Murder on Tiki Island: A Noir Paranormal Mystery In The Florida Keys (Detective Bill Riggins Mysteries)

by Christopher Pinto

  Jessica never came back to the room. I waited until around ten the next morning, in case she wanted to come by. She knew I had to leave on Friday…so I pretty much figured she just had enough.

  At ten, I said goodbye to Melinda.

  “William,” she said, once again holding back the tears. “I want to make sure you know it was real, all real. The only time I ever lied to you was about Rutger, and the sordid business he dragged me into.”

  “I know kid, I know.” Yeah, that was a big lie, too, I wanted to say, but I held my tongue.

  “I…I do love you, William. And I…Please, just consider it once more, to stay here, with me, on Tiki Island or here on Key West. Anything you want. I’ve got more money then both of us will ever need. I can run the hotel while you fish all day, or even go into police work here. Please, consider it. For me.”

  “I have considered it kiddo, very hard. Sure, it all seems like a pile of roses now, you’re in the clear, the Island will be fixed up. But one day one of us will wake up and realize it’s all a lie, all just a pile of coconuts holding up fantasy. I’ll miss the city and resent you for it. You’ll miss Hawthorn and resent me for it. The world’ll keep spinning but for us it’ll be a make-believe world, the world we thought we wanted, but really just wanted to believe in. By then we’ll realize we wasted a lot of years for nothing, and we’ll hate each other for that too. So that’s that, kiddo. I’m goin’ home to my dirty, cold, crime-ridden city that I love. You go home to your warm, charming, joyful Tiki Bar. And maybe once a year you’ll think of me, on Halloween, and remember the good times.”

  I kissed her one last time, a long, burning, sorrowful kiss. I’d fallen in love with her. And I’d fallen in love with Jessica too. How the hell could I let that happen? But it happened, and my heart was breaking that I was leaving Melinda, and was breaking even more that Jessica didn’t even come to say goodbye. At least Melinda had a dream, made one last pitch. Jessica gave up before I did. Damn.

  I put the top down on the Chevy and pulled off the curb without looking back. Somehow I knew Melinda was watching through the window. I was afraid if I saw her I’d slam on the brakes and spend the rest of my life making cocktails in a Hawaiian shirt.

  Three hours later I was in Miami, pulling up to the hotel. I was sure sad to see that car go. The valet gave me the fish eye when I took apart the trunk to get to the package of dough, but a fin closed his eyes up quick. I gave the package to the man at the concierge desk and asked him to mail it for me, had my bags taken up to my room and spent the rest of the day sitting by the pool in the hot Miami sun, listening to Cuban jazz and drinking Cuba Libres like the locals. I caught a picture at eight, just something to get my mind off the girls. It was a Hitchcock movie, “The Wrong Man” with Henry Fonda. I should have gone for the comedy that was playing, “Around the World in Eighty Days”. That sucker was over three hours long.

  I hit the sack hard around eleven. I was taking a non-stop flight back to the city the next morning, and just wanted to get it all over with. Fourteen hours later, I was back in my icy-cold, dirty, smelly, Gaddamned wonderful New York.

  Chapter Six

  Friday Morning, November 2nd, 1956

  Melinda didn’t cry. Even as she watched William Riggins drive away in the shiny blue convertible, her eyes stayed dry. Any tears she had for him were shed the night before. Now he was gone, and she knew somehow that she would never see the strong, caring man again. “His loss,” she said to herself, but she didn’t mean it.

  It was after ten and Jessica still hadn’t returned. She didn’t want to alarm Riggins, so she didn’t say what she felt, but her gut feeling was that Jessica couldn’t handle Riggins’ leaving and went off the wagon. So she got dressed, put on a pair of sunglasses and left the hotel to find Jessica’s apartment.

  She’d only been there a few times, and after ten minutes of searching began asking around for the address. She finally found herself in front of Jessica’s door at eleven.

  “Jess? Jess, it’s me, Melinda. Open up.” She knocked on the door softly, then a little harder when she heard someone moving around inside. “Come on, Jess. Let me in.” More muffled sounds came from inside, and with a click the door opened. Jessica was on the floor, naked and half conscious, dried blood on her face and hands. She was barely able to open the door in her condition.

