Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 01 - Peril in Paradise (16 page)

“Hello?” I called out as I stepped inside.

“Back here,” Detective Billie said in a curt voice.

“How’s it going?” I entered his office. He was on the
phone barking orders to someone.

He nodded and motioned for me to take a seat. I decided to remain standing. If I didn’t get too comfortable, I might get out of there sooner as opposed to later.
That way, he couldn’t browbeat me, and I could keep
my heart from racing at the sight of his handsome face.

“There’s no need to panic, Bob. We’ll monitor the
weather reports and decide our course of action in an orderly, careful manner. If, and I repeat, if we have to issue
an evacuation order, we’ll can do it through the emergency radio broadcast system,” he was saying. “You’ll
have plenty of time to leave the island.”

Salty Bob must’ve disagreed because Detective Billie frowned into the phone. “Look, I’ve got someone in
the office I need to see. I’ll call you back”

He hung up, muttering something under his breath.

“Don’t tell me, Salty Bob is worried about his bike
path easement flooding.”

He nodded. “Every year it’s the same thing. A little
heavy rain and some wind, and people are ready to
head for Tallahassee” He raked a hand through his dark
hair and looked up at me. His eyes appeared tired, his
face drawn with a five o’clock shadow that stretched to
midnight. Darn. My heart already began to race. That
ragged, edgy look was enough to make my engine hum.

“Uh … Did the storm keep you up last night?”

“That and the dozen calls from scared people in the
flood zones.”

“If my phone had been working, I might’ve been one
of them”

He regarded me with a speculative gaze. “You don’t
strike me as the type to go all to pieces because of rain.”

“Don’t be too sure. This was my first tropical storm in my Airstream. The wind was enough to drive me
whimpering under the covers with Kong-my dog,” I
informed him.

“He must be one heck of a big one to be named after
a giant ape”

“Teacup poodle.”

The phone rang again. He yanked it off the receiver
and growled, “Billie, here. What is it? Bob, I said I’ll call
you back” He rolled his eyes and hung up. “He’s not going to be satisfied till he’s got everybody riled up”

“Is it going to get worse?” I was borderline riled myself, not looking forward to another night of fierce wind
and rain.

“Doesn’t look like it, but keep your radio on just in
case”

Like I had a radio.

He took a long, deep drink of his coffee. The aroma
wafted over to me and I immediately perked up. “Do
you have any more of that stuff?” I gestured toward his
large, white mug.

“In the reception area. Help yourself. Sorry I don’t
have any donuts.”

“I thought the power was out on the island.”

“We’ve got a generator.”

Seems like everyone did-but me. I made a mental
note to get a secondhand one as soon as I saved a few
bucks. Ha.

Before you could say “cream or sugar,” I dashed to
the coffeepot and poured myself a steaming hot cup of
my favorite adult stimulant. I could face anything after
a couple of swigs-even Detective Billie’s compelling
aura.

“So what did you want to talk about?” I said as I
reentered his office.

“You weren’t really at the marina buying shrimp,
were you?”

“Maybe not” I figured I could hem and haw for a
while-at least until I got a second cup of coffee. “What
do you think I was doing there?”

“I think you were trying to find Pete Cresswell so
you could question him about Hillman’s murder.”

“Possibly” I downed half my styrofoam cup, ready to finish it off before I had to admit anything.

“No more coffee unless you answer my questions.”

“You really know how to get a girl where it hurts, Billie.”

“I’ve been known to withhold coffee for days at a
time.” Amusement touched his voice as he leaned back
against the leather headrest of his chair. Did Detective
Billie have a sense of humor? Was he actually teasing
me, the woman who’s been a thorn in his side since
Hillman turned up dead?

“All right, you win. I admit I was there to question Pete” I took a seat opposite his desk. “I was talking to
Nora; she said Pete had a grudge against Hillman, so I
thought I’d have a friendly chat with him-for my article, of course”

“Of course.” He wasn’t buying it for a minute.

“Nora seemed worried that Pete might’ve killed Hillman. What do you think?” The best defense is a good
offense-I’d heard that somewhere and decided it was
worth a try.

