The Last Shaved Mango in Gallows Bay

It actually was a dark and stormy afternoon at the Shaved Mango Agency and Saloon. The fringes of a tropical storm shrieked outside. Palm fronds clung desperately to their tree trunks while their coconuts assaulted whatever they struck.

Then she walked in.

Six feet tall and worth the climb. Rivulets of soaked raven tresses streamed down her back. A sun dress tried to hint but instead clinged. I now knew who put The Bomp in The Bomp Shoo-bop Shoo-bop. Case closed.

I set the paperwork aside and looked up as she brought a cigarette to her lips. She saw me frown and lit it anyway.

"What are you going to do," she asked, "arrest me for smoking?" Her accent was pure southern belle, yet soft. I thought of Alabama.

"I'm not a cop, ma'am."

"I know. I just always wanted to use that line. Loved, loved, loved the movie."

I didn't know the movie and didn't care for the smoking, but under the circumstances I could put up with it, at least for a little while. To tell the truth, business had been slow. As for where she hid a dry pack, that will remain an eternal mystery.

"You're a long way from Mobile, ma'am."

"You are good. Gulf Shores, actually."

A flash of lightning lit up the evening and an ensuing shatter revealed the bolt had found its mark. One less palm tree on an island that lost them all too quickly. Thirty mile per hour winds are just a windy day on the mainland, but they take on a whole new level of importance when you can see the tidal surge rising.

I glanced out the window. "I feel bad for the bastards up in St. Thomas. They're getting the guts of this."

"St. Thomas? What happened to 'just the facts,' ma'am?"

"Well, the let's hear them. What brings a gal like you out at a time like this?"

"I killed my husband."

Shit.

"So why are you telling me? You need a cop, not a detective."

"I can't trust them. They were all in business with him."

I know every cop on the island. There aren't that many. For almost all of them, policing the island was the side job to cover them while they made the real money.

"So, what do you want from me?"

"Help."

"You'd better start at the beginning. Let's start with your name, and go from there."

"Evelyn, Evelyn Cabot."

"My husband and I own a sailboat in Gulf Shores. We frequently sail to the Caribbean. A few years ago, he decided we'd start sailing exclusively to St. Croix. I didn't mind. It's beautiful here. It may not seem so right now with this storm, but you're really lucky to live in a place like this. Eventually I figured out what he was doing. What's the euphemism you Crucians use? Square grouper? Each trip he was hauling them up from St. Croix and hauling back the money - which looks like at least around five million dollars."

"Seems like a pretty slow way to move drugs. Sailboats are already pretty cramped, and it's several days sailing each way.

"True, but that means nobody's going to suspect it. We would arrive back in Alabama at night, and he would unload the drugs onto a friend's boat that was already docked. When customs arrived in the morning, our boat was clean."

"So how does this lead to you killing your husband?"

Her face grew somber and she looked down, wringing her hands as she spoke.

"I couldn't leave. He wouldn't let me. I knew eventually he'd get caught. I didn't want to go to jail. I asked him to stop several times. It got even worse when he started using. I asked him again this trip. He knew the storm was coming but couldn't wait. He had to get one more trip in. It made me wonder if he was in some kind of trouble at home and needed the money. These aren't exactly patient people. Anyway, we argued again on the trip over. Today it turned violent. He hit me. I hit him in the head with a fire extinguisher. He kept coming so I got a knife and started stabbing and didn't stop until he couldn't hurt me anymore."

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and I handed her a box of tissues.

"Take your time. I know this must be difficult. I'm still not sure where I come into this."

She wiped her eyes and looked up at me. I confess I was not thinking about her confession.

"His suppliers were police. I can't go to them. They'll make the body go away but I'll have to continue to smuggle for them. I just want this to end."

"And keep the money."

"For what I've put up with? It's going to go to someone. Better me than the cartels. Even if it went to the police it would just get filtered up to corrupt politicians. So why not me? You'll help me," she batted her eyes, "won't you?"

"If I were to take this assignment, I would need a significant retainer." I did some quick mental calculations.

"It's OK," she interrupted. She stood up and walked behind the desk. "I promise. You will be amply compensated for your service."

I hadn't decided if I would take the job yet, but she knelt down in front of me and began to persuade. Well, you don't need my help to figure out what happened next.

__________


Next thing you know the worst of the storm had passed I was reaching for my hat and we were heading to the marina.

"Aren't you worried you'll lose your hat in the wind?"

"A little, yes. But I don't go anywhere without it."

"Lucky hat?"

"No," I chuckled, "more like a trademark. Its in honor of my uncle who founded the agency. My other uncle founded the Saloon. I've always been proud to follow in his footsteps. My uncle that founded the agency, that is. After he passed, I even wore his signature hat." I paused and looked out, "After all, having your own style is great, but sometimes it's fun to pay homage to the greats."

