Honeymoon for One

by Beth Orsoff

  “Karen, I’m so glad you’re in. This is my friend Lizzie.”

  “Nice to finally meet you,” Karen said, and smiled. Clearly Cheryl had gossiped about me too.

  “Can we come in?” Cheryl asked.

  “Actually, now’s not a great time. We’re packing and Jeremy’s got his stuff spread out all over the room.”

  My stomach clenched. “Packing! Are you leaving?”

  “Not until tonight. They told us they’d hold our luggage—What’s wrong?”

  I couldn’t speak. The only thing keeping me from completely breaking down was the thought that I would have someone here with me that would know what to do.

  “Lizzie needs a lawyer,” Cheryl said. “Her husband, or soon to be ex-husband, was killed yesterday and—”

  “Oh my God,” Karen said. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded and Cheryl said, “She was with us last night, but the police are asking her a lot of questions.”

  “Of course,” Karen said. “The wife, especially soon to be ex-wife, is always a suspect. You better come in.”

  I didn’t see Jeremy, but his stuff was everywhere. Karen grabbed the tennis rackets off the couch and told us to sit down. Then she went into the bathroom and retrieved Jeremy.

  “Can’t this wait?” he said, as she pulled him into the sitting area. He still had a dab of shaving cream on his cheek and a bloody nick on his chin. “Oh hi,” he said when he noticed Cheryl and I.

  “Jeremy, this is Lizzie. Her husband, the one who caused all the ruckus at the pool yesterday, was murdered and the police suspect she was involved.”

  “Oh my,” he said, wiping the stray shaving cream onto the towel draped around his neck.

  “I don’t know if they think I did it, but they asked me a lot of questions and the Sergeant is coming back soon to take me to I.D. his body.”

  “And to question you some more, I’m sure,” Jeremy said.

  “That’s why she needs to find a lawyer quick,” Karen added.

  “I was sort of hoping to hire you two.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “We’re leaving in a couple of hours, but even if we weren’t, we can’t represent you. We’re not licensed here, nor do we know anything about Belizian law.”

  “But we can give her some general pointers, can’t we honey?” Karen said, as she handed her husband a t-shirt, which he pulled over his head. “Of course,” he replied tossing the towel onto the floor and taking a seat across from me. “But you need to find local counsel pronto.”

  “And how do I do that?”

  “I bet the embassy has a list,” Karen said.

  “Definitely,” Jeremy agreed. “You should call them right away and alert them to your situation. They might be able to help.”

  “Can they get me a lawyer?”

  “Probably not.” Jeremy said, “But they can help in other ways. First tell me everything you know about what happened to your husband.”

  Now would probably be a good time to come clean about Michael. As criminal lawyers, he and Karen must be used to people lying to them, so they wouldn’t hold it against me. I wasn’t so sure about Cheryl. She struck me as more of an honesty is the best policy type.

  Jeremy noticed where I was looking. “Cheryl, why don’t you go call the consulate while Karen and I talk to Lizzie.”

  “Oh I don’t need to leave,” Cheryl said, pulling her cell phone out of her beach bag. “It’s international.”

  Jeremy looked at me and rolled his eyes. “I know Cheryl, but you can’t be in the room when we talk to Lizzie. It has to be lawyer-client only, otherwise it’s not privileged.”

  I silently thanked him for finding an excuse to get her to leave.

  She jumped up from the couch. “Sorry, I didn’t realize. Lizzie, I’ll just wait for you out by the pool.”

  Karen located her purse under a pile of clothes on the bed. “Wait, I’ll go with you. I want to see what I can find on the internet.”

  When the door shut, Jeremy turned back to me. “Start at the beginning. And we don’t have much time, so skip the lies and tell me what really happened.”

  I told him everything, from meeting Michael at the bar at LAX to Sergeant Ramos finding Jack in my room. I skipped over the part where I was lusting after Jack, but I think he figured that out for himself.

  “Boy, you’re really in a pickle.”

  These are not the words you want to hear from your lawyer.

