by A W Hartoin
All the meds were prescribed to Frankie. Apparently, he looked good, but had the physiology of an eighty-year-old. He had scripts for high blood pressure, cholesterol, impotence, nerve pain, chronic heartburn, and more. There weren’t any bottles of succinylcholine on the counter or in the trash. I searched every suitcase and drawer and found nothing that directly linked either Frankie or Linda to the attempts on Lucia’s life. Of course, any one of Frankie’s prescriptions could kill in the right amount, but those hadn’t been used.
I went to the jackets that were hanging up on hooks next to the front door, hoping I’d find a stingray barb. A nice detailed murder plot in the form of a short story would be nice. You laugh, but it’s happened. Dad had two cases that involved fiction. I didn’t think my guy was stupid enough to write out his plot and try to sell it to a magazine, but you never know.
If he or she was that stupid, the evidence wasn’t in the bungalow. A soft knock echoed through the room and the door handle next to me turned. I dashed across the room toward the back door, but the front opened and I juked left into the bathroom.
“That burger was amazing,” said Linda. “What kind of cheese was that?”
Oh crap, they’re inside. Damnit, Aaron.
“I think it was some kind of pepperjack,” said Frankie.
I got in the shower and hid behind the curtain. There was two more bottles of shampoo and conditioner in there. What the heck, Linda? Even you don’t have that much hair.
“I think I’ll take a shower.”
I gasped and clamped a hand over my mouth. This was bad. I had nowhere to go.
“Let me taste that cheese first, babydoll,” said Frankie in what I guessed was his sexy voice.
There was lots of lipsmacking soap opera style, nice and juicy. Gross. I peeked out from behind the curtain and considered making a run for it, but Linda’s giant hair swung in front of the bathroom door. I had one option. The cabinets under the sink. The doors weren’t big, but I should be able to squeeze my big hips through. Everything fits when you’re desperate.
Linda’s hair disappeared and more kissing ensued. “Oh baby, you are so hot.”
“No, you’re the hot one.”
“You know you’re hot.”
“You’re smoking hot. Oh my god, I’m gonna get burned.”
Barf.
I crept out of the shower and opened the middle cabinet. It creaked so loud that I clenched my teeth, but the you’re-so-hot duo was too busy to notice. One look inside that cabinet made me want to march into the other room with my hands up. “You caught me. My standards are pretty low, but that cabinet…no.”
“Oh my god,” said Linda. “This whole plan is turning me on so much.”
“I’m so glad we decided to do this,” said Frankie.
Plan? Oh, no. I have to hear this.
I crouched in front of the cabinet, pushed aside the grimy cleaning products, peeled the roach spray can out of the amber pool it was lying in, and forced myself in. My rear crunched one of the roach motels. There were a bunch of big juicy ones in there. Tropical paradise, my foot. I closed the door just as Frankie and Linda came in, bumping into the wall from the sound of it.
“You are the hottest woman in the world. You’re amazing. You’re vicious. You’re an animal.”
“It can’t fail. We’re almost there, baby.”
“You never fail. We have this in the bag.”
“Tony will pay through the nose.”
A payoff?
“That money will come in handy,” said Frankie.
“Mama needs a new set of shoes.”
“Mama can have anything she wants.”
Clothes hit the floor with soft flumps. They were naked. It couldn’t get any worse.
“On the counter. On the counter.”
Not the counter. Anything but the counter. Go to the shower. Listen to me, you horny freaks. Go to the shower.
“I love it on the counter.”
Damnit.
The countertop creaked above me, but I almost couldn’t hear it over the groaning. Maybe it would collapse and kill me. That was my only hope.
“I never want this to end!”
Please let this end.
“Those pills are fantastic. You’re just my big horny toad.”
“I could go for hours.”
Nooooooo!
They proceeded to go at it like nothing I’d ever heard. Butchering pigs would’ve been quieter. I leaned to my right and fell against something on the wall that was both crunchy and sticky. Gack. I inched my hand in my pocket and managed to pull out my cellphone.
