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

  Why does the toothpick matter? If Patrick died of a drug overdose why did the police want to know about his toothpick?

  Through the door Kayla heard the young bridegroom complain, “We missed the ship! How are we going to get back on board? We never met that man before today!”

  The Aurora sailed without them!

  Feeling abandoned the tears started flowing again. She sobbed, unable to answer more questions. Flustered, the policeman led Kayla back into the main room where Genny tried to comfort her.

  Emily stood, straightened her skirt and took control. “This won’t do, officer. We cooperated and answered all your questions. I won’t have you browbeating my employees and my passengers any longer.”

  When Kayla first saw Emily at the captain’s party, she’d cast her as the Irish spitfire Maureen O’Hara. Now Emily resembled the character even more. “I’m Chairman of the Board on a cruise line responsible for millions in commerce into island coffers. Your superiors don’t want you to make me unhappy, so get me a phone. I have arrangements to make to join our ship.”

  Like an efficient businesswoman, Emily organized a morning flight to Guadeloupe, booked rooms for everyone, and demanded the police release them. Genny drove the bedraggled troop to their hotel. Emily insisted Kayla share her room and ordered a light supper. Once they closed the door to their room, Emily collapsed on the bed.

  “I hate acting like a rich bitch,” she said. “I maintain an executive should never push people around simply because they have money, but I had to do something.”

  “We all appreciate it,” Kayla said. “Heaven only knows when they’d stop grilling us if you didn’t step in. Thanks.”

  When food arrived, neither woman could swallow more than a few bites.

  As she turned down the cover on one of the twin beds, Emily said, “Get some rest, Kayla. You look ready to pass out.”

  Kayla lay shivering under the light covers as her mental newsreel flashed pictures of the day through an exhausted mind…Patrick confronting her on the path near the fort…the van following them through Dominica…the planned mutiny’s success at the restaurant…the swim to the gorge… Patrick picking his teeth and falling dead at her feet…finally she drifted into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter 5 ~ Thursday — Guadeloupe

  Kayla woke feeling feverish. In the dim light she saw Emily lying in the other bed, still dressed in a crumpled summer frock. When Kayla reached for her handbag, Emily sat up, startled.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Kayla apologized.

  “It’s okay. I wake every time the floor creaks.”

  Kayla nodded. “I dreamed about the panic in his eyes as he died. I’d rather be awake talking with you. What time is it?”

  Emily turned on the bedside lamp and pushed at her crumpled hairdo. “Six a.m.”

  “Good, we’ll be out of here soon.” Kayla pulled the elastic tie from her disheveled ponytail and combed fingers through her loose hair. “Why do you think the police kept asking when we saw Patrick using the toothpick from his knife?”

  “He was poisoned. They found toxin from a South American Poison Dart Frog on the plastic toothpick he clutched in his fingers. The poison kills quickly. Since we saw him use the toothpick at the restaurant without a problem, the police assume the killer placed poison on the toothpick during our swim to the gorge.”

  “Wow!” It felt like a heavy weight pressed on Kayla’s chest. “How’d you find out?”

  “I read lips.” Emily combed her hair and applied fresh makeup. “My father was deaf so I learned sign language and lip reading as I grew up. The skill’s been useful in business. Last night I watched the police talk with each other. When I realized we were suspects, I got us all out of there.”

  Kayla brushed her hair and wound a tie over her fresh ponytail. “How’d they discover the poison so fast?”

  “Someone died on Barbados from the same toxin, so the medical examiner recognized the symptoms,” Emily explained.

  Kayla remembered a headline from the newspaper in Puerto Rico. “Did they find Patrick’s knife?”

  Emily nodded. “In his jacket pocket but the fingerprints were smudged.”

  Kayla tried to remember the scene at the restaurant. Jillian held the knife until Bryanne took it and shoved it back into Patrick’s jacket pocket seconds later. There was no time to substitute a toothpick or apply poison, and how would they know there would be a chance to do so?

  “Maybe someone tampered with the knife while Patrick went swimming,” Kayla said.

  Emily frowned. “Who?”

  Kayla shrugged. “I saw a van follow us yesterday, and we didn’t exactly guard his clothes. Anyone could spot his safari outfit hanging over the rocks.”

