Diver Down (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (6 page)

Mom turned around. “Mercy, take off your shoes.” She raised her sunglasses. “Aaron, what are you doing here?”
 

“Waiting,” he said.

Nooooo. It’s real.

“Mercy,” said Mom. “It’s Aaron.”
 

I closed my eyes. “I’m pretending it isn’t.”
 

“Have you come to see us off?” asked Dixie.
 

“I’m going,” said Aaron.
 

I opened my eyes in time to see him chug some Yoo-Hoo. “Where are you going?”
 

“Wherever you’re going,” he said.

“Why?”
 

“Mercy, don’t be rude,” said Mom.
 

“It’s not rude. It’s a question. Aaron, where are you going?” I asked.

“Isla Roatan.”
 

“Why?”
 

“Cause we’re partners,” said Aaron.
 

“Not in life.”
 

“I got to go. We’re partners. Tommy said.” He bit the snowball and coconut flakes stuck to his upper lips like he was in a Got Milk ad.
 

“This is a vacation. You don’t have to vacation with me.”
 

“Got my tickets.”
 

Mom, Dixie, and Aunt Tenne exclaimed how happy they were to have him with us. Not an ounce of suspicion between them when it came to Aaron and there should’ve been plenty. Aaron wasn’t there by accident. Mom went through security, followed by Dixie, and Aunt Tenne. When they were through, I asked Aaron, “Dad told you to go to Roatan, didn’t he?”
 

“Yep. Said you need me.”
 

“What for exactly?” I asked.
 

“Just in case.”
 

The security guy pointed at me. “Your husband can’t take that through.”
 

Husband?

“Madam,” he said again. “Your husband can’t take that through.”
 

That’s when I realized he was talking about Aaron, a guy that was two inches shorter than me, fifty pounds heavier, and sported a permanent case of bedhead. “Are you kidding? He’s not my husband. I’m not married and I’m especially not married to him.”
 

“He still can’t take that through.”

Aaron chugged the Yoo-Hoo and stuffed the rest of the snowball in his mouth. I followed him through the x-ray and past a security lady that told me my husband was a sweetheart. When it was time to board the plane, the gate attendant said my seat had been moved so I could sit next to my husband. WTF! So there I was, stuffed in a middle seat between Aunt Tenne and Aaron, who immediately got out the sandwiches he’d packed. Salami and shaved parmesan with arugula on a skinny garlic baguette. He brought one for each of us and half the plane wanted the recipe before they were seated. They smelled that good.
 

Aaron and Aunt Tenne munched on either side of me and I fought the urge to stuff the whole sandwich in my mouth at once. But Aaron was looking pretty pleased with himself and I didn’t want to encourage him. This whole vacation thing was a one-time deal, no matter what Dad thought.
 

“Phone,” said Aaron between bites.
 

Before I could say a word, Dad was yelling in my ear. “What did you do?”
 

“About what?”

“Judge Panesar just extended the freeze on The Girls’ assets. And she signed search warrants for our bank accounts,” he said, so enraged I could barely understand him.
 

“
Our
bank accounts? You mean yours and mine?” I asked.

“Yes, Mercy. Mine, your mother’s, and yours.”
 

“Why?”
 

“The Duchess of Dirt is alleging that your mother and I are blackmailing The Girls and the money’s being funneled through you.”
 

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Of course it is. I want to know who you’ve been talking to about the case.”

“Nobody. There’s nothing to say.”

“You have to tell me.”
 

Aunt Tenne furrowed her brows at me and I shrugged. “I didn’t talk to anyone about it. The lawsuit’s totally lame. They can look at my accounts until their eyes bleed. I don’t care.”

“Well, I do care. You better think long and hard about this, Mercy.”
 

He hung up on me and I stared at the phone.
 

“What happened?” asked Aunt Tenne.
 

“I honestly don’t know.”
 

