by A W Hartoin
Bruno could’ve snagged Lucia’s asthma inhalers when he unloaded her bags when we arrived. He’d helped load scuba equipment on the day her regs were sabotaged. The regs were out where anyone could’ve switched them, so that could’ve been Bruno or practically anyone else. He could’ve gotten into her beach bag and taken the third inhaler and wallet as well, but he wasn’t diving the day Lucia got stabbed and I’d seen him hauling luggage before we went out. Theoretically, he could’ve hopped on a boat and following us out, but all the dive boats in the vicinity were for tourists. He would’ve stuck out. There was still the drinks. He could’ve poisoned them, but would he? Bruno didn’t strike me as the kind of guy that would do anything for money and it had to be about money. He was a native Honduran. He didn’t know the Carrows, a couple from St. Louis, Missouri. It wasn’t personal. Sure his clothes were ragged and those canvases didn’t come cheap. I didn’t see an artist doing murder for hire. Maybe all my time in museums and galleries was coloring my vision. Artists could be criminals like anyone else. But I didn’t like the idea, especially with Aunt Tenne in the picture.
Mom came up beside me and started to put her arm around me, but stopped. “Are you ever going to shower?”
“Got a lot going on, in case you haven’t noticed,” I said.
“There’s always time for hygiene.”
“Good tip.”
She groaned and asked, “What are you waiting for? Go interrogate him.”
The wind picked up and wrapped her long flowing skirt around my still crusty legs, warm comforting feeling, like her strong arms around my shoulders. “The right moment,” I said. “Where’s Dixie?”
“She’s having her hair colored.”
“Really? Is she better?” I asked.
Mom sighed. “She’s broken-hearted. I think she always will be. If she and Gavin had had children, maybe it would’ve been different. She’d have someone left.”
“Hey, she has us. We’ve always been her family. What, are we getting demoted?”
“No, but she built her life around Gavin. Her center is gone.”
“So if Dad died, I’d be your center.”
“You already are.”
That was disturbing. Mom and Dad were so together. I always felt like the third wheel. Certainly not the center of anything; that would be Dad’s career. We all served the job. I was more like a satellite in orbit around them, occasionally caught in the gravitational pull.
“Now whatever Dixie’s hair looks like, we love it. You understand me?”
“Why would it look bad?”
“She found a shop in West End that doubles as a tackle shop.”
“Oh, lord.”
“Exactly. Now let’s get this show on the road. I have some choice words for that man.” Mom pointed at Bruno up to his waist in the dirty pool, trying to grab a submerged deck chair.
“No,” I said. “No choice words. He hasn’t done anything for sure.”
“He’s seduced your aunt. He’s lucky if I let him live.”
“Mom, you can’t.” I lunged for her arm, but Mom was striding across the sand. Aunt Tenne saw her and smiled, then the smile dropped off her face. Fantastic. And I always thought Mom was the calmer of my two parents. Maybe not. I chased after her, spraying sand every which way.
“Mom, I will handle this.”
“Please,” Mom said over her shoulder. “You think he’s harmless.”
“We don’t know that he isn’t.”
She spun around. “He’s after her money.”
“Aunt Tenne doesn’t have any money,” I said.
“Of course she does. She inherited from the uncles, just like I did.”
“But she lives like she’s on disability.”
“Self-flagellation, pure and simple,” Mom said.
“Why? What did she do?”
“Nothing. She never did a damn thing.” Mom stepped on the pool deck and pointed a long perfectly polished finger at Bruno. “I would like a word, sir.”
Bruno froze and Aunt Tenne jumped to her feet. “Whatever you have to say, Carolina, you can say it to me.”
I stepped in front of Mom. “No, she can’t. It’s about Lucia’s sweet tea. That’s what it’s about. That’s it.”
“No, it isn’t,” yelled Mom.
“Go ahead and say it!” Aunt Tenne yelled back.