  “You think the killer followed us to plant the poison?” Emily shivered. “Who’d want to kill Patrick?”

  “Patrick made plenty of enemies, mostly women.” She wondered how many people were involved in the mutiny scheme.

  She said, “We need to get back to the ship. When’s our flight?”

  Emily checked her watch. “We leave at eight, so we’ve got time for breakfast.”

  “Good. I’m suddenly starving.”

  On the short flight from Dominica to Guadeloupe Kayla considered her next move. She and Shannon would be prime suspects, so she needed to organize a private investigation and unearth the real culprit fast.

  Back on board the Aurora, the staff besieged them with questions. Emily and Kayla had already agreed to tell everyone the official story about a drug overdose, so they claimed fatigue and begged off answering more questions. Kayla headed straight to the Purser’s Office to find Shannon.

  “I’m so glad to see you!” Shannon exclaimed as Kayla closed the door. “I was shocked to hear about Patrick.”

  “Were you?” Kayla asked sarcastically. “Or was this all part of your mutiny?”

  “You can’t mean that!” Shannon’s eyes widened and tears threatened to spill down her pale cheeks. “We’d never kill Patrick. Getting him fired was enough.”

  “I know.” Kayla stroked Shannon’s shoulder as she hugged her friend. “We still need a meeting of the conspirators right away.”

  Shannon picked at her pink fingernail polish. “Why? We decided to quit the plan now everything’s gone so wrong.”

  “I trust you.” Kayla sighed and sat on a stiff office chair. “When the police uncover your mutiny, they might assume that killing Patrick was a part of the plan, so everyone involved could find themselves locked away in a Caribbean jail. We need to uncover better suspects, quick.”

  “Thanks for trusting me.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Things might unravel and make us both look guilty. Let’s get moving!”

  Within the hour Kayla met three women with somber faces in Shannon’s cabin. As Shannon introduced the conspirators, Kayla felt she was surrounded by the beautiful women characters from the old Ally McBeal TV show.

  Shannon said, “You’ve met Bryanne. Patrick seduced her rich aunt Jillian, who gave him a lot of money. Bryanne wanted to discredit Patrick in front of her aunt before he could siphon off more of Bryanne’s future inheritance.”

  “Jillian was the woman at the restaurant?” Kayla asked.

  Bryanne nodded.

  Shannon continued, “Elena Castillo runs our gift shop. Elena’s cousin Vickie works as a purser on the Antares under Enrico Segundia. His sexual harassment made life miserable for Vickie. She videotaped Enrico’s behavior and threatened to send the tape to his family. Enrico resigned yesterday.” The joke on ship was that Italian officers discarded their wedding rings as they boarded for duty; their families ignored indiscretions but refused to tolerate public scandals.

  “Maxine works as a dancer on several ships.”

  Kayla said, “Okay! Let’s make a list of everyone involved with the mutiny. We must include all the names of people who might simply know about the plan.” She drew headings on a sheet of paper.

  Shannon
said, “Shera Devries, the bookkeeper on the Casseopeia conducted a private audit on Parker Thomas’s records.”

  Kayla started writing.

  Bryanne said, “Jaquie Ludlow is a purser on the Andromeda. She was eager to catch Jefferson Chadwick dealing drugs so she enlisted another purser, Jeremy Clarke in the scheme.”

  “Right you are,” Maxine added. “My friend Paula was right eager to help but I don’t know about anyone else.”

  “Elena?” Kayla asked.

  “I only got involved to keep my cousin Vickie from quitting. Her boyfriend, Steven Young, helped her set up the hidden camera.”

  “Steven?” A hard knot formed in Kayla’s chest.

  “He helped Vickie learn to operate the video equipment, and then she did the rest on her own,” Elena replied.

  “We’ve already got too many people on the list. Who knows how many more heard about the scheme, since cruise ship gossip is epidemic.” Kayla twisted a piece of hair.

  Shannon said, “It was a big operation, but we didn’t know anyone would murder Patrick.”

  “Murder?” Maxine asked wide-eyed. “Patrick died of a drug overdose, right?”

