Daiquiri Dock Murder
Page 11
Kane turned and headed toward the bandstand, suddenly concerned about the well-being of Pablo’s drum set. Threnody stepped forward and spread some sandwich filling on a saltine.
“Wonderful, Mama G,” she said. “It’s a unique taste. I’m sure our guests here this evening will love it and ask for more.”
Brick tried the spread and nodded in agreement with his wife. When Dolly returned from the kitchen to taste the mixture, Mama G held the bowl out of her reach and scowled.
“Don’t need your opinion,” Mama G said. “You just stick to writing your poems.”
“And I didn’t need your put-down of my poem which professional editors accepted for publication,” Dolly said.
“Ladies!” I interrupted. “It’s almost time to open The Frangi to our patrons. Mama G, I’m sure everyone will love your sandwich fillings. Why don’t you blow your conch shell now to announce we’re ready and waiting for guests?”
“Si,” Mama G said, distracted from her argument with Dolly. “The wail of the conch shell, it appeal to the curious. They hear. From all over the hotel, they hear Mama G play the conch. It draw people here. It get our evening off to a grand start.”
“Some grand start we’ll have without our favorite drummer,” Kane grumbled. “Guess we really didn’t expect Pablo to show, did we? We’ve been depending on Dolly too much. Maybe we’d better hire her on a regular basis—show Pablo that he’s not indispensable.”
“I’ll call Dolly from the kitchen,” Brick said. “I’ll sweet talk her a bit to get her over the poetry thing.”
“I’m guessing she’ll be willing and eager to sit in on drums again tonight,” Kane said. “She’s probably looking forward to it. Dolly loves the limelight—almost as much as Mama G.”
“You’ll pinch hit for her in the kitchen?” I asked Brick.
“As usual,” Brick said. “Promised your mother.”
For once, Mama G didn’t grumble or protest. She picked up the conch shell from the top of the piano and began blowing. Her face grew stroke red from the effort, and, although she looked as if she might have a seizure or maybe a heart attack, she continued making conch shell music.
When Brick returned from the kitchen and his talk with Dolly, he gave us thumbs up. Tonight he claimed the chore, or the honor, depending on how you looked at it, of lighting the torches that ringed the balcony outside the dance floor. I loved the sight of the torches sending their flares into the late-evening darkness, the smell of the lighter fluid. The open-air Frangi was one of my favorite places in the hotel.
Guests began exiting the elevator and easing closer to the bar and the dance floor. I stepped forward to greet them, knowing the flaring torches and Mama G’s conch shell wailing intrigued them.
“What’s going on?” one lady asked. “I’ve never heard anything like it before.”
“Mama G’s playing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” I explained. “She produces her music by blowing across the cut-off end of a conch shell. It’s a talent she’s developed from childhood.”
“I don’t recognize the tune,” the lady said, after listening a few moments. “Don’t recognize it at all.”
I couldn’t recognize the melody, either, but I smiled. Mama G’s puffed cheeks threatened to flush from crimson to purple, but she kept on blowing. Soon people gathered at the bar or found seats at the edge of the dance floor, waiting for the combo music and the dancing to begin.
At last Mama G passed the shell to Brick with a dramatic bow. Brick then made a mini-ceremony of polishing the conch with a flowing silk scarf, holding it high in the torchlight before placing it on a silver salver atop the piano. Mama G gave Brick his moment in the sun before she swooped to the raised combo platform. Threnody followed her across the dance floor and stood near the piano. The two of them always opened and closed the evening with Threnody singing a soulful rendition of “Harbor Lights.” Tonight she also sang two jazz numbers. I guessed the combo was prolonging the evening’s opening, waiting to see if Pablo might arrive.
I couldn’t help wondering why Pablo stopped at Sloppy’s tonight instead of coming straight to the hotel. And why had he avoided me? Did Ramsey and Lyon know he was back on-island? I hoped none of the tourists here tonight noticed the plain clothes detectives watching our dance floor from the sidelines while they kept The Frangi under surveillance. But I noticed. The officers were strangers to me, but once you’ve been in the hotel business a while you can spot a cop at a glance. Jessie noticed, too. He kept looking from the cops to Kane, perhaps hoping Kane would bounce them onto the street. I saw Mama G scowl at Jessie once when she had to wait for him to get the correct arrangement on his music stand.
