Diver Down (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (17 page)

“If you betray me, I’ll never trust you again. You get that?”
 

“I do. What’s the deal?”
 

“Now don’t freak out, but I need you to look at Graeme Carrow,” I said.
 

“The Fibonacci woman’s husband? Why? What the hell, Mercy? Is Oz Urbani down there? I will kick his ass. You have to stay away from those people.”
 

“You promised not to freak,” I said.
 

“I promised not to tell Tommy. I can freak the fuck out if I want.”
 

“Oz isn’t here.”
 

“But you’re on a first name basis,” said Chuck.
 

“Calm down. He isn’t here.”
 

“But…”
 

“His sister is.”
 

“Shit!”
 

“And someone’s trying to kill her.”
 

“I’m coming down there. I’m leaving now.”
 

I rolled my eyes and lay down on the bed. The woven mat ceiling looked particularly nice from that angle, all nice and orderly, unlike people. “How about you act like I’m not an incompetent asshole and get me the information.”
 

“You don’t get it, Mercy. If Lucia Fibonacci gets killed and her brother thinks you’re supposed to be protecting her, they will kill you. It will look like an accident or an act of God or some such shit, but you will get dead with a quickness.”
 

“I get it. I’m not stupid.” I told him the events as they happened, half hoping he’d disagree with me. He didn’t.
 

“It sounds like you don’t like Graeme for it anymore,” he said.

“Her reaction just didn’t fit with an abused woman. I’ve treated enough to know how they behave. She’s not scared of him.”
 

“There’s something you should know. The Fibonaccis are in a war right now. It looks like they had an underboss in the Todaro family of New York executed and they are pissed.”
 

“Pissed enough to have Lucia killed?”
 

“Only if they want to start a war. Civilians aren’t fair game. Besides, it’s notoriously hard to kill a Fibonacci.”
 

“Or indict them apparently.”
 

“We’ve never indicted a Fibonacci for so much as public lewdness. It’s freakish, considering how many players they have and they’re into everything from racketeering to drug smuggling.”
 

“I do not feel better about this situation,” I said.
 

“I’m scared shitless for you and I’m coming down there. First flight I can get.”
 

I would’ve thrown a fit, but I was having a quiet little freak out of my own. A murderous husband was one thing. A mob hit was quite another. Wait. Mob hit?
 

“If someone was trying to kill a rival family member, would they take the trouble to make it look like an accident? This is Roatan. Land of what-the-hell. They could just shoot her and be done with it. The investigation would be minimal at best.”
 

“Yeah. Somebody’s pretty worried about getting caught.”
 

“And they’re not that great at this. They keep missing,” I said.
 

“I admit that doesn’t make sense. New York knows what they’re doing, but she is a Fibonacci.”
 

“You really believe all that stuff about their invincibility?”
 

“The evidence is hard to deny. I’ll get you that information and I’m on a plane,” he said.
 

“Fine.”
 

I hung up and felt somebody watching me. Aaron stood in the door, holding a barbecue fork with five kinds of fruit on it. “Lucia’s a Fibonacci?”
 

“Yes. Don’t tell Mom, Dixie, or Aunt Tenne, and especially not Dad. They will freak,” I said. “Dad will do more than freak.”

“The Fibonaccis’ll kill you, if she dies.”
 

“I know. I know.”
 

“You hungry?” asked Aaron.
 

“Not so much.”
 

Aaron sat on the edge of the bed and gave me the fork. I had no choice but to eat the best fruit of my life.
 

“Oh my god, Aaron. This is incredible.”
 

“You like it?”
 

“It’s like fruit crack.” I licked the fork.
 

Aaron ran out of the room and for a second I thought I’d somehow insulted him with the crack reference, but he came back with a heaping bowl. I ate and he watched me.
 

“We gotta keep her alive,” he said.
 

“No kidding.”
 

“Call Tommy.”

“No way. Chuck already knows and he’s coming down. We just have to get through this with her alive and Dad in the dark,” I said.
 

