Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 01 - Peril in Paradise (15 page)

“Okay, already,” he grumbled. He wore the plaid
shorts again, but obviously had gone for a more formal
look by adding an undershirt. The front was stained
with what appeared to be brown paint, but it could’ve
been food or tobacco. I decided not to speculate further.

When I reached his porch, I halted and held out the
little plastic bag.

He snatched it from me and peered inside.

“Does Mabel like toy mice?”

“She likes to kill real mice, but this one will do to
train her to be more of a hunter.”

Oh, goody. Everett can attack bunnies and maybe
birds, while Mabel goes after the mice. They’d be a
two-member attack team.

“Mr. Jacobs, I really didn’t mean to harass you about
Hillman’s murder last time I was here-“

“Bullhockey. Snooping is part of your job” He lifted
the catnip ball out of the bag and examined it.

“Uh … uh-” For once my motor mouth failed me.

“Go ahead, admit it. You think I’m an irascible old
coot.” He gave a short bark of laughter and I noticed his right incisor was missing. “It’s true, I am. I don’t like
people and they don’t like me”

I had to give him points for honesty.

“Everybody tries so hard to be nice all the time, when
inside they’re just seething with anger and resentment. I
don’t see any merit in holding back. It only makes you
crazy. So, yes, I’m a mean old man and proud of it.”

He scored a few more points.

“That’s why I’m so attached to Mabel. Animals don’t
have no hidden motives. They either like you or hate
you” He opened the screen door and tossed the catnip
onto the porch. “She’ll love that”

I heard a loud meow and the quick patter of claws
against the tile floor.

“That’s my Mabel. She moves faster than you can
say `jack rabbit’”

The word “rabbit” made me think of the BB gun
again.

“Speaking of rabbits, I heard that the island has a
problem with brown rabbits-“

“Damn right we do. They eat my hibiscus bushes
right down to the stalk. Especially when there’s no rain.
There ain’t no grass for them to nibble on, so they take
to my plants.” A sly grin peeped out from his bushy
beard. “But I deal with ‘em in my own way”

“And that is?”

He directed a penetrating stare at me. “That’s for me
to know.”

Okay. Move on to another topic. “Looks like we
might have a heck of a rainstorm brewing.”

“Stop beating around the bush, missy. Go ahead and
ask me”

I paused. “Did you murder Hillman?”

“Everybody thinks I did. Can’t say I blame them. We
argued constantly. We couldn’t stand the sight of each
other.” He hooked his gnarled thumbs in the expansive
waistband of his shorts. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say
I killed him.”

“So you’re saying you didn’t murder him?”

“Thought about it lots of times … but I couldn’t take
another human life. Even if it was a low-down, nasty
piece of work like Hillman. And that’s exactly what I
told Detective Billie.”

I’m sure that was convincing. “He hasn’t arrested
you, so I guess that says something.”

“I also have an alibi,” he added.

“You do?”

“I just said I did.”

“Okay. I was just affirming what you said.” It was
lame, I know. But nobody ever said I had the hang of
questioning suspects yet.

He waved a hand in disgust. “I was on the mainland
getting parts for my lawnmower, and I have witnesses
who’ll say they saw me there, too-around five P.M”

“You don’t use the Island Hardware?” Keep him
talking; he might trip himself up. Even if he went off the island, he had ample time to get back to the island
and murder Hillman. Weak alibi.

“Them people? No way. Not since I found they were
charging two dollars apiece more for a bag of nails.
Told ‘em so, too. We had a big blowup two years ago
and I haven’t been back since.”

Now why didn’t that surprise me? “What did Detective Billie say about your alibi?”

“Nothing. He don’t use a lot of fancy words and
waste my time.” Everett gave me another pointed stare.
“What about you, missy? You’re a suspect ‘cause you
found the body. You got an alibi?”

“Not a specific one per say, but I had no motive to
murder Hillman.”

“Hah. Just knowing him was enough of a motive as
far as I’m concerned”

“A few days ago I might’ve agreed with you but, since
that time, I’ve found out a couple of things about Hillman that have made me see him in a new light. He
wasn’t a total jerk, by any means”

“Says you”

`Bradley Johnson seemed to like him.”

“More’s the fool.”

“I thought I saw you with him this morning at the
Starfish Lodge-“

“There you go snooping around again.” His mouth
pulled into a tight line.

