031 Trouble in Tahiti

by Carolyn Keene

  Brian looked weary. "Rupert, please! I don't like to talk business at the table."

  "Why not? I talk business morning, noon, and night," Rupert offered enthusiastically. "If I were like you, I'd still be selling cars in Cincinnati."

  Nancy watched Brian's hands roll over into fists. His voice was tense. "Rupert, give it a rest, huh?"

  Kristin slid her fingertips along Brian's sleeve. "Darling, let's be sociable—"

  Looking exasperated, Bree's father drew his arm away. "For pete's sake, Krissy—"

  Kristin made a petulant face. "Brian, if your daughter's friend irritated you, that's no reason to snap at me."

  Nancy was startled by the spoiled resentment now darkening the actress's face. Kristin's clenched teeth looked ready to snip barbed wire.

  "Cover your ears, Bree," she snapped. "Your father and I are about to have a spat."

  Too late, Brian tried to make amends. He reached for Kristin's hand. "Now, honey—"

  "Excuse me!" Kristin crumpled her napkin and threw it on the table. "I have a splitting headache. I'm going to bed. You may let yourselves out."

  Head high, Kristin marched out of the room, slamming the louvered doors behind her. Making a weary sound, Brian left the table and wandered out to the patio. Rupert followed.

  Bree looked acutely embarrassed. "And so ends another fun day in the life of the Gordon family. I'm really sorry, Nancy." She lifted her coffee cup in an ironic salute. "And to think people actually wonder why I don't want to get into the movies."

  Nancy said nothing but felt a twinge of sympathy for Bree. Tha Gordon family was far from happy. Nancy couldn't help wondering about the underlying source of the tension.

  Early the next morning Nancy and Bree set out again, this time to visit Tayo's sister. They left the car at the edge of a field of wind-tossed sugarcane, then hiked the narrow trail up the south slope of Orohena.

  Nancy's cropped striped T-shirt and loose white knit shorts made for comfortable hiking. Ignoring the hum of insects near her ears, she stepped over huge feathery ferns and ducked beneath sodden, thorn-tipped vines.

  The jungle thinned out, revealing a village of old-fashioned bamboo bungalows with thatched roofs. A cockatoo heckled them noisily. Shy piglets fled squealing at their approach.

  Bree's mastery of Tahitian got them directions to Opane's house. Tayo's sister was in the yard, tilling her garden. She was a heavyset woman in her forties, wearing a brick red wraparound dress called a pareo. A huge white gardenia blossom nestled in her ink-black hair.

  Opane's French was good. "What can I do for you?"

  "If you don't mind," Nancy replied, "we'd like to ask you a few questions about your brother."

  She glanced at them suspiciously. "You knew Tayo?"

  "He worked aboard my family's yacht, the Southwind," Bree answered.

  Opane blinked. "You're the movie woman!"

  "No, I'm her daughter. Bree Gordon."

  "Bree . . ." Opane's lips twitched. Then she smiled all over. Tugging at Bree's arm, she led the girls into her house. "He said you would come and you did!"

  Nancy's eyes widened in surprise. "Let me get this straight. Tayo said Bree would come?"

  "Yes. Years ago." She ushered them into the kitchen. "I have something for you, Bree."

  Opane rummaged in the overhead cupboard. Then, with a triumphant grin, she withdrew a dusty cardboard box tied with string.

  "Tayo was here just before he died," Opane explained, reaching for a paring knife. "He told me to keep this safe and give it to Bree."

  Nancy bit the corner of her lower lip. Her hunch that Tayo had known he was in trouble seemed about to be proven correct.

  Opane handed Bree the knife. The girl hesitated before the box, holding the blade awkwardly. "What is it?"

  Opane lifted heavy shoulders in a shrug. "Don't ask me. Tayo was adamant. No one but Bree Gordon was to open it." Her hands shepherded Bree forward. "Go ahead, cherie."

  Bree's blade descended toward the string.

  An eerie shiver rippled through Nancy. For four long years that box had been sitting on Opane's shelf, awaiting Bree.

  A present from a dead man!

  Chapter Five

  Snip! The keen edge cut the string.

  Lifting the cardboard lid, Bree uttered a startled gasp.

  Two objects lay at the bottom of the box. A barnacled steel anchor with a T-frame and sharp parallel flukes, and a slender, weed-encrusted chain.

