“Uh … Did the storm keep you up last night?”
“That and the dozen calls from scared people in the flood zones.”
“If my phone had been working, I might’ve been one of them”
He regarded me with a speculative gaze. “You don’t strike me as the type to go all to pieces because of rain.”
“Don’t be too sure. This was my first tropical storm in my Airstream. The wind was enough to drive me whimpering under the covers with Kong-my dog,” I informed him.
“He must be one heck of a big one to be named after a giant ape”
“Teacup poodle.”
The phone rang again. He yanked it off the receiver and growled, “Billie, here. What is it? Bob, I said I’ll call you back” He rolled his eyes and hung up. “He’s not going to be satisfied till he’s got everybody riled up”
“Is it going to get worse?” I was borderline riled myself, not looking forward to another night of fierce wind and rain.
“Doesn’t look like it, but keep your radio on just in case”
Like I had a radio.
He took a long, deep drink of his coffee. The aroma wafted over to me and I immediately perked up. “Do you have any more of that stuff?” I gestured toward his large, white mug.
“In the reception area. Help yourself. Sorry I don’t have any donuts.”
“I thought the power was out on the island.”
“We’ve got a generator.”
Seems like everyone did-but me. I made a mental note to get a secondhand one as soon as I saved a few bucks. Ha.
Before you could say “cream or sugar,” I dashed to the coffeepot and poured myself a steaming hot cup of my favorite adult stimulant. I could face anything after a couple of swigs-even Detective Billie’s compelling aura.
“So what did you want to talk about?” I said as I reentered his office.
“You weren’t really at the marina buying shrimp, were you?”
“Maybe not” I figured I could hem and haw for a while-at least until I got a second cup of coffee. “What do you think I was doing there?”
“I think you were trying to find Pete Cresswell so you could question him about Hillman’s murder.”
“Possibly” I downed half my styrofoam cup, ready to finish it off before I had to admit anything.
“No more coffee unless you answer my questions.”
“You really know how to get a girl where it hurts, Billie.”
“I’ve been known to withhold coffee for days at a time.” Amusement touched his voice as he leaned back against the leather headrest of his chair. Did Detective Billie have a sense of humor? Was he actually teasing me, the woman who’s been a thorn in his side since Hillman turned up dead?
“All right, you win. I admit I was there to question Pete” I took a seat opposite his desk. “I was talking to Nora; she said Pete had a grudge against Hillman, so I thought I’d have a friendly chat with him-for my article, of course”
“Of course.” He wasn’t buying it for a minute.
“Nora seemed worried that Pete might’ve killed Hillman. What do you think?” The best defense is a good offense-I’d heard that somewhere and decided it was worth a try.
“No comment”
Oh, well. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Maybe I wanted to see that red hair of yours again.”
A tiny jolt moved through me. Was he flirting? Stiff- jawed, by-the-book, reserved Detective Billie? With his tousled hair and shadow of a beard that made me want to … whoa. Stop right there. He was the enemy-or at least off limits, at the very least.
“Okay, the real reason is I thought you’d like to know that I may be making an arrest shortly on the Hillman murder.”
“Really? Who is it?” My excitement vied with my disappointment that I wasn’t asked here so he could feast his eyes on my hair.
“I can’t say”
“Everett Jacobs?”
“No comment”
“I knew it.” My fists shot up in triumph.
“I’m not saying that he’s the one. But since we’re going to make an arrest, there’s no point in continuing to question people. And, of course, you’re off the hook as a suspect”
I lowered my arms. “Thanks for the vote of confidence”
“My pleasure.”
“I expect a full statement from you for my next article-“
“You’ll have it-after the arrest”
“I’ll be waiting . . ” I rose to my feet. “Could I have another cup of coffee? The electricity is still out at the RV park and I didn’t have my usual full pot this morning.”
“Help yourself.”
