The Deadly Ackee Page 7

  Sandy came through the doorway from the dining room. “Can I see the proofs?”

  Dorrie held up the lens cap. “Is this yours? I found it on the balcony, and we’re trying to decide if someone might have been prowling last night while we were gone.”

  He shook his head. “No, I didn’t even bring a camera. Why should I waste my precious time taking photographs of trees and flowers, when I could utilize the time drinking?”

  Theo saw no reason to mention his camera, since he was confident that the lens cap was in its proper place. He was as curious as Dorrie, however, about the mysterious appearance of the object. Looking at Sandy, he said, “You were here last night. Did you happen to hear anything out of the ordinary?”

  “No, sir, not a thing. I had a couple of beers by the pool, then took a magazine to bed to study the centerfold. All quiet on the Caribbean front, so to speak.”

  “And the gate remained locked until we returned at midnight?”

  “I guess so, sir,” Sandy said, shrugging. “I didn’t hear anything or see any headlights in the driveway.”

  “You were here the entire time?” Theo persisted. When Sandy nodded, he closed his book and stood up. “I am disturbed that someone might have gained access to the balcony. I think I shall question Eli about the key and the security arrangements, and I suggest all of you check your belongings to ascertain if anything might be missing. I shall also call Gerry and report the incident, although I imagine she can do nothing.”

  Dorrie again went for the pertinent word. “Missing? I didn’t think to look through my jewelry! What if someone took my dinner ring or the locket Biff gave me? I would have a coronary, literally, and Daddy would be furious.” She was muttering about escalating insurance rates as she disappeared into the bedroom.

  Mary Margaret, Bitsy, and Sandy departed to do as Theo suggested, all three looking upset. When Biff came onto the terrace, Theo told him what had transpired.

  “Good God,” Biff said, staring at the balcony. “I brought a camera at Dorrie’s insistence, since she wanted a few shots of herself on the beach and so forth, but I was just putting in a new roll of film and my lens cap was there. Why would someone be on the balcony, anyway? The view’s okay if you like that sort of thing, but it hardly seems worth the risk simply to shoot the ocean.”

  “And at night,” Theo said, equally puzzled. They sat in silence until the others joined them. No one reported anything missing.

  “It couldn’t have been a burglar,” Dorrie said. “He would not have overlooked the diamond dinner ring Daddy gave me for my birthday last year. I don’t know how many carats it is, but it weighs an absolute ton.”

  “Maybe it was a sickly burglar,” Trey said. “Maybe he forgot to bring a crane to lift the thing, and was so devastated that he simply took a photograph of it for his album and slithered away.”

  “Or maybe he thought it was paste,” Mary Margaret said, yawning. “I know I did the first time I saw it. Are you sure it’s not a rhinestone, Dorrie?”

  “Mary Margaret Ellison, are you insinuating that I am incapable of recognizing a diamond when I see one?”

  Theo held up his hand. “Please, girls, we must decide what action, if any, we intend to take. Eli should appear with the van at any moment, and I will discuss the key situation with him. However, since nothing has been stolen, we may have to simply forget about it.”

  “What about that so-called gold chain you wore last night?” Dorrie said to Mary Margaret. “Are you going to claim it’s anything but tinted aluminum foil?”

  “I didn’t want to bring any of my good stuff.”

  “I thought you hocked the family jewels to bail out that Hell’s Angel you were so fond of,” Trey said. “I did stumble across a bundle of pawn tickets one morning.”

  “While pawing through my underwear drawer?”

  “However did you guess?”

  Bitsy banged down her purse. “That’s disgusting. I’m beginning to find your remarks too tacky for words.”

  A van pulled up the driveway before Trey could manage a counter. Theo went to speak to Amelia and Emelda, who accepted the afternoon off without argument. He then went to question Eli about security.

  “I’ve got a key, and the office has one,” Eli said. “I made sure the gate was locked behind us, and there’s no way anyone could get inside the fence. But what’s this about, Mr. Bloomer?”

  “There was some indication that someone was prowling here last night, which is distressing for all of us. Sandy said he heard no one, yet the evidence is clear that someone went to the second floor and entered the girls’ bedroom. Did you happen to come back to the villa while we were at the hotel?”

