Diver Down (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (10 page)

“I forgot my inhaler.” She paused and rooted around again. “And my wallet. I don’t know where my head is.”
 

“Seriously?” I glanced at Alex and he raised an eyebrow at me.
 

“I could’ve sworn I put them in here, but I must’ve left it in the room,” she said. “Do you want some chocolate?”
 

Lucia, Alex, and I shared a Bissinger’s milk chocolate bar. Lucia chatted away how crazy it was that both her regs failed while Alex and I nodded. I wasn’t sure what to say. Hey, Lucia, maybe somebody’s trying to kill you. The missing inhaler didn’t make things any better. I leaned on the edge of the boat. It would be so easy to get the inhaler out of her bag and drop it over the side, never to be seen again. We were all so busy getting our equipment squared away, the whole bag could’ve been tossed over and no one would’ve been the wiser.
 

Twenty minutes later, everyone surfaced and got in the boat. There was little discussion about Lucia’s regs. She was fine and everyone seemed to accept the failures as the price of doing business, everyone except me, Alex, and Mauro. Mostly the talk was of the five sea turtles everyone saw. Lucia apologized to me a thousand times for making me miss it. I couldn’t have cared less. If someone was really trying to kill the niece of Calpurnia Fibonacci it was bad. Very bad.

Back at the dive shop, the manager, a grizzled old diver that went by the name of Spitball, took apart Lucia’s regs. It was just Spitball, Mauro, and me in the equipment room standing over a small table made from driftwood.
 

“Well, that’s a new one,” said Spitball.
 

“What’s wrong with them?” I asked.
 

Spitball held up reg number one. “The first stage spring failed.” Then he picked up the spare. “The diaphragm’s gone.”

“So they were tampered with.”
 

“Not necessarily. The spring could’ve failed with age.”

He was blowing me off. Freak accidents are easier to believe than murder attempts, I guess.

“What about the diaphragm? Where’d that go?”
 

Mauro took the reg from Spitball. “It could disintegrate under the right conditions.”
 

“What conditions are those?”
 

“No servicing for years. It could happen. But all our equipment is checked daily,” said Mauro. “I did the work myself.”
 

“Someone could’ve switched the regs, right? All our bundles were sitting on the bench while we were at lunch. Anyone could’ve come in and done it,” I said.
 

“Marcella was here,” said Spitball.
 

“All the time? Every minute?” I couldn’t keep the sarcasm from my voice. He didn’t believe me. I hate that.

“Does the diver want to continue in the class?”
 

“Yes,” I said. “She doesn’t suspect anything.”
 

“It could be a freak accident.”
 

“Or not.”
 

Mauro set down the reg. “I will test her equipment before each dive. There will be no repeat.”
 

I threw my beach bag over my shoulder. “I’m guessing you won’t have to worry about it.”
 

“Why not?”

“He’d have to be an idiot to try the same thing again.”

“Who are you really?” asked Spitball.
 

“Just another tourist.”

“Right. We get tourists that look exactly like Marilyn Monroe, who think someone’s trying to murder another guest all the time.” Spitball looked down at the regs, not seeing what I saw.
 

“The world is weird,” I said.
 

“And so are you, I think.”
 

“Speaking of weird, why are you called Spitball?” I asked.

“Call sign. I did three tours in Vietnam in an F4.”
 

“My grandpa did three tours in a helicopter.”
 

“What battalion?”
 

“I have no idea, but he’s still tough as nails. He once beat up his brother over who got the last burrito.”
 

“When was that?”
 

“Last year.”
 

Spitball rubbed his chin. “I punched a guy over cheddar cheese once. It was worth it.”
 

Spitball and I laughed, but Mauro looked confused. I guess he didn’t have a lot of contact with crazy Vietnam vets.

“Does your grandpa go to reunions?”
 

“Hell, no. He wants to forget.”
 

Spitball nodded slowly. “You’re sure about this whole murder thing?”
 

“Pretty sure.”

“Well, Mauro will do whatever you want. We’ll keep that girl safe.” Spitball threw the broken regs in a backpack and went out the back door.
 

“I need a drink,” I said, going out the front door into the waiting area where someone—probably Graeme, but I wasn’t saying that out loud—tried to kill Lucia.
 

“You should go to your room first.” Mauro gave me an odd smile. Was he hinting that he’d like to come with or what? He kept looking at me and for a second I almost considered it.
 

Remember Pete. Remember Pete.

“I’d like to, but I better just get a drink,” I said.
 

Marcella walked in and said, “Oh, wow.”
 

“What?” I asked.

She pointed at a mirror hanging behind one of the tubs where divers rinsed their masks and snorkels. I went over and shrieked. I actually shrieked out loud, not in my head or anything, but a big shriek. Something terrible had happened to me. My hair had gone bat shit crazy. It was all piled on top of my head. I don’t know how it got up there or stayed for that matter. It was frizzy electrified straw. My face wasn’t any better. I had big red lines between my brows, giving me the world’s worst angry eyes. And there was a mask ring around the upper half of my face and for some reason my nose was pushed to the right.
 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I yelled at Mauro.
 

“I said you should go to your room. You have to fix that, if you can.” Mauro got thoughtful. “What did you think I was doing?”
 

