that I remember it exactly, but I think I caught him nosing around my truck.”
“Did he take anything?”
“Not sure.”
Of course.
“It was more of a feeling than a fact,” he said, jamming his hands in his jeans pockets. “Something just felt off. In fact, I didn’t like going there after Travis fired everyone except Jose and Pepe. The place felt . . . sad.”
“I sensed that, too.” I folded my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the chill as I digested Coop’s information. “Did Bucky ever tell you about his falling out with Travis?”
“Not that I can recollect.” He hunched his shoulders with a shake of his head. “When they dissolved their partnership, I stayed working for Bucky since he’d hired me in the first place to do landscaping work. The fish-farm workers stayed with Travis.”
“The few who are left.”
“Yeah. Pepe and Jose are worried that they won’t have a job by the end of the year. It’s a terrible thing to be unemployed so late in life.”
I nodded. “Do you think Travis’s downsizing his crew has anything to do with his cagey behavior? I mean, was he trying to hide something from you?”
“Possibly. He sure didn’t like me talking to Pepe and Jose. Never let the two of them talk to me alone. But I caught snatches of their conversation about the ‘un jefe horrible.’ Horrible boss.” Coop smiled. “I picked up a little Spanish from them.”
At the very least, Travis was a rigid, tightfisted boss. Oh, wait. All that meant was he could be Anita’s fraternal twin and they shared the cheap gene.
Coop scratched his doo-rag. “I’m going to search through all my shirt pockets in case I stashed any other notes that I forgot. I have a huge pile that I take to the Island Laundromat once a week.”
A gust of wind swept through the RV site, causing my teeth to chatter. “Call me if you find anything suspicious.”
“Will do.” He disappeared into the darkness, and I heard the roar of a motorcycle engine that then faded into the distance. He must’ve been parked on the other side of my mystery neighbor.
Standing there for a few moments, I debated whether or not to call Pop Pop and fill him in on Coop’s intel. But I really didn’t have much new to pass on, and the “horrible boss” thing would only fuel my undercover handyman’s union-organizing frenzy.
Another gust of wind swept through, and Kong gave a loud, irritated bark.
Pop Pop would have to wait.
I unlocked the Airstream door, swung it open, and scooped up Kong in my arms. No adoring licks greeted me, just another annoyed bark. Apologizing to my pooch, I grabbed his leash and started for the beach at the moment when a woman with long, dark hair and enormous, tortoiseshell sunglasses came barreling around the back of my silver-hulled trailer.
“I’ve gotta get out of here. Now,” she pronounced. The breeze whipped her hair forward, partially obscuring her face.
Startled, I peered at her through the dim light of my outside awning lights, taking in the heavy makeup, dangling earrings, and gold skintight pants topped by a black sequined sweatshirt. Something seemed vaguely familiar.
She pulled her hair back, dipped the sunglasses down on her nose, and pointed at her election button. “It’s me. Wanda Sue.”
“Why are you wearing a wig?”
“Honey, I needed a disguise ’cause I’m officially on the lam. I heard on the island grapevine that the police found out Bucky was attacked with a frying pan, so now I’m the number-one suspect. It’s only a matter of time before they haul me into the slammer.”
“Okay, let’s just calm down and stop using words like ‘lam’ and ‘slammer.’ Where did you hear that kind of stuff anyway?”
“Classic Movie Channel.”
“Things have changed since Jimmy Cagney was The Public Enemy.”
Kong yapped with a high-pitched bark that told me his need for walkies was beyond urgent. “Wanda Sue, you can’t just leave the island if the police need to question you.”
“I’m not leaving; I’m just going underground. It’s a big island. I’ll just disappear.”
“Coral Island is only twelve miles long. Where could you go?”
“I’ve got my plan.”
Kong yanked at his leash.
I gave him a little pat to calm him. “Look, Wanda Sue, you’re overreacting. You know Nick Billie. He’s not going to do anything that isn’t fair and reasonable. And if he needs to talk with you as a person of interest—”
“A what?” Her eyes turned wild. “Did he say he was going to question me?”
