Pineapple Pack II

by Amy Vansant

  Ah.

  The puzzle pieces were beginning to fit. Victor Beaumont had been the area’s drug kingpin for decades. Following his death, his organization dissipated, but now here was his son, years later reclaiming the throne with the help of—

  Stephanie glanced at Pirro. She could see he knew she’d figure it out. Pirro was from Columbia. True drug cartel royalty if his uncle was Diego Rodríguez. Pirro was using Louis’ name to establish a foothold in Tampa.

  Pirro had to be a good boy…for now.

  She needed Louis on her side while Pirro was still allowing the pretender to give orders.

  Time to make your fantasies come true, idiot.

  “You need a lawyer?”

  Louis laughed. “You’re not a lawyer.”

  “Yes she is,” mumbled Pirro.

  “She is?”

  Pirro nodded.

  Louis looked at her, his brow crinkled with concern. “You’re an assassin too though, right? You worked with his uncle in South America? You went by Ruby then. No…it was a Spanish word. Rubia?”

  Stephanie felt the familiar flow of ice water in her veins. Order had been restored.

  She owned Louis.

  “Let’s say for the sake of argument I’m this Rubia. What are you hoping I’ll do for you?”

  “I want you to kill my rival. If what Pirro tells me is right, that is what you do best.”

  “Your rival what? Drug dealer?”

  Louis nodded. “I prefer the term businessman, but yes. You can kill his men, too if you have to. Pirro says you like killing. He says you’re crazy, like that tall blonde chick in Kill Bill.”

  Louis looked like a kid staring at a Christmas package shaped like the bike he wanted more than anything in the world.

  I can be his killer for a while. That takes care of both our problems.

  She glanced at Pirro who stood leaning against the wall, glaring back at her.

  I’ll take care of Pirro later.

  “What’s killing drug dealers pay these days?”

  Before Louis could speak, Pirro stepped forward.

  “Don’t you want to ask her why she was followin’ us?”

  Louis looked at Stephanie, who raised her eyebrows with expectation.

  “I wasn’t following you. I was following a cop who was following you,” she said.

  Louis looked at Pirro. “You have a cop following you?”

  Pirro’s expression darkened. “Yeah. We know about that guy. Why would she follow him?”

  Stephanie sighed as if explaining her actions was the most tedious task she’d been asked to perform in some time.

  “Because I was thinking of coming to Louis here and asking for a job. I figured spotting his enemies and letting him know about them would make me useful.”

  Louis clapped his hands together. “Great. You’re hired.”

  Pirro thrust a hand in Stephanie’s direction. “Dude, she didn’t even know who you were a minute ago.”

  Stephanie laughed. “Are you kidding? He’s Louis Beaumont. Everyone knows him.”

  Louis beamed. “How about a million dollars?”

  Pirro slapped his hand to his face and walked back to his place on the wall.

  Stephanie pursed her lips and nodded to herself as if mulling the offer. She couldn’t believe her luck.

  “Make it a million two and I promise to take out anyone else around him who might consider revenge.”

  Louis yipped with excitement. “Deal.”

  “I told you I would get rid of that guy,” said Pirro.

  Louis frowned. “It’s been like six months and nothing’s changed. I need to hire a professional.”

  Stephanie nodded. “I’ll get it done. I can’t get much done with my hands tied to this bed though.”

  Louis motioned to the ties. Pirro pulled a switchblade from his pocket, glaring at Stephanie as he approached.

  Easy there, little fella.

  He cut the rope binding her to the bed posts. Feeling the bump on the back of her skull, she winced.

  Pirro folded his knife and slipped it back into his pocket.

  Louis helped her off the bed. “I owe you a dinner. Why don’t we grab a bite and discuss the details?”

  Stephanie stood. “You made one mistake.”

  Louis scowled. “What’s that?”

  “You didn’t ask me to promise not to kill you when I’m done.”

