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

by J. C. Ferguson

  “I hope you’re staying,” I say to Allison.

  “Yes.” She smiles at me. Is there laughter held back, like Bert? I’ll have to get the whole story later.

  “You need anything from the hotel?” I ask Allison.

  “No, I called and checked out. They’re holding my luggage.”

  “I can take you by, tomorrow.” I toss the boat keys to Mom.

  Monica stomps from the room. She’s back in a flash, dragging a suitcase almost as big as she is. Must’ve already packed.

  Allison and I stand in silence, listening to the crunch of gravel in the drive as they leave in the golf cart.

  I break the silence. “Takes a lot to piss off my mom.”

  Allison hoots. “Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at your mom. She was fun to be around today. That Monica is something else. She hates boats, hates the water, hates sunshine. Why did she come here?”

  “I don’t have a clue.” My stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten since breakfast. “You hungry? I can whip up some tuna sandwiches or maybe there’s cold pizza. Aren’t you glad you’re staying at this fancy hotel?”

  “Oh, we have subs on the porch. We picked them up on the way by Billy Sue’s.”

  “Yes! Let’s eat.” I grab a couple of sodas out of the fridge. “Oh, did you want beer?”

  She shakes her head. We head for the porch and food, sitting with our feet on the rail, enjoying the night breeze off the Gulf. Perfect Florida weather. Sometimes it gets a bit chilly in the winter and it definitely gets too hot and muggy in the summer, but most of the time it’s perfect.

  “You like it here?” I ask.

  “Yes, and I like your family.”

  “‘Specially Bert.”

  “I feel like I’m on vacation.” She ignores my jab. “Today I even forgot what I’m here for.”

  “Not to spoil the mood, but I found a gal at Fort Myers Beach who knows George Stark.”

  She leans toward me. “That’s great! Did she know where they are?”

  “No, but she thought they went off with some guy on a sailboat to the Caribbean. Not very helpful. She was stoned, maybe worse.”

  “Oh.” She sits back in her chair, deflating. “Well, that’s at least something. Isn’t it?”

  “Not much to go on. I’m going to call George’s mother to see if she knows anything. But that’ll have to wait ’til I get another phone.”

  “You can use mine. It’s inside.” She starts to get up.

  “Maybe you should call her. I understand you’ve met?”

  “Yes, I remember Mrs. Stark. Nice woman.”

  “Get your phone. I’ll check mine to see if it’s working.”

  In the kitchen, I look at the time. Seven-fifteen, not too late to call. I pick up my pathetic little cell. Not hot, not wet, but I wouldn’t make bets on its working. I hope at least the SIM didn’t croak this time. I turn it on and lights flash. Wow! It’s not completely dead. I hit the menu button. Nothing. I turn it off, close it, stick it in my pocket. Maybe if I let it rest?

  I retrieve the Alex Rodgers folder in my office and return to the porch and Allison.

  “Have you called Tony?” Now why did I ask? None of my business if she’s ignoring her husband and flirting with my brother.

  “I left him a message earlier. Let’s call Mrs. Stark.”

  I read the number, and she dials. While it’s ringing, she turns on speakerphone and sets it on the rail in front of us. I should buy one like that, with speaker.

  “Hello?” The same tentative voice as before. She probably hopes every time she answers that it’s George.

  “Mrs. Stark. This is Allison Rodgers, Alex’s sister.” She uses her maiden name, but that’s how the Starks would know her.

  “Oh, Allison, I heard that Alex is missing, too. I’m so glad you called.”

  “I have Ernie Pratt with me. She’s the one who called you to ask about George.”

  “Have you heard anything?”

  “Only that they may have taken off on a sailboat to the Caribbean,” I answer. “Did George mention that to you, Mrs. Stark?”

  “Not that I remember. Hold on a second.” I can hear her muffled voice talking to someone. She’s back. “Bruce, that’s Mr. Stark, says George might have mentioned it, but he didn’t think he was serious.”

  “Did he mention who they were sailing with?”

  Muffled voice again. “He doesn’t recall.” Muffled voice. “He thinks it was a charter that sails to the islands out of Bonita Springs.”

