Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 03 - Murder in the Mangroves

by Marty Ambrose

  “I don’t know.”

  She picked up two more goblets. “These were engagement gifts-Gina’s favorite pattern: Crystal Fantasy. She said they reminded her of how blessed her life was since she’d become engaged to Brett.” Mama Maria smashed them against the floor. “It isn’t a dream any longer. More like a nightmare.” Her head drooped to her chest.

  I carefully threaded my way across the glass-strewn floor. When I reached Mama Maria, she threw her arms around my neck and sagged against me, sobbing. I let her cry. As the torrent of tears fell, her stout body shook as if she were buffeted by a strong wind. I don’t know how long we stood there, but eventually she raised her head and took in a deep breath.

  “Forgive me for letting myself go like that,” she said in a shaky voice, smoothing down her dark hair.

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” I led her to a chair and knelt down. “All of this must be quite a shock to you”

  “Si.” She pushed the dark cloud of hair back from her face. “When Nick Billie called me, I thought there must’ve been a mistake. He had the wrong girl. But, no, it was Gina. My sweet Gina.” She pulled out a white lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “I was getting ready to prepare chicken fajitas for the lunch crowd, and-“

  Without warning, the back door was flung open. A young man with mussed, wiry hair and wild eyes appeared.

  He held a gun in his right hand.

  hat are you doing?” Mama Maria jumped to her feet as she spied the intruder. “Have you gone loco?”

  “Don’t try to stop me” He waved the gun over his head.

  Jeez! I crouched down even farther.

  “Rivas, put that away,” she ordered, “before you do something stupid like blast a hole in the roof.”

  My eyes widened. How about shoot a person?

  “It’s only a water gun, Mama” He slowly lowered it and looked in my direction. “Is this the gringa from the Observer who found my sister?”

  “Uh … that would be me” I rose to my feet, my knees shaking. The water gun sure looked real enough to me. “You know, you scared the heck out of me”

  “So sorry, Mallie. This is my estupido son, Rivas,” Mama Maria explained.

  “Do you know what happened to Gina?” He moved toward me, the water gun still in his hand.

  “We’re not sure” I kept a wary eye on him. Even if the gun was a fake, his anger was real. “When I found her, she was already d … deceased under a mangrove tree. The island’s chief deputy, Detective Billie, said he’d have the … cause of death by the end of the week”

  With his free hand, Rivas rubbed his forehead and moaned. “I knew something was gonna happen to her.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “She didn’t know her place. My poor sister always wanted more. And she tried to mix with gringos who always looked down on her no matter what she did.”

  Mama Maria bristled. “That’s not true”

  “Of course it is, Mama. Oh, they’d come in here and tell you how bonito your daughter is, but our worlds are separate. Gina was the only person who didn’t know that…

  “But I thought she was engaged to Brett Palmer,” I said.

  Rivas gave an exclamation of disgust. “They never would’ve married. His family didn’t accept her. And now they’ve killed her.”

  “Rivas!” Mama Maria placed both hands on her hips. “Silencio. You are talking like a fool.”

  “Am I?” He yanked a hand through his tousled hair.

  “Did anyone from her fiance’s family make threatening remarks to Gina?” I inquired.

  Rivas shook his head. “They didn’t have to. I could see the hatred in their eyes. Especially the parents. They went along with the engagement, but they were always plotting to split them up” He spat on the glass-strewn floor. “Now that my sister is permanently out of the picture, they’re probably throwing a fiesta”

  “Get a hold of yourself,” Mama Maria demanded.

  “But-“

  “And give me that water gun-it looks too real. Someone could mistake it and think you were dangerous, not just foolishcomprende?” Her voice grew strong, and she straightened her shoulders. “I’ve already lost one child. Do you think I want to lose another one because you let that temper of yours lead you into doing something even more loco?”

  I held my breath, not sure which one would give in first. Finally, Rivas shuffled toward his mother and gave her the water gun.

  I let out a long sigh of relief. Even though it was fake, it still unnerved me.

