Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 02 - Island Intrigue (5 page)

I grimaced inwardly at that last line and scribbled
down what she was saying as fast as I could, editing out
the cheesy ending.

“It’s also a great way to give the kids time off from
the regular school day. Balancing work and fun is essential for young students today. That way they don’t
get their dear little selves burned out”

I looked up. “Burned out? In fourth grade?”

“I’m afraid so. With the new state competency exams, a lot of pressure is put on the kids.”

“That hardly seems fair.” I guess education had a
bottom line just like practically everything else in today’s world. Even Disney World had to sell a certain
number of tickets to keep the attractions open.

“We have other upcoming events that are supposed to
be just pure fun-a fishing tournament and a car wash.”

“I’ll be sure to cover those.” Oh, great, more hardhitting news stories. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Beverly Jennings.”

My interest perked up. “What a coincidence. I was
going to look you up about another matter.”

“Oh?”

“A friend of mine … she’s actually my landlady, who
owns the Twin Palms RV Resort where I stay”

“Wanda Sue.”

I nodded. “She asked me to see if I could find out
what happened to her grandson-“

“Kevin.” Her eyes clouded in puzzlement. “He’s one
of my students, but, as far as I know, he was just fine
when his father picked him up from school yesterday”

“That’s the problem. Kevin’s father picked him up
and was supposed to drop him at his mother’s house-“

“Sally Jo”

“Right.” Was she, like, the island name expert, or
what? Jeez. I took a deep breath and continued. “Anyway, Sally Jo is upset because she hasn’t heard anything
from Kevin or his father.” I pronounced the names with
breakneck speed.

“You know they’re separated,” she supplied in a confidential manner, leaning forward almost to my ear as
she continued. “And I’ve heard they’re heading for a
d-i-v-o-r-c-e.”

Thank you, Tammy Wynette. “Really? My source in dicated that they might be getting back together.” But
that was Wanda Sue, who wasn’t the most reliable of
informants-especially about her own daughter.

“Maybe so” Beverly pulled back and pursed her
mouth. “The important thing is Kevin’s well-being.
Over the last couple of months I’ve tried to make sure
the dear boy has had a supportive environment here at
school while his parents were sorting through their
problems.”

“I’m sure they appreciated that”

“Kevin did.” She nodded in a knowing way.

Okay. “Back to my original question: You don’t think
anything’s amiss with Kevin and his dad?”

She paused. “No. Mainly because his dad has taken
him out of school before to go fishing for a few days.
Fishermen on the island do that a lot. Obviously we
discourage it at the school because it interrupts the kids’
academic studies. But the guys do it anyway.”

“So you think that’s where they are?”

She nodded. “Unfortunately, it happens all the time.”

“Did his father actually say he was going to take
Kevin fishing?” I pressed her.

“Not in so many words..”

“But you got the idea that they might be boating for a
few days?”

“I saw the fishing poles in the back of his truck”

“Okay, thanks for your input. I’m sure you’re right.
Wanda Sue is probably being an overprotective granny.”
I shoved my pen behind my ear. I knew it was a nasty habit, but if I dropped it back into my canvas bag,
chances were, I’d never find it again-or the others I’d
tossed in. “I’m going to take a few pictures of the kids
jumping rope for the newspaper-my editor got it
cleared by the principal this morning.”

“Sure.”

“Oh, by the way, do you mind if I ask where you get
your hair done? I’ve been looking for a good stylist
since I came to Coral Island.”

“My dad does it.” She tucked her hair behind her
ears and smiled. “He’s a hairdresser in Maimi.”

Wouldn’t ya know? No way could I afford to drive to
Miami to get my hair trimmed. “Thanks anyway” I’d
have to bite the bullet and stick it out with Trixie. At the
very least I might learn how to monitor my Airstream’s
electrical system.

I took a deep breath and plunged into the hoard of
jump rope-wielding kids. I spent a few minutes snapping pictures, making sure I caught a variety of ages and
boys as well as girls. When I was ready to leave, I noticed a group of older boys, probably around eleven or
twelve, hovering near the entrance to the gym. As I
passed them, one in particular gave me a hard stare. Tall
for his age, with a crew cut and sullen features, he stood
out because he was probably the only person in the
gym who appeared not to be having a good time.

