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

  They climbed a steep wooden staircase to the open-air pub overlooking the harbor. The nautical decorations—old maps, ship charts, fishing nets hung from the ceiling, and a rusted anchor—made Kayla nostalgic. She’d enjoyed many hours under the steady thud of that ceiling fan, sipping icy drinks, and nuzzling Patrick in the days before he morphed into a creep. From their lofty vantage point the girls watched sailboats cross the bay with yellow, blue, and red sails billowing in the breeze.

  Beer was not Kayla’s usual choice but the icy liquid tasted like ambrosia. She touched the mug against her hot cheek and asked, “How’s your family?”

  Shannon grinned. “Great! They booked a cruise over Christmas, surprised the hell out of me.”

  “All five brothers?”

  Shannon nodded. “Twenty-three rowdy people took up four tables in the dining room—my brothers, their wives and kids, plus my folks. It was a wonderful Christmas.”

  On her visit to the ranch, Shannon’s family welcomed Kayla like a long-lost cousin, even assigning her chores. Although the work was tiring, the vacation ranked as the most fun she could remember. Kayla enjoyed the camaraderie, envied the love that radiated from Shannon’s family.

  “Why do you stay?” Kayla asked.

  “On board ship?”

  Kayla nodded. “You have such a wonderful family. Don’t you miss them?”

  Shannon picked at her nail polish, little red flecks falling onto her napkin. “Sure. I get homesick now and then.” She stared at Kayla with somber eyes. “But I’m not ready to be stuck raising a horde of kids, praying for good weather and juggling the bills. It sucks the life out of a woman to watch her husband work himself into an early death. On a cruise ship I work long hours but I meet new people, see new places. I feel important. I won’t settle for being married to a rancher when I can be Chief Purser.”

  Kayla squeezed Shannon’s hand. “You don’t have anything to prove.”

  Shannon shrugged. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get so emotional. Want to hear some gossip?”

  “Like which hair stylist sleeps with the head cook? I can pass.”

  “Do you miss working on the ship?” Shannon drew a “happy face” in the condensation on the beer mug.

  “Do I miss soothing distraught passengers, arguing with customs, resolving one disaster after another? Not on your life!” Kayla stared at the luminous ocean vista. “When a blizzard hits Colorado, I miss a balmy breeze, open-air bars serving beer at 10:30 in the morning, and watching sailboats glide over turquoise water.”

  “It can be heaven,” Shannon agreed.

  “Mostly I miss my best friend.” Kayla raised her beer mug. “Here’s to friends.

  “Friends forever!” Shannon nodded as they clinked their mugs. “I miss you, too.”

  Kayla wiped the corner of her eye. “Take time to escape the purser’s office at least once a week when you’re promoted.”

  “Things will change when I’m in charge; everyone will pull their own weight.” Shannon picked red polish from another nail. “Patrick dumps his own work on us, takes far too many days ashore, and gets away with murder. I don’t know how he snows the brass.”

  “You do his job too well,” Kayla offered.

  “Still, it should be obvious he’s shirking responsibilities. Maybe he uses blackmail to get special treatment.”

  “That could be dangerous.”

  Shannon nodded. “Patrick pushes his luck. He missed the ship on St. Thomas several weeks ago. Rumors floated that he was questioned by Interpol, but he was onboard the next day acting real cocky. He thinks he’s smarter than the police, practically infallible.”

  Kayla watched droplets trickle down her beer mug. “Be careful. If Patrick’s involved with dangerous criminals, they might protect their protégé at any cost. What’s the plan for Patrick in your mutiny?”

  Shannon shook her head. “No dice! You show every emotion on your face, and a stray expression might give him a clue. When it happens you’ll know it! He doesn’t have a chance.”

  “You sure I can’t help?” Kayla asked. “You don’t want him to escape like Chadwick. Tell me when it will happen and I can help if things go wrong.”

  “Not a chance.” Shannon smirked. “Good try though. You want another beer before we brave the heat?”

  Kayla sighed. “No thanks. I’d fall asleep.”

