Diver Down (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (26 page)

“Someone sabotaged Lucia’s regs during that period.”

“Ah, yes. Tenne told me your theory on that. Anybody could’ve gotten to her bundle. People come and go.”
 

“I know. Security doesn’t hang out in the scuba shop. Where were you when Mrs. Carrow got stabbed with the stingray barb?”
 

A little pink came into his tan cheeks. “I was with your aunt.”
 

“You don’t seem surprised that I’m asking you all this,” I said.
 

“Tenne told me you would.” He picked up the net again and scooped out another coconut.
 

“It’s not personal,” I said.
 

“To you.”
 

“You’re wrong about that. This whole thing is very personal to me. I meant that I don’t have anything against you. About my mother and Aunt Tenne, do you know what they were fighting about? I mean, other than you.”
 

His face which had been open and honest, closed like a brochure. “No.”
 

Now that was lying. He had it all, a slight yes nod, he stepped back and put the net between us, and tapped his foot. I smiled at him. “So you know, but you won’t tell me.”
 

He frowned and I laughed. “Don’t worry. I get it. You promised Aunt Tenne. I won’t pester you.”
 

Bruno clamped his mouth shut and went back to skimming the pool. I went to the bar, feeling grimier with every step. The sand I’d kicked up when I ran to the pool had stuck to my legs and was rubbing my thighs raw. Mauro was at the bar. He was very clean, tan, and tall. Before he saw me, he tilted to the right with his elbow on the bar and about twenty muscles flexed on his side. I stopped and rethought. Did I really want to be investigating attempted murders looking like a tropical vagrant? Oh, well. It didn’t matter. He was gorgeous, but, covered in sand and roach poison or not, I had a boyfriend.
 

“Hi, Mauro,” I said.
 

“Whoa,” he said, baring his teeth.
 

Okay. Maybe it does matter.

“It’s not that bad,” I said, trying to sound confident in that fact, but coming off like a second grader denying that she ate the cookies. I always ate the cookies and I never got away with it.
 

Christopher the bartender came over with a fresh Monkey Lala. “Whoa.”
 

“It’s not that bad!”
 

Christopher didn’t reply. He reached over and opened the glass fridge door where he kept all his fresh fruit, and I saw myself. It
was
that bad. I’d had the crap beaten out of me and looked better.
 

“Is my forehead purple?”

“And green,” said Mauro.
 

“You might want to clean up them stitches. You’ve got a little pus going on,” said Christopher.
 

“What’s that smell?”
 

“There’s goo on your shoulder.”

Mauro took a long splinter out of my hair. “How’d this get in your hair?”
 

“Long story.”
 

He gave me his Monkey Lala. “You need this more than I do.”
 

I sucked down a fourth of the drink. Everything’s better with a Monkey Lala. “Did my Mom order some of these?”

“Two,” said Chrisopher. “She’s beautiful when she’s angry.”
 

Mauro nodded. “She’s beautiful all the time.”
 

Then they looked at me and not in a good way. I wasn’t used to such disdain and it made me feel like I didn’t fit in my dirty, smelly, damaged skin. I drank another fourth for strength. “I need to ask you some questions, Christopher.”
 

“Shoot.”
 

“Did you make a sweet tea for Mrs. Carrow this morning and another this afternoon?”
 

“The police already asked me that,” he said.
 

“They were here?” I asked.

“Yeah, but they didn’t seem all that concerned. I think they’re just hoping nothing else happens before the Carrows leave.”
 

“What did you tell them?”

“I didn’t make any sweet tea. It’s not a bar drink. I have plain tea, but nobody ordered that either.”
 

“Did you see the drink that Bruno delivered on the bar?” I asked.
 

“No. Sorry.”
 

A pretty girl with a pixie cut framing her face scooted over close to Mauro and he grimaced. She leaned over the bar, giving a good view of her small high breasts. “I saw that drink.”
 

Christopher grinned and said to her breasts, “Did you now?”
 

