Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 04 - Killer Kool (16 page)

Focus. My hands tightened on the wheel, and I straightened in my seat and mulled over the paucity of suspects.

Francesca certainly had the temperament of someone
who might commit a crime of passion, but maybe she
wasn’t calculating enough to plan a murder. Her son,
Kyle, didn’t seem capable of planning his day, much less
an elaborate plot to poison someone.

That left Jimmy; I knew he didn’t do it. And Guido
didn’t appear to be much more than a volatile kid besotted with his first love.

No one else had access to the kitchen the day that
Marco died-except Beatrice. And I didn’t believe that
she could harm her own father. He might have been a
bit of a tyrant, but she’d loved him; that much was pretty
clear.

So that left me with … no suspects.

I bit my lip in frustration. I was missing something,
but what?

All of a sudden, something hit my windshield, smashing against the glass. My hands flew up to cover my face,
causing Rusty to veer into the left lane. I grabbed the
wheel and jerked it to the right as I pumped the brakes,
but I was going too fast. My truck careened onto the
shoulder, moving ever closer to a massive palm tree.

I’m going to die.

No!

Steer into the skid, I suddenly remembered from my
high school defensive driving class.

Instantly, I yanked the wheel in the opposite direction, and miraculously, my truck righted itself, and I
slowly brought it to a halt on the side of the road.

Hands shaking and heart pounding, I tried to take
stock of what had happened. Luckily, the glass hadn’t
shattered just cracked, with jagged threads stretching
across the entire windshield. Could I have hit an animal
and caused it to flip up onto the truck? Or had a bird
dive-bombed my truck?

I checked on both sides of my vehicle. Nothing. Then
my glance drifted to the side mirror and what might be
behind Rusty.

A large coconut lay in the middle of the road.

I gasped. It was certainly big enough to have done
that kind of damage to the glass, but how could it have
dropped onto my truck when the tree was on the side of
the road?

Just then, a car streaked out of the saw palmetto brush
with its lights off and raced in the opposite direction.
Before I could see the license plate, it was gone.

I jumped out the door, trying at least to catch the
make and model in the dark.

Oh, hell, too late!

Kicking the toe of my pumps on the shell road in
frustration, I took one last look around and climbed
back into my truck. Then, as I fastened my seat belt, I started shaking again as the reality of my near brush
with death set in.

Someone had tried to kill me.

After several attempted calls to Sandy, Wanda Sue,
and Madame Geri-yes, I was that upset-I finally had
enough strength to head back to the Twin Palms RV
Resort. I drove slowly, very slowly, almost like one of the
aging tourists that I mocked for driving at a snail’s pace.

Eventually, I arrived home and parked in front of my
Airstream, thankful that I was still alive. Someone had
deliberately thrown that coconut at my windshield, hoping that I would be driven off the road and injured,
maybe even fatally.

But who?

Marco’s killer?

Now my legs began to shake as well.

I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, taking in a
few deep, calming breaths. Once I had the trembling
under control, I took a cautious peep around my RV
site. Cole’s van remained-still and dark-on one side,
and on the other side, there appeared to be … the old
Airstream. Dull and dingy, for sure. The shadow trailer
echoing the silver, hutlike appearance of my own.

I tried to pinpoint more details about it, until a rap on
the window startled me out of my reverie.

I glanced to the left and spied Wanda Sue.

Whew. A friendly face.

I climbed out of the truck and flung my arms around her in a huge hug of relief. “I’m so glad to see you!” I
exclaimed, with a catch in my throat.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong?” Wanda Sue tilted her
head and gave me a speculative once-over. And that was
no mean task while keeping her giant teased beehive
hairdo intact in the strong wind.

“I think someone just tried to kill me.” I burst into
tears.

“What!?” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Are you sure?”

I pointed at my cracked windshield.

“Lordy.” She put an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s
get you out of this cold.”

Wanda Sue at my side, we made for the Airstream
door. As I fumbled with my key, I noticed that the
twin of my trailer, which I had just seen, was no longer
there. I paused, brushing the tears from my cheeks
and blinking to clear my vision. I know it was there.
“W-what happened to the Airstream parked next door?
It was back.”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“That old Airstream-it’s gone, but I thought I saw it
right there again.” I pointed at the now-empty site.