The captain announced that we were cleared for takeoff and for the flight attendants to secure the cabin. I put my phone away and tried to shake the feeling that Dad was hiding something and Arlene Cobb was on the trail. It was a new and wholly unexpected thought that Dad might’ve done something wrong, really wrong, and it had to do with The Girls and our house. I’d never started a vacation feeling crappier, but at least we were flying away from all that and I’d have time to breathe.
 

I tugged my seatbelt tight and watched a flight attendant hurry down the aisle. For a second, I thought she was headed toward me. Because, let’s face it, that’s just my luck. But she wasn’t going for me. She stopped at the row in front of us and said, “Lucia Carrow?”
 

Lucia Carrow?

“That’s me,” answered a dark-haired woman in front of me.
 

“Sorry about the delay. Here’s your gate check ticket,” said the flight attendant.

The woman thanked her and I leaned over into the salami cloud surrounding Aaron. “Did she say Lucia Carrow?”

“Yep. Bet you’re glad I’m here now,” said Aaron.

Not really.

Chapter 5

THE PLANE LANDED and taxied across a bumpy tarmac, stopping next to a concrete building that looked straight out of the fifties with lots of rectangular windows and a certain tired aura. Aaron had finished giving out recipes to passengers and was back to me. Fantastic. He’d already told me about every restaurant deemed worthy of attention on the west end of the island and a few that weren’t.
 

“We should kill our own lionfish for dinner,” he said. We’d been on lionfish for the last fifteen minutes.
 

“No.”
 

“They’re good eating.”
 

“I’m not killing anything,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt.
 

“They’re killing the native species, Mercy,” said Aunt Tenne. “We have to help the environment.”
 

“I want to help
my
environment, which is full of noise pollution right now. Let’s all be quiet.”
 

The woman who was called Lucia Carrow squeezed into the aisle to deplane and I got my first good look. She was small, delicately boned with thick curly brown hair and large eyes. Crap. She had to be Urbani’s sister. They looked too much alike and how many Lucia Carrow’s could there be?

“So you take a Hawaiian sling,” said Aaron.
 

What did I do to deserve this?

“Graeme, you forgot your camera,” said the woman.
 

Her husband, a medium-built blond with thinning hair, reached under the seat for a large black camera case. Graeme Carrow. There could be no mistake. It was them.
 

I must’ve done something really bad.
 

“You got to shoot it in the head,” said Aaron.

I punched his fleshy shoulder. “I don’t want to shoot anything. Stop talking. I can’t take it anymore.”
 

“Mercy!” said Mom.
 

“You need ice cream,” mused Aaron as I pushed him down the aisle toward freedom.
 

We deplaned onto the tarmac into the tropical humidity that wasn’t as bad as St. Louis and dragged our carry-ons across the blacktop behind Lucia and Graeme Carrow. He had his hand on the small of her back and guided her into the building. We followed them through Customs. It was so quick, I almost didn’t know what had happened, and we were shunted into a holding area the size of my mom’s bedroom, except without the air-conditioning. An older man rushed up to me, said his name was Enzo, and asked something I couldn’t quite make out. Aaron answered him in Spanish.
 

“What does he want?” asked Mom.
 

“Where we’re staying,” said Aaron, producing a half-melted Mars bar from his carry-on.
 

“You speak Spanish?” I asked.
 

“No.”
 

“La Isla Bonita,” said Mom with one of her dazzling smiles.
 

Enzo stood there dazed for a second. “Marilyn. Bonita, Marilyn.”

Is there no place on earth that doesn’t know Marilyn Monroe? Seriously.
 

I must’ve groaned, because he looked at me. “Dos Marilyn!”
 

I smiled and waved. Enzo led us to the luggage carousel. “La Isla Bonita!” Then he charged through the small room and passed through a door in a glass wall. There was a crowd pressing against a rope on the other side. Enzo spoke to someone and he turned to us, flashing a broad smile and holding up a sign that said “La Isla Bonita” in big pink letters. Whoa. This trip just got better. The resort guy made Channing Tatum seem average. I think I blushed and I don’t blush.
 

