Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 04 - Killer Kool (17 page)

I swung the door open and hustled everyone inside my
Airstream. One by one, they trooped in and found a
spot on the sofa or nearby kitchen chair, all crammed
tightly in the small confines of my trailer.

I scanned the clean-cut features of Jimmy, and next to
him Sandy, worried and gnawing on a Snickers bar.
Madame Geri appeared impassive, but I thought I detected a shadow of concern in her eyes. Hard to tell. Anita
wasn’t so difficult to read; she was filing her nails.

“What are you doing here?” I asked my boss.

“I was still in the office, ordering another jar of the
bee cream, when Madame Geri came in-“

“If I were you, I’d lay off that stuff,” I cut in. “Your
face looks like a shriveled beet.”

“Rosy glow,” she responded, holding up her bony,
wrinkled hands. “And it’s smoothing out my cuticles
too.”

“Anita!” Sandy grabbed the nail file from her and
threw it across the room. “This is my marriage and fu ture husband’s life at stake. Can you at least pretend to
be interested?”

“Fine.” She batted her almost nonexistent lashes. “I
came along for the ride, but I guess I won’t get a news
story out of this debacle if I don’t appear to give a rat’s-“

“I could use some of that bee cream.” Wanda Sue
scanned Anita’s red, swollen skin. “You don’t seem to
have so many deep lines under your eyes like you used
to.”

Anita glared at her. “You don’t exactly have
supermodel-smooth skin on your face, kid.”

“Forget the bee cream-it’s not good for you,”
Madame Geri said in a firm tone. “We’re here for Jimmy.”

“So what’s going on?” I eased myself onto the floor,
out of chairs and sofa space. “Who’s framing Jimmy?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Madame Geri said. “After I
took Pop Pop home, I had a partial message.”

“Text? Telephone?” I inquired.

“Telepathy.” She clamped her mouth in tight line.
Anita rolled her eyes, and Wanda Sue crossed herself.

Silly me.

“Of course, I followed the spirit world’s directions
and went to the restaurant. But all they told me was that
Jimmy was in danger of being blamed for Marco’s
death.”

“You went back to the Taste of Venice?” My eyes widened. I couldn’t imagine going back there for at least a
year-enough time for the staff to forget what had happened. Well, maybe two years.

“No, Little Tuscany,” she corrected me.

“I thought it was closed,” Wanda Sue piped up.

“It is. Like that would stop me.” A tiny smile lifted
the corners of Madame Geri’s mouth. “I went to Jimmy’s locker and found this… .” We all leaned forward
as she produced a clear plastic sandwich bag filled with
some kind of garbage.

“Eww.” Wanda Sue jerked back and held her nose.
“Shrimp shells.”

“That stinks to high heaven,” Anita pointed out unnecessarily, as she whipped out a bee cream jar from
her purse. “A little dab of this on my nose might take
the smell away.”

“You mean someone stashed those shells in Jimmy’s
locker so the police would think he placed the shrimp
in Marco’s sauce?” I spoke the words slowly, thinking
aloud about the possible motivation. “It was a frame!”

“Exactly.” Madame Geri raised her chin, her features
kindled in anger.

“And you took the baggie out of Jimmy’s locker?”
Wanda Sue said with a touch of awe. “I would’ve been
shaking in my shoes to do something like that. You’re
the bomb, Madame Geri.”

Sandy and Jimmy nodded in agreement.

“Who had access to the restaurant?” I stretched my
legs out in front of me, taking in a deep breath, as I tried
to piece together a new set of suspects. “And Jimmy’s
locker?”

“Pretty much anybody, I’d think,” said Madame Geri. “The front door was unlocked.” Madame Geri snatched
the bee cream away from Anita. “If you put any more
of this stuff near your nose, it’ll fall off.”

“Not likely.” Anita produced another jar. “I keep two
with me at all times just in case I run out.”

“Fine, I give up.” Madame Geri tossed it at her, but
Wanda Sue stretched out her hand and caught the jar.

“Oh, Anita, I forgot to tell you,” Madame Geri added,
“I had a message from your grandpa. He said to give
Mallie a raise.”

Anita gave a laugh of disbelief. “That skinflint? Not a
chance in hell.”

“That’s not exactly where he is,” Madame Geri
added.

