Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 01 - Peril in Paradise

by Marty Ambrose

  I hugged her in gratitude, gave Biscuits and Gravy a quick pet, and drove back to the Observer office.

  Luckily, Anita sat ensconced in her office, reading afternoon news briefs from the AP, and Sandy was occupied on the telephone with one of the island marinas that wanted to buy advertising space for an upcoming fishing tournament.

  Hooray. I could actually have time to myself to finish my story.

  I laid claim to the computer and brought up my nearly finished story on Hillman’s murder. Reading through it, I gave myself a mental pat on the back. It wasn’t half bad. Of course, Anita would hack it to smithereens, but my writing seemed to be improving. To my untrained eye.

  After two more hours, I polished it off and set a hard copy on Anita’s desk. I made another copy and faxed it over to Chrissy at the Starfish Lodge for our critique session tomorrow morning. Hooray, again. I’d actually made my Friday deadline.

  “How does it feel to have written your first hard news story?” Anita asked.

  “Okay.” My eyes riveted on the inch-long ash hanging from the cigarette between her lips. “I didn’t get the chance to add the new info I found about Hillman’s `good deeds.’ I need to verify the sources”

  “Spoken like a true reporter.” Her cigarette bobbed, causing the ash to dangle precariously. “Save it for the next story-this murder spells out at least a three-week series.”

  Great. “Have you heard anything about Hillman sponsoring a Little Brother named Todd Griffith?”

  “Nope. And I’m not sure I believe it. Make certain you double check the sources”

  “Maybe Hillman had a soft side for kids.”

  “And I’m going to become a trapeze artist for the Ringling circus.” She laughed as she finally tapped her cigarette in the shriveled potted plant next to her desk. “This story is just the beginning. You’ll be ready for the Detroit Free Press by the time I’m done with you.”

  “As long as I stay out of jail.” Or Soft Haven-that was the mental institution located about twenty miles away on the mainland. I’d been tempted ever since I took the reporting job at the Observer to see if my predecessor ended up there. No one would tell me what happened to her, except that she left to pick up lunch at the island Dairy Queen one day and never came back. I feared the worst-she went berserk in the drive-thru after finding out her cheeseburger was minus lettuce, pickle, and mustard-but I didn’t have the nerve to find out for sure.

  “You’re not still worried about Detective Billie, are you?”

  “No … well, maybe a little.”

  “I’ll take care of him.”

  “Thanks”

  Anita held up the hard copy of my news story. “And this too” She winked.

  I ducked out before she could get started on her usual editorial slice and dice.

  Most of all, I needed to put Hillman’s murder out of my mind, for a little while at least.

  I waved to Sandy who was gathering up her iPod and magazines. “Have a good weekend”

  “You too” I exited before Anita could nab me. I was outta there. Freedom.

  I drove toward the Twin Palms RV Resort, noticing the clouds gathered off to the west of Mango Bay. They weren’t the usual puffy white concoctions that drifted in from the Gulf of Mexico during the evening. These clouds appeared like bloated gray balloons, dark and threatening. And not moving. Just lingering off in the distance. An uneasy twinge pulled at my tummy.

  As I pulled into my spot next to the Airstream, I noticed my honeymooning neighbors were still no where to be seen, although two swimsuits were now clothespinned to their awning: a metallic gold string bikini and a pair of matching gold satin men’s swim trunks. Sexy. Provocative. Hot. At least they were still alive and apparently had enough physical energy left over from their connubial exertions to swim.

  As I climbed out of Rusty, that uneasy feeling returned. Something was off-kilter.

  I glanced around my RV site. Nothing looked amiss. But as I moved toward my Airstream, the feeling grew into a wave of apprehension that swept through me. Stark and vivid. My palms began to sweat, my heart beat a little faster. What was wrong?

  Then I saw it.

  I gasped and covered my mouth so I wouldn’t scream.

  A large, white egret was lying dead across my picnic table.

  After a few moments of complete immobilization, I stumbled into my Airstream, grabbed Kong, and called Wanda Sue. I don’t know what I said, but she arrived within minutes.