I squinted in the dark and texted Aaron. “I’m trapped.”
He didn’t answer. No surprise. Half the time he didn’t answer when I was standing right in front of him.
“They’re having sex over my head. Help me!”
No answer. I was in for the duration, which, I had to guess, was going to be a long while.
“You’re the best!” yelled Linda.
“No, you’re the best!”
I seriously considered crawling out of the cabinet and hoping they didn’t notice. I probably would’ve had a decent chance of making it, if one of them hadn’t been banging their knees against my door. I hoped they got splinters.
“Did you hear something?” asked Frankie.
“Don’t stop, you crazy bag of man candy!”
I need a lobotomy so I can unhear that.
“I am your man candy, aren’t I? Say I’m your man candy.”
“Man candy!”
I could eat the roach spray. It’s okay. I had a good life. I’ve seen Paris. I’ve seen Rome.
“I’m your man candy!”
Roach spray can’t taste any worse than Dad’s Hungarian goulash.
“You are the master of man candy!”
Where’s that can?
“Did you hear something?” asked Frankie. “I think I heard something.”
“It’s the door. Do you think they can hear us?”
“Yes!”
“Yes!”
Take the lid off the can.
“Yes, baby, yes!”
Maybe I should text Mom first. I could tell her she was awesome, despite all the mothering.
“They’re still knocking,” cried out Frankie.
“Let ‘em knock. We’re never stopping.”
There was a huge snapping noise. The countertop shifted on top of me and a gush of water erupted from the sink, hitting me on the side of the head. The Gmucas screamed and fell to the floor in front of my door. I got an unwelcome glimpse of naked wet flesh through a new gap as they raced out.
“What should we do?” screamed Linda.
“I’ll call the front desk.”
“I’ll get the door.”
“Put something on!” yelled Frankie.
I opened my door and plopped out onto the floor, slipping around and gasping like a caught fish.
“Aaron,” said Linda. “Do you know anything about plumbing?”
Aaron said something about lionfish and I put one eye around the corner. He stood in the doorway, chewing his Bubble Yum while Linda flailed her arms around, explaining how the sink exploded for no reason whatsoever. Frankie was on the phone with one hand over his eyes. He was redder than a fire hydrant. I didn’t know if it was the embarrassment or the sex. I bit my lip and watched him for a split second. The guy was on four different heart meds and he’d taken Viagra. Did he have a death wish?
Just get out. You can save his life later.
I tiptoed to the back door and slipped out through the river that was flowing out of the sink. I closed the door and stood dripping onto the sand. I was out and they didn’t catch me. Bruno ran up the back path, lugging a yellow toolbox. If I’d been thinking straight, I would’ve run around the corner before he saw me, instead I stood there, hearing Gmuca sex echoes in my head. It was horrible.
“What are you doing out here? Like that?” he asked when he reached me.
; “Being punished for my bad behavior,” I said.
Bruno ripped open the back door. “Did you flood the bungalow?”
“Actually, no. I didn’t do that.”
Bruno ran inside and I trudged off down the path, making squishy noises. That was the second time in four hours that I’d been soaked to the skin. The feeling was not growing on me. I was doing something wrong in my life that I was being punished for. I should go to confession the instant I got off the plane. Father Tim would absolve me. Of course there was the problem of telling him exactly what happened. God already knew. Did I really have to say it out loud? Father Tim was a delicate sort. He could only talk to me behind confessional screen. Face-to-face made him go all fluttery.
Aaron ran up beside me. “I saved you.”
Crappy construction saved me, but okay.
“Thanks, Aaron,” I said. “The Gmucas are now serious suspects. They’re getting money from a guy named Tony.”
“Okay. You hungry?”
I sighed. “I could eat your foot.”
“What do you want? I could make you something. I got lionfish.”
“Make whatever you want.”
“Really? I got this idea for lionfish consommé.”
Gag.
