Murder Caribbean-Style (High Seas Mystery Series Book 1) Read online

  Murder Caribbean-Style

  Diane Rapp

  Dedication and Acknowledgements

  This novel is dedicated to Laura and Corey. My deepest thanks go to my daughter Laura, who provided inspiration for the main character. She literally gave me the idea for the novel, encouraged me to write it, allowed me to “borrow” her mannerisms and appearance for the character, and spent time in editing and marketing. I appreciate my husband Corey, who has always supported my efforts through the trials of writing and publishing, and persuaded me to keep trying when I felt discouraged.

  Disclaimer

  Although the main character was inspired by my daughter, everything the character does in the book and all portrayed in the book are fiction. All the other characters in the book are imaginary, and any resemblance to real life people is accidental. The physical descriptions and tourist attractions on each island in the novel are real; however, many buildings were changed or invented to further the plot of the book. The Constellation Cruise Line and all of its ships are pure inventions, including the promotion policies that provided incentive for “the great mutiny.”

  Publisher: Diane Rapp

  Copyright © 2011 Diane Rapp

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be used, reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or distributed by any means (electronic, photocopied, recorded, or mechanical) without prior written permission of the copyright owner and publisher of this book except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE ~ Friday – Barbados

  Chapter 1 ~ Sunday – Puerto Rico

  Chapter 2 ~ Monday – St. Thomas

  Chapter 3 ~ Tuesday – Sint Maarten

  Chapter 4 ~ Wednesday — Dominica

  Chapter 5 ~ Thursday — Guadeloupe

  Chapter 6 ~ Friday — St. Lucia

  Chapter 7 ~ Saturday — Barbados

  Chapter 8 ~ Sunday — Grenada

  Chapter 9 ~ Monday — St. Kitts

  Chapter 10 ~ Tuesday—Antigua

  Chapter 11 ~ Wednesday—Martinique

  Chapter 12 ~ Thursday — Ti Tou Gorge

  About the Author

  PROLOGUE ~ Friday – Barbados

  While blizzards raged across the Northern Hemisphere, tourists donned sunglasses, sandals, and garish T-shirts to confront a sultry January day in Barbados. The fierce sun seared virgin white skin and waves of heat rippled off the pavement.

  Swarming the dock like ants attacking a crumb of sugar cookie, crew and passengers disembarked from three cruise ships docked in the deep-water harbor. Two of the ships, the Aurora and the Polaris belonged to Constellation Cruise Lines. The uniformed crew—wearing caps with bold blue and red CCL insignia and short-sleeved cotton shirts tucked into crisp white shorts—patiently directed passengers through the congested terminal.

  Metal stairs rattled, supply carts clanked, and a loudspeaker crackled messages over the din of the crowd. Caribbean music pierced the discord. A string band twisted the melody of an old ballad into a lazy calypso beat punctuated by the mellow timpani of a steel drum. Five black musicians swayed and twisted through the throng keeping step with their own music—a Caribbean-style marching band. Frayed straw hats bobbed in time to the rhythm. Red, orange, and purple flowered shirts undulated over boxy green shorts and dirty white tennis shoes as the musicians played homemade instruments fashioned from lead pipes, coconut shells, scrap lumber, and tin. Electronic flashes burst from the crowd of tourists who diligently recorded the scene with cameras.

  A man wearing a dark turtleneck shirt under a long-sleeved white service coat scowled at the crowd. Hefting a CCL tote bag the agile man maneuvered through the horde of bewildered tourists and slipped down a vacant corridor. Hesitating for a heartbeat he scanned the empty hallway, inserted a key into the door, and slipped inside.

  The sign on the door read: “Quarantined Area, No Admittance,” but no alarm bells blared, no security guards charged in to make an arrest. The intruder turned on the lights and opened his tote bag. He removed a pair of surgical gloves, a cotton swab taped to a long stick, and a small black manicure case. A cricket chirped, a tree-frog trilled, and leaves rustled as lizards scuttled from sight. Forest sounds seemed incongruous in a room full of stainless steel equipment, wire cages, and glass enclosures plastered with large red labels proclaiming “Danger” in several languages.