“I did. It was sitting on the bar right there with a slip of pink paper next to it.” The girl leaned on Mauro’s bulging bicep and he inched away.
 

“Did you see how it got on the bar?” I asked.

“No. It was just there and then Bruno came. He read the note and took the drink. Gary, the owner, said someone tried to poison a guest. Is that true?” She was talking to me, but looking at Mauro. He was not digging it.
 

“It’s true. There was another sweet tea delivered right before the storm this morning. Did any of you see that?”

None of them were even aware of a second drink. I hadn’t told Officer Tabora about it, so I guess that made sense. The bar phone rang and Christopher answered. He looked at me and then nodded. “Yeah, she’s here. Yes, sir. I understand.”
 

“What was that about?” I asked.
 

“You’re a suspect,” he said. “We’re not supposed to talk about this with you. The island police will handle it.” Then he looked at the girl. “They want you in the office, Laurie. You better move it.”
 

Laurie gave Mauro a longing look, which he ignored. Then she sauntered off with a lot of hip swing and very little hip. Mauro reached over the bar and grabbed a bottle of Coke. “The police. That’s a laugh.”
 

“Do you think I tried to kill Lucia?” I asked.
 

He took a swig and then grinned. “Not for a minute. Look at you.”
 

“What about what I look like?”
 

“You’re beating the hell out of yourself to save her and Graeme. If you wanted them dead, I’m pretty sure they would be.”
 

Is that a compliment or an insult?
 

“Thanks, I guess.”
 

Christopher went to make some Island Breezes and Mauro set his bottle on the bar. He gave me the once-over, twice. “You really don’t have any respect for it, do you?”
 

I drank the rest of my Monkey Lala and let the calorie-laden goodness wash over me. “Respect for what?”
 

He gestured to the whole me. “You’re one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, but this is what you do to yourself.”
 

“I’ll heal.”
 

“You really don’t care.”
 

“It is what it is. What am I supposed to do, let Lucia die because I don’t want to break a nail?”
 

“No, of course not,” he said. “But I don’t know what to make of you.”
 

“Join the club.” I paused. “One of the most beautiful women?”
 

He laughed. “Yes. One of. You’re not the only beauty around. Your mother is unbelievable. She’s so graceful. When she looks at you, you start to feel—”
 

“Alright. Alright. That’s my mother, my married mother, you’re talking about.”
 

“But you’re not married, right?”
 

I put my glass on the bar. “Does it really matter? I’m a walking FEMA project.”
 

He leaned in and the smell of Hawaiian Tropic was intoxicating. “It doesn’t matter. The bones are good. How serious are you and Aaron?”

“I’m seriously disturbed that you think I’m dating Aaron, a guy for whom clean tees and combs are optional.”

“I heard you were together and…”

Don’t say it.

“Had some kind of a tryst next to a…”

Noooooo!

“Trash can.”
 

I jumped to my feet, knocking over my stool with a clatter. “I did not have a tryst or anything else in the dirt next to a trash can.”
 

“That’s a relief,” said Dixie from behind me. “I have to say from the look of you it was a possibility.”
 

Mauro laughed and picked up my stool. I was afraid to turn around. Hair color in a bait shop. That was a huge risk. I had to manage the right reaction. It was absolutely required.
 

Please let the hair be good. Please let the hair be good.
 

I plastered a I-just-ate-chocolate look on my face and turned. Dixie stood with her elbow on the bar, but I didn’t recognize her for a second. She’d gone all the way to platinum blond with tousled curls framing her face. Mauro leaned over my shoulder and whispered in my ear. “Say something.”

“Whoa.”
 

“What do you think?” asked Dixie.

I’m shocked. I’m freaked. No. No. I’m supportive. I’m a good girl in the loosest terms possible.
 

“Dixie, you’re transformed. It’s like you’re a whole different person,” I said with warmth, I hoped.
 

“That’s the idea, but do you like it?”

“It’s a little shocking, but I do. It’s growing on me by the second. Why did you do it?”
 