“Tommy’s good.”
 

“Dad’s a genius for sure, but he told me not to have anything to do with the Fibonaccis. He’ll say I should’ve gotten the hell out of here the minute I knew who she was.”
 

Aaron scratched his head and looked incredibly dim. “They’ll kill you.”
 

“They’ll have to stand in line. Dad first,” I said. “Now get out, so I can get dressed.”
 

“Is it good?” he stared at my half-empty bowl.
 

“You know it is. Stop being so needy.” I pushed him off the bed.
 

“Needy?” he asked.

“Yes, you are needy. Go!”
 

Aaron trotted out of the room and I got dressed, while managing to stuff my face. I enjoyed the air-conditioning for an extra five minutes before stepping into the sticky tropical heat and was instantly sweaty again. I swear it was worse than St. Louis. I blame the palm trees. Aaron and Todd were on the porch, discussing Star Wars something or other. The hibachi was still fired up and now had a lionfish on it. It was bigger and more spiny than the last one. Gack!

“Where’d you get that thing?” I asked.

“Bruno,” said Aaron.
 

“Bruno the porter?”
 

“Huh?”
 

“The one that was on the swing with Aunt Tenne.”
 

“He’s an artist,” said Aaron.
 

“Bruno the porter is an artist?”
 

“Huh?”
 

I edged around the hibachi, trying not to notice the fish’s eyeball staring at me. “Never mind. See you, Todd.”
 

“I hope Lucia’s okay,” he said.
 

“I’m sure she will be. I can handle infection.”
 

Everything else, well, we’ll see.
 

I ran down the stairs and checked my watch. Not too bad. I’d get Lucia back to the room and away from absolutely everyone. Chuck was coming to Roatan. If I knew him, he’d be pestering the crap out of me within twelve hours. That wasn’t too long to wait for backup. I never thought I’d find myself looking forward to seeing him, but the Mafia added something. I was in over my head. That didn’t happen very often. I float like nobody’s business.
 

Bruno walked across the path, carrying luggage. He didn’t see me and I fought the urge to hang a left and question him. Who was Bruno the artist for one? And had he seen anything suspicious, like with Lucia’s bags? But I didn’t have the time and went to the beach. A breeze was kicking up, whipping through the palms and yanking at my skirt. When I reached the restaurant, instead of blue skies greeting me, there were rolls of dense clouds pushing toward the island. They reminded me of dough when Millicent went after it with her French pin. There was force and determination in the sky. I broke out into a run and zigzagged past tables.
 

“Mercy!” Dixie appeared at the top of the stairs and Tracy and her kids ran past, nearly colliding with me.

I dashed toward Dixie as the first raindrop pelted me between the eyes. “I’m coming. Where’d this storm come from?”
 

“It just happened. One minute it was clear and the next this.”
 

Lightning flashed behind her and then two more bolts. I ran past Dixie and down to the beach. Mom and Lucia were under a beach umbrella. She was worse. Much worse. It was in her eyes. Another bolt and I was half-blinded by the light. I stumbled into the table next to Lucia’s chair. Two glasses went over and sloshed onto my legs.
 

I put my hand on her forehead. “Did you throw up?”
 

“No.” Lucia’s face was flushed. She had a fever. I put it at a hundred and two.
 

Graeme hunched over us. “She took the antibiotic.”
 

“Good.” I raised the towel she had over her legs and peeked at the wound. Not good.

“I just mixed up the Epsom Salts,” said Mom.

“I’ll carry her back to the room,” said Graeme.
 

“We’re going to the hospital!” I yelled over a roll of thunder.
 

“What?” asked Mom.
 

“Hospital! Get a car. Now!”
 

Mom, Dixie, and Graeme stared at me for a second.
 

“Pick her up, Graeme! Mom, find a car!”
 

