Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 02 - Island Intrigue

by Marty Ambrose

  Probably about a hundred overall-clad boys and girls bobbed up and down as they spun neon-colored jump ropes over their heads. Another twenty or so kids appeared to be keeping tallies of each other’s jumps, and a few older girls lounged off to one side with water bottles and lemonade pitchers. All of the laughing, talking, and jumping generated enough heat to warm every RV park south of Orlando. And then some.

  I had to admit it was a pretty ingenious way to help kids work off their surplus energy.

  Scanning the room for any sign of an adult, I spied a tall, twentyish blond woman standing near the water and lemonade stand. Even from a distance I noticed her shining fall of light hair. It looked like spun gold, beautifully cut and colored-obviously the work of an expert stylist. My interest was sparked-not because I wanted to dye my red curls but because I desperately needed my mane trimmed and didn’t completely trust Trixie, the island’s lone beauty parlor operator and part-time electrician. I never knew if I’d come out with a good cut or the urge to rewire a ceiling fan. Or maybe both.

  I weaved my way through the jumpers, careful not to be hit by a rogue rope.

  “Whew, I didn’t think I’d make it through there alive!” I exclaimed as I emerged on the other side of the gym.

  “I know what you mean…. It’s a jungle” The blond smiled. She wore a red wool jumper with a white blouse, opaque tights, and flat black Mary Janes. Had to be the teacher. My glance narrowed as an emblem on the jumper caught my eye. Uh-oh. A Mickey Mouse was embroidered on the left side. I shuddered. My short, undistinguished tenure at Disney World had left me with a permanent aversion to the tittering mouse and anyone singing “It’s a Small World” Nevertheless, I had to admit that I still sported a watch with a tiny Mickey in the center whose white-gloved hands kept time. I was nothing if not inconsistent.

  “I’m Mallie Monroe from the Observer,” I said.

  “What?” She cupped an ear.

  I motioned my head toward an unoccupied corner of the gym. She followed me there. I introduced myself again, explained why I was there, and we shook hands.

  “Tell me about the Autumn Festival.” I reached for my notepad again, realizing that I’d get bupkes on the iPod with this din in the background.

  “This is just one of our planned events. We call it the Island Jumpers-isn’t that just adorable?” Her face lit up with excitement. “Kids from kindergarten to fifth grade bring their jump ropes, and they work in teams to raise money for the school. Merchants from the island sponsor them. Last year we made almost three thousand dollars so we could buy some new computers for the library. There’s nothing like teamwork. That’s what the kids learn. That and love make the world go ‘round.”

  I grimaced inwardly at that last line and scribbled down what she was saying as fast as I could, editing out the cheesy ending.

  “It’s also a great way to give the kids time off from the regular school day. Balancing work and fun is essential for young students today. That way they don’t get their dear little selves burned out”

  I looked up. “Burned out? In fourth grade?”

  “I’m afraid so. With the new state competency exams, a lot of pressure is put on the kids.”

  “That hardly seems fair.” I guess education had a bottom line just like practically everything else in today’s world. Even Disney World had to sell a certain number of tickets to keep the attractions open.

  “We have other upcoming events that are supposed to be just pure fun-a fishing tournament and a car wash.”

  “I’ll be sure to cover those.” Oh, great, more hardhitting news stories. “What’s your name, by the way?”

  “Beverly Jennings.”

  My interest perked up. “What a coincidence. I was going to look you up about another matter.”

  “Oh?”

  “A friend of mine … she’s actually my landlady, who owns the Twin Palms RV Resort where I stay”

  “Wanda Sue.”

  I nodded. “She asked me to see if I could find out what happened to her grandson-“

  “Kevin.” Her eyes clouded in puzzlement. “He’s one of my students, but, as far as I know, he was just fine when his father picked him up from school yesterday”

  “That’s the problem. Kevin’s father picked him up and was supposed to drop him at his mother’s house-“

  “Sally Jo”

  “Right.” Was she, like, the island name expert, or what? Jeez. I took a deep breath and continued. “Anyway, Sally Jo is upset because she hasn’t heard anything from Kevin or his father.” I pronounced the names with breakneck speed.