Bruno and I looked at each other. A sad kind of pleading came into his eyes, but I didn’t know what to do. I’d never stopped my mother from doing anything and, as far as I knew, no one else had either.
“Tenne, you know how you get. This man is trying to take advantage of you,” said Mom, pushing past me.
“You don’t know anything,” said Aunt Tenne.
“I know you. You can’t handle this. Not right now. Not today.”
“Today has nothing to do with it.”
“It’s always about today. It has been since you were eighteen.”
What the hell are we talking about?
“Well, not anymore. It’s over.” Aunt Tenne’s face was flushed and her green eyes glittered. She was stunning and Bruno saw it. I watched him looking at her and I could tell. He saw her. The her that everyone else missed.
“Just like that. Do you know how many times we’ve been through this?” asked Mom.
“Who cares?”
“I do. We are going home soon and he is not coming with us,” said Mom.
“You’re just jealous.”
“Jealous. Are you crazy? I guess I shouldn’t ask that. I already know.”
“You’re jealous because Bruno is talented and handsome and you can’t stand that,” said Aunt Tenne.
Mom stomped up to the side of the pool. “Are you saying I don’t have that?”
“You have Tommy.”
Don’t bring Dad into this!
“Tommy is handsome and talented at many things,” said Mom.
“He looks like a giant Howdy Dowdy with all those gangly limbs and red hair.”
“He’s charming,” yelled Mom.
“Thank goodness for that.” Aunt Tenne spun around on her heels and went to the beach. She passed a waiter carrying a tray of drinks, snatched one off his tray, and chugged it on her way down to the sand. The waiter stared at her, then shook his head and went back to the bar.
“Well,” said Mom to me. “What do you think about that?”
“I don’t know.” I really didn’t. Mom and Aunt Tenne rarely fought and when they did it was a pretty quiet affair. More miffed silence than screaming accusations.
“I am not jealous.”
“Are you sure about that?” I asked. It seemed reasonable.
“That is utterly ridiculous. Tenne is acting like a fool. I’m trying to save her from herself.”
I rubbed my tired eyes. “She’s having fun. Can’t you just let her?”
“No, I can’t. Do not say you’re in favor of this. He’s using her.” Mom pointed to Bruno still in the pool and wrestling with the waterlogged chair. “You’re using her.”
He ignored her. Good choice. Mom had lost it. Where was Dad when I needed him?
“Mom, what is he using her for?”
“To get to the States. For money. I don’t know.”
“Just let it alone, Mom! For crying out loud,” I said.
Mom gave me a blistering look and stomped away. “Fine. I’m getting a Monkey Lala.”
“Get eight. That should cover the crazy!” I yelled after her.
Then I turned back to Bruno. “That went well.”
“Maybe in America.” He pushed the chair to the edge of the pool and tried to heave it onto the side.
I ran around and grabbed it. The thing weighed a ton with its water-logged cushions. I dragged it over the lip and sat down, panting.
“Bruno, my mother is crazy, but I still have to ask you some questions about Lucia and Graeme Carrow.”
“Yes.” He went for the second chair.
“Neither of the Carrows ordered the sweet tea
you brought them.”
“I don’t know whether they did or not,” said Bruno, then he dove down and pushed the chair to the surface.
I waited for him to come up, then said, “I do and they didn’t. Where’d the drink come from?”
“The bar. It had a note to take it to Mrs. Carrow.”
“A handwritten note?”
“Yes.” He struggled with the chair and I got down on my knees and reached for one leg.
“Do you still have it?”
“I left it on the bar.”
Damn.
“You didn’t question a note with a drink? Where was the bartender?”
“Christopher was making Tequila Sunsets on the other side of the bar. I just took the drink and gave it to Mrs. Carrow.” He looked up at me, his black hair slicked back and shiny. I detected none of the tells I was supposed to look for. Nothing. He didn’t appear to be lying.
I sighed. “Did you notice anyone lurking around waiting for you to take it?”
He smiled for the first time. “Lurking? No.”