  “No.” Kayla shook her head. “The police found Poison Dart Frog toxin on the toothpick from his special knife.”

  Elena gasped.

  Kayla turned to the girl. “Do you know anything about this?”

  “Poison Dart Frogs come from South America and parts of Costa Rica where I grew up. Natives rub the poison onto hunting darts. It’s deadly.”

  “How could the murderer get the poison?” Kayla asked.

  Elena blinked. “A friend of mine collects the frogs and lives here on Guadeloupe.”

  “Good. Arrange for me to meet with him today. Everyone should speak with people who knew about the mutiny and get names of anyone they told. We need answers before the police learn about the mutiny.”

  While Elena called for an appointment with the frog collector, Kayla followed Bryanne outside. “I didn’t want to interrogate you in front of the others.”

  “I know,” Bryanne said. “You want to hear about my part in arranging Patrick’s downfall.”

  “What will the police find out about you and Patrick?” Kayla said bluntly. “Shannon doesn’t deserve to be implicated in this.”

  Bryanne leaned against the railing and her narrow shoulders sagged. “Patrick was my lover.” She uncurled her fingers and looked at a black knife in her hand. Thick brown hair swung forward like a curtain, covering her face.

  “He gave this to me as a token of our friendship. I used the tweezers in his knife to pluck my eyebrows, so he gave it to me as a token of…” A tear trickled down her cheek. “He pursued Aunt Jillian when he learned that she controlled our family money.”

  Kayla nodded. “It sounds like a good motive for murder.”

  Bryanne’s large brown eyes pleaded. “I wouldn’t murder Patrick. I had the idea to discredit Patrick in front of Aunt Jillian. The plan worked so he didn’t need to die!”

  “Let’s hope the police agree,” Kayla said.

  Bryanne rubbed the golden snake on the shiny black casing. “Yesterday, when he gave a duplicate of this knife to Aunt Jillian, I blew up. He must own dozens of these knives, all part of his con game.” She lifted her arm to toss the knife overboard, but Kayla stopped her.

  “Don’t! You may need to show this knife to the police, prove it wasn’t the murder weapon.”

  Bryanne grimaced. “Oh! I didn’t think. Everyone in the restaurant saw me shove the knife into Patrick’s pocket. The police could claim I substituted the poisoned knife for this one.”

  Kayla said, “Keep this knife in a safe place. It might be important evidence.”

  Bryanne slipped the knife into her pocket. “Okay, thanks.”

  Don’t thank me, Kayla thought, it might help clear the rest of us. How many knives did Patrick pass out over the years? I saw two at the show, he gave one to me—it’s still in my jewelry box in Colorado—and one to Bryanne. How many others might be floating around the ship?

  She saw Elena beckon from the gangway. “I’ve got to go. We’ll talk more, later.” At the bottom of the steps, Kayla glanced up. Bryanne’s bleak expression startled her. The girl looked ready to jump! She felt relieved when Bryanne pushed away from the railing, wiped her eyes, and walked into the ship.

  Elena waited at the foot of the gangplank. Petite, barely five feet tall, with sleek black hair hanging to her waist, Elena attracted vulgar hoots from raucous seamen on the dock. Her chocolate-colored eyes looked startled, like a frightened deer caught in a car’s headlights, but she ignored the catcalls, striding with dignity past the men. The taxi driver smirked at the vulgar French wisecracks. Kayla felt like slugging him. When Elena announced their destination in fluent French, her voice sounded like smooth butter, unaffected by the crass rabble.

  They rode in a Mercedes Benz, the standard vehicle used as taxis on Guadeloupe. Franklin Riegert lived in the shadow of La Soufriére volcano outside of the coastal town of Ste.-Marie. The luxurious taxi sped past cultivated fields filled with neat rows of sugarcane and banana stalks. Farmers waged a constant battle with nature, pushing back the jungle that encroached on valuable crops along the rugged slopes rising to the smoky pinnacle of La Soufriére.

  Franklin Riegert’s estate resembled a Gothic castle, complete with stone turrets, parapets, gargoyles, and a replica drawbridge entry. Kayla took a moment to snap a photograph. She expected a butler to answer the somber doorbell, but Franklin Riegert opened the massive door himself.

