by Alexie Aaron
There was a lot of activity in the yard for a sugar mill that was no longer functioning. Most of the buildings were locked, but Michael saw several men rummaging through piles of old machinery looking for items that could be sold or recycled. If Manuel came over here to take a break and smoke his cigarettes, he may have been meeting up with other workers - an outdoor water cooler as it was. Perhaps some of the other men would know where Manuel was living presently.
As he approached the group of workers, they disbanded and walked away before he could ask them any questions. As he followed one of the men, Carlos's words of warning came back to haunt him. "Beware of those who will not talk to you." He continued to follow the man but hung back a bit. If these were dangerous men, would it not be more valuable to find out why they were dangerous instead of leaving them be? What had Manuel Perez gotten mixed up in?
The man disappeared into a large building of corrugated aluminum, sitting on a poured concrete foundation. The sickly sweet smell of burnt sugar greeted him as he entered the building. Although the processed sugar had long ago gone, its odoriferous echo remained. He looked around the large open space with the limited light coming in from the door. Behind him he could see that there was no one about. Off to his right was a ramp that led down to a lower floor. He followed slowly, watching his footing as the cement was coarse and broken in places. The ramp evened out into another large room that was lit by many breaks in the old siding. A large amount of mill debris was piled along the inside wall. Michael walked wide of the pile and stopped as he heard a door open at the far end of the room. He heard angry voices. From what he could tell, there was an argument going on between two men in a language that Michael didn't immediately recognize.
Approaching one man was one thing but two angry men would be foolhardy, so Michael turned around and began a quiet retreat. He had successfully navigated around the debris pile when he was discovered by another man entering the room.
"Excuse me, but I’m lost. A tourist, lost," he explained to the man who must have followed him down the ramp.
"Lost? Here?" The man spat. "I don't think you’re lost."
Michael tried to step around the man but was unsuccessful. He backed up, but he knew with the approaching footsteps that there would be no escape. Still he tried. He went down fighting. And as he lay there, while the men argued his fate in that same strange language, he watched them and saw with horror that Carlos was right. These men had no someday in their eyes.
Chapter One
I opened my eyes and he was still there. I shut them again with the hope that he would go away. It was the most perfect south Florida day. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle, and errant clouds aside, I stood a good chance of getting a tan today. Harry had spoken to me, but I pretended to be asleep. He hadn’t bought the act and repeated himself.
“No, no and no,” I growled at my permanent houseguest. My answer didn’t even crease his brow. He stared back at me as if I hadn’t spoken at all.
“No, as in you’ll think about it? No, as in you’ll listen to my side of things?” He smiled as he kicked some water from the pool’s edge where he was sitting, destroying my peace. “The last no I can’t figure out.”
I sat up so I wouldn’t have to look at him over my midlife midriff. Maybe mid-drift was a better word as in my forties things were drifting south, joining with the effects of crème brûlèe, causing a rippling effect not unlike the sandy sea floor. There’s a thought, I should have gone to the beach instead of sunning here by the pool. Harry wouldn’t have found me at the beach. At least I hope he couldn’t.
“No, as in no I don’t want to set up a detective agency. No, I don’t want to become the next crime-fighting duo. And no, ah, no, damn, lost my train of thought.” I grabbed the sunscreen and shook the remainder down out of the bottle and applied it to my legs.
“You’re not being fair.”
“Fair?”
“When Noelle asks you to find the missing Copland composition, you fly across the ocean, drop everything, and leave your partner at home.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I tossed the bottle into the pool. I wanted to hit Harry with it. We hadn’t even reconnected when I went to England. He wasn’t getting away with twisting the truth. “You know I was conned into going to England by Bobby Bathgate. I was attacked and had to defend myself. Noelle was helping me. I didn’t leave you, as you’re not mine to leave, and we’re not partners!”
Harry retrieved the bottle by edging it over with his barefoot. He got up and unrolled his pant legs. “Cin, you crush me. Who saved your life when Manfred and Tobias poisoned you?”