  “You know they’re separated,” she supplied in a confidential manner, leaning forward almost to my ear as she continued. “And I’ve heard they’re heading for a d-i-v-o-r-c-e.”

  Thank you, Tammy Wynette. “Really? My source in dicated that they might be getting back together.” But that was Wanda Sue, who wasn’t the most reliable of informants-especially about her own daughter.

  “Maybe so” Beverly pulled back and pursed her mouth. “The important thing is Kevin’s well-being. Over the last couple of months I’ve tried to make sure the dear boy has had a supportive environment here at school while his parents were sorting through their problems.”

  “I’m sure they appreciated that”

  “Kevin did.” She nodded in a knowing way.

  Okay. “Back to my original question: You don’t think anything’s amiss with Kevin and his dad?”

  She paused. “No. Mainly because his dad has taken him out of school before to go fishing for a few days. Fishermen on the island do that a lot. Obviously we discourage it at the school because it interrupts the kids’ academic studies. But the guys do it anyway.”

  “So you think that’s where they are?”

  She nodded. “Unfortunately, it happens all the time.”

  “Did his father actually say he was going to take Kevin fishing?” I pressed her.

  “Not in so many words..”

  “But you got the idea that they might be boating for a few days?”

  “I saw the fishing poles in the back of his truck”

  “Okay, thanks for your input. I’m sure you’re right. Wanda Sue is probably being an overprotective granny.” I shoved my pen behind my ear. I knew it was a nasty habit, but if I dropped it back into my canvas bag, chances were, I’d never find it again-or the others I’d tossed in. “I’m going to take a few pictures of the kids jumping rope for the newspaper-my editor got it cleared by the principal this morning.”

  “Sure.”

  “Oh, by the way, do you mind if I ask where you get your hair done? I’ve been looking for a good stylist since I came to Coral Island.”

  “My dad does it.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled. “He’s a hairdresser in Maimi.”

  Wouldn’t ya know? No way could I afford to drive to Miami to get my hair trimmed. “Thanks anyway” I’d have to bite the bullet and stick it out with Trixie. At the very least I might learn how to monitor my Airstream’s electrical system.

  I took a deep breath and plunged into the hoard of jump rope-wielding kids. I spent a few minutes snapping pictures, making sure I caught a variety of ages and boys as well as girls. When I was ready to leave, I noticed a group of older boys, probably around eleven or twelve, hovering near the entrance to the gym. As I passed them, one in particular gave me a hard stare. Tall for his age, with a crew cut and sullen features, he stood out because he was probably the only person in the gym who appeared not to be having a good time.

  “Hi,” I said. He ignored me. “Hi,” I repeated in a louder tone.

  He mumbled something that could’ve been “Hullo” or “Hell, no”

  “Where are your jump ropes?” I asked the boys.

  “Those are for girls and wusses,” they responded in unison.

  “Yeah, I guess so. I’d probably feel the same way if I were you.”

  A couple of the boys looked at me with a glimmer of interest. Except the sullen one
. His eyes remained dark and insolent.

  “This whole thing is dumb,” he muttered.

  “But it raises money for your school,” I said. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “My dad says school is for them who can’t do nothing else,” the boy continued. “I want to be a fisherman like him. I don’t need no school learning to toss a bait net.”

  The other boys began to murmur among themselves and shifted away from us.

  “I didn’t like school much when I was your age, but down the road I realized that I was wrong. My parents always wanted me to be at the top of the class-which I never was, and that made me really resent the kids who were. I thought school was supposed to be fun. A place where I could talk to other kids and hang out on the playground. But it turned out to be a lot of work, and I didn’t like that. So, I can see how you might not want to sit in a classroom all day-especially when you could be outside on a boat, fishing and having a good time.” I paused, surprised at my diatribe. For some reason my motormouth had clicked into gear. Must be all the jump rope energy. “You might be surprised at what education can do for you.”

