Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 03 - Murder in the Mangroves (21 page)

“I was. I thought my life was over when Rich died.” She
sighed. “But Alberto made me want live again. He was so different from Rich. Passionate, fiery, magnetic. We argued constantly, and I couldn’t resist him-or my own desires.”

I swallowed hard. Aunt Lily? Desires? Yikes.

She patted my hand. “I know it’s difficult to hear that from
an old person, but I wasn’t always this age. I loved two men
with all my heart. Rich was my childhood sweetie, and Alberto was my mature love. I don’t regret any of it.”

Whew. This was heavy stuff after the crazy day I’d had.
“Why did you keep it a secret all these years?”

“That’s my one regret” Her face crumpled and suddenly
looked old. “I know it sounds stupid in this day and age, but
back then racism was alive and thriving on Coral Island. Alberto was a Latino farmer, and I was a respectable Anglo widow. Marrying him would’ve exposed us to dangerous repercussions. Sure, it was okay to have him manage my grove, but
marry him? No. People would’ve never accepted it. It was easier
to love him in secret”

I cast my eyes down at her wrinkled, age-spotted hand on
top of mine. I turned my palm around and clasped hers. “I’m
so sorry.”

“Me too. I took the easy way out. I didn’t follow my heart.
`Passion should believe itself irresistible.’”

“Shakespeare?”

“E.M. Forster.” She laughed. “And you call yourself a
comparative-literature major.”

“It’s been a long day.”

“Poor Alberto. He never reproached me once, but it
must’ve been so hard for him to lie and hide his feelings from
others-even his own daughter.”

“Mama Maria isn’t your daughter?”

“I wish, but no. Maria was his daughter from his first marriage. Her mother died when Maria was born. But I loved her
as if she’d been my child. I helped her start the restaurant,
paid for her wedding, put Gina through decorating school. I
wish I could’ve done more”

“You did a lot.” I glanced down at the picture again. It now
seemed all the more poignant because of knowing the secret
that bound the three of them together. “Did Maria know?”

“I’m not sure. We never talked about it. She must’ve,
though.”

I took in a deep breath. “What happened to Alberto?”

She began to weep. “He died in the early sixties from cancer. It was one of those fast-acting, inoperable kinds. At least
he didn’t suffer. I don’t think I could’ve taken seeing him in
pain.” She tilted her head back, fighting for control. After a
minute or two, she’d mastered her emotions. “He’s buried in the grove, near the first mango tree we planted together. And
I’ve left instructions in my will that I want to be buried next to
him. Please make sure that happens”

“I promise I will.” I felt the sting of tears in my own eyes.

“Now you see why I was so upset about Gina’s death. She
was like my own grandchild. That’s why we have to find who
killed her.”

I shook my head, trying to clear my mind of Aunt Lily’s
shocking revelations. Focus. Focus. “I guess it’s okay to tell
you this: you were right. Nick Billie told me this morning that
a poisonous substance was found in Gina’s bloodstream. He
thinks someone placed it in the syringe she used to give herself insulin injections.”

“I knew it!” Aunt Lily exclaimed.

“Look, I’ve been digging around, and while there are people
who didn’t like Gina, no one seems to have had a strong enough
reason to kill her. Brandi wanted to be the Mango Queen,
Brett’s parents didn’t like his engagement, and Isabel Morales
owed her money. But none of it adds up to a real motive for
murder.”

“The motive may not lie in the present, but in the past.”

“Do tell,” I queried. She knew something else. “This isn’t the
time to hold back on me, Auntie.”

She pursed her lips. “Right before he got cancer, Alberto
told me he was going to make a lot of money-enough for us to
leave the island if we wanted to. He never told me the particulars; then he got sick, and it didn’t seem to matter anymore.
All I know is, right about that time, Bryan Palmer’s father
came into a lot of cash-while Alberto managed his mango
grove.”

My mind raced ahead, trying to figure out the implications
of what she was suggesting. “So you’re saying Gina’s death
may be connected with something her grandfather knew?”

“Exactly.”

“I hate to ask this, but … do you think Alberto was involved in illegal activities with the Palmers? Gunrunning, or
whatever they did back then?”

“No” Her voice was firm. “Alberto would’ve never done
anything like that”

“What, then?”

“I don’t know” She shook her head negatively. “But it’s
nagged at me all these years-the feeling that Alberto was
somehow cheated out of his rightful dues. Something that
Bryan Palmer might kill to hide-“

The door to the Airstream swung open with a sudden clatter. We both jumped.