“Go crazy, Aaron.”
He trotted off ahead of me, rubbing his hands together and saying ingredients under his breath. I trudged along behind him, getting looks from the other tourists that ranged from pity to suspicion that I might be insane. They were right, only an insane person would break into people’s rooms and let them have sex over her head. The whole vacation was crazy from Aaron being on it to the multiple murder attempts. Grandma George would say that I must be living wrong. Maybe I was, but what else could I do. This was my life. I had to live it.
I lost track of Aaron, but somehow found myself on the main path leading to the room. The scent of hibiscus and cooking lionfish wafted around me. They smelled right together, tropical and sort of homey. Not that I wanted to touch that consommé with a toe much less my tongue. I could stand it as long as I had to eat it after a long shower and a nap. I reached the foot of the stairs, stepped in the bucket and Mom appeared from around the corner of the building.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
“Tropical storm Bettina.”
“That was over a while ago and you’re still soaking.”
“Yeah, well it’s me, so that’s what happens.”
“The stitches look good. It probably won’t scar.” Mom leaned in and sniffed me. “You smell like Lysol and bug spray.”
“Thanks.”
“Honeybabe, you look exhausted. Let’s get you upstairs.” Mom put her hand on my shoulder and then jerked back. Amber goo covered her palm. “What the heck is that?”
“Roach spray.”
“That’s disgusting. How’d you get roach spray on your shoulder and what happened to your leg?”
I blinked. My leg? Mom pointed down and I got tired. Really tired. My right leg had red slightly swollen spots from the kneecap down. I stepped out of the water and found my ankle was much worse, but it diminished at the foot, becoming only mildly pink.
Mom squatted and examined my leg. “It’s only in the front. What did you do?”
“I must’ve come in contact with some kind of irritant during the storm.”
“It’s not the roach spray?” Mom asked, standing up and crossing her arms.
My arm and thigh had smears of the sticky amber stuff, but no redness. “No. I’m not reacting to that.”
“We need to get you to the doctor. It could be some kind of tropical disease, like sleeping sickness or malaria.”
“It’s not malaria. It’s contact dermatitis. No big deal. I’ll clean up and put some hydrocortisone on it.”
Mom pursed her lips and twisted them sideways. “I don’t know. We should go just to be on the safe side.”
I rubbed my eyes. So tired. “Look, I’ll be at the hospital tomorrow morning to check on Lucia. I’ll have Dr. Navarro take a look. Will that make you happy?”
“Lucia’s not at the hospital. I just saw her and Graeme get out of a cab.”
My brain snapped awake. “Are you kidding?”
“Of course not.” She went to take my arm, but I dodged her and sprinted across the way to the Carrows’ bungalow.
I pounded on the door. “Lucia! Are you in there?”
Mom grabbed my arm and spun me around. “Are you crazy? Pipe down. It looked like Graeme was taking her down to the beach.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Stop asking that. I never kid.”
That was true, Mom wasn’t much of a joker. At that moment I wished she was. I shook off her hand and ran down the path to the beach with Mom hard on my heels. We passed two couple following Bruno to their rooms. They, including Bruno, looking at me with distaste. I guess I looked pretty bad. Then their expressions changed to a more familiar state, shocked fascination. For once, I wished it was for me. I wasn’t all that crazy about being disgusting, but, of course, it was Mom. And she was running. She and Dad had a deal that she’d never run in public, since it was bad for humanity and husbands in particular. As we passed one of the men got punched in the shoulder and the other got a “Hey” in the face.
“Stop running, Mom!” I yelled.
“You stop running. I’m chasing you.”
I didn’t stop. Graeme brought Lucia back. He goddamn brought her back. Gee, I wonder if he figured out it would be a lot harder to kill her in a hospital than at a resort. Just when I was feeling better about that dude.
I’m such an idiot. I started to trust him. You can’t trust anyone when it comes to murder. Anyone is capable of anything.
“Mercy! Stop!” yelled Mom.
