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

by J. C. Ferguson

“You should have seen him in action when he smashed Ernie’s car.” Susan’s eyes open wide.

  “Oh, no one was in it at the time.”

  “You can tell that story later, Allison,” I tell her. “I want to hear the current stuff.”

  Bert and I grab a couple extra chairs from the kitchen. Susan takes my place on the couch next to Jeremy. I guess she’s accepted him as her protector. We all huddle around listening to the latest stories like campers around a fire. Who needs television?

  Susan tells us she came home tonight to find Lucky “dead” and her apartment ransacked. She’s not a very good storyteller. I have to ask questions. “Where were you?”

  “At the grocery store.”

  “Did you go to the beach house? Anywhere else? Was anyone following you?” I don’t understand how anyone found her.

  “Oh, I went there to get my stuff.” I hope she wasn’t picking up drugs. I may ransack her belongings later.

  “And I went to work at the bank this morning. They made me do the Saturday morning shift because I left on Friday.”

  “I thought the manager was going to give you sick time,” Jeremy says.

  “You know how that goes.” She shrugs.

  “Was anything missing from your apartment?”

  “I don’t think so. I was too worried about Lucky.”

  “Where is he?” Mom asks.

  Half of us search for him. He’s asleep in the middle of Susan’s bed with his head in her open suitcase. We all trail into the living room to play musical chairs again.

  Jeremy continues the story. “When I got to her apartment, Lucky was awake and Susan was putting things away.”

  “Do you know who did it?” I ask.

  “No, but the cops were dusting for prints when we left.”

  “Can somebody tell me about the alligator guy?” I ask.

  “Alligator guy?”

  “The one that got chased from the mangroves by a gator this afternoon.” I settle on the floor in front of Jeremy’s legs. “Did he tell you what they were doing on the island?”

  “We think he’s the third man Susan identified. One of the two we couldn’t match,” Jeremy answers. “He’s not from Miami. He’s from New England. That’s why Susan couldn’t find him in the Florida photos.”

  “What were they looking for? Manuel?” Bert asks.

  “No, drugs. When we listed all the crimes he could be convicted of and mentioned capital punishment, he sang like a bird.”

  “Did he know about the kidnapped Cubans?” Mom asks. “What about Manuel’s mother?”

  “He claims they weren’t involved. Said it was the Colombians. This guy only knew drugs disappeared somewhere between Cuba and Florida.”

  Questions come from everyone in the room. “What drugs are missing?” “What does it have to do with the Cubans?” “What’s the connection to Susan and the beach house?” “Where does the sailboat fit in?”

  “Whoa!” Jeremy holds up his hands.

  “Wait.” Mom leaves the room. She returns with her laptop and starts typing.

  “What are you doing, Jessica?” Big Jim asks.

  “I’m writing a story for the papers.”

  “Can you skip some of the sensitive information?”

  “Yes, I’ll let you read it. But I want the world to know Manuel’s mother has been kidnapped. I want the kidnappers to know it’s not going to get them anything. Maybe they’ll let them go.”

  “Or they might kill them if they haven’t already,” Jim says.

  That gives me a chill. “What drugs are they looking for?”

  “A large shipment of cocaine.” Jeremy answers.

  “Tell me the connection to the sailboat,” Allison says. Of course, she’s thinking about Alex.

  “You have to understand this is all unofficial. It’s the story we got from the man we picked up here today.” Jim gives Mom the hairy eyeball. She smiles and keeps on typing.

  “It appears that the sailboat Distraction, which brought the Cubans, was carrying the cocaine. The connection to Susan and the beach house is the crew of the sailboat. They didn’t live at the beach house, but they hung out there and one of them was dating Susan.” Jim nods toward Susan. Of course, Jim has as much information as Jeremy. Why didn’t I ask him before? Because he was sleeping, Pratt. Duh!

  Jeremy jumps in. “Apparently when the Cuban refugees transferred to the fishing boat, they were supposed to bring the drugs with them. When they reached the island, there was no coke. The refugees claimed they knew nothing about the shipment. The sailboat was long gone. So, the fishing boat kept Manuel, then came back to the beach a couple of days later, in hopes of finding the drugs. Manuel jumped overboard. They figured he drowned, but let the refugees think he was still being held hostage.”