Wanda Sue patted me on the arm. “No one checked
in-trust me. But someone did drop by earlier.” She
snatched up the note that had been taped to my door.

I fixed your heater. Namaste, Sam.

“Yahoo! Sam is the best.”

“What’s that `name mast’ thing?”

“Yoga-speak. It means ‘peace.”’

Wanda Sue frowned, then shrugged. “I don’t get all
of that Bubba stuff.”

Did she mean Buddha? As I opened the door, Kong
flung himself at me, barking and licking my face with an
enthusiasm unparalleled by anyone else in my life. I
pressed him to me and sighed happily. My pooch’s adoration remained the one sane and stable thing in my life.

“Let me walk him. You get changed and relax.”
Wanda Sue took Kong’s leash and said, “Hey, little guy.”
She leveled a stern glance at him; he promptly began to
gnaw on her sequined shoes.

“He doesn’t like being called the L word,” I said.

“Pffffft. If the shoe fits, honey, you have to wear it
with pride.” She exited the Airstream, tugging on
Kong’s leash while he nipped at her legs, ankles, and
feet.

That Wanda Sue is a real friend.

I dragged myself to the back of my Airstream, yanked
off the fancy clothes, slipped out of the uncomfortable
pumps, and eased into my comfy sweats. I caught sight
of myself in the mirror and noticed that the pretty (well,
sort of) made-up face had been replaced by pale, scared
features.

By the time I’d put on a pot of coffee and settled onto
my sofa, Wanda Sue had returned. Kong leaped onto my
lap and buried his face under my arm, sighing in contentment. As I stroked his ears, the tension drained out
of me like air from an overinflated balloon, and I related
the evening’s traumas to Wanda Sue.

As she listened, she brought a cup of steaming coffee
over to me and seated herself next to me on the sofa.
“Do you want to call Nick to tell him what happened
with the coconut?”

My cheeks grew warm at the mention of his name, as
I conjured up the passion that had flared between us
outside the Taste of Venice. “I … I think I’ll wait until
morning. I need to get myself together first” In this state,
I’d probably end up back in his arms again.

Wanda Sue’s mouth turned up in a knowing smile. “I
get you. He’s just too hot to handle even when you’re
thinking straight.” I tried not to smile myself as I got a
load of her cold-weather outfit: skintight leggings and
neon tunic, with a faux-fur jacket straining at the seams
around her curves.

“Something like that.” I looked down at Kong, not
wanting Wanda Sue to read the truth of my feelings on
my face. “I’ll call him in the morning.”

She sipped her coffee and unzipped the jacket. Her
tunic had a huge black-and-white picture of Dolly Parton printed on the front. Cute.

“Sounds like a plan,” Wanda Sue said. “Sometimes
you have to remember that when life throws you a curve
ball as crooked as a dog’s leg, you just have to throw it
back.”

Huh?

My teacup poodle raised his head.

“She didn’t mean you, Kong.” At least, I didn’t think so
from what I could make out from that bizarre southern ism. For a few quiet moments, I soothed him with some
long strokes. “Okay, Wanda Sue, I’ve got two things to
ask you. First, what’s the story with the phantom Airstream next door? Is someone moving around from site
to site?”

“Can’t say.” Her features took on a cagey expression. “You know I have to keep all my clients’ identities
private.”

“Yeah, I remember when you had my parents living
next door and never told me. That was a major freak-out.”

“Sorry, hon.”

“Okay, question two, and this one I really need to
know the answer to, were you good friends with Beatrice’s mother, Delores?”

“Oh, sure thing, I can tell you that.” Her face brightened. “We were like two peas in a pod-bestest friends.
She and I grew up here, and we got married about the
same time, though she had a daughter and I didn’t have
any youngsters. But I was like a second mother to Beatrice.”

“And she thinks the world of you,” I assured her.

“I hope so,” Wanda Sue said, and then she paused.
“Anyway, as Delores and I grew older, we stayed friends.
Even when she divorced that mean snake, Marco, we
still met every week at Carlos’ ice cream parlor. She’d
order a big banana split, while I ate a measly little vanilla cone-and she never gained a pound. But I could
have just applied the ice cream right here.” She reached
down and pinched her hips. “Just ain’t right.”