  Some of the sullen expression cleared out of his face. “You sure talk a lot.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s genetic.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” I held out my hand. “I’m Mallie. What’s your name?”

  “Robby.”

  “Nice to meet you, Robby.” We shook hands. “I work for the island newspaper, and I’m doing a story about the Autumn Festival. You want me to quote you?”

  “You mean put what I say in the paper?”

  “Yep.” I whipped out my Official Reporter’s Notepad again and retrieved my pen.

  “Cool.”

  “What do you think of the festival so far this year?” I gave him an encouraging nod.

  “It’s … okay”

  “Good answer.” I jotted it down. “Anything else?”

  He looked down. A few seconds passed. “Nope, I guess not.”

  “All right.” I tossed the notepad back into my canvas bag. “See ya around, Robby.” I smiled at him and started to leave.

  “Were you asking Miz Jennings about Kevin?” he asked.

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was. How did you know?”

  “I dunno” He shrugged. “Just guessed that he might be in trouble”

  “Did Kevin say anything to you?”

  “Nah, he’s only a fourth-grader just a little guy. I’m in the fifth grade.” He thumped his chest in pride. “But I heard that he was afraid his dad would find out about some stuff that he was doing around the island.”

  “‘Stuff’? Like what?”

  “Stealing … breaking windows. Things like that.”

  “Oh, that kind of stuff.” Interesting that Wanda Sue had neglected to pass on this piece of information. “He isn’t in trouble as far as I know-yet”

  Robby shrugged.

  “Did he say why he was stealing or breaking windows?”

  “I…uh…”

  “Robby, stop blabbering and wasting the lady’s time.” A burly man yanked on the boy’s shoulder. He sported an identical crew cut and sullen expression, so I guessed he was Robby’s father.

  “He wasn’t wasting my time. I asked him-” I began.

  “I heard what you asked him,” he interrupted. “My boy don’t have nothing to do with Kevin Crawford.”

  “But-” I held up a hand.

  “Let’s go, son” He maneuvered Robby away from me and toward the lemonade stand. The other boys followed.

  “Call me at the newspaper if you can think of anything else,” I said to their retreating backs.

  Talk about rude-and a creepo excuse for a father. I tossed my pen and notepad into my canvas bag and headed out.

  Exiting the gym, I thought about what Robby had said. Was Kevin a budding juvenile delinquent? If so, did that have any connection with his possible disappearance? It didn’t seem likely, but I’d learned that things weren’t always what they seemed on Coral Island. They were generally worse. And why had Robby’s father come on like a heavy in a gangster movie just because I was talking to his son? Did he have something to hide?

  I dropped my pass off at the main office and headed out to the parking lot. As a blast of cold wind buffeted me, I folded my arms across my chest and hustled into my truck. I cranked up the engine and sat there a few moments, reveling in the heat pouring out of Rusty’s vents. Then I checked my watch. Eleven-thirty. I needed to get back to the Observer, finish the Town Hall story, and start working on my Autumn Festival article.

  But first I needed to follow up on my investigation into Kevin’s possible disappearance.

  A few minutes later I walked into the island police station. The small wood-framed building contained a reception area, an office, and two cells. Generally the most heinous criminal ever locked up was Ned-the island jaywalker who’d stagger out of the Seafood Shanty around midnight after a few too many beers, singing rap songs at the top of his lungs. He didn’t have a bad voice, but who wanted to hear rap so late at night?

  “Mallie, long time no see,” Rhonda, the attractive brunet receptionist, hailed me. One of those superefficient, never-a-hair-out-of-place, incredibly organized women, she should’ve irritated the heck out of me. But Rhonda was also a genuinely nice person. Just my luckI couldn’t even dislike her.

  “Cold enough for you?” I strolled over to their industrial-sized coffeemaker.

  “Freezing. I’ve been in Florida over ten years, and this is the coldest snap we’ve ever had this early in the season. I hate it.”