  “No, sir, I just went to visit some friends. What’s this evidence you mentioned?”

  “A lens cap was found on the balcony. It really is puzzling, since it implies someone was taking photographs in the dark. Otherwise, the lens cap would have been noticed and retrieved. One would need a very expensive lens, but that would be a peculiar modus operandi for a cat burglar.”

  “You’re right,” Eli said, frowning at the balcony. “You seem to know quite a bit about playing detective. I thought I heard one of the kids say you were some kind of florist.”

  Theo took off his bifocals to polish them. “Yes, but I’m presently retired.” He did not elucidate.

  The others came outside to get in the van. After several minutes of jostling and acerbic comments about preferred seats and flabby thighs, Eli backed down the driveway and turned toward the coastal road that led to Ochos Rios. Theo noted, before he closed his eyes, that he seemed to be smiling to himself. Curious.

  Chapter Three

  The road curved along the coastline, cutting through villages that evoked shudders from the backseat of the van, then veering back to the rocky beaches dotted with swirls of deflated algae, birds, decaying fish, yellowish foam, and splintery skeletons of abandoned boats. A voice from the rear commented that the hotel beaches were the only raison d’etre for the island; another pointed out that these beaches were open to just anyone and what did one expect—Cannes?

  Potholes were abundant, as were subcompacts and buses packed to the roof with Jamaicans. Speed limit signs seemed to serve only as targets for mud balls and spray paint. Chickens and children played at the edge of the road. Dogs lay in the dust, some resting for the moment and others resting for all eternity. Eli kept up a cheerful stream of chatter despite what Theo felt were brushes with death every forty-five seconds or so.

  They stopped at Columbus Park to gaze at rusty cannons amid the flowers. Theo had found the pertinent page in the guidebook when Dorrie announced she was hot, thirsty, and not especially interested in a bunch of corroded war toys. Sighing, he followed the group back to the van, reminding himself that Caldicotts were intrigued with history only when it related to the trunk of the family tree. Columbus may have happened onto the continent, but the passengers on the May-flower were much more relevant at the monthly DAR meetings.

  Dunn’s River Falls did merit a few appreciative murmurs, however. Surrounded by a verdant hillside park dotted with flower beds, ice cream stalls, and souvenir shops, the water splashed and glittered as it spilled down a series of limestone pools. Snaking lines of tourists picked their way up the rocks, led by muscular black guides whose chests were invisible under dozens of cameras.

  The girls assessed the situation and all agreed they had no intention of climbing anything, for any reason, at any time in the foreseeable future. Mary Margaret announced that she was going to the ladies’ room or would simply explode. Theo joined the other two girls on a bench, while the boys went down wooden steps to the bottom of the falls.

  “I cannot understand why Biff insists on this sort of reckless behavior,” Dorrie said, “and I find it excruciatingly childish. If something were to happen to him, I would be left in the lurch socially all summer, and the idea of hospital visits is appalling; the ghastly shade of pea green and all those medicinal odors make
me quite ill to my stomach. Anyway, I thought machismo went out with the seventies, along with pet rocks and Democrats.”

  Bitsy watched a plump woman in a floral print tent waddle past, then said, “Well, I cannot understand why that real estate agent thought we ought to come here, for that matter. We could have spent a perfectly civilized day shopping and having lunch at a nice hotel, but now we’re stuck here for what may be hours. The people here are too tacky for words, and there are probably mosquitoes and snakes under every leaf.”

  “She may have overestimated your inclination for athletics,” Theo said. “The climb doesn’t seem all that challenging; many of the participants are less than perfect specimens, but all of them seem to be enjoying themselves.”

  Dorrie dabbed her forehead with a tissue. “I don’t see how they could possibly enjoy anything in this heat. They’re bound to perspire, no matter how frigid the water is. Bitsy’s right. This Gerry person is a loon for suggesting this trip.”

  “She seems quite sensible to me,” Theo protested.

  “Oh, she’s divine. I especially like the pink eyeshadow. Have you noticed the size of her feet, Uncle Theo? She could rent out her shoes for deep-sea fishing trips.”