  “No sleeping on duty, you’ve still got lunch with Steven. I’ve got the bill.” Shannon headed for the bar with money in hand. Sipping the last of her drink while her slender friend flirted with the bartender, Kayla thought about their conversation. Had Patrick smuggled drugs when she knew him? Did her infatuation make her blind to the truth? She’d been blind to his womanizing until it smacked her in the face, so anything was possible. The mutiny plan made her feel jittery and she shivered despite the heat.

  “You look like someone walked over your grave,” Shannon said as she gathered her packages. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing. I’m not used to heat, so let’s stay on the shady side of the street and visit all the air-conditioned shops.”

  By the time Kayla parted company with Shannon, she felt ready to escape the frenzy of Dutch Sint Maarten for the tranquil atmosphere of French St. Martin. The island was literally divided into two separate countries, each as different as their homelands. Although they maintained no strict borders, each country enforced a different set of laws. One could get arrested for gambling on the French side, or get arrested for nude sunbathing on the Dutch side.

  Dutch colonists settled the barren side of the small island, where the great salt pond supported a thriving salt mining venture. When the salt industry collapsed, the inventive Dutch used financial acumen to survive. Duty-free shopping created a booming economy in hectic Phillipsburg, a model of free enterprise that other islands copied in a limited fashion. French settlers developed the fertile half of the island into a lush tropical version of France. Filled with trendy boutiques, lavishly expensive art galleries, and sumptuous restaurants, Marigot’s ambience exuded European elegance and charm.

  With enough time to take a “local bus,” Kayla found a “Bushalt” sign on Back Street and waited for the next minivan. A grinning black taxi driver pulled alongside the curb. Kayla and two other passengers climbed into the van, and the driver eased into a steady stream of traffic.

  “Morning,” he said and collected a modest fare. “We be heading now for Marigot. If you be needing to stop along de way, please speak up before getting too close to de stop.”

  The passengers chatted, exchanging views about the government, the condition of the roads, and the blissful weather in a lilting island Patois. Commonplace throughout the Caribbean, the jargon blended African, French, English, and island slang wrapped in a heavy accent. Kayla couldn’t follow the dialogue, but the melodic cadence of the language relaxed her enough to doze in the tropical heat.

  The minivan stopped at the harbor. Steven waited at the museum entrance, half an hour early, dressed in cream linen slacks, a dark blue cotton shirt, sporty designer sunglasses, and a rakish straw hat. Spotting Kayla, he whisked off the hat and used it to execute a sweeping bow. “Do you by chance need a French-speaking guide to lead you through the museum, mademoiselle?”

  She laughed.

  “I’d be pleased to have a guide,” she said and allowed him to open the door of the air-conditioned museum.

  Steven proved surprisingly adept at translating the French placards, and Kayla gleaned valuable information for her book. As she leaned close to hear his museum-hushed translations, Kayla inhaled the fragrant cologne on Steven’s cheek. Her hot fingers itched to stroke his smooth skin. When he casually slid his hand from her shoulder to the hollow of her back, she did not resist the intimacy. Cool fingers pressed gently on her waist, guiding her to the next exhibit and she yielded to the pleasant pressure of his touch.

  Steven translated aloud, “Arawak Indians migrated from South America, fleeing from the fierce Carib Indians. Highly
organized, artistic, and religious, the Arawaks developed a peaceful, agricultural society, while Carib hunters left only a few arrowheads and spear heads as artifacts.”

  Gray stone digging tools, mortar and pestle, pottery shards, and seashells strung on rawhide were artfully arranged in the exhibit. “Although the Arawaks welcomed the Spanish as gods, the conquistadors enslaved them, introducing diseases that nearly wiped out the population.”

  Kayla said, “That’s sad, especially since the Spanish abandoned the islands without gold deposits. Well, I’ve got enough for my book and I’m starving. Shall we move on to that restaurant you promised?”

  He sighed. “About time, I thought you’d hear my stomach growling and think the worst of me. This way, mademoiselle.” Steven draped his arm lazily over her shoulder and chatted amiably as they walked to a restaurant overlooking the harbor.