  He laughed and put his arm around her shoulder. “I’m not worried. I have a lot of money. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  Chapter Four

  Present Day

  Charlotte sipped lemonade on the porch of the tiki bar where Gloria Abernathy had asked to meet her. Gloria had once lived in Pineapple Port which, though a retirement community, was also where orphaned Charlotte grew up, raised by the local community after the death of her grandmother. She’d never dreamed the neighborhood would become her primary source of clients, but since becoming a private detective, it seemed that particular well of eccentricities would never run dry.

  If Gloria hadn’t left Pineapple Port, she could have been Charlotte’s crown jewel. The woman had a penchant for petty revenge, and her confused victims would have kept any budding investigator’s dance card full. With wide eyes, sharp features and a poof of auburn hair, Gloria looked more like a high-strung Pomeranian than a suburban avenger. But when wronged—real or imaginary—she attacked like a pit bull.

  Charlotte lowered her lemonade. “You look good, Gloria.”

  The tiny woman touched her hair and grunted. “Lot of good it does me when my suitors go missing before I can try on the suit.”

  Charlotte cleared her thoughts and took another sip of lemonade. She’d learned long ago to avoid banter with retirees about their romantic lives. In her experience, the older people grew, the more often modesty lost a wrestling cage match to honesty and there would be no rematch planned. You never knew what you might never be able to unhear.

  “So you’re telling me this man was talking to you through his t-shirts?”

  Gloria nodded. “He was. It was a very passionate relationship in its own way.”

  Charlotte chuckled. If the little woman could believe every move a stranger made was meant to annoy her, couldn’t she also fancy a man’s novelty tees were secret love messages?

  “You’re sure the messages on his shirts were meant for you?”

  Gloria’s mouth curved into a tight frown. “Why wouldn’t you believe me?”

  Charlotte thought for a moment. “I do. I believe you. It’s just—I suppose if you thought he’d purposely cut you off in traffic I wouldn’t be so sure—”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “That temper of yours. Sometimes you believe people are out to slight you when they’re just going about their lives.”

  Gloria looked away. “People can’t just go about merrily ruining other people’s lives. Running them off the sidewalk and whatnot.”

  Watching Gloria’s taut jawline Charlotte realized two things. First, she’d better watch how she teased her potential client or she might find herself the focus of one of Gloria’s revenge schemes. And second, Gloria’s reference to sidewalk hogs seemed strangely specific.

  Should I ask what she’s done to those poor people? Maybe I should check missing persons...

  “Don’t be angry, Gloria. I just think sometimes you see malice where there is none.”

  “Like when?”

  “Well, I don’t think the store manager who fired you for calling shoppers fat was out to ruin your life. I think he was out to avoid a lawsuit.”

  Gloria sniffed. “That’s a matter of opinion. That kid was a porker. His mother should’ve been ashamed.”

  “That doesn’t give you the right to put dead lizards in the store’s fruit salad.”

  A strange smile rose to Gloria’s lips. She leaned forward, her eyes somehow wide and squinty at the same time. Before that moment, Charlotte had only seen smile
s like that on cartoon villains.

  “You’re right. I should have put the lizard in the potato chips. That kid wasn’t going to eat a fruit salad. I could have killed two birds.”

  Feeling the heat radiating from Gloria’s piercing stare, Charlotte leaned back in her seat. “Okay, okay. We’re getting off track.”

  Gloria took a sip of her sweet tea and the vein bulging in her temple quelled like a subsiding flood. Once again she assumed the doe-eyed demeanor of a teacup poodle.

  “Fine. So you do believe me?” she asked.

  Charlotte released an involuntary sigh of relief. “I do. I’m just trying to get my facts straight. You and this man were sharing a moment every day. Winks, nods, hellos—and then he wrote words on his t- shirt?”

  “Several words, in pen. All together, they said, Hi, will you go out with me? The question mark had its own shirt. It was in pink. Which was amazing, because I had chosen pink for my answer.”

  “Your answer? You made a shirt of your own?”