Mom ran up the stairs and Graeme scooped up Lucia. Sheets of rain hit us and everything went gray. There was so much water in the air, it was almost like being underwater. One of the bartenders ran up with an umbrella. Graeme struggled through the wet sand to the stairs. He lurched side-to-side as the rain hit him first from one way and then the other. What the hell kind of weather was this?
 

Graeme headed for the bar’s overhang, but I pulled him back onto the path. “We can’t wait it out. She needs to go now!”
 

“What is it?”
 

“The infection has spread. Come on!”
 

Graeme put on speed and ran down the path to the front office building. Mom met us halfway. “There are no vehicles. They’re all at the airport. All we have are the golf carts.”
 

“We’ll call a cab!” I yelled.
 

The front desk building was open. My hands slipped around on the doorknob. The burst of rain thrust me into the door’s glass and I cracked it with my forehead. A girl was on the other side. She pushed the door open. I barely got out of the way before the wind whipped the door back and crashed it into the wall. Graeme went past me into the office followed by Mom and Dixie.

“Are you alright?” asked the young woman. Her name tag said Elena.

“Holy crap!” said Graeme.
 

“Is it a hurricane?” asked Mom.
 

“No. No,” said Elena. “Just a storm. They can come up fast. This is a bad one though.”
 

“We need to get to the hospital,” I said.
 

“Not in this weather. No one will be moving.”
 

“Call a cab. She’s got an infection. She needs IV antibiotics.”
 

Elena looked at Lucia, still in Graeme’s arms. She shook wildly and her cheeks were flaming. Elena picked up the phone and went down a list taped to her desk.
 

“No one’s answering. They don’t want to come out in this,” she said.
 

“How long will this last?” I asked.
 

“A couple of hours probably.”
 

“We need a car. Where’s Mauro?”
 

“Out on a dive.”
 

“Are you kidding? They’re out in this? They could be killed.”
 

“Don’t worry. The minute their captain saw this, he pulled the divers up, and went to shore. They’re at another resort.”

“What about Spitball?” asked Mom.
 

“He’s out too.”

“Do you know anyone with a car?” I asked.
 

“Most of us ride scooters,” said Elena.
 

Hours. Hours was not good. Lucia had gone from okay to bad within forty minutes. If she was developing sepsis, we didn’t have that long.
 

“What about Bruno?” I asked.
 

“The pool boy?” asked Mom.
 

“He’s not a pool boy! Holy crap, Mom. Be quiet. Where’s Bruno?”

“I don’t know,” said Elena. “He might be in his room. He lives in the maintenance building.”

Mom threw up her hands. “That’s just great.”
 

“Who cares, Mom. Aunt T is fifty-two,” I said.
 

“I care. She’s my sister and she’s vulnerable. I have to look out for her.”
 

I opened the door and a gust of rain hit me so hard I was surprised I didn’t have welts afterwards.
 

“You can’t go out there,” yelled Mom. “You’re bleeding.”
 

“I’m not bleeding. Where’s the maintenance building?” I asked Elena.
 

“Through the alley behind the security post. There’s a parrot on the door.”
 

“Mercy!” yelled Mom.
 

“I’m going, too,” said Graeme.
 

He laid Lucia on a little rattan sofa at the back of the room and she clutched his hand. “Stay with me.”
 

“I’ll be right back. We’re going to get you that car.”
 

We plowed out into the storm and fell off the office’s tiny porch into water three inches deep. I grabbed Graeme’s hand and he yanked me up. We ran behind the empty security post into the alley. Instantly, the wind was gone. Only the pelting rain remained, coming at us from between the two buildings. Unfortunately for me, the alley was graveled and I had no shoes. I picked my way through as Graeme went ahead.
 

“I found it!” he yelled down the alley. Then he came back, tossed me over his shoulder, and ran to the door with an elaborate parrot painted on it.
 

He put me down and we pounded on the door until Bruno opened it. I had a flash that Aunt Tenne might be in there doing something I didn’t want to know about and nearly turned around. Graeme pushed through and we slid around on a white tile floor in a room with a bed.