Murder Caribbean-Style (High Seas Mystery Series Book 1) Page 6

  “Oh!” Kayla said, “That looked awkward. I thought he’d get stuck in the mud, it looks so shallow.”

  “He gets the job done.” The pelican tilted its head back and a bulge appeared in its pouch. “See, he snagged a fish. Another one’s taking off.”

  Kayla and Steven leaned on their elbows in the cool sand. The sun warmed their skin as they sipped wine and watched the aerial entertainment. Kayla giggled each time a pelican plopped into the water. She loosened her ponytail and her gossamer hair floated in the breeze.

  Steven asked, “How did you start working on the cruise line? I don’t meet many Americans working onboard ships.”

  Kayla nodded. “Corporate America pays better but I wanted to travel. My major in college was Hospitality—you know learning to manage hotels and restaurants. During school I worked as a restaurant hostess, a front desk hotel clerk, and as a bartender at parties. By the time I graduated, I craved a different experience. A recruiter at a college job fair convinced me to apply. I imagined the work would be glamorous.”

  “Were you disappointed?”

  Kayla laughed. “During my first contract I swore I’d quit a hundred times, but I learned to enjoy the work. I was good at it. My gift is organization, as a perfectionist it’s my passion, so I can whip an office into shape and organize a schedule. One year turned into four and then I fell in love.”

  “You’d never fallen in love before?”

  Kayla frowned. “I had boyfriends but never got serious. Old flames became good friends, because I wasn’t ready for commitment. I had things to accomplish, places to visit, before I could settle down.

  “My parents were in love. As a teenager I felt embarrassed to see them mooning over each other. On the surface I understood how difficult love could be, realized that the parents of all my friends were divorced or remarried. They were the exception that proved the rule, so I figured I’d be an exception when I found true love. I didn’t know love could be a one-way street filled with potholes.”

  Steven asked, “Why did you write a travel guide?”

  “After six years of getting passed over for promotion, I took the reins into my own hands and confronted headquarters. It became clear women could never hold high rank positions, so I quit. It gave me another good excuse to escape from the pain of a failed romance.

  “My parents lived in Colorado and took me in without question. They encouraged me to use my work experience, and I decided to write a guidebook for cruise ship passengers. While nursing mental wounds, I skied, worked part-time jobs to pay the bills, and got published. It took four years to build up the courage to come back, but Shannon finally convinced me, bribed me with a book signing party.

  “God! I’m telling you my whole life story.” Kayla checked her watch. “We should be getting back.”

  “I’d love to hold you captive until you missed the ship. Wouldn’t you enjoy being stranded with me?” Steven wiggled his eyebrows. Tossing a handful of sand at him, Kayla ran to the car, secretly wishing she could stay on this beach forever.

  As Steven returned the rental car to the agency a block from the Phillipsburg pier, Kayla waited on a bench in a quiet plaza, daydreaming about the beach and Steven’s kiss. Startled from her reverie by angry voices, she peeked around a nearby wall.

  Patrick leaned over a table in an open-air bar. “Chadwick, you’re an idiot!” He jabbed at a map spread out on the table. “You bloody coward! I sat waiting while you dumped our cargo! Our suppliers won’t condone losing valuable merchandise. My plan was perfectly safe.”

  His face red with anger, Chadwick looked ready to swing clenched fists. “Safe? You ever see the inside of a Caribbean jail? It was a trap! I won’t risk jail time for anybody’s merchandise. Somebody tipped off the coppers and they were waiting for me.”

  Patrick’s steely eyes narrowed. “I can’t afford to work with a coward who dumps inventory if he gets a wee bit scared.”

  “You are not listening! The cops picked me up and searched my bag! It’s lucky I wasn’t carrying—lucky for me and lucky for you, partner!”

  “Okay, okay! Plan the next drop yourself. You pick the time and location then you’ll feel safe enough to complete the job!”

  Chadwick’s eyes blinked. “You bet I will.”

  Patrick leaned closer to Chadwick. “If you ever go down, boyo, you’ll keep your bleeding mouth shut! You hear me? The blokes I deal with hate informers. You’d be happier spending your days in a Caribbean jail than falling into their hands! Get my drift?”