"And he was? Great, that is?"

"Without a doubt. Who else could run a detective agency out of a saloon on an island where most people can't afford a detective?"

It a short walk from the Shaved Mango to the marina. I lent Evelyn a raincoat, not that it did much good. Behind us as we walked up Hospital Street we could see the last bands of the storm assaulting Fort Christiensvaern. For centuries, the fort defended Gallows Bay from attack, yet it too withered under the weather. The thunder today came from above, not from cannons. A quick left on Lobster Garden and a few more blocks and we could see the marina.

We killed some time with meaningless conversation waiting for the tide to recede. Why hurry? The body wasn't going anywhere. I'd seen bodies before but it wasn't exactly a job highlight. You'd be surprised at how many people commit murder on vacation - as if it's somehow cleaner if it doesn't happen in the family home. "Never going back to that island." Or they didn't plan on it but Bored Housewife meets Island Boy only to find out she wasn't as cautious as she thought and hubby wasn't as docile as she thought. These people ruin it for those of us who live here and have to pick up the pieces of the ruined lives.

The wait gave me time to think. Did I really want to be involved in this at all? How well did I know this woman? How much was my cut going to be? We never really did finalize that number. First mistake. Did I really want "accessory to murder" on my resume? There hadn't been a hanging in Gallows Bay in decades, why start now?

On the other hand, the stiff was already dead, I couldn't change that. I didn't walk this side of the law often, but I had done shady things before. I'm not proud of it, but I got bills too. Take the money, sail the boat into Gallows Bay, and sink her. The cops will point their fingers at each other. They'll know the stiff and why he came here, and each will think their partners stole the money. It might even result in them killing each other off. Meanwhile all I had to do is get this doll off the island and pocket a fat retainer for my trouble. So why not me?

The broad was right about one thing. This was the ideal time. There was nobody in the marina, the ferry, the customs office, or any of the other local businesses. If there was a time to unload the money and not be seen, this was it. There wasn't even so much as a guard dog anywhere on Chandler's Wharf.

Five million dollars is not light. If it's all hundred-dollar bills, it would weigh about a hundred pounds. Five hundred pounds in twenties. She had a mix of the two in various satchels, duffel bags, a briefcase, and even an old grey army laundry bag. For now, we would just get it off the ship. Someone left an abandoned boat in dry dock right next to the Marine Center. It sat there for three years. Nobody worked on it. Nobody paid for the space. The dock owner wanted someone to sue over it so he could call it a derelict and sell it. Meanwhile it would suffice for a hiding place for a few days. Surely no one would think the money would still be in the marina.

I was feeling proud of myself as we started unloading the money. After two trips, most of it was ashore. One trip to go. Who knows? Maybe dinner, another round in the sack? Even if all I did was pay off some creditors it was still a solid afternoon's work.

I never saw it coming. Was it the same knife? Maybe. I'll never know. I'll give the dame credit, she had no hesitation. She got what she wanted from me. I'd barely turned my back and the knife was already in my throat. I remember putting my hand up as if I could stop the blood. A couple more stabs in the back knocked me down but I barely even felt them. In an abstract sort of way I was aware that my lungs were filling with blood and I was having trouble breathing, but it seemed like a detached observation, like a doctor observing his patient. Another stab. This one I could see coming. The broad's eyes sure had changed. Intense. I wondered how many times she'd done this before. I could see the knife now, in her hand. It was coming towards me. My brain screamed for my body to do something but somewhere between brain and limb the message didn't translate to action anymore. Even the pain stopped, as if there was so much of it that my brain couldn't process and it just shut that part down. I don't remember anything after that, just the sight of her turning her back and walking out of the cabin.

St Croix Source
SPECIAL SUNDAY EDITION
TWO MEN FOUND DEAD IN GALLOWS BAY BOAT

Police recovered two bodies from a boat which appeared to have sunk in the Tropical Storm which grazed the island yesterday. Divers discovered two bodies, both male, inside the ships cabin. Police say narcotics trafficking may have been a factor. Autopsy efforts are still underway but both men appeared to have multiple wounds consistent with a knife or other edged weapon. The boat arrived shortly before the storm and authorities suspect it was not able to a secure anchor prior to the storm's arrival.

Police released the name of one man, Giuseppe Cabot, of Alabama. The other name has not been released but sources inform us that it was [REDACTED], a Crucian. [REDACTED] moved to St Croix from the mainland 14 years ago. Police are treating both deaths as homicide and an investigation is under way.

***This is a developing story. Additional details as available. ***