“No comment”

Oh, well. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Maybe I wanted to see that red hair of yours again.”

A tiny jolt moved through me. Was he flirting? Stiff- jawed, by-the-book, reserved Detective Billie? With his
tousled hair and shadow of a beard that made me want
to … whoa. Stop right there. He was the enemy-or at
least off limits, at the very least.

“Okay, the real reason is I thought you’d like to know
that I may be making an arrest shortly on the Hillman
murder.”

“Really? Who is it?” My excitement vied with my
disappointment that I wasn’t asked here so he could
feast his eyes on my hair.

“I can’t say”

“Everett Jacobs?”

“No comment”

“I knew it.” My fists shot up in triumph.

“I’m not saying that he’s the one. But since we’re going to make an arrest, there’s no point in continuing to
question people. And, of course, you’re off the hook as
a suspect”

I lowered my arms. “Thanks for the vote of
confidence”

“My pleasure.”

“I expect a full statement from you for my next
article-“

“You’ll have it-after the arrest”

“I’ll be waiting . . ” I rose to my feet. “Could I
have another cup of coffee? The electricity is still out
at the RV park and I didn’t have my usual full pot this
morning.”

“Help yourself.”

The phone rang again. He grabbed the receiver and
motioned for me to close the office door on my way
out. I complied, but was tempted to press my ear to the
keyhole and see if I could catch any juicy tidbit, like
when the arrest was going to be made. Unfortunately,
the door had a modern brass knob with nary a keyhole
in sight.

I contented myself with another cup of coffee. I had
to admit Detective Billie made it just the way I liked It:
strong to just-this-side of mud. Taking a deep swig, I
stared at the closed door for a few moments. I had an
absurd desire to say something else to him, but what?

Forget it. Not the right time-or place.

I turned away and made my way back out to Rusty. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still overcast. A
lull. That’s all it was. The rain would start up again. I
could smell it in the air.

I couldn’t believe the investigation was almost over,
and Everett would be arrested soon. I felt relieved, but
vaguely uneasy. There were so many unanswered questions. I still hadn’t talked to the boy that Hillman sponsored in Big Brothers/Big Sisters. And what about his
financial state? Having writer’s block for years must’ve
put a dent in his savings, to say the least.

I climbed in my truck and fired up the engine.

Maybe those questions were unrelated to the murder.
The untidy threads of a man’s life that had unraveled
and were left hanging with his unexpected death.

I pulled back onto Cypress Road and debated
whether or not to stop at the Island Museum and talk to
Bradley Johnson. If Everett were arrested in a day or
two, knowing about the argument he had with Bradley
the other night was a moot point. I should probably forget it.

I jerked the wheel to the right and turned into the
museum parking lot. I couldn’t resist. I’d come this far.
Just because an arrest was going to be made, that didn’t
mean that I couldn’t get the inside scoop.

A lone car stood in the semi-flooded parking lot. A
low-slung Corvette, complete with T-tops and rear
spoilers. Bradley drove that? For a few moments my
vehicular psychoanalysis failed me. That kind of car
was a testosterone machine, a blatant statement of 160 Marty Ambrose
“mine’s-bigger-than-yours” A strange choice for a cultured type like Bradley. Even stranger to have that kind
of car on a tropical island prone to flooding. Hmmm.

After I parked my truck, I entered the museum. It
was a small, three-room building with giant glass
cases that contained scenes of Caloosa life. Life-sized
mannequins dressed and made-up to look like Caloosa
peopled each case, along with to-scale models of rough
huts. Realistic looking trees, flowers, and stuffed birds
completed the settings.

“I didn’t expect anyone to be out on a day like this,”
Bradley said as he came out from behind a desk.
Wearing a splashy-print shirt and silk pants, he seemed
a bit formally clothed for a museum curator. But I guess
someone had to uphold fashion standards on Coral Island where most residents considered beach flip-flops
“dress shoes.”

“It’s not so bad. Last night was the worst part by far.”

“Your first tropical disturbance?” He pushed the
large glasses back up his beaklike nose.

“No. But it’s my first in a trailer.”

“We’ll probably have a little more rain-that’s all”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “What can
I do for you?”