  Chapter 21

  SINCE IT WAS ALREADY a quarter to twelve, Jeremy suggested I go back to my room and wait for Sergeant Ramos while he went to find Karen to see what she uncovered on the internet.

  “I’m sure all your clients tell you they didn’t do it even if they really did, but I swear to you, I really didn’t.”

  “I believe you,” Jeremy said. “You had no motive. But I’m not the one you need to convince.”

  “So you think I should tell Sergeant Ramos the whole story just like I told you?”

  “No! Don’t say anything to the police without a lawyer. As soon as you’re finished I.D.ing the body, call the Consulate and ask them to help you find one right away. In the meantime, whatever info Karen dug up we’ll leave for you with Cheryl.”

  I thanked him for everything and he gave me his business card. “We won’t get back to Boston until tomorrow morning, but that’s got my cell number on there. It should start working again as soon as we reach Miami.”

  I thanked him again and left. When I arrived back at my room, Sergeant Ramos was already waiting.

  “You’re early,” I said.

  “I like to be prompt. Shall we go?”

  Sergeant Ramos led me to his police car, a small, white 4-door sedan with a single blue light on top. It was the first real car I’d ridden in since I’d arrived.

  Sergeant Ramos started chatting even before I’d buckled up. He told me about his family—his wife of twenty-nine years, his two grown sons, and his daughter who was in her last year at Catholic high school.

  “Do you have any children?” he asked, as he pulled into the parking lot of the Camus Caye Hospital.

  “No.”

  “Do you want children?”

  “I guess so.” I didn’t understand how any of this could be relevant to his investigation.

  “Did your husband?”

  “I don’t know. We never discussed it.” At least that was an honest answer.

  Sergeant Ramos parked the car and raced around to hold my door for me even though I’d already opened it myself. Very weird. I was starting to feel like we were on a date, except for the part about his wife and kids, of course.

  I followed Sergeant Ramos into the squat, gray, cinderblock building. As we navigated the maze of hallways, he greeted everyone we passed by name. At the end of the last hall, he led me into an empty room with closed doors on both ends. The only furniture was a set of plastic molded chairs. Sergeant Ramos told me to take a seat then left the room. He returned a few minutes later through a different door, followed by a much younger man in blue hospital scrubs wheeling a metal cart.

  “Are you ready?” Sergeant Ramos asked.

  I nodded yes even though the answer was no. My heart was pounding and my stomach was doing flip flops. Please God, let it not be Michael. Let this all be one huge terrible mistake.

  The man in the scrubs pulled back the faded white sheet so all that was visible was a head. I took one look at Michael—puffy face tinged slightly green, pale lips, purple bruise on his cheek were Manuel hit him—and nodded my head. Then I turned around and threw up all over the linoleum floor.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, tears streaming down my face.

  “It’s okay,” Sergeant Ramos replied, putting his arm around me and leading me out to the hallway. “Happens all the time.” He walked me down another hallway to a ladies restroom and told me he’d wait outside.

  I washed my face, rinsed my mouth and tried to get the image of Michael’s face out of my mind. I still couldn’t quite gra
sp someone being alive and fighting with me one day, and gone forever the next. This had to be a nightmare, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t will myself to wake up.

  “Better?” Sergeant Ramos asked when I returned to the hallway sucking on a breath mint.

  “Yes, thanks,” I said, and tried to smile.

  “Are you hungry?” Sergeant Ramos asked.

  “Not really.”

  “I know a great place nearby,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard me. “They have the best tortilla soup on the island. I’ve never tasted better. Shall we give it a try?”

  Did I have a choice?

  We left the car in the hospital parking lot and walked the three blocks to Tanya’s Kitchen, a tiny storefront with a handful of plastic tables and chairs, and walls covered with brightly colored murals. Sergeant Ramos procured us a table under a whirring ceiling fan.

  “It’s the coolest spot in here,” he said.

  I believed him, but it was still hot.

  He ordered a basket of fish tacos for himself, tortilla soup for me, and two Coke Lights.

