The Deadly Ackee

by Joan Hess

  “You don’t mean …?” Sitermann polished off his drink, took a bottle from under his chair to refill his glass, then settled back with a brightly curious look.

  “The local police, I would think. It’s a very clever setup, actually. He goes undercover and takes a job at the adjoining villa in order to observe any possible drug deals taking place there. Only two nights ago, we obligingly left him alone so that he could sneak onto the balcony and take photographs of whatever was occurring between the count and a business associate. All these trips are most likely to his office for conferences, orders, and strategy sessions. Were you there, my friend?”

  “Naw, I let the locals run this operation as best they can,” Sitermann said expansively. “Gives them good experience, a chance for a little glory, and a reason to request sophisticated toys courtesy of our government. You’re right about our boy Eli, of course; we even trained him in Virginia for undercover work. But what does this have to do with the red-haired girl’s disappearance, Bloom?”

  “I don’t know. Do you have any knowledge of this, any little thing that might have slipped your eelish mind? If you do, you’d better spit it out, Mr. Spitzberg.”

  The spy held up three fingers in the traditional Scout salute. “All kidding aside, I swear I have no idea what happened to the girl. I didn’t know Eli took pictures from the balcony a couple of nights back, and I don’t know where he is at this moment in time. Look, I happened to hear the girl talking about the villa while she was waiting to parasail, and I recognized the location. I had no idea you and your niece were a part of the house party; God knows I would have run the opposite way as fast as these bony legs would carry me before I’d voluntarily tangle with you again.”

  Theo was not awed by the sincerity in Sitermann’s voice, and he knew too many Scouts who’d mugged little old ladies. “Then what were you doing in this area tonight?”

  “Classified, old boy, classified. Would you mind calling me a cab? I think I’ll mosey back to the hotel and see if I can find any potential leading ladies in the bar.”

  Once the spy was gone, Theo instinctively carried the dishes back to the kitchen and rinsed them in the sink while he pondered Sitermann’s avowal of ignorance. Afterward he climbed the stairs to the second floor and tapped on Dorrie’s door.

  Giggling, Dorrie opened the door a slit. “Are you going to bed now, Uncle Theo?”

  “I am, yes. I wanted to be sure that you and Bitsy had found your possessions as you left them, and that nothing might be missing.”

  “It’s all dandy,” Dorrie said, still giggling although Theo had found his comments less than humorous. “You run along to bed and don’t worry about Mary Margaret. See you in the morning.”

  Theo walked on to his bedroom, unable to prevent himself from visualizing Mary Margaret in a variety of situations, none of which enhanced his role of chaperone. In a bout of whimsy, he considered the wisdom of telephoning his sister, Nadine, to tell her what a lovely time he was having and how he did indeed wish she were there, but dismissed the heretical idea as a symptom of exhaustion. He put on his pajamas, visited the bathroom, ascertained that the villa was at peace, climbed into bed, and snapped off the light on the bedside table. He lay awake for a long while, searching his mind for a rational explanation for Mary Margaret’s evanescence, which had happened in less time than it took Dorrie to list her credit cards.

  He finally put it aside and forced himself to visualize tidy green rows of sugar snap peas and blossoming tomato plants, all sturdy, well-irrigated, and free from the slightest smudge of blight. Smiling, he snuggled into the pillow and closed his eyes.

  Thirty seconds later the screams began.

  The screaming stopped as abruptly as it had begun, but the reverberations seemed to bounce around the dark bedroom like ping-pong balls. Theo waited a few seconds for his adrenaline to ebb, then threw back the covers and scrabbled on the bedside table for his bifocals. He was tying the belt of his bathrobe when his door opened and Dorrie slipped in, her arms wrapped around herself as though she could suppress the shivers and convulsive twitches of her body, which she obviously could not. Her ashen face was streaked with black lines of mascara, and water streamed from her sodden hair. She wore a terrycloth jacket, although it had been buttoned by hasty, negligent fingers. Her feet, always shod to protect them from unsightly calluses, were bare.

