Читать книгу Evil by the Sea - Kathleen Bridge - Страница 17

Chapter 6

On Saturday, the Mystical Merfest kept everyone at the Indialantic busy. They were almost sold out of Aunt Amelia’s tea, and the other emporium shop owners seemed quite pleased with the amount of traffic visiting their tents. Aunt Amelia had supplied Dorian with her own tent. Even the hundred-dollar fee for a fifteen-minute reading hadn’t dissuaded anyone from waiting in the long line snaking its way from the tent and ending at the hotel’s old motorcar garage. The garage butted up to the lagoon and at one time you might find a couple of 1930s Rolls Royces inside, or Al Capone’s 1928 Cadillac V-8 Town Sedan protected by three thousand pounds of steel, sporting bulletproof windows. Not that it was advertised, especially not in the 1930s, but Capone had been a visitor to the Indialantic by the Sea and Aunt Amelia had the hotel register to prove it.

The garage now housed Pierre’s vintage motorcycle with attached sidecar. The rest of the space was used for storage when they had to batten down the hatches due to a forecasted hurricane. The motorcycle was in working order, polished and maintained weekly by the hotel’s chef. She had the best memories of sitting in the sidecar when she was around age ten. She and Grand-Pierre would hit the nearby Jungle Trail off Highway 510 for a close-up view of the island’s natural flora and fauna. With the recent issues with Pierre’s memory, Ryan, a motorcycle buff himself, had volunteered once a week to take Pierre around the island in the sidecar. Ryan’s kindness to the man Liz thought of as a grandfather was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him. She’d learned his sometimes dark brooding good looks hid a heart of gold. They’d both grown in the past months since deciding to be in a committed relationship. However, she couldn’t help but be wary. One thing Ryan never talked about was his past relationships in New York. She really didn’t want to know. Or did she? Ryan knew every nuance of her relationship with Pulitzer Prize winning author Travis Osterman because it had been all over the national news.

She stuck her chin out and blocked any thoughts of Travis from her mind, then smiled at a passing stroller with a merchild inside. The small girl flapped her glittery tail at Liz in hello. She wore a huge smile, her face smeared with powdered sugar, no doubt from Chief Pierre’s French version of funnel cake that Pops was selling in the Deli-casies tent.

Around one, Aunt Amelia sent Liz to check on Dorian and bring her and her fiancé sustenance. The Island Eats food truck was parked in the Indialantic’s parking lot. Pops, the owner of the emporium shop, Deli-casies by the Sea, and Sam, the owner of the Island Eats food truck, were old friends and shared a long list of local suppliers, including Chef Pierre, who on his good days supplied amazing French desserts and bread products. Like Aunt Amelia, Ryan’s grandfather was a huge supporter of local commerce and never thought of his buddy’s food truck as competition. That’s the way things were done on the small barrier island.

“Hi Sam, can I please have two of your Cuban sandwich plates with Cajun sweet potatoes fries?” The best item to order were Sam’s crab cakes, but she knew to avoid shellfish when it came to Julian. After last night’s dinner, Dorian had pulled Liz aside and apologized for the scene in the dining room, explaining that her fiancé was allergic to shellfish, not fish, and he’d asked her to apologize for him. Doubtful, Liz had thought. She just hoped Dorian knew what she was getting into. Maybe she did, as in her nightmare. Liz wondered if Dorian was having other ominous premonitions about her intended that she was keeping to herself, letting her heart lead the way instead of trusting her psychic powers. Though not a medium, Liz had done the same thing with her ex, Travis. And look where that had gotten her.

“Coming right up, Liz.” At the word Liz, Sam expelled a whistle through the gap between his two front teeth. Sam reminded her of Aunt Amelia’s Howdy Doody ventriloquist doll replica that Kate had found on one her antiquing excursions. Kate had given it to Aunt Amelia, knowing that her first foray into television acting was in 1960 on the final episode of the Howdy Doody Show. In Liz’s opinion, it wasn’t exactly an acting debut, because her great-aunt’s job had been to hold the strings for the show’s Flub-A-Dub puppet.

As Aunt Amelia had explained to Kate and Liz, Flub-A-Dub was a mixture of eight animals. It had a cocker spaniel’s ears, a raccoon’s tail, a dachshund’s body, a duck’s head, a giraffe’s neck, a seal’s flippers and a cat’s whiskers. Kate had said, “That’s only seven animals.” Aunt Amelia had answered, “I almost forgot, and an elephant’s memory.” Then she’d pulled out a photo of herself holding Flub-A-Dub, autographed by Buffalo Bob Smith, the actor who did all the puppet’s voices.

At the thought of Bobs, Liz remembered the irritating fact that whenever Barnacle Bob heard the words, Howdy Doody, he’d start repeating, “Say, kids, what time is it? It’s Howdy Doody…. Time,” then he’d break into a macaw’s version of the show’s theme song, “It’s Howdy Doody time, it’s Howdy Doody time…” ad nauseum. And instead of chastising the dirty bird, Aunt Amelia would always roar with laughter. Liz smiled at the memory.