She started to scowl at Dolly, too, pointing to the title of the tune they were about to play. Dolly ignored her, tilting her chin toward the stars and smiling. “I don’t use music,” she said to Mama G and also to a patron who stopped to compliment her. “I play from my heart and soul.”
Mama G let her get by with ignoring her, and I shrugged. Was a drummer’s sheet music all that important? I wondered. I’d glanced at Pablo’s music one night, and it looked like several lines of the same notes printed across the page with little variation. How could anyone read that and turn it into music!
Threnody and Dolly had arranged several dozen open-face sandwiches on hors d’oeuvre trays ahead of time. Brick knew how to serve them with a flourish, so I decided to go to the kitchen and try to call Pablo at Sloppy’s. I hadn’t expected him to come rushing right to the hotel the minute he saw me, but he could at least have let us know he was back on-island. The telephone hung very close to the door separating the kitchen from the dance floor, so I went to my suite to make my call in privacy.
Would the plainclothes guys follow me? I watched for them, but no. I was alone. Inside my suite, I relaxed on my bed and used my bedside phone. After punching in Sloppy’s number, the phone rang ten times before a gruff voice answered.
“Sloppy Joe’s Bar. Hemingway’s favorite watering hole. Sylvester speaking.”
“Will you call Pablo Casterano to the phone, please.”
“You sure he’s in here, lady?”
Ma’am? Miss? And now I was ‘lady.’ Guess I should have given my name before I asked for Pablo. “This is Rafa Blue calling Pablo from The Blue Mermaid.”
“Hold on a minute or ten. I’ll give him a shout. Pablo, right?”
“Yes. Pablo Casterano.”
From a distance I could hear Sylvester bellowing Pablo’s name. He said Castellano, but—close enough. I waited several minutes and was considering hanging up when Sylvester spoke again.
“He ain’t here, lady. Not tonight. Why doncha come on down anyway? We could have some fun.”
“Another time.” Another century, I thought.
“Lady? Rafa Blue? Lady, you in the book?”
I replaced the receiver, glad I wasn’t in the book—at least not Sylvester’s book. I stood for a few moments in my living room, looking through the sliding glass door and trying not to think of my fall from the balcony that afternoon. I peered into the darkness surrounding Key West harbor before I slid the door open a few inches and felt an onshore wind blow the sea scent of the trade wind to me. I imagined I could taste salt on my lips. And that reminded me of Saturday night, Diego, Daiquiri Dock Marina. I slid the door shut, making sure to lock it.
Chapter 17
(Sunday Night)
I hurried back to The Frangi, stepping into the entryway in time to see a crowd of patrons part to allow Pablo to stride to the bandstand. He wore black jeans, black tee, and a palm frond hat that revealed diamond studs gleaming from both earlobes. For a moment he glared at Dolly sitting at his trap set, then he smiled at her and bent to brush a kiss onto her cheek.
“Thank you for holding my place for me, Dolly. I appreciate.” Then he turned to the crowd.
“You’re in luck, folks. I just got back to Key West, and I’m ready to play for you this evening. Thanks for waiting for me.”
Most of the patrons at The Frangi tonight were tourists on vacation that had no insight into the personnel problems plaguing the combo. With Pablo at the traps, the rest of the evening passed smoothly. Once Threnody finished singing her farewell rendition of “Harbor Lights,” the crowd, including the plainclothes cops, gradually disbursed, heading for the elevator or perhaps for another hotel, another bar.
When only the few of us involved with operating The Frangi remained in the room, Brick made no move to extinguish the torches—his chore while Mother and Cherie were away. Kane broke the tension that gripped everyone.
“Welcome back, Pablo.” Kane extended a hand in greeting which Pablo ignored. “Long time, no see.”
Pablo’s gaze bored into Dolly. “Who gave you permission to use my trap set?”