“You did.”
“Me,” Harry emphasized. “Who figured out it was the old farts poisoning everyone first?”
“You did.”
Harry flashed me a self-satisfied smile as he pulled his hands through his jet-black hair.
“You don’t need me, Harry O’Rourke. Change your major, become a cop. Sergeant Dave would help you or maybe Tony. Or better yet, finish school and get into the FBI, CSI, CIA, ABCDEFG.” I stopped for effect. “Do anything, but leave me out.”
“You’re being selfish!” he spat out. “You know very well you’ve got all the press. Hell, all the free publicity you got in England would put us in the who’s who of detective agencies.” He walked over and sat on the bottom of my lounge chair.
Great, not only was he blocking my sun but any graceful way to exit the chair to get away from him. “All that publicity is no compensation for being shot at, knifed or having the crap beat out me.”
“That wouldn’t have happened if I was there. No, instead you had that priest and Noelle,” he said with disgust.
“Father Michael saved my life as did Noelle. And that has nothing to do with what we’re talking about. You need a license to be a detective, not to mention training. I don’t want to be a detective. The kids would kill me. I don’t want to have to explain my actions to the police, or kill anyone else,” my voice quavered at the end. I wasn’t really up to Harry’s grilling. I hadn’t had a drink in months, and my new sobriety was forcing me to deal with the deaths of Ivana Penny and Michael Sherborn. Even though it was self-defense, I did kill them. I was responsible.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to upset you. I just think we’re missing out on cashing in here. What about consultants? Hey now, that would be a way to get around the legal roadblocks.”
“No. Damn it! Listen to me.” I grabbed his polo shirt with both hands and brought his Irish Catholic face close to mine. So close that he was fogging up my sunglasses. “All I want to do is to mind my own business. Play in the band and be safe.”
“Safe is boring. You won’t like it. You’ll start drinking again.”
He said it. I knew it. He was playing the AA card. Even though I never stood up anywhere and said I was an alcoholic, I suspected I might just be. So I thought that I would give myself a ride on the sober wagon. Give it a try to see if I really needed to drink. I loved whiskey. I loved the burn, the high and the smell. But I could do without the headaches, circles under my eyes, bloating, and the broken capillaries that tried to sprout on my freckled face. Face it, I had good but shallow reasons for not drinking.
I let go of his shirt and leaned back. “Harry, what am I going to do with you? You drive me nuts.”
“Well, it isn’t too far of a drive, now is it?” He smiled and got up. “What about our freelance writing?”
“That was just a cover we used to interview Brian and Billy.”
“We got paid.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out an envelope.
“Really?” I tried to snatch the envelope but he was too quick. Settling back, I pointed out, “You know Noelle edited that article for us, she gets fifteen percent of it. The rest is yours. After all, it was your idea. How much?”
He opened the envelope and held the check where I could read all the zeros. “So, you wouldn’t be opposed to maybe a joint venture in the freelance area?” he
asked quietly.
“No, I guess I wouldn’t be.” I was rewarded with a smile and Harry’s overly quick retreat into the house. As I checked my tan line and adjusted my suit, I began to wonder what I had really agreed to.
Chapter Two
Flying along the road in my BMW with the evening sun just starting to set, I sang along with the radio. Tonight was the first practice of the Coconut Palm Community Band after our forced hiatus. The serial murders of the conductor, theater manager and several players by two of our own bassoon players, Manfred and Tobias, had brought the band to a grinding halt. Although, Bernice had said that all the remaining season tickets were snapped up. Press, even bad press, sold tickets.
I had prepared for this rehearsal by actually practicing scales and etudes, instead of my norm of just thinking about it. My alto clarinet was in great working order as it had just returned from a spruce up with the genius that maintained my woodwind instruments.