  “Jesus Christ, Jessica! What happened to you?” Melinda yelled as she pushed her way through the door.

  “Fell, I think,” Jessica answered weakly. “Hit my ndoze.”

  Melinda got her cleaned up and a little more sober. She put on a pot of java and got Jessica to drink most of a cup. “You shot up last night, didn’t you.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Jessica.”

  “I’m dot lying,” she said, the bandage on her nose affecting her speech.

  “Jessica, you’re Goddamned needle is on the floor. There’s a bruise on you arm and a red hole. Don’t tell me you didn’t shoot up.”

  “Ok, fine. So I did. Big whoop. Who’all cares about me an-dy way.”

  “I do, Jess. You know I do.”

  “Sure. Where’s Billy?”

  Melinda looked down at the floor. “Gone. Home.”

  Jessica screwed up her face, holding back the rain. “I knew it,” Jessica said. “I knew he wouldn’t stay once he figured things out. I was a damned fool to think…well, just a fool.”

  “To think he loved you? You’re not a fool, Jess. He did love you. Does love you.”

  “Oh, sure. No, Lyn, I was just a vacation fling to him, just like you were.”

  “You’re wrong,” Melinda said quietly. “I tried to get him to fall for me. I almost though he did. But when it came down to it, it was you he wanted. I was just fun for him, a rich girl with her own island, someone who could give him a fantasy life. You…were different. No matter what I offered him, I couldn’t give him what you could. I could see it every time he looked at you. He never looked at me that way. Never.”

  “You’re batty.”

  “No, it’s true. But it doesn’t matter now. He left and never looked back.”

  “’Course he didn’t. He couldn’t. Would you, if you were a cop and he was a murderer?”

  Melinda dried a tear, and said, “It wasn’t that, Jess. Not that at all. Believe when I tell you, William wouldn’t care if the both us were serial killers. He’s just…he’s not like us, he doesn’t belong here, in the south, in the Keys. He’s a city boy, and that’s that. And he’s cop, and being a cop is in his blood. It has nothing to do with us, or with…that.”

  “But he did figure it out, didn’t he?” Jessica answered.

  “Yes…well, mostly. Not…everything.”

  “What do you mean, not everything?”

  Melinda turned to Jessica with a look of such deep seriousness that the girl knew what Melinda meant.

  “Melinda, what exactly did Billy say when he found out who killed Bachman?”

  Melinda gave a half smile. “He’s telling the Sheriff that Eliot killed him. Plain and simple.”

  “Eliot? Then he…”

  “He didn’t figure out the whole story, Jess. Our secret is still safe.”

  “You mean, he doesn’t know…”

  “Our secret is safe. Leave it at that.”

  Jessica sat and contemplated that thought a moment, silently. “I would have thought he’d figure the whole thing out. He’s a smart guy.”

  “Certainly, and with the evidence he found, he made a smart decision. You know that bastard Bachman had dirty photos of me and him together, and films too? And tapes. William found them in his safe.” Melinda got up and leaned against the door. “William put the pieces together the way he wanted to. So now it’s all over.”

  “No cops, nothing?”

  “Nothing. Eliot murdered Rutger, and Eliot is dead. End of story.” Melinda’s voice broke on those last words, and she had to choke back a new set of tears. “Look, Jessica, I want you to listen to m
e,” she continued it a quiet, serious manner. “I want you to pay attention, because what I have to say is very important and I want to make sure you to understand me.”

  “Ok, Lyn…what?”

  “You can’t ever, and I mean ever, talk to anyone about what happened Wednesday night on Tiki Island. You can’t tell anyone what happened to Eliot, and you absolutely can’t tell a soul what really happened to Rutger. Do you understand?”

  “Sure, Lyn. Sure.”

  “I mean it. If you say anything about any of this, neither of us will be safe. For certain, I’ll be arrested, and you’ll end up in an asylum. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Lyn, come on, I understand, don’t get so heavy.”

