Read Online Left at the Mango Tree by Stephanie Siciarz - Free Book Online
Authors: Stephanie Siciarz
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Customs and Excise to investigate the matter of two acres’ worth of pineapple that seems to have gone missing from the estate of Mr. Cyrus Puymute. As you are aware, any such merchandise leaving the island is subject to excise, and I am here to collect.”
“That’s true, any such merchandise leaving the island is certainly subject to excise. But if I’m not mistaken, the tax should be paid by the one who sent the merchandise away. That wasnot myself, nor was it Mr. Puymute.” Gustave sipped his tea and replaced the cup on the saucer in a tremolo of ceramic that belied his complacent demeanor.
In the meantime, Raoul’s patience had worn as thin as the favorite blue shirt he had been forced to leave at home that morning. He emphasized every syllable of his response: “Then – who – was – it?”
“I – don’t – know.”
“Damn it, Vilder!” Raoul pounded his fist on the desk and the tea tray clattered. “You expect me to believe that you have no idea where all that fruit ended up, nor how it got there? What kind of fool do you take me for? You as near as confessed to me before the crime was ever committed! You think I forgot about your little proposition?”
“Proposition? Crime?” Gustave repeated blankly, and with a hint of satisfaction. “Now, now, Officer Orlean. You read the paper. You must have seen the story in the
Crier
yesterday.” Gustave produced a copy of the newspaper from the day before, though where it came from Raoul couldn’t see just then, and tossed it on the desk. “Mr. Puymute seems to be the victim of...a curse...magic...the wizardry that we all take for granted around here—that is, until we wake up one morning to two empty pineapple patches and realize that we ought to pay it a bit more mind.”
“I know all about the story, Vilder. It’s as phony as you are. You tipped off the paper and fed them
your
version of the facts. You and I both know exactly where those pineapples went.”
Now it was Gustave’s turn to be angry. “I know I’m to blame for most of the things that go wrong on this floating little shard of Oh, but sometimes there simply isn’t an explanation. Looking for one might only bring more trouble.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Raoul remembered Pedro’s strange farewell.
“Only that whatever mystical force is at play here might not take kindly to being questioned too much. Or doubted. No telling what it might do if that were the case.” Gustave was standing now, his palms flat on the desk, his fiery eyes looking down on Raoul in his chair. “No telling.”
The conversation ended there, at least in the conventional sense. For although it was cut short by Raoul’s sudden and silent departure (Gustave had so angered him he’d gone momentarily mute and left), each continued talking to himself in mumbled threats and half-whispers.
“I – will – get – him. I will prove what he’s got up to. Somehow. And he – will – pay,” spat Raoul. “Babies? Pineapples? Who does he think he is?”
“He can’t prove a thing!” countered Gustave. “No one can prove anything on this island! Things happen all by themselves and then everyone looks at
me
.”
“A curse! Magic! I should have known a Vilder would stoop to something like this. Scaring up the whole bloody island. He’s nothing but a liar and a thief.”
“Why not a curse at Puymute’s? Or anywhere else for that matter? Should I be the only one bent by the powers of this place?”
There’s no telling how long the conversation would have gone on had it not been for Nat, who pulled alongside Raoul as he was walking back to town and offered him a lift. They drove in silence, Raoul still thinking about what he and Gustave hadn’t said to each other. The truth is that, though they ostensibly talked about taxes, both men had much more on their minds: that “proposition” for one (which you’ll hear about next), and me. It was mostly
me
theyhad on the brain. Pineapples are
“That’s true, any such merchandise leaving the island is certainly subject to excise. But if I’m not mistaken, the tax should be paid by the one who sent the merchandise away. That wasnot myself, nor was it Mr. Puymute.” Gustave sipped his tea and replaced the cup on the saucer in a tremolo of ceramic that belied his complacent demeanor.
In the meantime, Raoul’s patience had worn as thin as the favorite blue shirt he had been forced to leave at home that morning. He emphasized every syllable of his response: “Then – who – was – it?”
“I – don’t – know.”
“Damn it, Vilder!” Raoul pounded his fist on the desk and the tea tray clattered. “You expect me to believe that you have no idea where all that fruit ended up, nor how it got there? What kind of fool do you take me for? You as near as confessed to me before the crime was ever committed! You think I forgot about your little proposition?”
“Proposition? Crime?” Gustave repeated blankly, and with a hint of satisfaction. “Now, now, Officer Orlean. You read the paper. You must have seen the story in the
Crier
yesterday.” Gustave produced a copy of the newspaper from the day before, though where it came from Raoul couldn’t see just then, and tossed it on the desk. “Mr. Puymute seems to be the victim of...a curse...magic...the wizardry that we all take for granted around here—that is, until we wake up one morning to two empty pineapple patches and realize that we ought to pay it a bit more mind.”
“I know all about the story, Vilder. It’s as phony as you are. You tipped off the paper and fed them
your
version of the facts. You and I both know exactly where those pineapples went.”
Now it was Gustave’s turn to be angry. “I know I’m to blame for most of the things that go wrong on this floating little shard of Oh, but sometimes there simply isn’t an explanation. Looking for one might only bring more trouble.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Raoul remembered Pedro’s strange farewell.
“Only that whatever mystical force is at play here might not take kindly to being questioned too much. Or doubted. No telling what it might do if that were the case.” Gustave was standing now, his palms flat on the desk, his fiery eyes looking down on Raoul in his chair. “No telling.”
The conversation ended there, at least in the conventional sense. For although it was cut short by Raoul’s sudden and silent departure (Gustave had so angered him he’d gone momentarily mute and left), each continued talking to himself in mumbled threats and half-whispers.
“I – will – get – him. I will prove what he’s got up to. Somehow. And he – will – pay,” spat Raoul. “Babies? Pineapples? Who does he think he is?”
“He can’t prove a thing!” countered Gustave. “No one can prove anything on this island! Things happen all by themselves and then everyone looks at
me
.”
“A curse! Magic! I should have known a Vilder would stoop to something like this. Scaring up the whole bloody island. He’s nothing but a liar and a thief.”
“Why not a curse at Puymute’s? Or anywhere else for that matter? Should I be the only one bent by the powers of this place?”
There’s no telling how long the conversation would have gone on had it not been for Nat, who pulled alongside Raoul as he was walking back to town and offered him a lift. They drove in silence, Raoul still thinking about what he and Gustave hadn’t said to each other. The truth is that, though they ostensibly talked about taxes, both men had much more on their minds: that “proposition” for one (which you’ll hear about next), and me. It was mostly
me
theyhad on the brain. Pineapples are
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