Pineapple Pack II

by Amy Vansant

  “This the kitchen, obviously, and our TV watching room is there of course. It’s all very similar to your place.”

  “You’re familiar with our place?”

  “Am I...oh, not really, but all the houses along here are the same, more or less.”

  “Do you know Phil and Brenda?”

  “Who?”

  “Phil and Brenda Scott. It’s their house. We’re helping them fix it up a bit in return for a holiday vacation.”

  “Oh, no. I haven’t had the pleasure. I think James used to do handiwork for them though.” Her gaze shot in Emmitt’s direction, as if she’d said something she shouldn’t, and then barreled on before Charlotte could inquire who James was.

  “We’ve made friends with various groups of renters over the years, but I’m not familiar with the owners there,” she said.

  “Do you know who was there last week? Before us?”

  Dinah thought for a moment and then shook her head. “I can’t remember. Emmitt? Did you see who was there last week?”

  He shrugged. “Like you said, James would know but...” Emmitt sniffed and looked away, shaking his head.

  Dinah put a hand on Charlotte’s arm. “Anyway, the houses are very similar.”

  “You have an elevator. That’s nice,” said Charlotte.

  “Oh it is. Absolutely necessity for us, of course. Let’s take that now.”

  Dinah opened the door and slid back the grate with a quick jerk of her arm. Charlotte followed her to the snug box and she yanked the grate shut again before Emmitt could join them.

  “No need to come, Emmitt. We’ll see you when we get back.”

  Emmitt nodded and wandered off.

  The elevator moved slowly but it didn’t have far to go. On the second floor Dinah opened the grate and they walked into a hallway lined with pictures. In one photo, a dark-haired middle-aged man wearing a Clemson college t-shirt stood with his arm around Dinah and an older woman.

  “That’s Momma,” said Dinah.

  “Who’s that?” asked Charlotte, pointing to the man.

  She scowled. “That’s James. He’s no longer with us.”

  “Oh. Sorry again.”

  “Not dead, dear. Left. Not a good fit.”

  The next picture was of an elderly gentleman in an old-fashioned army uniform, standing on the beach.

  “Doesn’t he look smart,” said Charlotte.

  “Hm. Mr. Marino. Veteran’s Day. Most of the men here are veterans. Never let you forget it, either. Even on the beach.”

  She pointed to a photo of the same elderly gentleman sitting in a beach chair, a large Army tattoo on his chest. She rolled her eyes. “They let you know even without their uniforms. Let me show you the rooms.”

  As Dinah tugged her down the hall, Charlotte tried to catch glimpses of the other photos. They were mostly group shots of people on the beach or sitting on the porch, Emmitt and Dinah always nearby.

  They passed an empty room, sparse but for a hospital bed.

  “That’s Mr. Remy’s spot. Now that he’s catatonic he doesn’t keep up with his decorating and he has no family.”

  Charlotte pointed to a medal pinned to the lampshade beside the bed. “Mr. Remy’s a veteran?”

  Dinah nodded and moved down the hall to tap lightly on a closed door. “This one is Mr. Hanson. He doesn’t get out of bed as much as he used to. Marine corps.”

  Dinah flung open the door to what appeared to be the master bedroom, the massive windows offering an expansive view of the churning seas. The color palette and decorations implied a woman occupied this room.

  “This is my room,” said Dinah, beaming with what looked like pride.

  “You have the master? Lucky you,” said Charlotte.

  “Oh I insisted. I couldn’t move into Momma’s old room. That would be absolutely morbid. And anyway, what does Emmitt need with the space now that he’s alone?”

  “Alone?” Charlotte repeated the word before she could stop herself.

  Dinah looked at her and raised her eyebrows. “Hm?”

  “Oh, sorry, you said now that he’s alone. It’s none of my business—”

  “Did I? I just meant because he is alone. He doesn’t need a big room as a single man.”

  “Right.”

  Dinah brushed by her. “Over there is Emmitt’s room and Grace’s place. Grace was here when momma arrived. She’s been here the longest.”

