Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 04 - Killer Kool (19 page)

“I can’t wait!” I exclaimed, jerking open my door.

“Mallie-stop!”

But I was already making a beeline for Carlos’ place,
jogging across the tiny front yards of his neighbors.
When I reached my destination, I crept toward the front
of the house, squinting to see through the jalousie window. I couldn’t see anything, but I heard Francesca moving around through the thin walls.

Tiptoeing around the side of the house, I tried another
window. Eureka! Francesca stood there, leaning over a
desk in the living room, as she tossed and sifted through
a stack of papers.

I’d wager my nonexistent raise that she was looking
for the recipe.

I glanced back at my truck; Cole had jumped out and
was heading in my direction, shouting on his cell phone.

Oh no!

Francesca would hear him, and she might try to escape. Waving both arms, I motioned him to stay back.
But he kept coming.

Taking in a deep breath, I circled back to the front
door and burst into the house.

“Caught you!” I yelled out. Shaken, Francesca slapped
a hand against her chest, causing her to drop a small 3x5
card.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, you nutcase,” she
snarled.

“Serves you right.” I bent down to retrieve the card,
but she reached for it at the same time. We knocked
heads and staggered back.

Dazed, I rubbed my scalp. She did likewise but took
an extra couple of seconds to clear her head just long
enough for me to pick up the card.

“Give me that! Now!” Her face crinkled with a vicious expression. “It’s mine.”

Backing up a few steps, I glanced down at the oldfashioned handwriting on the card. Yes! “It’s Carlos’
recipe for his secret sauce. I knew it! You’re were trying
to hide the evidence, because you stole it from him, and
then you murdered Marco to silence him forever.”

“You’re crazy.”

“You’re a thief and a killer!” I held out the recipe card
like a talisman. “And here’s the proof.”

“Carlos gave me that recipe, you idiot, so I could win the cooking contest, win the fifty thousand dollars, and
open my restaurant.”

I laughed as I placed my hands on my hips. “And why
would he do that?”

“Because he hated Marco and wanted my restaurant
to compete with his.”

“Then why did you come here to steal the recipe
card?” I waved it in her face.

Her dark eyes narrowed. “It’s the only copy, and I
didn’t want anyone else to have it. Even Beatrice doesn’t
know what’s in that sauce. I could market it all over the
world as Francesca’s Five-Herb Sauce and make millions.”

“So you’re a killer and a swindler!” I exclaimed.

She screamed something in Italian and lunged at me,
trying to seize the recipe. I whipped it behind my back,
holding out the other arm to fend her off. She slapped
my hand away, spitting Italian obscenities (not hard for
me to translate), as she picked up a large antique book
that had been lying on the desk.

Francesca swung it at me, but I ducked, calling out
for Cole. Then she grasped the book in both hands and
came at me, holding it out like a battering ram. I sidestepped her attack, but she couldn’t halt the momentumand ended up slamming against a wall. Amazingly, she
didn’t drop the book.

“Mallie!” Cole and Nick said in unison as they appeared at the front door.

Francesca took the opportunity to hurl the book at
my head. I hit the floor, but the book kept going and flew
toward Cole and Nick. They jumped to either side, and
the book winged its way through the door, where it came
to rest on the lawn.

“You!” Nick pointed at Francesca. “Get on the floor,
and put your hands behind your back.”

She immediately dropped down, whimpering.

“Cuff her!” I shouted. “She killed Marco and came
here to steal the secret sauce recipe! And I’ll bet she’s
the one who tried to frame Jimmy and threw that coconut at my truck.”

“Not true,” she responded, face muffled by the carpet. She turned her head. “At least the killing part. I did
put the shrimp shells in Jimmy’s locker, and I threw the
coconut at your rusty old truck to scare you enough to
back off. You were getting too close to the truth behind
the secret sauce. But I didn’t murder Marco.”

“Liar!” I retorted.

Cole retrieved the book and strolled back inside.
“This is one lethal tome.”

I took it from him and curled my hands around the
hand-tooled leather cover, keeping it safely away from
my assailant.

Nick handcuffed Francesca and hauled her to her feet.

“I only wanted the damn recipe, so I could win `Taste
of the Island’ Best Sauce, market it, and become a millionaire with my own TV show,” she muttered, glowering at me.

“Says you.” I clutched the book even tighter, glancing
down at the title. Dante’s Inferno. Fitting. “This is evidence.”

“I’ll take that,” Nick said in a calm voice. As I handed
it to him, a letter slipped out and floated toward the
floor, as gracefully as a palm frond dropping to the
earth.

Puzzled, I caught the folded letter before it landed on
the carpet.

“Mallie, don’t-” Nick began, but I was already reading it aloud.

“My Dear Beatrice,

When you read this letter, I will be gone. The
doctor told me it was a matter of days. But do not
grieve, my dear. I’m ready to join your mother, my
beloved Delores. She was my soul mate, and you
are the child of our love. And that is why I could
not allow Marco to divide you and Guido. I put the
shrimp in my secret sauce, knowing he would taste
it and die. I know I will pay for this sin, but I hope
you will forgive me.

