Ron Base - Tree Callister 03 - Another Sanibel Sunset Detective (8 page)

“Well, then, we’re kind of at an impasse, aren’t we? I don’t know where she is. You won’t tell me why you want to find her.”

He lurched to his feet and leaned across the desk to retrieve the cutlass, causing Tree to flinch. That produced what passed for a smile on Edgar Bunya’s hard, scarred face. “See,” he said. “You are afraid of me. A good thing. As soon as you find Mrs. Traven, you tell me. Understand?”

“How am I supposed to contact you?”

He picked up the lily and Tree saw the slip of paper twisted around its stem. Bunya pointed at it. “That is the number where you can reach me. Call me. Leave a message. As soon as you find her, do it.”

He dropped the flower onto the desk and slipped the blade back into its holster before closing his suit jacket over it. Then he turned on his heel and went out the door without another word.

________

Nothing came up on Google for Edgar Bunya, even after Tree added “doctor” to his search. Then he typed in “short sleeves,” and that gave him a lot of fashion stuff about short-sleeved blouses. When he added “cutting off hands,” however, that yielded a
London Times
story about rebels of the Revolutionary United Front in Sierra Leone. “Long sleeves” meant they cut off your arm at the elbow. With “short sleeves” they simply cut off your hands.

Tree’s telephone rang. He peered at the number on the display and didn’t recognize it. He’d had enough unexpected trouble for one day. But then he was a detective, wasn’t he? He was supposed to be a tough guy, or at least tough enough to pick up a telephone.

“Trembath here,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“Mr. Trembath,” Tree said.

“Any news, old chap?”

“I was hoping you might be calling with some,” Tree said.

“No news from this end, I’m afraid. Mr. Shah has left the island for a few days. But he’s anxious to be kept in touch about any developments.”

“What do you know about a man named Edgar Bunya?”

There was an interesting silence before Trembath said: “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“How about Javor Zoran?”

Another silence. “Why am I supposed to know these people?”

“Their names have come up during the course of my investigation,” Tree said.

“Mr. Shah is not interested in anything but results—quick results. I do hope you’re not going to let him down.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Tree said. “I’m off to Key West tomorrow.”

“Key West?” Trembath sounded unexpectedly irritated. “Why would you go to Key West?”

“Let’s just say I’m playing out a lead.”

“I do hope you’re not wasting your time, Mr. Callister. I don’t know why Mrs. Traven would be in Key West.”

“Then where do you suggest I look for her?”

That produced yet another pause. “Well, that’s what we hired you for, isn’t it?”

“Then let me go to Key West.”

“Yes, of course, I’m not going to bloody well stop you, am I?” A forced jocularity was back in his voice. “Well, Mr. Callister, good luck and cheers.”

Trembath hung up his phone.

10

I met Hemingway once in Rome,” Rex Baxter was saying, leaning against the bar at the Lighthouse.

As usual on a Fun Friday, Rex was surrounded by an array of tourist-acolytes who remembered him from his Chicago television days.

“He came in to Harry’s Bar on the Via Veneto and then Sinatra came in and there we were standing around shooting the breeze. Frank was waiting for Ava but she never showed up that night.”

Someone said in an awed voice, “You were drinking with Hemingway
and
Sinatra?”

“Well, that was Rome in those days,” Rex said. “Everybody was there, and if you were there, you were at Harry’s. Anyway, Hemingway was Papa by then, the legend, the great white hunter with the beard and the safari jacket, the whole bit. We got to talking about movies, him and me and Sinatra. Hemingway
hated
Hollywood. Oh, he took their money all right, but he hated what they did to his books, and wouldn’t have anything to do with writing scripts. I admired him for that. Everyone else, Fitzgerald, Faulkner, Raymond Chandler, they all sold out to Hollywood. Whatever you might think of Hemingway, he never sold out. He remained true to himself.”

The rest of what Rex said was drowned out by the electronic piano player’s version of “Mandy.” Tree turned and leaned into Freddie’s ear and said, “Not that you’re keeping track but the count is up to three for the people looking for Elizabeth.”

“Who’s trying to find her?”

“There’s the Pakistani spy I told you about, Miram Shan.”

“Okay. Who else?”

“Javor Zoran. He’s a big Serb who wears flip-flops and doesn’t cut his toenails. He also tries to sound dangerous.”

“Tries?”

“You don’t take him too seriously until you find out that the War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague was going to indict him, but then had second thoughts.”

“About what?”

“The number of people he murdered. Apparently, he didn’t kill enough people for it to qualify as a crime against humanity.”

“You meet the nicest people, Tree.”

“And let’s not forget Dr. Edgar Bunya, the latest addition to the growing list of Elizabeth’s admirers.”

“Who is this guy?”

“I’m not so sure about him. From what I can figure, he may be some sort of rebel from Sierra Leone. Dr. Bunya owns a machete.”

“What’s he doing with a machete?”

“Actually, the correct term, according to him, is cutlass. He says he’s going to use it to give me short sleeves unless I tell him where Elizabeth is.”

“What’s this about short sleeves?”

“That is Sierra Leone rebel speak for cutting off your hands.”

“Good grief, Tree.”

“That’s why I had better find Elizabeth.”

“But you don’t know where she is.”

“Zoran thinks she might be in Key West. I’m going to check it out tomorrow.”

“I don’t think you should go to Key West.”

“I know.”

“‘I know,’ as in ‘You’re right, honey. I’m not going.’ Or ‘I know’ as in, ‘I’m going, anyway, and to heck with what you think?’”

“I’m being driven by Miram Shah’s money, not to mention Javor Zoran’s. And I’ve got visions of Dr. Edgar Bunya’s cutlass, and what happens if I don’t find her.”

