The Deadly Ackee Page 21

  “Quite dotty,” he agreed in a distracted voice. The girl was found, and that mystery resolved, although the conclusion to the drama was still unknown. Sandy was a greedy sort. Mary Margaret was simply too self-centered to consider the repercussions of the scheme, or to deal with the complications that were inevitable at some point in time. But how did any of it relate to Eli’s murder?

  “I do wish we had found the roll of film,” he said. “Its disappearance is more troubling than Mary Margaret’s, in that I had suspected some degree of collusion on her part. The film, however, did not walk down the hill and call a cab from a hotel.”

  “Did you ask D’Orsini about it?” Dorrie gnawed on the broken fingernail.

  “I did, but he refused to discuss the identity of his associates. One he described as a Colombian businessman who left Jamaica before the murder occurred. He has chosen to protect a second visitor, but for other reasons. The third is likely to be our poisoner. D’Orsini has every reason not to identify the person, since this person, once charged with first-degree murder, will have no reason not to implicate D’Orsini in the drug dealings. Until either the murderer is caught or the film found, there is no evidence against him.”

  “Surely Count D’Orsini would put personal considerations aside to help solve a murder. He’s not all that bad. He prepped at Andover.”

  “Eli admitted to being a narcotics agent and then attempted to blackmail him. D’Orsini was not devastated when Eli was removed from the scene. Were I in a similar situation, I might feel that way myself.”

  “Maybe he did poison Eli,” Dorrie said, still occupied with her fingernail. “Maybe he got the film and used it for a champagne cork or a golf tee. He probably has ackee trees all over his yard and a cabinet full of rum. Damn, I’ve got a hangnail now; it’s going to drive me wild until I get back to my manicure kit at the villa. We are going to get back to the villa, aren’t we? He isn’t going to dump us on some mosquito-ridden lump of sand in the middle of the ocean. I really can’t face the idea of twenty years on an island with both a hangnail and Mary Margaret. I don’t know which would be worse.”

  The engine roared and the yacht began to roll back and forth. Dorrie grabbed at the champagne bottle before it fell on the canapés. Theo eased Mary Margaret to the floor and placed his jacket under her head as a pillow.

  “This is too much,” Dorrie snapped. “I have a delicate stomach, and all this rolling about is liable to make me feel quite ill. You’re going to have to make him stop, Uncle Theo. You know how I hate to barf.” The rolling stopped. “That’s better,” she said, taking a drink from the bottle. “It’s one thing to be kidnapped, but another to be abused in the process. I should have told Sandy that I’d write him a check for however much Magsy’s worth these days.”

  Before Theo could comment on the likely reaction, the lock clicked on the door. He took the champagne bottle by its neck and gingerly rose, doubting that the weapon would be effective against more modern techniques. He crept to the edge of the metal shelves and raised the bottle above his head. The door opened. Theo stepped out, prepared to wreak what havoc he could with an empty bottle of Dom Perignon.

  “Holy Metro-Goldwyn, Bloom!” Sitermann said, leaping back as the bottle swung near his head. “You’re supposed to drink it, not attack with it. Do you know how much that stuff costs?”

  “It would be worth every penny of it,” Theo said with a twinge of regret for having missed his target. His fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle as he watched uniformed men swarming through the corridor of the yacht. A second swing would not be politic, he warned himself.

  “Did you have a nice cruise?” Sitermann continued, grinning at the tray of canapés.

  “It was hardly my idea of a jolly outing. I presume you came aboard earlier, while we were still at the marina. At one point Sandy suspected he heard something and went to investigate. The only thing he stumbled into was a gun in the master cabin. Did you consider the possibility of overpowering him before he locked us in here and set sail?”

  “Of course I did, Bloom. But I was just following you three out of idle curiosity, and I was by my lonesome. I lurked on board long enough to figure out I needed assistance, then hopped off and went to make a couple of telephone calls. The locals do like to be included, especially in the dramatic stuff. Makes ’em feel important.”

  “You forgot your gun, didn’t you?”

  Sitermann gave him a pained look. “As a matter of fact, I did. I spent most of the evening with an enchantress from Idaho, and I left my weapon in my hotel room so’s not to unduly alarm the little lady. I wasn’t prepared for you and the two youngsters to go charging into the night, waving golf clubs and looking just a mite silly.”

