Pineapple Pack II Page 13

  Billy flashed his gap-toothed grin. “Means a lot coming from you.”

  “I know. I won’t let you slip.”

  Seamus heard the creak of the bar’s front door followed by a man’s voice.

  “Dios mio.”

  He turned to find Edmundo had entered the pub. Making a quick circle in the sky with his index finger, he returned his attention to his beer. “Just turn right around and head back the way you came, Eddie.”

  Eddie chuckled and sat at the end of the bar, facing Seamus. “I should have known. The peeling paint, the darkened windows; this place had you written all over it.”

  Billy approached him for an order.

  “I’ll take a cuba libre.”

  Billy chuckled and flashed Seamus a look. “Should I charge him extra for using such fancy words to order a rum and Coke?”

  “Whatever you charge him, watch him closely. He’s a crafty bugger.”

  “I am. See here. Get me a shot of whiskey and a shot of water.”

  “A rum and coke, a shot, and a water?” asked Billy.

  “Hear me out. I will make you a wager. If I can put the whiskey into the glass that holds the water, and the water into the glass that holds the whiskey, without putting either into a third container, the shot is free.”

  Billy scowled as he poured the whiskey. “You’re saying you’ll switch what is in each glass without using a third glass?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t mean mixed up…each to each?”

  “Yes.”

  Billy glanced at Seamus, who shook his head. “I wouldn’t do it.”

  Billy thought for a moment and then shrugged. “Nah, I’d like to see this.” He sat one shot glass of whiskey and one with an equal amount of water in front of Eddie.

  Eddie shook his head. “They have to be full. To the very top, not the line. You don’t want me to do half a job, do you?”

  Billy shrugged and topped each glass off.

  “There you go.”

  Eddie retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and pulled a business card from it. He sat it on top of the water glass. He snapped out his arms like a magician preparing to perform a trick. “Ready?”

  Billy waved his arms. “Wait, wait, I think I figured this out. You’re going to put one in your mouth. You said you couldn’t use another glass but you’ll use your mouth.”

  “No, I will not use my mouth, I promise.”

  Billy grunted.

  Eddie wiggled his fingers again and then rested his hands on the bar. “You know, this is too hard. I don’t think I can even attempt it unless my cuba libre is free as well.”

  “You want the shot and the drink for free if you do it?”

  “I think that is only fair.”

  “And you’re not going to use anything to transfer them? Not a glass, not your mouth—”

  “No.”

  “Then fine, yeah, I’ll give you the rum and Coke on the house, too.” He said, grabbing a bottle of rum to make it.

  “Oh, Billy,” muttered Seamus, dropping his head to rest on his arms on the bar.

  Billy turned to him. “What? It’s impossible.”

  Eddie winked at Seamus, who shook his head.

  “Okay, here I go.” Eddie held the business card tight to the top of the water shot glass and flipped it over, sitting it neatly on top of the whiskey glass. Only the business card and the weight of the shot glass full of water kept the water from spilling out.

  Billy chuckled. “That’s kind of cool, but it didn’t win you any free drinks.”

  “Ah, but I’m not done.”

  Eddie slid the business card from the glasses by a fraction of an inch, opening a gap between the upper and lower liquids. The glass of water began to grow golden, as a thread of whiskey rose into it like a genie from a bottle.

  “What the—how are you doing that?”

  “Water is heavier than whiskey,” said Seamus.

  “So?”

  “So eventually all the water will be in the bottom glass and the whiskey will be up top.”

  Billy grimaced and shook his head. “That’s not right.”

  Eddie took a sip of his Cuba libre and grinned.

  “Didn’t I warn you?” Seamus asked Billy.

  “How was I supposed to know how much water weighs?”

  Seamus scowled. “First off, it’s a bar trick. Everyone who’s spent a lot of time in a bar knows it.”

  “I own a bar.”

  “For how long?”

  “Six months.”

  “And before that, did you spend a lot of time in bars?”

