Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 03 - Murder in the Mangroves (16 page)

“Too bad I can’t say the same” I toyed with his T-shirt. “I
forgot you the moment I met Mickey.”

He tensed. “You found another guy?”

“Oh, yeah. He was waiting in the wings for you to leave.” I was enjoying the look of dismay on his face. “A small guy,
with whiskers and little white gloves. I saw him at work every
day at the Magic Kingdom.”

“Huh?”

“Mickey. As in the Mouse?”

Realization dawned on him, and his mouth quirked up on
one side. “Okay, I deserved that.” Cole flashed me a sheepish
look. “If not forgiven, at least I wasn’t forgotten, huh?”

“Not completely.” My motormouth might still run, but my
heart was parked in a lower gear. “A lot has happened since
the last time I saw you. I … I’m a different person now.”

“Is there … anybody else in your life?”

“Could be” Now, why did an image of Nick Billie flicker
in the back of my mind? It wasn’t as if we’d ever even gone
out on a date.

“Now, I am getting worried-“

A small scratching sound interrupted him.

Cole inclined his head. “You still have Kong?”

“Is the Pope Catholic?”

“Silly me.”

I extricated myself from his embrace and opened the door
to my Airstream. Kong leaped out as if he were a heat-seeking
canine missile, and I caught him. He licked my face with lavish adoration.

“Hiya, Kong,” Cole greeted him.

My teacup poodle’s ears immediately perked up. He turned
his stubby snout and sniffed. Apparently, he remembered Cole,
because he began to treat him to the same vigorous tongue
worship.

“Traitor,” I teased.

Cole rubbed Kong’s apricot furry head. “Loyal pooch”

I couldn’t help smiling at two of my favorite males. “Where
are you staying?”

“Right next door.” He pointed at the previously empty spot
on the other side of my Airstream. I’d been so preoccupied
with my close-encounter-of-the-unpleasant-kind at the Palmer
house, I hadn’t even noticed the small, neatly kept van conversion parked in the adjacent site.

“Coz”Y.

“It can’t compete with your Airstream, but I call it home”
He patted the silver hull of my RV. “How ‘bout I treat you to
lunch, and we get caught up?”

“Sure … no, wait, I can’t. I have to interview Mama Maria.”

“Who?”

“She’s Gina Fernandez’s mother. Yesterday I found Gina
dead under Old Blacky-a mangrove tree at the entrance to the
Little Coral Island trail-and I have to write her obituary because I work for the Observer. That’s the island paper. My boss’
sister is the temporary editor, and I’m really under all kinds of
pressure to write a sensationalized story, but I refused-“

“Whoa. You need to fill me in slowly. It’s been a long time.”

“Sure. Perhaps I can give you the condensed version on our
way to Mama Maria’s. Let me give Kong a quick walk, take a
shower, and then we can drive over to her restaurant together.”

“You’re on, babe” He touched my face. “The shower would
be especially nice. I hate to tell you this, but you smell like a
matchbook. Weird.”

“Sulfur sprinklers.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” In spite of my stinky state, my heart sang out.
Just for now, I wanted to forget about Gina’s death. Forget about
Bernice the Butthead. Forget about the callous Palmer family.

Cole was back.

In ten minutes, we were zipping along Cypress Road, the
main drag of Coral Island. I’d showered, fluffed up my curls, and dressed in a fresh white cotton blouse, fresh jean cutoffs,
and my best pair of Birkenstocks. Not bad.

“It’s nice to see you’re still driving Rusty.” He patted the
faded dashboard. “I’ve got a lot of good memories connected
with this of truck.”

“Oh, yeah. My personal favorite was when he broke down
during that tropical storm in Orlando, and we had to walk four
miles in the pounding rain.”

“Just an inconvenience.” He waved a hand dismissively.

“It took me two days to dry out”

“But you looked pretty cute with your curls all wet and
tangled-like a sea nymph.”

Heat broke out across the back of my neck. I rolled down
my window even farther. Time to change the subject. If Cole
intended to stay for any length of time, I’d need to get Rusty’s
air conditioner fixed pronto, or I’d be in a state of constant
semi-meltdown.

“So what’s been happening in your life, babe?”