  Melinda took a deep breath. “I don’t want you living here anymore, in this little apartment. I don’t want you working in…in that place, anymore. You don’t have to. I know I’ve said it before but now you know you have no one to answer to, your life is your own. I want you to come move in with me, to Tiki Island, for as long as you want.”

  Jessica laughed. “Move in with you? Really? Oh come on Melinda, why all of a sudden? So you can keep an eye on me?”

  “Actually in some ways yes. And it’s not all of a sudden. I told you long ago you could have your own apartment on the Island, rent-free. You insisted on being on your own.”

  “Nothing’s free, Lyn.”

  “You could work there.”

  “As your concubine?” Jessica answered, rather sarcastically.

  “No, don’t be stupid. At the front desk, or in the restaurant, anywhere you want. Food and Beverage Manager. Frigging Director of Maraschino Cherries. Anything.”

  “Funny,” Jessica said, still a little high, “You never really wanted me to stay on the Island before. Now…now that Eliot is gone, and Bachman is gone, Riggins is gone…you’ve got no one. You’re alone for the first time in your life. So now you want me?”

  Melinda took it with a grain of salt. “I’m going to assume that’s the junk speaking, Jessica. I’ve invited you to stay on the Island a hundred times. Your Goddamned ego always made you say no, like I was giving you a handout or something. This is no handout. I want you to come live with me.”

  “As your sex toy?”

  “No, Goddammit!” Melinda yelled.

  Jessica said more seriously, “As your lover?”

  “As my friend,” Melinda said, and put her arm around Jessica. “You’re right, a little. I’ll be awful lonely in that big hotel without my best friend.”

  Jessica started to cry a little. She said, “If I’m your best friend, why did you let all those things happen to me? Why did you let Bachman…do…” She broke down in complete tears.

  “Shh, calm down, Jess. I tried to stop him. Really, I did. You know that. And you know I couldn’t stop him. I tried. There was nothing I could do once you were hooked on the junk.”

  “I need it, Lyn,” she cried, “I really do.”

  “For what, Jess? Really, what the hell do you need it for?”

  “To get through the days. And nights. To escape…you know, my life. My job…and my mama.”

  “And have you seen her since Wednesday?”

  Jessica thought. “No. Not here, or at the beach, or even the house.”

  “And with Bachman out of the picture, you don’t have to work in that horrid place any longer, right?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Then it’s over, isn’t it?”

  “I…I guess so.”

  “Then you don’t need that crap any more, do you?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Come live with me on Tiki Island, Jessica. You’ll have anything you want; money, cars, clothes, anything. I owe you that much.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t think straight. I need to think it through.”

  “What’s there to think about?”

  Jessica tilted her head back and closed her eyes. “Oh, little Melinda. Not all the memories of that place are good ones, are they?”

  “No, not all.” Melinda got up and went to the window. The morning was clear and bright, the temperature already in the seventies. It annoyed her that Jessica’s flat didn’t have air conditioning. “I have some business to take care of today. You should stay at the hotel today, it’s cooler than this place. Get some food, relax by the pool. I’ll be back around six. Promise me you’ll think about it, ok?”

  “Ok, Lyn, I promise.”

  Melinda walked toward the door. “Really, stay at the hotel. This place is…depressing.”

  “Lyn?” Jessica called as Melinda was leaving.

  “Yes?”

  “Did Billy say anything about me before he left?”

  “He waited until ten. He thought you didn’t want to see him.”

  “I didn’t really. Not when I thought he knew the truth.”

  “He wouldn’t have cared, Jess. The way he feels about you, he wouldn’t have cared.”

  Jessica stood up, shakily, and hugged Melinda. “Thank you baby,” she said, holding her tight. “I will come with you to Tiki Island. I will,” she said through shallow breaths and smoky tears.

  Saturday, December 22nd, 1956

  It was another long week full of junked-up hookers and hop-head mechanics, high-schoolers on reefer and a half a dozen related murders. Crime always picked up in Manhattan around the holidays. It was just something I’d grown to expect.

  I finally got a Saturday off. I’d been asking for a whole weekend off since I got back from the Keys, but I guess the Captain thought two weeks in Florida was enough time off to last me the year. I finally got on his good side, nabbing a half-baked kid who liked to set fires in abandoned row-homes. So here I was, home on a Saturday, with Sunday off too. And I had no idea what the hell I was gonna do.

