by A W Hartoin
My family took Lucia down each step, slow but steady. She shook and Mom held her tighter. She cried and Aunt Tenne whispered encouragement in her ear. “Don’t let them take the ocean away from you,” she said. “It’s too precious.”
They stepped on the sand and Lucia’s shoulders twitched. The three fates crowded close and walked her to the water’s edge, stopping just short of the gentle waves. The water was its usual ice blue and the reflected light danced over our skin. I don’t know what was going on in Lucia’s mind, but mine was flooded with moments of panic. Remembered fear that was no longer real, but certainly felt real.
A boat went by and pushed in waves. My family held firm and the waves hit their feet. Lucia gasped and hands stroked her back.
“There. You’ve done it,” said Mom.
“The water is perfect,” said Dixie.
“It can’t hurt us,” said Aunt Tenne.
The waves kept coming, rushing around their ankles and creeping up their calves.
“Our clothes will get wet,” said Lucia with a much stronger voice than I expected.
“They’ll dry,” said Mom.
Lucia stepped forward and the women of my family stayed right with her moving as one, the way they always moved with me. Right there. Ever present in love. Soon their hemlines were soaked and then their skirts floated up around their waists, twisting and flowing like petals around lovely stems.
“So these are the people who raised you,” said Graeme, smiling.
“I think they’re still doing it,” I said. “I’m not done as far as they’re concerned.”
A waiter came up with a huge tray of drinks. “Where would you like these?”
We found an empty table next to some loungers and then waded in ourselves and delivered the drinks. Graeme and I didn’t stay. Lucia didn’t need us. We lay down on the loungers and watch the brilliant sun creep across the sky.
I fell asleep and when I woke, Chuck was in Graeme’s spot, wearing touristy garb and drinking a Honduran beer. “About time. You’re going to sleep away your last day on the island.”
“I deserve a nap. A hundred naps. This was the unvacation.”
“You look hot.”
“That’s less important to me than you think.”
“What I think or whether you’re hot?”
“Both.”
“Liar.” Chuck drained his beer and asked for a dark replacement. Since Honduras doesn’t really do dark, he and the waiter settled on a Salva Vida.
I stole his beer as soon as it arrived and glared at him. “I’m not lying.”
“Yeah, right. You want to hear about Todd and Tracy or what?”
“Or what.”
Chuck ignored me, like the rest of the family did, and proceeded to tell me that Todd and Tracy hadn’t confessed. I didn’t expect that they would. This was real life not CSI: Miami. The surprise was that they wanted to charge me with assault, multiple counts.
“Was Todd wearing clothes when he made this request?” I asked.
“As a matter of fact, he wasn’t.” Chuck tried to suppress a belly laugh and failed. His laughter was contagious and I found myself giggling. “He kept stripping every time we turned our backs. He’s really fast at it.”
“What is up with that?”
“I’ve seen it before. It’s some kind of panic reaction. Todd has lost it.”
“Where are the kids? I can’t stand them, but no one should see their parent having a mental breakdown.”
“Tabora put them in his office, but they did see one stripping. They are going to need some serious therapy when they get back to the States.”
“So the Honduran government agreed to extradition just like that?” I gave Chuck his beer back. I don’t like Salva Vida, tastes like Budweiser. He drained the beer and ordered another. I asked for a Monkey Lala and Chuck made fun of me. I didn’t care if it was a girly drink. Hello. I’m a girl.
“In a manner of speaking.”
“And what manner would that be?”
“I’ve got five seats on your flight tomorrow. Tabora’s going to take them to the airport. They can either get on my flight or they’re getting on a flight to the mainland. A prison bus will be waiting for them.”
“This includes the kids?”
“It does.”
“Easy choice there. How’d you get five seats on my flight?”
“Strings were pulled. The FBI wants Todd and Tracy in the worst way and they don’t want to wait.”
“They want them to testify against the Todaros. That’s crap. Those idiots will get in the Witness Protection Program.”
