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

by J. C. Ferguson

  “Whoa, ladies. One at a time.”

  “George?” Susan asks.

  “They’re questioning him, but I don’t think they’ll keep him. It will take some time, though. He has a lot to tell.”

  “What about the body in Bonita?” Mom rolls her eyes. “Can I write any of this for the papers?”

  The ongoing saga has been a boost to her news reporter status. She has the inside scoop. Right now, I’ll bet she could get a job at the Fort Myers News-Press, the Miami Herald, or any of the local TV stations. Through the papers and TV news, she’s let the world know that Manuel’s mother has been abducted. The cops have been getting calls about sightings. None of them real.

  “Write all you want, but run it by me.” Big Jim keeps a lid on it.

  “Nothing was found at Jack Farrell’s house. It was clean as a whistle, no body, no boat, no Jack Farrell. They did find blood on the living room carpet, even after the cleaning. CSI stuff.” He says that with a straight face.

  “Was his car there?”

  “No, his car was gone and the boat was gone.”

  “What do you think happened?” Allison doesn’t wait for an answer. She speculates. “Farrell went back and cleaned and took his boat to dump the body. But then where’s his car? Maybe the killers returned and shot him, too. Took the boat and dumped them both. Got rid of the car. Or maybe he didn’t return to the house and the killers took the boat.” She’s thinking up stories as she goes. She’ll have a novel in her head by the time she’s finished. Such a storyteller.

  Jim rolls his eyes. “Maybe we’ll know more after they finish checking the house.”

  “Has anyone talked to Farrell’s ex?” I ask.

  “No one mentioned it.”

  “He has kids. I heard he was very attached to them.”

  “Do you know where she lives?” Jim asks.

  “In Naples. I was going to visit but haven’t gotten around to it. The address is in his missing person file. She’s the one who reported him missing.”

  “I’m sure the police must have contacted her.”

  “Ernie, let’s drive down and interview her tomorrow,” Mom says.

  “I don’t think that’s a great idea, Jessica.” Big Jim, her protector. I guess all cops have the protector gene.

  “You could go with us,” Mom offers.

  “What’re you going to do with Manuel? You’re not taking him with you, are you?”

  “No, he can stay here with the girls.” She waves her arm at Allison and Susan. “And some other cops can watch the place.”

  “The Naples Police will check on her.”

  “Mom, I don’t have a car.” I’m itching to go with her to Naples, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea, either.

  “You can use my rental,” Allison offers.

  Big Jim throws his arms in the air, plops himself in the recliner, and turns on the television. “If you insist on going, I’ll take you.”

  Tuesday

  Chapter 40

  I wake to the “Wild Thing” playing on my cell. I need to fathom how Thorpe programed it.

  “Hullo.”

  “Hey, Pratt. Are you awake?” Jeremy.

  “Am now. What time is it? It’s still dark.”

  “About two-thirty.”

  “Aarrggghhh... Why are you calling me?”

  “I have a dilemma.”

  I snore into the phone.

  “Pratt. Listen to me. They’re releasing George. Do you want to keep track of him?”

  “Sure, keep track of him.”

  “Can’t unless we give him a place to stay. He’s homeless. He’s been sleeping on the beach.”

  “Take him home with you, or send him to his mama in Boston.” I couldn’t care less right now.

  “I don’t want to keep him at my place. I’m not there most of the time.”

  “You were more than willing to take in Susan. But I guess George isn’t a damsel in distress.”

  He ignores my jab. “You know the solution to this problem. What’s one more guest at your house?”

  “Mom will kill me.”

  “I’ll bring him over in the morning.”

  “I’m going to Naples with Mom and Big Jim.”

  “Why?”

  “To talk to Jack Farrell’s wife.”

  Silence.

  “You there, Jeremy?”

  “Let me check something. I’ll call you back.”

  “Not tonight,” I plead. But he’s gone.

  #

  My phone plays “Honky Tonk Woman” right next to my ear on the pillow.

  “Uhh...”

  “The Naples Police already visited Mrs. Farrell. She hasn’t seen or heard from her ex.”