“No.”
I’m not stopping until I’ve wrung his lying, trying to kill a Fibonacci, idiot neck.
Mom lunged and grabbed my roach spray arm which gave her grip. She yanked me to halt just as we passed under the restaurant overhang. “Stop now.”
“I have to get to Lucia,” I said, panting and slightly light-headed.
“Why?” Mom was in my face. She was thinking finally and it wasn’t working in my favor. “The hospital released her. She must be fine. Isn’t that right?”
“That’s a serious infection, Mom. She should be in the hospital.”
“Then they would’ve kept her.”
I clamped my lips together and we glared at each other.
“What have you been doing? No excuses. Tell me now,” said Mom in her best I-brought-you-in-this-world-I-can-take-you-out voice. Thanks, Mr. Bill Cosby, for giving her that idea.
“Nothing, “I replied through gritted teeth.
Mom’s fingers dug into my arm. “Nothing. I don’t think so. You’re soaking wet, covered in roach spray, and have some kind of skin disease. Not to mention the stitches in your face. Your face, Mercy.”
“That was the storm. You saw me do it.”
“Be quiet. And Lucia Carrow keeps having freak accidents and you’re running around after her, like a maniac.” Mom paused. She sucked in a deep breath and the pink vanished from her perfect cheeks. “They’re not accidents. Nobody has that many accidents. What have you gotten yourself into?”
“I haven’t gotten myself into anything.” I forced myself to sound calmer than I felt.
“You’re involved.” She had me by both shoulders and lowered her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We’re on vacation.”
She shook me until my chin hit my chest.
“Better?” I asked.
“Don’t be obnoxious,” said Mom.
“Too late. Can I go now?”
“You are going to explain this whole thing to me later and then you’re going to tell your father.”
I stepped backwards out of her hands. “I think you should tell him for my safety.”
“Why?” Mom went another shade of pale.
“Lucia’s a Fibonacci.” I
darted away and ran through the restaurant, dodging tables and waiters. I ran down the steps past Colin, who was so drunk he didn’t even try to grope me. My feet sank into the sand and I frantically scanned the beach for Lucia. I didn’t see her and ran down the rows of lounge chairs. At the end of the first row was Tracy with her bratty kids, fighting over a paddle.
“It’s mine,” yelled Tara.
“Mine,” said Tyler.
I ran to the foot of Tracy’s chair. “Have you seen Lucia?”
She lowered her sunglasses. “Lucia Carrow?”
I could barely hear over her repulsive offspring. “Yes. Have you seen her?”
“I don’t think so.” Tracy yawned. “I thought she went to the hospital for her leg.”
“She did.”
Tara and Tyler were out of their seats and tussling over the paddle, spraying sand on people and screeching at the top of their lungs. The other guests tried to disguise their irritation and failed. Those kids were enough to make anyone consider sterilization.
“Knock it off!” I said to them. “You’re disturbing people.”
“Hey,” said Tracy. “Don’t discipline my kids.”
“Why not? You’re not doing it.”
Tara and Tyler continued yelling.
“You don’t even have a boat!” I spun around and went through to the second row. Tracy may have been yelling something at me, but I couldn’t have cared less. I wasn’t going to take it anymore. Kids screaming for no reason. People trying to kill people right under my nose. Roach spray. Skin disease. Endless supplies of lionfish. I had had it.
I stomped down the row, ready to take Graeme by the neck and squeeze. Take your wife out of the hospital, will you? Perhaps you’ll enjoy passing out.
“Mercy!” Mom yelled. “They’re over there.”
I followed her finger to a secluded spot in front of the resort’s five star restaurant, The Aviary, at the edge of the property. That’s just what Lucia needed. Seclusion. But she was sitting up with her back to me. I recognized the dark brown curls under the wide sunhat. I assessed her posture as I ran across the deep dry sand, my thighs burning with the effort. She was sitting without support. Good. But she was leaning toward the other chair with one arm extended tense. Crap!
