Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 04 - Killer Kool (4 page)

Madame Geri raised her chin and tossed back her blond dreadlocks. “I’m well aware of that, but one does
not challenge the spirit world.” She smoothed down her
fifties retro white cotton dress embroidered with tiny red
apples. Middle-aged but with smooth, unlined skin,
Madame Geri had the look of the Mad Housewife generation with a touch of Bob Marley: preppy-boho-loony
chic.

Sandy cried harder. “I can’t go through with it now. If
I try, Jimmy and I will be cursed and never have a moment’s peace.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I spat out. “Why would the possibility of a killer on the island affect your wedding plans?”
I rolled my eyes in skepticism at Madame Geri.

“M-maybe he’s targeting Jimmy or me,” Sandy managed to get out between sobs. “We can’t get married if
one of us is d-dead.”

“Stop it!” I cut in swiftly. “Madame Geri didn’t say
anything about you or Jimmy dying. You’re jumping to
conclusions over some half-baked prediction-“

“Now you stop it.” It was Madame Geri’s turn to cut
in, with a warning glance leveled in my direction. “The
spirit world never lies to me. Something is going to happen that will end the wedding plans, but it won’t be
Sandy’s or Jimmy’s death.”

“Okay, that sounds a little better.” I gave a halfhearted
nod in Madame Geri’s direction, trying to reassure myself that Nick had said nothing appeared suspicious about
Santini’s death.

Sandy stopped crying.

“So neither of you is in danger of actually dying,” I
continued in an upbeat tone.

“Of course not,” Madame Geri agreed. “It’s the wedding that’s in danger-of not happening.”

Sandy began crying again.

“Can we have a reality check here?” I said, throwing
up my hands in frustration. I’d received “messages” from
Madame Geri’s spirit world before, and they were always
vague. My contention was, if spirits were going to communicate with those of us still on planet Earth, you’d think
they would find a way to give concrete advice like “Don’t
wear red-it clashes with your hair.” Or, “Don’t run that
stop sign-a cop is hiding behind those trees.” Or, “Don’t
major in comparative literature-you’ll never get a decent job.” That was the type of advice I wish I had heard.
If I had been treated to a few of those little suggestions
during my life, things might have turned out differently.

“The spirit world doesn’t communicate the way the
living do-they live on a different plane of existence,”
Madame Geri pronounced, as if reading my thoughts.
“And redheads can wear red.”

Okay, now she was freaking me out.

“What am I going to do?” Sandy wailed.

“That depends on Mallie,” Madame Geri chimed in,
pointing at me. “You might be able to avert the disaster.”

“Me? How?” I started thinking about Mr. Santini
again.

“You need to start investigating anything out of the
ordinary on the island. Something has already been
set into motion, and you’re the one who can figure it
out.”

“Like … a suspicious death?” A warning light flickered inside of me.

“Maybe.” Madame Geri closed her eyes again for a
few brief moments. “All I get is `pasta: It has something
to do with pasta.”

“Huh?” I asked, knitting my brows. “What does it
mean?”

Madame Geri shrugged. “I’m only transmitting what
they tell me.”

“What type of pasta?” I persisted. “Macaroni? Spaghetti? Ziti?”

“I don’t know,” she said, raising one eyebrow and
enunciating each word with annoyed emphasis.

Sandy opened her desk drawer and fished out a Hershey’s mini chocolate bar and chewed with a meditative
expression. “Okay, let’s think what the spirit world might
mean by pasta being a barrier to my marriage. We don’t
eat a lot of pasta, so it must have something to do with
Jimmy’s job at Little Tuscany, where he serves pasta.”
Sandy’s eyes widened with dawning realization, and her
hand went to her mouth. “That’s it! Marco Santini owns
the restaurant-maybe he killed his brother with pasta.
What do you think, Mallie?”

“I don’t think you can actually kill someone with
pasta,” I said. Just talking about carbohydrates made me hungry, though this spirit world thing also creeped me
out.

“What are you two talking about?” Madame Geri
looked from Sandy to me, and then back at Sandy. “Was
someone murdered?”

“Yes!” Sandy exclaimed.