The phone rang again. He grabbed the receiver and motioned for me to close the office door on my way out. I complied, but was tempted to press my ear to the keyhole and see if I could catch any juicy tidbit, like when the arrest was going to be made. Unfortunately, the door had a modern brass knob with nary a keyhole in sight.
I contented myself with another cup of coffee. I had to admit Detective Billie made it just the way I liked It: strong to just-this-side of mud. Taking a deep swig, I stared at the closed door for a few moments. I had an absurd desire to say something else to him, but what?
Forget it. Not the right time-or place.
I turned away and made my way back out to Rusty. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still overcast. A lull. That’s all it was. The rain would start up again. I could smell it in the air.
I couldn’t believe the investigation was almost over, and Everett would be arrested soon. I felt relieved, but vaguely uneasy. There were so many unanswered questions. I still hadn’t talked to the boy that Hillman sponsored in Big Brothers/Big Sisters. And what about his financial state? Having writer’s block for years must’ve put a dent in his savings, to say the least.
I climbed in my truck and fired up the engine.
Maybe those questions were unrelated to the murder. The untidy threads of a man’s life that had unraveled and were left hanging with his unexpected death.
I pulled back onto Cypress Road and debated whether or not to stop at the Island Museum and talk to Bradley Johnson. If Everett were arrested in a day or two, knowing about the argument he had with Bradley the other night was a moot point. I should probably forget it.
I jerked the wheel to the right and turned into the museum parking lot. I couldn’t resist. I’d come this far. Just because an arrest was going to be made, that didn’t mean that I couldn’t get the inside scoop.
A lone car stood in the semi-flooded parking lot. A low-slung Corvette, complete with T-tops and rear spoilers. Bradley drove that? For a few moments my vehicular psychoanalysis failed me. That kind of car was a testosterone machine, a blatant statement of 160 Marty Ambrose “mine’s-bigger-than-yours” A strange choice for a cultured type like Bradley. Even stranger to have that kind of car on a tropical island prone to flooding. Hmmm.
After I parked my truck, I entered the museum. It was a small, three-room building with giant glass cases that contained scenes of Caloosa life. Life-sized mannequins dressed and made-up to look like Caloosa peopled each case, along with to-scale models of rough huts. Realistic looking trees, flowers, and stuffed birds completed the settings.
“I didn’t expect anyone to be out on a day like this,” Bradley said as he came out from behind a desk. Wearing a splashy-print shirt and silk pants, he seemed a bit formally clothed for a museum curator. But I guess someone had to uphold fashion standards on Coral Island where most residents considered beach flip-flops “dress shoes.”
“It’s not so bad. Last night was the worst part by far.”
“Your first tropical disturbance?” He pushed the large glasses back up his beaklike nose.
“No. But it’s my first in a trailer.”
“We’ll probably have a little more rain-that’s all” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to look around a bit and … a
sk you about Everett Jacobs” Picking up a book, I flipped through it in feigned nonchalance. “I saw you two at the Starfish Lodge the other morning.”
He grimaced. “We had a disagreement.”
“Really?” I put the book down.
“I don’t know what gets into Everett … he knows how important the archeological research is at the dig, but all he seems to be concerned about is that cat of his.”
“Mabel is near and dear to his heart.”
“But surely not more important than history.”
“He said the research center wanted to expand the site.”
Bradley shifted back and forth on his feet, as if suddenly nervous. “Well … yes. We want to do a separate dig on his side of the Mounds. It’s too bad that Jack couldn’t lay claim to the whole area-he totally supported the dig.”
“I know. I heard that he donated a lot of the money for this museum, too.”
“Yes, he was a great patron”
“Did he help with these displays?” I strolled around the glass cases. “They’re so lifelike.”
“No, I designed those-right down to the last detail.”
All of a sudden, my eyes riveted on the stuffed birds. Had he done those, too? That would mean he’d have to have bird carcasses.
“I see you’ve noticed my birds.” He had moved and positioned himself right behind me.