  Impaled on the fluke was a note in bold handwriting.

  Nancy looked at Bree. "May I?"

  Bree nodded, reaching into the box for the anchor. Bewilderment flooded her face.

  Nancy hastily read the note.

  Bree,

  If you're reading this, then it's because I'm dead and could not show you the chain myself.

  This is the Southwind's anchor chain. Guard it well, Bree, for it is proof that your mother was murdered. I never believed the maritime board when they said the chain broke.

  So last year I began diving at the Southwind's old anchorage. I tried to avoid arousing suspicion, but it appears that I wasn't careful enough. Someone ransacked my boat yesterday. I think they were looking for this chain. I know it will be safe with Opane until you can use it to find the one who killed your mother.

  I think maybe your mother's murderer is coming after me. If so, he's going to learn that old Tayo doesn't die so easy!

  Take care of yourself, child.

  Love, Tayo

  Nancy was conscious of a presence at her shoulder. Turning, she looked into Bree's stricken face. The black-haired girl shook her head in disbelief.

  "It can't be true." Bree's eyes filled with tears. "Mother was murdered! It's not possible— I— oh, no!"

  Bree broke down completely. Murmuring words of comfort, Nancy and Opane helped her to the bedroom.

  While Bree wept into a pillow, Nancy excused herself and returned to the kitchen. She ran the slender chain through her fingers. She was holding the first solid clue of the case. Now she just had to read it carefully.

  Dried seaweed clung to the chain links. Nancy hefted the anchor. One end of the chain was firmly bolted to the anchor's shank. Bone-dry kelp filled the keyhole. Obviously, no one had tampered with that end since the day the anchor had first tasted salt water.

  The other end told a different story. The final link had been cleanly severed. Nancy turned the sheared end toward the window and caught her breath. Sunshine gleamed on two long, straight gashes.

  Somebody had used a hacksaw on this chain. Tayo was right. The Southwind didn't slip her anchor that night. She was deliberately cast adrift.

  Opane entered the kitchen, her bare feet slap-slapping the bamboo floor. Her round face was solemn.

  "I'll make us some tea," she said, moving to the woodstove.

  Nancy replaced the anchor in the box. "Opane, when did Tayo give you this?"

  The woman's face tensed thoughtfully. "It was the end of September. Four years ago." Tilting a bucket, she filled her brass teapot. "Tayo kept looking over his shoulder. He said, 'Opane, if anybody comes around asking for me, you haven't seen me for years. Understand?' Then he made me promise to give that box to Bree."

  Nancy nodded. Tayo suspected that the killer was on to him. So he decided to hide his evidence in the safest place he could think of. He knew Opane would follow his instructions to the letter.

  "One thing I don't understand," Nancy said, accepting a cup of tea. "Why did Tayo hide the evidence? Why didn't he take it to the police?"

  Opane dumped sugar into her steaming cup, giving Nancy an embarrassed look. "He had good reason not to. Tayo was a wild one as a boy. When he was sixteen, he hijacked a rich man's boat to impress his girlfriend. He got caught and did three months at that prison camp in the Tuamotus. I think Tayo was afraid the police would blame him for the wreck."

  Nodding, Nancy sipped her tea. She understood Tayo's fears. The police might not believe the story of a poor pearl diver
with a previous record. No wonder Tayo had wanted Bree to present the evidence.

  This also explained Tayo's strange preoccupation the last time Bree was in Tahiti. At that time, he was still trying to find proof of sabotage. He had found the chain at the end of September and had died a week or so later.

  Nancy's skin prickled. Had Tayo Kapali been murdered?

  It was more than possible. If so, the murderer might still be loose on Tahiti—and someone like that would stop at nothing to ensure that the Southmnd case remained closed!

  On their way home Nancy and Bree stopped for a late lunch at Vaipahi waterfall. Tiny bright-colored birds fled, squawking noisily, as the two girls spread their picnic blanket on the lush grass.

  "What do they call them?" Nancy asked, watching the tiny birds soar past the tumbling cascade.

  "Huh?" Bree blinked, opening their picnic lunch. "Oh—those are vini birds. Scared little things. They take off at the first sight of people." With an apologetic look, she handed Nancy a sandwich. "Sorry. I'm not very good company today."

  Nancy placed a sympathetic hand on the girl's shoulder. "Bree, are you going to be all right?"