“Do I have to tell you to be careful?”

“Careful is my middle name.”

“No, it isn’t, but you’re past the point where I can talk any sense into you.” He couldn’t tell whether she was angry, suspected she was. She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get out of here. I’m to meet my people in a few minutes.”

“Your syndicate that’s going to buy Dayton’s,” Tree said.

“Investors. They’ve flown in from Milwaukee and Chicago,” she said.

“I didn’t even know you knew anyone in Milwaukee.”

“I know someone in Tulsa too, but he couldn’t make it.”

“So this looks like it’s going to happen.”

“Nothing’s happening yet,” Freddie cautioned. “It’s just a get-acquainted meeting.”

“I’m amazed it’s moved this quickly.”

Freddie put her hand on his arm. “Are you all right with this?”

“Of course,” Tree said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You have to admit this whole situation is a little weird.”

“Listen,” Tree said, “life in general is weird these days. I’m encountering doctors armed with machetes. Buying supermarkets is nothing. If this is what you want, I’m all for it.”

“Thank you, my love.” She leaned forward and gently kissed him. Then she looked at her watch again and said, “Are you going to stay?”

“For a few minutes. Chris said he might show up. I’ll meet you back at the house.”

“If I’m going to be late, I’ll call you.” She gave him another peck on the mouth before making her exit.

The music stopped. Rex was saying, “Hollywood always messed Hemingway up, maybe that’s why he hated the town. I mean look at what Darryl Zanuck did to the 20th Century Fox version of
The Sun Also Rises
.

“The novel is about a lost generation of young people in Paris in the 1920s. So who does Zanuck get for the movie? Tyrone Power and Errol Flynn, who were both in their forties. Even Ava Gardner was too old for Lady Brett Ashley. What was Zanuck thinking? But that was the town in the 1950s. They always cast everything too old because there were all these ancient stars hanging around. So young actresses like Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn played against guys old enough to be their fathers.

“I mean, when Grace married Gary Cooper in
High Noon
, he looked like her
grandfather
. But Coop was good in
For Whom The Bell Tolls
, although I don’t think Hemingway liked that, either. He liked Coop, though. He and Coop were pals.
The Killers
with Burt Lancaster and Ava Gardner was the best of Hemingway’s stuff on the screen. Hemingway even had a copy of it, which he liked to watch when he was at his place in Cuba.”

Tree enjoyed listening to Rex. He’d been hearing the stories for a lifetime. Neither Rex nor his stories had changed much; they had just found a more receptive home on Sanibel. In Chicago, Rex had been a failed actor and minor local TV personality. Here on Sanibel Island he was royalty, coddled and courted, surrounded by adoring tourists who loved his memories of another time and all the famous people who inhabited that time. If the two of them were to end their days here, then Rex would end them happily. Tree was not so certain about himself.

“Dad?”

Tree turned to find Chris standing there, the light from the bar glinting off his glasses. He had a big, happy smile on his face and his arm around a young woman.

“Dad,” he said, “I’d like you to meet my friend, Susan.”

Tree looked into the fiercely blue eyes of Cailie Fisk.

11

Susan?” Tree had trouble getting the word out of his mouth.

She smiled and said, “Susan Troy,” holding out a slim hand to him. He took it, feeling the electric warmth of her touch. The blue eyes revealed nothing.

“We thought we’d drop around and say hello,” he heard Chris say. “We’re just on our way to dinner.”

Tree stared at the two of them. Chris said, “Where’s Freddie?”

Tree rallied and said, “She had a meeting. You just missed her.”

“I’m so sorry,” Susan said. “Chris has been raving about her.”

Chris said, “Would you like something to drink, Susan?”

“A kir royale,” she said.

Chris grinned. “Kir royale? Wasn’t that your drink of choice in Paris in the old days, Dad?”

“Cassis with champagne.” Susan’s eyes were on Tree. “I learned to drink it in Paris, too.”

Chris turned to Matt the bartender and asked if he could make a kir royale. He nodded. “One part cassis to five parts champagne. I pour the cassis into a flute and then add the champagne.”

“Make one for me, please,” Susan said.

Matt said, “Coming up.” He soon returned with a champagne glass filled with pale red liquid. Tree presented it to Susan. “There you go,” he said.

“It always makes me think of Paris,” Susan said, aiming an appreciative smile at Tree. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Does it make you think of Paris, Mr. Callister?”

“Please, call me Tree.”

“It was named after a guy who was the mayor of Lyon in the 1940s,” Rex said, wandering over. Chris introduced Susan. “Rex is the president of the Chamber of Commerce here on Sanibel,” Chris explained. “He and Dad have been friends forever.”

“Only since dinosaurs ruled the earth,” Rex said. “I found Tree in the forest and raised him as my own.”

“Rex used to be an actor in Hollywood,” Chris said.

“Hollywood.” Susan sounded impressed. “Were you in anything I might have seen?”

“I was Jack Palance’s young pal in
I Died A Thousand Times,
” Rex said.

Cailie shifted her attention back to Tree. “Chris says you’re a detective.”

“Only detective on Sanibel,” Rex said. “He’s a tourist attraction.”

“Dangerous work?”

“Not really,” Tree said.

“Don’t let my father fool you,” Chris said. “He’s had his share of trouble.”

“You look like a man who could get himself into trouble, all right,” she said.

“Where are you from Susan?” Tree asked.

She put her glass on the bar and turned to Chris. “We’ll be late for dinner.”

Chris finished his wine and said, “Okay, let’s get going.”

Cailie blessed Tree with yet another direct blue-eyed gaze. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Callister.”