  “And that quaint little mustache,” Bitsy added, “reminds me ever so much of Groucho Marx. Or perhaps Adolf Hitler.”

  “Don Johnson,” Dorrie said, giggling.

  Bitsy shook her finger. “But we mustn’t be tacky. One couldn’t help noticing her shoes are Gucci and that silk blouse she wore yesterday must have cost two hundred dollars. I picked up a pair of sunglasses exactly like hers in Rome for absolutely billions of lire. Daddy about died until the storekeeper did the arithmetic. You must concede she dresses well for someone who is employed.” Dorrie took up the financial appraisal of Gerry’s wardrobe.

  Theo was nearly asleep when Dorrie tapped him on the shoulder. “Bitsy’s gone to get sodas,” she said, “and I want to ask you something while we’re alone. I know Sitermann told you that his presence was a coincidence, but I was wondering if he might have been responsible for the lens cap I found this morning. It is rather spyish.”

  “That’s a legitimate observation, my dear. I contemplated the same possibility, but I can’t seem to resolve the problem of access to the villa. Eli says there are only two keys, one of which is always with him and the other at the real estate office. How would our CIA pal get hold of a key—and why would he be taking photographs from the balcony?”

  “It was only a thought,” Dorrie said crossly. “I’m much too hot to deal with details. Maybe he wanted a particular view of the moonlight and needed to get up high. Having seen the fence earlier, he bribed Eli to loan him the key. Eli left the parking lot because he knew he couldn’t drive us to the villa until Sitermann brought back the key.”

  “The latter makes some sense, but I doubt the view from the balcony is any more spectacular than from other locales on the hillside. One could walk up the hill and achieve the same effect—without bribery, stealth, and the very real danger of getting arrested for burglary.”

  Dorrie shivered at the reference to unnecessary ambulation. “Then you tell me why someone was taking pictures from the balcony. If it had been light and Count D’Orsini had been doing laps, I could understand. In vino veritas, I might have snapped a few myself, although I’ll deny ever saying that if you breathe so much as a word of it.”

  Theo gravely assured her he would never breathe a word of it. “I will speak to Eli once more about his key,” he continued, “and try again to reach Gerry about the office copy. She was out of her office this morning. I don’t think our visitor was Sitermann, though. For one thing, he has no motive, and for another, he’s too well-trained to leave equipment behind. The CIA doesn’t tolerate sloppiness, except perhaps in bookkeeping matters and expense accounts.”

  “CIA?” The bushes behind them rustled, then Bitsy appeared with three cans of soda. “Then he’s not really a hot-shot Hollywood producer? Mary Margaret will just die when she finds out she’s wasted all that drool over a counterfeit.”

  “Oops,” Dorrie said under her breath.

  It took Theo nearly ten minutes to convince Bitsy that she should not tell Mary Margaret, or anyone else, the truth about J. R. Spitzberg, sham movie mogul extraordinaire. Visibly disappointed, Bitsy at last agreed to save the revelation for a future time, when the information would not jeopardize the drug investigation operation.

  “Where is Mary Margaret?” Dorrie asked after Theo had elicited a final, solemn vow. “Are there any vans with mattresses and curtains in the parking lot?”

  “You don’t think …?” Theo said, dismayed.

  “There she is!” Bitsy said, pointing at a line of waterfall climbers coming into view. “She’s between Biff and Sandy. I hope the water doesn’t pull off her bikini; it wouldn’t take much.”

  Dorrie scowled, then abruptly forced a smile as Biff waved to her. “That bitch has gone too far,” she said through clenched teeth. “And look at the way Biff keeps helping her up the rocks, as if she were some frail invalid. No one with thighs that thunderous is remotely frail. Enough is enough. This is more than anyone should have to tolerate.”

  Beside her, Bitsy was nodding savagely. Theo opted for a sigh.

  Within an hour, they had regrouped at the van. Dorrie was smiling as she asked Biff about the climb, but her eyes were gray and her voice suspiciously bright. Mary Margaret interrupted to say that it was, if one could imagine, almost a religious experience. Theo waited for his niece to produce a scathing comeback, but to his surprise, she merely said she would have thought it was more, well, sexual than religious. If one could imagine.