  Tall and thin, Riegert harmonized perfectly with the archaic environment. He exemplified Old World elegance. Kayla cast him as Ricardo Montalban greeting visitors to Fantasy Island, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit and tie. The dark blue pinstripe accented his neat gray haircut.

  He greeted Elena with a kiss and turned to greet Kayla with an attitude of genuine interest. Elena said, “This is Kayla Sanders, an American travel writer who is sailing on the Aurora.”

  “My pleasure.” Riegert kissed Kayla’s fingertips and she felt like royalty.

  Riegert insisted on serving tea. The women followed him into the drawing room, and Elena offered to pour. After exchanging pleasantries, she said, “Kayla would like to learn about Poison Dart Frogs, so I told her about your collection. Would you show us some examples?”

  Riegert’s eyes sparkled. “Of course, my dear, I never hesitate to present my collection to any unfortunate person who shows a trifling degree of interest.” His accent sounded European, aristocratic. “After tea I’ll conduct a complete tour of my conservatory.”

  Kayla sipped her tea, trying to appear well-mannered, but impatience made her gulp the last swallow. He led them into a greenhouse filled by an astounding variety of tropical plants and three large glass enclosures mounted on pedestals at eye level. The steamy terrariums housed miniature rain forests, filled with exotic flowering vines and broad-leafed plants.

  Riegert gestured at the enclosures. “I try to replicate a natural habitat for my petite friends. Only the astute observer sees them.” He approached one jewel-like structure.

  “These exquisite creatures from South America are beautiful but deadly.” He pointed at a patch of color on a trembling vine. Kayla spotted a small frog with vibrant yellow stripes over dark blue skin. The tiny creature looked benign, hardly a deadly reptile.

  “It’s so cute,” Kayla remarked. “How does it deliver poison?”

  “The toxin is a defensive mechanism secreted through tiny pores in the skin like sweat. If a predator bites a frog, the chemicals rapidly paralyze and suffocate the attacker. Sometimes the frog walks away from the encounter. I once found a snake lying dead with a frog bulging in its body.”

  Kayla shivered. “A frog doesn’t attack?”

  Riegert’s lips curled into an amused smile. “No, frogs are docile creatures that use vivid colors to warn predators away. Natives use frog toxin on blow darts, hence the common name of th
e species, Poison Dart Frog. Warriors capture frogs using small slip nooses on long poles, and rub darts over the creature’s skin to create the most powerful weapon in their arsenal. The poison on a dart can remain virulent for over a year. He pointed at the yellow and blue frog. “This Colombian specimen, the Phyllabates Terribilis exudes a powerful alkaloid compound similar to cocaine, morphine, or curare. The toxin induces muscle contractions and abrupt heart failure, symptoms often mistaken for a drug overdose. If a native accidentally touches a frog, he quickly washes and prays.”

  “How do natives eat the game they kill with the darts?” Elena asked. “Wouldn’t the poison remain in the animal’s bloodstream?”

  “That question fascinates scientists. Natives cut out exposed flesh from game, but in truth the meat is tainted. Natives might acquire partial immunity to the toxin, perhaps from birth drinking mother’s milk or in the womb. There are documented cases of European children living in the jungle who developed a similar immunity after surviving a strong fever from exposure to toxic meat.”

  He shrugged. “I could go on for hours but I’d bore you.”

  “No. I’m fascinated,” Kayla said. “This is an extraordinary exhibit.”

  Riegert beamed. “I studied at the National Aquarium in Baltimore, Maryland, investigating medical properties of the toxin. In my small way I continue experiments to learn why the toxin diminishes in captive frogs.”

  “Diminishes?” Elena asked.

  “Toxin levels decrease during prolonged captivity. At frequent intervals, scientists must collect new frogs to study. Diet or stimulation from fear may be the cause; therefore I conduct a controlled experiment. The frogs in the first enclosure eat a diet of fire ants and other insects found in their natural habitat while the frogs in the second one receive periodic stimulants to induce anxiety. The third enclosure contains control specimens which receive no special treatment. I periodically test each group to track levels of toxicity.”