Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 02 - Island Intrigue (10 page)

“My instincts tell me that’s off base.”

“How so?”

“For one thing, the weather was miserable, the water
choppy. Tom would’ve been extra careful when taking
his son out in those conditions. And even if he did have
a few beers, I can’t see his being so drunk that he’d fall
out of the boat. Tom grew up on boats. He could anchor
or dock ‘em in his sleep.” She looked at me, her features growing amused. “Which is more than I can say
about you from what I heard this morning. Did you actually throw the bow line off the boat?”

“I might have” Heat rose into my face, and I shifted
in my chair. Well, it was official: The entire island knew
about my boating ineptitude.

She guffawed-a rough, raspy sound. “You’ve got a
lot to learn, kiddo.”

“I’m trying.”

She folded her arms across her bony chest. “Well …
get to work.”

I nodded, my embarrassment turning to annoyance
as I exited Anita’s office. Would it kill her to give me a
word of praise or encouragement now and again? Sure,
I was a rookie when it came to news, but I was developing a reporter’s instinct. Sort of.

Sandy threw me a sympathetic look as I trudged toward my desk. “Hang in there, Mallie. We’ll get that astrological chart done and figure out how to make Anita a
human being.”

“Fat chance” I turned on my old Dell desktop
computer that I shared with Sandy. First, I checked my
e-mails. One by one, I opened them. Nothing special. Just
a couple of press releases from the elementary school
about the upcoming Autumn Festival events. I yawned.
Then I noticed that the last e-mail was from an unfamiliar
name: Salty Surfer.

Huh?

I clicked on the message, and the words jumped out
at me.

You’re an outsider. Don’t mess with things that ain’t
your business.

I blinked as I read it again. “Sandy, look at this.” I
swung the computer screen in her direction.

She gasped. “Is that some kind of joke?”

“If it is, it’s in bad taste. Not to mention the poor
grammar …”

Jimmy set down his paintbrush and joined us. He
read the e-mail and let out a long, low whistle. “Heavy
stuff.”

“I’ll say,” I said. “It’s probably just another disgruntled reader or something. Anita told me she gets them
all the time. But who the heck would call himself Salty
Surfer?”

“It’s local jargon for a fisherman” Sandy’s eyes
clouded with uneasiness.

“Speaking of local fishermen, I had an unpleasant
confrontation with Jake Fowler yesterday at the elementary school. He was angry because I’d interviewed
his son, Robby, for my story.”

“Stay away from him,” Sandy said. “He’s trouble.”

“What’s his problem?” I hit the Print button on the
computer.

Sandy leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner.
“His wife left him two years ago. He kept Robby but has
been bitter ever since. Then he started a clam farm with
Tom Crawford that went bankrupt. He blamed Tomsaid he’d mismanaged the books and-“

“Jake Fowler hated Tom Crawford?” My interest
spiked a couple of notches. “Enough to kill him?”

She shrugged. “I … I can’t say for sure”

“If Tom were murdered, Jake would certainly have a
motive,” I murmured, half to myself. “A big one.”

Silence fell over the newsroom, except for the muted
coughs emanating from Anita’s office cubicle.

“Don’t worry” Jimmy placed a hand on Sandy’s shoulder, then turned to me. “If you call Mom, she’ll help.”

“Thanks” I tried to summon a degree of enthusiasm,
knowing full well I had no intention of putting myself
in the hands of some half-baked, phony, island fortuneteller. I could get to the truth on my own. In spite of what
Anita thought, I knew how to follow up on leads.

I grabbed my printout, shoved it into my canvas bag,
and left.

In spite of Anita’s suggestion that I skip lunch, I
swung by the Circle K and picked up yet another ham
and Swiss hoagie with a Coke (regular, not diet) to eat
on the road. As I took a couple of swigs of my drink, I
made for Heron’s Landing-a tiny mobile-home community not far from the island center. A few of the local
fishing families lived there, including Sally Jo-my
first lead.

