Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 03 - Murder in the Mangroves (15 page)

I reached into my canvas bag and pulled out my notepad.
“Did she know Brett long?”

“They grew up together on the island but, of course, went
to different schools. Brett attended private academies on the
East Coast”

“So they were childhood sweethearts?”

“I’d hardly call them that. Passing acquaintances, maybe.
They weren’t in the same … social circles, you could say.”

Yeah, I’d say that.

“When Gina did a decorating job on our neighbor’s house
last year, she and Brett got reacquainted and began to date”
He said the last word as if it were an expletive, biting out the
last consonant.

“And she was good friends with Brandi, too, from what I
saw yesterday.”

“I guess so. They were both involved in that Mango Queen
thing.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “How is any
of this relevant to her obituary?”

“I need facts about her life. This won’t be a brief obituary,
since she was an island girl and the Mango Queen to boot.
It’ll probably be a half page, so I need a lot of … details.”

An expression of distaste crossed his features. “I don’t want
my family put through any more trauma. Please keep us out of
the `details’ as much as possible.”

“I’ll try, but Brett was her fiance” Was Bryan Palmer concerned about his family? Or did he have something to hide?
He seemed as tense as a horse straining at the start line. Maybe I’d jiggle his gate a little. “Let’s see now…” I flipped
through my notepad. “You dropped off Gina and Brandi at the
trail yesterday. Had you met them at Mama Maria’s? I know
they had breakfast there in the morning.”

His eyes narrowed, but then he flashed a smile of white
teeth again. Against his tan, they blazed in all their neon glory.
“I had breakfast with them.”

I made a mental note to check that with Mama Maria. “Was
Brett with you?”

“No, he had an early meeting with a client. He’s an attorney, you know.”

“And Gina was … just a decorator,” I couldn’t resist adding.

“What are you getting at, Ms. Monroe?” The smile vanished.

“It’s well known that you didn’t like the fact that your son
was engaged to Gina. After all, her grandfather was a migrant
worker.”

“Just because her grandfather worked for my father doesn’t
mean a thing. She was a lovely girl. And Brett-“

“Her grandfather worked for your family?”

“In our mango groves. We have over a hundred acres cultivated on the island,” he revealed with obvious pride. “The
land’s been in my family for three generations.”

“How nice.”

He pushed himself to a standing position. “I think I should
inform you that the Palmer family has quite a bit of influence
on this island, including that little rag of a newspaper you work
for. And if you impugn my family’s reputation in any way, I’ll
slap a lawsuit on you faster than-“

“Dad, what’s going on?” A slim, young man with patrician
features and close-cropped brown hair appeared.

“Nothing, son. Just having a little talk with Ms. Monroe”

“Mallie” I stretched out my hand and moved toward him.
“I work at the Observer.”

He shook it. “Aren’t you the one who … found Gina?”

I nodded, noticing the red-rimmed eyes. At least one person
in this family was sorry that Gina had died.

“She didn’t suffer in any way, did she?” His voice cracked
as he asked the question.

“Not from what I could tell-“

“There’s no point in speculating,” Bryan broke in, placing a
hand on his son’s shoulder. “You don’t want to torture yourself needlessly.”

He pulled away. “Dad, my fiancee is dead. You got it? She’s
the one woman I’ve ever loved, and I’ll never see her again.” His
eyes filled with tears. “I can’t imagine going on without
her… He slid into a chair and dropped his head into his hands.

Bryan’s only response was a tightening of his features.
“You’ll have to excuse my son-he’s not himself.”

Annoyance rose up inside of me like a jagged burn. “Anyone would be upset at such a loss. I think you need to cut him
some slack-“

“Mind your own business. This is my family, Ms. Monroe.
And we don’t need your interfering in matters that don’t concern you. My son is my concern-“

“Dad. Will you shut up!” Brett lurched to his feet and glared
at his father.

“Brett, I’m only trying to help.”

“Well, you’re not. You never liked Gina. I knew it, and she
knew it. Oh, you pretended all right. But inside, you never accepted her, and I’ll never forgive you for that” He shoved past
his father and stumbled out of the room.

Bryan Palmer turned to me, his face thunderous. “See what
you started? I want you out of this house, now.”

A tall, matchstick-thin woman appeared. As deeply tanned
as Bryan, she nonetheless hadn’t fared so well in the wrinkle
department. Deep lines fanned out from her eyes in spite of the unnaturally taut facial skin. Undoubtedly, she’d had plastic surgery, but it hadn’t erased the sun damagejust stretched
it out like leather over a drum.

I vowed to up my SPF to the highest level known to humankind.

“Darling, please keep your voice down. We don’t want the
neighbors to hear.” She looked at me with wary green eyes.
“I’m Trish Palmer.”

“Mallie Monroe from the Observer. I didn’t mean to upset
anyone, but I’m working on Gina Fernandez’s obituary.” Eying her immaculate ivory silk top and skirt, I looked down at
my T-shirt and jeans. They were almost dry but still sticking
to my skin in some spots.

Her eyes darkened momentarily. From grief? Or something
else? “I don’t think we can help you much. Our son was engaged to Gina, but we didn’t know her all that well.”

“But she grew up on Coral Island, and her mother runs one
of the most popular restaurants. Surely you were more than
passing strangers.”

Trish’s face assumed a mask of patronizing graciousness,
including a phony smile and thin, arched eyebrows. “Of course
we were more than strangers. I simply meant we didn’t know
any … intimate details about Gina’s life. You’ll need to speak
with her family for that kind of information.”