  “Mallie, what’s going on? Are you okay?” She banged on the Airstream screen door.

  Cautiously, I emerged and pointed at the picnic table.

  “Oh, my goodness” She grimaced.

  “Is it … uh … dead?” I swallowed hard. These words echoed with distressing familiarity. At least this time, it was only a bird.

  “I think so” She prodded the limp, still form.

  “But how? … I mean, could it have had a heart attack or stroke or something? Do birds have those kinds of things happen to them?” I knew the answer but, for some reason, unless Wanda Sue actually said it, I could pretend that it wasn’t true.

  “Nah. Looks like it was shot.”

  There went that illusion. “A practical joke?”

  “Not likely.” Her face looked grim-or at least as somber as Wanda Sue’s sunny features could appear. The bright pink tube top and flowered Capri pants didn’t help much either.

  “That means … someone must’ve killed it and put it on my picnic table,” I said the words slowly, hesitantly. “But why?”

  Wanda Sue transferred her gaze to me. “Can’t say, honey.”

  A cold knot formed in my stomach. “What should we do with it?” I mumbled.

  “I’ll call Pop Pop Welch at maintenance. He’ll know what to do.” She disappeared inside the Airstream. While she was in there, I clutched Kong to my chest and avoided looking at the dead egret.

  Wanda Sue came out again. “Pop Pop said he’d be here ASAP.”

  Half an hour later, a golf cart slowly rolled up, Pop Pop Welch at the wheel. Eighty if he were a day, Pop Pop had two arthritic knees, a heart condition, and cataracts. He shuffled toward the picnic table, mumbling to himself on the way.

  “What do you think?” Wanda Sue asked.

  Pop Pop lifted a wing. It flopped down. “Deader than a doornail.” He produced a newspaper from his back pocket and scooped up the bird. “Let’s take it to the office and we’ll call animal control to dispose of it.”

  Wanda Sue nodded. Then she turned to me. “I’ll be back in a jiffy. You hang in there.”

  The two of them revved off in the golf cart, leaving Kong and me standing there in the growing darkness. I looked out over the Gulf and saw only a thin yellow line where the sun had set. I shivered.

  “Kong, let’s hook up the Airstream and get the heck out of here-put a thousand miles between us and this stupid island.” He licked my face.

  I need to get out of here. Run far, far away. The freedom of the road beckoned. I’d been going south for the last five years, and now I could start moving west. A whole part of the country stretched out there just waiting to be discovered.

  “I can’t even if I wanted to.” I sighed and buried my face in Kong’s soft fur. “Detective Billie said I couldn’t leave the area till the case was solved” Why was I speaking to my dog?

  Get a grip. I parked him and myself on one of the lounge chairs outside my Airstream, facing out toward the Gulf. The breeze had settled into a soft whisper. Waves rolled in, moving over the sand with barely a murmur. But off to the west, clouds still blackened the sky like a deadly mask ready to reveal itself when the time was right.

  Maybe when the mask was stripped away, the sky would open up with a torrent of rain. Or maybe not. I had no way of knowing.

  It was safe to say that the dead bird wasn’t a jokeno one I’d met on the island thus far had a sense of humor that twisted, except maybe Anita. She had Charles Addams’ cartoons pinned to the bulletin board in her
office, and seemed particularly fond of the one where a man in a car was fiendishly encouraging another driver to pass him on a blind curve as an oncoming truck, in the opposite lane, barreled toward the poor, unsuspecting driver. Funny. Real funny.

  Depraved humor aside, I couldn’t quite see Anita killing a bird for fun. For a pack of cigarettes maybe, but she didn’t seem in short supply of them.

  No, the dead bird was a warning. The murderer was warning me to back off the case.

  Okay, take stock of the situation, I told myself. I couldn’t run, and there was no place to hide. Sure, the old Mallie would’ve hit the road and not looked back. But something had happened to me the last few days and I knew I couldn’t do that. The only way to handle this situation was head on. I had to be strong.

  I closed my eyes and took a few calming breaths, wishing I knew how to do Sandy’s TM.