  “That’s good information. Tell your husband thank you. I’ll see if I can track anything down.”

  Allison jumps in. “Do you or Mr. Stark know the names of any of George’s friends here in Florida?”

  “There was a girlfriend for awhile, named Susan. He broke up with her, though. Maybe she was on drugs.” I don’t tell her that my one contact was with Susan.

  Muffled pause. “Bruce says he remembers there was a boy named Bruce. That name stuck with him, of course.” Is that a little chuckle? I hope so. She sounds so sad.

  “Did George keep in contact with any friends in Boston?” I ask.

  “Yes, he did. The last time he was here, in June, they all got together. There was Allison’s brother Alex... I have to think about this. My mind is drawing a blank. I’ll look at his college and high school yearbooks and find them. Or maybe they’ll come to me in the middle of the night.”

  “You have my email address. Send me any names you think of and addresses if you have them. I want to talk to all his friends. Maybe someone will know more.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Pratt. I’m glad you’re working on this. Did you ask Allison if it’s okay for us to split the cost?”

  “No, I haven’t asked.”

  “I’ll pay, Mrs. Stark,” Allison says. “We’ll find them both.”

  “No, dear. We want to contribute.”

  I don’t want to hear this argument, so I wander down the beach, listening to the water lap against the sand. I’m not sure if any of this information I’m gathering will help find Alex and George. How do you track an unknown man on an unknown sailboat to an unknown destination? Maybe I’m not cut out for this job.

  And all without working communicatons. I need a smartphone. A waterproof speaker phone with a camera...and a warranty that covers wind, fire, water, and automobile accidents...including being run over...and a spare for when the first one dies. That should cover it.

  Guess I think I’m rich with two clients fighting over who pays. That ten-thousand-dollar check should cover it. Have to remember to deposit it tomorrow.

  As I turn back toward the house, my cell rings in my pocket. How can that be? It’s dead, and I turned it off, didn’t I? Well, there go my dreams of the newest technology.

  I flip it open and listen, not saying anything.

  “Hey, Pratt. That you?”

  “Hey, Jeremy.”

  “Your phone’s working.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Is it okay if Big Jim and I stop by to see how the stranded seafarers are doing?”

  Big Jim. Mom will be happy.

  “Does that leave me out? I wasn’t stranded.”

  “I might say hi.”

  “You know where to find me.”

  Chapter 12

  When I get back to the house, Allison and Bert are head-to-head, yakking it up on the porch. “Where’s Mom?”

  “Taking a shower. Washing Monica away,” Bert answers.

  “You don’t seem too broken up about her leaving.”

  “I shouldn’t have brought her here.”

  “Sure can pick ’em, Bertram.”

  “Don’t see you picking anyone at all, Ernestine.”

  “One of my guys is coming over right now.”

  “Thorpe?” Bert asks.

  “Sheriff’s Deputy Thorpe.” Is that right? I don’t even know what his rank is. I know little about this man, except he’s a cop...and a hunk.

  “He’s not bad for a cop.�
�� Bert shrugs. “When I hear ‘sheriff’ I think of those movies with good old boys being chased by the sheriff across the South. They’re not real to me.”

  “Your namesake, Burt Reynolds, used to make a lot of those movies.”

  “I can picture you being chased by the sheriff, Ernie, more than I can picture Bert,” Allison says.

  “Yeah,” Bert adds. “Ernie in a high-speed chase across Florida with Sheriff’s Deputy Thorpe in hot pursuit.”

  Allison gives a little snort.

  “What’s funny?” I ask.

  “You two. The way you bicker. It’s so cool. Reminds me of Alex and me.” Her smile disappears, replaced by a faraway look. I need to find her brother.

  I give Bert’s shoulder a shove as I walk past. “Gotta warn Mom. Be right back. You owe me the Monica story.”

  The shower is running. I bang on the bathroom door and open it a crack so Mom can hear me. “Jeremy’s bringing Big Jim over. Thought you’d like to know. You can spruce up a bit, hide the wrinkles.” Mom and I are like old friends. She played the mother role well when Bert and I were kids, but since I’ve moved in with her, we’re more like buddies.

