Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 03 - Murder in the Mangroves (7 page)

I took my napkin and sopped up the mess.

“I’m only proposing that you ask around, see if you can dig
up any information that might show whether or not Gina was
murdered. That’s your job, after all. You’re an investigative
journalist.” Lily wiped her arms with her napkin.

“I’m not so sure Bernice would agree with you. She’s running the show until Anita returns, and all she wants is some
kind of sensationalized expose on Gina’s life.”

“When is Anita coming back?”

“I don’t know-maybe a week. Sandy and I are trying to
find out where she went, but it’s as if she fell off the face of the
earth. I still can’t believe she put Butthead Bernice in charge”

“That’s Anita for you. She’s always done things her own
way.” Aunt Lily folded her napkin and lay it on the table. “Just
talk to Mama Maria. Please, Mallie.”

“How could I ever say no to you?” I gave her a quick pat.
“Besides, I’d like to know the truth”

She sat back in her rickety wooden chair. “Good enough.”

I picked up my hamburger, dripping in grease. “Now, dig in.”

“Oh, dear.” Dismay touched Aunt Lily’s face. “Do I actually have to eat this thing?”

“It’s the price you pay for going incognito.” I took a large
bite out of my own burned beef on a bun. “Dig in.”

“All right.” Lily slipped her fingers around the burger and
raised it to her mouth. “But I don’t have to like it.”

Someone spiked the volume on the country-western music
even higher. We abandoned trying to talk over the throbbing
steel guitar and finished our lunches in silence. There was nothing else to say. She had piqued my curiosity, and she knew it. I
wanted to know what had happened to Gina Fernandez.

A little while later, I pulled up in front of Mama Maria’s
restaurant. A small stuccoed building neatly painted white with
yellow shutters, it stood to one side of Cypress Road-the island’s main drag.

Mama Maria’s late-model Buick occupied the normally
crowded parking lot. A serviceable vehicle. Midsized, midpriced, mid-everything. And all alone. It spoke volumes.

As did the empty parking lot.

Word of Gina’s death must’ve gotten around most of the island by now.

I slapped another layer of aloe lotion onto my throbbing,
sunburned nose and then headed for the entrance. Potted palms
and dwarf hibiscus bushes graced either side of the front screen
door. A CLOSED sign with a frowning Disney character greeted
me. flkes.

Hesitating for a few seconds, I knocked.

No answer.

I banged on the door with more force. “Mama Maria? Are
you in there?” Raising my hand to shield my eyes, I strained
to see into the small restaurant. All I could make out were
empty tables. It felt sad, forlorn.

“Hello!” I shouted.

A muffled voice responded, but I couldn’t make out what it
said.

“It’s Mallie Monroe. My Aunt Lily asked me to come over
and talk to you. She’s very concerned” Growing a bit alarmed,
I swung open the screen door and glanced around the homey
dining room. A dozen or so tables were set with linen cloths
and silver flatware. But no mouthwatering smells assailed my
senses. The whole place felt deserted, like a ghost town built
on a dream that had come and gone. I shuddered.

All of a sudden, the sound of breaking glass and a muttered
curse came out of the kitchen.

“Mama Maria?” I crept toward the kitchen.

“Madre de dios.” Another sound of shattering glass echoed
through the restaurant.

I tiptoed into the kitchen-no small feat with flip-flops
snapping like elastic bands with every step.

Mama Maria stood in front of a large chopping block, a crystal goblet in each hand. She raised each hand high and
slammed the glasses onto the tile floor. They smashed into hundreds of jagged pieces. From the amount of broken glass on
the floor, it looked as if she’d been at it for quite some time.

“Hi, it’s Mallie Monroe,” I repeated.

She looked up at me with unseeing eyes.

“Remember me? I’ve been in with my great-aunt, Lily, several times. We had the vegetarian tacos last week, with refried
beans, a side salad, and iced tea. I meant to tell you, it was a
fabulous meal. I had to stagger out to Rusty-that’s my truck.
I named him on account of the rust. Of course, you wouldn’t
care about that, and I don’t blame you. What with everything
that has happened. I’m just so sorry about Gina. I only met her
today, but she was beautiful-and not just on the outside. She
must’ve really been quite a remarkable person to make Mango
Queen…” Okay, I was at it again. Motormouth extraordinaire babbling on and on. But the sight of Mama Maria, defeated and desperate in her kitchen, wrung out my heart. I
didn’t know what to say, so I said everything.

“She was the light of my life. The kind of daughter every
mother would want. My poor chica.” Tears rolled down her
cheeks. “I can’t believe she’s gone. How can that be?”

“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.