  Billy’s gaze dropped to the ground. “Wife wouldn’t let me. But it was always my dream to own one.”

  “There you go. Second—and this is the most important thing to remember, the thing that will save you, even if you can’t remember all the tricks—if a relatively sober person in a bar ever says, ‘I bet you I can,’ no matter how crazy it sounds, don’t bet them. They can.”

  Billy pointed at him. “Oh yeah? I heard about a guy in a bar who bet everyone he could fly, and he fell to his death.”

  “I said anyone relatively sober. That is an important distinction.”

  Billy peered at the glasses. The liquids had nearly completed their switch. “I still think he cheated.”

  Seamus sighed. “See Billy, now I have to reclaim your honor for you.”

  Billy grumbled reclaim this and wandered to the back.

  “How do you propose to avenge your friend?” asked Eddie.

  Seamus smiled. “Doesn’t this place remind you of anything?”

  “Hell?”

  “Come on.” Seamus nodded toward the pool table in the back of the room and then toward the dart board on the far wall.

  Eddie shook his head. “Oh no. Forget it. You’re a terrible loser. The last time we played you threw a dart in my thigh.”

  “That was an accident and you know it. You whacked me in the small of my back with your pool cue.”

  “Because you threw a dart at me.”

  “It happened in that order?”

  “Yes.”

  Seamus grunted. “Mm. That does sound like me.”

  The two men stared at each other in silence, until Eddie released a long, labored sigh. “Fine. You win. Let’s play.”

  Seamus drained the last of his beer and stood. “Pool first.”

  An hour later, the two men sat side by side, poking wildly at a bar-top arcade machine, searching for a game to act as a tie breaker. Eddie had won best of three pool, and Seamus had taken darts.

  Seamus’ phone chirped and he ignored it. Eddie fished his pocket for his phone.

  “It was my phone,” said Seamus, trying to navigate the endless menu of games on the video screen.

  Eddie glanced at his screen and then slipped his phone back into his pocket.

  “You know, I have some cards out in the car. We can settle this like men.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I don’t like these video games. There is no honor in them. I’ll get the cards.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Eddie stood and left.

  Time passed until Seamus found himself glancing at the door for a tenth time and still found no sign of Eddie’s return.

  “How long ago did he leave?” he asked Billy, who stood with a newspaper in front of his face.

  Billy shrugged. “Maybe five minutes?”

  “Think it takes that long to get a pack of cards out of a car?”

  “Depends on where the car is and where the cards are, but I’d say no.”

  “Shite.”

  “What’s the matter? Spill your beer?” asked Billy, glancing out from behind his news.

  “He pulled a runner. Left me with the tab.”

  Billy pointed at Seamus. “Ha. So I’m not the only one falling for his tricks.”

  Seamus slid from his stool and jogged to the door. His car was the only vehicle in the lot.

  He curse
d liberally.

  “I’m going to kill that—”

  Seamus froze, remembering the sound of his phone dinging.

  Eddie had looked at his phone, right before he left.

  Seamus fumbled his phone from his pocket and spotted a text from Stephanie.

  Cora needs a teddy bear for her granddaughter’s niece. Today. Store closes at five.

  He looked at the time on his phone. It was four forty.

  “Bastard.”

  Jerking money from his wallet, he slapped it on the bar before bolting for the door.

  “This isn’t near enough,” called Billy.

  “We’ll settle up later.”

  Seamus ran to his car and roared out of the parking lot.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Teddy bear, Teddy bear, Teddy bear,” Seamus chanted, heading for the shopping district.

  He cursed again and fumbled to dial his phone.

  Charlotte answered.

  “Hey Seamus—”

  “Shut it, no time.”

  “Okaaay...”

  “Did you get a text from Stephanie?”

  “No. Did you?”

  “She wants me to get a Teddy bear.”

  “Any Teddy bear?”

  “Yes. I think so. Do you know where?”

  “No, where?”