  Now that makes sense. Manuel couldn’t have survived so long on the beach alone. “What about the guy we saw in Miami? How did he get over here?”

  “He was watching the refugees,” Jeremy says. “He heard some of them had returned here, so he and a buddy came over from Miami and met with a couple of guys from New England. They had names and old addresses for the sailboat crew, and they were also looking for Manuel’s mother and uncle. And there was no sign of the Distraction or her crew. So they came back to the island to look one more time for a stash. They figured there was no way the Cubans could have kept drugs when they were moved to Miami. But they could have left them on the island.”

  “What about the break-in at Susan’s tonight?” I ask.

  “When Susan went to the beach house, someone probably spotted her and followed. Might be the men we didn’t catch here. Could be someone else entirely.”

  I’m more confused than when they started explaining. Some of this doesn’t add up.

  “What happened to the Cubans who are missing?” I ask. “What about Manuel’s mother?”

  “Alligator guy,” Jeremy’s picked up my use of the nickname, “claims they don’t know what happened to them. He thinks they were abducted by the Colombians.”

  “These guys don’t sound like very efficient crooks,” Bert says.

  “Probably not, but the Colombian drug dealers will be much more dangerous.”

  I let all this boil in my brain, but all I’m getting is soup, no answers. I’ll sleep on it. Maybe it will make sense in the morning.

  “Jeremy, tell me about Gorilla Bob and then I can get some sleep.”

  “Gorilla Bob is in jail. They charged him with drunk driving, leaving the scene, attempted manslaughter, everything the DA could think of that might fit. It could have been vehicular homicide, but luckily the old man in the Cadillac wasn’t badly hurt. The Caddy was totaled and three other cars were damaged. The first time, when Gorilla Bob destroyed your car, it was kind of a joke. The judge no longer considers him funny.”

  I didn’t think he was funny when he killed my poor little Bug. “How did he leave the scene?”

  “His Explorer was running, but not for long. It died less than mile away. The cops found him standing in the road kicking the side of his own car.”

  That leaves us all smiling as we head for beds and sleep.

  Sunday

  Chapter 34

  I wake with a heavy object across my chest. My bed is queen-size but Jeremy is king-size and his arm has me pinned as he sprawls. I manage to crawl from under and run for the bathroom. Gotta go right now!

  The door is closed and the shower is running. I crack the door. “Mom?”

  Someone is singing in the shower, a high beautiful tenor singing “Magic.” Big Jim.

  I close the door and head for the other end of the house, almost tripping over a lump in the middle of the living room, catching myself before I crash. It’s Lucky wrapped around Mindy and Max who sleep peacefully next to his belly. Don’t know who let the cats in, but I see there’s no need to worry about fights.

  Bert emerges out of the other bathroom, and Susan is waiting. I scoot in before her. “Only be a minute.” If we’re g
oing to run a boarding house, we need more baths.

  On the way to my room, I hear “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” emanating from the bathroom.

  My intentions are to crawl into bed, but it seems every inch of it is occupied. If I wake Jeremy... uummmm... But we are not exactly quiet, and Mom and Big Jim are in the next room. They probably couldn’t hear us. The bathroom is between us and I can’t even hear Jim singing unless I go into the hall. But the thought of having sex in my mother’s house drives my guilt meter to one hundred, even if I am going on thirty and it’s my house, too.

  A shower can wait until bathrooms are empty. I pull off the T-shirt I slept in and inspect my bruises in the mirror. The one on my forehead is barely a shadow, my arm is healing, and my back shows faint green and yellow. When I look at Jeremy he’s leering. I give him a smooch and he pulls me into the bed. So much for no sex in Mom’s house.

  By the time we are showered and dressed and hit the kitchen, everyone is sitting around the table eating scrambled eggs, sausage, and grits. If Bert lived here full time, I’d be fat. Mindy, Max, and Lucky are under the table waiting patiently for food to drop. Eight people, two cats, and a dog around our table is a bit crowded.

  Conversation crisscrosses the table, two or three going all the time. It makes my head spin.