  A curly white head of hair poked from Grace’s opened door.

  “Don’t mind us, Grace, I’m just giving our neighbor here the tour.”

  “Are you the police?” asked Grace, her gaze locked on Charlotte.

  Dinah rolled her eyes. “Gracey, I’ve told you a million times. Murder She Wrote is on the television. It isn’t real.”

  Grace nodded and withdrew.

  Dinah pulled Charlotte close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Her kids bought her the complete Murder She Wrote collection on DVD and now she thinks she’s in them. She thinks I’m Angela Lansbury because of my hair.”

  Dinah tapped Charlotte’s arm as a signal to follow and headed down the stairs. “I like to walk down the stairs. It’s not as hard as up and makes me feel like I’ve exercised.”

  Emmitt wandered into the foy-aye as they descended.

  “Get the nickel tour?” he asked.

  “I did. Very nice place you have. It’s yours?”

  He nodded, his expression growing glum. “James and I started it ten years ago.”

  Charlotte looked at Dinah, who shook her head, her lips pursed. She pulled Charlotte’s coat from the peg and thrust it at her.

  Charlotte took the coat and looked back at Emmitt, whose attention had wandered to the floor.

  “Thank you for the tour. I’ll—” There was a pop! and the room grew brighter. The roar of the generator stopped.

  Charlotte smiled. “How about that. Power’s back. Guess I won’t need to bother you with our fridge problems after all.”

  “No bother,” said Dinah, opening the door.

  With a final wave Charlotte crouched and plunged back into the storm.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “There you are. We were about to send out a search party,” said Declan as Charlotte reentered the rental. He was standing on a ladder in the living room, roller in hand, while Chuck painted the lower half of the room.

  “I went next door to see if they had fridge space for our butcher shop.”

  “I heard that,” said Carolina, as she rotated the meat from freezer to refrigerator.

  “I think you were trying to get out of painting the living room,” said Declan.

  Charlotte grinned. “Maybe.”

  “I think she was snooping,” said Seamus, descending the stairs. “Any luck?”

  Charlotte sighed. “Something weird is going on over there, but they had all their fingers and ears.”

  “Why wouldn’t they have ears?” asked Carolina.

  Charlotte slapped her hand over her mouth. Her eyes darted to Declan, who pointed at her.

  “What’s weird next door?” asked Seamus, unfazed by the mention of ears. Charlotte guessed Declan had told him about their discovery and he was helping her blow past Carolina’s inquiry.

  Spurred by his question, she ignored Carolina and continued. “They’re running an assisted living home for the elderly. One of the residents, Dinah, has more energy than I do, and she steamrolls over the owner, a big, doofy fellow named Emmitt. There’s a lady who thinks she’s in an episode of Murder She Wrote, catatonic Mr. Remy, a nurse and a missing man named James who has me curious.”

  Seamus thrust his hands in his pockets. “Oh? Do tell.”

  “He’s apparently one of the original owners. He started the place with Emmett, but he’s gone now. Dinah said he wasn’t a good fit.”

  “Maybe Emmitt bought him out and Dinah called it fired. Did you talk to Emmitt about it?”

  “No. There’s really no logical reason why I should be interest
ed in his ex-partner’s whereabouts. And, when he first mentioned James he looked upset. Oh, and he implied James was over here.”

  “Now? Hiding under the floorboards?” asked Seamus.

  “No. In the past.”

  “Why?” asked Declan, climbing a ladder in the main room with a paint roller.

  “I think he was helping Brenda and Phil with handyman things.”

  Seamus cocked an eyebrow. “Well he wasn’t very good if he was here.”

  “I guess not...” said Charlotte, her voice trailing as she started thinking about her conversations at the Elder Care-o-lina.

  “You’re thinking we’ve got James’ finger in the kitchen, aren’t you?” asked Seamus.

  Charlotte nodded. “Makes sense, right? But I couldn’t ask them if by left they really meant dismembered. That would have been odd.”

  “You people have issues,” muttered Carolina.