  “Yeah, she would say that. But Mom wants to interview her.”

  “Don’t go anywhere before I get there.”

  #

  Strong hands massage my shoulders. I don’t even bother to open my eyes. I know Jeremy’s touch. Nice way to wake up if you want to. I want to go back to sleep.

  “Guess I didn’t need to worry about you leaving before I got here,” he says.

  I roll onto my side and open one eye. “Is anyone else up?”

  “Susan, Allison, Manuel, and the dog are at the beach. I left George with them.”

  “I’d better get going before Mom discovers our new guest. Does he need anything? Clothes, money?”

  “He said something about a storage unit, but who knows if there’s anything useful in there.”

  “He looked pretty scruffy last night.”

  “Still does. He’s wearing the same clothes. Mine won’t fit.”

  “I’ll bet those tiny-butt jeans of yours would fit.” I reach around and grab his tiny butt. Not a good idea, I don’t want to start anything now. I roll off of bed.

  After my shower, I find Jeremy sitting at the kitchen table with Mom and Big Jim. They’re talking about going to Naples.

  “I have the day off. I could drive Jessica and Ernie,” Jeremy offers.

  “You stay here and do guard duty, let me take a trip for a change.” Jim must be getting cabin fever.

  Mom goes for coffee and looks out the window. “Who’s the blond girl at the beach?”

  I look to see who she’s talking about. “That’s George Stark, Mom. Not a girl.”

  “He has pretty hair for a boy.”

  He turns his head and I can see he’s shaved since last night. He almost looks like a girl.

  “What’s he doing here?” Mom asks.

  “He’s homeless.”

  She gives a sigh and returns to the table. “I guess he might as well stay. What’s one more stray?” She’s taking it better than I expected.

  “Who’s driving to Naples?” she asks.

  “Jim. I’ll stay with the lost souls,” Jeremy answers.

  “Before we take off, catch me up on what happened last night. Who was that guy in the parking lot?” I ask.

  “He was an associate of Palmieri’s,” Jeremy answers. “Name’s Reny Silva.”

  “A ‘gansta’ from Rhode Island?”

  “Yup.”

  “Does he match one of the drawings Susan did with the police artist?”

  “Possibly.”

  Wow! They’re all connected. Four guys on our island, four guys at the beach house, Miami guy watching our Cubans. One’s dead, two are in jail.

  “The other one she ID’d, what’s his name, Dante? Did you find him, yet? Were ‘Gansta’ guy and Miami guy on our island with Palmieri? Did they have anything to do with Manuel’s mom disappearing?”

  “Didn’t find Dante, don’t know who was on island, and don’t know about Manuel’s mom.” Thorpe, a man of few words

  That means there’s at least one of the bad guys somewhere out there. I guess Big Jim will be around for awhile. And we need to find Manuel’s mother.

  “What did you hear from George?” I ask.

  “He told us they brought the Cubans, Manuel’s group, in Farrell’s sloop.” Jeremy
says. “Said there was a request to bring in drugs, which they declined, but people on this end thought they had accepted the job and stolen the drugs. That’s why Bruce Mondrone was shot.”

  “Did he tell you what they’ve been doing for the last six months?” I ask.

  “Island hopping. Brought some Cubans to the Keys. Is there more?”

  Should I tell him? “Ask George.”

  He rolls his eyes. I’m sure he suspects there is more.

  “What about Bruce Mondrone? Could George identify his killer?” I ask.

  “Kind of vague. Another Colombian hit man, maybe. In fact, two of them.”

  “I wonder why they didn’t shoot Farrell and George,” Mom says.

  “Maybe because they hope to get their coke.”

  “Is George being charged with anything?” I ask.

  “Oh, nothing much,” Jeremy answers. “Smuggling Cubans, not reporting a crime, resisting arrest.”

  I roll my eyes. “I guess he won’t be going home to Boston soon.” I need to call George’s parents if he hasn’t called them.

  “Actually, they didn’t charge him. He’s just a scared kid. He was very cooperative at the station, so they let him off for now.”

  “I have my doubts about those drugs they refused to transport,” Jim says.

