Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 01 - Peril in Paradise

by Marty Ambrose

  Heartless hag. “There seem to be any number of people who might’ve had a legitimate reason for wanting him dead.” I thought back to the four stricken faces around the table at Hillman’s house. All of the writers sitting there probably had grounds for murder. And then there was the wronged husband Wanda Sue had told me about.

  “Unexpected then. No one imagines something like that can happen on a quiet little place like Coral Island.”

  At that point, Sandy removed her headset. She exhaled in a long, musical note as her eyelids fluttered open. Her eyes misted over with contentment and her mouth turned up in a blissful smile. “What did I miss?”

  “Hillman’s murder,” I supplied.

  “Old news” She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a small plastic bag that contained exactly two ounces of lowfat cheese and some saltine crackers. “If he’d been aware of the auras around him, he might not have been killed.”

  “He didn’t strike me as the sensitive, New age type” I drained my coffee cup.

  “His loss.” Sandy shrugged as she nibbled a piece of cheese.

  “I want the murder story on my desk by the end of the week” Anita stubbed out her cigarette in a paper cup. “That way, I can edit it and we’ll be able to make the deadline. Whadaya say? Are you up to it, kiddo?” She tilted her head to one side and pursed her mouth.

  “I’ll try” I hated being called kiddo, but it was mild compared to the names she had for other people. None of them exactly nice.

  “If you’re going be a journalist, you’ve got to put your feelings on the back burner for the sake of the story. And forget logic. Forget reason. Follow the money,” her voice hardened. “Some stories will upset you, wring your stomach inside out, but you’ve got to turn out copythat’s the important thing. That’s the only thing.”

  And that’s what I’d need to do to keep my job, I finished for her silently. The implication was clear. Do the story or she’d find someone else who would.

  I set my chin in a determined line and summoned what I hoped sounded like a confident tone. “Okay. I’ll have something ready for you in a day or two.”

  “Good. I’m counting on you”

  Half an hour later, I pulled into the police station parking lot, already back to my normal unsure self. I’d never given a statement before, and knowing my propensity to become a motor mouth when I was nervous, I was even more uneasy. Just keep it under control, I told myself. Explain what happened and provide only details that are absolutely necessary.

  As I walked into the building, my eyes widened in surprise. Instead of the gray walls, functional furniture, and grim faces I expected in a police station, the place had a pleasant air with wood floors and bright yellow walls. A pretty receptionist with a smooth black bob and perky smile sat at the front desk.

  “May I help you?” she inquired.

  “I’m Mallie Monroe” I hitched my canvas shoulder bag higher on my shoulder. “I have to give a statement.”

  “Oh, yes, Detective Billie’s expecting you” She picked up her phone and pressed a button. After murmuring a few words, she hung up. “He’ll be with you in a few minutes. Why don’t you take a seat and have a cup of coffee?” She pointed to the large coffeemaker.

  I was tempted. Really tempted. But one more cup and I’d be on a total caffeine buzz, and that was the last thing I needed right now. Think calm, cool, and collected.

  I sat down on a brown leather sofa and started leafing through an old copy of some car magazine that explored the merits of the electric-powered vehicles over the internal combustion machine. Not that I could afford a new car, either electric or gasoline driven, but it was nice to dream a little. And distract myself.

  “Ms. Monroe, please come in,” Nick Billie said from the door of his office.

  He was wearing a pin-striped navy suit this morning and a burgundy tie. It was a more formal look than last night’s, but no less attractive. If anything, in his suit he looked more handsome-and more formidable. I was glad I’d chosen the preppy dress-my sister would be proud.

  I trailed him into his office and seated myself in a comfortable chair across from his desk. I put my hands in my lap so I wouldn’t grip the armrests.

  He opened a manila folder and picked up a silver ballpoint pen. I tried not to notice the way his skin pulled taut over the elegant ridge of his cheekbones or the sensual curve of his lips. He really wasn’t my type. I liked men who were sort of freewheeling and quirky in their appearance. Surfer dudes. Wonky artists. Guys who lived for sunsets, hammocks, and long afternoons dreaming by the sea. Nick seemed like an unyielding by-the-book kind of guy, but for some reason, I found those qualities strangely attractive in him.

  “Ms. Monroe?”

  “What? Sorry. I was a little distracted.” How about a lot distracted?

  He fastened his sharp, penetrating stare on me. “This is a very serious matter. It’s a murder investigation, and I need every bit of information that I can get from you to help me solve the case. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course” Giving myself a mental shake, I cleared my mind of everything besides the murder. Needless to say, not a pleasant thought.

  “Now, if you could tell me exactly what happened yesterday from the moment you met Hillman to the time you returned to his house and found him dead” He pushed a small tape player across the desk. “Just speak slowly and clearly, and I’ll have our secretary transcribe your statement later. Then you can look it over and see if there are any changes you want to make. Okay?”

  “Okay” I cleared my throat a couple of times. It seemed as though my windpipe was closing up and, when I started speaking, my voice sounded unnaturally strained. I’d never had to speak into a tape recorder like this before and I was very conscious of enunciating every syllable.