“Yes, they will, but it won’t last long. Once Catone Fibonacci finds out what they tried to do, their days are numbered.”
I said nothing about what Lucia had said about Calpurnia really being the head of the family. I don’t know why, except that it felt like a confidence. I should’ve felt bad about Todd and Tracy’s impending demise, but the memory of Todd’s hand over Lucia’s mouth was too fresh. Aunt Calpurnia could do what she wanted and undoubtedly she would. I wouldn’t complain.
We drank in silence until Mauro showed up. He smiled down at me, extra shiny, and I think he may have grown a few extra muscles since I last saw him.
“So is this the boyfriend?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Chuck.
“No! This is my cousin, Chuck the cop.”
Mauro gave Chuck the ‘you’re creepy’ look until Chuck explained that we weren’t blood-related and therefore free to date. I explained that that would never happen, but neither of them looked convinced. I sipped my drink and watched the dad of the fat baby and toddler make sandcastles for his children. Without Tara and Tyler the beach was quiet and soothing. I asked where Mom and everyone else had gone. Chuck said they were changing for dinner. Then he and Mauro got into a boring diving discussion about differences in regs. If it wasn’t chocolate or a Monkey Lala, I had absolutely no interest.
Chuck poked me in the thigh. “We’re going on a night dive. What do you say?”
“Hell, no.” I’d had a couple by then.
“Come on,” said Mauro. “It’ll be your last hurrah on Roatan.”
“I’ve had about fifteen last hurrahs, so I’m all full up. Have fun.”
They got up, unfolding long, lean limbs, and left for the scuba shop. I watched them walk away. Their bodies were quite similar, but, of course, I preferred Mauro. He wasn’t Chuck, an unmistakable advantage. Once they turned the corner, I settled in and truly began to enjoy my vacation. I swam. I played with the baby. I laid on the floating platform and Roatan became perfect.
Chapter 19
I WALKED INTO Kronos three days later. I couldn’t contain my desire for one of Aaron’s burgers any longer. Kronos was a Star Trek-inspired burger joint owned by Aaron and his business partner, Rodney. If you met them, you’d never think they were successful restaurateurs, but Kronos was packed even more than usual with cops, firemen, and some civilians. I slipped in behind a pack of St. Louis University students and kept my head down. Pete gave me one of his baseball caps and I’d tucked my hair up in it and wore a pair of oversized aviator sunglasses. All I wanted was to pick up my burger in peace. I don’t know why I thought I could do that.
“Mercy!” yelled a cop in uniform down at the end of the bar. I’d met Ameche during Gavin’s murder investigation. He loved our connection. I was less enthused. The entire population of the bar turned and I was instantly surrounded and pummeled by questions. The story of Lucia’s near murder was on every front page and Nancy Grace had taken up yelling about Roatan on every TV show that would let her. Lucia being a Fibonacci and my being a cop’s daughter added to the appeal. We’d been featured everywhere. Then the other shoe dropped. I’d been videoed first climbing out of the water after the ill-fated ransom drop for Andrew and then tackling Tracy in the golf cart. There were posters. There were new fan clubs. YouTube videos editing out Aaron and putting me in Ursula Andress’s Bond girl bikini from
Dr. No. Sometimes I was nude. I was always embarrassing.
I fought my way through the crowd and flagged down Rodney, who was mixing Metaphysical Malts two at a time. He finished and came down to make my day better. “I told people you come here,” he said, happily. “Our receipts are up twenty-seven percent.”
“You are dead to me,” I said. “Where’s my burger?”
About fifteen guys offered to buy me lunch. I learned a long time ago never to accept free anything from men, it leads to bad behavior, not mine.
“No. No,” said Rodney. “It’s on the house.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking my bag full of happiness. Rod and Aaron were the exception to my rule. If either of them tried to feel me up, I’d take them straight to the hospital to have their heads examined.