I put my motormouth into high gear and filled him in on my
job (elevating it a little), the murder cases I’d been involved in
(downplaying them a little), my new friends (no embellishment
needed), and my Tae Kwon Do skills (lots of embellishment
needed).

“Who’s this Detective Billie?”

“Uh … just the local chief deputy.”

“You seem to run into him a lot,” he observed matter-offactly.

“Only when I’m working on investigative stories.” I felt a
blush rising to my cheeks. “And maybe at Town Hall meetings, or the Circle K when we’re both getting our morning fix
of Krispy Kremes. And maybe-“

“Whoa. Now I really am getting worried. Sounds like I’ve got some competition in the field, and he’s got the home advantage”

I couldn’t resist a smile. “Our relationship is strictly professional. He tries to solve his cases; I interfere and drive
him crazy.”

“Ouch” Cole winced, as though punched in the stomach.
“It’s worse than I thought. Anytime a woman drives a man
crazy, he’s interested.”

“Male logic?”

“Nope-primitive male instinct. I’d fight him for you, but
I’m a pacifist. So I guess I have to cut him out in other, more
subtle ways-like by showing you what a responsible guy I’ve
become”

“You’re just not the kind of guy who stays.” I turned
into Mama Maria’s parking lot as mixed feelings swirled
through me.

A long pause. “Maybe I’ve changed too”

I didn’t respond. Could a leopard change his spots? Could
the moon change its orbit? Could Cole become the man of my
dreams?

We sat in the truck for a few minutes in silence.

“Let’s save this conversation for later, okay?” I finally said.
I needed time to take in that Cole was here, and I didn’t know
how or if he could fit into my life on Coral Island.

He nodded.

I slid out of Rusty and scanned the parking lot. In spite of
the trucks and cars lined up in the front spots, a hot, dusty, deserted feeling still surrounded the place.

“Bad vibes.” Cole moved to my side.

“Uh-huh” We entered the restaurant. The small dining room
seemed more normal than yesterday, with a few patrons and a
faint smell of fajitas and tacos. An older couple sat near one of the window tables, talking quietly. Two teenagers occupied
the table next to them, both occupied with rapid-fire textmessaging. I didn’t know any of them. But seated on one of
the stools at the back counter was none other than Everett
Jacobs, the island curmudgeon with whom I’d had a couple of
run-ins. Cheap and crotchety, he had no relatives and few
friends-mainly because he was such a pain in the butt. Sure,
he’d sort of saved my life a year ago, but I think he did it more
to spite the murderer than to help me.

He turned as we entered, saw me, then just swiveled back
around on his stool without saying a word.

“You know him?” Cole asked.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “That’s another long story. I’ll save it
for later when we’ve got the time.”

“Go for the short version,” Everett tossed off over his shoulder. “When she starts talking, you’ll have to wait for the cows
to come home before she finishes.”

How the heck did he hear me? I approached his aging, bent
form, hunched over his coffee cup. “I guess the term `private
conversation’ is sort of lost on you, huh?”

He gave a short exclamation of contempt-or maybe he was
clearing his throat, ready to spit. I halted and motioned Cole
to do the same. My shoes had been the recipients of Everett’s
expectorate in the past, and it wasn’t pleasant.

“Got myself a brand-new pair of hearing aids.” He turned
around to face us again, pointing at both ears. “And they’re
on maximum volume. I hear everything now-even stuff that
people don’t want me to hear. I’m in the catbird seat,” he added
with a smug smile.

“I can only imagine.” Considering how disagreeable he was
most of the time, he probably heard the words old coot at least
a dozen times a day. “This is my friend, Cole.”

“Hiya.” Cole put out his hand. Everett stared at it for a few seconds, then sighed and reluctantly gave him a slight shake
as if he were touching a leper. “Have you lived on Coral Island for long?”

“Long enough to know not to spend time with newcomers”

Cole’s friendly demeanor didn’t diminish. “I’d think you
would want to show people your island and-“

“Too many people here already. The island don’t need anybody else.”

I rolled my eyes, thinking he couldn’t hear that. “How’s
Mama Maria doing?”

Everett’s bushy gray eyebrows slanted down in a deep frown.
“She’s struggling to keep going. I asked her if she needed any
help, but she’s proud and wants to keep busy so the grief don’t
eat her alive. Poor lady.”