“Maybe I could try just a little bit of this bee cream?”
Wanda Sue scanned the label for a few moments.
“Doesn’t say anything about side effects.”

“You’ll see. I tried to warn you.” Madame Geri
shrugged, then turned to me. “I locked up when I left the
restaurant, but I couldn’t say who might’ve been in there
before me and got into Jimmy’s locker.”

“That doesn’t help much.” I watched Wanda Sue
slather on a layer of the bee cream. “Except that we
know the murderer is getting worried enough to implicate Jimmy.”

“And try to kill Mallie,” Wanda Sue added, her skin
turning pink.

“What?!” everyone said at once.

“Didn’t you see Rusty before you came in?” I scanned the room. No one responded, and I gave an exclamation
of impatience. “The whole windshield is cracked because someone threw a coconut at it while I was driving
home from the Taste of Venice.”

Sandy gasped.

“Did you see who it was?” Jimmy asked, patting
Sandy’s hand.

“Nope. They drove off too fast.”

“And I’ll bet it was the same person who tried to
frame Jimmy,” Madame Geri said.

“Another telepathic communique?” I couldn’t help
the sarcasm that crept into my tone.

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “A lucky
guess.”

Wanda Sue began to scratch at her cheeks. “I feel all
itchy.”

“Your skin looks kind of blotchy,” I pointed out, noticing the little red bumps that had just spread across
her face. “It looks like … hives.”

Instantly, she jumped up and dashed toward my bathroom; a small shriek followed as she strode back into
the living room. “I’ve got measles!”

“No, it’s that damn cream,” I spat out. “You’re having
an allergic reaction.” Not another one!

“Remember what happened to Mr. Santini,” Jimmy
added unnecessarily, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Mercy me.” Wanda Sue clutched her face and moaned.
“I’m too young to die.”

“You’re not that young,” Anita said, tossing the bee cream into her purse before I could snatch it away from
her.

I rose to my feet. “We’d better get you to the ER, just
to make sure you’re okay.”

Wanda Sue tapped her cheeks several times. “I’ve
lost all feeling in my face-I can’t wait. I’m calling
911.” She flipped open her cell phone and punched in the
numbers while we watched in helpless concern.

What next?

Two hours later, I drove Wanda Sue home from the
ER. She’d been given Benadryl and a stern warning not
to ever use bee cream again-or even look at a jar.
(Okay, the latter was my suggestion.) By the time I
made it back to my Airstream, it was after midnight, and
all I wanted to do was curl up with Kong.

As I ducked inside my comfy home-on-wheels, I realized the air was almost as chilly as it was outdoors.
Shivering, I toggled the thermostat a couple of times,
but nothing happened.

Great. Just great.

The heater was on the fritz again.

After managing a few hours of sleep with the space
heater chugging its meager puffs of warmth, I leaped out
of bed at dawn and made a desperate call to Sam: “The
heater is out again, and my Airstream is turning into an
igloo. Help!” I crossed my fingers on both hands and
looked up for divine support that the handyman might
take pity on me.

I walked Kong, took a quick shower with the water as
hot as I could possibly stand, dressed in the heaviest
sweater and jeans that I could find, and hopped into my
truck.

As the heat blasted out of Rusty’s vents, I relaxed
enough to focus on the roller coaster events of the night
before.

Had I really been at a luxury dinner at the Taste of
Venice, followed by a tiff that almost came to blows between the restaurant owner/possible murder suspect and
the island psychic? Had I actually shared a passionate
kiss with Nick Billie, followed by an attempt on my life
by a coconut? Had I really ended up in the ER with my
landlady, who had a reaction to bee cream?

Island life was anything but mellow.

As I breezed into the Observer office a few minutes
later, Sandy was seated at her desk writing an obit,
and I could hear Anita yakking on the phone from her
office.

Business as usual.

Maybe I’d dreamed the whole series of events last night.

Sandy stopped typing and motioned me over to her
desk. After looking around surreptitiously, she opened a
desk drawer, and instead of seeing the usual stash of
chocolate bars, I spied the plastic baggie with the shrimp
shells.

So I didn’t dream it after all.

“What are you doing keeping those things in the office?” I said, ramming the drawer shut.

She shrugged. “I didn’t know what else to do with
them. Madame Geri took Jimmy into town to talk with
a lawyer, just in case he got called in by Nick Billie.”