  “Because of your dalliance, the girls and I were subjected to several hours of unpleasantness,” Theo said coldly. “Sandy was clearly desperate enough to do something irrational in the name of self-preservation. Then you pop up like a clump of crabgrass and tell me you could have prevented all this, but you left your gun at home. Really, Sitermann, you CIA boys ought to take lessons from the Boy Scouts. Or even the Cub Scouts.”

  “As long as you still love me, Bloom.” He began to bark orders in a very un-Sitermannish voice. Theo and Dorrie were escorted to the dining room for questions from a grim-lipped Coast Guard officer. Mary Margaret was carried to a stateroom, where she might sleep more comfortably. Sandy was led past the doorway to another room; he gave Theo a mock salute and Dorrie a polite nod.

  The sun had risen by the time they arrived at the marina. Mary Margaret was transported to a hospital to be examined for any residuals from her ordeal, although Dorrie pointed out several times that the kidnap victim was most likely faking sleep to avoid questioning. A uniformed man drove Theo and Dorrie to the villa in their car, and left in a police car that had escorted them. Bitsy, Biff, and Trey were on the terrace, the remains of breakfast on the table. Theo left Dorrie to explain as best she could and went to the kitchen, where he was heartened to find Amelia and Emelda washing dishes.

  “How kind of you to return,” he said.

  “Weren’t my idea of a good time, not with all the murdering and stealing and searching going on,” Amelia said with a shrug. “Missus Greeley is paying double-time, and I’ve had my eye on a compact disc player in a store in MoBay.”

  Emelda chuckled. “I need a new television set. I love ‘Dallas’ on Friday evenings, but the reception’s bad.”

  Their loyalty was touching. Theo again thanked them for returning, then went upstairs to shower, shave, and find clean clothes. He was very tired, he realized as his knees began to quiver. First the night at the police station, and now a second night on the kitchen floor and in the storage room of D’Orsini’s yacht. He was, he thought glumly as he studied a gray hair in his beard, too old for such things. He toyed with the idea of a telephone call to Nadine, but decided she was by this time flinging cards and vitriolic comments across the bridge table.

  He laid out a clean shirt and his pin-striped pajamas and was indecisively studying both when there was a tap on the door. “Uncle Theo?” Dorrie called. “Sergeant Stahl is here and he wants to talk to us about what happened. He’s frothing again.” Theo picked up the folded shirt and replaced it in a drawer. “Please tell him that I will discuss this entire business at five o’clock this afternoon,” he said through the door. “He needs to bring Sandy, D’Orsini, and Gerry Greeley with him, so that we can explore all the nagging little details of the last week. In the interim, I shall sleep.” Theo put on his pajamas, closed the curtains, pulled back the covers on the bed, and slept.

  Chapter Four

  “Can I offer you a glass of punch, Uncle Theo?” Dorrie said as he came out to the terrace. “It’s a little bit crowded out here, but we’ll find room for you to sit at the table, and I’ve asked the maid to serve hors d’oeuvres. Nothing complicated, mind you—just crackers, cheese, and a tin of pâté.” She gave him a bright smile as she pulled back a chair and ge
stured for him to sit down.

  The terrace was indeed a little bit crowded. Count D’Orsini and Gerry sat at one end of the table, both solemn and wary. Sandy sat beside Sergeant Stahl; the presence of several uniformed men at a discreet distance seemed adequate to deter any attempt to escape. Stahl’s eyes were narrowed and his lips pressed together in a tight line. Trey, Bitsy, and Biff stood against the railing; the former was smiling but the latter two were cautiously observing the stage, waiting for the drama to begin.

  Dorrie sat down and filled a glass from the pitcher. “There you are, Uncle Theo—unless you’d prefer something from the kitchen?”

  Theo shook his head. “No, this will be fine, dear. How is Mary Margaret? Has she not recovered from the sedative she was given?”

  Stahl glanced at Sandy. “No, she’s doing fine, but the doctor wants to keep her in the hospital overnight for observation. I don’t know what’ll happen next. Her father’s thinking about pressing charges for attempted extortion. I’ve told D’Orsini what happened on the yacht. He can decide if he wants to file charges for trespassing and theft.”