Instrumentally, I was in great condition. Physically, I was still mending. Outwardly, I looked pretty good, having lost a few pounds. It’s really surprising what running after, and away from, murderers does for one’s thighs. True, I still had scars courtesy of Ivana Penny, but they were tiny and hidden - with the help of a great cover-up that I got at the mall - though for its hefty price you’d think it should grow new skin. But hey, it worked so I wouldn’t have to be self-conscious and answer a lot of questions.
The racket that greeted me wasn’t exactly music to my ears, but it was a comfort of sorts. Musicians were warming up and playing scales, while the less talented were showing off with ear-piercing blasts. I rolled my eyes at the conductor as I passed him on my way to my seat. Bernice was already sitting down, playing court to her admirers. She raised a hand and mouthed that she would like to talk to me at break. I sat down and was assembling my instrument when a tall form cut the light from above. I looked up to see Dwayne, one of the Baritone players, standing, holding a stack of papers.
I put my hand out expecting to be presented with a new set of rules for the band and was surprised by a flyer requesting toys for a holiday toy drive.
“Already? It’s October isn’t it?” I questioned the paper, not expecting it to answer.
“Starting early, I lost my partner on this drive, so I thought I would seed the waters early,” Dwayne replied, still in earshot.
“Don’t you mean, chum the waters?”
“You chum for sharks. I want toys.”
I was still trying to figure out what seeds had to do with toys when the conductor tapped his stand for us to begin.
~
“So, Harry thinks you both should be gumshoes?” Bernice commented as we walked over to the refreshment table for coffee. I had filled her in on my day, and she was trying to help me sort things out. “Your children and ex-husband wouldn’t like it. I don’t think the kids would sleep nights knowing you and Harry were out in the mist following suspects.”
“You make it sound like a Bogart movie,” I said, handing her a Styrofoam cup filled with coffee. “I know Harry has a knack for deduction.”
“You’ve the knack.”
“No, I fall into things. Not the same thing. So I told him he should become a police officer. They could train him and...”
“He could be safe,” Bernice finished. “Harry isn’t going to be safe if he surrounded himself with bubble wrap.”
“What I’m saying is that I don’t want the responsibility. I want to be free to do whatever I want. I don’t want to have any more worry.”
“A bit boring though,” Bernice mused.
“What? Are you on his side? I never saw it coming.”
“What I’m saying is what are you going to do with yourself? Your children are both away at university and you’re divorced. Even though Luke is living in your pool house, he is gone most of the time.”
“I have band.”
“It’s one night a week.”
“I’ll garden like you do.”
“Remember last year when you pulled that vine and...”
“Yes, poison ivy. Stop. Okay, I can’t garden, but wait a minute,” I said, spying the toy drive flyer on the stand. “Dwayne is looking for volunteers for the toy drive. That’s it! I’ll help him out with the toys. That should keep me out of trouble.” I relaxed and drank my coffee, comforted that I had a plan. I like plans. I winced as several images of past plans that had gone awry flooded my thoughts. “Ouch.” When they work out of course, I like plans.
~
On the drive home, my mind was filled with the information I had gotten from Dwayne about the group of children his toy drive was for. I daydreamed about being able to convince the local businesses to donate. I saw myself as Ms. Claus gowned in a red outfit and passing out toys to the little tots who clustered around me. I was filled with such a warm feeling, not unlike a hot flash but better, by the time I pulled into the driveway. Suddenly everything went cold. There standing in my driveway tapping her foot was Father Michael's aunt Diane.
I pulled my car into the garage, trying to ignore what surely was a figment of my guilty imagination. The figment pulled open my car door and started shouting at me.
"Where the hell is my nephew? How dare you!"
At this point everything went blah blah blah as my son Alex would say. The trombone wha wha wha of Charlie Brown's teacher, I could ignore, but unfortunately, Aunt Diane's voice was more of a shrill piccolo running up and down some minor scale. I didn't look at her and busied myself with undoing my seatbelt.