  When Steven touched her shoulder, Kayla jumped. “Doing a little spying?” he asked.

  “Shush,” she whispered, dragging Steven around the corner. “It’s Patrick and Chadwick! They’re talking about a failed drug deal. I’m sure of it.”

  Steven frowned. “Stay clear of it, Kayla.”

  She pushed her fists against her hips. “It’s illegal as hell! Someone’s got to tell the police.”

  Steven cocked his head. “Tell them what? You overheard a conversation that might be about drugs? Hearsay can’t be used in court, and you’d be putting yourself in grave danger. I’ve got police contacts. Let me see what I can do without getting you involved.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Kayla twisted a strand of hair. “Can you really get the police to check this out?”

  “Island authorities are fanatics about catching drug dealers. If we point them in the right direction, they’ll work diligently to nab these blokes.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. I’d better get back to the ship. I’ve a book signing session scheduled tonight.” They walked briskly down the pier, avoiding the pleas of vendors who hoped for a last-minute sale.

  “We’ll be parting company here, luv. I transfer to the Andromeda for my next show. Will you miss me?” he asked. He brushed a shock of rusty brown hair away from his eyes.

  “I don’t know you well enough to miss you.”

  “That is something I intend to change, luv.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers and kissed her gently.

  Heat surged through her body. She blinked in surprise and climbed into the tender to quash the urge to fling herself into his arms. Glancing at the pier, she saw Steven grinning.

  “Good luck on your book sales,” he shouted.

  “Thanks.” She tried not to blush.

  “My show on the Aurora is Thursday night. I’ll reserve you a front table and work on a special illusion. It will be absolutely spectacular!” He executed a stage bow as the tender drifted away from the dock.

  As she ate dinner in the crew mess with Shannon, Kayla found herself thinking about Steven. He aroused dormant passions that frightened her. Was she afraid of Steven or afraid of herself? Handsome, bright, and sexy, Steven appeared honestly attracted to her. What was wrong with that?

  She noticed Patrick at another table. A familiar ache formed in her chest. Violated by Patrick’s betrayal, she felt suspicious about any man’s attention. I wish I’d never met you, she thought.

  Patrick’s gaze met hers. He stood, pushed his chair from the table, and walked in her direction. Kayla looked away, pretending an interest in the conversation at the table. Patrick strode arrogantly past their table, stopping to greet an attractive woman nearby. He cast a sidelong glance at Kayla, smirked, and headed toward the door.

  Shannon asked in a louder than normal voice, “So, Kayla. How was your date with Steven today?” Patrick paused briefly at the door to allow another officer entry.

  “Delightful,” Kayla answered, “he’s the most interesting man I’ve met in years, clever and extremely good-looking.”

  Patrick slithered out the door.

  Kayla’s stomach tightened and she lowered her voice. “I’m attracted to Steven, but after Patrick’s antics, I feel terrified of being hurt.”

  “You know what they say about falling off a bicycle?”

  “Sure, learn to drive a car,” Kayla said, making Shannon frown.

  Kayla sighed and headed toward the d
oor. “We’d better get our display set up, or I won’t sell any books.”

  Shannon followed her into the corridor. “Oh, you’ll sell books. I organized a group of volunteers and distributed flyers to every cabin on the ship. I hope you brought enough copies to fill the demand.”

  “My publisher sent several cases, clearing out inventory for the new update,” Kayla replied.

  “Good, then we’ll get to bed early. I want you to be fresh for tomorrow.”

  Kayla asked, “What’s happening on Dominica? I can’t stand another surprise.”

  “You must be a big hit at Christmas.” Shannon combed pink fingernails through her thick mane of golden hair. Eyes sparkling, she flashed a coquettish grin. “I promise you’ll know everything soon.”

  “I feel like I’m stomping through a mine field,” Kayla responded, growing tired of Shannon’s obscure hints.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow night, if you’re not too tired.” Shannon sauntered down the hall.

  Kayla quickened her pace, sure that the mutiny would strike on Dominica. It’s about time she learned what dirty tricks Shannon planned!

