Free Marty Ambrose - Mango Bay 04 - Killer Kool by Marty Ambrose Page A

and it was gone.
    Strange.
    I gave myself a mental shake. Somehow it must have
been a reflection of my own Airstream, but … not exactly a twin image.
    “I’m either losing it,” I said to Kong, “or I need
glasses.”
    He barked.
    “Okay-maybe both.” I hurried him along, taking one
last longing glace at Cole’s van before Kong and I retreated inside. I fixed myself a bowl of soup, gave my
poodle a gourmet doggy treat, and powered up my laptop
to work on my restaurant review of Le Sink while I ate
my dinner-for-one (person, that is).
    Needless to say, my evaluation was mixed: a one-trick
menu, surly waitstaff, and ghettolike ambiance. But I
had to admit, the burger tasted scrumptious-thick, juicy,
and smoky-flavored-and the French fries were crisp and
salty. I gave it two out of five stars-one star deducted
because of having to break up the fistfight with a broom.

    Thinking about that part of the evening made me sit
back in my chair and reflect on the events of the day. My
mouth also began to water, remembering the brief taste
of Pop Pop’s burger in my truck. Instantly, I dumped the
soup in the garbage and heated up some leftover pizzaserved with a side of potato chips.
    That’s more like it.
    As I munched the thick cheese and pepperoni, I tried
to get back into the Le Sink review, but I couldn’t. I
stared at my computer screen, but the image of Marco’s
death, Beatrice’s reaction, Guido’s fight-and Pop Pop’s
dentures-kept reverberating through my mind. They all
had to be connected (except the false teeth), but I didn’t
know how.
    And how did these events relate to Carlos Santini’s
death a few days ago? Two brothers within a week? It
just couldn’t be a coincidence.
    “What do you think, Kong?” I asked my canine companion, but he had curled up on my sofa and fallen
asleep.
    I mulled over the events one more time, but nothing
occurred to me. Maybe Madame Geri knows.
    Okay, now I knew it was time to pack it in and get
some rest, but first, I had to finish the review.
    Once I knocked it out, I scooped up Kong and headed
to the bedroom part of my Airstream, feeling a sudden
chill.
    Was it all this contemplation of death? I shivered
again and then slid into bed and flipped on the TV.

    A perky blond weathergirl in a low-cut top and tight
skirt appeared, pointing at a map of Florida. “A cold front
is dipping down into southwest Florida, and the temperature might drop thirty degrees overnight,” she said,
smiling into the camera with a flash of even white teeth.
“Time to get out the sweaters and scarves.”
    I flipped my thermostat to HEAT and cranked up the
dial.
    Nothing happened.
    The Florida winter had begun early, and my heater
was on the blink.
    Yikes.
    By the time morning arrived, I awoke under my heavy
layer of quilts, aware that Kong had snuggled under the
blankets with me-and that the temperature inside my
Airstream had taken on a distinct chill.
    Reluctantly, I slid out of bed, easing Kong onto the
floor and wrapping the quilt around me for warmth. I
picked up my cell phone and dialed Sam-the island’s
handyman. If there was one person who could figure
out how to get my heater working, it was Sam.
    My fingers drummed against the cell phone with impatience as I waited for Sam to pick up. But he didn’t. I
got his voice mail instead.
    “Sam, my heater is broken, and I’m desperate. I can’t
call Pop Pop to help out because we had a date last night
at Le Sink, then there was a big fight, and I ended up
taking Guido home, and Pop Pop later lost his dentures in my truck.” Okay, despite the cold, my motormouth
hadn’t officially chilled out. “Anyway, I’m freezing my
patootie off in the Airstream.”

    I clicked the cell phone shut, debating whether or not
I could manage a shower without getting hypothermia.
Then I heard a knock at my door.
    I swung it open and beheld Pop Pop, wearing a blue
flannel shirt, baggy sweatpants, and