“No!” I burst out. “Well, maybe. We’re not sure. The
circumstances of his death seemed a little odd, but Nick
Billie said that there was nothing suspicious about it, and
I believe him. Still, the way that Mr. Santini died-at
home in his recliner … it makes me uneasy.” My motormouth had kicked in with a savage acceleration-a sure
sign of inward anxiety. Some people get sweaty palms or
stutter; I just talk on and on and on. “I hate to say this, but
I get a funny feeling-“

“That’s it.” Madame Geri reached into her little
square purse and pulled out a cell phone.

“Are you calling Nick?” I reached for one of Sandy’s
Hershey’s bars.

She flashed me an insincere grin. “No, I’m making a
reservation for lunch at Little Tuscany. We need to check
it out.”

“Oh, no-“

“Oh, yes,” Anita chimed in from the doorway of her
office. “That’s a perfect restaurant to begin your food
critic blog, kiddo-especially if it could lead to a bigger
story of murder and mayhem.”

“Were you eavesdropping?” I asked with some indignation as I downed the chocolate.

“Duh-like that’s hard to do with my paper-thin walls.
I’ve been listening to this twaddle for the last ten minutes. Pure bunk! But then again, if there’s even a chance
to stir up some drama for the paper, I can’t pass it up.”

I opened my mouth to protest but then realized that I
wouldn’t have to go to Le Sink after all. My mouth
clamped shut.

“You can visit Le Sink for dinner,” Anita added.
“Oh, I just thought of something else-hit Pelican’s Grill
for a second dinner. They buy a buttload of advertising
with us.”

Damn.

“Hey, I got to go with my gut-it’s served me well in
the past when I worked at the Detroit Free Press.” Anita
folded her arms across her skinny chest, with a smug
expression. “But now, my face might be my fortune too,
on account of the bee cream. I think I’m starting to look
like a hottie.”

I peered at her skin. “Anita, your skin is all red from
that stuff.”

She patted her cheeks and arms. “For now. Then it’s
going to peel, and my skin will look as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

When pigs fly.

“Bee pollen from this island doesn’t agree with human
skin,” Madame Geri warned. “You won’t like the results.”

“Says you.” Anita gave a scoffing laugh and disappeared back into her cubicle.

Madame Geri shook her head. “She’s going to look
like a broiled lobster in a day or two. It won’t be pretty.”

“It wasn’t pretty to begin with.” I gave Sandy a little
pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll find out
if there’s anything out of the ordinary going on at Little
Tuscany. You and Jimmy are meant to be together, and
we’re not going to let a possible killer stand in the way of
your wedding.”

“Thanks, Mallie.” A little tremor lingered in her voice.
“I’m counting on you and Madame Geri. I’ve spent a ton
of money on the wedding already, and I’ve literally dieted my buns off to look good in my white dress.” She bit
her lip. “Not to mention, if Marco murdered his brother,
he should be brought to justice.”

“And then your wedding can go forward,” I added
with an encouraging smile.

“Sandy, have a fallback plan just in case.” Madame
Geri tossed her cell phone back into her purse. “You and
Jimmy can always just live together if things don’t work
out”

“Mercy me.” Sandy buried her head in her hands.

I just glared at Madame Geri.

After we both settled into my ancient truck, Rusty (named
for obvious reasons), I turned on Madame Geri. “Do you
think you could be a little more positive? This wedding is
Sandy’s big moment, and you’re ruining it for her.”

`Au contraire.” She folded her hands in her lap, the ornate silver bracelets on both wrists making a delicate
tinkling sound. “I’m trying to make certain her wedding takes place. But when I know negative forces are at
work, we have to act. That’s the only way to avoid a
potential disaster.”

“Whatever.” I cranked the key, and nothing happened.
I pumped the pedal with a series of short taps and turned
the key again. Rusty’s engine sputtered, spewed a blast of
exhaust, and eventually started up.

Madame Geri coughed as the fumes wafted through
Rusty’s open windows. She started to roll up her passenger side window, but I halted her efforts by letting her
know that my air-conditioning was on the fritz again.
“Maybe you should get a new vehicle,” she pointed out,
waving her hand in front of her face in an attempt to clear
the air.

“Sure, whenever you can persuade Anita to give me a
raise. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly making
CEO wages.” I backed the truck out of the parking space,
looking over my shoulder, since the rearview mirror had
fallen off for the umpteenth time.

“Maybe I’ll ask someone to talk with her on your behalf,” she said.

“Who? Benton?” I scoffed. “He’s just as much of a
cheapo.”