  “Who’s going to take me to the airport this afternoon?” Bert asks. Allison, Big Jim, and Jeremy all offer.

  I wave my hands. “Okay, who’s planning to do what today?”

  “I have to work this afternoon,” Jeremy says. “Could easily drop Bert at the airport. It’s on my beat.”

  “I’m assigned to watch Jessica and Manuel, but we could take a trip to the airport.” Jim grins. I have a feeling watching them is one of his favorite assignments.

  Allison looks like she wants to go all the way to New York with Bert.

  “Susan?”

  She looks lost and says nothing.

  “Jim, we should officially add Susan to your group,” Jeremy says.

  “Yeah, I’ll call it in. It looks like the same people are after Susan and Manuel.”

  “I’d like to talk to Alligator Guy about the crew of the sailboat. Do you think I can see him?” I ask.

  “Oh, can I go, too?” Allison asks.

  Jeremy shakes his head. “Not a good idea.”

  “I’d like to take Manuel shopping,” Mom says. “Some of the donated clothes don’t fit.”

  Susan finally speaks. “Can I stay here on the beach with Lucky and do nothing?” Her voice is tiny. She’s shrinking into herself again.

  After some heated discussion of who goes where with whom and what boats to take where, Big Jim and Mom decide to stay home with Susan and Manuel. Mom can shop another day. Jeremy gives in about Allison and me interviewing Alligator Guy. He’ll take us to Fort Myers, where we can use his car or Allison’s rental to drive to the airport, drop off Bert, and then go directly to jail. Do not pass go.

  #

  “Someone is following us,” Bert says.

  “How can you tell?” I ask. Tons of traffic is headed for the airport. I’m driving Jeremy’s Supra. No one would know it was me. Maybe they think it’s Jeremy, but who would follow a cop.

  “See that yellow Hummer? It’s been right behind us a long time.”

  I change lanes, the big SUV changes lanes. I speed up, it speeds up, slow down and so does the Hummer. What if it’s one of the drug guys?

  We pull into short-term parking because Allison wants to go inside with Bert. Waiting for the traffic to stop in front of the terminal, I spot the Hummer parked at the curb, apparently dropping off someone. Guess it wasn’t following us.

  The woman directing traffic signals us to cross. Tires screech. I look around and a yellow monster is headed for us. The traffic guard steps in front of it and blows a whistle. I grab Bert and Allison and dive for the sidewalk. The Hummer hits the guard and she flies through the air. I hear a shot fired. The SUV keeps going with a flat tire. A sheriff’s cruiser takes off after it. Damn! What was that all about? This job is scarier than I thought it would be.

  I dial 911 while running to the woman on the ground. She’s alive, staring at me, her mouth open, trying to talk.

  “Hit and run accident in front of the terminal at Southwest International, departures. A traffic guard was hit. Need an ambulance,” I tell the emergency operator.

  “Don’t move,” I say to the woman.

  “I’m okay.” She tries to sit up.

  “Stay there. Wait for the EMTs.”

  “Idiot drivers. At least he wasn’t going fast.”

  Another cruiser pulls in next to us and Jeremy pops out. “What the hell happened, Pratt?”

  “Some nut job tried to run us over and she got in the way. I think she’s going to be all right.”

  “Yellow Hummer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re chasing it on Daniels Parkway. He’s doing a hundred with a flat tire.”

  The EMTs arrive, and Jeremy and I head for the terminal. Bert and Allison are plastered against the building looking stunned.

  “I told you we were being followed,” Bert says.

  “Guess you were right.”

  Jeremy stops to talk to the airport cops. Bert, Allison, and I go inside as far as security will let us. I wait while Bert and Allison smooch it up. I don’t want to leave her alone right now, not knowing what’s happening or who tried to run over us. As soon as Bert tears himself away, Allison and I head for the front of the building. The EMTs have gone with the injured woman. Jeremy is interviewing witnesses. He waves us over.

  “You two come with me to headquarters to make a statement.”

  “Why are you dragging us in? You’re not taking all these people, are you?” I wave my arm at the crowd. Part of me wants to go with him to see what’s happening, and part of me feels picked on because we have to go into the station.