  “No, I’m asking you where. Where can I get one? She said the shop closes at five. I’ve got fifteen minutes to figure it out and buy it, and Eddie has a five minute head start on me.”

  “Eddie? How does—”

  “Where do they sell Teddy bears?

  “Oh, um...shop closes at five so it isn’t one of the big chain stores…oh. There’s a toy shop in the same plaza as the Publix. Buy Their Love. It’s got to be there.”

  “Good. Great.”

  Seamus hung up and hit the gas to slip through a yellow light.

  Peeling into the Publix parking lot, he spotted the toy shop.

  Eddie’s unmistakable car sat in the lot adjacent to the store.

  Seamus pointed his clunker toward the first available parking spot as Eddie stepped out of his car and started toward the shop.

  Gritting his teeth, Seamus swerved away from the slot he’d been eying and screeched around the parked cars to pull to the curb in front of the toy shop. His car impeded his foe’s progress so abruptly Eddie had to jump back to avoid being hit. His face flashed with anger.

  The men locked gazes and Eddie pointed at his nemesis.

  “No.”

  Eddie lunged to dodge around the front of the car. Seamus hit the gas, blocking him. Eddie slapped the hood with both hands and bolted for the back of the car. Seamus shifted into reverse, but when he looked up he saw Eddie had reversed himself, and now bolted past the front of his car.

  “He juked me.”

  Seamus threw the car into park and scrambled out the passenger side. He lunged for the door of the shop as Eddie opened it, and managed to get half his body into the store before Eddie realized what was happening and pushed the door shut, pinching him like a mouse in a trap.

  “Hey!” yelped Seamus, the arm that hadn’t made it into the store flailing in an attempt to grab Eddie.

  The woman behind the counter in the toy store stared at him, frozen with what looked like something between confusion and fear.

  “That bear...” he pointed at the only Teddy bear sitting on the large empty shelves inside the shop. “I want that bear.”

  “I want the bear,” demanded Eddie, leaning his full weight on the door in an attempt to keep Seamus pinned.

  “I’m holding it for someone,” said the woman.

  Seamus grunted, worried his ribs might break.

  “Me. You’re holding him for me—”

  Seamus reached for his wallet with the hand inside the store, only to realize it was in his opposite pocket. He ceased slapping at Eddie and snatched his wallet with his right hand. Lifting, he tried to pass the wallet from his outside hand to his inside hand over his head. Eddie noticed and slapped his arm. The wallet flew, spinning to the cement.

  “Hey!”

  Eddie eased his pressure against the door, grabbed Seamus’ right arm with both hands, and attempted to jerk him from the store.

  Losing what little ground he’d made, Seamus tried to make his case with the cashier, his words escaping in staccato bursts between each tug.

  “You’re—holding—the—bear—shite! Stop it you Ricky Ricardo mother—for—me!”

  The woman curled her hands into fists of frustration. “Prove it. What’s the name of the woman who bought the rest of them?”

  “Stephanie!” called Eddie as he tried to pry Seamus’ fingers off the door frame.

  Seamus tried to out-shout him. “I knew that. It’s Stephanie.”

  With one last mighty jerk, Eddie dislodged Seamus from the door and spun him toward the curb. The Miami detective skittered inside, reaching for the bear.

  Seamus caught his balance and scooped up his wallet as he lunged for the door.

  Eddie grabbed the bear, but before he could turn to the counter, Seamus opened the door and leapt at him like a tiger, tackling him to the ground.

  They hit the ground with a great expelling of air. The two of them wrestled with the bear until they heard the sound of tearing fabric. A flurry of polyester fibers exploded in the air around them.

  They froze.

  With a dejected shrug, Eddie rolled on his back, arms splayed. “I am too old for this.”

  Seamus propped himself against a shelf of wooden cars, panting. He glanced at his lap. Plastic eyes stared back at him from a bear’s severed head.

  With an abundance of grunting and groaning, he climbed to his feet and walked toward the door, the head in his hands.

