Mangrove Madness: An Ernestine Ernie Pratt Mystery (Ernestine Ernie Pratt Adventures Book 1)

by J. C. Ferguson

  “No, I have no friends in Florida. My room is booked through the end of the week. I may stay longer.” She answers both questions in one breath. “I spend most of my time driving around looking at faces, then I return to my room.”

  And cry, I add in my mind.

  “You want to come home with me tonight for pizza? My brother and his girlfriend are visiting my mom and me.” What’s one more person at the house gonna hurt? I know. I pick up strays. People strays. Can’t stand the thought of her alone in her room crying.

  Her eyes open wide with surprise. “I couldn’t impose. You don’t even know me.” Is she a little drunk? Did she gulp another Corona while I was in the restroom?

  “It’s no bother. Give yourself a break.”

  She nods, not answering.

  “Where’s your husband?” Now, that wasn’t polite. Use a little tact, Pratt.

  “He’s in school in Boston.” She frowns. Trouble in Boston, I’ll bet.

  The check comes, she pays, I don’t argue. If I paid, I’d charge it to her, anyway. Outside we head for my yellow bug, easy to spot.

  An old Explorer comes barreling into the parking lot. We jump out of its way. It swings around and heads for my bug. Crunch, right into the side of my precious car. My heart breaks into pieces at the sound. I’m running across the parking lot when the Explorer backs up and rams my car again. I scream, “No, no, no!” The Explorer squeals from the lot onto McGregor Boulevard. Gorilla is driving. I find a pen and scribble his plate number, reach for my phone.

  “Damn!” It’s at The Phone Booth.

  “You have a mobile?” I ask Allison, who is standing with her mouth open, her face white as a ghost. She fumbles in her purse and pulls out her cell. I dial 911.

  “This is Ernie Pratt at La Casita’s on McGregor. An Explorer smashed into my car and drove away. License number 999-FLY. A gorilla is driving it. He works at The Phone Booth.” Too much info, too quick. The emergency operator makes me repeat it.

  “A gorilla is driving?” she asks.

  “He looks like a gorilla.”

  The operator snickers. “We’ll get right on it, Miz Pratt.”

  Now what? My car is destroyed. I’ll have to rent a car, and pay to have my yellow baby hospitalized. I wander to a bench in front of La Casita. At least I have a huge check. Oh, I almost forgot about Allison. She’s standing in the middle of the parking lot with her mouth open.

  “Allison, come sit.” I wave to get her attention.

  She wanders over in a daze. “Is it always like this here?”

  “No.” I try to reassure her. “He’s some crazy who doesn’t like to be laughed at. Most people here are retirees, sweet old ladies and men.”

  “Oh.” She still looks dazed.

  “I’m sorry. After the police arrive, I’m going to need to rent a car and have mine towed.” Maybe I should walk over to the store and retrieve my phone. It should be ready. This time I want to cry. My yellow bug is the first new car I’ve ever owned. I love it.

  “We can use mine. I rented it for the week.”

  “Does that mean you’re coming home with me?”

  “I guess.”

  We must look like two lost souls sitting here, both bent over with elbows on our knees.

  A sheriff’s car pulls into the lot. Jeremy climbs out. What’s he doing here? This is not his territory. He looks at my bug and shakes his head.

  “Hey, Pratt.”

  “Hey, Thorpe.”

  “Ms. Martinelli.” He nods at Allison. “I see you two found each other.”

  Neither of us responds.

  “They caught your gorilla.” His grin doesn’t help my mood.

  “Good. I hope he spends the rest of his life in jail.”

  “How’d you know he worked at The Phone Booth?”

  “I was just there.”

  “Was it an accident?”

  “No.” Allison answers vehemently. “That crazy man aimed at her car. And he backed up and hit it again.”

  Jeremy chuckles.

  “It’s not funny.” At least not to me.

  “Why did he destroy your car?”

  “We laughed at him.”

  “Well that explains everything.”

  “An over-reaction I would say,” Allison sits up straight, determination returning.

  “You ladies want to come to the station to identify the perp?”

  “Sure. But I have to pick up my new mobile first. Do you mind?”

