Because my hat was damp, discolored, misshapen, and unwearable for now, I ran product through my dark, wavy hair. It had been weeks since I’d needed to style it, and I realized I was badly in need of a haircut. I stepped back to take in the overall package before leaving the bathroom. Despite the myriad of problems the mirror reflected, my birth defect of a big nose included, I didn’t look quite as horrible as I felt. My body looked far better in Caribbean lobster red than it did in Midwest winter white. My face, though distorted by a beating, was still what many women would call handsome, and I personally felt my new bruises and scars only added to my ruggedness. For the mission I had planned for the day, I needed to look my best.
I spritzed on a little cologne. My brows knitted together and my mouth formed an O as the woodsy scent stung the sunburned skin on my bare chest. I patted it lightly as I strode into the kitchen. There I picked up my phone and dialed. It rang twice before Al’s codgerly old voice picked up on the other end.
“Yeah?”
“Meet me for breakfast?”
“I already had oatmeal.”
“It’s only fucking eight o’clock.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve been up since four thirty.”
“Holy shit.”
“Sucks to get old.”
I sighed. “I think I’ll pass on that, then.”
“On breakfast?”
“On getting old.”
“Oh.” Al was silent then.
“So you’ll meet me for breakfast?”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
* * *
Barefoot and shirtless, I beat Al to the lobby. I stopped into Angelita’s Bay Boutique, the upscale clothing store on site, and spent all of three minutes picking out some new clothes. Until the Pam situation was resolved, there was no way I was finding time to do laundry. So, I plucked one tank top of every style from each rack until I’d hit ten. I put three new packages of underwear on the counter, and six new pairs of shorts. Unfortunately for me, the store only had two pairs of athletic shorts. The rest were Bermuda-style shorts, which I detested more than I detested mandals with Velcro. But I didn’t have a lot of options.
And since today was an important day, I actually changed out of my swim trunks and into one of the Bermuda shorts, a pink pair that clung to my butt. I let Tish, the fifty-seven-year-old sales clerk with the blonde bird’s nest of hair, pick out a shirt to match. Which was how I ended up wearing a short-sleeved linen shirt printed with black pelicans. She also tried to sell me a pair of leather mandals, with said Velcro, but I opted for a pair of tan loafers instead. I figured if I had to do anymore impromptu transatlantic swimming, those had a better chance of staying on my feet, as opposed to another pair of flip-flops. I did, however, buy a new pair of flip-flops because they said beach casual much louder than the boat shoes, and I’d actually grown to love letting my hairy toe flag fly.
With my boutique shopping sack slung over one shoulder, I leaned back against a pillar in the lobby. I propped one foot up on the wall behind me and tipped my head forward. I lowered my shades to the bridge of my nose and stared all “male-modelish” at the doorway, waiting for Al to arrive.
I watched as he nodded hello to Mariposa, Mack, and Alicia at the front desk.
“Good morning, Mr. Becker,” I heard Mari call out to him.
“Good morning, Mari. You seen Drunk?”
Mari pointed towards the boutique. She’d seen me go in but apparently hadn’t seen me come out. “I think he’s in Angelita’s.”
He didn’t even slow down as he passed me on his way to Angelita’s. I cleared my throat. “Uh-hum.”
Al kept walking.
“Uh-hum!” I barked louder, shifting around the pillar, so he’d still be able to see me from the other side.
Al kept walking.
“Al!” I finally hollered.
Stoop-shouldered, Al stopped walking and waddled around in a half-circle until he faced me. “There you are. Why are you leaning like that? You look ridiculous.”
“Like my new threads?”
“Your new what?”
I straightened to my full height. “My new clothes, Al. Geez. Move into the twenty-first century, man.”
Al looked me up and down, his puffy white eyebrows raised. “Ohh. That shirt’s much better than the shirts you usually wear.”
