Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 03 - Murder in the Mangroves (18 page)

He exhaled audibly as he slid into the chair behind his desk.
“Maybe you ought to sit down”

My knees sort of buckled, and I felt the hard leather under
me. “Was it … murder?”

“Possibly. The coroner found high levels of a deadly pesticide in Gina’s blood.” His voice had turned flat, his eyes obsidian, as he revealed the news.

I sat back, stunned. “But … how?”

“You remember the syringe we found near her body? Traces
of the pesticide were in it too.”

“When I was with Mama Maria, I found out that Gina was
diabetic-a pretty serious case. That’s what I was going to tell
you. Is it possible she was giving herself an insulin injection
and accidentally got some pesticide on the needle?”

“Not likely, considering the amount of the toxin found in
her system.” He didn’t blink at my revelation.

I locked glances with him. “You knew about the diabetes,
didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Irritation flared inside of me. “Why didn’t you share that
information rather than let me think she was some kind of
drug addict?”

“I couldn’t. All personal details are confidential until cause
of death is determined.” His tone wafted over me like an arctic breeze. Oh, great-the chill was back.

I groaned. “Not that old refrain again.”

“Mallie, you have to trust my judgment when it comes to
sharing information.”

“And you have to trust that I can tell the difference between
writing a news story and revealing facts that could jeopardize
your investigation.” My fingers gripped the armrests of the chair.

“Well … you know now.”

“Days after Gina’s death-and no thanks to you” I sniffed
in disapproval.

He placed both hands on the desk and folded them with an
air of composed superiority. “You want to continue throwing
a hissy fit or talk about the case?”

“I feel like we’ve taken two steps backward. What’s happened?”

“Nothing at all.” His features assumed a mask as remote as
the faces on Mount Rushmore.

What the heck was going on? We were on a first-name basis. We’d held hands under the mangrove tree and talked
about life and death. That meant something.

All of a sudden, a thought occurred to me. Was he jealous
of Cole? Could it be?

“May I at least have a formal statement from you about
Gina’s death?” I reached inside my canvas bag for my notepad and pen.

“No comment for the record yet”

“Off the record?” I raised my brows. “Come on … I deserve at least that”

“It looks like … she was poisoned by the pesticide.”

“So that would mean someone put it in Gina’s syringe.”
How? When? Thoughts skittered through my brain like cars
weaving on a racetrack, distracting me from the whole Cole/
Nick jealousy thing. “Mama Maria told me that Gina gave herself two injections a day; that would mean the evening shot from
the night before was normal. But the morning shot had to have
been tampered with by … the killer.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Then, whoever did it knew that Gina was a diabetic and
had to have access to her syringe that morning.” I brushed a
hand across my forehead, sucking in air in breathless realization. “Family and friends.”

Nick regarded me in silent agreement.

“Wait a minute. I know her mother and brother were genuinely devastated by her death. They couldn’t have done it.
And her fiance, Brett, seemed just as stricken.” Dawning realization hit me. “But those potential in-laws-“

“The Palmers?”

I nodded, their suspicious behavior flooding into my brain
faster than my motormouth could handle. “When I spoke to
Mr. Palmer yesterday, he seemed uneasy, to say the least. And
his wife also appeared to be hiding something. And let’s not
forget that Brandi Palmer had everything to gain from Gina’s
death. She could finally realize her lifelong dream of becoming Mango Queen-“

“Stop right there. You need to be careful. The Palmers are
very influential people on Coral Island, and they could make
life unpleasant for you at the newspaper.”

“What could be worse than Bernice?” I responded. “Are you
saying you’re not considering them the prime suspects?”

His mouth hardened. “Based on what? A suspicion that they
didn’t like their prospective daughter-in-law?”

“That seems like probable cause”

“When you’re dealing with rich and powerful people, investigations have to be handled with the utmost delicacy. They
have legions of attorneys watching every move of the process.
The least little thing that doesn’t go by the book can cause a
case to be thrown out in the courts”

“The same laws apply to everyone-rich or poor.”

“True, but people don’t always receive the same treatmentor verdict.”

I shook my head. “That stinks. If Gina was killed, those
people did it.”

“Are you so sure?” he probed. “Rivas wasn’t happy about
his sister’s engagement, and I’d heard rumors that Gina’s business partner, Isabel Morales, owed her a lot of money. And
there might be other suspects… “

I remembered Rivas’ outburst of fury in Mama Maria’s
kitchen and his hatred of the Palmers. He certainly had the
temperament that could lead to murder. But his own sister? I
shivered. As for Isabel, who knows?

“Of course, this is all off the record. Until I get the official
coroner’s report, the cause of death is still indeterminate.”

“I assume you mean that’s what you want me to put in my
story. But I can’t do that after everything you just told me.” I
flipped open my notepad, pen poised in hopeful appeal. “Look,
I’ve got Bernice breathing down my neck to sensationalize
my front-page `Terror on the Trail’ piece. I’m trying to hold the
line between my journalistic integrity and keeping my temporary editor satisfied, but I’ve got to have something from you.
If Bernice finds out that I’m holding back, I’m out on my ear.
So I’m going to ask you again. May I have a formal statement
for the record?”

A tiny muscle twitched in his jaw. Then he sighed. “Circumstances point to a suspicious death.”