“Um . . . maybe.” I touched her arm. “But you don’t have anything to worry about. You didn’t kill Bucky. Nick knows that. And I’ve got my top-notch team at the Observer investigating every lead.”
“That old bag, Bernice, and the kid with the cell phone?”
“Not exactly. Bernice broke her arm. But I still have Joe Earl. And don’t forget Madame Geri,” I added with a hopeful smile. Granted, she was a few notches down from top, but I knew Wanda Sue respected her psychic prowess.
My landlady paused, then shook her head. “Even Madame Geri can’t help me now.” She rammed the sunglasses back in place, transforming her appearance into a kind of Nicki Minaj-meets-midlife look. “Mallie, hon, I’ll never forget what a good friend you’ve been to me, and that’s why I’m going to turn over the Twin Palms to you. You’re the new manager. Watch over the park, will ya? And don’t worry, Pop Pop is taking all of his medications; I checked. So he can help you. Lordy, I’ll miss you and that old man.” She sniffed back a few tears. “I forwarded your cell-phone number to all of the site renters in case they have any problems. You’ll be fine.”
“Oh, no. That’s not a happening option.”
Kong yanked his leash in the direction of the nearest cabbage palm, and I looked down at him with a severe glare. By the time I tipped my head back in Wanda Sue’s direction, she was gone. Vanished like a spandex and sequined ghost.
“Wanda Sue!” I shouted into the wind as I scurried around the beach to see if I could catch a glimpse of where she’d fled, but I didn’t see so much as a footprint in the sand.
Jeez.
This was not happening. I was now in charge of the RV park, in addition to the Observer.
Could it get any worse?
Kong peed on my shoe.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Before Kong could do any more damage to my running shoes, I hustled him over to the nearest sea oats as I ducked behind a palm tree to block the wind. Then I whipped out my cell phone. Already, I had a text message from someone in the park named “Beachybabe54” who couldn’t get her cable-TV plug to work on her site.
I closed my eyes briefly for a “muggatoni mantra” to calm myself.
After a few moments of peaceful pasta images, I hit the speed-dial number for Pop Pop’s cell, praying he’d pick up. I needed him back here even more urgently than I needed him undercover at the tilapia farm. Besides, he’d seemed to have been sidetracked by the plight of his fellow geriatric workers, so I wasn’t sure how much real information I was going to get out of him.
“United Tilapia Farmworkers Union,” he answered, and I clenched my teeth.
“Pop Pop, this is Mallie.” I enunciated each word carefully, in case his hearing aid batteries were out. “I know you’re undercover, but I sure could use you back here at the Twin Palms. Wanda Sue just decided to take a little . . . trip, and there’s no one here to check people in or park their rigs on the sites.”
“Impossible,” he replied, using the Spanish pronunciation
. “I think I’m on to something here. From what I’ve been able to glean from Pepe and Jose, that hombre, Travis, was dumping bleach in the fish tanks. They think he’s trying to kill the tilapia.”
A little lurch of excitement tugged inside of me, momentarily causing me to forget the fact that a thin layer of wool stood between me and the biting offshore gusts. “Are you sure it’s not chlorine?”
“I scooped out some of the water in the tanks, and did a little taste. It’s bleach, all right. I can tell the difference after maintaining the Twin Palms swimming pool all these years. Chlorine will kill algae, but bleach will kill the fish.”
“That might connect with something Coop told me about Travis watching him every time he was at the tilapia farm. He might’ve been worried that Coop would find out what was going on with the tanks.” I did a little fist pump in triumph, momentarily distracted from my situation at the Twin Palms. At least, I’d guessed that part correctly.
“Why would Travis the Tyrant sabotage his own operation?” Pop Pop queried with impressive alliteration.
“I haven’t figured out that part yet. It’s puzzling, but significant, I’m sure.” I edged around the palm tree to check on Kong, and the wind hit me with a hard blast. I ducked behind the tree again, my legs shaking and teeth chattering. Okay, time to wrap it up. “Do you have any bleach evidence?”