“I wasn’t snooping. I was meeting the writers’ group
there and just happen to see the two of you leaving,” I hastened to defend myself. “It was sort of hard not to
notice since you seemed to be having a disagreement
with Bradley.”

He cleared his throat and spit off to one side. “I
stopped in to pick up a bagel just minding my own
business-and that fool comes up and tells me those
rock crunchers up on the shell mounds-“

“The archaeologists?”

“Grave robbers if you ask me” He spit again. “They
want to start digging a new site on the mounds-on the
highest spot closest to my house. I told him no way anyhow. I will not have all that commotion up there disturbing Mabel”

“And that’s what you were arguing about?”

“Damn straight.”

“What happened?”

“He saw my point of view.” A flash of yellow teeth
appeared. “And I’d better not see anybody up there or
I’ll ..”

“Or you’ll do what?” I prompted.

“Nothin’” He spit again and I stepped back. Either
he was aiming for me or his vision was off, but I felt a
sprinkle on my sandal. Yuck.

“I guess I’ll be going.” I didn’t want to take a chance
on where his next stream of spit was going to end up. “I
hope Mabel feels tip-top soon. My own pet has been
having some problems with local birds. They’re all over
Twin Palms and upset him to no end. Have you ever had
that problem?”

“Nope. Mabel and I like birds. Especially the big
vultures … they pick up roadkill and move on, cleaning up the roads and minding their own business.”

“So you’d never harm a bird?”

“Why would I do that?” He began to clear his throat
and I knew what was coming.

“Okay” I stepped back. “See ya”

Turning on my heel, I moved away just in time. His
stream of spit barely missed my left foot.

I yanked on Rusty’s driver’s side door and, miraculously, it opened. I said a quick prayer to the saint of
ancient, ramshackle cars and slid in behind the wheel.
As I drove off, I peered in the rearview mirror. Everett
was still standing there, watching me. I saw him crumple the brown bag containing the stuffed mouse and
toss it on the ground. Oh, well, at least my catnip ball
had been a hit.

No matter what he said, the jury was still out on
whether he’d put the dead bird on my hood. And
his alibi the night Hillman was murdered seemed
shaky.

I headed back to Mango Bay, more than ready for the
restful peace of the Twin Palms resort.

As soon as I drove up to my RV site, I scanned the
picnic table. No more dead birds. Whew.

Humming in relief, I made for my Airstream, when
I noticed a book on my top step. Coral Island: Paradise Forgotten. I leafed through it and a piece of paper
fell out.

Dear Mallie,

The present is always tied to the past. You might
find the answers you seek in these pages. At any
rate, it makes better bedtime reading than bike
path committee minutes.

Sam

Two notes in one day. I had to admit that our omnipotent handyman was on the ball.

Kong barked-reminding me that his little bladder
was ready to burst.

“Okay, K.K., I’m here,” I exclaimed as I swung the
Airstream door open.

Kong came bounding out. I picked him up and
buried my face in his soft apricot fur. “Sorry, buddy,
I’ve been an all-around thoughtless airhead for leaving
you so long.” He licked my face in instant forgiveness.
As I reveled in his complete and non-judgmental licks
of love, I wondered why my family couldn’t be like
that? Accept me for who I am? I’m Mixed-up Mallie,
and that’s all there is to it.

All of a sudden, a thought rang with the clarity of a
church bell inside of my mind. Maybe it’s time to grow
up. My eyes met Kong’s. “What’s happening to me? Is
this what being involved in a murder investigation does
to someone?” I inquired of him. He stopped licking my
face.

A spurt of apprehension shot through me. Full-blown,
four-alarm adulthood conjured up images of little white houses behind neat little picket fences in boring little
towns. Serious. Nose-to-the-grindstone. Dull routines.
Oh, no. I’d become just like my parents.

Mercifully, I was spared any further nightmarish
speculation when the clouds finally opened up. Big,
heavy drops fell on the back of my head and drizzled
down my neck. I grabbed Kong’s leash, took him for a
quick walk, and lowered the awning of my Airstream.
I’d been through tropical storms before, and this one
promised to be in the words of Wanda Sue “a frogstrangler.” My honeymooning neighbors had taken in their
swimsuits and already closed their awning. No doubt
they intended to ride out the storm in their own way.