  Gloria nodded so hard it looked like an invisible hand was dribbling her head like a basketball. “Yes. And Yes is what it said.” She rung her hands together, gaze darting toward the Gulf of Mexico, which lapped against brilliant white sands a hundred yards from where they sat. “Do you think I scared him away? Maybe he saw me coming with my big pink Yes and he got cold feet.”

  “It’s possible. Not everyone can handle a woman with a big pink Yes.”

  Gloria nodded and then squinted at Charlotte, who quickly continued. “This man sounds pretty cheeky. He says hello, he touches your hand...he goes through all the trouble of writing words on his shirt... He doesn’t sound like the kind of guy who would spook.”

  Gloria shook her head. “No. He radiated confidence. But in a white-knight sort of way. Not an arrogant way. Smiley Joe wouldn’t be arrogant.”

  “Smiley Joe?”

  “That’s what I call him.”

  “Got it. And you haven’t seen him since? Not at all?”

  “No. The last day was the question mark and then nothing.” Gloria’s shoulders slumped. “I think he’s been kidnapped.”

  “That seems unlikely. He might have just caught the flu.”

  “But it’s been over a week—” Gloria paled. “Oh no. You think he died from the flu, don’t you? If I find the person who gave him the flu—”

  Charlotte laughed. “No, I’m not saying he died of the flu. I’m just saying he could have fallen ill or twisted an ankle or been called away on business. There are a lot of things that could have happened before we jump right to kidnapped.”

  Gloria put her napkin on the table. “Well, that’s what you’ll have to figure out.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  A giant gold frog sat astride Gloria’s middle finger, a pale green stone set in its center.

  “That’s quite a ring,” said Charlotte.

  Gloria glanced at it. “I’m into tree frogs. I couldn’t resist it.”

  Charlotte wondered what animal she’d collect during her later years. Apparently, you had to pick one.

  For now, she’d have to be happy with being an officially hired private detective.

  A contented shiver ran down her spine.

  Time to go and detect!

  Feeling cool, she tilted her head back to capture the last drop of lemonade. The ice stuck to the bottom of the glass gave way and slid down to hit her in the nose. She righted the glass, and dabbed her wet face with a napkin as nonchalantly as possible.

  I’m sure that happened to Sherlock Holmes all the time.

  Charlotte stood. “Gloria, before I look into this for you, I need you to make me a promise.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If I find him, safe and sound, sitting on a porch somewhere with his wife, you have to promise me you won’t do anything horrible to him.”

  Gloria’s eyes bulged before she caught herself and cleared her countenance of all emotion. “Of course not.”

  Liar. But I won’t call her on it. Better to live to fight another day...and earn a little money.

  “Good.” Charlotte put her napkin on the table. As she turned to leave, Gloria grabbed her hand.

  “If he has a wife, you’ll still tell me where he lives, right?”

  Chapter Five

  “I made you corn casserole.”

  Charlotte had barely stepped from the Volkswagen when Mariska thrust a bowl covered in painted roosters at her.

  Charlotte cringed. She loved her adoptive mother’s corn casserole, but the ingredients read like a magazine article entitled “Ten Things You Should Avoid if You’re at Risk for Heart Disease.”

  When the Pineapple Port fifty-five plus community took her in after the death of her grandmother, someone should have warned her that accepting the offer meant a lifetime of sugary, fat-filled treats flying at her face like mosquitos at a summer picnic. Swat away the corn casserole and she’d be blindsided by a buy-one-get-one-free Whitman Sampler chocolate box.

  “Every time you give me one of these casseroles I gain ten pounds.” Charlotte heard a door slam and Mariska’s best friend, Darla, appeared, chewing something as she approached. The woman’s tongue stuffed the food to one side of her mouth to make room for talking. “You’ll only gain nine pounds this time because I stole a spoonful or two.”

  Mariska lifted the lid on her dish. The surface of the casserole looked as though a miniature pony had clomped across it, leaving spoon-sized divots in its wake.

  Mariska scowled at Darla, who shrugged and attempted to pick a piece of corn from her teeth with her pinky nail.

  Charlotte accepted the dish. “Thank you. And thank you for your car again. I swear I’m going to get one of my own soon.”