  Snapping surgical gloves onto sweaty hands, he cautiously pried open the lid of a small terrarium, inserted the cotton swab, and stroked the skin of the tiny frog. Startled, the frog vaulted toward the open lid. The stranger jerked back and dropped the cotton swab into the glass cage.

  The two-inch reptile clutched the edge of the glass with sticky, bulbous toes and peeked through the opening. It looked harmless, strangely beautiful with iridescent yellow stripes down a navy blue hide, except for the deadly toxin coating its skin. One touch could kill a man as surely as a cobra’s bite.

  As the diminutive creature squeezed through the glass lid, the intruder retreated to a safe distance. The frog jumped, landing near his shoe. Screaming, he scrambled to avoid the dangerous reptile, plastic soles squeaking against the slick floor, and crashed into a cart full of metal trays that clanged to the floor. The frog vanished. Holding his breath, the man stepped in circles, searching. He spotted the quivering reptile—a patch of glowing color in the dark shadow of a table—and exhaled a sigh of pent up breath.

  Heart pounding, he fished out the cotton swab, unzipped the manicure kit, and extracted two glass vials, a white plastic toothpick, and a pair of tweezers. Eyeing the frog, he rubbed the moist swab over the toothpick and the tweezers, slipping each into a glass vial.

  Storing the vials in the manicure kit, he noticed a sticky smear on his jacket sleeve just inches from bare skin. A similar smudge the size of the frog marred the glass terrarium. Cursing, he threw the swab to the floor and stripped off gloves and coat. Folding the tainted sleeve to the inside of the jacket, he wiped a trickle of sweat with a trembling hand. Turning off the lights, he fled.

  No one noticed a man wearing a dark turtleneck shove a white bundle into the dockside trash bin. He joined a group of tourists who climbed the gangway to the Aurora.

  The laboratory remained quiet for an hour. When the door clanged open, the tiny reptile retreated to safety behind a table leg.

  Hubert flipped on the light switch singing, “Every liddle ting goin’ ta be ah—all right.” He wagged his head to the rhythm of his own song as he dragged a sloshing orange bucket on wheels into the laboratory. Glaring fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed overhead.

  Leaves rustled.

  He abruptly stopped singing and surveyed the room warily. “Hello! Who’s been makin’ such a mess?”

  A marshy scent of rotting wood and leaves wafted from a nearby enclosure. Inside a miniature dinosaur shifted its head to peer at him with an eerie gaze.

  “It’s a good job I’m not de bloke cleaning your cage, mister,” he said and skirted past the reptile.

  “Wonder how des trays get spilt over de floor. Nobody was working las’ night.” After stacking trays onto the proper cart, he bent and picked up a cotton swab from the floor. “Dis looks mighty strange. Dem science blokes don’t toss trash ’round like dis.” He fingered the sticky substance at the end of the swab. His skin tingled and heat flashed up his arm, sweat stung his face. He swiped his forehead with a meaty brown hand. “What in de world...” Eyes widening, he clutched his throat and gagged.

  Scram
bling for the door, Hubert tripped over the orange bucket and sprawled on the floor. Legs twitched. Fingers jerked. Soapy water sloshed across the checkerboard linoleum, soaking Hubert’s body and seeping into the shadows. The frog climbed up the table leg, its beady black eyes watching the large man die.

  That evening Bajan radio spread the news over the airwaves: “A terrible accident resulting in death at the Port Authority occurred today when a janitor touched a lethal Poison Dart Frog. The frog, which escaped from a shipment earmarked for the National Aquarium in Baltimore, Maryland, was subsequently captured. Discovery of the body occurred when a lab technician entered the facility to perform afternoon feeding duties. Public release of the identity of the deceased was withheld pending notification of family members. The Port Authority promised a full investigation.”