  “Oh, Uncle Theo,” she said in an expressionless voice.

  “What has happened, my dear? Here, sit down and let me bring you a towel so you can dry off. You must be thoroughly chilled.”

  “You would be, too,” she said as she sank down on a corner of the bed, her fingers still digging into the softness of her upper arms. “I can’t decide if I should scream, faint, or barf. Perhaps I ought to do all three, although I don’t suppose I can do so in that order. Oh, Uncle Theo …” She toppled over backward and stared at the ceiling through glazed, unblinking eyes. A trickle of saliva ran down her cheek.

  “Dorrie, you must tell me what happened. As much as I appreciate this melodramatic introduction, I must insist you explain what evoked those blood-chilling screams a few minutes ago.”

  She sat up, but immediately clamped a hand over her mouth and lurched toward the bathroom. Admittedly impatient by now, Theo waited until she was finished, then draped a jacket around her shoulders as she came back into the bedroom. He dried her cheeks with a clean handkerchief, settled her on the edge of the bed, patted her knee with avuncular tenderness, and offered her the glass of water from the bedside table. She allowed his ministrations with a few muted gulps of gratitude.

  “You must explain,” he said gravely.

  “It was so ghastly. In truth, it was the most ghastly experience of my life. If anything like that ever happens again, I’ll just—”

  “What happened, Dorrie?”

  “Well, since everyone had gone to bed like a bunch of middle-aged party poopers, Bitsy and I decided to go skinny-dipping in the pool. It’s a perfect night—balmy, starry, redolent breeze, the exact sort of thing one reads about in romance novels. Not that I read those trashy things, mind you, but some of the girls in the dorm do and they’re always reading the torrid excerpts aloud over dinner. It’s enough to destroy whatever appetite one might rally for the cafeteria, better known as carbo city.”

  Theo bit back what could have been interpreted as an acerbic comment. “Please get to the point,” he said with measured calmness. “We can discuss literary preferences at another time.”

  “I wouldn’t call romance novels literature with a capital L, Uncle Theo. But anyway, Bitsy and I crept downstairs and went out to the pool, which was very dark since no one bothered with the lights tonight: We left our towels and things on a chaise and eased into the water so that no one would hear any splashes and come to investigate. We were giggling, of course, but very quietly. I wouldn’t have minded if Biff and Sandy joined us, but Trey has both the hands and the morals of a squid, and I certainly didn’t want to wrestle with him in the dark.”

  “Where is Bitsy at this moment?” Theo said, resisting an urge to shake the pertinent portion of the story from her. “Is she unharmed?”

  “Yeah, I guess. She fainted in one of the chaises beside the pool. She didn’t look as if she was going anywhere for quite a while, so I tossed a towel over her and left her there while I came up here to tell you what happened.”

  “Which I am optimistic that you are going to do—now.”

  “We were swimming around, feeling rather daring in an adolescent fashion—as if we were at summer camp and thirteen years old, zits and all. At one point we thought we heard someone in the driveway, but we decided it was a cat. Then I bumped into something in the pool. At first I assumed it was Bitsy, since it felt like an arm and she does have a pair of those. I poked her and whispered for her to watch where she was going, because I really had no intention of getting my hair wet and being forced to wash it after we finished swimming. Well, she shot back a snippy little remark—from
a far corner of the pool.” Dorrie gulped loudly and again clamped her hand over her mouth. After several convulsive jerks, she gained control of herself and gave Theo a shaky smile. “It scared the holy shit out of me, if you’ll pardon my French. I poked this thing in front of me, and it just bobbled away without a sound. Bitsy started hissing to know what was going on, but I ignored her and swam a stroke or two to find out what it was. It was a body, Uncle Theo—a dead body.”

  This time she could not stop the upheavals of her stomach, and scrambled for the bathroom. Once she returned, Theo wiped her cheeks, but he kept his hands on her shoulders as he stared into her eyes. “Who was it, Dorrie?” he inquired gently.