  It snowed overnight so I decided to stay at the apartment in the city. It was too early to go to Jerry’s and too late to have breakfast, so I threw on my overcoat and hat and walked down to the diner on the corner. The ice-cold air felt good, like an old friend. That crazy summertime weather in October stuff was just not my style. Florida could keep it.

  Funny, I thought as I looked over the menu. I said I didn’t miss Tiki Island, but every day since I got back, I seemed to find something to compare it to. The weather, the fashions, even the food. The fact that this diner didn’t serve surf and turf for breakfast, or have Mai Tais on the drink menu seemed odd. I found myself looking around, pointing out areas of the grill area that could use some bamboo and reeds. I also found myself imagining pretty girls in sarongs replacing the old, dumpy waitress that had worked there since the Dark Ages. And I imagined, just for a moment, a beautiful blonde and an equally beautiful brunette sitting across from me, smiling that mischievous smile of which only I knew the real meaning.

  Some kid, who should have been in school threw a couple of nickels in the juke box, and Elvis Presley’s Return to Sender began to play. I ordered a plate of ham and eggs over easy and borrowed a newspaper. I somehow managed to get through all the news and into the classifieds before the eggs were done. And there, looking right at me, was an ad for a brand new, 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air Convertible, complete with radio and heater, for $2499. The dealer was only four blocks away.

  I finished the eggs and another coffee and said, “What the hell,” and took a walk.

  Three hours later I was driving a brand new blue convertible back to Weehawkin in the snow. Crazy, man.

  I drove around most of the afternoon, with the top down, the radio on and the heater going full blast. Going slow was ok, but going over twenty-five was a bitch. Twice I nearly lost my hat. I wondered how the hell they managed to always keep their hats on in convertibles in the movies. And they never looked cold. Even with the heat blasting, sure my feet were on fire but the top half of me was a block of ice. I didn’t care; I was having a ball in the first car I ever bought.

  I pulled up near Jerry’s place mid-afternoon. He was wiping down tables after the lunch crowd. A pianist I d
idn’t recognize played mellow west coast jazz on the bandstand, the kind of easy stuff that floats around on clouds of cigarette smoke and settles into the top of your rocks glass. I grabbed a stool at the bar and waited for Jerry to finish his busywork.

  “Hey old man,” he said to me. “Coming in a little late for lunch, aren’t you?”

  “I was toolin’ around town. Lost track of time.”

  “Toolin’? With who? Fast Freddie was in here not more than a half-hour ago.”

  “On my own, Jack. Bought a set of wheels.”

  “What? When?”

  “This morning. Got an itch I had to scratch.”

  “No kiddin’? What kind of jalopy did you fetch?”

  “No jalopy, kiddo. A real hot rod. Wanna look?”

  “Natch. Where’s she parked?”

  “A couple of spots up the street. Come on.” Jerry grabbed a jacket and we went out into the bright day. Funny how fast your eyes adjust to a darkened lounge. The snow killed us. Squinting, I said, “Right up here. The blue one.”

  “Holy hell, Riggins! Is that a Roadster?”

  “Sure is. A brand new 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air, with a clock, a radio and a heater. Oh, and Hydromatic transmission. Two-eighty-three V-8 engine, power top, even has a gimmick that turns the headlights on when it gets dark, just like a Caddy.”

  “Nice ride, buddy. Freddie’s sure gonna be sore. What put the bee in your bonnet?”

  “Remember I told you this was the car I rented when I went down to the Keys?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “That’s it. Decided the best part of that trip was the car.”

  We were both quiet for a minute. I was remembering a certain blonde, and a certain brunette. Jerry was remembering his brother. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Rutger,” I said quietly.

  “Hey, at least you found out who his killer was, and the sonuvabitch is dead.”

  “Yeah, he’s dead,” I repeated awkwardly. It’s not easy to lie to your best friend, even if it’s to save a dame’s hide. That’s something I’d have to live with, I guess. “Come on, let’s get back to the bar. I’m starved.”