  That night she dropped exhausted into bed after a successful evening signing autographs on sold books. She tried to run her mental newsreel. Thoughts of selling books and worry about the great mutiny were pushed aside by images of Steven. Her lips tingled with the memory of his kiss, and her body ached with the promise of meeting him Thursday night. Was it such a bad idea to enjoy a shipboard romance?

  Chapter 4 ~ Wednesday — Dominica

  Kayla felt exhilarated. She sold her entire supply of books and looked forward to a tidy profit after paying for the printing. Her hectic research on St. Thomas and Sint Maarten was finished, so she planned to enjoy the slow pace of Dominica with its tranquil beauty and unspoiled tropical scenery. As a bonus, she’d witness the outcome of Shannon’s mutiny plan against Patrick. She hoped the plan would succeed. He really deserved punishment for his many transgressions.

  The Aurora docked at Cabrits—a modern port built specifically for docking cruise ships situated in Portsmouth Bay at the northern end of the large island. In anticipation of her trip, Kayla had called ahead to schedule a special itinerary for touring Dominica, but she was an hour early. She stopped at the purser’s desk where Andy Thompson manned the desk alone.

  “Is Shannon here?” she asked.

  “No. She’s filing port papers with customs,” Andy answered, pushing thick glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a freckled forefinger.

  “How about Bryanne?”

  Andy shook his head, spilling a shock of red hair over his glasses. He reminded Kayla of a young Ron Howard with a full head of hair. “She’s taken the day off, out sightseeing with her aunt.”

  Kayla grinned. She’d been right; the mutiny was in full swing. “Too bad. I’ll just leave a thank you note for last night. Shannon certainly outdid herself, and I appreciate all those flyers the staff passed out. It did the trick.”

  Blushing, Andy dropped his eyes as Kayla slid the note across the counter. “We’re glad to help.”

  Turning to leave, she scanned the lobby, a large area with a two-story ceiling, a grand piano, and intimate groupings of comfortable chairs near low coffee tables. Her stomach clenched when she saw Patrick drinking coffee, alone. He lifted his cup in greeting, his piercing gaze riveted on her. Kayla nodded, grabbed her bag and fled the area. Why did Patrick turn up now? Shouldn’t he be out falling into Shannon’s trap?

  At the bottom of the gangway, Kayla paused to gaze at the escarpment above the dock. Fort Shirley sat atop the bluff, an irregular black outline silhouetted against a cloudless blue sky. She checked her watch and decided to take an easy morning walk through the ruins. Once on top she wandered through the lonely stone skeleton, a solitary tourist taking photos of the ship and Portsmouth Bay.

  From her lofty perch on top of the dungeon walls, Kayla surveyed the vast expanse of Dominica’s high country. In contrast to relatively flat coral islands, Dominica resembled a collection of craggy mountains plucked from the heart of the Alps and dumped into the ocean by some mischievous giant. Kayla felt a pang of homesickness for the snow-covered mountains of Colorado.

  Rusty cannons stood sentinel along Fort Shirley’s moss-covered skeleton of chiseled rock. Ghostly breezes whispered eerie tales of slavery and revolt, of soldiers marching through a jungle filled with twisting ravines, and of hostile Carib Indians stalking their prey through dense foliage. A twig snapped. Leaves chattered over cobblestones as a gust of wind whipped them into a miniature tornado, and a tree branch tapped an eerie warning overhead. Kayla suddenly felt sure someone was watching.

  Glancing around, she felt vulnerable, wandering alone through the ruins. Trying to walk with a normal pace, Kayla headed back down the deserted path, but her pace quickened into a near run as she yearned to reach the safety of the cruise ship pier. A man stepped from behind a tree and blocked her path.

  Patrick!

  Dressed in khaki shorts, a flowery shirt under a starched safari jacket, Patrick struck a rakish pose. “You’re so predictable! I knew you wanted me to follow you.” His lips curled into a seductive smile she remembered all too well.

  Relieved, Kayla laughed. “It’s only you.”

  Patrick frowned.

  Having recently awakened old memories, Kayla scrutinized her old lover. His smoky gray eyes—once sparkling with life and amusement—looked tired, cold, and shifty. His crisp new clothes looked like a costume. When had Patrick mutated from a mischievous clown who mimicked pompous snobs into the self-absorbed dandy he once parodied? This man fell short of the Patrick from her memories.

