Authors: Lonaire Drummond
“It’s too bad I’m taken. He’s quite the showstopper,” Celeste said.
“I think the hotel needs to steam clean your seat after this party.”
Celeste blushed. “Am I being obvious?”
“He is something to look at.” Adele suddenly felt hot.
The sensation was nothing like what she had experienced with Ambrogio: it was embarrassment. Flaming hot shame glowed prominently on Adele’s cheeks.
Celeste giggled open-mouthed like a school girl. “He caught us staring.”
“Indeed.”
He was startlingly beautiful. Too picture perfect. A living breathing David. Ambrogio was a beautiful man, yet ruggedly touchable with a boyish charm. This man lack a certain refinement, Adele noticed, as she watched him slither over to her table, his left hand slung lazily in his black suit pocket.
He licked his lips and exposed an exceptionally red tongue. “Beautiful women should never sit alone at such a lavish event.” Although he seemed to be addressing both women, his roaming eyes traveled to every corner of Adele’s body before they rested on her eyes.
Adele struggled to undo the knot forming on her tongue. “Thanks. Umm, Thank you.”
“I’ve had too many fruity drinks.”
“That’s very odd. Usually men tend to veer away from brightly colored drinks.”
“I like my drinks sweet with copious amounts of rum just like my women.” He said.
Goosebumps formed on Adele’s arms. “You just don’t look like a man who drinks fruity drinks.”
Blatantly ignoring Celeste now, the man moved a chair close to Adele. “What kind of man am I?”
“You look like a serious man, a dangerous man.”
He took Adele’s hand. “I am no more dangerous than your common house mouse.”
Somehow, Adele doubted that. This man unnerved her. She wasn’t about to stick around to find out why. She told Celeste, who had been speaking with Ignatius, she was going outside for some fresh air to the objections of the uninvited guest at her table.
The man grabbed Adele. “Are you leaving so soon? I haven’t had the pleasure of learning your names.”
“She’s Celeste. I am not interested.” Careful not to stop on Celeste’s bottom lip, Adele walked away, passing Ignatius—still wearing his utility belt—along the way.
Ignatius touched the belt adoringly. “I’m always on call.”
Adele laughed. “Where’s your wife?”
“I’m married to my work.”
“I think your wife would object,” Adele joked with Ignatius for a few minutes, but soon the bar caught her attention, or more specifically, her need for a midori sour.
Chapter 19
Agitation lifted away, she closed her eyes against the darkness of the Caribbean night. Mindlessly sucking on an ice cube, Adele remembered Ambrogio using the prop to seduce her the first night in his villa. Launched from her mouth, catching air and breaking into pieces; it landed on the pavement. Adele watched as the ice cube melted away to nothing, much like her time with Ambrogio.
“Ladies don’t spit.”
She put down her drink on the water fountain’s ledge. “Why did you follow me out here?”
He held out a drink. “I brought you another midori sour.”
“I can’t accept a drink from someone I don’t know.”
“I’m Maurizio, Maurizio Guidice, and I would love the opportunity to get to know you better.”
Adele stretched her words out, speaking to him like he was a kindergartener. “Like I said before, I’m not interested.”
Maurizio heaved the electric green drink into her face. “Drink!”
She held the beverage like an extra in a liquor commercial.
“You still haven’t taken a sip of your drink.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
He crowded her, the space between them a distant memory. “I’m not asking you to jump out of a plane.”
“Celeste must be wondering where I am. Excuse me,” she said
“I was just trying to be nice. Maybe I should throw you over my shoulder; you seem to be more receptive to acts of brute force.”
Ambrogio always seemed to appear at the right moment. Adele wished he’d appear now. “Don’t touch me. I’ll scream.”
He produced a syringe, liquid already salivating at it’s tip, and flicked it with his pinky. “Before a sound escapes out of your pretty little mouth of yours, you’ll be dead. I tried to make it easy for you with. This will sting a little bit.”
So taken aback was Adele that when her brain finally communicated to her feet about the danger, it was almost too late.
Spit from the darkness, two burly men appeared, distracting Maurizio, who was a fraction of a second away from jamming the poison-laced needle in Adele’s arm.
Italian cut through the air like a sword. Adele was no expert, but the dialect they spoke was particularly hard to decipher. She only understood “Ambrogio’s girlfriend,” “innocent” and “kill,” Maurizio’s face, a burner glowing red on the kitchen stove, twisted in indignation as he fought against his human binds.
Moths in search of light, or in this case, the cause of a raucous so loud it drowned out the steel drum players, guests filtered out onto the patio just in time to watch Adele approach her rescuers.
“Do you know he’s been watching me?
“It doesn’t matter. He’s coming with us. No harm will come to you.” Just as rigid and unbendable as cement blocks, their faces gave away nothing. Adele had so many questions.
“Have you been lurking around all along? Did Ambrogio send you? How long have I been in danger?” She asked.
Maurizio had long since lost the physical battle, but now he fought with an arsenal of words. “Harm a hair on my head and it will be war.”
“The war has already started.” The taller of the two bodyguards said.
“What war? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Go back to your party, Miss.”
“
What about the police?”
“They won’t be necessary.”
“She’s not supposed to know.” One of the guards, who was busy rolling his eyes, said.
Determined to get some answers, Adele continued to question the men. “Know what?”
“You’re marked.” Maurizio said, although quickly silenced by a punch to the gut which sent spittle flying from his mouth.
The punch had shaved a few inches from his height. Adele took the opportunity to look her wheezing, hunched-over attacker in the eyes, the knee to the groin a sneak attack. “I hope I never see you again.”
