1 Margarita Nights

by Phyllis Smallman

  “There was no indication of more than one person on board.”

  I heard the sound of feet running down the stairs. “Are you sure anyone was on board?” “Someone hit the switch.”

  “But did . . . did you find any real evidence that someone was on board?” “What do you mean?”

  “Jimmy was mechanical.” I worried my bottom lip. I really didn’t know where I was going with this. I only knew with Jimmy there was always a twist. “Maybe he just wants us to think he’s dead.”

  “Why?”

  “Dozens of reasons. Take your pick: drugs, debt or an angry husband. Maybe even an angry woman. Who knows what kind of trouble Jimmy was in this time. I just figure he wants to get away without anyone looking for him.” “Would he let his family believe he was dead?” Styles asked.

  “Hell, yeah! That boy just never thinks things through.”

  “His truck was at the boat ramp.”

  “But it would be if he wanted you to think he was dead. Besides, if the past is anything to go by, a finance company will be along real soon to reclaim it.”

  “Would your husband send this Andy Crown out to move the boat if he knew it was rigged?”

  “Good god, no! Never! He wouldn’t hurt Andy. Or anyone else for that matter! He’s a lot of things, but he doesn’t kill people.”

  “Andy Crown’s name did come up . . . unstable, maybe even dangerous. Do you think he could be responsible for your husband’s death?”

  “No! No way! He has schizophrenia but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Anger made me confident for a rash minute. “What the hell do you think we are anyway, murderers and maniacs?”

  “I’m just asking questions.” He was all reason and control.

  “Someone tampered with that fan. If Mr. Crown didn’t do it, then that brings us back to you.”

  “And about half the population of Jacaranda! If you look hard enough you’ll find more than a few people who would like Jimmy to disappear from their lives.”

  “Let’s concentrate on you. When were you last on that boat?”

  I shrugged and turned away to pick up the coffee cup. “Ages ago.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “Before I left him.”

  His cold unblinking eyes stared at me as if they could read my soul. I forced myself to meet his eyes: tried not to let him see my guilt.

  The doorbell rang and I jumped, jarring hot coffee over my hand. Styles still didn’t blink.

  Chapter 9

  The door opened. Evan, carrying a container of flamboyant flowers in each hand, side-stepped into the room to protect the arrangements. “Three of these whoppers arrived before I got my ass out the door this morning.”

  I went to help him.

  “They’re from the three amigos.” He leaned forward and kissed me. “Lovely cards.”

  “This is Detective Styles.” My voice was louder than it needed to be.

  Evan looked towards where I was pointing.

  Detective Styles was taking it all in. I knew what he was thinking, “So this is the new guy in her life.” Evan would look like one more reason for me to want Jimmy dead.

  Evan put down the flowers on the coffee table and became the most respectable of men.

  “Hello, I’m Evan Beckworth,” he said, holding out his hand and walking towards Styles. “I work for the Jacaranda Sun.” I so didn’t want Evan to tell Styles his name. In twenty-four hours Styles would know everything about Evan except that he was gay and we weren’t lovers.

  “Detective Styles, Jacaranda Police Department.” Men sure like to get those credentials right out there, don’t they? Give these two another minute and they’d start telling each other where they went to college and what clubs they belonged to.

  Detective Styles started for the door. His hand was already on the knob when he turned back and said, “I’ll be in touch, Mrs. Travis.”

  “Give me a cigarette,” I demanded and threw myself onto the ratty couch that Grandma Jenkins had donated to the décor. For once Evan handed the package over without telling me he couldn’t afford to have both of us smoking and went to help himself to coffee.

  “What a re the police telling you?” I asked.

  “Just the fact that a boat, owned by Jimmy, blew up.”

  “Nothing about foul play?”

  His back straightened. “Foul play?” If he’d had antennae they would have gone up too and if I’d had the energy to stand up, I would have kicked myself.

  “They just have to check in case.”

  “In case what?”