  Eventually, I relaxed into a comfortable rhythm and relayed everything that had occurred the previous dayleaving out my anger over Hillman’s criticism of my bike path story. Detective Billie listened intently, occasionally jotting down a note in the manila folder.

  When I finished, he switched off the recorder. “Thank you. Your statement should be very helpful” His tone was brusque, all business.

  What did I expect? That he’d be bowled over by the impeccable quality of my memory? That he’d find my red hair suddenly irresistible? That he’d tell me I wasn’t really a suspect? Hope springs eternal, even for me.

  “One thing-you said last night that Hillman critiqued the writers in the Institute and they appeared … disturbed. Does that include everyone?”

  I hesitated. “Some of them. I think Chrissy was probably the most upset” Although shy George did have his fists clenched.

  “How upset?”

  “She started crying after Hillman left the room. The other writers seemed to take it in their stride-especially Burt and Betty” No doubt fortified by the margaritas.

  He scribbled down everything I was saying.

  “How about you? Were you angry?”

  “A little.” My windpipe started to close again. I coughed a couple of times and cleared my throat. “But not enough to kill him. I mean, it was only a bike path story”

  “True” Detective Billie tapped his pen against his cheek and regarded me with a deep, long look. “You said that Hillman was on the cell phone right before you left. Did you hear him mention the name of the person he was talking to?”

  “No.

  “And when you left, Chrissy Anders was going out to the hottub to join him?”

  “Yes” So far so good. The motor mouth was under control. “That means she might’ve been the last person to see him alive, right?”

  “Possibly”

  “So then you’ll be questioning her too?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Who else will you be talking to?”

  He set the pen down. “Who’s doing the interview here, Ms. Monroe?”

  “Just curious. And since I’m the main reporter for the Observer, I’ll be the one to write t
he story-“

  “Hold it right there. Did Anita tell you that I’d share information with you or some such kind of foolishness?”

  I smiled.

  His straight, dark brows leveled into a severe line. “Look, Ms. Monroe, I don’t involve civilians on murder cases and I certainly don’t give possible suspects information about the case they’re connected with.” He flipped the manila file shut. “Anita knows that. She still thinks she’s working on the Detroit Free Press or something. The reality is this is a small island and she’s the editor of a small-town weekly. Murder cases are out of her league-and yours”

  My smile faded as irritation flared inside. I might not be the most ambitious person or the most organized, but it rankled when someone told me that I couldn’t do something. That made me really want to do it. So what if Detective Billie was a handsome hunk? He didn’t have the right to order me around. “Maybe the Observer isn’t some big-time newspaper, but it’s where I work and I’ve got to keep my job. Anita told me to cover the story and that’s what I’m going to do-with or without your help.”

  “Without, I think.”

  “Then I’ll just have to dig for information on my own” I tossed my hair back in a gesture of defiance.

  His lips thinned with irritation and he ignored my hair. Damn.

  “This isn’t a game, Ms. Monroe and you’re not working at Disney World any longer.”

  “You checked up on me? My work history?” I asked, incredulous.

  “Of course. Standard procedure” He held up the manila folder and, for the first time, I noted that my name was written on the tab. Mallie Monroe. Typed, no less.

  I flinched inside at the thought of my life being an open book to anyone who happened to pick up that file-especially Detective Billie. “I thought the police were supposed to cooperate with the media.”

  “We are, but when the media contact is the person who found the body, it makes things a little trickyeven though your alibi at Capt’n Harry’s panned out”

  “You already checked that too?”

  He nodded. “I’ll issue a press release when the time is right.” His voice was firm, final. “But this murder investigation is just starting, and I can’t let anything or anyone interfere with doing my job.”

  “But I’ve helped you by telling everything I remember that happened on the day Hillman died,” I reminded him. “The least you could do is fill me in on what you know.”

  “No deal.”

  I folded my arms across my chest. “Are you always this rigid?”

  “I’d call it professional.”

  “How about unyielding?”

  “Competent?” he offered.

  “Stubborn,” I came back.

  Surprisingly, he laughed-a warm and full-hearted sound that came up from his throat like bubbling, rich oil from deep in the earth. “You’re rather tenacious yourself, Mallie.”

  “About some things-like keeping my job,” I said, dropping my hands to his desk, palms down. “If you’ve got a file on me, then you know I’ve had a problem settling into something permanent. My last job … uh … didn’t exactly work out. Before I came to Orlando I was a substitute teacher in Atlanta. Before that, a dog trainer in Asheville. Before that well, I don’t remember.” Actually, I did remember. I’d been working as a singing waitress at the King’s Table Medieval Dinner Club. Unfortunately, I got fired after tripping and spilling a flagon of mead on a customer. I could only hope Detective Billie didn’t have that little gem in his file on me.

  “It seems like you’ve been working your way south,” he said.

  “You could say that. My great-aunt got me this job on the Observer, and I really want to keep it. I’m thirty-one years old and all I have to my name is an antique Airstream trailer and a teacup poodle.” I met his glance squarely. “I need to show Anita that I can do this job … so how about giving me a helping hand? Besides, the paper could actually assist you catch the murdererinvolve the entire community. Like those TV programs where they end up catching the criminal because viewers call in with information.”