I got out of the car and shut the door gently. She was still going on about me hiding him away in a love nest somewhere, and how I would burn in hell for tempting a priest. I caught a movement on the sidewalk just beyond my yard where several strolling couples stopped, and even if I wasn't listening, they were.
"Excuse me. Would you like to come in and explain what you're talking about?" I said calmly.
She frowned. "You don't really know?"
"Know what?" I turned around and glared at the crowd that was forming. I loved this neighborhood, but it was a gossipy one. Here it was, ten o'clock at night, and the evening strollers had quickly spread the news that something was up at the Lathen house. "No, I don't. Let's go inside." I shut the garage door, much to the disappointment of my fans, picked up my instrument and walked into the house with a now quiet Aunt Diane.
Chapter Three
“I have to admit that I was quite terrifi... surprised to see you in my driveway," I said as I guided her around a stack of books that I had left in the middle of the living room floor. "I didn't see a car, did you take a cab?"
She sat down as only the perfectly toned individuals can. She swept one firm leg over the other as she prepared to take control of the conversation. "Your assistant picked me up at the airport."
"My what?"
"Your assistant Harrison," she said calmly. "He must be around somewhere."
"Harrison, my assistant." I whirled around and called, "Harry, you son of a bitch, get in here!" There was only the sound of the cabana door closing and retreating footsteps to indicate he had heard me. I sat across from Diane and started to explain. "Harrison/Harry is not my assistant. What he is an assistant of, I have yet to determine. Let's start again. You said something about Father Michael being missing?"
"As I explained this morning on the phone to Harry, my nephew indicated that he would be seeing you while he was in Palm Beach. That was weeks ago, he hasn’t come back."
"Ah, Aunt, ah, Ms." I was struggling with what to call this woman. One couldn't call another aunt if one wasn't a relation.
"Diane is fine."
"Okay, Diane, I haven't heard or seen Father Michael since the flight back from England."
"That's what your assistant thought. He did say it may be best if I came down myself to talk to you."
"He did, did he?" I growled.
"Very professional. He was there at the airport, and although the jeep was a bit breezy, it was a pleasant tri
p."
"Where are you staying?"
"Here."
I now know what a stroke feels like, bright lights, head exploding and nausea. With difficultly I formed words that sounded normal. "Excuse me a moment. I need to find Harry and get straightened out on a couple of details. Can I bring you a drink, coke, herb tea?"
"Whatever you're having."
I was going to have Harry's head on a plate. I guess I could share, plenty of ego to go around. I headed into the kitchen and put the kettle on and measured some herbal tea into the pot. I put on the patio lights and found Harry circling the pool, waiting for me to cool down. I motioned for him to come inside. He shook his head no. I pulled an imaginary knife across my neck. He shuddered and slowly walked towards the door. I left him to make his way in as I started brewing tea. The English are right about the calming effect making tea brings about. By the time I blew the dust out of a mismatched set of teacups, dropped a couple of cookies on a plate and returned to the living room, I was at least breathing normally.
Diane was thumbing through a mail order catalog that I must have left out. She accepted her tea graciously.
"Harry will be in soon. Let me recap. You’re staying with us." Lord, I hoped the guest room was clean. "You’re looking for Father Michael." Where the hell was he? "You're here talking to me because..."
"I do hate having to repeat myself,” her voice took on a southern society matronly tone, “but I see some people aren't very quick." She took a sip of her tea, pinky out and all, and placed the cup back in the saucer. "My nephew is quite fond of you. I naturally assumed that he left the Church and was shacked up with you."
I almost choked on my tea. She was serious, the poor dear. What kind of impression did I give? I searched my brain, but a sober brain has great difficulty in accessing the previously pickled memories.
"Hold on." I took a deep breath. "First, your nephew and I have an oil and water friendship. He irritates me, and I piss him off. I’m not interested, and he is a priest for God's sake. He and I? Nope, never, nada."