  “Don’t be embarrassed about earlier,” he said, pulling two paper napkins out of the dispenser and setting one in front of me. “It’s a common reaction. Sometimes even us hardened policeman have a tough time.”

  I fingered the scratch marks in the table and tried to smile.

  “So what made you choose Belize for your honeymoon?”

  That was a question I’d been asked many times before and I answered automatically. “Steven wanted someplace tropical, but he didn’t want to—”

  “Who’s Steven?”

  Oops. “Did I say Steven?” I forced a smile and said, “Michael like me to call him that sometimes. Don’t ask,” I added in response to the question already forming on Sergeant Ramos’s lips. “Anyway, he wanted tropical, but not Hawaii because he’d already been, and Jane vetoed Mexico because it’s too dirty. My maid of honor,” I told him before he could ask. “So I started researching and that’s how we ended up in Belize.”

  Then the food arrived and gave Sergeant Ramos something to focus on besides me. While he enjoyed his fish tacos, I swirled my soup and sipped my Coke Light. When it was clear I wasn’t going to eat it, Sergeant Ramos finished my soup, then ordered an espresso and a slice of key lime pie.

  “It could take a while for the autopsy,” he said between bites of whipped cream. “Our coroner works on two other islands and he’s not scheduled to be back here again until Monday.”

  I nodded so he would know I was listening.

  “But you can start making the arrangements now if you want. I’ll contact you as soon as the body’s released.”

  “What kind of arrangements?”

  “For the funeral. I assume you want to fly the body back to the states. Will you be having a traditional burial or a cremation?”

  Funeral. Body. Cremation. This had to stop. “Sergeant Ramos, there’s something I’ve got to tell you.”

  He set his fork down mid-bite. “Of course, Mrs. Garcia. You can tell me anything.”

  “My name’s not Mrs. Garcia, it’s Elizabeth Mancini. Michael and I weren’t married. In fact, I hardly knew the man. I just met him a few days ago at the airport in L.A.”

  His expression remained inscrutable. “This is a very dramatic change of circumstances Mrs. Garcia, I mean Ms. Mancini.” He pulled his pad and pencil from his breast pocket. “Please tell me exactly how you came to know the late Mr. Garcia.”

  I spilled my guts to him just as I had to Jeremy. And I know what you’re thinking—I was supposed to wait until I had a lawyer. But I just couldn’t keep up the charade any longer. Michael’s real family had a right to know. His mother had a right to know her son was dead. Assuming he still had a mother. I didn’t even know that.

  When I finished, he set down his pad and pencil and sipped his coffee, which had to be cold by now. His expression had finally changed. He was clearly angry. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me this from the beginning?”

  “I wanted to, but I couldn’t. Jack was standing right there.”

  “And when he left the room? Why not then?”

  “I was afraid if I told you then, you wouldn’t believe me. That you’d think I was lying because I had something to do with Michael’s murder and was trying to cover it up.”

  “And now? Why should I believe you now?”

  “Because it’s the truth.”

  He glanced at the check the waitress had left earlier and slammed a handful of bills down on the table. “Ms. Mancini, your false statements have impeded the progress of this investigation, possibly beyond repair. I will take you back to your hotel now, but I expect you to make yourself available for further questions.”

  “Of course.” I felt like a little kid being scolded by my father.

  He stood up and I followed him out to the street. We walked the few blocks to the hospital parking lot in silence. I felt bad that he was angry, and I certainly hoped my conduct didn’t ruin his chances of finding Michael’s killer. But I also felt free. Unfortunately, that emotion was a short-lived.

  Chapter 22

  WHEN I ARRIVED BACK at the hotel, I went looking for Cheryl. I found her in the dining room, eating lunch with John and another couple I’d seen around the hotel but had never been introduced to.

  She didn’t smile or wave to me, but I knew she saw me too because the woman she was talking to turned around and eyed me before resuming their conversation. Undeterred, I walked up to their table. “Cheryl, thanks again for this morning. I’m really glad I got to talk to Jeremy. Do you know if Karen found anything?”