  “It was too dark to see anything, so I got out of the pool pretty damn fast and ran over to the wall to switch on the pool light. There was Eli, floating face up with his eyes wide open and his face contorted as if he’d had terrible stomach cramps or something. After we determined who it was, I turned off the light. Bitsy was screeching like a Radcliffe coed on a football weekend, so I dragged her out of the pool, slapped her a couple of times, and told her to shut up or she’d find herself eating terrycloth. That’s when she fainted. You’d have thought she was Scarlett O’Hara in a twelve-inch corset.”

  Theo realized he had been expecting to hear Mary Margaret’s name, and let out his breath. Not that this did anything to reassure him of her safety, however, he reminded himself with a wince. “Did you notice anything that might indicate the cause of death?” he asked Dorrie, still forcing himself to speak gently.

  “No, but he certainly was dead. I could see that much. What do we do now, Uncle Theo?”

  “I shall telephone the police. You check on Bitsy, and if she has revived herself, take her upstairs and both of you change into more suitable attire. I’ll let the others know what’s happened.”

  Dorrie stopped in the doorway and looked back at Theo, who was already reaching for his trousers. “Earlier you said you had an idea of Eli’s true identity, because of the camera equipment and upscale wardrobe, but you didn’t want to say anything more until you talked to him. You’re not going to talk to him, Uncle Theo.”

  “I did have a few words with our chum from the CIA, who confirmed my theory that Eli was an undercover policeman involved in a drug operation.”

  Dorrie’s hand tightened around the doorknob as she stared back. After a moment to digest the information, she said, “And he took the job here so that he could observe Count D’Orsini next door, right? Eli had a lovely view from the balcony, not of the ocean but of the pool and terrace on the other side of the fence. I should have figured it out myself; it’s so obvious. Do you think Eli was murdered, Uncle Theo? If someone murdered him, then what does this mean for Mary Margaret? As much as I hate to say it, I am concerned about her.”

  “As am I, my dear, but there’s no point in hypothesizing at this moment. Eli’s death is most likely an ordinary accident, brought on perhaps by a medical condition that caused him to lose consciousness or be stricken by cramps. You run along and attend to Bitsy, who may very well recover and start screaming once more. Her voice is quite piercing, to say the least, and liable to rouse all the villas on the hillside.”

  “All the villas on all the hillsides,” Dorrie amended before closing the door.

  Theo finished dressing and went out to the landing. Biff stood in the doorway of his room, a bathrobe draped over his shoulders.

  “Is that you, Mr. Bloomer?” he said, squinting in the dim light. “I thought I heard a woman scream a few minutes ago. Did you hear it, too? I mean, did someone really scream—or was I imagining things? Did Dorrie just dash out of your room? Why are you dressed?”

  “You heard a scream,” Theo said gravely. “There’s been an accident, and I fear Eli has drowned. Where is Sandy?”

  “He must have gone to investigate. I had so much champagne after dinner that it took me a long time to decide I wasn’t dreaming.” He rubbed his temples as he continued to squint at Theo. “How did Eli drown? Is Dorrie okay? Was she the one who screamed?”

  “We’ll deal with your questions after I’ve called the police. Get dressed and go to the terrace.” Theo went downstairs, but as he turned to enter the kitchen, he saw a figure silhouetted against the doorway of the terrace. “Sandy?” he whispered cautiously, sliding his hand along the wall to find the light switch.

  “Mr. Bloomer?” Sandy’s laugh was shaky. “Thank God. I heard a scream—or at least I thought I did, so I came downstairs to look around.” He showed Theo the empty Perrier bottle he was clutching by its neck. “I wasn’t sure I could intimidate an intruder with this, but my golf clubs are in a closet down here. Anyway, I looked around and didn’t find anybody.”

  “Did you check the yard and the gate?”

  “Yes, sir. The gate’s locked. I didn’t see anything by the pool, but it seemed okay. Trey’s in his room, snoring away like an electric razor. Nobody was lurking in the yard or the driveway. Eli’s either still missing or passed out cold; I knocked on his door and had no answer. I guess either I was dreaming or the scream came from another villa down the hillside.” He flipped on the light and, with a self-deprecating smile, put the bottle on the dining room table. “Did you come down for a glass of warm milk, sir?”