“I’ve got the plastic jug in my hand right now, chica.”
“Um . . . why are you speaking Spanish?”
“I’ve picked up some words from my new amigos while we’ve been writing a list of worker demands.” He rustled some papers. “They need two Geritol breaks a day, an hour for lunch, and a daily siesta. And that’s only the beginning. We haven’t even started on benefits like discounted bifocals or long-term nursing care. Viva la libertad!”
“Just be careful. You don’t want to get those guys in trouble and cause them to lose their jobs.”
“Hah! If Travis makes any move to fire us for organizing, I’ll call in the teamsters. We know our rights, even if we are all over seventy.”
I gnawed on my lower lip nervously. “Don’t get too riled up, and make sure you take your blood-pressure medication.”
“Si.”
“All right, Pop Pop, stay where you are, for now. But keep nosing around for incriminating evidence against Travis. That’s the important thing. Tomorrow morning, I’ll try and line up someone else to take over at the Twin Palms while Wanda Sue is gone, then I’ll head over to the tilapia farm to pick up the bleach bottle from you. Hook it onto your oxygen tank, so you remember.”
“Gotta go. We’re having a late-night solidarity rally at Le Sink. You might want to join us.”
“I’ll pass, but thanks anyway.”
“Okay, chica. Adios.” He clicked off, and I held out the cell phone, not sure whether I should be frustrated or worried. Either way, I was definitely picking him up tomorrow. At the very least he’d be fired, and at the worst, he’d be jailed for being a public nuisance.
Kong popped around the palm tree, tail wagging.
“Let’s get inside. I’ve lost feeling in my feet.” I took a quick glance out over the Gulf. While I’d been occupied with Wanda Sue’s trauma, the sun had dipped below the horizon, causing deep, blood-red colors to spark across the sky in jagged streaks. A shiver snaked through me that had nothing to do with the evening chill; I’d never seen a sky that color before.
My cell phone rang again, and I reluctantly checked the number. Right now, I wasn’t up for another nastygram from Liz Ellis or an RV-park resident with a clogged sewer pipe.
When I saw the caller, though, I exhaled in relief.
“Aunt Lily, I just saw the weirdest sunset. You know, the kind that looks like the sky is bleeding? It’s creepy. What’s that saying? ‘Red sky at night’—”
“ ‘Sailor’s delight,’ ” she finished ironically.
“Oh.”
“It means good weather is coming. The red sky at morning is the sailor’s warning of bad weather.”
“I’ll check it when I get up.” Like I’d be up at dawn—hah.
“Weather predictions aside, I just had a strange message from Wanda Sue saying she was turning over the Twin Palms to you to manage because she was now on the run from the law and would be living the rest of her life as a fugitive.”
“Did she bring up the orange coveralls?”
“I believe so.” Aunt Lily cleared her throat with a loud and deliberate emphasis. “Can you tell me what the hell is going on?”
Tightening my grip on Kong’s leash as I hustled toward the safe (and warm) haven of my Airstream, I launched into the last twenty-four hours, sparing my great-aunt nothing.
She fell silent for a few moments after I’d spilled the whole shebang, then spoke up. “Let me get this straight. You’re investigating Bucky’s murder with your editor’s sister who broke her arm riding a unicycle around the office, a psychic who’s talking to a violin, and a seventy-something handyman who’s working undercover at a tilapia farm?”
“That pretty much sums it up.” I grimaced at her succinct synopsis of my Big Fat Sucky Life. “It doesn’t sound so good when you put out the facts like that, but this whole ‘in charge’ thing is new to me.”
“I don’t need to tell you that Pop Pop is a senior citizen with lung problems and high blood pressure.” Her voice took on an edge.
“I know, but he’s taking his meds and his stint at the tilapia farm is only short-term. Twenty-four hours at most before I bring him in. On the plus side, he’s already found some possible evidence, so I said I’d pick him up in the morning, but he’s kind of gone off on a . . . tangent.”