  Chapter 1 ~ Sunday – Puerto Rico

  The hypnotic vibration and steady drone of jet engines lulled most passengers into a fitful sleep during the tedious flight from Miami to Puerto Rico. Kayla was too excited to sleep. She tried to watch the movie, a remake of the Manchurian Candidate, but couldn’t keep her attention on the film. Thumbing through the in-flight magazine, she jotted notes about current Caribbean travel tips, names of advertised shops, and the type of articles the magazine seemed to favor into a leather organizer. She opened a travel guide, wrote page numbers next to corresponding notes, and closed the journal with a sigh.

  Leaning her head against the cool glass of the double-paned window, she watched wispy clouds drift over the greenish-blue water below. A cruise ship, looking like a smoldering cigar floating on a mossy pond, made its way across the water. Where was the ship bound?

  “Excuse me,” an attractive middle-aged woman said. “I noticed the travel book you’re carrying. Is it good?”

  “Very good, but then you might say I’m prejudiced. I’m the author.” Kayla smiled, thinking the woman looked like Linda Evans on the old Dynasty TV show, elegantly attired with a perfect coiffure.

  “Really?” The woman gazed at Kayla. “My, you’re a young woman to have already published a travel guide.”

  Kayla understood the woman’s reaction. Dressed casually in sweats and a warm-up jacket, and her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, Kayla looked about twenty. She opened the book to the professional photograph on the dust jacket—which made her look more like thirty—and showed it to the woman.

  The woman smiled. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

  “Sure. Go ahead.”

  Kayla handed over the book. The woman lifted tortoiseshell glasses, which dangled on a chain around her neck, and paged through the book with interest.

  “It’s certainly impressive.”

  “Thanks. I oriented the book to cruiseship passengers traveling in the Caribbean. It supplies information about places anyone can visit without taking an organized tour, while the ship is docked in port.”

  The woman peered over the top of her glasses. “How did you come up with that idea?”

  “I worked as a purser on cruise ships for six years. Passengers asked the same questions week after week, questions left unanswered by generic guidebooks, so I decided to fill the void. On this trip I’m scheduled to spend two weeks on my old ship. I’ll promote this book and gather information for an updated version.” Kayla blushed. How self-centered she must sound.

  “Are you looking forward to visiting your old ship?”

  Kayla nodded. “I miss my friends. I haven’t seen them for four years.”

  “Well, I won’t bother you with more chatter. Where could I buy a copy of your book?”

  “If you’re serious, I could sell you one. I brought along a supply for book signing sessions on board ship.” She extracted a fresh copy from her purse, an author always kept a new copy to sell.

  The woman beamed. “How fortunate! Do you mind signing it to Patricia? Sorry. I didn’t introduce myself.” She held out her hand. “Patricia Blake.”

  “Kayla Sanders.” She shook Patricia’s hand, aware of the Rolex watch and emerald-cut canary diamond ring. Kayla hoped the woman would recommend the book to all her rich friends.

  As if reading her mind, Patricia said, “My friends will be so jealous! You can be sure I’ll send them straight to the bookstore to buy their own copies.”

  Kayla smiled and signed the book, “To my friend Patricia,” in purple ink. Patricia handed over a twenty, refusing Kayla’s offer to provide change and settled back to read.

  Did she miss working on the ship? She missed friends who had become an extended family, especially Shannon Ferguson, her very best friend on earth. Kayla opened her organizer and read Shannon’s letter again:

  Dear Kayla,

  Glad to hear you accepted the invitation to cruise on the Aurora. We’ll have great fun, and you’ll sell boxes full of books. You’re bunking in my cabin just like the old days, and I’ve got a great surprise, one we’ve worked on for months. Remember how the company brass told you a woman would never get promoted to Chief Purser on CCL ships? Well, I’ve been passed over again, after eight years of commendable service—I’ve got written reports to prove it. That was the final straw, so I devised a scheme to remedy the situation permanently and recruited a crack team to help me.

  When you resigned in protest, you became our hero, someone to emulate. Remember the saying, “Don’t get mad, get even?” Well revenge might happen sooner than you thought. See you on the ship.—Love, Shannon

  Kayla felt guilty. Shannon didn’t know the real reason she quit. The disastrous confrontation she’d had at company headquarters was a convenient excuse to run, to escape the greatest heartbreak of her life. She couldn’t face Patrick again, after the way he betrayed her love!

