Diver Down (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (14 page)

“He’s practically a legend,” I said.
 

The cabbie pulled out of the hospital and it took me about thirty seconds to realize there was no air-conditioning. The day had gotten increasingly hot and muggy. The breeze from the open windows made me feel like we were in a convection oven. The wetsuit wasn’t helping. I unzipped and folded the top down, but it didn’t help much.
 

“What happened to your suit?” asked Lucia while grimacing and clutching Graeme’s arm.

“Awww crap.” All the stitching had come out of the cups and one of the underwires stuck out like a horn.
 

Graeme grinned at me. “Do you think Marilyn had these problems?”
 

“Nobody has these problems except me,” I said as I tried to stuff the wire back in. But it boinged out and thwacked me in the nose.
 

“I wish I had a picture of that.”
 

Lucia sipped her smoothie and said she was full. I put the cool cup against her bandage, hoping it would help until we got to La Isla Bonita, but after that I didn’t know what to do. I had little doubt that someone was trying to kill her, but I was starting to like Graeme. He didn’t fit my idea of a wife-killer at all. But sociopaths were able to mimic normal emotions I reminded myself. He could be fooling me the way Ted Bundy fooled everyone he met. Dr. Navarro said to get Lucia off the island, but that wasn’t a solution. If I was wrong about Graeme and he was trying to kill Lucia, it was best to keep her on the island. At least I could keep and eye on them until I got some evidence of his guilt.

The cab sped out of Coxen Hole and I stared out the window at the countryside. It was beautiful with the crashing surf to one side of us and the jungle on the other. Almost beautiful enough to distract me, but not quite. We made it back as Lucia started to cry in pain. We put her in bed and I gave her the first doses of both medications. She drifted off as soon as the Norco hit her. Once she was asleep and feeling no pain, I changed her dressing and frowned.
 

“What’s wrong?” asked Graeme.
 

“There’s more swelling than I’d like.” I didn’t mention the heat coming off of the wound. There was definitely an infection and it’d set in at record speed.
 

“Will the antibiotic take care of it?”
 

“It should. We’ll keep an eye on it.”
 

Graeme stretched out on the bed beside Lucia. “God, it’s been a long day.”
 

I stood up to go. I didn’t like leaving her there with him, but no excuses to stay came to mind and I left. Surely nothing would happen in their bungalow. He’d have to be crazy to try anything where he’d be the prime suspect and nothing the killer did said he was crazy. Every attempt could be seen as an accident. It was done so well, even I wasn’t sure. Lucia was in danger. I just hoped she could survive her own bed.

Chapter 8

I WOKE THE next morning to the sound of the spaghetti birds going batshit crazy overhead. The hammock had sagged and my rump brushed the porch. The only time I’d been less comfortable was on a Girl Scout camping trip when our clueless leader, my mother, decided that setting up tents in a field full of rocks was a grand idea because the view was excellent. My view from the porch was excellent, too. Lucia and Graeme’s bungalow was quiet and had been all night. They’d had dinner in their room, and I’d checked the wound before bed. It hadn’t improved, so I put an ice pack on it, in hopes that would help.
 

I thrust a leg over the side of the hammock and my foot touched something soft and warm. There was a body on the floor. I shrieked because I’m cool that way, spun over in the hammock and landed with a thunk on the floor.
 

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Aaron from a pile of towels. He’d made a nest like some sort of rodent on my porch.
 

“You scared me to death. What are you doing here? You have a room,” I said.
 

“Helping.”

“Why do you always think I need help? I’m fine.”
 

“I’m your partner. Tommy says I have to help you.”
 

“Well, I’m not doing anything. I’m on vacation.”
 

Aaron rubbed his eyes. They were blue. I didn’t know that. His glasses were always so dirty it was hard to tell. “You’re out here.”
 

“Yeah. So?” I asked.

“It’s not safe.”
 

“There’s guards all over the place.”
 

“They’re not helping Lucia,” he said.
 

I stood and straightened my robe. “Um…what do you mean by that?”
 

“Someone’s trying to kill Lucia and you’re trying to stop them. You hungry? They got banana pancakes today. Not plantains, regular bananas. Plantains would be too starchy. They might work in a sort of potato pancake way. I could try that. What’d you think? Shredded plantain cakes with maybe a boysenberry chicken roulade.”
 

“Stop talking!”
 

“Huh?”
 

“What was that about Lucia?” I asked.

“What?” asked Aaron.
 

“OMG. Someone’s trying to kill Lucia?”

“Guess so.”
 

“Holy crap. How’d you know that?” I asked.
 

He shrugged and I could tell he was thinking about pancakes again.
 

“I’m halfway to crazy town. Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”
 

Aaron shrugged again and started to go in our room.
 

“Don’t go in there. Aunt Tenne’s still asleep.”
 

“No, she’s not. She left at six,” he said.
 

“Really? That’s a first. Was she okay?”
 

“Sure.” Aaron went inside and got a bottle of water.
 

I passed him and put on my last one-piece and a cover-up. Nice and wrinkly, just like I felt. When I came out Aaron was still there with his water, unopened. I don’t know why he got it. Then again, I didn’t know why he did most things.
 

“Aaron, would you know if Aunt Tenne was okay?”
 

“Sure.”
 

“How would you know?”
 

Aaron looked at the ceiling and seemed confused. Ha! Stumped him.
 

“Was she smiling?” I asked.

“No.”
 

“Was she crying?”
 

“Yes,” he said.
 

I slapped my forehead. “Aaron, for future reference, when a woman is crying she’s not okay. Understand?”
 

“Sure.”
 