  “Right,” Jeremy agrees. “The Colombians must be really upset about those missing drugs. And whoever asked them to smuggle the coke probably didn't casually take no for an answer.”

  “Do you think Farrell has the cocaine?” I ask.

  Jeremy shrugs.

  “By the way, did George tell you where we can find Allison’s brother?” That’s my main job—finding Alex Rodgers. “They left him in the Caymans, but he’s no longer there,” Jeremy says. Same thing George told us last night. None of this is new.

  I need to call that dive shop to see if they know where he is. Why don’t I feel like I’ve finished my job when one of the people is found, and the other is only a call or two away? I want to find Alex and reunite him with Allison. But I have too many unanswered questions. I want to solve the whole thing. I want to know why people are being killed and kidnapped. Who killed Bruce Mondrone? Where are the drugs? Where is Jack Farrell? Where is Manuel’s mother?

  Chapter 41

  At the water, George and Allison are talking up a storm. Susan is snuggled into George; I guess they’re a couple again.

  “Hey, George, have you called your mother?”

  “I don’t have a phone.”

  “What happened to it? They’re still billing you.”

  “Lost it somewhere along the way.”

  “You’d better have it turned off or someone will be making free calls on your dime.” I hold mine out to him. “Do you remember your mom’s number? If not, I can dial for you.”

  He hesitates, doesn’t take it.

  “I know you must feel guilty for neglecting them, but they would like to know you’re safe.” I push the phone at him.

  “I don’t want to tell them what I’ve been doing.”

  “Don’t tell them.”

  I dial the number.

  “Mrs. Stark, this is Ernie Pratt. I have someone here you’d like to talk to.” I hand the phone to George.

  “Hi, Mom.” He wanders along the beach with my mobile. Oh, no! I hope he doesn’t lose it.

  “One down, two to go.” I sit in the chair he vacated.

  “Two to go?” Allison looks puzzled.

  “Alex and Manuel’s mother. I think Alex is in the Bahamas.”

  Allison jumps up and screams, “You found him!”

  “No, but the money trail leads to the Bahamas. We’ll have to get the bank to tell us where he is or whoever is taking money out of his account. Between the Dive Shop that George told us about and the banks, we should be able to track him.”

  “Let’s go. I’ll pack my bag.” She heads toward the house.

  “Allison, wait. I need more information before we run off. And I’m trying to find Manuel’s mom.”

  “Other people are looking for her.” Allison gives me a look. I know her priorities. My first priority is finding Manuel’s mother. But I’d better not tell her that.

  “Mamá?” Manuel looks up from playing with the dog.

  Me and my big mouth. “Not yet, Manuel. But we’re looking.”

  #

  Big Jim decides to take his patrol boat. Farrell’s wife owns a dress shop on the Naples waterfront, and it’s not far to her home. It’s faster than fighting traffic, but you don’t want to sit long in a boat slapping across the chop at forty or fifty miles an hour. When we reach Naples Bay, Jim slows the boat to a crawl and my spine says thank you.

  We dock the boat at Tin City, the oldest shopping area in Naples. Carlotta Farrell’s dress shop is small enough that it feels crowded when the three of us enter, but Big Jim fills any space. At least he’s not in uniform, which makes him more imposing.

  “I’m looking for Carlotta Farrell,” Mom says to the girl behind the counter.

  “She left for lunch. Can I help you?”

  “I’m from the newspaper. I have an appointment for an interview with her.” If Mom had an appointment, I didn’t hear her make it.

  “Oh? Were you supposed to meet her at home? She seemed to be in a hurry.”

  “Possibly. I thought she said to meet her here. Is it far to her house?”

  I snoop around while Mom gets directions and asks questions about the shop. I already have the address, only a few blocks away, but I let her do her reporter thing. Photos hang behind the counter, one of the family together—blond father, dark mother, with two girls and a boy who resemble their mother. The woman has brown smiling eyes.

  Mom finishes her talk and leaves. Big Jim and I trail along after her to Fifth Avenue, the revitalized shopping area of Olde Naples. Many shops have condos or apartments above them. Carlotta Farrell’s address is over a restaurant. The woman in the photo answers the door, but her eyes are not smiling.