“Hi,” I said. He ignored me. “Hi,” I repeated in a
louder tone.

He mumbled something that could’ve been “Hullo”
or “Hell, no”

“Where are your jump ropes?” I asked the boys.

“Those are for girls and wusses,” they responded in
unison.

“Yeah, I guess so. I’d probably feel the same way if
I were you.”

A couple of the boys looked at me with a glimmer of
interest. Except the sullen one. His eyes remained dark
and insolent.

“This whole thing is dumb,” he muttered.

“But it raises money for your school,” I said. “That’s
good, isn’t it?”

“My dad says school is for them who can’t do nothing else,” the boy continued. “I want to be a fisherman
like him. I don’t need no school learning to toss a bait
net.”

The other boys began to murmur among themselves
and shifted away from us.

“I didn’t like school much when I was your age, but
down the road I realized that I was wrong. My parents
always wanted me to be at the top of the class-which I
never was, and that made me really resent the kids who
were. I thought school was supposed to be fun. A place
where I could talk to other kids and hang out on the
playground. But it turned out to be a lot of work, and I
didn’t like that. So, I can see how you might not want to
sit in a classroom all day-especially when you could be outside on a boat, fishing and having a good time.” I
paused, surprised at my diatribe. For some reason my
motormouth had clicked into gear. Must be all the jump
rope energy. “You might be surprised at what education
can do for you.”

Some of the sullen expression cleared out of his face.
“You sure talk a lot.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s genetic.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” I held out my hand. “I’m Mallie.
What’s your name?”

“Robby.”

“Nice to meet you, Robby.” We shook hands. “I work
for the island newspaper, and I’m doing a story about
the Autumn Festival. You want me to quote you?”

“You mean put what I say in the paper?”

“Yep.” I whipped out my Official Reporter’s Notepad again and retrieved my pen.

“Cool.”

“What do you think of the festival so far this year?”
I gave him an encouraging nod.

“It’s … okay”

“Good answer.” I jotted it down. “Anything else?”

He looked down. A few seconds passed. “Nope, I
guess not.”

“All right.” I tossed the notepad back into my canvas
bag. “See ya around, Robby.” I smiled at him and started
to leave.

“Were you asking Miz Jennings about Kevin?” he
asked.

I stopped dead in my tracks. “Yes, as a matter of fact,
I was. How did you know?”

“I dunno” He shrugged. “Just guessed that he might
be in trouble”

“Did Kevin say anything to you?”

“Nah, he’s only a fourth-grader just a little guy.
I’m in the fifth grade.” He thumped his chest in pride.
“But I heard that he was afraid his dad would find out
about some stuff that he was doing around the island.”

“‘Stuff’? Like what?”

“Stealing … breaking windows. Things like that.”

“Oh, that kind of stuff.” Interesting that Wanda Sue
had neglected to pass on this piece of information. “He
isn’t in trouble as far as I know-yet”

Robby shrugged.

“Did he say why he was stealing or breaking windows?”

“I…uh…”

“Robby, stop blabbering and wasting the lady’s time.”
A burly man yanked on the boy’s shoulder. He sported
an identical crew cut and sullen expression, so I guessed
he was Robby’s father.

“He wasn’t wasting my time. I asked him-” I began.

“I heard what you asked him,” he interrupted. “My
boy don’t have nothing to do with Kevin Crawford.”

“But-” I held up a hand.

“Let’s go, son” He maneuvered Robby away from
me and toward the lemonade stand. The other boys followed.

“Call me at the newspaper if you can think of anything else,” I said to their retreating backs.

Talk about rude-and a creepo excuse for a father.
I tossed my pen and notepad into my canvas bag and
headed out.

Exiting the gym, I thought about what Robby had
said. Was Kevin a budding juvenile delinquent? If so,
did that have any connection with his possible disappearance? It didn’t seem likely, but I’d learned that things
weren’t always what they seemed on Coral Island. They
were generally worse. And why had Robby’s father come
on like a heavy in a gangster movie just because I was
talking to his son? Did he have something to hide?