  “At your service.” Jeremy smiles and heads to his cruiser.

  #

  At The Phone Booth, Frankie does a duck and weave dance when he sees me. Looks like he wants to run away.

  “What’s the matter, Frank? Isn’t my new toy ready?”

  He grabs it and hands it too me, looking a little relieved. “I thought you were here for Bob.” He glances at something over my shoulder. Jeremy and Allison have followed me in. Jeremy’s in uniform.

  “Who’s Bob?”

  “The guy who ran into your car.”

  The name Bob doesn’t fit the Gorilla. “How’d you know about my car?”

  “The cops were here for him.” Frank nods toward Jeremy. “He’s fired if he comes back.” He’s gaining a little confidence, standing straighter. But he’s still nervous, dancing from one foot to the other.

  “Do I owe you anything?”

  “Oh, no! If that one doesn’t work, bring it back and we’ll give you another one. I can do that. I’m the manager.” Very accommodating. Maybe he thinks I’ll sue the store for Bob’s behavior. Or is it Deputy Thorpe’s presence that has him dancing?

  “How about the one for two-fifty?” I ask.

  “Uh...”

  “Never mind. I was joking.” I smile and wave as I leave.

  In the back of Jeremy’s cruiser with Allison, I call AAA and my insurance company. I have to look up each number, no contacts transferred. I dial information for the number of the VW dealer where my bug is being towed. I call Mom to tell her I’m bringing a guest for dinner.

  “Good. The more the merrier. But remember, I’m not cooking.” Which in Mom talk means, “Bring something home with you.”

  I don’t tell her about my car. That can wait. Maybe I won’t tell her at all.

  Chapter 6

  “Hey, that’s him.” I spot Gorilla Bob and point. Two deputies are escorting him down a hallway in cuffs, as Allison, Jeremy, and I arrive at the sheriff’s office in South Fort Myers.

  The gorilla turns and shouts, “Bitch!” No imagination. He can’t even think up a new name. He struggles with the two deputies as they drag him away.

  “Guess there’s no point in a lineup,” Jeremy shakes his head. “I don’t think we could have found anyone who looked like him.”

  “So what happens now?” Allison asks.

  “If you ladies will sign some paperwork, you can be on your way.”

  “Deputy Thorpe. What are you doing in our neck of the woods?” A woman, a little on the chunky side with hair starting to gray, calls to Jeremy from her desk. Even in uniform, she looks like somebody’s stay-at-home mom or maybe a school crossing guard.

  “You’re looking chipper today, Deputy Finley. I picked up these two ladies, since I know them. Their car was smashed in the hit and run. Thought they’d appreciate a familiar face.”

  “You should come around more often.” Finley gives him a non-motherly smile. I guess I’m not the only one panting after him. While Allison and I sign papers, Finley chats up Jeremy, leaning toward him, batting her eyes, reaching to touch his arm at one point. We head for the door, Finley tailing right behind. She follows us all the way to Jeremy’s cruiser.

  He jumps in and closes the door. The window is closed. Allison and I scramble into the back and we’re out of there.

  Jeremy wipes sweat from his forehead.

  “Nice lady, Jeremy. She really likes you.” I smile at him in his rearview mirror.

  He shakes his head and returns the smile. “Where ar
e you headed?”

  “We could take a taxi. Then you could spend some time with Finley.”

  “Just tell me where to drop you.”

  “We’re going to my hotel,” Allison answers.

  Jeremy’s cruiser is caught in the never-ending winter traffic jam approaching the bridge to Fort Myers Beach. He turns on the flashing lights and siren to intimidate traffic, hangs a U-turn in the middle of San Carlos Boulevard, and speeds west on Summerlin, toward Sanibel. This is fun.

  The cruiser pulls into the parking lot at the hotel, lights still flashing, causing a stir among guests leaving and entering. Allison and I hop out. As I pass by his window, Jeremy says, “Hold on, Pratt.”

  “What is it, Officer Thorpe? Are you taking me to jail for inciting a gorilla?”

  His blue eyes are serious. “This might help you with the search for Allison’s brother.”

  He hands me a paper. It’s a list of eight names, some with phone numbers, some not. All at the same address.