  Just then, Kong let out a couple of short, loud barks. My eyes snapped open. I turned around and saw Wanda Sue’s familiar mile-high beehive hair approaching.

  “You okay?”

  “I … I think so”

  “Should we call Detective Billie?” She strolled toward Kong and me, and he responded by growling low in his throat. I whispered soothing words into his ears and he stopped.

  “No” If I told him what happened, that would be the end of my involvement in the murder case. He wouldn’t give me so much as a one-line press release. And it’s possible he wouldn’t believe me anyway. He didn’t trust me. Hell, he hardly knew me.

  Wanda Sue hesitated. “All right. But if anything else happens, I’m calling him.” She sat down in the lounge chair next to me.

  The outside lights of my neighbors’ million-dollar motorhome flipped on.

  I eyed the gorgeous, sleek testament to RV technology. “I don’t suppose they saw anything.”

  “The Clarks? Ha”

  “Is that their name?” Needless to say, I still didn’t know what they looked like. “They’ve never come out of their RV.”

  “Honeymooners” Wanda Sue’s laughter rang out in a light, feminine trill. One of those Southern laughs that ran a full scale and then some. It felt sort of nice-like balm on my spirits after the recent trauma.

  “Lucky them” I pushed the image of the dead egret out of my mind.

  Silence descended on us as we watched those looming clouds off in the gulf.

  “I heard that Everett went whining and complaining to Nick Billie about you” She gave an exclamation of disgust. “That old man is meaner than a snake and uglier than a porcupine.”

  I sat up slowly. “Just how mean do you think he is?”

  She imitated my movement. “Honey, I see where you’re going. And if you ask me, he’s capable of killing man or bird. Yessiree” She dragged out the last word as if it were the last note in an aria. “He once elbowed a man at Whiteside’s who picked up the last tin of Mabel’s favorite cat food, and he used a BB gun to shoot some bunnies that were eating on his hibiscus bushes. Can you imagine that?”

  “He could kill a bird-especially if he’d thought it would scare me” My mind began to race. “He told me that he had some kind running feud with Hillman about the boundary line between their properties. Not to mention Mabel”

  “His cat?” She exhaled loudly. “Now I love my own precious little kitty-Riley-love him to pieces. But he ain’t a person. Old Everett treats that creature like a feline princess. If you ask me, that’s plum unhealthy.”

  Kong barked in agreement. I agreed with his agreement.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to talk to Detective Billie about that dead bird?”

  “I’m sure”

  “If that’s what you want to do, I’ll go along with it.” She leaned over and gave me a brief hug. “But you need to be careful”

  She was right. Whoever killed that bird, whether it was Everett or not, didn’t like the fact that I was writing stories about Hillman’s murder. And now he’s watching me.

  Oh, goody.

  We sat there a good long time, without speaking. The sky suddenly seemed to grow even darker.

  The next morning, I awoke to the sound of tapping on the side of my Airstream. I moaned. It had been a long, restless night and I didn’t feel like getting up.

  The tapping continued. Kong opened his eyes from where he lay on my pillow and began yapping. We both staggered toward the door and I peeped out the window.

  Outside was an older man with teak-colored skin and a mostly bald head, sporting a gold stud in his left ear. He wore a black T-shirt with the word “enigma” splashed across the front and a pair of jeans. In spite of the casual dress and the earring, he looked like an aging professor-scruffy, yet scholarly.

  “Who is it?” I asked, straightening my poodle pajama top and matching pants.

  “Sam. I’m a friend of your Aunt Lily’s.”

  I exhaled in relief and swung open the door. Kong stationed himself between my feet and treated the intruder with his most menacing growl. Of course, the sound would hardly strike terror in the heart of anyone without a pacemaker and triple by-pass, but Kong did his best to protect me.

  “Hi, I’m Mallie.”

  “Nice to meet you. Lily’s told me a lot about you” He held up a box of donuts.

  A slow smile spread across my face. “I can see that”

  “She’s a lady of inestimable talents .. ” He pulled out two styrofoam cups from a white paper bag.