  “How delightful.” Trey chortled. “If Daddy has Magsy thrown into prison, I shall move into her bedroom at home.”

  “And her closet?” Bitsy said, edging away from him to the far end of the railing.

  Stahl gave her a perplexed look, then said, “I haven’t had any final word about the charges from that end. What D’Orsini does is up to him.”

  “No harm done, my good man,” the count murmured. “I’m relieved the gal was found and is now safe. That was my only worry, although I shall have to fire my captain for negligence. He’s a reliable sort, but altogether too eager to give guided tours and leave keys lying about.”

  Smiling indulgently, Gerry patted his shoulder. “He’s not precisely your employee, you know. He came with the craft.”

  “So he did, so he did.” D’Orsini crossed his legs and gazed at Theo. “I understand we’re all here to find out who murdered Eli. I don’t want to rush you along, but I have a dinner engagement and I need time to change into proper evening clothes.”

  Theo ignored the low rumble from Stahl. “Yes, I think that if we all cooperate, we’ll be able to produce an explanation for the various mysteries that arose in the last few days. The situation is this: Eli Staggley posed as a pool boy in order to observe certain transactions that took place beside D’Orsini’s pool. Eli had good reason to suspect these transactions were illegal, and indeed they were. One evening, while we were out at a hotel, he drove back here. He then went upstairs and through the master bedroom to the balcony, where he had an unobstructed view of the pool area next door. Using a camera equipped to take photographs under limited lighting conditions, he shot a roll of film he felt was most incriminating.”

  “We know this,” Stahl said. “Are you going to tell us he ate the film and it’ll show up in the autopsy?”

  “Patience,” Theo murmured. “Two days ago we went on an all-day outing on the Governor’s Coach, which gave Eli a golden opportunity to go next door and discuss the possible sale of the film to one of its featured stars. Negotiations were begun and further discussions planned once D’Orsini determined how much cash he could put his hands on. Eli was pleased with himself. He returned here, made a pitcher of rum punch from a bottle given to him, went to the area beside the pool, and eventually died. Therefore, he was not available to pick us up at the train station.”

  “Now that would have been disgusting,” Trey said, lighting a cigarette and tossing the match over his shoulder. “A ghostly driver appears from the fog, his white teeth—”

  “Will you shut up!” Bitsy hissed. “You’re what is disgusting.”

  Theo took a deep breath. “To continue, in the middle of all this, Sandy and Mary Margaret cooked up a scheme to extort money from her father. The girl took the first opportunity to wander next door with a fanciful invitation, then simply hid until she could walk down the hill to the relative sanctuary of a hotel. She called the cook in Connecticut and made certain arrangements, then took a taxi to the marina and made herself comfortable on the yacht. A ransom note demanding a fantastic amount of money was delivered to her father yesterday morning.”

  “I’m surprised it wasn’t stuck in chocolate mousse,” Dorrie sniffed. When Biff smiled at her, she gave him a look withering enough to damage the hardiest perennial, and turned away. “We’re waiting, Uncle Theo.”

  “Ransom note?” Stahl inserted in a mild voice. “I don’t recall anything about a ransom note. Seems to me I asked if there’d been any word on the girl. Seems to me I asked a couple of times, while sitting in this very same chair.”

  Theo began to polish his glasses. “Yes, you did, and I apologize for keeping the information from you. I told you we hadn’t had a peep from the girl, and that was basically true. The communication came second-hand from my sister, who’s a friend of the Ellison family, and it was obvious from the beginning that the kidnapping was more complex than it appeared to be. I was waiting to see further developments before I took any action.”

  “Oh, Mr. Bloomer,” Stahl said sadly, “and to think I trusted you with all of my confidences.”

  Count D’Orsini tapped his watch. “It’s inexcusable to keep a lady waiting, chaps. The good sergeant has told us what occurred early this morning, and we now seem to know everything there is concerning this mock extortion. Are we or are we not to discover who murdered the policeman in the swimming pool?”