“Dinner is ready,” Cole announced. His smile dimmed
when he saw us. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay. We’ll be right out,” I said.

He closed the door quietly.

I turned to my aunt. “Are you okay?”

“Surprisingly … yes. It feels as if a weight has been lifted
off my shoulders to be able, finally, to share the secret with
you.” She stood up and smoothed down her cotton top. “I’m
just sorry it took such a tragic event to give me the courage to
confess.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find out what happened to Gina. If Bryan
Palmer is responsible, then he’ll pay for it.”

“Be careful, though. If he was willing to kill once to hide
the truth, he could do it again.”

Instantly, the image of the cut-up photo rose in my mind.
“I … I may need to share this with Nick Billie.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

“He’ll be totally discreet, I’m sure”

“Oh, yes. I don’t think wild horses could drag a secret out
of Nick.” She managed a choking laugh. “In fact, he reminds me of Alberto-passionate on the inside but strong and restrained on the outside. He’s the kind of man who’ll be a rock
in a storm” She winked at me.

“I like to stick to sunny weather.” I reached for the doorknob, but Aunt Lily stopped me.

“Mallie, don’t make the same mistake I did. Cole is nice,
but is he really what you want? Love isn’t comfortable. It
knocks you sideways, and you’re never the same again. And
that’s how it should be”

“You sound like Sam” Alarm bells went off inside me.
“I … just don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” She touched my arm. “Don’t take the easy
road. You’ll regret it.”

I swung open the door and stepped out of the Airstream.
The warm, late-afternoon sunlight greeted me. Then Cole approached, his eyes rueful as he held up a grilling utensil. “I
hope I didn’t burn your grouper. The fire was still a little intense.”

“I’m sure it’s fine”

But would I ever be the same after Aunt Lily’s revelation?

It had rocked my world.

The next two hours passed in a blur. Sam and Aunt Lily
kept up a steady stream of conversation. I don’t know how she
did it. I was a wreck. Cole must’ve sensed something, because
he didn’t say much, eitherjust went about the business of
serving everyone.

How could I concentrate on eating? My beloved great-aunt
had had a lover, a secret that she’d hidden from me. It had
been a long-term relationship, and no one in my family even
knew about it. Unbelievable.

Was there anything else about her I didn’t know? I kept
glancing at her in dazed puzzlement.

Eventually, the dinner ended; then Aunt Lily and Sam
left-she giving me a hug before they drove off. But I was still
in shock.

“Are you okay?” Cole asked as we watched Sam’s serviceable Volvo disappear into the twilight. Clouds had drifted in
off the Gulf, and a cool breeze finally wafted in. It should’ve
felt refreshing, but instead, it scattered my senses even further. Cole moved closer. “What’s going on?”

“Just a lot of … stuff. I mean, I need some time to decompress. This murder case has stirred up feelings inside me, and
I’m not sure how to deal with them” Not to mention I’d learned
about family secrets that had shaken me right down to my
Birkenstocks.

“It’s cool, babe. I’ll be hanging out in the van if you need to
come over and talk.”

“Thanks.” I turned up my face and brushed my mouth
against his.

He tucked my curls behind my ears. “I’m not going anywhere.” For now. The words were unspoken, but I could hear
them in my mind. As he moved toward his van, I had a mad
moment of wanting to follow him, hop in, pack up, and get the
hell out of there. We could take up where we’d left off in Orlando and head out for some lighthearted romance and fun.

So what if it was the “easy road”? Why did life and love
have to be hard?

I took a couple of steps in Cole’s direction-then halted. I
couldn’t just take off and leave Aunt Lily right now. She needed
me to find out what had happened to Gina. Like it or not, I had
taken on responsibilities on Coral Island and couldn’t just toss
them to the winds.

Too bad.

Sighing, I let myself into the Airstream, grabbed Kong, and
made for my bed. En route, I retrieved the mango articles written by my mentally unbalanced predecessor at the Observer.
Nothing like a couple of fruit stories to distract me and maybe
even send me off to the land of nod. One could only hope.

“Whaddya think, Kong? Where should we start?”

He tapped a paw on “Mango Fever: The History of Mangos
on Coral Island.” Yawn. I sorted through the rest of the articles,
which contained more of the same. No wonder the poor reporter
went berserk in the Dairy Queen drive-through. She was probably half-crazy from all the excitement of writing twelve stories
about a piece of fruit.