“Did you bring Mrs. Carrow a sweet tea this morning?”
“No, I was at the airport picking up new guests.”
“Where were you on Sunday between 11:30 and 1:30?”
His brow furrowed and he heaved the chair the last two inches to my hand. I pulled it onto the side and gave Bruno a hand up. He climbed dripping onto the deck and squeezed out the hem of his shirt. “I was fixing the shower in Room Eight. Alberto was with me. You can ask him, but why?”
“Someone sabotaged Lucia’s regs during that period.”
“Ah, yes. Tenne told me your theory on that. Anybody could’ve gotten to her bundle. People come and go.”
“I know. Security doesn’t hang out in the scuba shop. Where were you when Mrs. Carrow got stabbed with the stingray barb?”
A little pink came into his tan cheeks. “I was with your aunt.”
“You don’t seem surprised that I’m asking you all this,” I said.
“Tenne told me you would.” He picked up the net again and scooped out another coconut.
“It’s not personal,” I said.
“To you.”
“You’re wrong about that. This whole thing is very personal to me. I meant that I don’t have anything against you. About my mother and Aunt Tenne, do you know what they were fighting about? I mean, other than you.”
His face which had been open and honest, closed like a brochure. “No.”
Now that was lying. He had it all, a slight yes nod, he stepped back and put the net between us, and tapped his foot. I smiled at him. “So you know, but you won’t tell me.”
He frowned and I laughed. “Don’t worry. I get it. You promised Aunt Tenne. I won’t pester you.”
Bruno clamped his mouth shut and went back to skimming the pool. I went to the bar, feeling grimier with every step. The sand I’d kicked up when I ran to the pool had stuck to my legs and was rubbing my thighs raw. Mauro was at the bar. He was very clean, tan, and tall. Before he saw me, he tilted to the right with his elbow on the bar and about twenty muscles flexed on his side. I stopped and rethought. Did I really want to be investigating attempted murders looking like a tropical vagrant? Oh, well. It didn’t matter. He was gorgeous, but, covered in sand and roach poison or not, I had a boyfriend.
“Hi, Mauro,” I said.
“Whoa,” he said, baring his teeth.
Okay. Maybe it does matter.
“It’s not that bad,” I said, trying to sound confident in that fact, but coming off like a second grader denying that she ate the cookies. I always ate the cookies and I never got away with it.
Christopher the bartender came over with a fresh Monkey Lala. “Whoa.”
“It’s not that bad!”
Christopher didn’t reply. He reached over and opened the glass fridge door where he kept all his fresh fruit, and I saw myself. It was that bad. I’d had the crap beaten out of me and looked better.
“Is my forehead purple?”
“And green,” said Mauro.
“You might want to clean up them stitches. You’ve got a little pus going on,” said Christopher.
“What’s that smell?”
“There’s goo on your shoulder.”
Mauro took a long splinter out of my hair. “How’d this get in your hair?”
“Long story.”
He gave me his Monkey Lala. “You need this more than I do.”
I sucked down a fourth of the drink. Everything’s better with a Monkey Lala. “Did my Mom order some of these?”
“Two,” said Chrisopher. “She’s beautiful when she’s angry.”
Mauro nodded. “She’s beautiful all the time.”
Then they looked at me and not in a good way. I wasn’t used to such disdain and it made me feel like I didn’t fit in my dirty, smelly, damaged skin. I drank another fourth for strength. “I need to ask you some questions, Christopher.”
“Shoot.”
“Did you make a sweet tea for Mrs. Carrow this morning and another this afternoon?”
“The police already asked me that,” he said.
“They were here?” I asked.
“Yeah, but they didn’t seem all that concerned. I think they’re just hoping nothing else happens before the Carrows leave.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I didn’t make any sweet tea. It’s not a bar drink. I have plain tea, but nobody ordered that either.”
“Did you see the drink that Bruno delivered on the bar?” I asked.
“No. Sorry.”
