by A W Hartoin
Think about something else.
“Bruno, what’s up with you and my aunt?”
Silence.
“You may as well tell me. I’m the nice one, believe it or not. My mom will chase you around with a stick to get the truth.”
He glanced at me sideways and a hint of a smile appeared on his thin lips.
“Seriously. She knows I brought mace and she’s not afraid to use it.”
“You think your mother would hurt me,” he said. “She’s so…”
“Beautiful? Yeah. But behind that Marilyn exterior is the heart of a hard ass. She’s take you out and make it look like an accident.”
“Your aunt is, how you say, a unique person.”
“I agree. Are you having an affair?”
“We are having love. Does that offend you?” He stared hard at the road and his chest had moved closer to the steering wheel. Tense, anyone?
“It surprises me,” I said.
“Why? She is beautiful, like you and your mother.”
I didn’t know what to say. When it came to looks nobody and I mean nobody saw us in Aunt Tenne. The weight masked so much. She was easily the kindest person I knew. The one who kept my childhood secrets and sided with me against my crazy parents. But she was always alone. I’d never known her to not be alone.
I looked out the window and blinked back stinging tears. “If you hurt her, my mother will kill you.”
And she’ll have to wait in line.
He chuckled softly. “You don’t have to worry about me hurting her.”
“Do you know how old she is?” The weight masked that, too. Her face was full. Any wrinkle didn’t stand a chance.
“Fifty-two.”
I’ll be damned.
“How old are you?” There I went being nosy, just call me Mom.
“I am thirty-five.”
I nearly swallowed my tongue. “Are you serious?” I would’ve put him at forty-five easy.
“My life…it’s not an American life.”
I turned to him. “Neither is mine. Nobody is typical. So you don’t care about the age difference?”
He looked at me right in the eyes for the first time. “No, I don’t. Neither does she.”
“We’re leaving soon.”
“I know.”
“You’re coming with us, aren’t you?” I asked, but it wasn’t really a question.
“Yes.”
“My mom is going to flip.”
“I know,” he said.
“She’ll think you’re using Aunt Tenne to get to the States or something.”
“I know.”
We drove into the West Bay and turned onto La Isla Bonita Drive. “Um…are you?” I asked.
“No.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“No.”
Swell. This is going to be fun.
“It would help if Mom knew you better. Where did you study? How long have you been painting?”
Silence.
“Come on! Being an artist isn’t a capital crime. I know. I’ve almost been the victim of a capital crime. Twice.”
He pulled up at the front office and stopped with the motor running.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” I said. “And you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. If you don’t tell us who you are, my father will hound you into the dirt. It’s what he does. Hell, it’s what we all do.”
“I have to get the car back,” he said, softly.
“Fine. Make your own bed. My parents will staple you to the mattress.” I got out and Bruno drove away. Damnit. I didn’t handle that right. So what’s new?
Aaron appeared from behind the office, holding a tall glass and a square pastry on a stick. “You hungry?”
“What the heck! How is that you just happen to be standing there with food the moment I arrive?”
He shrugged.
“Did you know I was coming?” I asked.
“You hungry?”
“Yes. For the love of god, yes. I am starving. What have you got?”
“Monkey Lala and mango pie on a stick,” he said.
“That’s a thing?”
“It is now.”
“I’ll take it.” I took the luscious Monkey Lala and sucked down half in a gulp. I didn’t even need to bite into the pastry. The smell was so good it nearly filled me up with just that. “You’re amazing.”
Aaron didn’t answer. He stared at the mango pie. I almost didn’t want to try it, just to bother him. I was his taste tester. That’s what he came for.
I took a small bite and he went up on the balls of his feet. Pastry flakey, buttery with a hint of salt, but not regular salt. Something special. The filling? OMG! It was orgasm on a stick. There aren’t words. Seriously, there aren’t.
“Why aren’t you famous?” I asked, once I’d gotten ahold of myself.
“I am.”
“Where?”
“In Star Trek: The Force Unleased, Comic Con San Diego, Comic Con Denver—”
“I meant in the food world.”
He shrugged. “I got another lionfish.”
“Why in the world?” I asked.
“Mauro gave it to me.”
“Remind me to kick him.”
Aaron looked confused, but that was nothing new.
“Do you know where everyone is?” I asked.
“Who?”
“Mom and company.”
“They’re shopping,” he said.
“Good.” I went down the path to the room with Aaron on my heels. “You don’t have to come.”
“Chuck said.”
“What did he say?”
“I have to watch you,” said Aaron
Fantastic. First Dad and now Chuck. “When is he flying down?”
“No flights.”
I stopped and Aaron bumped into my back. “No flights at all?”
“Nope.”
“How about out?” I asked as I put on some speed.
Aaron jogged beside me. “No.”
“Shit.”
I jumped in the water bucket next to our stairs and then jogged up while sucking down the last of the Monkey Lala. I’d thrown open the door and had one foot inside before I realized Aunt Tenne was sitting on the porch.
“Where are you going in such a lather?” she asked.
“Nowhere.”