  "I-I— Oh, Nancy, I don't know if I can handle it." Bree sobbed, wiping away tears. "It's like Mother dying all over again."

  Nancy offered her a soft drink. "Look, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

  "I do want to talk about it." Bree's eyes looked remote. "Mother was murdered. It's— Nancy, if I don't make sense of this, it's going to drive me crazy."

  "Why don't you just start at the beginning?" Nancy advised soothingly. "Where were you when it happened?"

  "At Faretaha. Krissy had invited us all to spend the weekend, even Manda. She had a big party that Saturday night. Plenty of film people. I guess she wanted to show off the place. She'd just bought it with all the money she'd earned from Horizon of Desire." Bree steeled herself to go on. "I didn't stay at the party long. Just long enough to be polite."

  Nancy nodded encouragement to continue and bit into her sandwich.

  "I woke up in the middle of the night. The shutters were slamming," Bree continued. "I called for Manda. There was no answer. So I went downstairs. It was around two-fifteen—I remember looking at the clock. Everyone was gone. I figured Krissy must have moved the party downtown or something. The storm was getting pretty fierce. So I closed the shutters and headed back to bed."

  "When did you hear about your mother?" Nancy asked, brushing crumbs from her lap.

  "The next morning," Bree replied. "I was having breakfast on the terrace with Dad and Manda when a police car pulled into the drive. A lieutenant broke the news. I'll never forget the look on my father's face. He went white at first. Then he got this weird expression, as if he didn't know whether to be angry or sad. Manda just sat there, stunned."

  Nancy could see that Bree was reliving that awful moment all over again.

  "There was so much I didn't understand," Bree murmured, pressing her fingers to her temples. "Why had Mother gone back to the boat? I asked Dad, but he wouldn't talk about it. Every time I mentioned it, Dad put on that steely-eyed expression of his and changed the subject. So I eventually got the story out of Manda." Bree's voice began to break. "It's not pretty, Nancy. My parents had a big fight at the party. A typical Gordon battle. Loud and nasty. Mother slapped him, announced that she was sleeping aboard the Southmnd, and stormed out."

  "Bree, you said your mother announced her departure for the marina," Nancy observed.

  The girl nodded.

  "And she wasn't expected back that night," Nancy added.

  "No, we were supposed to stay at Faretaha all weekend," Bree replied. "Nancy, what are you getting at?"

  "Just this. No one knew beforehand that your mother would be aboard the Southmnd. So, the murderer could not have cut the chain before the party. He or she must have been at Kristin's and heard your mother announce that she was leaving. Then the killer followed her back to the yacht."

  Before Bree could reply, a screech filled the air. Nancy's gaze darted to the jungle. A flock of vini birds erupted from the treeline, cartwheeling into the sky.

  Bree's words echoed in Nancy's brain. "Scared little things. They take off at the first sight of people."

  Nancy's gaze dropped into the jungle and its thick moist vines, bamboo thickets, and moss-covered trees.

  There's somebody in there! she thought. Somebody who spooked the birds.

  Bree eyed her strangely. "Nancy, what is it?"

  Just then, Nancy spied a glimmer of sunlight on a metal object. Her gaze zeroed in. A wickedly barbed spearpoint emerged from the foliage.

  Shoom! The spear hurtled out of the jungle, speeding straight toward Bree!

  Chapter Six

  "Look out!" Nancy cried.

  She threw herself against Bree's chest. Both girls went sprawling. A whizzing sound cut the air. Stinging pain kissed Nancy's right shoulder.

  Thunk! The spear buried itself in a palm trunk, quivering like a tuning fork.

  "This way, Bree— fast!"

  Nancy hauled the girl to her feet and shoved her into a thicket of tall ferns. Together they dropped behind an ancient lava flow.

  Bree gasped. "You're hurt!"

  Nancy glanced at her shoulder. The spear point had torn the sleeve of her T-shirt, its razor-edged fluke cleaving her skin. The shallow cut turned crimson. Nancy shuddered. Three inches lower, and that spear would have gone through the middle of her back!

  "Just a scratch—I'll be okay," Nancy whispered, turning a fern aside. "Stay under cover, Bree. We don't want to give him a target."

  Nancy scrutinized the wall of jungle carefully, but all was still. "No sign of anyone. But don't show your face just yet. He could be reloading."