A pretty girl with a pixie cut framing her face scooted over close to Mauro and he grimaced. She leaned over the bar, giving a good view of her small high breasts. “I saw that drink.”
Christopher grinned and said to her breasts, “Did you now?”
“I did. It was sitting on the bar right there with a slip of pink paper next to it.” The girl leaned on Mauro’s bulging bicep and he inched away.
“Did you see how it got on the bar?” I asked.
“No. It was just there and then Bruno came. He read the note and took the drink. Gary, the owner, said someone tried to poison a guest. Is that true?” She was talking to me, but looking at Mauro. He was not digging it.
“It’s true. There was another sweet tea delivered right before the storm this morning. Did any of you see that?”
None of them were even aware of a second drink. I hadn’t told Officer Tabora about it, so I guess that made sense. The bar phone rang and Christopher answered. He looked at me and then nodded. “Yeah, she’s here. Yes, sir. I understand.”
“What was that about?” I asked.
“You’re a suspect,” he said. “We’re not supposed to talk about this with you. The island police will handle it.” Then he looked at the girl. “They want you in the office, Laurie. You better move it.”
Laurie gave Mauro a longing look, which he ignored. Then she sauntered off with a lot of hip swing and very little hip. Mauro reached over the bar and grabbed a bottle of Coke. “The police. That’s a laugh.”
“Do you think I tried to kill Lucia?” I asked.
He took a swig and then grinned. “Not for a minute. Look at you.”
“What about what I look like?”
“You’re beating the hell out of yourself to save her and Graeme. If you wanted them dead, I’m pretty sure they would be.”
Is that a compliment or an insult?
“Thanks, I guess.”
Christopher went to make some Island Breezes and Mauro set his bottle on the bar. He gave me the once-over, twice. “You really don’t have any respect for it, do you?”
I drank the rest of my Monkey Lala and let the calorie-laden goodness wash over me. “Respect for what?”
He gestured to the whole me. “You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, but this is what you do to yourself.”
“I’ll heal.”
“You really don’t care.”
“It is what it is. What am I supposed to do, let Lucia die because I don’t want to break a nail?”
“No, of course not,” he said. “But I don’t know what to make of you.”
“Join the club.” I paused. “One of the most beautiful women?”
He laughed. “Yes. One of. You’re not the only beauty around. Your mother is unbelievable. She’s so graceful. When she looks at you, you start to feel—”
“Alright. Alright. That’s my mother, my married mother, you’re talking about.”
“But you’re not married, right?”
I put my glass on the bar. “Does it really matter? I’m a walking FEMA project.”
He leaned in and the smell of Hawaiian Tropic was intoxicating. “It doesn’t matter. The bones are good. How serious are you and Aaron?”
“I’m seriously disturbed that you think I’m dating Aaron, a guy for whom clean tees and combs are optional.”
“I heard you were together and…”
Don’t say it.
“Had some kind of a tryst next to a…”
Noooooo!
“Trash can.”
I jumped to my feet, knocking over my stool with a clatter. “I did not have a tryst or anything else in the dirt next to a trash can.”
“That’s a relief,” said Dixie from behind me. “I have to say from the look of you it was a possibility.”
Mauro laughed and picked up my stool. I was afraid to turn around. Hair color in a bait shop. That was a huge risk. I had to manage the right reaction. It was absolutely required.
Please let the hair be good. Please let the hair be good.
I plastered a I-just-ate-chocolate look on my face and turned. Dixie stood with her elbow on the bar, but I didn’t recognize her for a second. She’d gone all the way to platinum blond with tousled curls framing her face. Mauro leaned over my shoulder and whispered in my ear. “Say something.”
“Whoa.”
“What do you think?” asked Dixie.
I’m shocked. I’m freaked. No. No. I’m supportive. I’m a good girl in the loosest terms possible.
“Dixie, you’re transformed. It’s like you’re a whole different person,” I said with warmth, I hoped.
