by Joan Hess
“That’s comforting to hear, Eli.”
“Okay, mon. Was Mrs. Greeley here looking for me just before I came back? Sometimes she wants me to mow yards at the other villas, but I think these college kids are going to keep me busy all week.”
“No, it was someone visiting next door. Mrs. Greeley intends to stop by tomorrow with tickets and information; I shall remember to tell her that you’re concerned about the schedule.”
“Thanks, mon.” Whistling, Eli went partway down the driveway and into his quarters below the pool. After a few minutes, Theo heard reggae music drifting through the window. The music was quite pleasant to listen to as he looked at the streak of moonlight glittering on the Caribbean. After a while, the reggae was replaced with the faint strains of a Mozart concerto. If only, he told himself, he had come without Dorrie and her friends, it would have been as delightful as Nadine had promised. He caught himself wishing her ill luck in the women’s pairs in the Greater Connecticut Bridge Tournament. On that petty thought, he went to bed.
The ackee argument of the previous evening proved a waste of time, since Theo was the sole diner at the breakfast table. He tasted the concoction carefully and determined that it was much like scrambled eggs. It was also quite tasty, and he said as much to Amelia as she came to clear his plate.
“What about the others?” she demanded.
“They were out very late last night, and will most likely want only coffee for breakfast. The coffee is excellent, by the way.”
“Come from special plantations in the mountains. I’ll bring you a pot on the terrace, and fix some more for the others should they decide to get up. I don’ know when Emelda’s going to clean bedrooms if they stay in bed all day.”
“Surely many of the tourists who stay here overindulge,” Theo said, unsure why he was defending the group. “They’re on vacation.”
“They drink too much, party too much, and climb in the wrong beds with the wrong people. I’ve even had married couples here that switched bedrooms every night. Emelda about went crazy putting on clean sheets every day.”
“You don’t see us at our best, do you? These kids are all college students in tough schools, and I suppose they do go to extremes when they’re on vacation.”
Amelia snorted as she went to the kitchen. Theo carried his coffee cup to the terrace, and was gazing at the bright flowers along the street when the pink station wagon honked at the gate. Eli appeared, went down to unlock the gate, then closed it and retreated as Gerry drove up the driveway.
She joined Theo at the table. “I just stopped by for a moment on my way to the office. I understand your group made it to the beach party last night and had quite a time.”
“I was already asleep when they returned, so I’ve not yet heard anything about it.” He studied her amused expression. “You must have heard something, however.”
“Mary Margaret Ellison is well on her way to becoming an island legend. It seems she entered the limbo contest and made it to the finals. At that point, she realized her dress was impeding her performance. A limbo champion and a legend in her own time, our Miss Ellison.”
“She refused to allow her dress to interfere with her limbo performance?” Theo said, dismayed. “That is to say, she felt obliged to remove the impediment on a stage and in front of a large crowd?” When Gerry nodded, he sank down in his chair. “I am failing to fulfill my duties, and I am ashamed of myself. I declined to attend this party with them last night, never considering the possibility that my absence would permit any of them to indulge in regrettable behavior. I should have gone.”
“I assumed you did, but I didn’t hear any gossip about a tall man in bifocals and boxer shorts attempting the limbo.”
Theo pulled himself up. “Hardly. But how did you hear the gossip about Mary Margaret so quickly? It’s only half past nine the morning after the unfortunate incident.”
“The servants’ grapevine is remarkably efficient. Some of the drivers observed the limbo finals and passed on the information in villa kitchens over coffee this morning. Maids talk over the fences while hanging out laundry. The produce men go from house to house, bargaining with the cooks in the driveways. By noon, the incident will have been analyzed for maximum amusement in every Jamaican café in MoBay.”
“Oh, dear. I suppose I shall have to have a word with Mary Margaret, but I have no idea what I shall say to her. This really ought to be handled by a woman, who can offer the girl sensible female advice.” He looked at Gerry. “I don’t suppose …?”