  Kayla’s mouth watered at the tantalizing scent of pancakes mingled with the spicy-sweet aroma of cinnamon, berries, and mulled wine. When the food arrived she said, “I’m so glad I agreed to have lunch with you.”

  His dark blue eyes examined her face. “Me too.”

  Kayla felt her cheeks redden under his scrutiny and stammered, “How did you become a magician?” She swallowed a bite of blueberry crepe.

  He cocked his head and grinned like a little boy. “Our neighborhood bobby knew sleight of hand. He amazed local kids with coins popping out of ears and such, taught me a few tricks, and got me interested. I loitered about magic stores, bought books, and practiced every illusion I could afford. The bobby pestered professional magicians until they took pity on a scrappy lad and taught me important skills. He did me a great favor.”

  “You’re a deft pickpocket. I bet passengers are glad you’re honest.”

  “You’d think so. Every now and again a bloke offers me money to use my skills in some dodgy business. Sometimes it’s rather tempting.” He sipped hot tea. “Truth be told, I’m a bit of a coward and unlucky to boot. I’d land in the dock on my first attempt at larceny.”

  Kayla shook her head. “Performing in front of a crowd scares me silly, so I think you display courage when you step on stage. Stealing money from helpless people is cowardly.”

  He stared through the steam rising from his cup. Kayla felt the tea wasn’t the only steamy thing at the table. “So you’re squarely on the side of right?” he asked.

  Kayla memorized the swirling pattern embedded in her fork handle, avoiding his eyes. “No one should hurt people, especially for money. If that seems ordinary, I don’t care.”

  “I’d never accuse you of being ordinary; besides there’s nothing wrong with scruples.”

  She lifted her chin and lost herself in the deep blue magic of his eyes. “Some people don’t agree,” she said.

  “Patrick?”

  Twisting her ponytail, Kayla sighed. “I suppose you heard gossip about us. Patrick was the biggest mistake of my life.”

  “In what way?”

  “He betrayed my trust. I believed we shared genuine feelings. We planned a life together—marriage, family, starting a small sailing charter business—and we opened a joint savings account. He took all the money we saved together and laughed when I confronted him. He’s a devious swindler.” Kayla felt embarrassed for baring her soul.

  “Did you report him?”

  “No. It was a joint account. We each had the right to withdraw the money…”

  Steven looked somber. “Did Patrick involve you in his swindles?”

  Kayla laughed. “I’m terrible at deception, every little emotion shows on my face. By the time I realized Patrick was a con artist, he’d already dumped me. I guess he figured an honest girlfriend might cramp his style.”

  “How does his scam work?”

  “He charms his victims, convinces them to donate money to an Irish charity. He’s an expert con artist.”

  Steven leaned back in his chair and cradled the teacup in one hand. “Did you ever know him to break the law outright—steal or deal drugs?”

  Kayla considered the question, weighing Shannon’s suspicions. “No. As far as I knew, Patrick’s victims volunteered their money, forced him to take it. But he doesn’t care who he hurts!”

  Steven nodded. “You’ve got the right of him but don’t assume every man you meet is the same. He’s the exception that proves the rule.”

  “You’re sure he’s not the rule and I’ve yet to meet the exception?”

  He shrugged. “In either case, someone is Patrick’s opposite.”

  “Touché! I’ll learn not to debate with a magician, somehow my point vanished into thin air.” She made fluttering motions in the air with her outstretched hand, like a bird flying away.

  Steven captured her hand and brushed the fingertips with his lips. “A true gentleman never permits the lady to keep her anger, n’est-ce pas?” he said, assuming a French accent. “It would not be—how you say—the good manners, mon cher. Good the color, she comes back into to the cheeks! It is a good sign, non?”

  “A good sign of what?” she asked.

  “That there may be hope for me.” He winked. His eyes twinkled mischievously, and Kayla’s pulse quickened. She jerked her hand away.

  “So what is next on the agenda?” Steven asked.

  Kayla opened her notebook. “I need to visit the fort, and then stop at a few beaches before heading back to the ship. It’s all deadly boring stuff.”