“What am I right now? What’s it look like to you?”
 

Aaron scratched his head. “Um….mad?”
 

“Yes, Aaron, I’m mad. You’re driving me crazy,” I said.
 

Aaron grinned like he’d just fed me crab. “Hey, I got it.”
 

“Yes, you got it. Let’s go find Aunt Tenne because she isn’t okay.”

We found Aunt Tenne on the chair swings overlooking the ocean. She was bent over, her shoulders heaving. I would’ve expected Mom to be with her, she’d been so worried, but it was Bruno the porter sitting next to her. He had his arm over her back as he looked out over the ocean, his face wet with tears. I’d never seen a man cry like that and it stopped me ten feet away on the cool morning sand. Dad had cried when Cora, his first partner died, and when Gavin died, but it was a restrained kind of grief. Never out of control and there was always a drink in hand. Bruno had no drink, nothing to contain him. He sat with Aunt Tenne and cried with her.
 

“You know what this is about, don’t you?” I asked Aaron.
 

He looked at me with the blank expression he did so well.
 

“Never mind. Would you do me a favor?”
 

“You hungry? I can make those plantain cakes. You like those?”
 

“Maybe later. I want you to go back and hang around Lucia’s bungalow. I feel weird about not having one of us around. You can’t tell Dad anything about this, okay?”

I’m sure Aaron’s eyes would’ve gone all shifty, if I could’ve seen them.
 

“Aaron, I’m totally serious.”
 

“Tommy said—”

“I don’t care what he said.” I took off his glasses and cleaned them on the hem of my cover-up. “You’re supposed to be my partner. Where’s your loyalty?”
 

He put his glasses back on. It was amazing how different he looked when you could see his eyes. Not better, but different. He was still wearing his favorite Doctor Who tee shirt that featured the Doctor from twenty seasons ago and a multitude of unidentifiable food stains. Unidentifiable to me, that is. Aaron probably knew exactly what they were and where he got the food.
 

“I’m your partner?” he asked.
 

Groan.

“I’m your partner,” he repeated.

This hurts me. It really does.
 

“You are my partner. Are you going to tell Dad or not?”
 

“What about breakfast?”
 

“Fine. I’ll eat whatever you want. Just watch over Lucia,” I said.
 

Aaron trotted off in the direction of our rooms. I yelled after him. “Except crab. No crab.”
 

I headed for the bar and much needed coffee and spotted Mom and Dixie. They were perched on stools and completely still, watching the display of tremendous grief on the swings. I walked to them, feeling every grain of sand under my feet and having a weird out-of-body feeling. I knew we were in a tropical paradise having that moment, but I kept thinking any second I’d wake up at home with Skanky on my chest, wondering why I had such a crazy dream.
 

Mom and Dixie didn’t look at me when I got to them. Their eyes were red and a pair of steaming coffee cups sat untouched on the bar behind them.
 

“What happened?” I asked with a thick, heavy voice.
 

“Nothing,” said Mom.
 

“How’s Lucia?” asked Dixie, her eyes not straying to me.

“Well,” I said. “She did take a stingray barb to the leg yesterday, so she’s been better. What’s with all the crying?”
 

 
Dixie focused on me. “You should go check on Lucia. She needs you.”
 

“Don’t change the subject,” I said. “What’s going on with Aunt Tenne?”

“She’s just having a good cry. Let’s get back to Lucia,” said Mom. “She sure is accident prone.”
 

I kind of wanted to tell Mom what was going on. She was way more experienced in crime than I was. The bartender brought me a cup of coffee and I blew into it, pondering my choices. Every one ended with Dad knowing that I was involved with a Fibonacci. The last thing I wanted was a lecture or worse Dad flying down to bother the crap out of me. I couldn’t trust Mom or Dixie to keep Lucia’s family a secret. They’d probably knock me over trying to get to a phone.

“Lucia should be fine. I’m a little worried about infection,” I said, trying to sound breezy, but I needn’t have bothered. Mom’s focus was back on Aunt Tenne. “Hello.”

“What is it, honey?” Mom asked.

“What’s wrong with Aunt Tenne?”
 

“Women need a good cry now and then.”
 

“What about men? Bruno’s not exactly a happy camper. Aren’t you going to go over there and chase off
the pool boy
?”
 

“Not hardly. It’s Tenne’s day and she can have it any way she wants.”

“But—”
 

Mom waved me away. “Stop interrogating me and go do something.”
 

“Like what?” I asked.
 

Mauro came up behind me. I smelled him before I saw him. Hmmmm, Hawaiian Tropic. “Like come with me to look for Lucia’s barb,” he said.
 

“Now?”

“Have you got something better to do?” he asked.
 

Aunt Tenne was still sobbing on the swings, which bore investigating, but Mom was giving me the stink eye. “Okay. Let’s go.”
 

Mauro drove the smallest La Isla Bonita boat out to Pablo’s Place and we put our equipment on. I didn’t bring any conditioner. I was going to pay for that with giant snaggle hair, but it would be worth it, if we could find the barb.

“How big was it?” asked Mauro as he clipped on his BCD.
 

“About six or seven inches.”

His head jerked up. “Are you certain of this?”
 

“I didn’t measure it, but yeah, it was big.”
 

“Our native species don’t usually get that big. How wide was it?”

“At least an inch. Lucia’s wound was that size.”
 

Mauro sat next to me and double checked my equipment. I became very aware that we were alone on the ocean with no witnesses. My chest tightened until I remembered Mauro wasn’t a suspect. If he was trying to kill Lucia, she’d have been dead that first time. He was the one who gave her his spare reg. He could’ve sat back and pretended not to see.