  “You can get a real head of steam going when you want to”

  “That’s me-the Mallie Express” I leaned forward even further. “What about the Sunshine Law? Isn’t this information public record?”

  “Not in an ongoing investigation.”

  I shot him a pleading glance.

  “All right. I understand that we can help each other here, but I have to be careful not to step outside of police procedure” He picked up his ballpoint pen and clicked it half a dozen times while a little muscle worked in his jaw. “I can share only facts that won’t compromise my case.”

  “Thanks” I exhaled in relief as I pulled out my official reporter’s notepad and riffled around in my bag for a pen. I held it poised, ready for action.

  Still, he hesitated.

  “Come on, let’s start with the actual murder. I know Hillman was knifed. I saw the wound in his chest.” I swallowed hard at the memory.

  “All I can tell you is that Hillman was killed somewhere between five and seven P.M. The murderer must’ve been someone he knew because there was no sign of a forced entry. Also, it wasn’t a robbery because nothing seems to be missing.”

  I was writing as fast as my fingers could move. “Murder weapon?”

  He shook his head. “Can’t say”

  “Suspects?”

  “A whole island.”

  “Who is going to be questioned-“

  “That’s all I can say right now. As the investigation proceeds, I’ll give out information on a need-to-know basis.” His phone rang and he took the call. After a few short, clipped sentences, he hung up. “Gotta go”

  “Is it something pertaining to the murder case?”

  He stood up, but said nothing.

  “Okay, I get the message” I tossed the notepad and pen in my canvas bag and heaved it over my right shoulder. “I’ll be in touch”

  As I made for the door, he said, “Wait a minute. I had something else I wanted to ask you.”

  I halted and turned my head in his direction.

  “Is your hair naturally that color?”

  “Yeah.” I grinned. “I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I didn’t.”

  A tiny glow lit inside me as I left his office. I might not have an ally in Detective Billie, but at least he wasn’t an enemy.

  The glow lasted all the way back to the Observer office where I found Anita absent-gone to lunch-and Sandy at her desk devouring a low-carb, low-cal meal supplement bar. She was just hanging up from yet another call trying to persuade the Coral Island Shrimp House to buy advertising. From the look on her face, the pitch had been less than successful.

  “You had a call,” Sandy said between bites.

  She handed me the message and I saw a familiar name: Chrissy Anders. I phoned her immediately and she told me the writer’s group was convening at the Starfish Lodge, the island’s only hotel.

  I made it there in record time-not just because I wanted to talk to the writers, but I hadn’t eaten anything in my rush to finish the bike path story this morning. The rumbling in my stomach was a distinct sign that I needed sustenance.

  The Starfish Lodge had opened about a month before I arrived on Coral Island. It was located on the south end of the island on an isolated patch of land surrounded by mangroves on one side and Coral Island Sound on the other. A long building with a flat roof, it had only eight rooms, but all of them faced the Sound and were furnished with antiques. The Lodge also had a small restaurant with heart of pine floors and a coral rock fireplace with running waterfalls on either side. The building wasn’t new. Anita told me it had been built at the turn of the century as one of those experimental utopian communities where everyone was supposed to live in harmony with nature and each other.

  The commune ended when the leader mysteriously disappeared one night with the group’s savings, and the building changed hands a dozen times before a developer
renovated it last year and turned it into a small hotel. So much for peace, love and brotherhood.

  I strolled into the restaurant-Starfish Lounge-and found the writers huddled around a table near the back of the room.

  As I approached, I could tell from Chrissy’s redrimmed eyes that she’d been crying. Surprisingly, she threw her arms around me.

  “Oh, Mallie, isn’t it just awful? We heard the news this morning when we showed up at Jack’s house.” She pulled back and raised a tearstained handkerchief to her face. “The police met us at the door and told us he was … dead”

  “Do you know what happened?” Burt motioned for me to sit next to him and Betty who were already working on a couple of Bloody Marys. “Rumor has it you found the body.”

  “It’s true” I sat down and plopped my bulky bag near my feet. Chrissy slid into a chair across the table.

  “Was it m … m … murder?” George asked, raking his long hair back from his face. He displayed no redrimmed eyes. Just an expression tight with strain.

  “Apparently.” I noted that Betty shot a furtive glance in Burt’s direction, but he gave an imperceptible shake of his head. “I gave my statement this morning to the police.”

  “Do they have any suspects?” Betty took a deep swig of her Bloody Mary.

  “Can’t really say,” I hedged. “My guess is you’ll all be questioned as to your whereabouts when Jack was killed.”

  “I was watching a video on organic farming” Chrissy tucked her hair behind her ears. “Though not the whole time.”

  “We drove back here to the Lodge for drinks,” Burt offered. “Then to our room” Betty nodded in agreement.

  Where you both probably passed out, I added silently.

  “I took a long b … b … bike ride,” George said.

  “Alone?” I prompted.

  “Well … yes.” He raked his hair back again.