I scribbled his words down on paper. “I’m also doing an expanded obit on Gina, so I’ll be discreet as I’m digging for background”

“Just stay away from the Palmers,” he warned. “For your
sake.”

“Okay, but I may need to talk to Brett.” I held up my notepad and smiled. “It’s nice to know you’re concerned about

me”
“You do tend to rush in before you’ve thought things through. Must be something to do with having hair the color
of wildfire.”

I resisted tossing my curls. “Life’s too short to play it safe”

“That’s where we disagree.” His expression stilled and grew
suddenly intense. “Does your boyfriend feel the same way?”

The air immediately grew charged between us with that
strange electricity. “He’s not exactly … my boyfriend.”

“But he was at one time.”

“Sort of.” I looked down, pretending to write a few more
lines so he wouldn’t see the truth in my face. Cole had meant
a lot to me. After a few minutes, I shut the notepad and tossed
it into my canvas bag. “Okay, then, that should do it. I appreciate your time.”

“Is he staying with you at the Twin Palms?”

I rose to my feet. “I’m not sure that it’s any of your business, but he’s in his own van.”

“Parked next to your Airstream?”

My head tilted to one side so I could scan his hard-planed
face. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”

Something flickered in the depths of his eyes.

Ohmygod.

Detective Nick Billie was jealous.

left Nick’s office, my mind in a whirl, not able to say much
to Cole as I drove him back to the Twin Palms RV Resort.
This whole romantic-triangle thing was freaking me out.

I needed some time to think.

Besides, I had a story to write and what appeared to be another murder investigation staring me in the face. Was it possible that my life had become so complicated in a scant few
days?

Cole, being Cole, completely understood my need for space.
We agreed to have dinner later that night.

Then, I drove slowly back to the Observer office, giving
myself a little respite to first run through the details of Gina’s
death. So, it turned out that she was poisoned. Rivas and Aunt
Lily had been right when they suspected that her death hadn’t
been an accident. But how did they know?

Had Rivas been involved in some kind of way?

And what about Aunt Lily?

I remembered the picture I’d taken from the Fernandez
house. What was my great-aunt’s connection with that family? I made a mental note to call her as soon as I got to the office
and start probing for details.

So, onto the more interesting dilemma of being torn between
two men.

The thought of Cole wanting to be back in my life set my
heart all atwitter; the thought of reserved, by-the-book island
chief deputy, Nick Billie, being jealous of Cole sent me practically into cardiac arrest.

I didn’t know what to think. Deep, meaningful relationships were not my forte, and neither of the potential boyfriends
had exactly committed to me.

I pulled into the strip mall that housed our small office, undecided and dazed.

When in doubt, think about it later. I needed all my focus to
survive another day with Bernice the Butthead.

Taking in a deep breath, I entered the office with halting
steps.

I looked around to find the office empty. Yippee. And then
I noticed that the stump was gone. Double yippee. That damp,
dirt smell had dissipated, but … now something else permeated
the air.

I sniffed.

It smelled like … motor oil. Then I spotted the new addition
to the office: some sort of engine with a sign next to it that read
CHARLEY’S: CORAL ISLAND’S ONLY FULL-SERVICE GARAGE.
Oh, no.

“Sandy?” I scanned the office again, a trickle of fear running down my spine. Had Bernice finally pushed her beyond
the brink and she’d quit?

“She’s out to lunch.” Speak of the devil-or, rather, Bernice. And I mean devil. Bernice stood in the doorway to her
office and looked like hell. Her hair was matted, her eyes redrimmed, her crow’s-feet trotting all the way down her cheeks.

“Are you … uh … okay?”

She rubbed her eyes and forehead. “Haven’t you ever seen
anyone who’s tied one on the night before? Good Lord, I must
be getting old. I used to be able to drink anyone under the
table. All I had last night was a six-pack, and I can barely hold
my head up today-after spending most of the night worshipping the porcelain goddess.”

Charming image.

“What have you been up to, Miss Priss?” She slumped into
Sandy’s chair.

I turned away, stalling for time. “Just working my story on
Gina. I interviewed Mama Maria this morning.”

“And talked to Nick Billie, right?”

Jeez. How did she find out so fast? Glad that my back was
to her, I grasped a few moments to come up with an answer.
“He gave me an official statement about Gina’s death” I pulled
out my notepad and faced her again. Flipping a few pages, I
pretended to scan my notes and comment in an offhand manner: “Detective Billie’s formal statement was … `suspicious
death.’ That’s all I know.”

“Good enough for our purposes-yessiree.” She thumped
Sandy’s desk in excitement with one hand. Then she groaned
and placed her palms on either temple. “That was a mistake.
My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

Too bad. Anyone who would take pleasure in Gina’s death
was beyond compassion, even if she had a megahangover. I
slammed my heavy canvas bag onto the desk, noticing that
Sandy had left a message for me from Gina’s decorating partner, Isabel. The thud reverberated around the room, causing
Bernice to groan again. Hah.

“Write the obit the way you want, Miss Priss,” she managed to get out. “But play up a possible murder angle on the
`Terror on the Trail’ story. It’s a front-page dream”

“Bernice, how about a little respect? Gina died under suspicious circumstances. I’d hardly call it a dream-more like a
nightmare.”