Nestled among the pine trees and mini citrus groves
stood a smattering of trailers firmly affixed to permanent sites. They weren’t luxurious by any means, but,
freshly painted and landscaped with lots of native vegetation, they represented proudly the modest but hardworking lifestyle of the local fishermen. Canals stretched
behind them so the men could dock their boats in the backyard and deposit their “island Reeboks” on the
back porch.

I looked for Wanda Sue’s ancient, powder blue Cadillac convertible with its vanity plate-HoTTIE-no deep
psychological delving needed there. It stood parked in
front of a double-wide mobile home painted the color
of a wild flamingo and trimmed with butterscotch yellow shutters.

My own silver Airstream with its black and white
striped awning seemed tame in comparison.

I hopped out of Rusty and staggered against the wind
gusts. Before I got within thirty feet of the front door,
it swung open, and Wanda Sue poked her head out.

“Honey, we were just talking about you. Come on in
before you freeze your buns off.”

I didn’t know if my behind would actually disconnect from my body, but it felt as if it was getting close
to doing so.

As soon as I crossed the threshold, I welcomed the
blast of heat. One thing about mobile homes-they might
be small, but they had furnaces that could heat up the
North Pole and then some.

“How ‘bout a nice cup of hot cocoa?” Wanda Sue
asked as she closed the door behind me. In spite of her
cheery tone, the red-rimmed eyes told me she’d been
crying.

“Love some”

I started to unzip my Windbreaker but halted as I
took in my surroundings. Sally Jo’s interior decorating taste ran somewhere between overstuffed Victorian
and Southwest kitsch. A huge pink leather sectional
dominated the living room, offset by glass end tables and
matching coffee table with bases made of carved wooden
horses. Rodeo pictures adorned every wall, illuminated
by lamps with pink-fringed shades. A deep rose shag
carpet completed the decor.

My mouth dropped open.

“It’s really something, huh, Mallie? Can you believe
that Sally Jo fixed this place up all by herself?”

“Uh … yeah” I had the urge to reach for some
Maalox.

“She was all set to get her AA degree in interior design, but then she … got married … and had Kevin.
And now .. ” Tears slid down Wanda Sue’s face, and
she brushed them away with an impatient swipe of her
hand. “I’ve got to stop this. It ain’t doing Sally Jo any
good. She needs me to be strong right now, and that’s
what I’m gonna be” She took in a determined breath.

“How’s she doing?”

“Pretty much like you’d expect. Plumb near to crazy.
She got her boy back last night but lost her man. It’s a terrible thing to happen, just terrible” Wanda Sue lowered
her head and closed her eyes for a few brief moments.
“But Kevin’s okay…. We have to keep reminding ourselves that some good came out of last night.”

“Where is he?” I finished unzipping my Windbreaker.

“Asleep in his bedroom” She motioned down a narrow hallway. “Poor little thing was all tuckered out after the commotion-what with being left out on that boat
all day and up most of the night. We decided to keep
him home from school so he could rest.”

“Good idea.” I sat down on the leather sofa. Immediately it settled around me in all its squishy pastel glory.
For a moment I had the sensation of sitting in a tub of
margarine. “Is Sally Jo resting too?”

“I’m right here” She emerged from the hallway,
wearing a fluffy mauve robe and matching slippers. She
walked with slow, halting steps, her face drawn and tired.
But, amazingly, her sixties flip hair helmet was intact.
Must be genetic. “Thanks for coming over, Mallie.”

“You just set yourself down, baby.” Wanda Sue guided
Sally Jo to the monstrous sofa, picking up a pink and
white crocheted coverlet on the way. “I’m gonna fix
Mallie a cup of cocoa. Would you like one too?”

“Sure” Her voice was devoid of emotion.

Wanda Sue tucked the coverlet around her daughter,
then made her way to the kitchen.

“Can I do anything?” I asked.

Sally Jo leveled two sad eyes in my direction. “You
already did. You saved my son. I’m so grateful for that”

“All I did was help Detective Billie. He’s the one you
should be grateful to. He saved Kevin.”