  She sticks her hand around the shower curtain and gives me the finger. Not a nice gesture for a mom or a buddy.

  I grab a soda on my way through the kitchen. “Tell me about your day. I want to hear the Monica story.”

  “She was her usual sullen self,” Bert says. “The trouble started when ‘Captain’ Allison started giving orders.”

  “Oh, no. The trouble started when you laughed at her,” Allison says.

  “She yelled at Mom,” Bert says. “Can you imagine anyone yelling at Mom?”

  “Children are to be seen and not heard,” Mom says as she joins us. “At least when mothers are giving lectures.” She’s wearing a casual red-flowered dress that reaches her ankles and red sandals. She looks great. Must be for Big Jim. I give her a thumbs up, nicer than the finger she waved at me.

  The Monica stories continue, exaggerated I’m sure, about her inability to sail, her little fits of temper, how she finally hid in the cabin because her skin couldn’t tolerate the sun. All three were relieved when she disappeared. I’m beginning to almost feel sorry for Monica.

  “At least she didn’t get seasick,” I comment.

  “She was a little green in the beginning, but she managed not to lose it.”

  An argument starts about who was responsible for the grounding. Bert was at the wheel, Mom was reading charts, and Allison was on the bow looking for sandbars, boats, and such.

  “Sounds like you were all at fault.”

  Three faces glare at me.

  “When we hit the sandbar, Monica emerged from the cabin screaming. Wanted to know if we were going to sink. Said she couldn’t swim.” This is Mom talking. “I gave her a life vest and she threw it in the water, saying, ‘I won’t wear one of those ugly things.’” Mom does a perfect impression of Monica’s voice. Even the Chicago-New York accent.

  Bert jumps in. “So Mom, very calmly, told Monica to get her butt back in the cabin before she threw her overboard. That’s Monica she called the Coast Guard.”

  “That’s the last we saw of Monica until you arrived, and she came on deck to protect Bert,” Allison adds.

  “What happened tonight, Bert? What was the big fight?” I ask.

  “She wanted both of us to return to New York. I said we could wait ’til Tuesday. Didn’t think we could get a flight. She said she didn’t care; she’d sleep in the airport if she had to. I said go ahead.”

  “How was the boat ride to Fort Myers?” I ask.

  “Quiet.”

  We all laugh.

  “Are you going to see her back in New York?” I ask.

  “Doubt if she would see me, even if I wanted to.”

  “Well, there’s that.”

  We have visitors. Jeremy and Big Jim have arrived. Both in shorts, no uniforms tonight.

  “Hey, Thorpe.”

  “Hey, Pratt.” He nods toward Jim. “This is Jim Mackel, for those of you who haven’t met.”

  “This is Allison Martinelli and my brother Bert. And you know my mother, Jessica.”

  “What would you two boys like to drink?” Mom asks. “Have you eaten?”

  The two deputies trail after her into the kitchen. She looks like a child next to the “boys.” Mom, at barely five feet, has a hard time making a hundred pounds, fully clothed, outside in the winter up north. They return, loaded with sandwiches, beer, chips, and salsa. Big Jim is smiling down at Mom, and she’s smiling up at him. I cannot imagine those two together. If they ever had sex... Jeez, Pratt! What are you doing thinking about your mom having sex?

  “Close your mouth, Ernie, and quit staring. What are you thinking?” Mom talks quietly in my ear.

  “Having some weird thoughts.”

  “I can imagine.” She grins at me and goes back to Big Jim. It’s not always good to have a mother who can read your mind.

  Talk drifts to Allison’s brother Alex, and I repeat what I found out at Fort Myers Beach. Allison tells about the call to George’s parents. No one mentions Monica or the sailboat ride again.

  “Is there any way to track a charter from Bonita Springs last July?” I ask.

  “If they’re a legitimate business, they’d be registered with the county,” Jeremy answers. “We could check. But Bonita is in both Collier and Lee counties.”

  “You’ll have to do some footwork, even if we get names.” Big Jim’s high voice always startles me. It seems so incompatible with that body.

  “Yeah, me and my trusty phone.”

  “What happened to it this time, Pratt?” Jeremy asks.