  I inhaled in delight. Coffee. Lovely, black coffee. The wonderful aroma filled the air and drew me toward it as if it were a java magnet and I was a polarized, caffeine-starved zombie.

  “How about we sit out here and enjoy the sunrise?” Sam set the box on my red-checkered-cloth-covered picnic table.

  “Lovely” I scanned the horizon to the east and noticed the sun had risen a fair distance in the sky already. I wish I could’ve completely blamed the restless night, but the truth is I’ve always been a late riser. Those people who are up with the birds, chipper and singing at dawn, always struck me as slightly demented.

  “How long have you known my great aunt?” I took a deep swallow of my coffee and let it flow through my veins. Wonderful. The sleep fog began to clear from my mind. I seated myself on the picnic table bench.

  “Nearly twenty-five years” He seated himself across from me. “I drifted around a bit after Vietnam and, eventually, found myself on Coral Island without a job, little money, and a drinking problem.”

  “Oh” What else could I say? Sam certainly didn’t waste any time hiding behind platitudes and nice aphorisms.

  “Lily was the only person who’d give me job-if I got off the addiction to adult beverages. She’s like that. Kind. But tough in the right sort of way.”

  “I know.” I bit into my first donut of the day. Crispy on the outside, all soft and squishy on the inside. Yum.

  “And when she loves you, it’s forever,” Sam added.

  I stopped chewing. What was he saying?

  He laughed. “It’s not like that. Lily’s affections were engaged elsewhere. We’re friends. But sometimes that’s an even deeper relationship.”

  I started chewing again. I knew how much Aunt Lily loved Uncle Benjamin-he died in the Korean War, and she never married again. I’d always thought it was incredibly romantic that she loved only one man her whole life. So different from my own superficial, lighthearted, hit-and-run relationships.

  I took another swig of coffee. “I guess she told you I’m doing a series of stories on Jack Hillman-“

  “And that you found his body” His eyes searched my face. Light gray searchlights peering into my soul. I lowered my eyes.

  “Yeah” I peered into the dark liquid inside my coffee cup. “It was … horrible.” Images of the body flashed through my mind again. The blood. The unseeing eyes. The knife.

  “I can imagine.” His voice was quiet.

  Reaching for another donut, I cleared my head. “I really shouldn’t have two, but I can’t resist.”

  Sa
m sipped his coffee and merely smiled.

  “Anyway, I’m writing these stories on Hillman and getting conflicting information.”

  “Few people are one-dimensional,” Sam commented.

  “True. “

  “Including you.”

  I gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m pretty much a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of girl.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “I usually take things as they come and not give ‘em a second thought.” Until I became a murder suspect.

  Sam focused a direct glance on me again. “Maybe you’ve changed”

  “Maybe.” I didn’t want to think about that.

  “How can I help you?”

  “Aunt Lily told me you were `the man’.”

  He laughed. “Because I’m so wise?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Because I’ve see death in the war?”

  “Not really.”

  His brows rose.

  “It’s because you’re in everybody’s house fixing things-“

  “Snooping around?”

  I grinned.

  He grinned back. “I never snoop. But I can’t deny that people tell me things that they wouldn’t reveal to their closest friends. It makes sense. I’m in their house, seeing the private details of their lives. Handymen are like bartenders-we’re a receptive audience often to lonely people, and we need their … patronage”

  “Did you ever do any work for Hillman?”

  “Only a plumbing job-and he was out of town”

  “Darn” I sighed. “You know, Hillman was a real jerk the day I met him, but I’ve come to see that he wasn’t like that all the time. He did some good things in his life too. And nobody seems to know or even care-“

  “And you think delving into the `real’ Hillman will lead you to the murderer.”

  “Well … yes.”

  “For your newspaper?”

  I nodded, crossing my fingers under the table at telling the partial lie. Or at least not giving him the whole truth that I was also a suspect.

  Sam’s hands wrapped around his coffee cup. He was of medium height, with a stocky build-kinda like a bulldog. But his hands were those of a poet with long fingers and slender palms. “If you want to know why Hillman was murdered, you need to find out what he was hiding from the world.”