  Seamus slowly scratched his chin, as if pondering all her news. “Hm. We’re on the same page...”

  “Yeah, both avoiding painting,” grumbled Declan from his perch on the ladder as he strained to reach a spot above one of the large windows.

  Darla moved to the computer nook to check her Facebook page.

  “Have you heard anything from Brenda?” asked Charlotte, drying her rain-soaked hair with a dish towel.

  “That’s what I’m checking now,” said Darla as she scrolled through Brenda’s timeline. Her friend had posted even more photos of fun in the sun in Puerto Rico. Smiling Brenda with a piña colada, a shot of Brenda and Phil on the beach, Brenda feeding a banana to an iguana.

  Bob entered and stopped to peer over Darla’s shoulder. “I didn’t know Phil was a marine,” he said.

  On his tan chest, Phil had a Marine logo tattoo perched above a Betty Boop-style girl in a grass skirt doing the hula. It reminded Charlotte of Mr. Marino’s photo over at the Elder Care-o-lina.

  Mariska stopped to investigate the pictures as well. “I’m glad you never got one of those tattoos.”

  Bob shrugged. “I’m too handsome to scribble on. It would be like spraying graffiti on the statue of David.”

  Mariska snickered.

  It was clear to Charlotte that Brenda hadn’t been spending as much time in the sun, her white skin glowed compared to Phil’s.

  Charlotte sighed. “I’ll be as pale as Brenda by the time we get back to Florida.”

  “Did Brenda get back to you about who rented the house last week?” asked Seamus.

  Darla shook her head. “Not in my email. I’ll try to message her through Facebook since she seems to be checking in there.”

  “Ask her if she can think of anything suspicious at all,” added Charlotte.

  Declan looked down from his perch on the ladder. “Listen to you two. You detective types don’t know how to have a vacation, do you?”

  Seamus raised his eyebrows. “Right. Look at you up there painting. You’re a one-man party.”

  Declan grimaced. “Good point.”

  Charlotte sat on a stool in front of the peninsula that separated the kitchen from the large living room. “We’re not being crazy. It’s not like we found a single blood drop and started screaming murder. We found a finger and a fleshy blob—”

  “And an ear,” said Darla from the computer nook.

  “An ear?” chimed Mariska, Carolina, Chuck and Bob like the world’s worst barbershop quartet.

  Darla looked at Charlotte, her eyes wide. “Whoops. I warned you.”

  “In all fairness, I slipped first,” said Charlotte.

  “Where did you find an ear? Where did you put it?” asked Mariska, lifting the butter dish cover, she snarled her lip and closed it again. “We might want to put this in the freezer. It’s getting a little ripe.”

  “We couldn’t fit another hair in that freezer,” said Bob.

  “I want to know more about this ear,” said Mariska.

  Charlotte sighed. The jig was up. “I found it on the floor downstairs. There’s a hole in the wall and I think the neighbors’ cats are using it to get in. I think they brought it with them. It’s up in my room. ”

  “In our room?” asked Darla.

  “It’s in a bag.”

  “I am not sleeping with an ear in the room, bagged or not. Put it down here with the other people-parts.”

  Declan held up a finger. “The blob might be turkey.”

  “Now that that the ear showed up, that’s looking a little less likely,” said Charlotte.

  Carolina slapped the counter. “What is wrong with you people? Why are you all so calm about this? There has to be a body in the house somewhere.”

  Mariska put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Charlotte said the cats are bringing things in from somewhere outside. Maybe a shark attack victim washed up on shore?”

  Charlotte chuckled. “Sure. And he threw his own finger in the trash before the cats carted him away, piece by piece.”

  “The trashcan discovery definitely implies some intent,” said Seamus.

  “And if it hadn’t been for the freak freeze that kept the bag stuck to the bottom of that can, that finger would be at the dump by now. We lucked out there.”

  “Did we though?” asked Declan.

  “I’m going to go lie down for a bit,” said Carolina.

  Chuck stood from where he had been squatting, painting near the floor trim. “Me too.”