“Or she’s questioned for tampering with evidence.” I
tossed my hobo bag onto my desk, causing the small stapler, notepad, and empty wallet to spill out. I tossed the
stuff back in. “I’m impressed that Madame Geri even
knows an attorney”

“He’s a client. She’s been communicating with his
deceased brother for him.”

“Of course.” I seated myself and flipped on the computer.

“Hey, kiddo, you need to get that Taste of Venice review up on the blog ASAP.” Anita stood at the doorway
of her office, face red and peeling, matched now by a
similar condition on her hands. I started to say something, then clamped my mouth shut again. What was the
point?

I retrieved my notepad and held it up. “The details
are all right here, at least as much as I could get before
Madame Geri and Francesca started going at it.”

“Sounds like the fight was the best part. Add that to
the blog.” She made a boxing jab at me, along with a
little fancy footwork. “Keep it tight, none of that literature-major crap. And you can forget trying to have that
crazy psychic get you a raise. If Grandpa were speaking
from the dead, he’d be telling me to bump you down to
minimum wage.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Was Wanda Sue okay?” Sandy asked, checking the
desk drawer one more time, as if to make sure no one
had taken the baggie in the last thirty seconds.

“She was fine, just a little embarrassed that she tried
that stupid cream.” I made sure my voice drifted in
Anita’s direction.

“It doesn’t work for everybody,” my editor commented
before she disappeared into her office-no doubt to lay
on another layer.

Sandy leaned forward and whispered, “She looks
awful.”

“It’s a lost cause trying to tell her anything.” I flipped
open my notepad, noticing how my handwriting had
grown almost illegible last night as the restaurant fight
escalated. I squinted, trying to make out the last part.

“We’re going to sit tight till the attorney tells Jimmy
what to do,” Sandy continued, leaning her elbows on a
small stack of wedding magazines. “The wedding is still
on. For now.”

“It’s going to happen, I just know it. And Jimmy is
innocent, so you’ve got that on your side.”

“Yeah.” She was working hard to sound upbeat, but I
knew Sandy too well. The little frown line between her
eyebrows gave away her true emotional state, as did the
tiny crumb of chocolate on her chin.

“Did you tell Nick about the coconut incident last
night?”

I paused. “Not exactly.”

“You’d better call him, just in case … uh, well, you know … something else happens.” She picked over her
words as if she were tiptoeing over shells on a beach.

Torn between excitement and reluctance, I hesitated.
After a few moments, though, both emotions took a
backseat to the thought of another attempt on my life; it
propelled me to pick up the receiver. As I punched in
the police station’s number, I tried to suppress the images that arose of my encounter last night with Nick
outside the Taste of Venice. Heat crept into my face, and
my heart began to thud like a bass drum.

Please don’t let Nick answer. I wasn’t ready to talk to
him. Fortunately, I got his answering machine, and I
blurted out, “Nick, someone tried to kill me last night
by throwing a coconut through my windshield, but I’m
fine now.” I hung up.

“You might’ve given him a few more details,” Sandy
commented.

“I … I’ve got to get that Taste of Venice blog entry
finished, or Anita will have my butt in a sling.” That, at
least, was true.

“Suit yourself, Mallie, but I think you’re making a
mistake.” She opened one of the wedding magazines and
began flipping through the pages. “Nick should know
how desperate Marco’s killer is getting.”

“I’ll go talk to him-if you come with me and spill
the beans about the mystery shrimp shells in Jimmy’s
locker.”

Sandy bit her lip and closed the magazine. “Point
taken. Let’s get back to work.”

Satisfied, I resumed typing up my blog entry, and she
resumed composing her obit. Nothing like a little reality
check.

“Just be careful,” Sandy warned, as her fingers flew
across the keys. “I don’t want you, or Jimmy, to be
hurt.”

“We’ll be fine.” I hoped my voice sounded more certain than I felt inside.

Sandy checked the drawer with the shrimp shells one
more time. “Okay.”

An hour later, I had the blog entry completed and sat
back, scanning the lines for any errors or extraneous
verbiage, knowing my nitpicking editor would check it
over for any slight infraction of the Anita Grammar Police Rules. After three attempts at proofreading, I found
only one spelling misdemeanor and a punctuation felony. I uploaded it with a triumphant click of the ENTER
button.