  For long, anxious moments, Nancy and Bree crouched behind the lava bed, waiting for the sniper to make his move. Then finally Nancy heard the start-up roar of a car engine. She ran to the edge of the clearing. Snapping noises behind the jungle's green facade announced the sniper's escape.

  Nancy clamped her hand over her wound. "He's getting away!" Determined, she dashed across the clearing and plunged into the foliage.

  She caught a glimpse of a small blue car fishtailing down a muddy pathway. The vehicle burst through a wall of greenery and, tires squealing, zoomed onto the main road.

  Nancy scowled. The high ferns had hidden the license plate.

  Bree came up behind her. "Nancy, you'd better treat that cut," she advised, pointing at the bloody sleeve. "Wounds get infected fast here in the tropics."

  "I've got a first-aid kit in my car. Come on."

  After bandaging Nancy's cut, the two girls returned to the picnic spot. Nancy went straight to the coconut palm and studied the spear.

  "That's a—" Bree began to explain.

  "A spear gun shaft. I know," Nancy replied, thinking back to her San Diego adventure, Sisters in Crime. "I have a friend who's a diver."

  "I'm a diver myself," said Bree. "If you're going to commit murder, a spear gun's the perfect weapon. It's silent, and the carbon dioxide charge can drive a spearhead right through an oak board."

  "That's for sure!" Nancy held out her hand. "Would you hand me one of the napkins?"

  "What for?"

  "I don't want to smudge any fingerprints that may be on the shaft," Nancy explained. "Then we'll see what other clues we can find."

  A search of the surrounding jungle unearthed the sniper's hidden position. Pushing aside a thorn-laden branch, Nancy spotted a cluster of broken vines. Drawing closer, she spied the ferns mashed underfoot and the forest debris kicked up by the sniper's hasty retreat.

  "Our friend took off like a deer," Nancy remarked, following the footprints deeper into the jungle. "Looks as if he or she didn't want you to catch a glimpse of— Whoa!"

  Nancy halted on the muddy trail. Clearly outlined in the ooze was a diamond-shaped tread—a footprint identical to the one she had seen in Ruau's scrap yard.

  Kneeling b
eside it, Nancy studied the print. The toes had dug in deep, but the arch and heel had skidded off to the right. She looked ahead.

  The line of hasty footprints ended at a deep automobile tire mark.

  It looks as if the sniper skidded on the mud while running to his car, she mused.

  "Did you find anything?" asked Bree.

  "Boat shoes." Nancy rose to her feet again. "I saw prints just like them at Ruau's, right after someone tried to drop a load of scrap on me. I'm pretty sure it's the same person." She sighed. It wasn't even sundown yet and she felt more than a little tired. "Let's get back to Papeete."

  As they drove back to the city, Bree said, "It feels strange, you know? Except for you, I'm the only one who knows Mother was murdered. And I don't dare tell my father."

  "Why not?" Nancy inquired.

  "It's obvious, isn't it? The killer was at the party that night." Bree's eyes narrowed and she set her jaw. "She left right after Mother and followed her back to the boat."

  "She?" Nancy echoed, glancing at her companion. "Bree, are you saying Kristin—"

  "I don't know!" Thumping the dashboard, Bree groaned in misery. "Oh, what a mess!"

  "Tell me why you think it might have been Kristin Stromm," Nancy suggested.

  Leaning back in the passenger seat, Bree closed her eyes. "It was years ago—back in Hollywood. Krissy had just come over from Stockholm. Mother was a big star then. And— Well, to tell the truth, she wasn't exactly nice to newcomers. Krissy flubbed a take. Mother made a big thing of it. Krissy said something catty. Next thing you know, it's World War Three on the soundstage." She looked somberly at Nancy. "It got even worse. Mother called her 'the Swedish Meatball' in a TV interview. Krissy lost a couple of big parts afterward. She was convinced Mother was deliberately trying to ruin her career."

  Nancy took in this information impassively, but a question had been forming in her mind and now was the time to ask. "How do you feel about Kristin Stromm, Bree?"

  "Well. . . it's hard to say. I don't dislike her— except when she treats me like a little kid. But we're not exactly buddy-buddy. Frankly, I think Krissy's—well, shallow." Bree looked highly uncomfortable. "I try to be nice to her. I tell myself, time and again, that I've got to accept it. I know Dad loves her. Still. . ." She bit her lower lip. "Oh, sometimes I wish Dad had found somebody else."