“My life is different now. I thought I should look different.”
 

“I like it, Mrs. Flouder,” said Mauro. “You look like a fifties bombshell.”
 

“Hey, that’s my shtick,” I said.
 

“Not today,” said Dixie. “Take a shower and, for goodness sake, put some ice on your forehead. You’re starting to look like a unicorn.”

Mauro went into the bar and got me a ziplock bag of crushed ice. I gingerly put it on my forehead and winced in spite of myself. “Well…I guess I’ll go take a shower, since everyone seems to think I need one, for some reason.”

“We’ll talk later,” said Mauro with a smile that made me think of him in his tiny swim trunks.
 

I didn’t trust myself to answer. I was beat up, smelly, and exhausted in the middle of an investigation that wasn’t exactly going well, and, worst of all, Pete was a million miles away. I could barely picture his face at that moment and that wasn’t a good thing.
 

Dixie frowned and took my arm. “You have a boyfriend. Don’t forget that.”
 

“I knew it,” said Mauro.
 

I groaned.
 

Dixie pushed me away from the bar. “Go take a shower. A cold one. And call Chuck. He’s been pinging me every ten minutes, but he won’t say why he has to talk to you. It’s driving me nuts.”
 

“I killed my phone,” I said.
 

“Take mine and go,” she said, turning to Mauro. “You’re quite the looker, but stop looking at Mercy.”
 

I caught the words, “I can’t” as I headed down the path to my room. Great. Now I had to control myself, not one of my gifts. The to do list in my head kept growing longer and longer. Find the source of the sweet tea. Fix the locations of the Gmucas and frat guys during the tea delivery and everyone else that had been on the boat. I assumed antifreeze was widely available on Roatan, so there was no use chasing that down.
 

I hung a right onto Lucia and Graeme’s path and knocked softly on their door. Aaron opened it a crack. His eyes darted around like he was expecting a visit from the boogeyman.
 

“You alone?” he asked.
 

“Duh. Let me in.”
 

“Alright then.”
 

I passed Aaron and went to the bed. Lucia and Graeme were both asleep. Graeme snored like a sick buffalo while I took his pulse. It was back into the safe range. He smelled pretty boozy and the ethanol bottle I’d left with him had a cup less than before. I’d insist that he see a nephrologist when we got back to the States just to be on the safe side, but I thought he’d recover fully without liver damage.
 

I checked Lucia’s wound without waking her somehow. The redness and fever were down and no additional pus. Her pulse was good. I would’ve liked to take both of their blood pressures, but lacked the equipment. Instead, I tucked them in as Dixie’s phone started vibrating against my hip. Chuck and he wasn’t happy. I think he would’ve been texting curse words if it hadn’t been Dixie he was talking to. Dad would hurt him, if he found out.
 

Chuck would just have to wait. My shower was long overdue.
 

“Hey, Aaron,” I whispered. “Can you stay with them?”
 

“Huh?” He was bent over a small pad of paper and writing so fast I’m surprised the paper didn’t catch on fire.

“Can you stay here? I have to shower, then I’ll take over.”
 

He looked up from his pad, but I couldn’t see his eyes. His glasses had become hopelessly smudged again. “Yeah. Yeah.” He closed the pad and pressed it against his chest. “Can I trust you?”
 

“I should hope so. We’re the couple who humps next to trash cans.”

“Don’t tell anyone about this notepad.”
 

I hesitated for a moment, but I just had to ask. “Why?”
 

“I just developed my recipe for lionfish hot dogs.” He glanced around the room. “It’s top secret.”

“You really think there’s a market for lionfish hot dogs?” I asked.

“There will be when I make them.”
 

I thought about it. Everything Aaron made was wicked good, except crab. There was no hope for crab. “It’s hard for me to imagine, but you’re probably right. Just promise never to tell me what’s in them or how they’re made.”
 

He pressed the pad harder against his chest. “But I can trust you, right?”
 

I rolled my eyes and opened the door. “I’ll be back.”