Afoot on St. Croix (Mystery in the Islands) (25 page)

Key Lime Pie

MIRA STOOD ON
the villa’s front porch, carefully positioned beneath the eaves to keep from being soaked. Through the sheeting water running off the roof, she watched a taxi driver load her suitcase along with those of three of her four children into a van bound for the Christiansted seaplane hangar.

The children were already inside the vehicle, Elena and Hassan strapped into their seats, Jack stubbornly refusing to secure his belt until the last second before departure.

The driver hefted the final piece of luggage into the van’s rear cargo area and wiped the rain from his forehead.

“Anything else, ma’am?” he asked, plucking at his wet shirt, which was plastered against his chest.

Mira glanced back toward the house and shook her head. She had taken what she needed; the rest she was ready to leave behind.

Gathering up the folds of the black cloak, she hurried from the eaves to the van. The driver ushered her into the front passenger seat and closed the door.

As the driver hurried around to the opposite side, she smoothed the black fabric that covered her lap. She had decided to wear the cloak and headscarf one last time. The concealment, combined with the deference it commanded, might just come in handy on her way out of town.

The seaplane personnel had seen her come and go on these inter-island flights with regularity. Many of the counter staff appeared uncomfortable with the cloak and its religious implications, and they gave her a wide berth. Given the nature of this particular departure, the fewer questions asked the better.

Once she reached Charlotte Amalie, she could easily discard the cloak’s outer layer. Beneath the dark covering, a sleeveless green dress, similar to the one from the previous day, was waiting to make its St. Thomas debut.

Her feet, of course, were adorned in the dazzling green shoes, the same pair she’d worn at the start of her marriage. It seemed only fitting that she finished off the union in similar fashion.

Besides, given the evidence she’d found in her daughter’s room, she had to be prepared for the possibility that her first husband was still here on St. Croix.

With a sly smile, Mira clicked her heels together. If Charlie got in her way, she knew how to handle him.

•

THE WIND WHIPPED
the driving rain, lashing the taxi van with concentrated torrents that pounded against the metal roof and overwhelmed the windshield wipers. Puddles quickly grew into small streams that sent swirling eddies across the roadway. With jerks and starts, the van proceeded through the flooded streets, the driver braking frequently to avoid gaping potholes and downed branches.

Elena beamed gleefully out her window, chasing the path of the streaking raindrops with her fingers. She hummed to herself, incorporating the bumps from the road’s rough surface into her tune.

“I am not . . .” Bump. Bump.”. . . going to school . . .” Ka-thump. Whomp.”. . . today!”

Her younger brother had yet to match her enthusiasm for the trip.

“Where are we going?” Hassan asked again, his face pinched with concern. “And how long will we be there?”

“It’s a surprise, sweetie,” Mira replied absentmindedly, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

“What about Jessie?” he persisted.

This question received a sharper response.

“We’re going to pick her up in Christiansted,” Mira said firmly, but her pursed lips and clenched hands conveyed the uncertainty behind the statement.

•

THE RAIN BEGAN
to lessen as the van reached the seaplane terminal. The transformation from bleary to bright occurred in an instant. The sun broke through the clouds, casting rainbows over the harbor as it shone down on the Christiansted boardwalk. The driver pulled into a nearby lot, shutting down the windshield wipers long before he parked in the unloading zone.

Mira helped the two younger children out of the van as Jack assisted the driver with the luggage. Soon, the group and their bags were unloaded on the sidewalk outside the seaplane hangar.

“There, you see,” Mira said optimistically, shaking the wrinkles from her cloak. “We’re off to a marvelous start.”

“I’m afraid it’s just a temporary clearing, ma’am,” the driver replied as she handed him the fare. He glanced worriedly at the eastern horizon, where yet another dark mass loomed in the sky. “The main squall will be here within the next hour or two.”

Mira noted the approaching weather and sighed determinedly.

“With any luck, we’ll be out of here before then.”

•

AFTER CHECKING THE
luggage at the counter inside the seaplane hangar, Mira led the three children down the wet boardwalk toward the rainbow-decorated diner.

“Here,” she said, pulling a large bill from her purse. “Why don’t you guys get some lunch while I go look for Jessie.”

Elena charged inside, dragging Hassan along with her.

“I want the change,” Mira said as Jack snatched the cash from her fingers.

Raising his eyebrows in rebuke, he issued his first comment of the morning. “Babysitting fee.”

Mira smiled as she watched a waitress greet the trio and usher them to a table. Elena’s commanding voice echoed out onto the boardwalk.