  “Finish painting,” barked Carolina without looking at him.

  Chuck sighed and resumed his work.

  Mariska, Darla and Bob wandered away to resume their own painting chores.

  Charlotte looked at Seamus. “We need to search the grounds, but I can tell you, it’s a mess out there right now.”

  “I know. I went out while you were gone.”

  “You did? Find anything?”

  “I found contractor bags make pretty good slickers.”

  “I’m sorry I missed that. Did you find a body?”

  “No. I searched the yard, the dunes and what’s left of the beach. Any cat prints leading from the house have been washed out. Tide might have taken everything else away.”

  “The neighbors have three cats, but there was no easy way to check their paws for paint. I only saw one of them and he didn’t seem particularly friendly.”

  “Sounds like a cat. Chances are pretty good they’re our guys. I’ll roll over and check their yard.”

  Charlotte retrieved her phone and flipped through the apps. “Weather says there’s a break in the rain coming later this afternoon. Maybe we could look again then.”

  Seamus started up the stairs. “Sounds like a plan. In the meantime, I’ll knock out the plumbing.”

  “You’re working on the upstairs sinks now?” asked Charlotte.

  He turned and winked. “As far as you know.”

  Charlotte lingered in the kitchen, watching Declan and Chuck paint. She was trying to look available to help without actually inquiring if any was needed. She lifted the glass top to the butter dish and stared at the bits of someone.

  Mariska was right, they were getting a little stinky.

  She felt as if they were trapped in an Agatha Christie novel, only in reverse. Instead of And Then There Were None, they were in And Then There Were SOME. Maybe by the time they were done collecting parts, they’d have a whole other person they could cart back to Florida with them.

  She was about to put the cover on the butter dish when the blob caught her eye, AR, stamped on its puckered flesh.

  What if that isn’t a turkey inspection stamp, but a tattoo?

  She’d seen a tattoo like that.

  Mr. Marino on the beach.

  His chest had an eagle with U.S. ARMY written on a banner held in its claws.

  A-R-m-y.

  Dinah didn’t mention Mr. Marino while listing the occupants of each room.

  Mr. Marino was gone.

  Dead, gone...

  She looked at the little pile of flesh.

  Or maybe found.
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  Chapter Fourteen

  Charlotte went upstairs and found Seamus parked in front of the television in the master bedroom, watching soccer.

  “How’s the plumbing going?” she asked.

  “Better than Man City’s going, I can tell you that. Man U is routing them.”

  “So you’re a Man City fan?”

  Seamus scoffed. “No. I’m disappointed they’re not both losing. I’m Irish.”

  Charlotte watched the game for a moment. “I don’t really know all the rules in soccer, so I won’t pretend I know what’s going on.”

  Seamus grimaced. “And I won’t pretend I’m actually working on the plumbing.”

  Charlotte lingered, watching the screen until Seamus squinted at her.

  “For someone who doesn’t know anything about Premier League football, you seem awfully interested. That means one of two things.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “Either you’re trying to get out of work, or you want to ask me something.”

  “You forgot option three.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Both.”

  “Ah. What’s up?”

  “I need your help. I need you to seduce a nurse.”

  “Done. Anything else?”

  “Very funny. I was looking at that piece of flesh we found and it has “A-R” tattooed on it. Next door there was a photo of an old man with an Army tattoo on his chest.”

  “And you think he’s the one leaving bits of himself all over the place?”

  “Could be. I told you something seemed off with those people. Maybe they killed him. Maybe he wandered off and they’ve been trying to hide the fact that they lost him.”

  “How do either of those scenarios end up with me sweet talking a nurse? You want me to find out what she knows?”

  “Yes, but more than that, I want you to distract her. I’m thinking about inviting the neighbors over.”

  “For some meat, I assume.”

  “Naturally. And while Mariska and Darla are stuffing them with fifty-seven different versions of cow, I’ll go next door and take a photo of that old soldier’s picture so we can compare his tattoo to the stamp on the blob. Maybe I’ll snoop around and see if I can find his death records.”