  “Son, promise me that you won’t do or say anything until we know how Gina died,” Mama Maria said.

  Rivas touched two fingers to his heart, then held them up. “I swear.”

  “And no more guns.”

  IISi.”

  Mama Maria slipped the phony firearm into her dress pocket. “Now that that’s taken care of, I can mourn my daughter without worrying myself sick over my son”

  Rivas muttered a Spanish expletive and slammed out of the room.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that, but my son is … grieving.” Mama Maria opened a cupboard and deposited the water gun into a large ceramic bowl.

  “Grief can make people do crazy things. I know when my Aunt Phoebe, on my father’s side, choked to death on a chicken bone, my cousins couldn’t even look at any type of poultry for years. I think they’ve relented and have turkey on Thanksgiving now, but it’s the boneless frozen roast that looks like a lump of processed goop in a tinfoil pan” Okay, so I was at it again. This whole intense scene was causing my motormouth to lock into high gear. And I was talking nonsense, to boot. Oh, joy. Just what Mama Maria needed right now. A blabbing idiot. “Of course, there’s nothing wrong with chicken…. I wasn’t trying to impugn your chicken fajitas.”

  Surprisingly, Mama Maria just stared at me-then she gave a short laugh. “Lily always said you could talk the scales off of a pescado-fish. I didn’t know what she meant-until now.”

  “I think it’s genetic-like a harelip or something.”

  “Not nearly so bad.” She shrugged. “I needed a moment of … lightness.”

  “If there’s anything I can do to help you, please let me know.” I gave her one of my Observer business cards. The woman was suffering, and I just couldn’t press her for details about her daughter right now. “I’d like to drop by later this week and get some information about Gina for the newspaper, if that’s okay.”

  “You mean her obituary?”

  I gulped. “Yes”

  “Come manana” Mama Maria stood there for a few moments, reviewing the mess she’d created in the kitchen. “I’ve got to clean up now-I guess I, too, went a little loco. But breaking glasses won’t bring my Gina back” She reached for the plastic broom in a corner. “Tell Lily I’ll call her later.”

  Watching her rhythmically sweep the floor, I marveled at her strength. Then I let myself out the back door, only to find Rivas leaning against a palm tree trunk, smoking the last of a cigarette. He flicked the stub to the sandy ground and crushed it under his heel.

  “I wanted to talk to you, chica.”

  I edged around him. “I’ve got to get back to the Observer.” And away from this water gun-toting wild man.

  He hooked his thumbs into the waist of his jeans. “I know I must’ve seemed loco in there. But I’d just heard Gina was dead-it hurts so bad” He took in a long, deep breath. “You know, the kind of pain that hits right in the gut. I’m sorry if I scared you.” The stricken expression on his face halted me.

  “I … I guess I sort of understand. She was your sister, after all.” Still, I kept a healthy distance between us. “What did you want to tell me?”

  “I wasn’t lying when I said Brett Palmer’s family hated Gina. They would’ve done anything to get rid of my sister.”

  “Even kill her?”

  “Si.” His mouth turned mutinous. “I overheard Brett’s parents talking at the engagement party. They said the marriage would never ta
ke place-they’d make sure of it-no matter what”

  “They may not have wanted Gina as part of the family, but that doesn’t mean they killed her. Sometimes people just say things.” And think them. I refrained from telling him that I’d frequently contemplated all sorts of ways to avoid every family gathering my mother had planned over the years-including the annual family reunion picnic in the Midwest. Every one was the same: sour lemonade, dry ham, and overachieving siblings. Ugh.

  Rivas mumbled something in Spanish under his breath. “The Palmers were serious.”

  “Well..”

  “You’re a reporter. It’s your job to ask people questions.” He weighed me with a critical squint. “You can find out if they did something to harm my sister.”

  “That’s not exactly what I do, you-“

  “Gina’s dead!” He thumped his chest with his fists. “Her soul won’t rest until I find out what happened to her.”

  “You might want to talk to Detective Billie. He’s conducting the investigation.”