“And that is?”
“He’s . . . uh, trying to unionize his two geriatric co-workers.” I detected her gasp but kept going. “To be honest, I was surprised, too, but it may not be such a bad idea since the other two coots aren’t being paid decent wages or benefits. And they might know something that we can use to bring in Bucky’s killer.” When in doubt, crank up the motor mouth. “Anyway, Pop Pop mentioned something about a ‘solidarity rally’ tonight at the Le Sink, the dumpy restaurant that he likes so much.”
“I know the place.” Aunt Lily ground out every word with cutting precision. “I’m sending Sam over there right now. He’ll watch over Pop Pop until he gets tired of this foolishness.” She murmured a few words—presumably to Sam—and I heard him give a loud laugh. At least he saw the humor in this situation.
“As for Wanda Sue,” she continued, speaking to me again, “did she say where she was going to hide out on the island?” I heard Sam laugh again.
“Sort of. I did point out that Coral Island is only twelve miles long, so there aren’t a lot of places to hole up.”
“I’m sure that was helpful. I guess we’ll just have to hope she doesn’t do something stupid like try to hop a boat to South America. In the meantime, I’ll come over and work the check-in desk at the Twin Palms. When she comes back to her senses, she won’t want a big mess at the RV park.”
“Perfect. I can meet you at the main office around 10ish, and we’ll go over the current resident list and upcoming reservations. It’s off-season, so Wanda Sue wasn’t expecting too many newcomers.” At least, I didn’t think so. But I had no idea as to who was checking in or when. Then again, I might get a line on who had checked in next door to me. That was something at least.
“What about the park maintenance till Pop Pop returns?” she inquired. “Not that I expect him to be out long.”
“Well . . . that’s a tough one. There’s no male under seventy at the park right now who has handyman potential.”
“Except me,” Cole said as he approached.
“Aunt Lily, I may have someone. See you tomorrow.” I lowered the cell phone. Cole’s sun-bleached hair blew in the hard breeze, soft pale strands whipping across his face. I reached out and drew the stray hair back from his forehead, a question in my eyes. “How about it? Would you mind filling in for Pop
Pop for a day or two?”
“Sure.”
“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“It’s okay. What are fiancés for?” He held my gaze steadily, a question in his eyes. “That is, if we’re still engaged.”
“Of course we’re still engaged.” The words sounded strained and hollow, as if they could barely be spoken through the filter of my own uncertainty. Okay, I’d been thinking about our relationship for a long time, mulling over every aspect of the future together. And, in my heart of hearts, I knew it wasn’t a happening option.
“But you’re not wearing the ring?”
“No.”
How could I tell him that I’d lost it? How could I say that we’d had our shot at coupledom years ago, but it didn’t pan out? How could I say that I still loved him—as a friend?
He smiled with a sad, sweet lopsided twist to his mouth as our conversation trailed off into silence; we both knew the truth.
“Keep the diamond—as a token.”
“Cole, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He took my hand and kissed it. “We’ll always have Orlando.”
I laughed, but felt the sting of unshed tears in my eyes.
“So what do you need me to do to help out at the RV park?” He gave my fingers a parting squeeze and let go.
“Let me think . . .” Pausing to clear my mind of the last few emotional moments, I took in a deep breath of chilly air and exhaled with a visible puff. “I’ve got a couple of text messages from different residents and visitors. One recent complaint about a faulty cable-TV plug, and an older one about loud music. Oh, never mind. That was from me about my possibly-famous mystery neighbor.”
“I’m on it.” He glanced at the large RV next door, the awning decorated with chili-pepper lights that blinked to the beat of the music. “I’ll start with the cable plug and get to your complaint in the morning. That place scares me.”
“Just wait till the stuffed flamingo starts playing the guitar again.”
“Seriously?”
I nodded, and supplied him with the site number for the cable-plug debacle.
Coastal Corpse Page 16