I settled into bed, Kong under one arm, and began reading.
After twenty minutes, my eyelids began to droop. I’d made it
through the early homesteading years when the mango groves
began, right through a couple of hurricanes, the Depression,
World War II … blah, blah, blah.

I was about to doze off when a name stood out: Harold
Palmer.

Whoa.

Sitting up, I refocused my eyes.

The story zeroed in on the groves run by Bryan’s father
during the 1950s. Apparently, he’d become quite wealthy by
creating new varieties of mangos: primarily Palmer’s Pride, a
mango that gained worldwide appeal. Palmer expanded his
operation on Coral Island to include almost a thousand acres,
employing over a hundred people. A picture was also included
in the story, with the caption, “Harold Palmer, with his grove
manager, Alberto Espinosa, and Judge Nathan Finch.” They
appeared relaxed and happy.

My breath caught in my throat. Aunt Lily had said that Alberto had been about to make a lot of money around the time
this picture was taken. No doubt connected with Palmer. But
was Finch involved?

I studied each of the men, straining to make out details in the grainy picture. They all wore short-sleeved shirts, baggy white
pants, and suspenders. Alberto’s dark hair and strong features
stood out, as did Harold Palmer’s tall, lean form. Finch, unfortunately, didn’t fare so well; he had the same pinched, ferretlike
face he’d passed on to his son, Homer. Bad genes have a way of
staying put through the generations. Like my brother, who’d
inherited the Dumbo-like ears of my father’s side. Very unfortunate.

What was the secret these three men shared? Did Gina find
out and end up paying with her life?

I hugged Kong even tighter. He licked my face a few times,
then dropped off to sleep. Nuzzling him, I lay back, trying
to calm my racing thoughts. A quick “mugatoni” meditation
helped. Then, as I closed my eyes, a blast of “Nights in White
Satin” emanated from the ramshackle RV next door.

Oh, no.

I rose the next morning, bleary-eyed and cranky. It had taken
three calls to Pop Pop Welch to propel the aging handyman over
to the hippies-from-hell next door. When he finally did show, he
banged on the side of the RV with his trusty cane and threatened
them with eviction.

They’d finally turned off the music. Pop Pop retreated to his
golf cart, taking a couple of whiffs from his oxygen tank before
he could make it back to his cottage.

After that little altercation, I managed maybe four hours of
restless sleep.

I was in no mood for Bernice the next day when I rolled
into the Observer As I entered the office, I scanned the premises for any sign of fish bait, a tree stump, or a greasy engine.
Whatever was there, I vowed it was going out the front door.

“Mallie? Can I get you a cup of coffee?” Sandy asked in a
tentative voice. “You look a bit … out of sorts”

“Black. No sugar. No cream. And keep it coming,” I growled,
stalking toward my desk.

“What’s going on?”

I sat down and buried my head in my hands. “Just some
moronic RV-ers next to me who don’t seem to realize that the
Twin Palms isn’t Woodstock. They cranked up the geezer rock
big-time last night.”

“Bummer.”

“You’re telling me,” I mumbled.

“Here, this should help.” She handed me a large, chipped
mug filled to the brim with high-test, high-caffeine, hot-as-hell
coffee. I raised my head and took a long, long drink. “Thanks.
I needed that”

“Take this too. You need it more than I do” She set a lovely,
carb-filled Krispy Kreme delight in front of me.

I gasped. “Are you sure?”

“Yep.” Her sweet face beamed. “I don’t need it, because
I’ve outsmarted Butthead Bernice.” She pointed at the empty
cubicle.

“I’m all ears” I waited eagerly as I gulped down more coffee and bit into the doughnut.

“I thought I’d give Madame Geri’s curse a little boost” She
pulled up a chair, brimming with self-satisfaction. “I called
Jimmy’s fishing buddy, Tiko, to take Bernice out to the Seafood
Shanty last night on the pretext that he might want to buy advertising for his tilapia farm. Tiko can drink a biker under the table.
Anyway, they started with beer and ended up doing shots of
tequila. So, after yesterday’s hangover and last night’s binge,
Bernice is … out of commission.” A sly smile spread across her
face. “She can’t even get out of bed this morning. In the meantime, I called the Finch and Harris law firm, and they want to
buy advertising. Great, huh?” She held up a stand-up cardboard
poster advertising the firm: LEGAL WOES? CONTACT FINCH AND HARRIS. Tasteful. Discreet. Better yet, it didn’t smell up the entire office.