Get it together, girl.
 

The older guy rushed back in and, in a flurry of Spanish, indicated we should wait.
 

“There are eight more guests,” said Aaron.
 

Enzo herded a couple over. The woman had amazing hair. It defied gravity, rising six inches off her forehead in stiff curls and down her back, reaching to her elbows. If Aaron had been a normal guy, he’d have been staring at her breasts that defied gravity in a very missile silo way. Her husband introduced them as Frankie and Linda Gmuca. He was a good twenty years older than Linda and wore a conservative dress shirt and a pair of Versace sunglasses perched on his balding head. They loved Aaron instantly and got into a loud conversation about salami.
 

After that we were joined by another couple and their two kids. They looked like they could’ve modeled for the Land’s End catalog, being incredibly perfect and bland next to the Gmucas. Todd and Tracy Pell introduced their exceedingly bored children as Tara and Tyler. They liked T names and told us so.
 

While Tracy was schooling Mom on the long history of T names in her family, I spotted Lucia and Graeme Carrow across the room. They were happily comparing cameras with another couple, who had enough equipment to be photojournalists for
National Geographic
. Lucia looked okay to me. She smiled and stood close to Graeme, cuddling up to his side. That might not mean anything. She could be currying favor with her abuser.
 

Stop it! Don’t look. She’s not your problem.
 

Dixie stepped in front of me, her pretty face free of the heavy makeup she used to wear before Gavin died. Now it took me a second to recognize her.
 
“I don’t know what you’re doing, but knock it off.”
 

“I’m just standing here,” I said.
 

“No, you’re not. I remember that look. I saw it for thirty years. You’re curious about something.”
 

I shook my head. “I’m not really. Just tired.”
 

Dixie spoke to Mom and I saw the Carrows speak to another native guy, probably about their resort. Thank goodness. It’s a coincidence that they’re here. Coincidences happen. They happen all the time. I couldn’t think of any that happened to me, but still.
 

The luggage carousel creaked to life and scattered pieces of luggages started coming through the opening in the wall. Ten minutes later, we had all of it on a rickety metal cart. I could practically taste the fruity drinks already.
 

“The gang’s all here,” said Mom, fanning herself and Aunt Tenne with Aunt Tenne’s big hat.
 

“I’m glad we found you. We were getting worried,” said a man behind me.
 

No!

I turned.
 

Yes.

Lucia and Graeme Carrow stood behind me, smiling with their arms linked. Graeme’s mouth fell open when he got a load of Mom and me, but he concealed his gaga for the Marilyn thing pretty well. I shook hands and tried not to look incredibly shocked at their going to our resort. Coincidence, huh? I don’t think so.
 

“Are you
the
Mercy Watts? The one from the website?” Graeme looked hopeful.
 

“That’s me,” I said.
 

“I know this is awkward, but could I take a picture with you later? My friends will lose their minds.”
 

“Sure.” I watched Lucia out of the corner of my eye. She was interested, but I didn’t see any signs of discomfort or jealousy. Either her brother was wrong about the affair or Lucia had no idea.
 

Enzo piled Lucia and Graeme’s luggage on top of the pile and led us through the door in the glass wall. The hot guy stood smiling on the other side. He introduced himself as Mauro, a dive master and sometime driver. His accent was soft and exotic, but I couldn’t even enjoy it, hot as he was. I was too mad. What were the chances I’d be on a vacation with Oz Urbani’s sister? I’ll tell you how many chances. None. Zero.
 

Mauro brought us outside to a short line of resort vans and loaded our luggage in the back of a van with “La Isla Bonita Beach and Dive Resort” painted on the side. Everyone started getting in, but I held Mom back.
 

“How exactly did we end up getting this trip?” I asked.
 

“Ava called and told me about it,” said Mom.
 

“Just out of the blue, she called you?”
 

“Yes. The trip came in and she thought we would like it better.”

“There were no penalties for canceling the cruise?”
 

“No. It was all taken care of.”