  “What happened to make you change so drastically?” she asked. “You aren’t the same man I once loved.”

  Patrick scowled. “Don’t try your psychological mumbo jumbo on me,” he snapped, stormy eyes narrowing. “It’s over, Kayla. Can’t you comprehend that?” He whirled and bolted down the path without a backward glance.

  As Patrick marched down the hill, Kayla unclenched her fists and took a deep, satisfied breath. Elated by the successful confrontation, she strolled down the hill at a leisurely pace, eager to meet the tour guide.

  Kayla knew the guide added other guests to the excursion but felt surprised to see that Patrick waited to board the minivan parked near the gangplank. Why would Patrick book an island tour? He despised organized tours, scorned hiking, and loathed nature. When Emily Schultz descended the gangplank appearing cool and chic in a flowery summer dress, oversized straw hat, and sandals, Kayla understood. Emily was the bait in the great mutiny.

  Assuming his best smile, his voice oozing phony charm, Patrick said, “Emily, are you booked on this tour?”

  “Why, yes, I am,” she replied innocently. “The shore excursion department assured me this would be a comprehensive and educational tour of the island.” Kayla wondered if Emily knew what was going to happen.

  “Yes, I heard that the author arranged the itinerary herself,” Patrick said.

  What a sleaze, Kayla thought. He just made a play for me but planned to pursue Emily five minutes later.

  “I’ve got my personalized copy of your book,” Emily said to Kayla and waved a familiar book. “Which itinerary did you choose?”

  With a forced smile, Kayla kept her gaze trained on Emily to avoid snarling at Patrick. “We’ll drive through the mountainous interior, stop at the Carib Indian Reserve, and hike to Trafalgar Falls before lunch. After lunch we’ll swim to Ti-Tou Gorge if the weather holds. I hope the activity won’t be too strenuous for you in this heat and humidity.”

  Thumbing through the guide, Emily shrugged. “Oh, I’m not bothered by heat. I have a home in Florida, hike often, and wore a swimsuit under my dress. This tour sounds perfect. When do we leave?”

  Genny, the tour guide, climbed out of the minivan. “We’re waiting for two more guests before we leave.”

  Kayla boarded the bus, choosing the seat opposite the driver. Patrick c
limbed in after Emily and plopped onto the bench seat next to her. He draped the crisp safari jacket over the back of Kayla’s seat and chatted with Emily. The final guests, a honeymoon couple, sat in the back and giggled when the van swayed around sharp curves.

  Genny looked exotic—statuesque and slender with golden skin, amber eyes, and jet-black hair cut in a severe short style. A descendant of French, African, and Spanish ancestors, Kayla thought that Genny looked more like Tyra Banks, the fashion model, than a wilderness tour guide. But she knew Genny was an island expert who spoke fluent French, island patois, and English with a beguiling accent.

  Kayla glanced into the rearview mirror. Another minivan followed at a distance, and she felt a twinge of excitement. Was someone getting ready to spring the trap on Patrick?

  During the drive Genny described the Indian population. “Caribs have short, compact bodies with broad faces like American Indians and Eskimos. Nearly exterminated by European armies on other islands, the Caribs disappeared into Dominica’s deep jungle to survive. Many runaway plantation slaves found shelter with the tribe. Our government granted land to the Caribs as a reserve where the Indians farm, fish, carve canoes from hollow trees, and weave baskets for sale.”

  She parked the van inside a Carib village. “These people are very shy. They won’t bargain with tourists but they know me. I’ll help you shop.” She picked up a hollow woven cylinder, shaped like a corncob about twelve inches long and open at one end.

  “This is a wife catcher. The Caribs once used wife-catchers to steal women from Arawak villages. Arawak women were highly valued because they were tall and strong. Let me demonstrate.” Genny turned to the newlyweds. “A warrior grabbed a woman’s hand, slipped this on, and let the woman struggle. As she fought the coils squeezed tighter, so she couldn’t escape. Try pulling.”

  The bride tugged and the woven tube constricted.

  Genny asked, “You ever see Chinese handcuffs? It’s a similar idea, but the Caribs invented this contraption without outside influence. Push against the weaving until it loosens enough to get out.”