I eased a few steps away from him.
“A local taxidermist did them. I thought he did a terrific job.”
“Yes, he did.” I almost laughed at my own foolishness. Did I actually think Bradley could’ve killed a bird and stuffed it? What’s more, maybe even put the egret on my picnic table? Get real. He doesn’t even like to sweat.
“I’m reading about the Caloosa in a history book. They really lived quite a simple life, didn’t they?”
“Yes, no money, no gold just an idyllic life of fishing and living off the land. We could learn a lot from them.”
“Sure.” He droned on about the Caloosa, extolling their simple lifestyle and berating how we’d become too caught up in monetary gain. I felt like whipping out my checkbook and showing him the meager balance. I was already living close to subsistence level. The only difference between the Caloosa and me was that I didn’t practice human sacrifice. “Look, I’ve got to swing by the Observer and make sure everything’s okay … thanks for the tour”
“Anytime.”
I ducked out of there before he could begin lecturing again. I’d gotten what I came for-he corroborated what Everett had said about their argument. Not that it probably mattered now.
As I drove off, I noticed the Corvette had a temporary license plate-the kind you get with a new car before your permanent plate comes through the mail. Not that I knew much about that. But my parents always bought a new car every three years, no matter what. So I’d seen the procedure many times.
It took me only about ten minutes to reach the strip mall at the island center where the Observer office was located. As I let myself in with my key, I realized Anita was already there. I could detect the unmistakable odor of her Camels.
“Hey, kiddo. You keeping high and dry?” she exclaimed from inside her cubicle.
“Sort of.” I halted at the threshold, deciding to limit my exposure to the life-threatening miasma of her second-hand smoke. “I came by to check on the office. Everything looks okay.”
“Yeah, this place is pretty sturdy.” She tapped her feet on the shabby linoleum floor. A hollow, ringing sound echoed through the office. “I’ve got an advance copy of this week’s paper. Your story on Hillman looks … not bad.”
I smiled. High praise, indeed. “I heard on the Q.T. that Detective Billie would be making an arrest soon.”
Anita pursed her wrinkled mouth. “He told you?”
“Yeah”
“Now that’s interesting. I wouldn’t have thought he’d be close to an arrest yet” She propped her feet up on the desk and folded her arms behind her head. “He must’ve found out that Pete’s alibi didn’t hold up-“
“Pete? I thought he was going to arrest Everett Jacobs,” I protested.
“That old fool? Not in this lifetime.”
“But-“
“Pffft. Nick Billie isn’t stupid enough to take what that old man says seriously, and you shouldn’t either, kiddo.”
I glared at her. “How did you know about Pete?”
“Everybody’s heard about the affair that Nora had with Hillman. It just makes sense that he had the greatest motive jealousy.”
“But what about your mantra, `follow the money’-” A loud clap of thunder interrupted me.
“I might’ve been wrong.” She dropped her arms and sat up straight. “Right now, you’d better go on back to the Twin Palms and ride out the rest of this storm” Anita waved me out.
I wasn’t convinced about Pete’s guilt, but I didn’t need to be told twice to go home. I knew Kong would be nervous as heck with more stormy weather ahead.
First, I drove to Whiteside’s at Mango Bay and purchased four gallons of water, bread, toilet paper, dog food, and the latest copy of People magazine. I figured if I got bored with the history book, I could read about how anorexia was taking over Hollywood’s starlets.
When I parked to the side of my Airstream, I noticed most of the debris left by the storm had been cleared away. Go, Pop Pop. My site looked neat and tidyready for the next go around with the elements. And I was, too.
I exited Rusty, bags in hand, when all of a sudden, an odd shivery feeling snaked through me. Just like when I found the dead egret on my picnic table. Oh, no. Not again.
I halted. My gaze slowly panned around the RV site. Nothing seemed amiss, nothing unusual.
I gasped as my eyes came to rest on the front of my Airstream.