She shook her head.

“Bernice? Her evil twin sister?”

She pursed her lips.

I glanced at her in puzzlement, and then realization flooded through me. “No, don’t tell me that you’re going
through a spirit world contact-“

“Why not? Even Anita must’ve had a relative who
gave her guidance in this life but has moved on to the
great beyond.”

“More likely she was created in a laboratory somewhere like Dr. Frankenstein’s monster-the `hideous
progeny.”’

“We’ll see.” She closed her eyes and mumbled a few
inaudible words.

“Don’t do that!” I shouted as I turned onto Cypress
Road-the island’s main drag-and rammed down the
gas pedal. Rusty promptly accelerated to thirty-five mph.
“I don’t want any dead-person cooties lingering in my
truck.” I tapped the gas pedal again, but Rusty only eked
up to forty-five miles per hour. Just peachy. I wanted
Madame Geri and any remnants of Anita’s spectral ancestors out of my truck-pronto.

Madame Geri opened her eyes. “I’m not getting anything. That’s odd.”

“I told you-Anita isn’t human.”

“Of course she is, but it’s odd that no one from the
spirit world will come forward to connect with her.”

“Really? Would you want to spend one minute of
your afterlife thinking about Anita Sanders?” I drove
with one hand, lifting my hair from the back of my neck
with the other hand, trying vainly to keep cool.

“Everyone has a lovable side. Even Anita.” She leaned
back against the tattered headrest. “But I don’t get the lack of response from the spirit world. Oh, well, I’ll keep trying until I figure it out, especially if”-she paused-“you
want that new truck.”

“Well … uh … go for it.” I gave her a thumbs-up.
But, in truth, much as I would like a new vehicle with an
air conditioner and windows that went up and down, I
wasn’t sure if I could part ways with Rusty. My old truck
had seen me through some rough spots, like when we
towed my four-thousand-pound Airstream through the
Appalachian Mountains. Rusty gave all his muscle on the
way up (barely eked out twenty-five miles per hour) and
showed what he was made of on the way down (burned
out the brakes). Could a new truck do that? I wasn’t sure.

“I guess new isn’t always better,” Madame Geri commented.

Yikes. She did it again-read my mind. Double freaky.

Gritting my teeth, I didn’t respond just focused on
the road.

We drove the rest of the way in silence, as the tropical
scenery whizzed past. Despite its being October, the
temperature still hovered near the upper eighties, and
everything appeared lush and green-from the delicate
palm fronds to the sharp-edged saw palmetto stalks.

A cold spell was supposed to be on the way, but you
couldn’t tell it from the midday, energy-sucking heat. I
still hadn’t gotten used to the lack of autumn in Florida
with its vividly colored landscape, but in January, when
the rest of the country was up to its wazoo in snow, I
loved it.

Heading south, I flipped open my cell phone and dialed Cole. He didn’t pick up, so I left him a voice mail to
say that we’d be dining at Le Sink tonight. Of my two
quasi boyfriends, he was the one to take to a low-scale
restaurant; nothing ever fazed him. Blond with surfer
good looks, he also possessed a laid-back, life’s-a-beach
outlook. Our relationship was fun, carefree, and pleasant.

Everything a girl could want-sort of.

“You need more than a guy who looks good on a surfboard,” Madame Geri commented, trying to keep cool by
leaning her head as far out the window as she possibly
could without being decapitated.

“I don’t want to talk about my personal life.” I flipped
my cell phone shut with deliberate force, hoping she
would get the nonverbal reinforcement.

“Suit yourself, but he’s not the one for you. There’s no
getting around it-you’re a different woman from the
one who first came to Coral Island, and he can’t give
you what you need.”

I gripped the steering wheel tighter but said nothing.
Was it because she had touched on the truth? Or because
of her smug, all-knowing air? Or maybe it was because
the wheel had started to shimmy like a hula dancer,
which it often did when Rusty accelerated over fifty miles
per hour.

“Be careful-“

“Just let me drive, will you?” At that moment, an
elderly guy turned in front of me on his three-wheel bicycle. I rammed on the brakes, and Rusty screeched to a halt, brakes squealing and worn rubber tires burning.
Madame Geri and I both jerked forward and then backward as the seat belts kicked in.

I blinked and exhaled a shaky breath. “Whew, that
was a close call.”