  When she resigned the company branded her a troublemaker and word spread to other cruise lines. Her career was ruined but she used her knowledge to write a good travel guide for cruise ship passengers. Now Constellation Cruise Lines eagerly welcomed her back on board as a celebrity author. Of course they expected favorable treatment in her next book in exchange for a free cruise and a book-signing party.

  She smiled and wondered what mischief Shannon dreamed up? Was the cruise line finally ready to enter the twentieth century and promote female staff or was Shannon setting herself up for a fall? Quitting her job motivated Kayla to write a travel guide, a good move but Shannon hardly ever wrote a long letter let alone a full book.

  A gorgeous blonde with a dazzling smile and quirky personality, Shannon was raised on a ranch but was no country bumpkin—although she could play that role if it fit a particular strategy. In her imaginary movie Kayla “cast” Shannon as Charlize Theron, a smart and beautiful woman.

  Since childhood, Kayla “cast” people in an ongoing imaginary movie of her life. She’d been an only child and watched television reruns and old movies while her mother ran a bookkeeping service out of their home. Some children played with imaginary friends but Kayla imagined entire scripts. In her mental movie she cast the people in her life as famous television stars. At the age of ten she told her father that he was Fred McMurray in My Three Sons and her mother was Donna Reed. He laughed and explained that she got it backwards: actors were cast in roles not real people cast as actors. She frowned and said, “Someday I’m going to be famous, so I get to decide who acts in my life story.” After that she stopped telling people about her mental script, but kept casting new people she met as the actors they resembled. In some crazy way it helped her relax and connect with strangers as if they were old friends.

  One day Kayla admitted feeling jealous of Shannon’s large family to her friend. Shannon laughed and invited her to visit “the zoo” on their next leave. Kayla loved Shannon’s family right away. As the youngest sibling and the only girl in the family, Shannon’s five brothers treated their sister like a priceless treasure. Although it was only October, Shannon’s family put out a Thanksgiving spread with turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing, and a pie for almost every person at dinner.

  After dinner br
others, wives, and children sat around the hearth, sipping hot cider. They begged for stories of far-off ports and told their own tales of growing up on the ranch. As an only child, Kayla still felt jealous but realized that her family was the ships’ crew.

  When Kayla first applied to work on cruise ships, she cast herself as Julie McCoy working as cruise director on The Love Boat. When she learned that real life cruise directors were ex-beauty contestants with large wardrobes of evening gowns and even larger stage smiles, Kayla settled into the role of purser, Gopher’s job on the television show. She discovered the job required a substantial amount of work, but liked the work, was good at organization, and could talk to anyone. She became part of an extended ship-family.

  Shannon was her shipboard sister. They shared a cabin, fought over closet space and potential boyfriends, borrowed makeup and clothes, and shared heartbreaks. When Kayla ran home to hide in Colorado, she missed Shannon desperately.

  The whine of the plane’s landing gear jolted Kayla from her reverie and she organized herself for landing. The San Juan airport was the same as Kayla remembered, crowded and chaotic. Climbing into a taxi she discovered that Old San Juan looked much better than her memories, having benefited from a major facelift. Slick new cruise ship terminals were a short walk from the historic district—a tribute to dollars generated by the cruise industry.

  Kayla spotted the Aurora. Crisp white paint, mahogany handrails, and shiny brass detailing accented three ebony smokestacks canted at a jaunty angle. Although one of the oldest and smallest ships of Constellation Cruise Lines, the Aurora looked sleek and classy in contrast to her ponderous neighbors docked along the pier.

  The “bigger is better” trend of the cruise industry produced monstrous liners that carried double or triple the number of passengers. When they docked large crowds inundated tiny Caribbean ports. How could anyone enjoy elbowing their way into shops or museums? Kayla’s book encouraged tourists to venture out on the islands, the only way to enjoy a measure of privacy and sample a true Caribbean lifestyle.