Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 01 - Peril in Paradise (14 page)

“When was that?”

“About a month ago” She wiped the tears away with
the back of her hand. “Pete hasn’t spoken to me since.”

“Nora, do you think he could’ve … murdered Hillman? Was he that angry?”

She dropped her eyes to the floor.

“Nora?”

“I … I don’t know,” she whispered. “To tell you the
truth, I’ve been afraid even to think about it.”

“Did Detective Billie question you yet?”

“No, but I’m expecting him any day. I don’t know
what I’m going to say.”

“The truth … it’s always best” I patted her hand.
“Do you know where Pete is?”

“He hangs out at the Trade Winds Marina with some
of the other fishermen. They’re okay guys. But sometimes I think they sit around and talk too much about
old times. The fishing industry isn’t what it used to
be since the net ban. Fishermen who’d cast nets for
generations couldn’t fish with them anymore, but a lot
of the guys did it on the side. Pete’s their hero because
he went to jail and refused to rat out the guys who
worked for him.” A touch of admiration lit her voice.

“I see”

“I’m not saying he did the right thing, but he took his
punishment like a man.”

“Have you told Pete that you’re still in love with
him?”

Her mouth trembled. “It shows, huh?”

“Like a beacon”

“I haven’t told him. What’s the point?” She sniffed
and blinked back a fresh flow of tears. “I don’t think
our relationship has a snowball’s chance of making it,
but I still hope…”

“You never know.” It was lame, I knew. But anyone
who worked in a place like the Seafood Shanty needed
encouragement. “Did Hillman ever say anything about
being short of money?”

“Him?” She looked up, her eyes wide in surprise.
“No way. He always tipped big.”

“Just curious.”

“Now that you mention it, he did say a couple of
times that he worried about the high cost of college tuition. I just thought he was making conversation …
you know, how expensive everything is-that kind of
thing.”

College tuition? Something clicked in my brain. Of
course. I mentally snapped my fingers. If Todd Griffith
from Big Brothers/Big Sisters was finishing up high
school, he’d be going to college this fall. Hillman needed
money for his tuition.

“Is something wrong?” Nora asked. “You look like
you swallowed a lemon or something.

“No, I’m fine” I’d compressed my lips so the motor
mouth wouldn’t kick in and reveal what I thinking.

“I don’t really think my husband could’ve killed
Jack,” she added.

“That says a lot. You still believe in him.”

“I guess I do.” A tiny glimmer of optimism brightened her face.

“Nora, baby, we’d like some more drinks over here,”
a burly biker shouted the other side of the room.

“I’ve got to go back to work.” She rose, brushing back strays hair with a shaky hand. “Thanks for
listening-and the gum.”

“Anytime.”

As she made her way toward the biker group, I tossed
a few dollars on the table for the beer and added a generous tip. If anyone could use a break, it was Nora.

I emerged from the Seafood Shanty as if I were coming out from under a cloud into the sunlight. Speaking
of clouds … I looked up. Still overcast, the sky looked
the same. Flat gray clouds hovered low, and not a hint
of breeze stirred the heavy, humid air.

When the rain began, it was going to be a doozy.

I hopped back into Rusty and covered the short distance to the Trade Winds Marina in no time. Located
down the road from the Seafood Shanty, the marina
separated Coral Island from the mainland, with a tiny
fishing village, Paradisio, in between. I’m not sure if
the name really reflected this little assortment of fishing shacks and bait shops, but I guess it depends on
your point of view. I pulled into the marina and spied a
group of fishermen next to the docks stacking rods and
reels.

“Hi, have any of you seen Pete?” I asked in my most
polite, I’m-just-a-nice-girl tone.

No one looked up, but I thought I heard one or two of
them grunt. The group contained men of various ages
and stages of sun damage, but all of them wore kneelength white rubber fishing boots. Locals referred to
them as “island Reeboks.”

“I beg your pardon?”

An old, grizzled-looking man with nut-brown skin
and a couple of missing teeth grunted what sounded like,
“Smaint fear.”

“Huh?” I moved closer. The smell of fish and salt
water assailed my senses.

“I said he ain’t here,” the old man enunciated the last
two words with slow, careful emphasis.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“Nope” He began winding line around a battered
fishing reel.

“Would you tell him that Mallie Monroe from the
Observer wants to talk to him?” I directed my comments
to the same old guy. At least he was talking. The other
men just ignored me. But I had the sense that they were
listening keenly.

He grunted again, focusing on his task.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” I placed my card on the
overturned bucket in front of him where he’d set his
fishing knife. “Have him call my phone number at the
Observer.”

“Uh-huh.”

I turned around and slammed right into Detective
Billie’s rock solid chest.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you.” Breathless, I stepped
back. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt and jeans, his
dark skin contrasting with the light fabric of his shirt in
an intriguing way. Every time I saw him, he was progressively more casual. Perhaps next time in shorts and a muscle shirt? Briefly, images of his wide shoulders
and nicely developed arms flitted through my mind and,
before I could stop myself, my mouth curved into a
smile.

“You look like the cat who’s lapped up the cream,”
he said.

“Actually, I had three donuts this morning.”

“It doesn’t show.” One dark brow lifted as he raked
my boyish curves.

“I’ve got a fast metabolism … runs in my family.
Everyone on my mother’s side can eat and eat and eat
and never gain weight. It’s absolutely incredible. You
wouldn’t believe what I can put away in one meal.
Appetizer, entree, dessert-you name it. I can eat-“

“And talk and talk and talk,” he quipped.

Several of the fishermen erupted in loud guffaws,
and Detective Billie touched my elbow to move me
away from them.

