Diver Down (Mercy Watts Mysteries) (23 page)

Louise hesitated and glanced at Graeme. “Someone tried to kill him, didn’t they?”
 

“Yes.”
 

“And his wife, the one with the stab wound.”
 

“Her, too. Actually, her mostly. I think she was the intended victim.”
 

Louise straightened the thin sheet over Graeme’s legs. “I’m sorry I was difficult earlier. I shouldn’t have taken your money.”
 

“I get it. You’re understaffed and underpaid. You’re under everything, I imagine,” I said.
 

“Yes. We’re out of medication one third of the time. I’ll give your money back. You came here expecting help, not blackmail.”
 

“Keep it. Donate to the hospital or whatever. We got what we came for.”

“Thank you. We can use it,” she said. “I’ll go see if I can find a bigger basin.”

“I’m fine. This is plenty big.”
 

“It’s for your leg. He vomited on your leg too, right?”
 

I extended my right leg. The swollen redness from earlier was still there, but it was considerably better. “No,” I said slowly. “He didn’t.”
 

Louise squatted in front of me and palpitated the area. “It looks like the same reaction.”
 

“Oh my god.” I yanked my cellphone out of my still wet pocket. The screen was fogged with water and the damn thing was dead. “I’ve managed to drown my cellphone. Louise, can I borrow yours? I have to call my mother.”
 

Louise gave me her Nokia, so old that I was surprised it still worked. Mom answered after the third ring with a suspicious hello.
 

“Mom, it’s me. How’s Lucia? Is she with you?”

“Mercy, thank goodness. Yes, she’s right here and she’s fine. How’s Graeme?”

“I think we caught it in time, but this wasn’t the first attempt,” I said.
 

“We’ve established that. Don’t think our discussion is over,” said Mom.
 

“Whatever. I meant that this isn’t the first poisoning. They tried before.”
 

Louise placed a metal bucket in front of my chair and put my leg in.
 

“What do you mean? Lucia’s fine, other than the leg thing.”
 

“Remember my leg being swollen and red? I just figured out the cause. Graeme barfed all over my hand and arm. Now my arm looks like my leg.”
 

“It wasn’t the vomit?”
 

“It didn’t get on my leg, but when we were getting Lucia off the beach during the storm, I knocked over a glass. It went all over my leg.”
 

Mom gasped and told Lucia.

“Ask her where that first drink came from,” I said. “It was on her side table before the storm.”
 

Mom asked and I waited. I wanted to jump out of my chair and run around the room.
 

“She doesn’t know,” said Mom. “Can you ask Graeme?”
 

Graeme was snorting and thrashing around trying to avoid his next dose of ethanol. Plus, he wasn’t so much coherent.
 

“No. Mom, don’t let Lucia drink anything that isn’t out of a sealed can or bottle. You have to be the one to open it. Not the bartender or any of the staff.”
 

“Got it.”

“Is Aaron there?”

Mom gave the phone to my partner. “Hey. What’s ya doing?” he asked.
 

“I need you to cook for me,” I said.
 

He inhaled and, unless I missed my guess, jumped to his feet and was looking for a frying pan or, god help me, a lionfish.

“Aaron, focus. Someone is trying to poison Lucia. They put antifreeze in her drinks. They could try food next, since we’re on to them. You need to cook every meal for her and the rest of us, just in case.”
 

“I’m on it. Do you want ribeye?”

“Really?”
 

“I got ribeye and blue cheese.”
 

“That sounds fabulous, but see if Lucia can handle something that heavy first. How about the consommé you were talking about?”
 

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll start with consommé and then—”

I didn’t have time to listen to the full menu and I was starving. That didn’t help. “You rock, Aaron. Give the phone to Mom.”
 

“Okay. I got more lionfish,” he said.
 

“That’s a dream come true. Mom, please.”
 

He handed over the phone before he got to making lionfish hot dogs. It was coming. I was starting to get a sense for these things.
 

“When are you coming back?” asked Mom.
 

“I have no idea. They don’t have a bed for Graeme, so as soon as he’s mobile I’d guess.”
 

“We’ve got to get off this island.”
 

“I know, but Chuck said there aren’t any available flights.”

Mom’s voice got all oozy. “You called Chuck.”
 

“Sorta kinda. Anyway, can you call him and find out if he’s got any information? My phone is dead,” I said.
 

“What kind of information?”
 

“He’ll know.”
 

“You two talking a lot these days?”
 

“Only when absolutely necessary,” I said.
 

“You could’ve called Morty, but you didn’t. You called Chuck.”
 

“Uncle Morty would tell Dad,” I said. This conversation was almost as annoying as Chuck. I could hear the huge smile on Mom’s face.
 

“Chuck doesn’t keep things from your father or does he now…for you,” she said.
 

“Mom, drop it. I asked him and he’s doing me a favor. Did you tell Dad?”
 

“Not yet. There’s nothing he can do and I don’t want to hear the yelling.”
 

I agreed and hung up. The less yelling the better. I settled back in my cracked vinyl chair and got mesmerized by Graeme’s heart monitor, the steady beep beep.
 

I woke two hours later with my head on Graeme’s bed and my leg and arm still in the warm water. Contrary to middle school beliefs, I did not pee.

“Hey,” slurred Graeme.

I rubbed my eyes. “How are you feeling?”
 

“Like I drank antifreeze.”
 

“So not great then.”
 

“I’ve been better and more sober,” he said.
 