  “I thought you might want to identify your attacker when they catch him.”

  “I didn’t even see who was in the Hummer. I can’t identify him. How do you know he was attacking us?”

  “Get in the car, Pratt. You’re dying to find out what’s going on. I’m doing you a favor.”

  Allison and I climb into the cruiser. I know I’m being stubborn. I don’t like being told what to do. I want to go downtown to the jail and interview Alligator Guy, not fill out more dumb papers.

  “What about your Supra? It’s in short-term parking.”

  “It’s a cop’s car. Won’t have to pay. I’ll bring you back later. No way to leave here right now if you’re not in a cruiser. All traffic is stopped.”

  Daniels is a parking lot, nothing moves. Jeremy swings around it all with his lights flashing. The cause of the tie-up is the yellow Hummer, which has taken down a telephone pole and dumped it in the street.

  Six cruisers circle the Hummer, and half a dozen cops try to subdue a hulk on the ground. Gorilla Bob!

  “Damn! I thought he was in jail.” I sigh with relief. No drug dealers, just Gorilla Bob.

  “Out on bail again. I guess the judge thinks he’s harmless.” Jeremy shakes his head.

  The Hummer doesn’t look damaged except for a torn up tire.

  “Who shot the tire on the Hummer?” I ask.

  “Probably Deputy MacLean, the officer on the scene.”

  We drive on by. Enough cops there already.

  “There’s something I don’t understand.”

  “What’s that, Pratt?”

  “How can someone who’s been fired from The Phone Booth afford a Hummer? And how can he afford to keep posting bail?”

  “Doesn’t everyone have a mother who loves them? The Hummer belongs to her and she posts bail.”

  “Really?”

  “I made it up, Pratt. How the hell do I know? Maybe he stole the Hummer.”

  Chapter 35

  At Lee County Sheriff’s Headquarters, Allison and I fill out reports on the craziness at the airport, while Jeremy disappe
ars to take care of business. Police reports are becoming routine. What does that say about your life, Pratt?

  Jeremy returns with some awful coffee, and looks over the reports. “Hey, Pratt. Allison says the Hummer was following you on the way to the airport.”

  “Yeah, I forgot to mention that. Bert spotted it first and I couldn’t shake it. I guess that should have been a clue. And Gorilla Bob knew your car from the other day in front of KMart.”

  He hands me the paper and I scribble in a line about trying to lose the Hummer.

  “Can we go interview Alligator Guy?”

  “I made arrangements for you to get in to see him. You want to collect the Supra at the airport before or after?”

  “Doesn’t matter, as long as you’ll be available to spring us from jail.” I bat my eyelashes.

  Daniels Parkway is still tied up, making the decision easy. Off to jail we go. In the parking lot, there’s a flurry of activity. Two cops are dragging Gorilla Bob. His eyes aren’t focused and his tongue is hanging out. My guess is they tasered him a few times. Makes me almost feel sorry for the guy. Come on, Pratt. How can you feel sorry for the guy who killed your car?

  It feels creepy, claustrophobic, inside the jail, even though I know I can leave. Alligator Guy’s name is Sam Palmieri. His perfect white teeth, manicured nails, and stylish haircut surprise me. He speaks the oh-so-perfect English of the upper class Northeast. He’s not what I picture as a drug dealer, or someone running out of the mangroves with a gator on his tail. A cartoon flashes in my brain of this guy in a tux running through the swamp with a gator attached to his bum.

  “Harvard?” I ask him in my best Boston accent.

  “Brown and Yale,” he answers. “And you, Ms. Pratt?”

  “MIT.” I don’t usually advertise that fact. It adds to my geek status. “What’s a classy guy like you doing chasing drugs in Florida?”

  “It was a favor for a friend.”

  “I want to know about the crew on the sailboat, Distraction. I’ve been trying to track some missing persons and they might be on that boat.”

  “Ms. Pratt, you must be joking. Why would I disclose who was on the sailboat unless I hired you to find them for my friend. I must warn you that if he finds them, it is likely the crew will encounter some difficulty.” The understatement of the year. He maintains the perfect gentleman routine, but it doesn’t fit with his orange jumper.