“I wanted to look around a bit and … ask you about
Everett Jacobs” Picking up a book, I flipped through it
in feigned nonchalance. “I saw you two at the Starfish
Lodge the other morning.”

He grimaced. “We had a disagreement.”

“Really?” I put the book down.

“I don’t know what gets into Everett … he knows
how important the archeological research is at the dig,
but all he seems to be concerned about is that cat of his.”

“Mabel is near and dear to his heart.”

“But surely not more important than history.”

“He said the research center wanted to expand the
site.”

Bradley shifted back and forth on his feet, as if
suddenly nervous. “Well … yes. We want to do a separate dig on his side of the Mounds. It’s too bad that Jack
couldn’t lay claim to the whole area-he totally supported the dig.”

“I know. I heard that he donated a lot of the money
for this museum, too.”

“Yes, he was a great patron”

“Did he help with these displays?” I strolled around
the glass cases. “They’re so lifelike.”

“No, I designed those-right down to the last detail.”

All of a sudden, my eyes riveted on the stuffed birds.
Had he done those, too? That would mean he’d have to
have bird carcasses.

“I see you’ve noticed my birds.” He had moved and
positioned himself right behind me.

I eased a few steps away from him.

“A local taxidermist did them. I thought he did a terrific job.”

“Yes, he did.” I almost laughed at my own foolishness.
Did I actually think Bradley could’ve killed a bird and
stuffed it? What’s more, maybe even put the egret on my
picnic table? Get real. He doesn’t even like to sweat.

“I’m reading about the Caloosa in a history book.
They really lived quite a simple life, didn’t they?”

“Yes, no money, no gold just an idyllic life of fishing and living off the land. We could learn a lot from
them.”

“Sure.” He droned on about the Caloosa, extolling their
simple lifestyle and berating how we’d become too
caught up in monetary gain. I felt like whipping out my
checkbook and showing him the meager balance. I was
already living close to subsistence level. The only difference between the Caloosa and me was that I didn’t practice human sacrifice. “Look, I’ve got to swing by the
Observer and make sure everything’s okay … thanks for
the tour”

“Anytime.”

I ducked out of there before he could begin lecturing
again. I’d gotten what I came for-he corroborated what
Everett had said about their argument. Not that it probably mattered now.

As I drove off, I noticed the Corvette had a temporary
license plate-the kind you get with a new car before
your permanent plate comes through the mail. Not that I
knew much about that. But my parents always bought a
new car every three years, no matter what. So I’d seen
the procedure many times.

It took me only about ten minutes to reach the strip mall at the island center where the Observer office was
located. As I let myself in with my key, I realized Anita
was already there. I could detect the unmistakable odor
of her Camels.

“Hey, kiddo. You keeping high and dry?” she exclaimed from inside her cubicle.

“Sort of.” I halted at the threshold, deciding to limit
my exposure to the life-threatening miasma of her
second-hand smoke. “I came by to check on the office.
Everything looks okay.”

“Yeah, this place is pretty sturdy.” She tapped her feet
on the shabby linoleum floor. A hollow, ringing sound
echoed through the office. “I’ve got an advance copy of
this week’s paper. Your story on Hillman looks … not
bad.”

I smiled. High praise, indeed. “I heard on the Q.T.
that Detective Billie would be making an arrest soon.”

Anita pursed her wrinkled mouth. “He told you?”

“Yeah”

“Now that’s interesting. I wouldn’t have thought he’d
be close to an arrest yet” She propped her feet up on
the desk and folded her arms behind her head. “He
must’ve found out that Pete’s alibi didn’t hold up-“

“Pete? I thought he was going to arrest Everett Jacobs,”
I protested.

“That old fool? Not in this lifetime.”

“But-“

“Pffft. Nick Billie isn’t stupid enough to take what that old man says seriously, and you shouldn’t either,
kiddo.”

I glared at her. “How did you know about Pete?”

“Everybody’s heard about the affair that Nora had
with Hillman. It just makes sense that he had the greatest
motive jealousy.”

“But what about your mantra, `follow the money’-”
A loud clap of thunder interrupted me.