“I thought you were hitting on me.”
 

He lifted his upper lip in distaste. “No.”
 

“That happens, you know. Men hit on me all the time,” I said.
 

“Not today they won’t.”
 

Marcella had her hands over her mouth and her body shook so much that she had to brace herself against the wall. I put my crooked, red nose in the air and stomped out.

I trotted back to the room as far off the regular paths as possible, hoping no one would see me. But the person I really didn’t want to see me, Mauro, had already seen me, so I don’t know why I bothered. I went around the back of the last bungalow and saw Aunt Tenne jogging down our stairs. I’ve never seen her
 
run anywhere in my entire life. She was singing and wearing a flowing green sarong. She looked down the main path and then hung a right in between two buildings. The coast was clear. I sprinted for the stairs and jumped in the pail to rinse my feet. Then Mom came out of nowhere.
 

“Mercy, have you seen Tenne? I’ve been looking for her everywhere.”
 

“Mom, why didn’t you tell me I look like…like this?”
 

“Oh, you’re fine. Where’s your aunt?”
 

“I’m not fine. I look like someone attacked me with perm solution and something’s wrong with my nose.”
 

“Your nose looks the same as it always does,” said Mom.

“No, it doesn’t.” I thought for a second. “It doesn’t, does it? OMG.”
 

Mom rolled her eyes. “Where’s Tenne?”
 

“I think she went snorkeling,” I lied. Whatever Aunt Tenne was up to, it was her private business. Not that Mom would agree. The word privacy wasn’t in her language.
 

“Are you sure? Did she look okay? Was she crying or anything like that?” Mom wrung her hands and looked around like Aunt Tenne might drop out of a palm tree.
 

“Why would she be crying on vacation?”
 

“No reason.” Mom tucked her sleek blond hair behind her ears.

Fine. Don’t tell me anything. Two can play at that.
 

“Hey. Why’s your hair all nice?” I asked. “And you don’t have any marks on your face at all.”
 

“Good genes. Let’s go to the bar.”
 

“I have your genes. I’m a carbon copy of you.”
 

“I put conditioner on my hair before I went. It keeps the seawater off,” said Mom.
 

“Why didn’t you tell me to do that?”
 

“I assumed you knew.”
 

“How would I know that?” I asked.
 

“Well, I knew it.”
 

Groan.
 

Mom hooked her arm through mine. “Let’s get some Monkey Lalas. Dixie says she’s going to do the limbo tonight.”
 

“Pass. I can’t be seen like this.”
 

“Mauro’s already seen you.”
 

I made a face at her and ran up the stairs, flung open the door and felt the rush of icy air-conditioned air. Ahhh.
 

“Hey, Mercy.”
 

Shriek. Aaron sat on the sofa, still wearing his hairnet.
 

“How’d you get in here?”
 

He shrugged.
 

“Ewww. It smells like a taco shop.”

“You hungry?” Aaron held up a bulging bag with water dripping off the bottom onto the white tile floor.
 

I cringed. “What is that?”

“Lionfish. Mauro gave it to me. Let’s cook it.”
 

“How about you go cook it far away and I take a shower.”
 

“Nope.”
 

“Why not?” I asked.

“Cause I got to help you.”
 

“What makes you think I need help?”
 

Aaron ignored my question and jiggled his fish bag. “Gotta cook it now, while it’s fresh.”
 

“I’m not cooking anything. Look at me.” I pointed at my head.
 

Aaron looked, but as usual I wasn’t sure if he actually saw me through his thick smudged glasses. He sat there, holding his bag, and for some reason I had the urge to tell him about Oz Urbani and the rest of it. But if I did, he’d call up Dad and tell him I’d gotten myself into a situation as he would call it. Oz was expecting me to take care of Lucia, whether I agreed to it or not. If she got killed…I didn’t even what to think about it. If Aaron told Dad that Lucia was a Fibonacci, he would come to the rescue. She wouldn’t die, but I just might. Mom would kill me for ruining our girl trip and Lucia wouldn’t be thrilled when she found out about Oz trying to hire me.
 

I grabbed Aaron’s wrist and hauled him to his feet. I opened the door and booted him through. “Go fry your fish.”
 

“But Tommy said—”
 

I slammed the door and locked it. Then I propped a chair under the knob and wedged it closed. That should hold him for a while. I had to think and the best place for that was in a hot shower. But since my life is my life, the shower was luke warm and smelled like bad well water. I did what Dad called a sea shower and jumped out as fast as possible. The thirty seconds of conditioner didn’t do my hair much good, but it didn’t look quite so angry. My nose had moved back into its normal position and the red lines on my face had diminished. I fixed the rest with coverup and powder.
 

It was nearly six o’clock and time for the limbo contest. I picked up my purse and got one of Dad’s cards. Lucia had to be told about the regs. I didn’t expect her to believe me, but Dad’s reputation might make an impression on her, even if I didn’t. I put on my favorite cutoffs and a tank. For once, Mom wouldn’t be able to say they were inappropriate. I left the bedroom and got a whiff of smoke. I jerked open the front door and found Aaron squatting in front of a hibachi. There was a whole lionfish, complete with spines and eyeballs, sizzling on it. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could’ve been less appetizing than that fish. It was still orange and kind of looking at me.