For a moment, she looked startled, then broke into laughter. “I’m a real estate agent, not a surrogate mother, Theo. If the rumors about the quantities of rum consumed by the Harmony Hills villa group are also true, I doubt you’ll be able to have any words with anyone until late in the afternoon.”
“They had too much to drink?”
“Of course they did. Everyone there did; it’s standard behavior and the only hope to salvage the poor girl’s reputation. Most of those present won’t remember much this morning.”
Dorrie staggered across the terrace and plopped down next to Theo. Her face was puffy and swollen, her eyes pink, and her robe was buttoned in a haphazard fashion that left a bumpy path up to her neck.
“Coffee, please,” she croaked in a hoarse voice. “And make it snappy. I feel as if I’ve been put through a wash-and-wear cycle and hung out to dry.”
Gerry rummaged through her bulgy straw purse and produced two tablets. “I’ll get a cup from the kitchen, along with soda water so that you can take these. They’re prescription, and ought to help.”
“I am beyond help.”
“They can’t hurt,” Gerry said as she started for the kitchen. “I’ll be back with the soda water in a minute.”
Dorrie gazed at Theo. “She meant to say Perrier, didn’t she? Please don’t make me drink generic soda water, Uncle Theo. I am in no condition to deal with it.”
“Perhaps your palate will excuse it this once,” Theo said drily. “You do not appear to be at your peak of discernment this morning.”
“This is not the time for weak attempts at humor. One more little joke and I shall throw myself over the railing.”
Theo did not point out that she was likely to survive the three-foot fall. When Gerry returned with an empty cup and a glass of soda water, Dorrie obediently downed the pills with only a brief flicker of distaste. She then took her coffee cup and retreated to a shady corner of the terrace to mutter under her breath. Gerry promised to return later and gave Theo a gay little wave as she left. He did his best to reciprocate, but Dorrie merely raised a finger.
“Gerry was telling me about Mary Margaret’s impromptu striptease act,” Theo said once the pink station wagon reached the foot of the driveway. “I am most distressed that she would engage in that sort of behavior.”
Dorrie produced a prim sniff. “Well, I wasn’t surprised. Her father may own an entire insurance company in Hartford, but Daddy swears he cheats on the golf course and everybody knows he’s perpetually behind on the club dues. Her mother checks into quaint little rest homes about three times a year, the kind with barbed wire fences so no one can see you while they dry you out for the next charity ball. And Trey has been always a complete wastrel, from the age of eight when he was booted out of Miss Pipkin’s cotillion class to his arrest last summer when he stole John David Irwin’s boat and abandoned it three miles down the coast. He said he got bored and decided to find a local pub. John David dropped the charges, but let me tell you, it made for some fabulous conversation during the Labor Day tournament.”
“Why are they tolerated, then?”
“Oh, everybody’s used to them, and we are talking zillions of dollars,” she said, shrugging. “Is this interrogation absolutely necessary, Uncle Theo? My head is on the verge of a godawful explosion. I doubt the strain required to answer all these questions is exactly beneficial.”
“I still feel obligated to have a word with her,” Theo said. “Even if
her parents are as uncivilized as you claim, I must insist she behave in a more decorous manner while under my supervision.”
“Have at it, Uncle Theo. But you’ll have to find her first.” Theo felt a twinge of alarm. “She’s not upstairs?” Dorrie held out her hand to study her shapely pink fingernails. “I had a manicure two days ago, and there’s already a chip. It’s incredibly difficult to get value for one’s money these days.” She curled in her claws and fluttered her eyelashes at Theo. “Mary Margaret didn’t come home with us last night. The last we saw of her, she was going off with a veritable platoon of drunks. Wherever do you think she can be?”
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About the Author
Joan Hess (b. 1949) is the award-winning author of several long-running mystery series. Born in Arkansas, she was teaching preschool when she began writing fiction. Known for her lighthearted, witty novels, she is the creator of the Claire Malloy Mysteries and the Arly Hanks Mysteries, both set in Arkansas.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1986 by Joan Hess, originally writing as Joan Hadley
Cover design by Andy Ross
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