I smiled and lifted my arm. My swelling was down and the red had gone to pink. “Ethanol is an effective treatment for ethylene glycol poisoning, believe it or not.”
 

“What’s up with the baking soda?” he asked, pointing to the sodium bicarbonate drip.

“That corrects the metabolic acidosis and increases the elimination of renal glycolic acid.”
 

“It makes me pee.”
 

“Something like that,” I said with a smile.
 

“When can I leave? I gotta get back to Lucia,” he said, his eyes still unfocused.

“I don’t know. It’s not up to me.”
 

“Someone tried to kill her.”

“Yes.”
 

“You were right all along. I thought you were crazy,” he said.
 

I patted his leg. “It’s a common opinion.”
 

“What are we going to do? We can’t get off this island. I called the airline.”

“I know. We’re just going to hunker down and wait it out.”
 

“I hate this.”
 

“Me, too.”
 

After another half hour, Dr. Navarro came in and checked Graeme’s chart. “You were lucky.”
 

“It runs in the family,” said Graeme with his eyes half-closed.
 

“I’m going to keep you for another hour and see how it goes. No more sweet tea.”
 

Graeme smiled. “Never again.”
 

Dr. Navarro hooked his chart over the end of the bed and said, “Mercy, can you step outside with me?”
 

“Sure.” I dried off my arm and leg with a towel he gave me and we went into the hall. Officer Tabora was waiting. He had two other officers behind him and they looked distinctly serious and not in a we’re investigating an attempted murder way and you’re a witness. More like we think you’re the suspect way. I can’t explain what the difference is exactly, but I’d been Dad’s suspect in several crimes ranging from sneaking out to stealing his booze. I could always tell when he thought I’d done something. The Roatan cops had that same aura about them. I guess cops are all the same.
 

“Miss Watts, you must come with us,” said Officer Tabora. He had a sheen of sweat on his brow and his hand on his weapon.
 

Seriously, dude. No need for that. I think the three of you can take me.
 

“Where would we be going?” I asked.
 

“We’ll be more comfortable at the police station here in Coxen Hole.”

I laughed. “I’ve been in a lot of police stations and I mean a lot. They are never comfortable.”
 

“You’ll have to come with us,” Tabora said.
 

Dr. Navarro stepped up. His cheeks were flushed and he fidgeted with his lapel. “Is this really necessary?”
 

“It is.”
 

The good doctor glanced at me and I said, “You had to call them. Don’t worry about it.”
 

That’s what I said, not how I felt. I was worried as all get out. In a Third World country suspected of attempted murder. I’d seen too many episodes of
Locked Up Abroad
to think this was okay.

Tabora took my arm and I stepped back out of his grasp. “Am I under arrest?”
 

“We’d like to question you.”
 

“Go for it. I’m quite comfortable here,” I said.
 

“It’s not appropriate.”
 

“This is the Wild West remember? Appropriate hardly seems important.”
 

Graeme called out behind me, “Mercy, what’s going on?”
 

“The cops want to question us about your poisoning,” I said, over my shoulder.
 

“They can come in,” he said.
 

I raised an eyebrow and gestured to the door. The three shuffled their feet and looked vaguely confused. They wanted me, not Graeme.
 

“You were going to question the victim, right?” I asked.
 

“In time, after he’s recovered,” said Tabora.

“He can be questioned now,” said Dr. Navarro. “We’re thinking of discharging him soon.”
 

Tabora stomped past me and we all followed. He questioned Graeme about the drink and where he got it. Tabora got the same answers I got. Graeme didn’t know who sent it or why. He did know I saved him, which was a relief and a huge irritation to Tabora and crew.

“Has it occurred to you, Mr. Carrow, that Miss Watts has been orchestrating all these attempts herself?” asked Tabora.

Graeme yawned and a small, boozy smile crossed his lips. “Why would she do that?”
 

“In order to play the hero.”
 

“Does she look like a publicity hound to you?”
 

Everyone looked at me and lifted their lips simultaneously in a snarl of distaste.
 

Okay. So I didn’t look great. Geez!
   

“She may be after something other than publicity,” said Tabora.
 

“Like what?”
 

“We need to question her to find that out.”
 

I crossed my arms. “Go ahead. Ask me anything.”
 

“Where were you when the tainted drink was being delivered?” Tabora asked.
 

Anything but that. Stall. Stall.

“Why do you care?” I asked.
 

Crap. He knew he was on to something. I could see it in his increasingly beady eyes.
 

“I want to know if you could’ve poisoned the drink.”
 

“I didn’t.” I couldn’t exactly tell him I was breaking and entering the Gmucas’ bungalow. What incredibly bad timing.

“Tell me where you were and who you were with.”
 

Uhhhh….

“Miss Watts, I’m waiting,” said Tabora.
 

“I was…”
Think, you idiot!
“I was—”
 

“With me,” said Aaron, trotting into the room, carrying a picnic basket.
 

“She was with you? Doing what?” asked Tabora.
 

Aaron scratched his rear. “I don’t want to say.”
 

“You’ll have to say or I’m taking you both in.”
 

Graeme sat up, lurched to the side, and grabbed his bed’s metal railing. “Mercy didn’t do anything. She saved me. She saved Lucia. Look at her. She’s had the crap beat out of her.”
 

“Looks can be deceiving. You know what they say about an angel face,” said Tabora and his two companions looked at me with expressions that said, “Angel face, my ass.”