  “Someone has to pay for that,” said the woman.

  “He’s got it,” said Seamus.

  Outside, he brushed the stuffing from his shirt and slipped into his car.

  He dialed Charlotte.

  “Good news, bad news.”

  “You didn’t get it?”

  “That’s the bad news.”

  “Then what’s the good news?”

  “He didn’t get it either.”

  “The store was closed?”

  “Sure, let’s say—” He sputtered and pulled stuffing from his lips. “Let’s say that.”

  “So you think this one will be a tie?”

  He turned the ignition and tossed the bear head into his passenger seat. “I don’t know. We might be a little a-head.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Monday afternoon, Charlotte headed into the office building of Cora’s lawyer, hoping that the reading of the will would prove whether Shawna was involved or if her brother had acted alone. She didn’t want the girl to be involved—she’d sounded sweet on the phone—but on the other hand, if Shawna was in Bucky’s will, it would strengthen the validity of her potato gun murder theory.

  She needed points either way. Penny had lost the landscape and arm-wrestling challenges. Only the cow challenge put them on the board. Their chance to tie, the Teddy bear challenge, had been a bust, literally.

  She slipped into a closing elevator before noticing Cora Bloom inside, tucked in the corner.

  “You’re Penny’s orphan,” said Cora.

  “Uh, yes. Sort of.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to hear the reading of Bucky’s will, with your permission.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think it might hold a missing piece to your husband’s death.”

  “Missing piece? What are you talking about? He fell. The only missing piece is that mast.”

  Charlotte grimaced. “I didn’t want to tell you this way, but...” She paused, unsure if she should continue.

  “What? Tell me.”

  “I think your husband was murdered.”

  No sooner had she finished her sentence, than Cora’s eyes rolled back and she crumpled forward.

&nbs
p; “Cora!” Charlotte lunged forward and caught the diminutive woman. The elevator stopped and the doors opened, so she dragged her to a bench in the hall and propped her on it. Running back, she stopped the doors from closing, snatched Cora’s fallen purse from the ground and returned to her patient.

  She hovered over Cora’s body. Eyes closed, Cora lay still, but for her breathing.

  Not dead. Passed out.

  Charlotte knew what people in movies did when confronted with an unconscious person, but slapping an old woman across the face didn’t seem right.

  “Cora...” She tapped the woman’s wrinkled cheek lightly with all four fingers, effecting a slow motion slap.

  Nothing.

  She stood and called out. “Hello? Can anyone hear me?” The closed doors at either end of the hallway remained shut.

  She was about to dial 911 when Cora’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Cora, are you okay?”

  Cora swallowed and sat up, seeming woozy.

  “Yes. I’m fine.” She took a moment to focus on Charlotte. “Did you say you think my husband was murdered?”

  Charlotte paused, worried that talking about Bucky would send the woman swooning again. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this now?”

  “No. Tell me.”

  “Okay. I do have a theory that Bucky was murdered. It’s a little crazy, but it is strangely plausible, if not likely.”

  “Have you told the police?”

  “No, not yet. I wanted to hear the will first, and talk to you.”

  Cora opened her purse and retrieved a handkerchief, which she dabbed against her head and lips. “What’s your theory?”

  “Do you want me to get into it now? Shouldn’t we go—”

  Cora’s bony claw shot forward and she grabbed Charlotte’s shirt. “Tell me now.”

  Charlotte jumped, startled, and then eased back to pull her shirt from Cora’s grasp. The woman let her hand fall into her lap.

  “It’s going to sound crazy,” cautioned Charlotte once more.

  Cora’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t care.”

  “Fine. I think I’ve found evidence that proves your husband was shot with a potato gun by Shawna’s brother, Dallas.”

  Cora’s expression didn’t change but for the twitch of her cheek. She remained frozen, staring at Charlotte.

  “Cora? Are you okay?”

  “A potato gun? How could you know, think, that?” she whispered.