  Eli drove into Ochos Rios and parked across the street from the open-air market. He warned them about the higglers who would pester them unmercifully, then said he would wait near the van while they shopped. Dorrie seemed more cheerful as she led the expedition into the jungle.

  Two hours later Theo followed the group back to the van and helped them unload armfuls of shirts, straw baskets, wood carvings (including an obscene one that Trey swore had cost next to nothing and would look perfect on the mantel next to Mother’s needlepointed family crest), two steel drums, and a variety of other native crafts, despite labels mentioning various Asian countries. The girls seemed pleased with themselves, although Theo could see Dorrie was still simmering. The boys punched each other and bragged of the number of times they had been approached to buy ganja. According to them, the vendors had been nonstop.

  “I hope you didn’t actually purchase anything,” Bitsy said.

  “No problem,” Trey said, pulling out of his pocket a plastic bag filled with dried green leaves. “We don’t have to buy generic. This is designer quality, guaranteed to blow off your ears and the top of your head.”

  “Hey, mon,” Eli said. He grabbed the bag out of Trey’s hand and threw it in the van. “It’s not cool to flash stuff on the street. You wouldn’t like the local prisons.”

  “Trey would fit right in with the rats and lice,” Bitsy said as she climbed into the van. “Think of all the little friends he could make.”

  “And we could pack a lunch for him,” Sandy said. From a bag he took out several reddish objects and tossed one to Trey. “Perhaps they’ll ripen during the trial, old man. If not, at least you won’t languish in prison for the rest of your life.”

  “How thoughtful of you to worry about moi’s baby brother. Let me see one,” Mary Margaret said.

  Before she could take one of the ackees, Eli grabbed the bag. “You kids are courting disaster. Ganja’s not cool, and neither are unripened ackees. You sure you want to live till the end of the week?”

  Theo took the ackee from Trey and handed it to Eli. “I think we need to dispose of these in a prudent manner,” he said firmly.

  “I just bought them for a lark, sir,” Sandy said, sounding more contrite than he looked, “but I’ll trash them as soon as we get to the villa. I wouldn’t want one of us to nibble on one
as a midnight snack. Not even good old Trey, who’ll eat anything when he’s stoned.”

  Dorrie picked up the plastic bag and, with a sniff, dropped it in a corner. “I didn’t realize people still fooled around with marijuana, but some of us never quite grow up, do we? I am ready for adult pleasures, such as the yacht, champagne, and civilization. Are the rest of you planning to goggle on the sidewalk like a bunch of freshmen rushees, or are you going to get in here so we can go?”

  They went.

  The pier was lined with boats of all sizes, most of them adorned with glossy hardwood, polished brass, expansive white decks, colorful canopies, coy names, and jovial sailors dressed in the precisely correct degree of casual elegance. Count D’Orsini’s craft was no exception, nor was he, in white slacks, a silk shirt with a cravat, and a blue captain’s hat. Pis Aller was painted on the bow in elaborate curlicues.

  “Welcome aboard,” he said, offering a hand to Dorrie. “Please make yourselves at home on my humble boat. The champagne is chilling, and the sun preparing itself for a spectacular display. You look especially lovely this afternoon, my dear. Do be careful with that step; I would be devastated if you turned one of those shapely ankles.”

  Dorrie acknowledged the obvious with a smile. “This is so kind of you, Count D’Orsini. If we had been forced to drive back on that ghastly road, I don’t know what I would have done—but it wouldn’t have been a pretty sight.” She climbed onto the boat, producing a small girlish shriek as the deck rocked beneath her foot, and finding it necessary to steady herself with a hand on the count’s shoulder.

  Biff landed behind her. “Come on, Dorrie, you’ve sailed since you were six years old. Remember that little Sunfish we used to run around the island with? We won the junior division the first year we entered.”

  “That primitive thing?” Dorrie laughed. “It would have fit in the hull of this. Why, I do believe your new boat could fit down there, too, and leave room to stack a few cases of champagne.”