  “I don’t,” she replied in an icy tone, before stuffing a huge bite of salad into her mouth.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch. I’m just really anxious to wrap this up. Do you want to stop by my room when you’re finished?”

  She chewed loudly for several more seconds then swallowed. “Not really.”

  She couldn’t be this mad because I interrupted her meal, even if she was pregnant. I bent down next to her chair. “Did I do something to offend you?”

  John put his hand on my shoulder. “Lizzie, it’s probably better if you left now.”

  “No, John,” then Cheryl turned to face me. “I think Lizzie should know we’re not as stupid as she thinks.”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid. Where did you get that idea?”

  “Oh pleeeease. You’ve been lying from the moment we met you. You and your,” she added quote marks with her fingers, “‘husband.’ You two deserve each other. Too bad he’s dead.”

  “Cheryl!” Even John seemed surprised by her venom.

  I was so taken aback I actually fell back onto my butt. “Who told you?”

  “That’s what you’re worried about?” Cheryl sneered.

  I’d thought my conversation with Jeremy was confidential. “Cheryl, I’m sorry. We were never trying to fool anyone—”

  “Ha!”

  “No, really. I just didn’t want to spend my honeymoon alone. My fiancé dumped me the day before the wedding and—”

  She took another huge bite of her salad and began chewing extra loud. Clue to me—she’s not interested.

  “Again, I apologize. To all of you.”

  The other couple at the table looked down at their plates and John said, “I’m sure you had your reasons, but I think it would be better if you left now.”

  I slunk back to my room where I found two envelopes sticking out from under my door. The first one had a note from Jeremy:

  Lizzie—

  Good news! Karen was able to locate some information on Belize Police Procedure on the internet. Since it’s a former British colony, it’s very similar to ours. In other words, you have the right to remain silent. Use it! You also have the right to speak to a lawyer. Call the Consulate and ask them to help you find one and tell the police you’re not making any statements until your lawyer arrives. Call us when you get back so
we know you’re okay. Good luck.

  Jeremy

  The second envelope contained a fax from Jane:

  Lizzie,

  I called the Embassy in Belize and alerted them to your situation. The officer I spoke with faxed me this list of local criminal attorneys. He said they can’t call on your behalf or even recommend someone, but off the record, he’d heard that David Barron was pretty good. Start with him and work your way down, then call me so I know you’re okay.

  Jane

  No need for the lawyer now that I’d already fessed up to Sergeant Ramos. And if Cheryl knew the truth, then everyone else at the Blue Bay Beach Resort knew it too (or would by the end of the day). The only person left to tell was Jack.

  Chapter 23

  I’D GIVEN UP TRYING to read. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. My mind kept returning to the image of Michael’s head sticking out from under that white sheet. It just didn’t make sense. Why would someone want to murder an anthropology professor?

  I was still unsuccessfully trying not to think about Michael when Jack appeared. I’ve heard people say they craved sex after a funeral. Something about it being life affirming. That must apply to seeing your first dead body too because as soon as I saw Jack—tan legs pushing through the sand, broad shoulders hunched slightly forward, the wind blowing his blond hair into his eyes—I wanted to jump his bones.

  He stopped a few feet from my lounge chair and I inhaled the faint odor of salt water and Coppertone. “Hi,” he said, then gave me a half smile.

  Don’t salivate Lizzie, it’s unbecoming. “Hi yourself.”

  “Do you want to go out on the boat? We could watch the sunset and we won’t be interrupted.”

  He must be reading my mind. “Sure, let me go change.”

  “You’re fine. As you may have noticed, we’re pretty informal around here.”

  I had, although he was wearing what appeared to be a new t-shirt. I could still make out the Harry’s Bar slogan on the pocket. Was this a date? I wouldn’t have thought being questioned by the police because he crashed on my couch would’ve made him want to get to know me better. But maybe he’s one of those guys that’s attracted to dangerous women. Lizzie Mancini, Spider Lady. Ha! Was he in for a surprise. The only crime I’d ever committed was running a red light.