“That’ll be three plates of frozen key lime pie!”

•

IT WOULD BE
the mother’s last sighting of her children.

A Fine Art

CHECKING HER WATCH,
Mira bustled up the boardwalk, frantically scanning the area for any sign of Jessie. A few pedestrians wandered along the shoreline, taking advantage of the break in the weather to find a late lunch or an early dinner, but the rain had driven the majority of the island’s vacationers back to their hotels and resorts.

Turning at the sugar mill bar, Mira sped across the coral rock path leading toward the Comanche Hotel. The black cloak billowing around her, she hurried past the base of the swimming pool and through the tunnel running beneath the second floor pavilion.

She had only one clear idea of where to search. She wasn’t sure what she would do if she didn’t find her daughter or some clue to her whereabouts inside room seventeen.

It had taken her ten years to finally decide to leave this island, but she wasn’t prepared to give up Jessie in the process.

•

MINUTES LATER, MIRA
swept into the hotel’s reception area. She rushed up to the front desk, relieved at the sight of the man working behind its mahogany counter. Her long-serving accomplice had successfully switched shifts with the woman who regularly worked during the afternoon.

“Is he still here?” she panted, breathless from exertion. Given the urgency of the situation, she didn’t have time for a typical back-and-forth greeting.

The man seated on the opposite side of the desk leaned toward her conspiratorially. He was a tall muscular man, his dark-skinned face wooden in its near-expressionless features—a stolid match to the Comanche statue standing against the wall near the window.

“He left several hours ago,” the man whispered in a deep, barely audible voice. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one else was listening. After confirming that the reception area was empty, he added, “But he booked the room for another night.”

“Number seventeen?” Mira asked, glancing up at the ceiling.

The clerk grunted his assent.

Mira brushed back the folds of the headscarf. “And my daughter?”

“I haven’t seen her.” He paused and looked once more around the place. “One of the maids saw her leaving the note, the night I . . .” He stopped and cleared his throat. “The night I took your husband to the fort.” His rigid forehead wrinkled ever so slightly. “She must have stolen your key.”

Mira dug inside her purse and then looked up, nodding. “It’s gone.”

Wordlessly, the clerk reached into the desk and handed her a replacement set, one green-tabbed key for the second-floor access and a second key specific to room seventeen.

Mouthing a silent “Thank you,” Mira swished up the stairs.

The man sat stiffly back in his chair. His white eyes, bulging against the sharp contours of his face, followed her until she reached the second-floor balcony and disappeared around the corner.

•

AT THE HOTEL’S
top attic level, Mira raced to the end of the narrow hallway. She slid the key into the lock, pushed open the door—and let out a sigh of disappointment.

The room was empty.

Her gaze quickly passed over the lace-covered bed, the nightstand beside it, and the antique wardrobe pushed against the tallest wall, all the while trying to think of where her daughter might have gone.

The space was much the way she’d last left it—minus, of course, her ex-husband slumped unconscious on the floor.

She circled the room, looking up at the pointed ceiling and then out through the window to the narrow view of the harbor.

The soles of her shoes tapped quietly against the floor’s hard surface, her footsteps instinctively falling in a regular even pace.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

It was a well-practiced pattern, one she’d repeated numerous times over the years. Despite the dire circumstances, she let herself smile at the familiar sound and its steady, mesmerizing beat.

This room—room number seventeen—was where she had learned the fine art of hypnosis.

•

IT HAD ALL
started with Adam Rock. He had given her the first tutorials to help with her personal shopping business, just a few rudimentary mind tricks to get her enterprise off the ground. This attic floor room—hot, stuffy, and isolated—had been the perfect location for the lessons.

She was a natural, Rock had gushed as she quickly learned the basic skills. She was soon ready to try her hand on human test subjects.

The techniques were subtle but effective, easily adaptable to selling air-conditioning or high-fashion clothing, and they had worked like a charm on the cloaked women of the Muslim community.

Her first husband, however, had been a far more difficult target. His fixation with their money concerns had overwhelmed all of her psychological efforts to distract him—particularly from his credit card statements.

•

MIRA’S SMILE BROADENED
into a triumphant expression.

It wasn’t until she and Charlie met up again last Thanksgiving, years later and her skills much more advanced, that she’d been able to crack his tough subconscious. She’d brought him to this location, her training ground, for maximum advantage.

She’d been nervous at first, not sure if she could pull it off, but suddenly, there he’d been, crumpled like a wet noodle on the floor.