“Yeah? I look good?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Of course you didn’t.” What had I been thinking? I shook my head, a grin slowly spreading across my face. I appreciated the fact that Al told it like it was and was stingy with his compliments. That meant when he actually did say something nice, you knew he meant it.
Al started towards the dining room and then beckoned me to follow him. “Come on, I’m hungry.”
“You said you already ate.”
“I haven’t eaten second breakfast yet.”
“Right.” I tugged my sunglasses off my face, shoved them in my pocket, and caught up to him.
He turned to me, holding a finger up. “Hey, before I forget. Evie’s worried about you.”
I grinned. I loved Mrs. Al like a second mother. “Aww, Evie’s worried about me? How sweet is that?”
“I told her you’d barely eaten anything yesterday. She said she wants you to come over for lunch, and she’ll cook you a good, hearty meal.”
My eyes perked up as we passed the seating hostess, giving her a little head nod. “Yeah? What kind of good, hearty meal?”
“Midwest style. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn on the cob.”
I stopped walking and looked down at Al. “Well, what the hell are we going to second breakfast for? Can’t we go eat that right now?”
Al swatted at me. “Funny. But no. She just ran into town to do the shopping. Are you in?”
I nodded emphatically. “Definitely! Definitely I’m in.”
“Great. Now, did you give the situation any thought last night? We got a plan for today?”
I nodded. “Yeah, after breakfast, we’re going on a recruiting mission.”
“Speak English?” Al said, cupping his ear.
“We’re gonna go get a little help from a friend,” I said loudly.
“Yeah? Who’s that?”
I grinned mischievously. “Oh, you’ll see.”
* * *
The Paradise Isle Royal Police Force was located in a large white two-story stucco building with arched doorways and red clay roof tiles. It looked more like an apartment building or a hotel than a police station, but the multitude of police cruisers out front gave its contents away.
“You really think this is a good idea?” asked Al as we walked up the front sidewalk.
“It’s my only idea. I barely know anyone on this island. I have no resources. I barely even have a sense of direction. So, yeah, I’m hoping it’s a good idea.”
“I thought you said the kidnapper said no cops.”
I shrugged. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Come on.”
I held the door for Al, and the two of us were soon face-to-face with Jefferson, the young man that worked the front counter. Jefferson looked up at us and smiled, his pudgy cheeks dimpling. One of his eyes met mine while his other eye watched down the hallway. “May I help you?”
“We’re here to speak with Officer Cruz.”
Jefferson looked surprised. “Officer Cruz?”
I shot a side glance at Al but nodded. “She still works here, correct?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll have her step out to see you.”
“Thanks.”
Al and I stepped back and with folded arms, I gave the bulletin board on the wall a once-over. There were wanted posters, missing dog posters, missing children posters, and missing bike posters. I even saw a poster advertising a missing rooster.
“Drunk?” I spun around to see Officer Francesca Cruz looking at me with her hands boosted on her hips and a smile of surprise lighting up her face. Officer Cruz stood about five foot
five. Her athletic build filled out her Paradise Isle RPD uniform in all the right places. Her dark brown shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She was a sight for sore eyes. “What are you doing here?”
“Officer Cruz, it’s good to see you!” I gestured towards Al. “You remember Al?”
“Of course I do. How’ve you been, Al?”
Al grinned. “Tired, but good.”
She got a little closer to me, narrowing her eyes as she moved. “What happened to your face?”
I fingered my battle wounds lightly. “Oh, I ran into a wall.”
“With your jaw?”
“And I fell down some stairs,” I added flippantly.
She shook her head. “What are you guys doing here?”
“We came to take you to coffee,” I said, glancing back at Jefferson, who had one ear trained on us like a hawk.
She rocked back on her heels, her thumbs caught inside her belt loops. “I don’t drink coffee.”
“Well, then, we came to take you to lunch.”
“It’s like nine thirty, Drunk.” She quirked a grin when I slumped forward.