“I didn’t know anyone needed permission,” Brick said before Dolly could reply. The combo needed a drummer. The drums were in place. Dolly volunteered. So how cool is that?”
“Pablo, welcome back.” I stepped between the two of them, soft-voiced and smiling. “We’re glad to have you on-island, and we all want to offer our condolences on the loss of your father.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Pablo spoke in a calm voice that helped ease our tensions.
“We know your father’s death must be a terrible shock to you,” Threnody said. “It’s left all of us devastated.”
“A shock at first,” Pablo agreed, then he slapped a deck of Tarot cards onto one of the glass-topped tables that ringed the bandstand. “But I saw the forewarning right there in the cards. Dad belittled my Tarot predictions, but if he’d listened to me during the past year or two, he might have avoided his killer.”
“And I suppose you intend to tell the police who that killer is,” Jessie held his head in a way that caused one of the patio torches to reflect flashes of amber light onto his brown eye while it hid his blue eye in deep shadow.
Pablo glared at him. “You might be surprised at the info I intend to tell the police.”
When Pablo turned and headed down the hallway toward the elevator, I followed him until we were out of earshot of the others. I managed to pass him, step in front of him. He stopped and looked me in the eye, and I spoke before he could push the elevator button.
“Pablo! We need to talk.”
“What about? Maybe you’d be happy if I sold my trap set to Dolly or Jessie. Or maybe you’d like to buy it for the hotel and find a replacement for me in the combo.”
“We aren’t trying to replace you, Pablo. No way. But be fair. You disappeared and we had no idea of when or whether you planned to return. Even Diego didn’t know your whereabouts. When you failed to show up for jobs, excuse me, for gigs, we needed to find a drummer. We asked Jessie—sometimes, but if he played drums, that left us without a string bass.”
“Hmmm.”
While Pablo trailed along behind me, I unlocked the door to my suite and invited him inside, trying to hide my nervousness. My fear? Perhaps. I glanced toward my balcony, wondering if Pablo could have been the person calling to me from below before the railing gave way. I offered him a stool at my snack bar and sat down next to him.
“Pablo. Here at the hotel we’re all your friends. Be reasonable. Treat us like friends. Be on time for the combo gigs and you’ll be welcome. We need you and we want you.”
“Got an attitude. Guess I should apologize. And maybe I will—some fine day in the future.”
“I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes. Could I bring you a sandwich from The Frangi? I’m sure there are plenty of leftovers.”
Pablo shook his head. “You don’t have to bribe me with food to get me to stay. We do need to talk. I’m still in shock over losing Dad. Heard about it on a TV newscast. Rafa, I don’t even know where Dad’s body is or where to go to claim it.”
“I know you’re hurting. I wasn’t trying to bribe you with a sandwich. Mama G didn’t give the combo many breaks tonight. Thought you might be hungry.”
“I am.” Pablo gave a short laugh. Even the thought of one of Mama G’s conch and caper sandwiches makes my mouth water.”
I hurried back to The Frangi, filled a tray with two sandwiches, a heap of chips, and a soda. When I returned, Pablo still sat at the snack bar. I offered him the tray, and he reached for it so eagerly I wondered how long it had been since he’d last eaten a real meal.
“What can you tell me about Dad’s death? Can’t find much in the Citizen. Start from the beginning. Start from the time you discovered him in the water.”
I hated the retelling. It came too close to making me relive the scene. He asked no questions nor made any comments until I finished my story. I expected him to demand more details, but he brought up more practical matters.
“So where is Dad’s body now?”
“The medical examiner still holds it.”
“I need to talk to the police, to the medical examiner, to a funeral director.”
“You needn’t be concerned about funeral plans. In your absence, Brick, Threnody, and I have agreed to claim Pablo’s body and plan the funeral—if that’s all right with you. If not, you can step up and help us or you can take charge at any time. We didn’t know how to get in touch with you. We were acting out of respect and kindness to our friend—and to you.”
Kane and Jessie rapped on my door while Pablo and I sat talking. “Need any help, Rafa?” Kane asked when I opened the door. Jessie glared at Pablo without speaking, but his hands at his sides curled into fists. I told myself I wasn’t afraid of Pablo, but I appreciated their concern and appreciated knowing that they were aware of Pablo’s presence in my suite.