Someone had slashed my two front tires.
“I don’t believe this. A moron came into the park and did this in broad daylight,” I said aloud. I ran my hand over one of the tires. Yep, it had been slashed all right. I could feel the deep groves the blade had carved into the rubber. Tears stung at the back of my eyes as I banged my head against the trailer in frustration.
Just then, a battered white truck pulled up. I thought it impossible to drive a vehicle more dingy than Rusty, but this one had even more dents and scratches.
Nora stuck her head out the window. “Mallie, you’ve got to help me. They’re going to arrest Pete-“
“Oh, no!” Damn. Anita had nailed it.
“He’s hiding out on Little Coral Island and says he won’t let them take him in.” Eyes wild, hair uncombed, she clutched the steering wheel with shaky hands.
“I don’t know what I can do-“
“Please, you’re the only person I’ve been able to talk to who believes that I still love him. Help me to get him turn himself in.”
“I … uh … all right.” I opened the Airstream door, threw in the grocery bags, and checked to see if Kong was okay. He wagged his tail in usual chipper fashion. I locked everything up carefully.
“Mallie, hurry.” Nora began crying.
I opened the driver’s side door of Nora’s truck. Interestingly, it squeaked just like mine. “Scoot over. You’re in no shape to drive.”
She complied.
“Is Pete armed?” I asked as I took the wheel.
“No … yes. I don’t know,” she babbled. “He might have a gun.”
Great. Just great. An armed ex-con. What was I getting myself into? I paused.
Nora sobbed harder. “Please!”
I rammed the truck into gear and hit the gas pedal.
As I steered Nora’s truck onto Cypress Road, I reached up to adjust the rearview mirror. It fell off in my hand. I set it on the dashboard and realized I’d have to make do with the side mirror. I glanced out the window. Also gone.
Okay, so much for the need to see what’s behind us.
Luckily, traffic was nonexistent and, luckier still, some of the tree branches had been shoved to the side o
f the road.
“Nora, try to calm down and tell me what happened” I pressed the pedal down to the floor, and the speed increased only about five miles per hour. This was going to be a long drive.
She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and blew her nose in a crumpled tissue. “I felt sort of … I don’t know, hopeful after we talked yesterday. So I tracked Pete down at a friend’s house-to tell him that I still love him. When I got there, Detective Billie pulled up behind me, said he wanted to see Pete. I freaked out and started screaming. Pete must’ve heard and lit out the back door.” She choked and swallowed a sob. “He yelled out that he’d never go back to jail.”
“What did Detective Billie do?”
“I expected him to jump in his car and take off after him, but he just watched Pete leave. Said he didn’t want to panic Pete into doing something stupid.”
“Good for him.” Maybe he wasn’t totally a by-thebook kinda of cop.
“No one has seen Pete since, but I think I know where he might be. His grandpa used to run a still in the mangroves out on Little Coral Island, and there’s a small shack there. Not too many people know about it because it’s hard to find and you can only get to it by way of a one-lane, dirt track road”
“The road must be like mush. Can we get through with all the rain we had yesterday?”
“I … I think so” She bit her lip.
“It might’ve dried out today. We can only hope that it won’t start raining again.” As if on cue, raindrops splattered against the windshield. Oh, no. I rammed the pedal down again, trying to get every ounce of power out of the truck. The speedometer stayed at forty-five and stubbornly refused to move.
“Tell me where to turn,” I said.
“Make a left turn on Bayview-that’ll take you past a saw palmetto strand. Most people think the road ends there, but it doesn’t. It circles around to an itty-bitty spit of land that connects to Little Coral Island”
“Okay, I’m game” I continued down Cypress Road for another couple of miles, managing to nudge the truck’s speed up to almost fifty. I smelled a burning odor, but refused to let up. The rain was coming harder, faster, and the truck’s windshield wipers didn’t work much better than Rusty’s.
Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 01 - Peril in Paradise Page 12