I blinked. Were those words coming out of Everett the
Crusty Curmudgeon? Could it be he had a soft side after all?

“So don’t go riling her none, missy.” He leveled a stern
glance at me. “You stick your nose into other people’s business for that damn rag of a newspaper and it does nothing but
make problems.”

That sounded more like the Everett I’d come to know and
dislike.

“I have no intention of upsetting her,” I declared, wishing it
were permissible to kick old men in public. “She wanted me
to come by today to talk about Gina and gather information for
her obituary.”

“So that’s why you’re here” He transferred his eyes to Cole.
“What about surfer boy?”

I gritted my teeth. “He’s … a friend.”

Everett scoffed. “This isn’t the time for you to be cozying
up to some beachcomber, when a lady has lost her daughter.”

“Look, Everett, it’s none of your business who I spend my
time-“

“Mallie, chica.” Mama Maria emerged from the kitchen,
wearing a black dress and apron. Her eyes still appeared redrimmed from crying. Her face was sagging with sadness, but
she seemed more in control-no broken glass.

She hugged me, and then I introduced her to Cole.

“Buenos dias. Welcome to our island.”

Cole shook hands with her.

“Do you want to take a table?” Mama Maria gestured to a
secluded corner of the restaurant.

I touched her arm gently. “We were going to have some
lunch, but could I talk to you about Gina first for the story?
That is, if you’re up to it.”

“Si. Come with me.” Her mouth tightened into a resolute
line, and my admiration for her soared. Every ounce of her
strength was being mustered to keep herself from breaking
down.

“You two go on,” Cole urged. “I’ll stay here and have a cup of
coffee with my new friend.” With a beaming smile, he slapped
Everett on the back.

“I’ve got nothing to say.” The old man grimaced.

Cole winked at me as he took the stool next to Everett.

I winked back. Everett might be the most disagreeable man
I’d ever met, but Cole was the most agreeable. A battle of
wills was about to begin, but I felt confident that my erstwhile
boyfriend would come out on top. He had the power of boyish
buoyancy. Everett’s barbs and jabs would bounce off Cole like
sand fleas popping against a porch screen.

I followed Mama Maria out through the kitchen and toward a
separate house that was located behind the restaurant. Lush foliage kept the place partially hidden, but behind the bougainvillea bushes, palm trees, and sea grape, I spied a modest-sized,
typical Florida cinder block house. It was painted the same bright color as the restaurant and was kept up with the same
meticulous neatness.

She didn’t speak as she entered the house and led me through
a tiled, simply furnished living room, down a hallway lined
with family pictures, and into a bedroom.

“This was Gina’s room.”

I took a moment to look around. I’d met Gina only briefly,
so I didn’t know quite what to expect. But as I took in the antique four-poster bed, mahogany dresser, and subtle colors
of the bedspread and “accent pieces,” as my mother would call
them, I realized Gina must’ve been a talented decorator. Certainly, I could’ve used her help with my Airstream and its
mishmash of colors, cheap fixtures, and general lack of any
sense of style.

“This is lovely.” I ran a hand over the soft green bedspread
decorated with tiny palm trees.

She sighed, her eyes tearing up. “Gina could make any room
look bonita. She redid this whole house and the restaurant after she became a decorator. They came alive…

But Gina was dead. The words were left unspoken, but we
both knew what Mama Maria was thinking.

I strolled around, noticing the framed picture of Gina and
Brett on the bedstand-both of them wore huge grins and straw
hats as they held up some kind of tropical drinks. They looked
so happy.

“That was taken when they were on a cruise earlier this year.”

“Nice” What could I say? A pang shot through me at the
image of all that youth and happiness. Gone. All gone.

On the bed lay a large, thick volume. Mama Maria picked it
up and handed it to me. “This was Gina’s scrapbook. She kept
all her special pictures and favorite fabrics in there, and lots
of other things too. I thought you might like to see them”

I sat on the bed and opened the ornate cover. Mama Maria
seated herself next to me. As I paged through the scrapbook,
she filled me in on Gina’s life. Her early years as one of the
few Latina girls at the island school, her stint in Miami getting
her decorating degree at Florida International University, her
partnership with Isabel, her favorite fabric swatches from completed jobs, and, of course, her engagement to Brett. It was all
there, in one place-a whole life between the covers of a
scrapbook.