Al patted me on the arm as if to say “I got this.” “We came to take you to ice cream. Go tell your boss you’re taking a break. We need to speak with you.”
Francesca’s dark eyes swiveled from Al to me and then back to Al again. I could tell that something in our eyes told her we were serious. She nodded. “Okay. Gimme a minute. I’ll meet you outside.”
23
Francesca insisted on taking us to her favorite ice cream shop, The Hairy Coconut, which was literally a hop, skip, and a jump away from the Paradise Isle RPD. It was located on the Paradise Isle boardwalk, just one of the many kitschy little shops nestled amongst groves of palm trees that shaded the sidewalk which slowly wound its way between the natural coastline and the many local pubs, restaurants, shops, and art galleries. A live Caribbean band’s music carried for blocks, and where it dropped off, music was piped in over speakers mounted in the trees. The soft morning breeze and the shade of the palm trees dispelled the heat, allowing many to enjoy their breakfast or early ice cream treats al fresco.
With my rocky road waffle cone in one hand and a cup of water in the other, I sat down at the table across from Al and Francesca. Al quietly spooned his chocolate sundae, while Francesca worked on her double scoop while staring at me.
I lifted a brow and glanced across the table at her. “What are you staring at?”
She smiled, her eyes flickering back down to her ice cream. “Sorry. It’s just that you’re so red! You look like a lobster!”
I straightened my elbow and looked down at my arm. “Oh, yeah. I fell asleep on the beach,” I said with a nod. I really didn’t feel like getting into all of the details.
She winced. “Oooh, that’s dangerous on this island.”
“Tell me about it.”
She touched my skin lightly. “Does it hurt?”
“It doesn’t tickle.” I took a quick bite of my ice cream and then nodded towards hers. “So what kind of ice cream did you get?”
She looked at her cone. “Mmm, I got two different kinds. The top scoop is Oreo cheesecake, and the bottom is nutty coconut.”
I let out an inadvertent gag. “Ugh. Are you serious? Nutty coconut?”
She nodded. “Yeah, why?”
My whole face twitched. One eyebrow went up, and I made the face of someone who’d just bitten into a sour lime.
Al chuckled. “Drunk has a coconut aversion.”
“Oh yeah? Paradise Isle is a bad place to have a coconut aversion,” said Francesca through continued licks of her cone. “Everything here has coconut in it. It’s like an island staple.”
“Oh, trust me, I’ll manage to avoid it. Even if I have to live off tequila alone.”
Al nodded. “And trust me, he’s trying.”
Francesca leaned an elbow on the table and settled her chin into her palm. She looked at me with interest. “So, I’ll be honest. I was shocked to see you at the station. I didn’t think you’d still be on the island. I assumed after everything, you’d have gone back to the States by now.”
Officer Cruz had offered her assistance when I’d needed help proving my innocence in the murder case I’d helped solve a few weeks back. Working together had been a win-win situation. I’d netted seven million dollars, and she’d gotten a notch on her belt by collaring the crook. We’d hoped it had helped her off the bottom of the totem pole at the PIRPF.
“Drunk’s working at the Seacoast Majestic now,” said Al.
Francesca turned to me, her eyes bright. “No kidding? You’re living on the island now? Full-time?”
I lifted a shoulder. “For now anyway.”
“You don’t have to go back to the police department in Missouri?”
“Nah,” I said, swatting at the air. “They don’t really need me there.”
“What does Artie have you doing at the resort?”
I straightened my shirt and sat up proudly. “You happen to be looking at the new head of resort security,” I said, waggling my head.
She nodded knowingly. “Ahh, I get it.” The table was silent for a moment until she glanced at each of us in turn. “So, I don’t understand. It sounds like everything should be going good. But you fellas seemed tense earlier. What’s going on?”
The ups and downs of the last couple of days weighed heavily on my shoulders. I let out a heavy sigh and allowed my body to sag slightly. “You’re right. There is something going on.”