  “Well, boats don’t normally blow up. They’re just checking to make sure it’s an accident. What else is happening?”

  “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you,” Evan said, “your mother just called. She’s been trying to reach you. She’s on the way over.”

  I shot off the couch, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door.

  “Wait,” Evan said behind me.

  “No, you wait. I’m out of here.” The last thing I wanted was to get trapped by Ruth Ann.

  Marley Hemming was on the stairs coming up as I went through the door. I felt the smile spreading across my face. I met Marley at Kittridge Elementary School and we’d been cheese and crackers ever since. She hasn’t changed much, just gotten taller. With curly red hair and freckles, she’s half an inch taller than me but ten pounds lighter. I never can understand why she’s so skinny when all she ever does is eat, or talk about eating or plan to eat. I hate her.

  “Hi, Juice,” I said, the old nickname slipping back.

  “Hi, yourself. Going someplace?”

  “Dodging Ruth Ann.”

  “I’ll come with you,” she said and started back down the stairs.

  “Call your mother,” Evan yelled out the door after me.

  For once that bile green piece of shit didn’t argue about starting.

  “Where we going?” Marley asked.

  I shrugged and put the car into reverse. My brain was working overtime, poking in corners, turning over rocks, and sorting things out. There was nothing left for conversation.

  “Let’s get something to eat,” Marley suggested.

  “All right, but off the island. I don’t want any more sympathy today.”

  “Hey, who’s sympathizing with you? Isn’t this what you’ve been yelling you wanted to do?” She lowered her voice in a bad imitation of mine. “I am gonna kill the bastard, I swear.”

  “Don’t give up your day job.”

  “Seriously, are you all right?”

  “Barely.” It was the first time I’d admitted this even to myself.

  “Pull over,” she ordered.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  I did as I was told and Marley got out and came around to my side. “I’m driving,” she told me. I slid across to the passenger seat without arguing.

  The bridge was up so we waited for a Seafarer sloop to make its way out the channel. A pair of osprey had made a nest on the arm of the stoplight hanging over the road and one of the pair hopped around the nest while the young osprey stretched out their necks for lunch. It seemed strange that life around me was going on as normal when my life had been turned upside down.

  I stared out the windshield at the faded board fence screening the neighbors from the parking lot of the burger takeout. “I go from believing he’s dead to thinking it’s all some goddamn gigantic mistake.” I took the hamburger Marley offered me. “More than that,” I could hardly bring myself to continue, “I keep thinking it’s some stupid hoax.”

  “I know,” Marley agreed. “That was my first reaction . . . like he’ll just pop back up at any minute, yelling surprise.

  Remember the time he was missing for three days and you thought he’d drowned? He walked in like nothing had happened. He knew he was safe so what was the big deal? Hadn’t even thought to call and tell you he was safe.”

  “I swear to god if that son of a bitch strolls back into the Sunset and o
rders a beer, I swear, I’ll take the bar knife to him. I’ll kill him for sure.”

  “And I’ll help you,” she promised. “But let’s face it—even for Jimmy this is a bit extreme. He’s never blown anything up before. Did the police find anything that says Jimmy was actually there?”

  “I think it’s mostly his truck being there that has them convinced he was on board.”

  “The cops must have something, Sherri. Maybe you should ask for more details.”

  I set the hamburger on the dash. “Have you got a cigarette?”

  She opened the canvas shopping bag that she trucks around and threw a pack of Camels into my lap and then dipped her fingers into my fries and said, “Dr. John always asks a lot of questions about Jimmy and he was awfully cheerful this morning.”

  “Because Jimmy’s supposed to be dead?” Dr. John was John Zampa, the dentist Marley worked for.

  “Yeah,” she said, helping herself to more fries.

  “Why would he be interested in Jimmy?”