I wagged my head in agreement, anxious to hear the
rest of the story. “And Delores died a few years ago,
from lupus, right?”

“Yep. It was heart-wrenching.” Wanda Sue’s face
crumpled into sad reflection. “She just withered away.
Beatrice lost her mama, and I lost my best friend.”

“I’m so sorry.” And I meant it. Wanda Sue might
dress like a tacky tropical version of her idol, Dolly Parton, but she had a heart of gold. “Was it awkward to
meet in the ice cream store where Delores’ ex-brotherin-law worked?”

Now it was Wanda Sue’s turn to blush. “Not exactly.”

“Okay, what’s the story?” I made a “gimme” gesture
with my hand.

“Delores and Carlos were … uh … more than
friends-“

“Lovers?” I cut in excitedly. “They had a thing going?”

Wanda Sue exhaled in a long, drawn-out note of sorrow. “When they were teenagers, they fell in love. But
Carlos got drafted and went to Vietnam as a helicopter
pilot. He was a hunk.”

“Carlos, a hunk?”

“He didn’t weigh three hundred pounds then.” She
waved my question aside with some impatience. ‘Anyway, he was shot down, and they thought he was dead.
So Marco moved in faster than fleas on a dog. He
pushed Delores to get married, and I think she was still
grieving too much to think straight.”

I sat up, enthralled. “Go on. So when did Carlos come
back?”

“A year after they were married.” Wanda Sue folded
her arms on her ample chest, her face kindling in anger.
“Delores stuck with Marco ‘cause of her religion, but she
always loved Carlos. He was so kind. But Marco had a
mean temper, and it just grew worse and worse over the
years, and Delores … Well, she started up again with
Carlos.”

“So that’s when they began the affair? How old were
they?”

“Maybe in their thirties.” She paused and shifted on
the sofa as if the cushions had suddenly become made
of cement.

“There’s more?” I prompted.

“Beatrice is Carlos’ daughter,” she said in a flat voice. “That’s why he loved her so much.”

I sat back, stunned. Desperate Housewives had nothing on Coral Island.

“That’s why the brothers had a falling-out. I think
Marco knew. But I can’t say for sure, ‘cause Delores
never told me.”

“Did Delores and Carlos keep seeing each other?”

“Hon, they were star-cornered lovers. Nothing
could’ve driven them apart.” She smiled.

“Or star-crossed,” I murmured.

“When Delores moved to town and finally decided to
get a divorce, they spent all their time together-till she
got sick. Even then, Carlos was at her side every step of the way, taking care of her right up to the moment she
drew her last breath.” Her smile faded. “My poor friend.
She just never seemed to catch a break.”

“But she did find true love,” I pointed out in a soft
voice.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

We both fell silent for a few moments, with only the
sound of Kong’s doggy panting.

“Does Beatrice know?” I finally spoke up.

She sighed again. “Delores never told her.”

I mulled over the revelations. Maybe Beatrice had
found out and decided that Marco had to be eliminatedto avenge her mother’s unhappiness and keep Guido with
her. Could it be possible?

“Mallie, your face looks like you just sucked a lemon.
What are you cooking up in your brain, girl?”

“Nothing.” I gave myself a mental shake. Beatrice as
a killer just didn’t jibe with the girl I had met, unless she
was an Oscar-winning actress of grief. “I suppose their
story just seems so … sad.”

“Like one of those Shakespeare-y tragedies.”

Sort of

I started to get us another cup of coffee, when a sudden pounding on my Airstream door startled me so
much that I dropped my cup and it broke on the wood
floor. Kong then awoke and began to bark.

“Who in the Sam Hill is that at this hour?” Wanda
Sue exclaimed.

“Mallie, Mallie!” I heard a familiar voice yelling.

I cracked the door and saw Sandy, Jimmy, Madame
Geri, and Anita-all shivering in the wind.

“Someone is trying to frame Jimmy,” Sandy cried
out. “He’s going to be arrested!”