  Theo assured him that there had been a scream. After instructing him to wake Trey, dress, and meet on the terrace, Theo went to the telephone and grimly dialed the telephone number of the police station.

  The duty officer listened more attentively this time. Theo admitted he had no idea of the cause of death, the time of same, or any possibly pertinent facts, including proper name, home address, or next of kin. The voice on the other end promised to send officers within a few minutes. By the time two policemen parked at the bottom of the driveway and came through the gate, Theo and his charges were on the terrace. He had related what had occurred and plied them with enough coffee to produce a semblance of horrified comprehension. The pool and its unsavory contents had been left in darkness, and no one glanced in that direction.

  Dorrie and Bitsy were both pale. As the two dark-skinned policemen came onto the terrace, Theo stepped forward and quietly related the events that led to the discovery of the body, hoping to head off some of the questions he knew would be directed at the girls. The policemen introduced themselves as Sergeants Stahl and Winkler, both of the Cornwall County Criminal Investigation Bureau, then went down the stairs to the pool to ascertain the validity of the narration for themselves. When the lights came on, those on the terrace tensed, but no one turned.

  “How do they know it wasn’t just an accident?” Dorrie asked. “It seems like they’d send patrolmen out for an accident, not sergeants. And why are they from the criminal branch?”

  Biff went over to put his hand on her shoulder. “Maybe this is the only branch they have here. But it doesn’t concern us, since he was simply an employee. In fact, he wasn’t even our employee; he worked for that real estate woman’s firm. Let’s all remember to insist on the fact that this has absolutely nothing to do with any of us.”

  “You didn’t crash against a corpse in the pool,” Dorrie said, shuddering.

  Sandy reached across the table to pat her hand. “It must, have been a nightmare, literally. Mr. Bloomer, how long do you think he was in the pool? Could he have come back after we went to bed, or was he … well, was he there all along, while we were eating dinner and drinking up here? The thought makes me want to throw up. After all, he was a good chap—a little slow, but always agreeable about running errands, doing little favors. I feel really bad about not noticing him.” He ducked his face and ran a hand through his stubby hair. “This is lousy, totally lousy.”

  “Maybe he heard Dorrie’s avowal of revenge and decided to take the easy way out,” Trey murmured.

  “I didn’t say I was going to drown him, you slime,” Dorrie said, her face regaining some of its color. “I said he ought to be fired.”

  “Unless he was dead. I distinctly remember y
ou saying Eli had better be dead. You got that right, Dorrikin. As an oracle, you’re up there with the Delphic broad.”

  “You might consider abandoning this unsuccessful attempt at wit and worrying a little more about Mary Margaret,” Dorrie said. “She is your sister, after all, and she’s been gone half the night. You do have an ounce of sibling affection somewhere in your perverted little soul, don’t you?”

  “She’s like one of Bo Peep’s sheep, darling. Leave her alone and she’ll come home, wagging her tail behind her. I’m hardly inclined to lose any sleep over her.”

  “Do you know what you are?” Bitsy demanded shrilly.

  Everyone, including an unrepentant Trey, nodded, saving her the minor effort of forming the word.

  Sergeant Stahl came up the stairs. “I need to use your telephone in order to call in a report.”

  Theo offered to show him the way to the kitchen. Once they were there, he said, “Can you tell us anything regarding the time or cause of death? We’re all feeling quite distressed about this, since it seems possible we ate supper on the terrace while Eli was below in the pool.”

  “The medical examiner will have to make that determination. If you’re finished with your questions, I will make the necessary calls in order to start the investigation into the death of the young male in the swimming pool. Then I have questions for you and the others.”

  “Based on your first impressions, can you tell me if the death appears to be an accidental drowning?”

  “It may have been an accident, but he did not drown. I’ve seen the symptoms of the vomiting sickness too many times here in Jamaica, and although this is not official, I would say with some certainty he had ingested the fruit of an unripened ackee. It is deadly.”