  She chewed carefully while she thought about this. “My guess is Mrs. John, cute, tiny, flirty eyes, bored and on the make. She’s got a nanny for the baby and little John is in school now. The Junior League and the Garden Club probably don’t do it for her.” She stopped talking and tore into her burger. Tucking lettuce into the corner of her mouth with a finger, she continued, “Lara Zampa was taking golf lessons at Windimere from Jimmy and we both know what Jimmy’s like.” “Did Jimmy ever hit on you?” I asked.

  She turned to face me and gave me a look that made me regret my rash question. I changed the subject. “Still it’s a long walk from being a jealous husband to blowing up a boat.”

  “Dr. John owns a piece of Windimere. I heard him on the phone saying, ‘I want that bastard Travis out of there.’ This was just before Christmas. He definitely had it in for Jimmy.”

  “Do you think Dr. Zampa is capable of blowing up the Suncoaster?”

  She gave it some thought. “A boat yes, a person no.” She finished her burger and said, “Dr. John came up the hard way. It took hard work and grit to get where he is. He was the first one in his family to finish high school. Went to college on a scholarship.” She took a sip of her soda. “Then he married his dream girl. He’s told me more than once how lucky he was to snag her and I know her papa set him up in business. I don’t think he’d let all of that go too easily.”

  “Well, there you are. Dr. Zampa blew up the Suncoaster and Jimmy just walked away . . . used it as an excuse to take a powder. Thank god there are other possibilities besides me. Styles has me half convinced I did it.”

  “Well, my money is still on you.” She plunged the straw in and out of her cup as she thought it through. “What if it was someone else on the boat? Someone had to hit the switch to start the engine.” She turned her head to look at me, the green eyes, big and round, stared at me over her soda. “If not Jimmy, who was it?” She hesitated, put down the soda and whispered, “Andy?”

  Chapter 10

  “Andy,” I agreed. “Thinking about the Suncoaster and Andy, it seems not exhausting fumes from the bilge is exactly the kind of mistake Andy would make. Even on a good day he’s forgetful and accident-prone and it’s been quite a while since he’s had a good day.” “Shit,” she said.

  I stubbed out the cigarette.

  She drew herself up in indignation. “There’s no way Jimmy would hurt Andy.”

  “I know that. But what if it just happened? Maybe someone rigged it or Andy got careless.” There was one other possibility I hardly dared think of, one I had to take a deep breath before I could say aloud. “Or Andy used the boat to commit suicide. I’ve been doing a lot of reading. A huge percentage of schizophrenics commit suicide. Styles said the blades were off the exhaust fan.” “But where’s Jimmy?”

  “If the boat blew up with Andy on board, Jimmy might use it as a way to get out, to disappear and start over.”

  “Would he let you and his folks think he was dead?”

  “Depends on how much shit he was into. I know he owes a ton of money. He tried to borrow some from me before Christmas and there were a couple of guys who came into the bar looking for him last week that I wouldn’t take home to mother and you know how welcoming she is.”

  “Wouldn’t he just ask his dad? Daddy always got him out of trouble before.”

  “I got the impression from Jimmy that Dr. Travis has set new rules.”

  I pulled the elastic out of my hair and ran my hands through it. “There’s something else.”

  “What?” Her voice was wary as if she was unsure she really wanted to hear this.

  “The cops think I fixed the Suncoaster to blow up.”

  “What?” They must have heard her inside the restaurant.

  “Why?”

  “They have a witness that saw someone on the Suncoaster that afternoon. A woman.”

  She waited a heartbeat and then asked, “And they think it was you?” “Yeah.”

  She tossed the last of my fries back into the bag, put both hands on the wheel and stared straight ahead as she asked, “And was it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh shit.” Her fists pounded the steering wheel. “Why?” she growled. “I thought you couldn’t get far enough away from that asshole.” She turned to face me. “Why? For god’s sake, why?”

  “There were some pictures.”

  “Of what, as if I couldn’t guess?”

  “Me. Polaroid nudes Jimmy took years ago. He’s been calling me up and describing them in detail, telling me how much he’s enjoying them now that the real thing isn’t there.”