“Thanks, guys. Everything’s fine here. We’ll be in touch soon.”
Kane nodded and then headed for the elevator with Jessie following close behind. Pablo said nothing about the interruption. He waited until Kane and Jessie had time to reach the ground floor, then he nodded to me and headed for my door and the elevator.
“Hola, Amigo,” Mama G called to me when I returned to The Frangi as if f I’d been away a long time. “I be packing my willow basket and heading home. Don’t like the looks of things here—Pablo, barging in like that. Sullen. That’s what he be, sullen. And Jessie. He be angry. Mama G no like sullen. No like anger in people.”
“Pablo might have seemed sullen,” I said, “but he wasn’t barging in. He does work here, you know.”
“Now and then.” Mama G scowled. “Maybe we no need his kind any more. On again. Off again. Got no band I can depend on.”
“I really like playing drums,” Dolly said. “Kane and Brick always fuss about me having to pinch hit for Pablo, but I don’t mind.” Dolly laughed when we continued to look at her in astonishment. “You know by now I’m no fancy drummer like Pablo, but years ago on my sixteenth birthday, I ran away from home. No job. No place to sleep. But I lucked out in Miami. Bobo Bongo and her all-girl band were playing at a club on Collins Avenue. Bobo Bongo and her Sweethearts of Swing. She needed a drummer to fill their contract for a gig requiring nine musicians on the bandstand. She had only eight. I joined them then and there.”
“For the night?” I asked.
“Right,” Dolly said. “And for the next night, too. Bobo taught me how to keep a steady beat on the bass. She hired me on the spot—helped me apply for membership in the musicians union.”
Except for the part about playing drums, Dolly could have been telling my own story. Was she making fun of me? Did she know about my running away from home as a teenager? No. For the most part Mother and Cherie had been able to hush up my escapades. Dolly had lived in Key West only a short time. She couldn’t have known.
&
nbsp; “I played with the Sweethearts of Swing for the summer,” Dolly said. “Did all right, too. Kept that band going and earned some bucks I needed.”
“We’ll keep you in mind as our steady substitute drummer,” I said. “We need to give Pablo some room, need to give him a chance to play if he wants to.”
“I can keep a steady beat on the bass. That’s important for the dancers. And that’s about all I did tonight. But I know how to flam-a-diddle, par-a-diddle—soft fancy stuff on the snares and the small cymbals. Bobo Bongo taught me a few drumming rudiments while I played with her band.
“Hola, Amigo!” Suddenly Mama G smiled and slapped Dolly on the back. “I talk to Pablo about you flamadiddling on his trap set. If he say okay, you be what Rafa says—a steady sub.” She gave a short chuckle. “Think I could play drums myself if I had to.”
I hid a laugh. “Pablo says everyone thinks they can play drums. Says he found out it’s harder than it looks.”
“Flam-a-diddle. Par-a-diddle,” Dolly said. “I got a knack for it.”
Before Mama G could say more, Dolly swooped onto the patio dance floor, batted her eyes at Brick, and began helping him extinguish the torches ringing the dance floor. A breeze freshened and the torch flames grew broader and higher. They reminded me of shimmering dancers autographing the night sky with their names of fire. Brick picked up a large aluminum candle snuffer and began walking the perimeter of the area, snuffing out each flame. For a moment the scent of sulphur hung in the air.
Threnody and I started carrying trays of glasses and coffee cups from the patio to the kitchen. We had stepped back toward the sink and the dishwasher when we heard Dolly scream.
Chapter 18
(Late Sunday Night)
“Help! Someone help me! I’m on fire!”
I dashed from the kitchen in time to see a torch flame igniting Dolly’s flowing sleeve. Threnody gasped in horror. When Brick saw flames licking Dolly’s blouse and then curling upward to singe her hair, he threw himself at her. Ripping the burning blouse from her body, he flung it onto the floor, stomping it. At the same time he pulled her toward him and wrapped her in a deep embrace that smothered the sparks burning her bra. I smelled the pungent odor of singed hair and silk.