  “Ms. Farrell, I’m Ernie Pratt.” I hand her my PI card. “I’m looking for a young man who crewed on your husband’s sailboat.”

  “I know nothing about my ex-husband’s sailing.” She starts to close the door.

  Mom steps forward and exudes her charm, offering her hand, which Carlotta ignores. “I’m Jessica, a freelance reporter.”

  Carlotta looks at Big Jim. “And who are you?”

  “Jim Mackel, ma’am. I’m just tagging along.” He gives her a smile. No mention of being a deputy sheriff.

  “I’d like to get your side of the story,” Mom says.

  “My side of what story?” At least she hasn’t closed the door.

  “There was a shooting incident at your ex-husband’s home.”

  “That has nothing to do with me.” No surprise, she knows. Did the police or her husband tell her? It hasn’t been in the news, because they didn’t find a body.

  “Can we come in and talk for a few minutes?” Mom asks.

  “If you ladies want to be alone, I have some business to take care of. I’ll be back in twenty or thirty minutes.” Jim turns to leave.

  “Wait. Are you a policeman?” Funny how people can spot cops.

  “Lee County Deputy Sheriff at your service, ma’am.” Big Jim turns to Carlotta and nods his head.

  “Oh, you might as well all come in.” Carlotta opens the door and waves us in.

  Carlotta’s home is a surprise. The living room is two stories high, with tall windows looking over the palm-shaded street. It’s decorated in what I think of as Florida colors, soft pastels. It feels luxurious. Not what I would expect in an apartment above a restaurant. But this is Naples, the land of money. The dress shop must be doing well.

  “I was trying to decide if I should call the police.”

  “Why is that, ma’am?” Jim asks.

  Carlotta stares at him with a pained expression and says nothing.

  I take a seat on a huge white couch facing the windows. “Maybe if we tell
you what we already know it would help you decide.”

  Mom sits next to me and Jim settles into a flowered easy chair. Carlotta stands looking through the window, clenching and unclenching her hands behind her. “I know little or nothing. I’d like to hear.”

  Where to start. “I know that Jack Farrell, your ex, sailed to the Caribbean last summer with three young men as passengers or crew. All four of these men were reported missing. I believe you reported your ex missing.”

  She turns and looks at me. I can hear the wheels turning. How would I know that?

  I tell about her husband’s boat and the Cubans, trying not to exaggerate or weave a tale as I like to do sometimes. Good thing Allison’s not here. Just the facts, ma’am. But what I know is mostly from George, and who knows if that version is true. Carlotta finally sits in a chair facing me. She looks genuinely interested. She doesn’t appear to know the whole story.

  “You’re saying the little Cuban boy who’s been in the news came here in Jack’s boat?” Carlotta interrupts.

  “Yes. The group of Cubans was shipped off to Miami, but the boy was found a few days later on the island where they landed.”

  She nods her head. “Why would they leave him behind?”

  “Well, there’s more to the story. We’ve learned there was a shipment of cocaine that your...” I almost say husband. “Your ex apparently refused to bring the cocaine into Florida. The people on this end didn’t believe him or the Cubans, who said they knew nothing about it. So they kept the boy, who later slipped away and hid on the island. The boy’s mother headed this way from Miami after being processed, looking for her son. She and the two men with her disappeared. The Cubans in Miami believe they are being held for the cocaine.” Whew! Now I’m rattling.

  Carlotta’s face has turned pale and her full mouth is scrunched with fear or anger, maybe both. “Goddamn FSU! Pot, Cubans, cocaine. Stupid man can’t simply run a charter business like anyone else.”

  “FSU?” I haven’t heard that one before.

  “F... Former Spousal Unit.” We all know what she means. “What does all this have to do with a shooting at Jack’s house?”

  “Jack and two of his crew were staying there. Someone trashed his house, probably looking for the coke, and then came back and shot one of his crew. But the police haven’t found Jack or the body—or his boat or car for that matter. A crewmember talked to the Lee County Sheriff’s Department. Most of this is hearsay.”