  “No wonder you never answer your phone! Did you find them?”

  “Yeah. I burned them in the kitchen sink . . . well, all except one.” I could feel the broad smile splitting my face. “Something to remember when I collect my pension.”

  “If you live that long.”

  I sat up straight. “That’s what’s scaring the hell out of me. Styles likes me for the fit of an electric chair. Last night, the Travises told Styles Jimmy still had an insurance policy and when Evan came in . . . well, that pretty much clinched it. I bet Styles thinks we’re having an affair.”

  “So does everybody else in town. Will Evan come out of the closet and tell Styles you’re not his type?”

  “I hope it doesn’t come to that, but I just don’t think Styles will look beyond me. He’s a tidy man. This is tidy. Maybe that witness can’t identify me but this shitty puke green car is unforgettable.”

  She didn’t argue or try to make me feel better, just worried the skin along the edge of her thumb as she thought about it.

  “If Jimmy is alive and I think he is, where would he be?” I asked.

  “Easy,” Marley said. “Up in the redneck Riviera, hunting and fishing and screwing the native women.”

  I shook my head in disagreement. “That was my first thought but I’ve had more time to think about it. The Panhandle wouldn’t be a very good place to hide. Somebody who knows somebody would tell somebody and sooner or later we’d all hear it down here. No. If Jimmy is gone he’ll want to stay gone. He won’t want anyone to find him.”

  “Well where then?”

  “I’ve been thinking about this. He used to tell me how easy it is to hitch rides on boats. Down in the Caribbean, there are always boats cruising from one island to another that need crew. He figured you could work your way from Florida down to South America and never need a passport, just hopping from one port to the next. You know how he loves boats and the Caribbean. That’s where he’d head.”

  She stared at me, emerald eyes wide and a little surprised, working it out. At last she gave a small nod of agreement.

  “Honey, you are so screwed.”

  “I have to find him.”

  “Do you think he got someone to drive him across to Miami?”

  “Why bother? There’s a guy that Jimmy knows down in Boca Grande who captains a boat for a bunch of doctors up in New York. When they aren
’t using it, they charter it out. Jimmy crewed on it one May during tarpon season, one big booze-out.”

  “And you think . . . ?” she asked, making little circles with her forefinger.

  “And I think Jimmy may have paid him or sweet-talked him into taking him across to Texas, Louisiana or even the Bahamas or Mexico.”

  “How do we figure out which?”

  “It’s a good day for a drive down to Boca.”

  She started the car and was backing up before I’d finished sweeping the debris from her snack off the dash.

  Chapter 11

  We went south down Tamiami Trail, now designated a scenic highway, which is fine if you happen to think strip malls and motels are scenic. Outside a Citgo station a rusting magnetic sign left over from Christmas said “Happy B-day Jesus.”

  At State road 776, we turned west, going past white-walled and gated communities, citrus groves, cattle ranches and a million billboards selling everything from real estate to sex and religion.

  “Do you suppose anyone has ever done a book on the billboards of Florida?” I asked Marley. “You know, one of those big, glossy, coffee-table books. Look at that one,” I pointed to a weathered billboard up ahead. “‘Have you talked it over with Jesus?’” I read out loud. “There’s the answer to all our problems, girl. Let’s give him a call.”

  “The long-distances charges would be a killer,” said Marley.

  “There’s one.” A huge sign stood above a field of grazing cattle, with small white birds riding their backs and picking bugs. Overhead, buzzards soared.

  “Gator Bill’s Pawn and Gun Shop,” I read. Gator Bill also offered the added service of bail bonds.

  “One-stop shopping,” Marley put in. “Do the crime and we get you out before you have to do the time. You might want to write down his number just in case.”

  At the Mercury motor test station we crossed out onto the causeway to Gasparilla Island. This is the place the Bushes, governor and past president, come for their Christmas holiday. Sometimes they even bring the current president.