  Mariska smiled. “No problem. You can’t keep my car but you can keep my dish.”

  Charlotte checked the bowl to be sure it was the one she thought it was. “Your rooster dish? I’d never dream of it.”

  Mariska’s eyes filled with pity, as if Charlotte had been trapped on a desert isle and lost touch with the rest of the world. “I’m into sea turtles now.”

  “Oh, of course. Duh.”

  “How did your meeting go?” asked Darla.

  “Good. Missing person, maybe. You’ll never guess who hired me.”

  Mariska didn’t let a moment pass. “The FBI?”

  Charlotte’s brow knit. “Why would the FBI hire me?”

  “I don’t know…that’s who finds missing persons and you said guess so it seemed like a pretty good guess.”

  “Ah, well, no, not the FBI; I don’t think I’m on their outsourcing radar yet. It was Gloria.”

  Darla’s eyes grew wide. “Gloria who used to live here?”

  “The same. Seems she was this close to meeting an eligible bachelor and he went missing.”

  “Went running is more like it,” muttered Darla.

  Charlotte chuckled. “I have to admit he does seem interesting. He was sending her messages written on his t-shirts.”

  Mariska and Darla’s jaws both dropped as they said a single word in unison.

  “Ryan.”

  Charlotte stared in wonder at their reaction. “You know him?”

  “Ryan Flannigan. Right? Flannigan?” Mariska looked to Darla for confirmation.

  Darla nodded. “Flannigan. Or O’Flanahan... something like that. He lived here years ago.”

  “How do you know it’s him? Did he use the same trick to meet women here?”

  Mariska nodded. “He was a piece of work.”

  Darla’s expression mimicked Mariska’s disapproval. “He caught it coming upstream and upgraded.”

  Charlotte’s lip snarled. “You just made me imagine a naked old man swimming up a river to spawn.”

  Darla took a seat on the steps of Mariska’s front door, collapsing to the cement with a grunt. “His unmarried son, Craig, died and all his money went to Ryan.”

  “So that’s what you meant by upstream? He inherited his child’s
money instead of vice versa?”

  Darla nodded.

  Charlotte shook her head in wonder. “Someone needs to create an Urban Dictionary for retiree slang.”

  “His son Craig made a bunch of money in Silicone Valley,” said Mariska.

  Charlotte wanted to let Mariska’s mispronunciation slide, but she heard the correction leap from her lips before she could stop it.

  “Silicon Valley.”

  Mariska nodded. “Right. Where they make all the implants.”

  “Lot of money in implants,” agreed Darla. “How many strippers do you think there are in the world?”

  “And every one of them needs two,” added Mariska.

  Charlotte could feel the conversation slipping away from her. “No, it’s Silicon Valley. That’s where all the big Internet and software companies are in California. They don’t make silicone breast implants there.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Charlotte found herself wondering. “Now that you mention it...I don’t know. I don’t think they even make silicone implants anymore. But I know implants aren’t what made Silicon Valley famous.”

  Mariska shrugged. Clearly, she disagreed.

  Darla mumbled from her spot on the step. “Let’s say there are five hundred thousand strippers, at two boobs each over twenty years...”

  Charlotte decided to move on before she lost the ladies to complicated boob math. “How did Ryan’s son die?”

  “I don’t remember. I just remember something was fishy about it,” said Darla.

  “Fishy as in Ryan had something to do with killing his own son?”

  Both women shrugged.

  “Okay. But we do know his son died, he inherited money and then moved to the beach, right?”

  Darla nodded. “After bonking half the women in Pineapple Port.”

  “Not me,” said Mariska.

  Darla grew cross. “Well not me, either. You know who I mean.”

  Charlotte found her curiosity piqued. “Who?”

  Darla shrugged. “Cathy. And Pris I think.”

  Mariska nodded.

  Charlotte arched an eyebrow. “That’s two people.”

  Darla and Mariska nodded in unison and Charlotte weighed the pros and cons of questioning the ladies’ math again. “Two people aren’t half of Pineapple Port.”