  “I jumped in the water to save these poor souls.”

  “With your cell in your pocket,” Jeremy finishes for me.

  “Yup. But it’s working. I dried it in the oven.”

  Jeremy rolls his eyes.

  “Hey, maybe that’ll work with mine.” Bert gets up and goes into the kitchen. I forgot. He drowned his phone, too.

  “Were any other missing kids reported around the time George and Alex disappeared?” I ask.

  “Have to check the records,” Thorpe says. “But they’re not kids, they’re adults.”

  “Did you find a report on George Stark?”

  “Yeah. It was filed away, nothing ever done on it, not even entered into the computer. Most of these kids reported missing are down here partying.” I notice Jeremy calls them kids, too, even after correcting me. “Especially on Fort Myers Beach. If they’re not underage, usually nothing gets done about them.”

  “Does that go for girls as well as boys?” Allison asks.

  “We might pay a little more attention if they’re female,” Jim answers. “But they get swept under the rug, too. They’re here to party. They don’t always call home.”

  I drop out of the conversation. What can I do to find Alex and George? Talk to people who knew them. Find the sailboat charter. George’s telephone records might turn up something. Not much of a plan. I don’t have high hopes of finding them. Maybe Jeremy and I could island hop the Caribbean looking for them.

  Dream on, Pratt

  .

  Monday

  Chapter 13

  Mid-morning sun fills my bedroom. The ceiling fan light is on, too. Max must have tried to wake me and failed. Jeremy and Big Jim didn’t leave until one in the morning. Don’t know what time I crashed.

  I crawl out of bed, hit the shower, dress, and head for the social center of the house. Why is it when we have this huge living room, everyone ends up hanging in the kitchen? Allison is alone at the table, drinking coffee, reading one of my mom’s books. When I say one of her books, I mean she wrote it.

  Did I tell you Mom’s a writer? She writes for magazines and the island newspaper, which is a couple of sheets of paper they give away at the post office and local stores. Mom and her friend Millie pay for it by selling ads. When anything’s happening, she also writes about our
little island for the Sanibel and Fort Myers papers. Like the Cuban refugee story. It was even picked up in a Miami paper. Apparently, the news media didn’t have the story. It’s unusual for Cubans to land on the west coast of Florida. She also writes romance novels under an alias, or whatever they call it in the literary world. Nom de plume? Funny how writers use fake names, like criminals. I guess they don’t want to admit to writing that stuff. Whatever. She’s a creative lady, my mother.

  “Morning, Allison. Where’s Mom?”

  “She went to her room for something different to wear. Big Jim’s coming to see her.”

  I’m glad Mom and Big Jim are hitting it off. She hasn’t been dating anyone lately. “What about Bert?”

  “Sleeping, I guess. Or maybe he flew back to New York to make up with Monica.” She looks up with a crooked smile.

  “Yeah, right.”

  Mom arrives in the kitchen wearing a sharp looking blue blouse and sparkling white, pressed shorts. Her short dark hair looks blow-dried. She normally showers and lets it fall where it may. She’s added a touch of makeup, which is unusual for her. She doesn’t look anywhere near her fifty years. I wonder how old Big Jim is. If I had to guess, I’d say forty-five. Ah, we Pratt women like them young. How old is Jeremy?

  “You gals plan on using the sailboat today?” Mom asks. “Jim and I might take it out.”

  “No, I have work to do. How about you Allison? Do you want to be a third and get in their way?”

  “No, I wouldn’t dream of coming between them.” She smiles at Mom. There’s a sadness in her eyes this morning. She must be thinking about Brother Alex.

  “I need to get on the computer and do some digging about your brother. I know I promised we’d retrieve your bags today. Can it wait ’til this afternoon?”

  “It can wait. I’ll hang at the beach and read. I want you to dig, find whatever you can. If you need an extra hand, let me know.”

  “What are you doing, Mom?” She’s stirring something in a bowl.

  “Making muffins.”

  “We could get some at Billy Sue’s. Not that I don’t trust your cooking.”

  “I can cook, Ernestine.” She’s pouring the batter in a muffin tin I didn’t know she owned.