A ghost of a smile touched her face. “You both did.”

“Well … sort of.” She probably hadn’t heard about
the rope incident. Small mercy.

“I couldn’t believe it when they brought in Tom’s
body. I mean, he didn’t look dead or anything. His eyes were closed, but he seemed like he was sleeping.” She
buried her face in her hands. “It’s so unfair. We were
getting back together-going to be a family again. And
now it’s all gone. We’ll never have the chance… ” Her
voice trailed off into a muffled jumble.

“You and Tom were definitely getting back together?” I asked gently.

She raised her head, her face streaked with tears.
“We’d been separated for about eight months, but in the
last few weeks we’d started talking again, working out
our problems. That’s why I don’t understand any of
this. Just when everything was looking up, Tom goes
and takes Kevin out on his boat without telling me, worrying me something sick. Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, God. How could he be so stupid? Now Kevin
don’t have a daddy” A fresh stream of tears spilled over
her cheeks. “What are we gonna do?”

My motormouth sputtered. “You … you’ve got
Wanda Sue and lots of people here who’ll help out. If
there’s one thing I’ve learned about Coral Island, it’s a
place where people look out for one another.”

She shook her head violently. “But that won’t bring
back my Tom. He’s gone forever.”

I scooted across the sofa and put my arms around
her. She cried hard, hot tears that dropped onto my shoulder, and her whole body quaked as the sobs ran through
her. Never having provided anyone with the proverbial shoulder to cry on, I wasn’t sure if I was doing it right.
But I improvised as best I could, patting her on the back
and murmuring some incoherent words. After a few minutes she settled down.

I eased away. “Let me get that hot cocoa. It’ll make
you feel better.”

She pushed a stray hair back. “I’d like that”

I gave her another quick pat on the arm and made my
way into the kitchen. Wanda Sue had set out three mugs
and was in the process of heating milk in a saucepan.

“This is a plumb nightmare,” she said, shaking her
head. “I can’t hardly take it all in. Looking at poor
Tom’s body last night, dead as a doornail. Who would’ve
thought?”

“It must’ve been rough on all of you”

“Worst thing I’ve ever had to do-and that includes
burying my own husband six years ago. Angina. We
knew it was coming. But this was different. Tom was so
young” Her chin began to quiver, but she held back the
tears. “Nick had Sally Jo and Kevin stay inside the marina office, while I identified the body. But then Sally Jo
came out she wanted to see him. It’s so sad. I
wish… things could’ve worked out different for them, especially since Tom planned to move back in…

“I hate to pry, but did Nick Billie say when he’d
know the cause of death?”

“In a day or two” She sniffed.

I handed her a Kleenex from the box on the counter. “Wanda Sue, if for some reason the cause of death
isn’t an accident, that opens up the possibility that
someone … well … could’ve hurt Tom” I picked over
my words as if I were tiptoeing over jagged shells on
the beach.

Her glance sharpened. “What are you saying?”

“Isn’t it sort of unlikely that Tom just fell overboard?”

“Kevin was the only other person on the boat.” Her
voice dropped to a whisper.

“True….” An idea that had been simmering in the
back of my mind rippled to the surface. “Unless someone else came aboard the boat-someone who wanted
to kill Tom”

Her eyes grew large and liquid. “You think?”

“It’s possible.” I raised my hands, palms open, then
dropped them. “But this is all supposition. Detective
Billie might be right-he thought Tom fell out of the
boat after a couple of beers”

The milk bubbled as it came to a boil. Wanda Sue then
removed the pan from the stove and poured the steaming
liquid into the mugs. “I don’t think so,” she said in a
quiet voice.

“Why not?”

“I didn’t tell Nick last night, but Tom and Sally Jo
have been going to AA. Neither of them have touched
alcohol for the last four months.”

Wanda Sue’s words hung in the air like a sudden,
dark fog. We looked at each other, but neither of us
wanted to say the words. If an accidental death were looking more and more unlikely, Kevin would be the
primary suspect.