I dropped my pass off at the main office and headed out
to the parking lot. As a blast of cold wind buffeted me, I
folded my arms across my chest and hustled into my
truck. I cranked up the engine and sat there a few moments, reveling in the heat pouring out of Rusty’s vents.
Then I checked my watch. Eleven-thirty. I needed to get
back to the Observer, finish the Town Hall story, and start
working on my Autumn Festival article.

But first I needed to follow up on my investigation
into Kevin’s possible disappearance.

A few minutes later I walked into the island police
station. The small wood-framed building contained a
reception area, an office, and two cells. Generally the most heinous criminal ever locked up was Ned-the island jaywalker who’d stagger out of the Seafood Shanty
around midnight after a few too many beers, singing
rap songs at the top of his lungs. He didn’t have a bad
voice, but who wanted to hear rap so late at night?

“Mallie, long time no see,” Rhonda, the attractive
brunet receptionist, hailed me. One of those superefficient, never-a-hair-out-of-place, incredibly organized
women, she should’ve irritated the heck out of me. But
Rhonda was also a genuinely nice person. Just my luckI couldn’t even dislike her.

“Cold enough for you?” I strolled over to their
industrial-sized coffeemaker.

“Freezing. I’ve been in Florida over ten years, and
this is the coldest snap we’ve ever had this early in the
season. I hate it.”

“Me too.” I took a long, deep swig of the coffee. Ah,
strong and black. Just the way I like it. “Is Detective
Billie in?”

“He is,” the man himself answered from the doorway
of his office in all his magnificent masculinity. Okay,
maybe I was exaggerating a little. True, his straight black
hair flowed back from his forehead like dark silk, and his
eyes glowed deeper than a starless night. But his ruggedly
handsome face was set in an expression of stubborn rigidity. So he just missed “magnificent” by a millimeter or
two. But who’s counting?

“I … I need to ask you a few questions.” Keep cool.
I mentally fanned myself.

“If it’s about last month’s Town Hall meeting-“

“No, it’s not,” I cut in swiftly. When I’d seen him at
the October Town Hall meeting-the same one where
the infamous chocolate chip ice cream episode had
occurred-I proposed that he write a police-beat column
for the Observer covering crimes that had occurred on
the island during the week. Needless to say, he shot me
down as if I were a cardboard figure at target practice.
“I’m working on a story. Uh … not exactly a story. More
like a possible story. At least, it could become a story if it
works out to be true. Although I’m not sure if it is true.
I’ll only know that if I can find out what happened” I
stopped there. My motormouth was slipping a few gears,
and I didn’t know how to stop it. Why does he make me
so tongue-tied?

“Come again?” He tilted his head to one side, regarding me as if I were speaking a foreign language.

“Could we go into your office? This might be official
police business.”

He paused. “All right. But I’ve got a lunch appointment at one. Do you think you could make yourself
clear by that time?”

I raised my chin in defiance. “I’m always clear. It’s
this case that’s confusing.”

He stood to one side, and I breezed past him with my
coffee cup, inhaling the woodsy scent that always seemed
to cling to him. It was probably one of those modern
colognes with a pseudo-manly name like Brawl or Robust that was supposed to conjure up images of athletic, virile men pumping iron and breathing hard. But they always made me think of superabsorbent paper towels.

Still, Nick Billie sure smelled nice….

After I took a seat, he slid into the chair behind his
desk and began in a long-suffering tone, “I know I’m
going to regret asking, but what’s this all about?”

“Here’s the scoop,” I answered in a sweet voice.
“Wanda Sue asked me if I could help her find her grandson, Kevin. Apparently his dad picked him up from
school yesterday, and they never showed up at Sally Jo’s
house. He was supposed to drop Kevin there. Sally Jo
called her husband’s house, but there was no answer.
She’s pretty upset”

“Sally Jo or Wanda Sue?”

“Both, I think.”

His mouth twisted wryly.

“You think something could’ve happened to them?”

“Like what? Like they’ve gone fishing and not told
Sally Jo? I can’t tell you the number of times that’s
happened over the last year. And every time Tom
takes off with Kevin like that, Sally Jo calls here and
says she’s going to file a complaint against him. Then
when Tom and Kevin come back in a few days, she forgets all about it-until the next time. My advice is, stay
out of it. Don’t get between Sally Jo and her husband.
They like to play these little games” He leaned back in
his chair.