Sam’s son came back to the window and handed Liz two paper plates of food. He was an exact replica of his father, with the same red hair, wide nose covered in freckles and large ears, along with the same space between his teeth. Only in his case, his mouth was filled with braces and a retainer. She took the plates then held them up to him. He leaned out the window holding a plastic squeeze bottle filled with a spicy, pale peach mango ketchup and drizzled it over the sweet potato fries. “Dad said the food’s on the house because your father did such a great job getting his permits cleared with the town.”

“Tell him I said thank you.” Her father had struck again, always helping the locals. Sometimes his clients would pay it forward in produce, seafood, and free repairs when things needed fixing at the almost hundred-year-old hotel—an almost constant occurrence.

On her way to Dorian’s tent, she saw Julian standing in the shadow of an oak tree. Hanging moss hid the person he was talking to, or more succinctly, yelling at. Julian’s face was controlled but his hands were clenched in fists. There was something attractive about Julian’s long light brown hair that today fell to his shoulders. Even from a distance his arctic-blue eyes drew you to his handsome face.

Balancing a plate in each hand she took a detour behind the tents to get closer to the action. When she reached the back of Sirens by the Sea’s tent, she inched up to a nearby palm and hid behind it. She spotted Garrett, Dorian’s financial advisor. He must be the person that had Julian so riled up.

Garrett took a step toward Julian, clutching a piece of paper in his hand. “All you have to do is sign, buddy boy. Show that you really care and you’re not marrying her for her money. I’ve been looking into your financial affairs at the SWS and things look pretty sketchy. Especially when it comes to your Sunshine miracle water. I’ll keep those details to myself if you sign. Dorian and her children won’t hear a peep from me.”

“I’m not your ‘buddy boy,’ and I certainly won’t be blackmailed by you.” Julian raised his closed fist and brought it up to Garrett’s chin.

Garrett had to be about five inches taller and probably weighed at least fifty pounds more. He was solid like the oak he stood next to.

Julian continued in a calmer voice, “Dorian and I love each other. Do what you will, but I also have something to parley back at you. It seems Dorian and I have discussed her future and things are looking promising that I might take over your lackluster role as financial advisor and agent. I’ve had my own accountant looking into last year’s financials. The numbers just don’t seem to jive, buddy boy.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Garrett shouted, “I’ve never mismanaged a penny. I’ve been with her for almost thirty years and she’s had more than enough money to spend as she wishes.”

“I suppose you okayed the money to open her loser son’s restaurant. If that’s your idea of a good investment, you better get with the times.”

“Oh, I see where you’re going with this. You want Dorian to sink more money into that hocus-pocus medicine man water you’re peddling. You don’t give your fiancée enough credit, Mr. Warlock. Oh, I forgot you’re a white witch not a warlock. Same evil practices I’m sure. Just white washing your title doesn’t change the things I’ve heard about your little operation. Whatever spell you’ve put on Dorian, it didn’t work when it came to the water, did it? She has good business sense and nixed your expansion plans. Dorian told me you’re a self-made man with only a high school diploma. Maybe you should sign up for junior college, take a few business classes. Of course, it would be years before you could earn an MBA like I have, not to mention passing your CPA exams.”

Liz watched Julian’s face turn from rosy pink to burning red. He didn’t even budge when Garrett bent down and gave him a light push on the shoulder.

“Don’t you touch me!” Julian put both hands on Garrett’s wide chest and pushed. Nothing happened.

Garrett laughed. Even though he was decades older than Julian, his red hair and solid body reminded Liz of a Viking ready for battle. “You’ll have to do better than that, buddy boy,” he spat.

It was then that Ryan’s dog, Blackbeard came barreling toward her. As if in slow motion, she watched the huge mutt stop dead center in front of her, bark, then jump up and grab one of the plates from her hand and carry it off between his teeth. “Come back with that, you little scamp!” she shouted. Both men turned toward her as she watched Blackbeard drop the plate and almost inhale the sandwich and fries in under five seconds. Julian scowled and Garrett grinned.

She had no choice but to lie as she walked up to them, holding the remaining plate in front of her. “Mr. Rhodes, Dorian sent me to deliver you some lunch. Cuban sandwiches.” Then she chattered on about the Mystical Mermaid Festival and the story of Meribel, until both men looked bored. At least she’d diffused the situation.

Finally, Julian said, more like demanded, “Bring my food to Dorian’s tent. We’ll eat together. I have something important to discuss with her that won’t wait.” Then he fixed his gaze on Garrett, “Don’t forget to pay this bill that Dorian signed off on. He reached in the pocket of his pants and fished out a folded piece of paper, then stuffed it into Garrett’s free hand. Garrett’s other hand held what Liz assumed was a prenuptial agreement.