Aaron squatted next to his beloved hibachis and poked the cold coals around. Aunt Tenne smiled at him, not the sad smile I’d grown up with but a lovely one that touched every one of her features. “Your phone’s been ringing, Mercy.”
Please don’t have looked at the ID.
“Chuck’s missing you quite a lot.” Her smile deepened to devilishness.
Crap.
“You want to tell me something?” she asked.
“Nothing to tell. He likes to bother me,” I said.
“That he does, but he’s not usually so insistent.”
“He’s stepping it up. I’ve got to take a shower.”
Unfortunately, she heaved herself off the deck chair and smiled expectantly. “Okay.”
“Where are you going?”
“Inside with you. We haven’t talked at all since we got here,” she said.
“Yeah, well I’ve got to shower. You’re not coming in there,” I said.
“You’re trying to avoid talking about Chuck.”
I’m trying to talk to Chuck without a witness.
“Aaron, where’s that lionfish?” I asked.
“You want it?” he asked.
No!
“Yes,” I said, trying to look honest. “Where is it?”
“I got it in the restaurant fridge.”
“Aunt Tenne, why don’t you go get that fish and Aaron will get the fire going while I take a shower.”
She cocked her head to the side and I tried to appear innocent. “Well…”
“We’ll have lunch and talk,” I said, edging inside the door.
“I have a feeling you hav
e big news.”
None that I’m telling you.
“Sure. News. Go get that fish.” I stepped inside the cool room and shivered. I’d gotten so used to the tropical humidity, the room felt frigid, although the thermometer was set for eighty. I peeked out the curtain and watched Aunt Tenne go down the stairs. Aaron was still squatting next to the hibachi, but now rubbing his hands like a mad food scientist, which I guess he kind of was.
I turned the lock extra slow, so he wouldn’t hear it, and jogged to the bedroom. My phone was laying on the bed all exposed and showed twenty calls from Chuck. Thank god he knew not to text. Aunt Tenne was no fool. She’d be able to piece together the Fibonacci situation in minutes or at the very least know I was doing something Mom had banned.
I stripped off my damp clothes, found some that weren’t too sandy, and dressed while I waited for Chuck to answer.
“Where the hell have you been?” he yelled into the phone. “I’ve been going crazy.”
“Hospital.”
“Oh, shit!”
“She’s still alive. The stab wound developed an infection.” I gave him the rundown and he got quiet.
“This is not good,” he said.
“Understatement of the day.” I found my dad kit stuffed into the corner of my suitcase. Inside, taking up most of the space, was my twenty-three-piece lock pick kit. Dad put it in my Easter basket when I was twelve. Mom was not amused.
“I can’t get down there directly,” said Chuck. “There are no flights to the island. I’m going to try and fly into the mainland and take a boat over.”
“How long will it take?”
“A couple of days, if I can do it at all.”
“What about flights off the island?” I tucked the pick kit in my waistband.
“Totally booked.”
“I could take Lucia to the mainland, I guess.”
“No. I think our best bet is to arrange emergency transport. I’ve got a friend looking into it. The mainland is iffy. At least you’re in a tourist area.”
“That’s not helping us so far.”
“I know, but there’s nowhere you can go that you can’t be followed. The mainland isn’t safer. I’d say it’s worse.”
I opened the bedroom window and stuck my head out. There was a downspout right next to it and it looked fairly sturdy. I got my butt onto the sill and one leg through the window.
“Mercy, what are you doing?”
“I’m climbing out the window. Talk to you later,” I said, hanging up and tucking the phone in my pocket. “Oh crap this is a bad idea.”
I grabbed hold of the downspout and got one foot on the brace that secured it to the building. Aunt Tenne’s voice came around the building. “Now that’s a lot of spines.”
All I had to do was skinny down the drainpipe, get in the Gmucas’ bungalow, and do a quick search. Then do Lucia’s and Graeme’s place. Not more than a half hour, if I didn’t fall to my death. I heaved myself onto the drainpipe and the brace bit into my feet. The metal creaked and groaned, but it held. Okay. Right foot down to the next brace. More creaking. A lot more. Left foot down. Snapping metal. Quick. Right foot down. Big snap and a shudder. The drainpipe shifted. Quick. Foot down. Super loud metal creaking, like Titanic’s going to split in half creaking. I pressed my cheek against the pipe.
Don’t scream. Don’t scream. The fall can’t be more than fifteen feet. Oh, crap.
There was a loud snap and the pipe bent backwards. I watched as each brace popped free from the wall. I swung backwards in slow motion. I closed my eyes, ready for the impact that never came. The pipe came to a stop when I was horizontal. I opened one eye and saw a faded black tee with Obi Wan on it. I opened my eyes and found Aaron and Aunt Tenne watching me hang from a drainpipe like some kind of brain-damaged monkey.
“I got the lionfish on the grill,” said Aaron as if it wasn’t unusual for him to find me like this.
“Oh, yeah? Good,” I said.
Aunt Tenne crossed her arms and did her best Mom imitation. “Going somewhere?”
“We need ice.”
“Really? You climbed down a drainpipe for ice?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time.” I lost my grip and fell the remaining three feet into the sand with an oomph. “Maybe not.”