  “Who are they?”

  “Bunch of kids living on the beach last summer, from up north, doing drugs, living it up. Doubt most of them stay in touch with their families. We busted the house a couple of times. Don’t know if we ever nabbed them all. Different kids in and out at different times. None of them went to jail. Alex Rodgers’ friend, George Stark, is on the list.”

  “Thanks, Jeremy.” I start to leave.

  “One more thing.” His blue eyes are smiling when I look back.

  “Yes?”

  “Thought you might like to go to dinner tonight.”

  Wow! He really truly asked me for a date! Not “when are we going to dinner?” The one and only Lee County Sheriff’s Deputy Jeremy Thorpe with the beautiful bod and the smiling eyes has asked tall and gangly Ernie Pratt to dinner. My heart goes thumpity-thump, skipping a couple of beats. How can I say no?

  “I promised Mom I’d pick up pizza. My brother and his girlfriend are at the house. Allison’s coming, too.” I rattle it off. Come on Jeremy, ask me for another night. Before brain catches up with mouth, I ask, “You want to join us?”

  What the heck, what’s one more person? No one is cooking. I should call Mom and ask before bringing people home. I do have a phone again.

  “Are you going home now?” That’s not an answer, Jeremy.

  “I should stop by the dealer and check on my car, then we’ll be headed to the island. Should be about four o’clock.”

  “I’m not off duty ’til five. You want a ride to the dealer?” He still hasn’t answered.

  “I need to catch up with Allison.” I point at the door where she’s standing, waiting.

  “Okay. Maybe I’ll stop by. I know where to find you.” He pulls out of the parking lot, playing a little “ta-da” on the siren. I stand there watching him drive off, nerves tingling, heart dancing. Can’t help it, he’s coming to see me tonight...maybe. He only said maybe. Damn, Pratt! What’s the matter with you? You’re acting like a schoolgirl. You don’t get excited about men anymore. Don’t lie to yourself, Pratt. You’ve been lusting after Jeremy Thorpe since you first laid eyes on him.

  Allison is still waiting at the door. She’s been in sort of a daze since we watched my car get beat up by a gorilla.

  “Are you all right?” I ask.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Sorry about all the activity this afternoon. You must have other things to do.”

  “Not really.”

  “I need to check on the car situation. Would you mind driving me in your rental?”

  “Take it. I’ll stay and call Sally in Boston. I check in with her every day. She’s afraid something will happen to me alone down here. She’ll be happy to know I’m invited for pizza tonight.” That’s about the most she’s said all day. “Maybe I’ll call Tony, too—my husband.”

  “Would you like to stay at our place tonight? No sense coming back to a lonely hotel room.” There goes my big mouth again. Not very sensitive pointing out that she’s lonely. And not too cool inviting someone to stay over without talking to Mom.

  “Oh, I couldn’t. It’s such an imposition.”

  “Nah. We have plenty of room. You could even check out of the hotel if you like, and use our spare bedroom while you’re in Florida.” What are you saying, Pratt? Mom will kill you. Inviting strangers to stay for who knows how long.

  “Can I stay the night if it’s late, and then let you know?” Smart girl, check first. See if you like it, and see what the atmosphere is at the house.

  “Sure. Whatever works.”

  She points at her car and hands me the keys.

  “By the way, you might want to change into something more casual,” I suggest. “The spray on the boat might be hard on your clothes.” She’s still wearing the blue silk outfit.

  “We’re going in a boat?”

  “The only way to get there, unless you own a helicopter. I live on an island.” That was stupid, Pratt. You didn’t tell her you live on an island. What if she’s afraid of boats? “Is that okay?”

  “I love the water. I learned to sail on the Charles River when I was twelve. But I haven’t been in a couple of years. My husband hates boats.” I see life in her eyes. Maybe I’ve found a way to distract her from the obsession with finding brother Alex.

