The bubbling clouds overhead eased the heat of mid-afternoon, but I was grateful for the shade of our cabana as we crafted cocktails for the afternoon pool crowd. The colorful shirts and vintage bathing suits had multiplied, the drinks were flowing, and a surf band played on a small stage by the cafe.
My little nap hadn’t been quite enough for me and definitely not enough for Astra. I took pity on her and left her asleep on the bed before helping the rest of the Bohemia Bartenders wrangle our ingredients, props, signage and supplies for the pool party.
Our drink for this event was a Neil creation, The Eyewall, a variation on a traditional Hurricane. His was less sweet and quite potent (I limited myself to one “test” cocktail and still had a happy little buzz). Though it featured the traditional passionfruit syrup and two kinds of rum, it also had lemon and lime juice. We served it over crushed ice and garnished it with a cool light-blue Bohemia Bartenders swizzle stick and a lemon peel wrapped around a handcrafted rum-soaked cherry.
Melody had recommended I bring at least three outfits per day of Hookahakaha. I thought she was loopy until now, as I realized just how much sweat the human body could produce in South Florida in June.
She’d coordinated all of our pool-party outfits to go with a blue and yellow theme. The guys all had different aloha shirts with various blue backgrounds, and they looked great. Buoyed by Barclay’s jokes and good spirits, even Luke was smiling, in spite of the ghastly events of yesterday.
Melody had found someone to make custom outfits for us gals, patterned with blue and white ocean waves and yellow hibiscus blossoms. Hers was a two-piece, with a wraparound skirt and an off-the shoulder midriff top. I went with funky short overalls over another scoop-neck white T-shirt. I also wore comfy sandals, since I was working, and had a new floral creation pinning up my hair on one side that featured a blue flower and a faux lemon. Not to mention lemon earrings and my leather bracelet with the beads and the gator tooth.
What I really needed was one of those bachelor-party guys to cool me down with a giant feathered fan.
We worked efficiently, with Neil shaking the drink over ice cubes and straining it over the crushed ice Melody scooped into the cups. I added garnishes. Behind us, Barclay crushed the ice old-school with a mallet and a canvas bag, and Luke batched the drink a gallon at a time. I’d just garnished enough cocktails to fill half the bartop when I looked up and saw a familiar face reaching for a drink.
“I know you!” I blurted.
The man stopped, cocktail in hand, a mischievous look on his face. It was a pale, clean-shaven, angular face with an elfin air brought out by his dimpled smile. Long neck. Longish, wavy brown hair. An open aloha shirt over a white tank top. Cute in a beanpole sort of way. He wore a light green straw hat adorned with a wooden tiki face. He held up his drink. “Does your knowing me mean I can’t have this?”
“Oh, no. I mean, yes, you can have it,” I said. “Mr. Preiss, isn’t it?”
“Guilty. But please call me Arnold.”
I glanced at Neil. He tipped his head to the side, indicating I could step out. Somehow his eyes were also saying Be careful, Pepper. But there was no way I could turn down a chance to talk to another Gold Tooth taster.
“I—I’m such a fan of your software!” I said as I came out from behind the bar. OK, that was less than genius, but in my defense, my brain was the temperature of a fried egg.
“Really?” He grinned. “Any particular one? Are you partial to the word processor, or”—he looked around like he was going to confide something really juicy—“are you into inventory management?”
I laughed. “Sorry. You caught me. I mean, yeah, I like the inventory management, but I’d rather have something specific to liquor and cocktails.”
“Not a bad idea.” He took a sip of the Eyewall and made a swoony face. “You want to talk about software? Or maybe how you made this fabulous drink?”
I touched his shoulder lightly, leading him away from the cabana, and lowered my voice. “Truth is, I want to talk about rum.”
“Even better. And who are you, exactly?”
“Oh, sorry. Pepper Revelle. I’m with the Bohemia Bartenders, though when we’re not doing events, I co-own a bar north of here, on Florida’s east-central coast.”
“Anywhere near Cape Canaveral? I’m working with NASA on a couple of projects and could stop by.”
“Actually, yes! My bar is Nola, in Bohemia, a little south of the Cape. That’s where Neil has a great bar, too, the Junction Box—Neil is the leader of our little traveling circus of bartenders.”
“Oh, I know his book well,” Arnold said.
Neil really did know everybody. Or if he didn’t, everybody knew his book. Of course, Arnold Preiss was a billionaire. He probably had every cocktail book there was.
“You have a ticket to the Gold Tooth Tasting, don’t you?” I asked.
“I do. I was looking forward to chatting with Fizz face-to-face, but now that I can’t ... Are you going?”
I shook my head. “Tickets are a little rich for my blood. But even without Fizz, there will be good rums there, you know.”
Arnold shrugged. “I can get good rums anytime.”
“I understand you’re friendly with Conan Cray.”
“That’s true. He was very hospitable in New Orleans. Incredible collection. I learned a lot from him. Since he’s stepping in as host, I’m sure the event won’t be a waste of my time.”
“But you had your heart set on tasting the London dock rum?”
He looked more closely at me. “Like I said, I can get good rum anytime.”
“That rum?” I blurted out. Real subtle, Pepper.
“I didn’t even know that rum existed, so it’s not in my collection,” he said coolly. “Not that I would mind having some. But no one has it now, do they? I hear the bottle vanished at Pau Hana.”
Of course he knew. Everyone did. I lowered my voice even further. “The working theory is that someone has it. Would you know how to get such a bottle if you wanted to, Mr. Preiss?”
“Arnold.” He looked me up and down, taking the measure of my cute overalls. And maybe my legs. “I thought you couldn’t afford the rum tasting. Surely you’re not in the market for a bottle of London dock rum?”
“Mr. Preiss—Arnold. A good friend happened to be found at the crime scene, and he had nothing to do with the—with what happened to Fizz. Or the bottle. I’m just trying to find out what did happen so he doesn’t get into any more trouble.”
“Interesting.” Arnold didn’t seem very sympathetic.
“Can you let me know if you hear anything about that missing bottle? I know you’re a big collector, and you can afford it. Chances are, somebody is going to come to you with it.”
“What makes you think I won’t just buy it and quietly drink it while watching The Creature From the Black Lagoon in my home theater?”
I remembered what Cray said. “Because you want to be legit. You want to be known as a collector. And hiding the biggest find of the century is no way to do that.”
He narrowed his brown eyes at me, and after a few seconds, he smiled. “Pepper, you are absolutely correct. Anyway, I wouldn’t waste a dime on buying anything connected to a crime. Not knowingly, anyway. I’ll let you know if I hear anything, all right?”
“Thanks very much,” I said, somehow feeling outmaneuvered. “Come by my bar in Bohemia when you’re visiting NASA, and I’ll make you something.”
“I’ll take you up on that, Pepper. Or if you’d like to let me make you a drink, my yacht is docked just outside in the marina.” He smiled again, raised his cup in a mock toast and wandered off toward another cabana.
For real? His yacht? What was this, Some Like It Hot? Though I’d never actually been on a yacht before. Maybe if I had an hour …
No, Pepper. Don’t be an idiot. The idea of cocktails on a yacht might be kind of alluring, but there was something worrisome about Arnold Preiss.
Besides, I had to get back to the Bohemia booth. We were nearing the end of our shift, but the crowds kept coming.
I whirled to return and ran smack into a wall of hair. Sputtering, I stepped backward and straightened my glasses.
Oh, no. It was worse than just hair. It was a giant supernova of hair attached to the chin of Mr. Mixy.