  “We are,” Theo said. “I initially assumed the two events were related in some obscure way, then I began to wonder if they were indeed entirely separate. But let us return to Eli’s last afternoon. When he mentioned blackmail, he had not yet developed the roll of film, had he?” When D’Orsini nodded, Theo added, “Nor did he specify on which night he took the incriminating shots. Those of us living on this side of the fence knew, because Dorrie found the lens cap the next morning. You, however, were not privy to that knowledge and Eli saw no reason to mention the precise night. Am I right?”

  Count D’Orsini removed a slender cigar from his pocket and took what seemed like several minutes to clip the ends and light it to his satisfaction. “That’s right. There were many evenings that might have provided photographs which would cause me a certain amount of disagreeableness with the authorities. I did stop to wonder which evening he found so ominous, but I didn’t have a chance to inquire. He was dead by then, you see.”

  “The first night we arrived, I heard you having an argument with a man whose voice sounded familiar, although I had met only four people at the time. Three were women—Gerry, Amelia, and Emelda—and one a male—Eli. Would you care to tell us with whom you argued that night?”

  “I see no reason to do so,” D’Orsini said through a cloud of smoke. “It has nothing to do with anything that happened afterwards. Nothing at all. My lips are sealed with epoxy; I shall carry his identity with me to the grave, should subsequent revelations indicate I’m headed in that direction.”

  Theo gazed at Gerry, who gazed back with a level expression. Now that he was confident he knew her secret, he could see the mannish aspects of her features—the face too large, the jaw too broad, the cheekbones too flat, the forehead too wide. The hint of a mustache on the upper lip, the insidious blue tinge of her cheeks where whiskers lurked even after the most methodical session with a razor.

  “But,” Theo said slowly, “it does have something to do with the problem of exporting illicit substances to the United States, I fear. Neither you nor any of your known associates, such as Gerry or a swarthy Colombian, could pass through customs without a rigorous search. A man with whom you are never seen would not have such problems, would he?”

  Count D’Orsini’s expression grew alarmed. “This hypothesis of yours may have had some validity in the past, but I can assure you it is no longer remotely true. The courier service has been terminated.”

  Dorrie produced an emery board and began to file her nails. “Well, who is it
, Uncle Theo? We’re all simply expiring of curiosity.” Across the table, Stahl was nodding.

  “Let’s move on for the moment,” Theo said. “Count D’Orsini has assured us that this particular associate had nothing to do with Eli’s murder. On another night, he claims to have conducted business with a Colombian who promptly left the island. On yet another night, we must presume there was a third visitor. Who was that?”

  Twirling the cigar between his fingers, D’Orsini smiled. “But surely you see, Bloomer, it’s not in my best interests to tell you that.”

  “It was the night Eli took the photographs,” Theo said in a cold voice. “Whoever was with you was also approached to purchase the film.”

  “Well, you can’t pin this one on me,” Trey inserted. “I was dancing, although I’m sure I was disgusting, too. Whatever I do, I do disgust.”

  Theo turned to look at him. “Yes, you were at the hotel, as were Dorrie, Biff, Mary Margaret, and Bitsy. Sandy remained here, and slept so soundly he heard nothing—not the car come up the driveway nor Eli come upstairs and enter the adjoining bedroom.”

  “Yeah, I was blitzed,” Sandy said. “All that booze did me in.”

  Theo shook his head. “No, I don’t think you were sleeping so soundly that nothing disturbed you. I don’t think you were in the villa.”

  “Sure I was,” he said, his freckles darkening against his suddenly pale face.

  “Part of the time, perhaps. Before you went next door to discuss a major cocaine transaction, and afterwards, when you wanted to be found asleep should we have returned at an early hour from the hotel.”

  “Where would I get that kind of money? I can’t buy a kilo of coke with my allowance, sir. Maybe Biff or the others could, but I sure as hell couldn’t.”

  “Not with your allowance, no. We might conjecture that you went over to discuss a minor purchase. Larger quantities were suggested as a possibility. You suddenly realized you could make a major deal—if you could get your hands on some cash. Is that when the extortion scheme came to mind? Were you led to believe you would receive a substantial sum of money from Mary Margaret’s father, especially if you kept the pressure up and were amenable to compromise? I doubt you expected a million dollars, but a fifty-thousand investment might result in a fortune via resale, would it not? And with Mary Margaret involved, it would seem a stupid prank if it fell apart and the two of you were caught. You might be able to talk your way out of serious charges.”