  “We have a little daysailer. You could take it out.” She cracks the first smile I’ve seen since we laughed at Gorilla Bob. Makes me glad I picked up this stray. “Go make your calls and pack a bag. I’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  #

  The trip to the dealer is a bust. No one is working in service on a Saturday afternoon. Working for yourself, living on an island, you forget that other people have set schedules, nine-to-five, Monday through Friday, maybe Saturday. So cut and dried. A salesman tries to sell me a new car, says mine is toast. And the yellow bug hasn’t even been declared dead. I take all the papers and belongings from the poor crumpled vehicle and leave.

  In the hotel parking lot, I call mom and warn her that Allison might stay tonight, or longer. Mom sounds okay with it. In fact, she sounds happy. She likes people, always makes my strays feel at home.

  “Oh, by the way, one more person might be showing up for supper.”

  “Who’s that, Ernestine?” Mom calls me Ernestine when I’m bad. Guess that means I’m pushing it with another guest.

  “Deputy Thorpe.”

  “Sheriff’s deputy? Is this about the people on the beach last night?”

  “No, Mom. This is a friend. Jeremy. You’ve heard me talk about him.” Every time I get a chance to work with Jeremy, I come home and rattle on about him.

  “Jeremy. It’s about time I met him.”

  “Mom. Be nice. Promise?”

  “I promise. I’ll treat him like anyone else you drag in.” I can hear her smile.

  “He may not even show up.”

  I start to put the phone in my bag, and see the list of names from Jeremy. Should I call them? The first number is for Dan Wallingsford. I dial.

  “Hullo.”

  “Hey, Dan, this is Jane. Is George there?”

  “Jane who?”

  “Jane Domain, from up north. Is George there? He said I could reach him through you.”

  “George who? Ain’t no George here.”

  “George Stark.”

  “Might have been here last summer. Haven’t seen him in months.”

  “Do you know where he went? He told me to look him up.”

  “Where’d you say you were from?”

  “Massachusetts.” My New Hampshire accent is close enough I can get away with it. “We used to hang out once in a while.”

  “Listen lady, George kind of disappeared in the middle of the summer. Got no clue where he is.” Dan hangs up.

  Should I try another? Two females are on the list, one with a phone number. Susan Bain. She answers with a grunt. Amazing. I’m getting people to answer.

  “Susan?”

  “Yeah, who’s this?”

  “Ja
ne Domain, from Boston. I’m looking for George Stark.”

  “Georgie boy flew the coop months ago. Why you looking for him now?”

  “He said stop in sometime, and I’m here.”

  “You’re late.”

  “Is Alex Rodgers there?”

  “Alex? Don’t know him. What’s he look like?” I flip open the folder and look at his picture.

  “Cute, almost pretty, dark hair, dark eyes, five-eleven. Friend of George.”

  “I would’ve noticed. He was never here.”

  “Oh well, if you see George; tell him I said ‘hi.’”

  Need to take a trip to the beach tomorrow or Monday. George was there. She knows him.

  Chapter 7

  The next couple of numbers I call are no longer in service. Then Allison walks through the hotel door in shorts, tank top, and boat shoes, with a bag slung across one shoulder. Her hair is pulled back and tied at the neck. No makeup. She looks different, more relaxed. She smiles when she sees me.

  A hop down the road and we’re at the dock. Charlie steps onto the porch to see who’s driving an Accord into his yard.

  “It’s me, Charlie. And this is Allison.”

  “Where’s your yellow bug?”

  “She was in an accident.”

  “Oh no! Are you okay?”

  “We weren’t in the car, Charlie. I’m fine. But my heart hurts for my little bug.”

  He invites us for ice tea on his porch. We accept. No rush. This is Saturday afternoon in Florida.

  Allison and I take turns telling Charlie about our afternoon with Gorilla Bob and the police, exaggerating a bit along the way. She’s more talkative now. A storyteller like me; I like that. By the time we’ve finished the tale, we’re all laughing.

  #

  Allison leans over the boat rail to catch the wind and salt spray in her face. Not at all like prissy little Monica yesterday, who sat huddled in the pilothouse in her black wool pants.

  Maggie is on the dock when we pull in and Allison tosses her a line.

  “Maggie, this is Allison. She’s staying the night and maybe longer.”

  “Nice to meet y’all.” Maggie shakes her hand.

  “Allison might be taking the sailboat out tomorrow.”