  “Me too.” I took a long, deep swig of the coffee. Ah, strong and black. Just the way I like it. “Is Detective Billie in?”

  “He is,” the man himself answered from the doorway of his office in all his magnificent masculinity. Okay, maybe I was exaggerating a little. True, his straight black hair flowed back from his forehead like dark silk, and his eyes glowed deeper than a starless night. But his ruggedly handsome face was set in an expression of stubborn rigidity. So he just missed “magnificent” by a millimeter or two. But who’s counting?

  “I … I need to ask you a few questions.” Keep cool. I mentally fanned myself.

  “If it’s about last month’s Town Hall meeting-“

  “No, it’s not,” I cut in swiftly. When I’d seen him at the October Town Hall meeting-the same one where the infamous chocolate chip ice cream episode had occurred-I proposed that he write a police-beat column for the Observer covering crimes that had occurred on the island during the week. Needless to say, he shot me down as if I were a cardboard figure at target practice. “I’m working on a story. Uh … not exactly a story. More like a possible story. At least, it could become a story if it works out to be true. Although I’m not sure if it is true. I’ll only know that if I can find out what happened” I stopped there. My motormouth was slipping a few gears, and I didn’t know how to stop it. Why does he make me so tongue-tied?

  “Come again?” He tilted his head to one side, regarding me as if I were speaking a foreign language.

  “Could we go into your office? This might be official police business.”

  He paused. “All right. But I’ve got a lunch appointment at one. Do you think you could make yourself clear by that time?”

  I raised my chin in defiance. “I’m always clear. It’s this case that’s confusing.”

  He stood to one side, and I breezed past him with my coffee cup, inhaling the woodsy scent that always seemed to cling to him. It was probably one of those modern colognes with a pseudo-manly name like Brawl or Robust that was supposed to conjure up images of athletic, virile men pumping iron and breathing hard. But they always made me think of superabsorbent paper towels.

  Still, Nick Billie sure smelled nice….

  After I took a seat, he slid into the chair behind his desk and began in a long-suffering tone, “I know I’m going to regret asking, but what’s this all
about?”

  “Here’s the scoop,” I answered in a sweet voice. “Wanda Sue asked me if I could help her find her grandson, Kevin. Apparently his dad picked him up from school yesterday, and they never showed up at Sally Jo’s house. He was supposed to drop Kevin there. Sally Jo called her husband’s house, but there was no answer. She’s pretty upset”

  “Sally Jo or Wanda Sue?”

  “Both, I think.”

  His mouth twisted wryly.

  “You think something could’ve happened to them?”

  “Like what? Like they’ve gone fishing and not told Sally Jo? I can’t tell you the number of times that’s happened over the last year. And every time Tom takes off with Kevin like that, Sally Jo calls here and says she’s going to file a complaint against him. Then when Tom and Kevin come back in a few days, she forgets all about it-until the next time. My advice is, stay out of it. Don’t get between Sally Jo and her husband. They like to play these little games” He leaned back in his chair.

  “But this time could be real. Isn’t it possible that Tom kidnapped Kevin? That happens with separated dads all the time.” I tried not to sound like an alarmist, but I felt a little peeved that he had dismissed my suspicions as if they were no more than the foolish ravings of a woman desperate for any pretext to make contact with him. Then again, was he that far wrong?

  “Theoretically anything is possible, but it’s not likely-I can tell you that”

  “Isn’t it better to be safe than sorry?”

  “It’s better to have reasonable certainty than to go off half-cocked”

  “But a young boy’s life could be at stake”

  He leaned forward. “If I had any real reason to be concerned, I’d turn this island upside down to find Kevin. But I also know that overreacting to every little complaint that comes in does nothing but panic people. And that’s the last thing that I want to-“

  “But how can you know for sure?”

  “I don’t.” His face turned hard. “I have to use my judgment.”

  “But everyone makes mistakes-even you”

  His brows leveled into a thunderous line. “What has Anita told you?”