The demeanors of the two gentleman leading Maurizio away suggested she would soon get her wish. The realization made her tremble.
Celeste, small in stature and big in heart, rushed to Adele’s side. “I heard a commotion and came out to investigate. I’m happy you’re not hurt.”
“Me too.” Adele said.
“What happened?”
“Your staring partner, Maurizio he said his name was, tried to kill me with a poison midori sour. When poisoning me didn’t work, he changed his weapon of choice to a needle. Those men leading him away saved my life, but their short on answers. I should call the police.”
“The Argentero’s own this hotel. Imagine what a police presence would do to their business. I could lose my job. Anyway, Mr. Argentero and you make a cute couple, but if you get the police involved, whatever you two had going will be over.”
“What about me? I could have been killed.”
Celeste hugged Adele. “I mean you’re protected. Just let it go.”
All signs pointed to a conspiracy, one Adele was clamoring to solve. With her hand scratching her head, she debated about what to do next. The drink, her one shot at justice, remained where she had put it.
Diluted, the midori sour, poison and all, should be enough to convict Maurizio of attempted murder. Adele would make that cocky son of a bitch pay, getting under Ambrogio’s skin was an added bonus.
Celeste corralled partygoers still milling around on the patio. “Ladies and gentlemen, the show is over, but now the contest begins. Be the first to reveal the motive behind the murder plot and win a prize.”
“I’ve heard of murder mysteries, but not motive mysteries.” A young female guest said.
“Is Le Chocolatè your typical hotel?” Celeste asked.
“No,” the guest said.
“Then why would you expect us to carry out a murder mystery the old conventional way?” Celeste asked.
“Stop harassing the staff.” A man who appeared to be her much older husband said.
“What the hell?”
“If anyone had it in their minds to call the police, now they won’t because they think what just happened was part of the festivities,” Celeste said.
“It’s is the exact opposite of what I want to happen.” Adele bit her bottom lip.
Celeste stared at Adele intently as if trying to excavate her thoughts from her mind. “You’re not going to tell me what you’re thinking are you?”
“Can you do me a favor? I left my purse at the bar. Could you get it for me?” Adele asked.
Drink in hand, careful not to spill one drop, Adele climbed into the cab she had flagged down in the street after. The grumpy driver received Adele’s request—a trip clear across town— with resentment, the grimace drawn into the creases of his old face deepened with every advancing minute.
To the driver’s luck, two men different from before, surrounded the car. A third man approached Adele’s window which was kept down despite her protests. Adele sat in silence, nursing the drink against her breast and hoping to disappear into the taxi’s plush seats. Head swiveling in all directions on his scrawny neck, eyes wide with terror, hands cocked against the steering wheel, the cab driver bowed his head in a prayer.
“The drink,” a guard said.
She didn’t move, so he reached in for it.
Broad-shouldered with an earpiece growing out of his right ear, the man quickly discarded the contents of the glass and pocketed Adele’s only shot at revenge.
Not so royal guards, sans towering feathered hats and red jackets, escorted her back to her cottage where she assumed she would stay until her flight out of St. Lucia tomorrow—an hypothesis confirmed by her bodyguard stained window and similarly decorated door. Defeated today, but triumphant tomorrow, Adele, resolute in her pledge to contact the police, did the only thing she could do. She went to bed.
The next morning, Adele woke up with an exceptional amount of vitality. She dressed quickly, not caring to impress anyone in a pair of yoga pants, a tank top and a bright smile. The reason for her jovial mood: the thought of Ambrogio’s face when he realized she had defied him.
His wants meant nothing to her. She had wanted him to leave her alone and he pursued her. She had wanted to seduce him and he called her a slut. She had wanted him to stay and he left. Ambrogio would like nothing better than for her to leave the police out of this. Adele would like for him to go to hell. No one was going to get their way.
An
exuberant Adele (despite the recent attempt on her life) pranced down to the front desk with luggage in hand upon discovering her door unguarded. It was she who was in for a surprise. Like ants circled around a piece of discarded cake, the guards swarmed around Adele before she had a chance to approach the front desk. She realized resistance much like her feelings for Ambrogio were futile.
“Per Mr. Argentero’s request, we will be escorting you to the airport.” The skinny one out of the three, the handle of the wheelbarrow, held Adele’s forearm, leading her in front of the other two wider whole-bodied guards.
“Do any of his so-called requests require me to sleep with the fishes?” Adele
A chorus of laughter erupted around her.
“You watch too much television Ms. Jaspers.” The guard flanked behind her and to her right said between fits of laughter.
“If Mr. Argentero wanted you dead, he would have let Maurizio give you cement shoes.” The guard bringing up the rear to Adele’s left guffawed loudly.
“I’m glad you all think this is funny.”
“I didn’t think it was funny until you said sleep with the fishes.” The skinny one said, taking his turn ribbing Adele.
“I think I like the silent approach better.”
“As you wish, but before we do, just to ease your mind. Mr. Argentero is not involved with the mob.”
“
Cazzo
! Why don’t you tell her everything?” As if moved by the angry force of their words, the skinny one dropped Adele’s arm when his colleague chastised his slip of the tongue.
“I told Mama you couldn’t handle this job. You’re too soft. You’re feelings are like a thirty foot wall, their always in the way. Two lovers holding hands on a morning stroll,
Madonna
, you know better Lucio.”
Now it had seemed everyone was in a mood for confessions. Adele put the small chunks of information in her pocket to aid in her escape. She had felt a strange vibe from the one they called Lucio—the vibe intensified when she caught him staring. He gaped at her like she was a dog treat and he hadn’t eaten for days.