“That’s another trait from my mother’s side-my
great aunt, Lily, can talk the stripes off a zebra”

“I know.” One side of his mouth twisted upward in
an ironic semblance of a smile. “Look, I was driving
off the island and saw your truck. Did you get my receptionist’s message that I wanted to talk to you?”

“Uh … sort of, but I had an urgent errand to run.” I
guess it was hard to ignore Rusty … he was one of a
kind.

“At the marina?”

Desperately, I scanned the grounds for some kind of reason that would’ve caused my pressing need to be
here. I spotted the Paradisio Seafood Market sign. “I
needed to buy some … shrimp. Yes, some shrimp for
dinner tonight. I really like my shrimp fresh and wanted
to get it right off the boats, if you know what I mean”

He didn’t look as if he was buying it.

“I’ve gotten spoiled since I came to Coral Island with
all the fresh seafood that’s available … grouper,
snook, snapper, not to mention smoked mullet. That’s
my favorite.” Truthfully, I hated smoked anything, but
it was a Coral Island specialty and I wanted to show
that I knew my seafood.

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” he said wryly.

A boat engine roared into life next to us, causing a
cloud of exhaust to spew out.

We both coughed.

“Any new developments on the murder case?” I managed to get out between choking and coughing.

“One or two leads” His dark eyes fastened on me.
“What about you? Find out anything you’d care to
pass on?”

“Nothing earth-shaking” I licked my suddenly dry
lips.

We averted our heads in opposite directions. We
were both lying, and we both knew it.

“What about Everett? Dig up anything new on him?”
I finally asked. In spite of the morning’s revelations, he
was still my number one suspect.

“No” His voice was firm, final. Okay.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” I finally
inquired.

He checked his watch-sleek gold with a brown crocodile strap. Functional elegance. Needless to say, it didn’t
have a Mickey Mouse figure in the center with tiny
white-gloved hands pointing at the hours and minutes. “I
don’t have time to go into it right now because I’ve got to
see Hillman’s attorney about funeral arrangements.”

“You?”

“There’s nobody else. He wanted to be cremated and
have his ashes spread in the Gulf. No ceremony. No
fuss.”

I tried not to grimace. It sounded so cold. Like the
disposal of the dead egret.

“Could you come by the police station tomorrow?”

“On Sunday? Most people take that day off.”

“Most people don’t have a murder case to solve.”

I sighed. “What time do you want me to come by?”

“Late morning.” He checked his watch again. “See
you then.”

“Oh, I dropped the transcript with your receptionist
this morning.”

“Thanks” He turned and strode toward his truck.
Applying my handy-dandy vehicular psychoanalysis, I
noted he drove a black, Ford F-150. Cap-covered bed,
clean sidewalls, and shiny finish. Wow. A symbol for a
man who appeared to have everything under control.
That truck could take on anything that the road had to
offer.

I looked back at Rusty with his semi-bald tires, dull
paint job, and dented front fender. Not pretty by any
stretch of the imagination. But he could pull my
Airstream and get me where I had to go. That’s all I
thought a truck needed to do at one time. But now I wondered if maybe I needed more.

For starters, it sure would be nice to have airconditioning.

Was I becoming a yuppie like my siblings? Next, I’d
be trading my sandals for sling-back pumps.

Not likely. I glanced up the road to make certain
Detective Billie was out of sight. Then I climbed into
Rusty, fired up the engine, and patted him on the dashboard. “Don’t worry, old buddy. We’re in this together.”
He backfired a couple of times.

I headed back to the island. Detective Billie would
be on the mainland for the afternoon. Hooray. I had
free rein to talk to suspects. But who? Pete was out of
the question until he contacted me. Burt wasn’t a particularly promising possibility. That left Everett. It was
time to talk to him again, but now, I knew his weak
spot: Mabel.

Half an hour later, Rusty lumbered up the shell
driveway that led to Everett’s house. I honked the horn a
couple of times, just to alert him in case he had the urge
to aim a BB gun at me. Of course, my horn didn’t work
much better than anything else on my little truck. Instead of a loud blast, the horn emitted a sound that was
somewhere between a high pitched squeak and a tortured groan. Instead of alerting other drivers and pedestrians to my presence, it generally made them look
around to see if they had hit an animal or something.

At any rate, my horn didn’t alert or alarm Everett. I
got no response at all.

I gave a few more pathetic toots.

Finally, I heard a voice yell from inside the house, “I
heard you all right, missy.”

That was more like it.

“I’d like to talk you,” I yelled out from inside my
truck.

“We already talked,” he shouted back. I could see the
outline of his body behind the front screen door.

“I have a little something for Mabel-to make up for
my last visit. I know how much she means to you. And
being a cat person myself, I wanted her to know that I
care” So I was laying it on a bit thick. Food might be the
way to a man’s stomach, but animals were the way to
Everett’s sympathies.

“A present?” He cracked open the screen door.

“Yep. A little toy mouse and a catnip ball. Whadaya
say? Can I get out of my truck without your calling Nick
Billie on me?”

He cackled. “He read you the riot act, huh?”

“Just told me not to annoy you. And I fully intend to
live up to my promise. I won’t bother you or trespass
on your property-unless you give me permission.” I
watched as he stepped outside his house. “I only
wanted to pay my respects to Mabel”

“Well … get out of that dadblamed wreck of a
truck, will you?”

“Sure” I reached for the door handle and it jammed.
Damn. I’d have to do it the hard way. I curled my fingers
around the roof and lifted myself out of the window,
head first since I was wearing a blue jean sundress. Then
I slithered my body out, careful not to flash too much leg in Everett’s direction. Not that he’d probably notice.
But, hey, I still had some shreds of modesty left.

When I finally cleared the window of my truck, I
brushed off my sundress and grabbed the tiny package
I’d picked up at Whiteside’s on the way here. I waved it
in Everett’s direction.