Fifteen —
Pandora in the House

Murder on the island was more unsettling than a hurricane—the prospect of which added to the jitters. Hurricane Wilma had been brewing off the coast of Africa in the Atlantic, and would soon be flying across the ocean and threatening the Gulf coast. The projections were notoriously inaccurate, despite the use of computers and the lucky guesses of storm-team meteorologists, but, still, the islanders listened with their ears to the sand while they kept their eyes on the tube. Hurricanes could be devastating, even when they didn’t directly hit the island. They churned through the Gulf of Mexico leaving a wake of damage, pushing the rising water ashore and slamming property. Beach furniture and trees flew around in high winds, once landing a baby carriage in a palm tree on Tuna Street.

A hurricane was not completely unexpected this time of year, but it was most unwelcome. What they needed to do was rebuild sanity. They did not need more destruction of any sort.

Blanche put her worries about the weather aside. Not now. If Wilma were to be a bother, she’d give them plenty of warning before she washed over Santa Maria and wreaked havoc. She hoped Wilma had the decency to do that.

In the meantime, Blanche hurried off to see Liza.

I

Liza sat behind the desk, the phone propped on her shoulder as she talked and took notes. She looked up when Blanche walked in the door. She held up two fingers and wiggled them. Blanche marveled at her friend, who seemed to have rebounded. The blond curls were tamed, makeup fresh, and her grey pencil skirt and medallion-print silk blouse were straight out of a Sarasota boutique. One taupe patent leather heel dangled from her foot. Liza had a way of covering the gamut of fashion, and the profession. She ruled it all. She’d ended up teaching one of her real estate classes after she told the instructor she just loved the “software.” He thought she’d said “underwear” probably because his mind was elsewhere.

Blanche landed in a nearby chair and put one foot on the waste basket. Liza appeared to have entered the angry mode, leaving the grief-stricken sobbing phase behind. She stabbed at the note pad and knit her eyebrows. She squeezed the pen until it broke in half, and then she threw it against the wall.

Blanche couldn’t decide if this were progress. She peeked at Liza’s scrawl but it was hard to read upside down. She made up her mind to be patient, which involved grinding her teeth. They should have been stumps by now.

At least Liza had been busy around the office. She’d re-organized the file cabinets, pushed her desk closer to the window next to an azalea Blanche had given her. And she was working. A lot. The calendar had a number of appointments and open houses penciled in—a duty Mrs. Blankenship had given up because those Sunday afternoons conflicted with her quilting bees. She had never been one for the real estate game. Her father had owned a grocery store, and she’d hoped Bob would have been more interested in tomatoes and peaches—and not the Liza variety.

Bob’s corner remained untouched. A brown suit jacket hung over the back of his chair. If only jackets could talk. Blanche thought she could almost hear him: “Now, you listen to Liza…She can melt the frost off of a Michigan buyer, point out the obvious advantages of having a small kitchen or tiny bathroom. Less cleaning, especially when you’ve come all the way down here to rest! Why, Liza can pin a sale on a northern donkey faster than anyone.”

The voice in her head faded. Bob was gone and he wasn’t coming back. The finality of it hit her all over again.

Liza held up a perfectly manicured index finger and mouthed, “One more sec.”

She grabbed a pen and took notes furiously, punctuating aloud as she wrote, words like… permit… Langstrom… email. Whatever was happening on the phone had something to do with the whole mess.

Liza slammed down the receiver. Blanche flinched.

“Ouch,” she said. She was developing a strong allergy to phone calls. Lately, they’d been worse than hives.

“I knew it.” Liza stared back at her friend, her hand still on the receiver, which, miraculously, was in one piece.

“Well, that was one hell of a conversation.”

“I think I’ve opened Pandora’s box of….snakes and worms!”

“Do tell!”

Liza stood up and put her hands on her hips. She seemed about to explode, and then she did. “I traced some of Bob’s phone calls and the notes he made. I think he might have been onto that Langstrom. That blue-eyed, carpet-bagging, deep-dish-pizza-eating son of a bitch.”

“Really?” Blanche bounced out of her chair. “But pizza?”