Her head bobbed. “I knew it. What’s up?”
I glanced over at Al and then back at Francesca. “Well, you knew why I came to the island in the first place, right?”
“Yeah. Pretty sure,” she said, pursing her lips. “You got left at the altar?” She reached across the table and put a hand gently on my arm. “I’m so sorry.”
I winced and pulled my arm away. “I didn’t get…” Al’s chuckle made me shoot a contemptuous glare in his direction. “I didn’t get left at the altar, thank you. I got cheated on the night before the wedding. There’s a difference.”
“What’s the difference?” asked Al.
“The difference is I left her!” I said, raising my voice.
Francesca shook her head. “Okay, so what’s this all got to do with me?”
“His ex came to see him this week,” said Al.
Francesca’s big brown eyes widened. “No kidding?”
“Her name is Pam Calcara,” I said. “She flew out here three days ago.”
“To see you?”
“She wanted to see if we could work things out.”
“Yeah? Did you?”
I frowned. “Not even close. I shut her down and then promptly asked the resort’s concierge to make sure she got on a plane back to America. But the problem is, she never got on the plane.”
Francesca’s brow wrinkled. “Okay? So she’s still bumming around the island? I mean, I get how that might bother you. But, Drunk, that’s hardly against the law…”
I shook my head. “That’s not it.” I glanced around the open-air seating, my eyes flitting this way and that to make sure no one was listening, then I leaned across the table. “If I tell you what happened, I’m going to need you to promise me that this doesn’t leave this table. It’s very important that you don’t tell anyone else.”
“Why not?”
“It just is. Can I count on you to keep it between us?”
“Drunk…”
I reached my hand across the table and touched hers. “Please. Officer Cruz. Francesca. I need help, and you’re the only one I feel comfortable coming to.”
She looked down at the hand I’d placed on hers and then quietly pulled it away. “I mean, if you’ve done something illegal, if you’ve hurt anyone, I have to…”
“I didn’t do anything illegal. I swear. I wasn’t the one that hurt Pam.”
“So then what’s going on?”
“Promise me you’ll k
eep it between us.”
She sighed. “Okay, as long as you didn’t do anything illegal, then I promise.”
I nodded. “Thank you. Okay, well, the thing is… my ex was kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped!” Francesca’s brows shot up. “By who?”
“I don’t know their names, but I have seen their faces.”
“You saw them take her?”
“Sort of. I’ve got video footage of her leaving the resort with this one guy. We’re pretty sure she didn’t know him. But the deal is they’re demanding seven million dollars ransom for me to get her back. I didn’t believe them at first, and to be honest, I was a little salty about the breakup, and I didn’t really care if they returned her or not.”
“A little salty?” said Al, with a chuckle.
“Fine, a lot salty. Maybe I told them they could feed her to the sharks for all I cared…”
“Drunk!” breathed Francesca. “You said that in response to a ransom demand?”
I let my head drop, feeling guilty once again for my cavalier attitude. “Yes, I know, I know. I regret it now. Now that I’ve seen her captured firsthand.”
“You saw her captured firsthand?”
“Well, after not responding particularly well to their threats, yesterday morning they hit me over the head and abducted me from my house. They took me to see Pam.” I felt my throat constrict as I once again pictured her bruised and battered face. I swallowed hard. “They beat her.”
Francesca frowned. “I’m so sorry, Drunk.” She pointed to my lip then. “So that’s what really happened to your face?”
I nodded. “I met Smitty. He’s the muscle of the operation. Know anyone by that name?”
Francesca thought about it for a second before tipping her head sideways. “Mmm, I don’t think so. I mean, I can do some digging. Do you know where they’re holding her?”
“On a yacht. That’s all I know. They dropped me off somewhere off the coast of the island, and I had to swim for my life. If it hadn’t been for learning to swim in the Scouts, I’m not sure I would’ve made it.”
Drunk on a Boat Page 10