Each subsequent encounter had been easier, she reflected, laughing as she remembered the third instance when he’d shown up with a painter’s mask covering his nose and mouth.

The perfume, the makeup, the fancy clothes—all of that was just a distraction. The whole trick was in the sound.

Now, if he’d worn earplugs, she thought smugly, that might have been a challenge.

Charlie’s wardrobe change had been a last bit of subliminal messaging. The green shoes were a symbol of their marriage’s dissolution. As for the matching dress . . .

She shrugged as if this explanation was self-evident.

The shoes would have looked silly with cutoff camo pants.

•

SHAKING HERSELF FREE
of the memory, Mira took one last glance around the room.

She had better find Jessie soon. She didn’t want to wait for a later flight.

Her plan was to be off the island and well on her way to her new home before Kareem discovered she had moved out of the villa.

Delicious

THE GOVERNOR’S ASSISTANT
paced nervously across the wet lawn outside the tented area at the Danish plantation, anxiously gripping his cell phone. Cedric slipped into the trees at the edge of the Transfer Day ceremonies, trying to find a location with both privacy and cell-phone reception.

The Governor was heading toward the food line. He only had a couple of minutes before his absence would be noticed.

Come on
, he thought desperately.
Don’t leave me hanging. I need to know, one way or the other
.

Just then, a buzzing vibration shook his hand.

Cedric read the caller ID and frowned. The digital box carried the abbreviation for the St. Croix police headquarters.

He bit his lower lip. This was not a good sign. Tentatively, he brought the receiver to his head.

“Hello.”

“It’s Nova.”

Cedric sucked in his breath. It was definitely bad news. He looked around the wooded area, checking for potential eavesdroppers, before replying.

“And?” he whispered tensely.

“The Coconut Boys flew the coop. Left it all on me.”

Nova’s voice sounded oddly calm, considering the circumstances.

“And?” Cedric said with a gulp.

“Cops were waiting for me when I went in.”

Cedric pulled at his collar, trying to loosen the buttons cinched around his neck.

“And?” he managed to croak.

“Don’t sweat it. I’ll be out in six months.”

Cedric wiped a sweating hand across his brow. Color began returning to his face.

“Did you give them the fallback story?”

“Well, I had no other choice, did I,” Nova replied, issuing the comment as a statement of fact, not a question.

“You did the right thing,” Cedric said reassuringly, breathing out a short sigh of relief. “Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch.”

•

CEDRIC HUNG UP
the line and stood in the trees, digesting this update and pondering the implications, for both himself and his cabal of conspirators.

The brazen daytime attack on the Muslim shopkeeper, meant to provoke a destabilizing response within the island’s polarized political groups, had been defused.

The mission had changed from governmental upheaval to cleanup and regroup—in the near term, at least. There were other schemes already in the works, and his mind immediately began spinning with possibilities. But first, it was essential that he preserve his position as the Governor’s main assistant.

There was only one way to ensure he protected that cover.

Cedric punched a second number into his cell phone.

This call rang in the pocket of another Transfer Day participant, an air-conditioner salesman, who had just sat down at a picnic table, less than a hundred yards away.

•

ADAM ROCK LISTENED,
somberly, as Cedric relayed the news of the day’s sabotaged plot. The Governor’s coerced assistance would no longer be needed to ensure Mira’s speedy departure from the island. The quid pro quo Rock had extracted from the politician at their earlier breakfast meeting had been negated. With Nova in custody and Kareem still alive to ask questions, they couldn’t risk the chance that Mira might unwittingly expose their underlying scheme. The potential scandal that Rock had used to extort the favor would be put to another use, later down the line.

Now that Mira had been fingered as the culprit in her husband’s attempted murder, she was a loose end that would have to be eliminated.

If only the Coconut Boys had played their part
, Rock thought with frustration.

After pausing for a brief moment of consideration, he formulated his succinct response.

“I understand.”

Then he stood from the picnic table, leaving the food on his plate untouched, and began walking toward the parking area.

He had hoped things would work out differently with Mira. He had been looking forward to bringing her and her children to his Caribbean vacation home. It was a fabulous estate, located on an isolated island a few hundred miles away. There, they could have started a new life together, a picture-perfect family—albeit one with a few fascinating secrets.

It would have been just him, Mira, and her four—delicious—children.

He tapped the pocket that held his wallet, sensing the weight of the ring still tucked inside. He would be putting that gold band back on after all, he thought ruefully.

Now, he was going to have to do something unpleasant.

But it was sure to be tasty.

Mira had always had such delicate, delectable-looking feet.