I turned and started for the door with cameras stuck in my face and flashes going off like firecrackers. Rodney damn well owed me a burger. He owed me a dozen.
“Wait!” Rodney yelled.
I went back to the bar and set down my bag. “What?”
“There’s a guy waiting for you.”
The whole place erupted in laughter and followed by dozens of guys saying they were also waiting for me. Fantastic.
“Not you guys!” yelled Rod. “That one over there.”
The crowd parted and I saw who was waiting for me. I knew I couldn’t avoid Lucia’s brother forever, but I did think I had a few more days. Oz waved to me and I sighed.
Just get it over with. He’s not going to offer a payback now. Too public.
I was so wrong. You’d think I’d start getting used to it. I went over and slid into his booth and he pushed a malt in front of me.
“How’d you know I’d be here?” I asked.
He smiled, showing me his very white teeth. “You know how it is.”
“Not really, but I guess I don’t want to, do I?”
“I had to talk to you. We have business to settle,” he said, leaning back and putting his well-tanned arm on the seat back.
“We really don’t. Lucia’s fine. Everybody’s fine,” I said.
“We owe you.”
Oh shit. Dad is going to kill me.
“It’s totally fine. We’re even.” I started to get up, but he put his hand on mine.
“Try your malt. I have it on good authority that it’s your favorite. We need to discuss Lucia, in any case.”
“I just talked to her this morning. She’s doing well. There’s nothing else to say.”
“Is Graeme beating my sister? I have to know.”
I’d totally forgotten the suspicions that got me to Roatan in the first place and I wasn’t sure what to say.
Oz’s hands curled into fists. “He is, isn’t he?”
I took a sip of the malt, a slow one, giving me time to think. “No,” I said. “He isn’t.”
Oz didn’t relax one bit. “Explain the bruising. Explain why she won’t talk to me.”
“I’m not explaining anything to you. Lucia deserves her privacy, what little she can muster right now. She asked me not to tell you and I’m not going to.”
His face fell. “She asked you not to tell me. Why? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Graeme is devoted to your sister. She’s fine and that’s all you need to know. She’ll tell you when she’s ready.”
Oz relaxed ever so slightly. “She’ll tell me?”
“Eventually. Now I’m leaving. Please don’t stalk me anymore.”
“I’m afraid not. Like I said, we’ve got business to settle.”
Groan.
“My family wants to thank you for saving Lucia. It’s a debt that can never be fully paid, but they intend to try,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m good. Lucia is starting a charity drive for Roatan medical supplies. That’s all I want.”
“That won’t do it. My family will thank you. It’s best if you agree,” said Oz.
“I don’t know how to take that,” I said.
He smiled again. “It’s the way it is and has always been. We’re Fibonaccis and we owe you.”
I stood up. “I really don’t want anything. You’ve thanked me quite enough.” I stepped into the crowd.
“Aunt Tenne,” Oz called after me.
I stopped and turned back. “What?”
“You know what I mean,” he said. “Sit.”
I eased back in the booth, very aware of being surrounded by cops that knew my dad. “I really, really don’t. Unless you’re referring to her new boyfriend, which is fine. We like him. Please don’t do anything to Bruno.”
“You really don’t know?”
“What did I just say?”
Oz opened a briefcase that was sitting on the seat beside him and pulled out a thick manila folder. He pushed it across the table and raised an eyebrow. I fingered the stiff paper, not sure if I wanted to open it, but my curiosity got the better of me and I did. On top of the stack was an eight-by-ten color photo of four very pretty girls posing in front of a ‘70s blue Mustang. Aunt Tenne was the girl farthest to the left and she was a person I’d never seen before, fit and shapely, glowing with effervescent joy like Mom.
“It’s Aunt Tenne,” I said. “She’s stunning.”
“Keep going,” said Oz.
I flipped over the photo and underneath was a paper-clipped sheath of newspaper clippings. The top one was from the St. Louis Post Dispatch about a two-car accident and a picture of mangled cars in some brush. Below the cars were four school pictures. I didn’t want to look any further.