She gave me a hand up and waited as I brushed myself off and tried to think of a reasonable excuse, but there weren’t any. Nobody climbs down drainpipes if they can avoid it. “I’ll just be getting that ice now.”
Aunt Tenne snagged the hem of my tee. “Not so fast.” She swooped in and plucked the lock pick kit out of my waistband. “Now where have I seen this before. I know, Easter basket thirteen years ago.”
“Oh my goodness. I thought I grabbed my makeup kit.” I snatched the case out of her hands.
“Spill it or I’m telling Carolina what you’ve been doing,” said Aunt Tenne.
I walked backwards and bumped into a palm. “I haven’t been doing anything. We’re on vacation. I’m vacationing. See the sunburn.”
“Right. Chuck’s calling you like his pants are on fire and I catch you climbing down a building with lock picks. Tell me now.”
“I can’t. You just have to trust me,” I said.
“It’s to do with Lucia Carrow, isn’t it?”
I can not catch a break.
“Lucia has an infection. She’s at the hospital. She’s fine.”
“Yeah, right. How many people have that many freak accidents on vacation and have you dogging their footsteps?”
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m a nurse. I help when help is required,” I said.
“That’s not all you are. You’re Tommy Watts, the sequel. What’s going on? And remember all I have to do is mention Lucia’s name to your mother and you are toast.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I think it is. You’re ruining our vacation.”
“What are you talking about? We’ve hardly seen you. You’ve been off falling in love.”
Aunt Tenne gasped. “That’s not true.”
“Please. Bruno drove us to the hospital. I know all about it.”
She fidgeted and blushed. “Are you going to tell Carolina and Dixie?”
“Let’s make a deal. I don’t know anything and you don’t either,” I said.
Aunt Tenne took me by the shoulders. “If anything happens to you, I’d never forgive myself.”
“Then I’ll make sure nothing happens. One more thing.” I smiled. This was my chance.
Aunt Tenne groaned.
“What do you know about The Girls and our house?”
“That’s easy. Nothing,” she said.
“But you were around when they gave it to Mom. I just want to know why,” I said.
Aunt Tenne looked away. “I wasn’t…doing well at the time. We weren’t talking much and it was none of my business anyway.”
“Mom never told you? Seriously.”
“Some things you don’t ask about.” She touched Aaron’s shoulder. “You stick with her. I’ll watch the fish.”
He rubbed his hands together again and said, “I’m ready. Where’re we going?”
Ah, come on.
“I can do this myself.”
“That’s the deal, Mercygirl. It’s Aaron or we’re both in a world of hurt. I don’t have the information you want.”
“Fine. Have you seen the Gmucas this morning?” I asked.
“Why?” Aunt Tenne tapped her foot in the sand, not nearly as effective as practically any other surface. No tapping impatient noise, just swish.
“Cause I’m going to search their bungalow. Happy now?”
“Not hardly. Is that necessary? They seem like such nice people.”
“I agree, but they had access to Lucia at each incident.”
She stopped tapping and ground her toes into the sand, digging in deep. “They’re having lunch, but you better hurry.”
“Come on, Aaron.” I dashed off between the palms and took
the long way around. At least until I got to a maintenance shed that I’d never seen before. It had stacks of old rusted scuba tanks and a golf cart with blown out tires. Aaron didn’t say anything. He stood behind me, huffing and puffing.
I took a guess and went right onto a path between two large hibiscus plants so laden with blossoms that they were almost flat on the sand. I got about ten feet when I realized the huffing and puffing was gone. Aaron still stood at the shed.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Wrong way.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He shrugged, but surprisingly didn’t ask if I was hungry.
“You lead then.”
Aaron navigated through such a complicated series of turns and twists that I’d never find my way back on my own. I’d die out there and be eaten by spaghetti birds and jackals, if Roatan had them. It seemed like they would. The island, beneath the sunny happiness, had a distinct jackal aura.
Aaron halted at the back of a bungalow and dug a pack of Bubble Yum out of his pocket.
“Is this it?” I asked. There was no number or sign. It looked like every other bungalow.
“Yep.” He popped a purple square in his mouth and began chewing the huge wad.
“You be the lookout. Knock on the back door if they come back.”
He just chewed and looked at me, totally dim. I groaned, pulled out my bag o’ lock picks, and attacked the backdoor lock. It was a standard five pin and I had it open in under two minutes, which was good for me. But Dad would’ve been ashamed, not that I was breaking and entering but that I was so damn slow. Locksport was one Dad’s weirder hobbies. He and Uncle Morty went to Def Con, the conference for hackers, lockpickers, and other odd ducks every year. He kept trying to take me. It wasn’t happening.
The Gmucas’ bungalow hadn’t seen the maid yet, lucky for me. The place was messy, not as bad as my apartment but close. I started in the bathroom. La Isla Bonita didn’t do medicine cabinets, so everything was strewn across the dark blue tile countertop. Everything included twelve prescription bottles, five kinds of shampoo, four conditioners, six body lotions, and so much makeup Linda could’ve operated a store out of there.