  “Police. Bah.” He ground the cigarette butt farther into the ground. “They do nothing to help the island workers”

  I hesitated.

  “Please. You must help us” His eyes had a tortured sadness in the depths that tugged at my heart.

  Mentally kicking myself, I reached into my cavernous canvas bag and pulled out my notepad. “Give me the address of Brett’s parents”

  “They live in muy elegance Sea Belle Isle Point-1565 Hibiscus Court. That’s where they had the engagement party.”

  “Is there anyone else I could talk to about Gina?”

  “Her partner, Isabel. They ran a decorating business together called Island Decor.”

  “Oh, yeah, I know where that is-near the island center.” Needless to say, I’d never set foot inside. One could only do so much with an Airstream trailer like the one I lived in. The furniture was built into the unit, and I’d fixed it up with my version of shabby chic-heavy on the shabby, light on the chic. “I’ll see what I can dig up, but I can’t make you any promises.”

  “Gracias. I won’t forget this.” He gave a brief nod and went back inside Mama Maria’s restaurant.

  I flipped my notepad shut. Something told me I was getting myself into a big, messy muddle. But what could I do? Aunt Lily had begged me to find out what happened to Gina. Now Rivas Fernandez was doing the same thing. And both of them thought there was something suspicious about Gina’s demise.

  Where there’s smoke, there’s fire-or at least there might be.

  Certainly I was becoming more and more intrigued that people thought Gina’s death seemed suspicious.

  I drove toward the island center, passed the Observer office, and stopped at the suite of offices near the four-way stop that led off the island. Unlike the tiny, ground-level strip mall that housed our newspaper office, this structure was up four feet on concrete blocks, fashioned in a quad of offices, with latticework along the bottom and a sparkling new tin roof.

  It had that “old Florida” look that was hot right now. But with plastic siding, plastic porch rails, and plastic shutters, it was old as in the Neo-Plastic Era.

  I located the Island Decor suite and swung open the door, causing a tiny chime to tinkle somewhere in the back. Inhaling the sickly sweet odor of a vanilla candle, I grimaced and took stock of the place. Plush carpet, expensive knickknacks, and an antique desk graced the room, along with a wall filled with paint chips and fabric-swatch catalogues. Swanky decorators. Not that I had ever consulted them, but my mother was a frequent purveyor of decorating experts. She liked to call it “having the house done.” Luckily, I never had to bother with paint choices-Airstreams came in three basic colors: silver, silver, and silver. Period.

  “May I help you?” a young woman asked. She looked to be about Gina’s age but much taller. Dark hair with deep gold highlights and hazel eyes. Quite striking.

  “Are you Gina Fernandez’s partner?”

  “Yes. I’m Isabel Morales. We co-own Island Decor.” She shook hands with me. “We offer a full range of services that cover all aspects of decorating, from soup to nuts” She laughed at her little metaphor. “You name it, we can do it. Gina and I have decorated some of the finest homes on Coral Island, and I mean the ritzy mansions on Sea Belle Isle Point.”

  “I get the drift.” Translated: Unless kidnapped by decorating terrorists, she wouldn’t even drive into the Twin Palms RV Resort where my Airstream currently resided. No big money there.

  She picked up a clipboard and handed it to me. “Here is the questionnaire that we have all our clients fill out. I need to know what your color preferences are, what type of furniture you prefer-modern or traditional-what your decorating budget allows, and-“

  “I live in a trailer.”

  “Oh” She snatched the clipboard back.

  Guess that was the deal breaker “Well, I’m not here for decorating advice anyway,” I said, noting the haughty tilt her head had assumed. “I’d like to talk about Gina.”

  “She won’t be in until tomorrow. She had some sort of trail hike to do this morning and was going to spend the afternoon shopping with her fiance, Brett” Her lip curled as she said his name. “If you want, I can take down your phone number and-“

  “You mean you haven’t heard?” Was it possible I’d finally met someone not plugged into the island gossip grapevine? Oh, dear.

  “Heard what?”

  I paused. “You might want to sit down.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm as she sank into an overstuffed, flowered-chintz sofa.