  Steven gestured for the waiter, digging into his pocket for a money clip. “Sounds capital. My rented Jeep is waiting in the car park. Let’s be off, shall we?”

  Kayla wanted to refuse the offer but as he helped her to her feet, she said, “Okay. If you’re determined to come along, don’t say I didn’t warn you about boredom.”

  “I’m quite keen on history and attractive company relieves boredom.”

  At the fort, Steven impressed Kayla with his knowledge of local military history, pointing out half-buried relics. He said, “People dismiss St. Martin’s military sites due to her quiet history, but wars are not always won on the battlefield. The troops stationed at this fort were separated from their families, endured a hot climate and foreign culture. They were ready to lay down their lives in defense of their country.”

  Kayla said, “Were you a soldier?”

  He shrugged. “Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it? Let’s dispel this serious mood with a visit to the nicest beach on the island—a beach you’ve never seen.”

  Kayla held up her guide. “Really? I’ve written about all the nice beaches.”

  “This beach is not in there, I’ve checked.”

  “You read my book?” she asked.

  Ignoring the question, he said, “Stuck here for two weeks on a layover, I spent time exploring. One day I ventured down a dirt road filled with more potholes than gravel and discovered a delightful cove. Promise me that this place won’t appear in print or I refuse to take you. I couldn’t bear to find the beach littered with white-bellied puffers in striped Bermuda shorts.”

  She laughed. “Neither would I. Your secret beach will never see print.”

  After a hair-raising ride down a dilapidated road, Kayla appreciated the quiet beauty of the forgotten beach. The small bay looked picture perfect—a half-moon cove of pristine white sand and bright blue water surrounded by feathery palms. She felt mesmerized by the view of the rolling waves breaking over a nearby reef. The best part of this paradise was solitude—no shopping plazas, condominiums, sunbathers, or tourists to disturb the serenity.

  “Wow,” she said.

  “I stocked the boot of the Jeep with refreshments.” Steven grinned, opened the trunk, and produced a bottle of chilled wine and two glasses.

  Kayla arched an eyebrow. “You certainly plan ahead.”

  “Boy Scouts. I spent my youth learning to be prepared, you understand. Do you like it?”

  “I didn’t know there were Boy Scouts in England.” Kayla sipped the clear liquid. “It’s delicious, light and fruity.
”

  “I meant my beach.” He gestured at the landscape with his wineglass. “Isn’t it brilliant?”

  “Absolutely brilliant! It’s much too good for the common tourist.”

  “Then make a solemn pact. We won’t tell.” He touched his glass against hers and took a gulp.

  “We won’t tell.” She tried to look serious.

  He kissed her.

  His warm lips felt soft, sensual. The kiss, swift and urgent, electrified Kayla with a quivering lust that spread like quicksilver. Parting her lips, she tasted the sweet flavor of wine, pressed against his hard body, and hungered to feel his hands roam over her skin.

  She felt tempted to take the kiss deeper, but abruptly pulled away.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to…uh…I’m ever so sorry.” He looked too pleased to be sorry.

  Shocked by the intensity of her reaction, Kayla bit her lower lip to erase the lingering sensation of his touch. Had she been celibate too long? Surely the romantic setting, the affect of the wine, lured her to surrender to unexpected passion. Her body ached with a desire more powerful than she’d ever felt for Patrick. What was wrong with her? She barely knew this man!

  Gazing at the sea, Steven pointed at the bay. “Give a look at the pelicans in those rocks.”

  Kayla noticed his muscles flex and his dark hair glowed with a reddish luster in the sunlight. Shading her eyes she focused on the shoals at the end of the beach. Jagged rocks formed a calm alcove where pelicans bobbed peacefully on the water like decoys.

  Steven said, “Watch! He’s getting ready.”

  A pelican launched from its craggy perch, wings arched against a gust of wind that lifted the ungainly bird. Hovering in the air the bird looked graceful, moving with subtle shifts of wing, riding thermals over the calm eddy of water. Abruptly the pelican folded its wings, pointed its wedge-shaped head, and dropped headlong into the shallows with wings slightly opened. The large bird slammed into water, and then flapped to right itself.