“They’re dead,” I said. “All but Aunt Tenne.”
“Yes. Your aunt and her three best friends were hit by a habitual drunk while driving to college. Her three friends were killed outright. Your aunt barely survived.”
That can’t be right. That couldn’t have happened.
“But Aunt Tenne didn’t go to college,” I said.
“No, she didn’t. She spent the next year having surgeries on her back and hips. There may have been some suicide attempts.”
I flipped the picture back over and looked at Aunt Tenne as she once was, a person I never knew existed.
“My family wants to thank you,” said Oz, softly.
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I think you do.”
“So…is the drunk still alive?”
Oz pulled out a second folder, just as thick. It also had a photo, taken recently of a grey-haired man standing in front of a BMW dealership.
“Phillip Grint, the auto baron? Are you serious?” I asked.
“Keep going.”
Underneath Grint’s glossy print was a tiny article, barely an inch long, and it acknowledged that Phillip Grint, son of auto tycoon, Jonathan Grint, had been involved in a fatal auto accident involving four eighteen-year-old girls. None of the girls were named and there was no mention of an arrest. I leaned back as my stomach got queasy. “I don’t want to think about this right now.”
“Not much thought is required,” said Oz.
“You’re right. Aunt Tenne is fine. She doesn’t even limp.”
“I wouldn’t bring it up, if that were true.”
“It happened over thirty years ago.”
“There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
“Wasn’t it a drunk driving accident?” I asked.
“That phrase covers a multitude of sins. I call what he did intentional and your aunt isn’t fine.” He gave me a third folder. “My family would like to help her as you helped Lucia. Give her her life back so to speak.”
I didn’t open the folder. “She has her life.”
“But not much else. As far as we can tell your aunt has never waned or wavered in her grief. She visits her friends’ graves regularly, brings them flowers, talks to them.”
“That’s okay. People do that.” I wasn’t so sure, but what else could I say.
“She drives by his house.” He opened the third folder and there was a shot of Aunt Tenne in her
car in front of a mansion with a wide manicured lawn and an ornate gate at the end of the driveway. “That’s his house. She goes there and sits for hours. I don’t know if he knows she’s there. If he does, he doesn’t care.”
“When was this taken?”
“Three days before you went to Honduras. The anniversary was during your trip, but this isn’t rare for her. I have it on good authority that she’s there regularly. Several times a month.”
Good god, Aunt Tenne. What are you doing to yourself?
“He didn’t go to prison, Mercy. He didn’t go to jail and he didn’t get community service. He walked away and this wasn’t the first time or the last. He hit a ten-year-old boy two years before and the boy lost a leg. His father arranged for Phillip to spend six weeks in rehab. Forest View Therapeutic Center in California. Thirty thousand dollars a month with personal chefs. It was the same with your aunt’s accident. He went on vacation.”
“The court agreed to that?”
“One way or another.”
“Your family thanking me won’t change anything.”
“It’ll balance the scales a little.”
I looked through the pictures again. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t remotely right, but as I looked another picture worked its way in, the picture of Aunt Tenne smiling with Bruno. On Roatan, she showed the same joy that I saw in that picture with her friends so many years ago. “Before we left, she said it was going to be different this year, that she was going to be different. You know what? She is different and it’s not just Bruno. I hate that this happened to her. I hate that he got away with it.”
Oz started to speak, but I cut him off. “I get what you’re trying to tell me. This bastard has been happy for over thirty years and Aunt Tenne’s been miserable. I’ve seen what it’s done to her every day of my life. I just didn’t know what caused it. But my answer is no. She’s made a new start. If something were to happen to Grint, it would be all over the news. It might jolt her out of the good place she’s in.”
“Are you sure?” asked Oz. “He deserves it. You don’t know half of what he’s done.”
I smiled. “You never know. I could change my mind. If I keep looking at these pictures, I might.”