My mouth dropped open, and I glanced up to behold
Beatrice and Guido standing there, realization dawning
in their eyes.

She gasped, and Guido made a choking sound. I managed to sputter an apology as I handed Beatrice the letter.

“I told you I didn’t kill Marco,” Francesca grated out
between clenched teeth. “All I did was try to steal the
recipe card.”

“And commit attempted battery-with a coconut and
a book,” Nick added in a grim tone.

“Did you know that Carlos killed his brother?” I demanded of Nick, anger welling up inside of me.

“Only this afternoon, when I received Carlos’ confession in the mail. He must have sent it the day he died.
He also stated that he left the letter for Beatrice in the
Dante book on his desk. That’s why I tried to stop you.”
Nick lifted one dark eyebrow. “If you had just waited
and talked to me before coming over here half-cocked, I
could have told you.”

“Like when? How can I trust that you would have let
me in on it?”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it-trust?” Nick said, regarding me with a hushed silence before steering Francesca out of the house.

Beatrice took Guido’s hand and solemnly placed the
letter in his palm. Then they slowly exited the house as
well.

Cole put his arms around me, and I buried my face in
his chest. “I messed up big-time again, didn’t I?” 1 moaned.

“Not really. Your heart’s in the right place.” He
smoothed my curls with a loving, soft caress. “With me.”

I pulled back in disbelief. “After all of this, you still
care?”

“You bet. We belong together.”

Maybe he was right.

The cold snap finally ended, just in time for the “Taste
of the Island,” as well as Jimmy and Sandy’s soon-to-be
wedding.

As I sat outside my Airstream in my yellow sundress,
waiting for Cole, I tilted my head back to enjoy the afternoon heat. It was amazing how quickly the Florida
sun could brush away any lingering chill with its sultry,
sweeping warmth.

The sunshine reflected off Rusty’s spanking-new
windshield, and I savored the sight of my truck’s restored
condition. It almost banished the bad memories of the
coconut attack last week.

Unfortunately, it would take longer for me to forget
how stupidly I had bungled the events at Carlos’ house.

Dumb. Dumb. Dumb.

Just then, Wanda Sue strolled up with Madame Geri.
“Are you ready to head out to the `Taste of the Island’?”

“As soon as Cole gets here.” I sighed. “What a week.
Can you believe what happened?”

“Yeah, who would have thunk it?” Wanda Sue sat
next to me, fanning herself with a large straw sun hat.

“I didn’t get the whole story from the spirit world,”
said Madame Geri. “Not about Carlos and Marco, and
not about your raise,” she said, turning to me. “Turns
out Anita’s grandfather was a skinflint.”

“Not surprising.” I slathered sunblock on my face to
avoid more freckles and handed the bottle to Wanda Sue.

“I still can’t find it in myself to blame Carlos. He did
it for Beatrice, so she could have the life he never had
with Delores. It’s kind of touching in a way.” Wanda Sue
sighed as she squirted a huge blob of sunblock into her
palm. “I’ve got to be careful with the sun since that bee
cream disaster.”

I nodded. “You don’t want to end up with another allergic reaction.”

Wanda Sue visibly shuddered.

“I told you, the Coral Island bees don’t create honey
that agrees with humans,” Madame Geri stated, her
mouth pursed.

“Except for Anita’s skin.” I hated to say it, but two
days ago, her face finally stopped peeling, and she
looked ten years younger. Wouldn’t you just know?

“Guess I was wrong about that one too,” Madame
Geri admitted.

I checked my watch, wondering where Cole was. Then
I took a peep at the site next door. The phantom Airstream
was back! And so was the middle-aged woman in the
apron.

“Look, she’s right there!” I pointed at my neighbor.

Wanda Sue didn’t glance up.

But Madame Geri waved at her. “It’s Maude Butterman. She used to keep her Airstream here at the Twin
Palms.”

I flashed an accusatory glance at my landlady. “I
thought you told me no one had checked in.”

“She didn’t,” Wanda Sue said, meeting my eyes with
a sheepish expression. “Remember our conversation
about Maude Butterman?”

“Maybe.” I took another look at the Airstream. It had
vanished. “Okay, what’s going on?”

“Maude didn’t `check in.’ She died about ten years
ago,” Madame Geri explained. “She and her husband
honeymooned here in the fifties, but they liked it so
much, they stayed. She reappears whenever there’s going
to be a wedding on the island.”

“Oh.” What else could I say?

Wanda Sue spread her hands in helpless appeal. “Sorry,
Mallie. I didn’t think you’d believe me if I told you the
rest of the story about Mrs. Butterman. I guess she’s
here because of Sandy and Jimmy.”

“Hi” Cole cruised onto my site, wearing a tropical shirt
and knee-length surfer shorts. He grinned at me, holding
out a small box. “Mallie, will you marry me?”

Omigod.