  “Gina … uh … died today.”

  “But … no, that can’t be” Her hands tightened around the armrest until her knuckles turned white. “She was fine this morning when we had coffee at Mama Maria’s. I don’t understand.”

  “The cause of death is still undetermined, but she was found under a mangrove tree near the entrance to the Little Coral Island Trail.”

  “Madre de dios.” She crossed herself, the haughty demeanor falling away as if it were a discarded piece of clothing. “She didn’t even want to go on that stupid trail hike, but Brandi insisted. Said it was her first official duty as Mango Queen”

  “I know you’re probably upset, but let me try to reconstruct what you know.” I reached into my cavernous canvas bag and pulled out my notepad. “You had coffee this morning at Mama Maria’s with Gina and Brandi. Then they left to hike the trail, and you came here to work”

  “Yes. We had a big job to finish-her prospective in-laws’ house. I was having trouble with the bathroom vanities. Trish Palmer wanted them raised five inches higher than standard, but it was hard to find a carpenter to do it within the time frame she wanted for completion. So I was on the phone all morning. Then I had to drive onto the mainland to pick up these special gold faucets for the master bath.” Her mouth trembled. “I just got in this minute.”

  “And I had to be the one to give you the bad news” I cleared my throat. “So sorry.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. “Why are you so interested in Gina?”

  “I work for the Observer-Mallie Monroe. I’m writing a story on Gina, about her life and sudden death” No need to tell her that I’d found the body-or seen that syringe. “People on Coral Island will want to know what happened to their Mango Queen”

  Isabel buried her head in her hands and emitted a sound somewhere between a sob and a groan. “That stupid contest. I don’t know why she was so obsessed with being Mango Queen” She raised her head, tears streaking mascara down her cheeks in long black tracks. “She spent months and months learning about the island’s history and the mango industryall so she could claim the title and impress Brett’s parents”

  “They must’ve respected her if they hired her to decorate their house”

  She gave a scornful laugh. “‘Hired help’ is a far cry from daughter-in-law. We’re good enough to decorate their house, but not to live in it. They tolerated Gina’s engagement to Brett, but I don’t t
hink they’ll be mourning at her funeral.” Her tone had turned bitter.

  “She and Brandi seemed to be friends.”

  “No way” Isabel wiped her cheeks with the back of one hand. “Brandi pretended to like Gina because of Brett. They’ve always been a close brother and sister. But make no mistake, Brandi wanted to be Mango Queen by hook or by crook. She was seething with envy this morning when Gina walked into Mama Maria’s wearing her Mango Queen crown”

  “Huh?” I stopped scribbling. “Was it made of … mangos?”

  “No, of course not. It was a tiara, like the beauty queens wear.”

  This Mango Queen thing was big. A tiara? On Coral Island, where most of the population rarely wore shoes? “So you think Brandi might’ve wanted to see Gina out of the way so she could be the Mango Queen?”

  Isabel blinked a couple of times. “Wait a minute. How did Gina die? Is there something suspicious about her death?”

  “I can’t say for sure. As I told you, it’s undetermined.”

  “But you’re asking a lot of questions.”

  “That’s my job” At least it was when I left the office that morning. Who knew what changes Bernice had made since then?

  “This is just … unbelievable. Gina was my friend and partner.” She gazed up at me with desperation. “What’s going to happen to our decorating business? I can’t run the company on my own. Gina was the one who brought the clients in…” She broke off, staring into the distance as if she could see a bleak, dismal future.

  The door chime rang, and I looked over at the entrance. A thin, middle-aged guy with a ferretlike face stood there. He wore a slate-gray suit and loafers-formal dress indeed for the island. “Hi, Isabel.”

  “I just lost my business partner-Gina,” she sobbed.

  Shock registered on his pinched features. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I just saw her a few nights ago when she was elected Mango Queen. She died?”

  “Yes.” I spoke up. “I’m Mallie Monroe from the Observer, and I’m writing her obituary-that’s why I’m here.” Sort of true.