Sighing, I battened down inside of my Airstream with
only Kong and Sam’s book for companionship.

Alone.

It was time to grow up.

The rain fell in torrential sheets most of the night, accompanied by wind gusts that roared through the trailer
park like a rushing train. I was grateful for every one of
the four thousand two hundred and twenty-five pounds
of my Airstream as one blast of rain and wind passed
through after another.

I tried reading the Coral Island history book for an
hour or two, especially the part on the Caloosa Indians.
I learned that they lived by hunting and fishing, but also
had a complex social network all throughout Southwest
Florida.

I was just getting to the part about ritual sacrifice when the power went out. I flipped the book shut, huddled under the covers with Kong, and tried to ignore the
howling wind outside. Eventually, I must’ve dropped off
to sleep because the next thing I knew it was morning.
My Airstream intact, my body not yet sacrificed by the
Caloosa, my dog snuggling in the crook of my arm.
Hooray. I’d made it through the night, though still no
power.

I peeped my head outside the Airstream. The sky, a
gunmetal gray, looked threatening, and rain continued to
fall in a gentle, steady rhythm. Evidence of last night’s
tumult appeared everywhere. Palm fronds lay scattered
on the ground along with stray branches from nearby
pine trees. Leaves, bits of garbage, and downed power
lines gave the RV park a ragged, tattered look.

The behemoth next door survived, its generator
humming.

I wondered if my honeymooning neighbors had even
noticed that a storm had passed over.

“Howyadoing?” Wanda Sue said as she stopped at my
site. A large garbage bag in one hand, a soft drink can in
the other, she appeared to be a one-woman clean-up crew.
Pop Pop Welch was no doubt occupied with his usual
morning nap. Amazingly, her hair was still standing, not
a hair out of place in its six-inch-high beehive.

“I made it through the storm” I stepped outside,
checking to see if anyone else was around. I didn’t
particularly want anyone to see me in my knee-length Mickey Mouse sleep shirt. I made a mental note that if
I indeed intended to grow up, I probably needed to get
rid of all my Mickey regalia-except the watch. I really
loved the watch.

“We just made it through the first part of the storm,”
Wanda Sue said, picking up a crumpled paper plate.
“The rest of the system is stalled a few miles out. We’ll
probably have more heavy rain for at least a couple of
days”

“Will we have to evacuate?” For once, images of
hooking up my Airstream behind Rusty didn’t cause excitement to build inside of me. I wanted to stay and solve
Hillman’s murder.

“I don’t think so-not yet. All around Mango Bay the
power is out and there’s standing water up to your wazoo” She pointed to her knees for emphasis. I thought
the “wazoo” was located higher, but I could’ve been
wrong.

“The roads are still passable, thank goodness,” she
continued. “We should be okay as long as the rain
doesn’t get too bad. But just to play it safe, be ready in
case they announce an evacuation.”

“What about the power? I really, really need a cup of
coffee”

“Sorry … no go for a while.” She shrugged. “All the
RV’s are going to have to rely on their generators for
awhile.”

Oh, boy. Needless to say, I didn’t have one.

She strolled off, her industrial-size garbage bag trailing behind her. I was still momentarily entranced by her
hair helmet, wondering how many cans of hair spray she
went through each week.

I gave myself a mental shake and walked Kong. We
didn’t linger. I had things to do. People to see. A darkhaired detective in particular.

I took a quick, cold shower and donned my usual uniform of T-shirt and jeans, taking a few minutes to finger
comb my curls. With the humidity so high and no airconditioning, my hair resembled a cross between a bird’s
nest and brillo pad. Oh, well, it was the best I could do.

In half an hour I was on the road, maneuvering Rusty
through the rain-soaked streets of Mango Bay. Water
pooled in deep pockets, running with little currents across
the road in low spots, and tree limbs lay scattered in
lumpy piles. Luckily, my truck managed to lumber
through the obstacles, and I was on Cypress Road, heading for the island center.

As I parked in front of the police station, only one
car was in the parking lot-the black truck. Oh, goody.
Just Detective Billie and me. He could berate me to his
heart’s content and no one would hear. I climbed out of
Rusty. The driver’s door was working again-why, I
don’t know. I’d just learned to accept my beloved truck’s
idiosyncrasies without question.