“I love pizza. I love you,” she sank back down. “Thanks for coming over, Blanche.”

“What’s going on?”

“Those dweebs in Tallahassee. That’s what’s going on.” She leaped up and started pacing. “They won’t tell me much, but apparently Bob found out that Langstrom was paying off someone to demolish the park and cottages on the north end. For starters. This bit of information turned up in the latest emails, and I confirmed it. I told Duncan right away. He didn’t seem too interested but he did say he’d get back to me.”

Liza leaned over the desk. “And get this. Langstrom called and asked me to list that awful orange and green colossus on Sycamore they built on spec. Can you believe it? The nerve. Mel can have it, or it can fall down into a pile of multi-colored trash. Wish Wilma would take it with her.”

“So that’s what you were talking to Duncan about. I mean, the emails, not that awful place on Sycamore.” Both feet hit the floor.

“Yes, of course. Blanche, we need to get after this. There is a connection between Bob and Langstrom. Bob knew he was crooked.”

She picked up the pen, and Blanche ducked. She was stunned. Her ears were ringing.

“We have to do something about this right now, but I’m not sure what,” Liza said. “Those developers are moving fast. It’s almost a done deal where that park is supposed to be. You were right about the group on the bridge. Those shady bastards were up there surveying the point!”

She wilted back into her desk chair. Blanche planted two fists on the desk and leaned over.

“This couldn’t be better that he showed himself for the damn hairball he is.”

She smiled at Blanche, her voice a whisper. “It’s just so depressing. I feel like I’m slogging through a mile-high sand dune over here.”

“That would be difficult given your choice of footwear.”

“Ha!”

“Slogging. One high heel and one sandal at a time.” Blanche looked back at Bob’s computer and thought of the clues that might be revealed there. Liza circled the office again.

“The smooth delivery.” She slapped those slim hips. “Their promises to dole out a fortune for the homes. Their plan stinks, and it’s all for that corporation, not for the island. And Bobby knew it.”

Her red-tipped fingers went to her cheeks. Blanche expected waterworks, but instead she saw grit. Liza went to the cooler and gulped a paper cone of water. They were both on the same track: the money trail. Bribes and lies littered the way.

Blanche could hear Gran now: Money. Nothing. But. Trouble. Nature is what lasted, and its profusion was glorious on Santa Maria Island. The combination of money and nature was oil and water. It just didn’t mix.

“Liza, they’d love it if we rolled over. But we won’t.”

“We need to dig into those emails, Blanche. We can get back to Duncan soon enough. But for now, we have to do this.” She turned to Blanche, pleading. “He doesn’t have the personnel over there, or the will, it seems. He’s dillydallying with county now. I can’t wait a minute longer.”

Blanche kept hearing—let Duncan do it, stay out of it. She pushed the words out of her head. “It’s pretty clear Langstrom’s going to stick around. We don’t have a choice. And that’s a good thing. We’ll make it a good thing.”

Liza nodded, twisting a handful of curls into a bun. She stuck a pencil in it.

“I hate to say it,” said Blanche. “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

“Oh, jeez, not him. What are you saying, girl? Those dimples and blue eyes don’t fool you.”

“That’s not it. There’s just no peace. The thought of him ruining the island, and that he could have murdered Bob. Or know who did.” There was the “m” word again. She shuddered. “He’d been so concerned when I cut my toe. So earnest. That day I met him on the bridge he looked me right in the eye, and I almost believed him.”

“Well, he’s a liar. And a conniver. We know that. I don’t think we can believe a thing he says.” Liza glanced again at the computer.

“I’m going to have to meet him again, and the next time, I’m not going to let him off. He has to own up.”

They heard thunder and moved to the window. A line of silver-rimmed black clouds rolled over a ten-foot-high sand dollar on the roof line of the gift shop; and to the north, a blue sky still. “Wow, look at that,” said Liza.

“Just what we don’t need. More bad weather.”

Blanche said, “Let me get over to the cabin and lock it down. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Blanche was becoming averse to surprises, natural and otherwise. Lately, none of them had been good. But, now, another was just around the corner.