Through gritted teeth, Garrett said, “I think I’ll ask her myself. I wouldn’t put it past you to forge her signature.” Realizing he had an audience, Garrett turned to Liz. “I’d love to get some local food. Point me in the right direction.”

“Island Eats food truck. It’s across from Dorian’s tent. Tell him Liz sent you.”

“Thank you, Liz.”

She watched him walk in the direction she pointed to. When she turned back, Julian strode up to her. He was so close she could smell his minty breath. “About that tent you set up for Dorian. Whose idea was it? Hers or your aunt’s? Trying to use the poor woman to make an extra buck for your crumbling hotel? I am totally against the whole idea. It’s too much exposure.”

Reining in what she really wanted to say, something along the line of You’re a pompous ass, Dorian deserves better, she said, “Aunt Amelia’s my great-aunt. I’m pretty sure the tent was Dorian’s idea, not Auntie’s. One of the reasons Dorian planned your wedding at our hotel was because it was the same weekend as this fabulous festival.” She spread her arms to encompass the parking lot. She didn’t see one unhappy face in the boisterous crowd.

“That’s not what Dorian told me. She said it was your auntie’s idea. I’ll be sure to have a talk with her. It’s time people stopped trying to take advantage of her because of her advanced age.”

Who did he think he was marrying? His grandmother? His words, “poor woman” and “advanced age” didn’t fit the dynamic Dorian Starwood Liz knew. “I assure you, Mr. Rhodes, no one at the Indialantic, including Aunt Amelia, would ever take advantage of Dorian. Our family has known her for years.” She wanted to ask how long he’d known his fiancée, but she kept quiet for Dorian’s sake.

“Bring the food to her circus tent and we’ll lunch together. That way I can keep an eye on her.”

Heard you the first time. She wanted to give him a military salute and click her sandals together. Instead, she bit the inside of her cheek and chirped, “Will do, Mr. Rhodes.”

He didn’t respond but his ice-blue gaze showed triumph. Then he turned and walked away.

After she picked up the abandoned plate that Blackbeard left behind, she realized she had to place another order of food for Dorian. Not in the mood to get in line behind Garrett, she ran up to Aunt Amelia’s boyfriend, Ziggy and enlisted his help in getting two more orders of food, then she found a table in the open dining tent and sat. Even though she’d already shared an order of sea scallop kabobs with Ryan, she had no problem cleaning the remaining plate of food in about the same time as Ryan’s dog. Even cold, the sandwich and the sweet potato fries were delicious. Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she glanced toward the Indian River Lagoon. Rosie, the Indialantic’s mascot rosette tern, was on her favorite piling. Calm and unbothered by all the commotion around her. Liz wished she could say she was unbothered after the little fracas she’d just witnessed between Dorian’s fiancé and financial advisor. She pondered what business it was of hers. None. Dorian was a mature adult with a good head on her shoulders. Then she remembered how Dorian had carried on about her nightmare, and the fact she’d mentioned something cryptic when she’d said, “After what happened…” What had happened? Then there was the subservient way Dorian had acted last night at dinner.

Gathering her plate, fork and napkin, she headed for the nearest trash receptacle, wishing she had some of Pierre’s thirst quenching lemon-limeade before she met Ziggy for the hand off of Dorian and Julian’s food. As she took a step toward her and Ziggy’s designated meeting place, a piece of paper flitted toward her like a moth to a flame and flattened itself to her right leg. She bent and picked it up, then quickly glanced at it. It wasn’t a prenup. Instead, it was the folded piece of paper Julian had just handed Garrett—a four-hundred-thousand-dollar invoice for a water filtration system.

She knew from reading the label on the Sunshine Wiccan Society’s water yesterday that the water was bottled at the source of the SWS’s grounds in Jacksonville. The invoice for the filtration system had a delivery address in Ocala. Maybe the society planned on moving? She stowed the invoice away, thinking how she would get it to Garrett without him knowing she’d been listening to his and Julian’s conversation. She wished the Indialantic’s resident teenage mystery writer, Betty, were here as a sounding board. Ryan would listen, but he would tell her that not everything was a conundrum to be sorted out, or some Machiavellian plot.

One thing was for sure; there were a lot of interesting dynamics going on with the players in the Starwood-Rhodes wedding weekend.

After Ziggy passed her the two hot plates, he went in search of Aunt Amelia. Liz headed in the direction of Dorian’s tent. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Garrett next to Rosie’s flower truck talking to a man wearing a black baseball cap. As soon as Garrett noticed her, he waved in her direction. He said something to the man and he disappeared into a throng of festival goers. Was that the figure she’d seen last night on the boardwalk? The same person Susannah spied in the Indialantic’s garden? Or just someone wearing a black baseball cap? If this was the mystery person, she knew one thing for sure, he was male.