“Could I talk to Brandi?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her voice was soothing,
gentle. “She is very upset right now. Perhaps in a few days-“

“Forget it,” her husband cut in. “And forget trying to talk
with Brett; he won’t want to be interviewed-ever. That chapter of his life is closed, and there’s no point in making him relive it through memories he needs to put behind him.”

“Gina just died yesterday.” Creep.

Trish moved to position herself between her husband and me. “You’ll have to excuse my husband. Our whole family is still in
shock, Ms. Monroe. We each deal with grief in our own way.”

Yeah, I’ve seen more grief over roadkill.

“Let me show you out,” Trish continued. Grasping my arm
in a surprisingly firm grip, she steered me toward the front
door. “Come back in a day or two when we’ve had a chance to
calm down. Then we’ll have a statement for the paper.” She
gave me an encouraging little pat on the shoulder, swung open
the front door, and whisked me out in one smooth motion.

I found myself standing in the screened walkway, the front
door closed behind me. Talk about the bum’s rush. Did I get that
treatment out of their grief? Or was it my shabby appearance?

I shoved my notepad into my canvas bag and let myself out
of the screened area, keeping a close watch on those oscillating sprinklers. When they arched the farthest away from me, I
dashed for my truck. Just making it in time, I closed the door.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t rolled up the window, and I took another hit of sulfur water in the face-one last indignity before
I lit out of there. Obviously, I was not welcome at Sea Belle
Isle Point and never would be. Bryan and Trish Palmer had
made that very clear. Almost too clear. As if they had something to hide. But what?

I cranked up Rusty and headed for Mango Bay. I needed the
comfort and security of my Airstream. I needed to hug my
teacup poodle and have him look at me with adoration. Most
of all, I needed a shower to get rid of this darn sulfur smell
that now clung to me like a used match.

I took one last look at the Palmer house. Bad vibes all around.

I drove off.

As I approached my shiny silver Airstream, I took in a deep,
cleansing breath. The site was exactly as I had left it. My blue
and white striped awning flapped in the slight breeze coming in off the Gulf. My picnic table was positioned underneath, my
beach paraphernalia stacked neatly to one side. Ah, home.

I eased out of Rusty, and my moment of nirvana dissolved. A
blast of yet more Rolling Stones geezer rock assailed my ears.

Ugh.

Yanking open Rusty’s door, I strode over and beat on the
side of the aging RV next door. “Turn the music down!”

Laughter erupted from inside yet again.

I rapped on the yellowed siding once more. “I’ll call the
maintenance guy, and he’ll make you turn it down.”

More laughter. Okay, I’d probably laugh at that one too.

They’d probably met Pop Pop Welch and knew he was about
as much of a threat as a toothless guard dog-a fitting metaphor, since he rarely remembered to put in his dentures.

I kept banging on the RV with both fists.

Finally, the occupants lowered the music.

I headed back to my Airstream, muttering to myself. First
chance, I was going to call Wanda Sue and insist that she get
hard-nosed with those dippy, aging hipsters. If she had to hook
a stun gun onto Pop Pop’s cane, those people were going to
abide by the Twin Palms RV rules-or else.

As I was reaching for my door, a tall blond guy in Hawaiianprint swim trunks approached from the beach.

A huge grin spread across my face. “Cole!” I ran toward him.

He swept me up in his arms and spun me around, both of us
laughing.

“Hiya, babe” He planted a long, lingering kiss on my mouth.

Wow

or a few minutes, I reveled in the kiss. My arms slipped
around Cole’s neck, my feet barely touching the ground. All
of my senses sprang to life with a surge of excitement. Heart
pounded. Toes tingled. Tremors shot through me. It all felt so
familiar and so right.

Eventually, he pulled back and set me on my unsteady feet.
We stared at each other, grinning madly. I reached up and
brushed back the tendril of blond hair that fell across his
forehead-something I always used to do. He caught my hand
and kissed the fingers-something he always used to do. I
sighed happily.

“I’ve missed you” So much for playing it cool. But looking
at his tawny gold hair, boyish features, and psychedelic-orange
board shorts, I was totally caught up in his surfer-dude good
looks. Cole was an open book. Nothing hidden. Nothing held
back-unlike Nick Billie.

“I’ve missed you too.” He dropped another swift kiss onto
my more-than-willing lips.

I placed my hands against his chest to steady myself. “When
did you get in? I wasn’t expecting you for a while yet. I mean, I
thought you were still working on that wildlife-refuge gig in
New Mexico. Speaking of that, I loved the postcard you sent.
It reminded me of all the times we’d drive to Daytona Beach
and soak in the sun, even though I couldn’t really get any rays.
Remember how I’d have to cover up with pants, shirt, hat, and
sunblock? Oh, last year I discovered a new block with this incredible SPF. It really helps so I don’t get a zillion new freckles every time-“

Cole began laughing.

“What? What?”

“Same old Mallie. That motormouth hasn’t slowed down
one bit.”

“It must be genetic. Unless they come up with an antimotormouth medication, I’m pretty much going to be a lost
cause.”

“I wouldn’t say that” His soft blue eyes twinkled.

“You know, I should be mad at you. It’s been over two years
since you left to `find yourself.’”

The twinkle dimmed. “I sent postcards”

“Not much of a substitute.”

“I know.” His voice turned regretful. “I’m sorry, Mallie. I
was all kinds of stupid to leave you like that in Orlando. But
things were getting heavy between us, and I didn’t know how
to handle it. I’d never felt that way about anybody before, and
it scared the hell out of me. So I took off … but I never got
you out of my mind.”