I looked around for personal affects and drug paraphernalia, but other than a few cubby-like spaces for alcohol at the bar, there were no storage areas.
My cell vibrated.
Went down to bar to wait and Greer is here. Don't want to look suspicious going back up.
That man was everywhere.
I'll look quick and come down, I responded.
Moving back to the other side of the room, I saw a large sparkly chandelier above the bed, as well as a dresser and a couple of nightstands. Not quite a penthouse, like Barclay had said, but it was definitely breathtaking.
My cell buzzed again.
Be thorough.
I smirked and replied, Yes, ma'am.
I decided to hit the bathroom first. Double sinks, a shower stall and a free-standing tub, and a half wall separating the toilet made me stand in awe for a moment. There were even gold faucets. Barclay had said he was a self-made man. What exactly had he made?
On the counter was a brown leather toiletry bag, and inside were the usual can of aftershave, tube of deodorant, and a comb. His toothpaste and toothbrush were beside the bag, and another case, bigger and black, sat on the back of the toilet.
There were a dozen syringes inside and four vials of a clear substance. One of them was empty, but the other three were full and unopened with orange caps. Novolin, Insulin was printed on the white label. So he definitely was diabetic. I hadn't not believed him when he told me, but since his death, I'd wondered once or twice if he'd been lying.
I felt a wave of relief that he had been telling the truth. I wasn't sure why. This actually made things more condemning for Aiden and the Ocean Grille. Maybe I simply wanted to know I hadn't been lied to, which made me a hypocrite because I'd been lying to Cady, Shawn, and the cast since I boarded the ship.
Disgusted with my predicament, I searched the rest of the bathroom and only found a bottle of shampoo, a tiny bar of soap, and a razor in the shower.
I looked through the nightstand drawers. One was empty. The other held a small computer. I pulled it out, sat on the edge of the bed, and opened it on my lap. When it booted up, it asked for a password. I scoffed, not knowing where to begin. I didn't have time to play a guessing game that would definitely result in my failing and the machine shutting down after so many tries. I manually turned it off and returned it to the drawer.
The dresser held his clothes and nothing more. I walked to the closet and opened its double doors. A suit, pants, and button-down shirts had been hung up, and a pair of dress shoes, sneakers, and sandals stood at the bottom beside flattened luggage. Barclay had been a neat man. No surface was messy, and his clothes were well folded and wrinkle-free.
Pulling out the large bag, I opened the front pocket first, and inside was a postcard. The front of it had a vibrant picture of The Frond. On the back, he'd written to his mother.
Dear Mom,
Barbados is gorgeous. You should have come with us. My friends wouldn't have minded.
Don't worry. I'm going to take a ton of photos and tell you about all of it when I return.
See you soon.
Love,
Barclay
Tears pricked my eyes. That poor mother was going to have to bury her son.
It had her name and address on it. The only thing missing was a stamp. I put the postcard back. Hopefully it would eventually get to Barclay's mother. I searched the rest of the bag.
I was just about convinced there was nothing else to find when I felt something small in the inside pocket. I unzipped it and pulled out a white cardstock case—the kind you slip credit or bank cards into for safekeeping. I yanked on the item inside it, expecting to see a Visa or American Express, but it must've been wedged in oddly because it didn't slide easily. I'd gotten it halfway out when my phone buzzed and nearly gave me a heart attack.
Greer is on his way up. Almost done?
I didn't bother replying and went back to what I was doing. When I finally got it unstuck, I pulled out a business card for an FBI agent—Seymour Jones, who worked out of an Illinois office. I wondered if Kyle knew him. I debated calling this Agent Jones directly, but what was I going to say? I was snooping through the belongings of a dead man and found his card? Could he please tell me why Barclay had it?
Yeah, I didn't think so. No, I'd call Kyle instead, but it would have to wait until I was back on the ship so I could use my burner phone.
The elevator dinged, and I froze. Crap. It was unlikely Greer would suddenly bust down Barclay's door, but it meant escaping could become troublesome.
I tried to slide the business card back into the case, but I had as much trouble getting it to move in as I did getting it out. It went halfway and refused to budge, causing it to slightly bend in the center from my force. I couldn't waste time on it. I stuffed the luggage back into the closet and slammed the door harder than I'd intended.
I sucked in a breath. Please don't hear me.
But the footsteps halted. Someone may have heard the sound and was listening for more.
There was silence for another moment, and then the footsteps continued.
I sprang up, careful to not trip over my own feet, and went to Barclay's door. I gently pressed myself to it and looked out the peephole.
It was Greer, and he was unlocking his door. If he suspected someone was in Barclay's room, he could call the front desk to report the noise. If I waited too long, I could get caught. But if I went out there too soon… He could be standing on the other side of his door, peeping out its hole, waiting for someone to come into the hall.
My pulse rose at the thought, and my heartbeat thundered in my ears.
Shoot. What options did I have?
I tilted my head away from the door and tried to release the tension in my shoulders and neck. The last thing dancers needed to be was a giant ball of stress. It wreaked havoc on our bodies. I unclenched my fists and realized I was still holding the stuck business card and case.
Okay, I needed to make two decisions.
One, did I return the card or take it with me? I could just take a photo of it for future use, but it wasn't like Barclay would need it anymore. Then again, did I?
And two, how did I get out of here? I could call Cady, but how was she going to help? I knew that Greer and Mimi were in their room. Any noise in the hall could have them inspecting it.
Before I could return the card to the luggage or get up the courage to fly out of the room and somehow become invisible, I heard jiggling.
I looked down, and sure enough, the door handle slightly moved, back and forth. What the…? I sucked in a breath and pressed my eye to the peephole again, this time moving even slower.
I spotted Whitney's shiny dark hair, and from her creased brow and the way her head was positioned down, I'd bet she was doing more than wiggling the doorknob. More like she was trying to break in.
I jumped back from the door as if it was in flames. What was I going to do now? I considered diving back under the bed, but I didn't want to get caught under there.
This time I'd have to take my chances with the balcony. I had no reason to think she'd open the drapes. I shoved the business card and its case into my purse and ran.
The French doors were unlocked, so I flung one open, stepped outside, and shut it just as she walked into the bedroom side of the room.
Why was she breaking into Barclay's room, and how did she get the door open? She walked into view, and I saw a keycard in her hand before I ducked out of sight. Surely each room had its own unique key, so why did she have one for Barclay's?
The sunlight was bright, and if I pressed my face to the glass, she was sure to see me. What were my options? I was a sitting duck out here. I needed her to leave, or I needed to figure a way down.
I leaned over the balcony railing and saw four stories below. The smooth surface of the building suggested I wasn't scaling it anytime soon. Not that I would've considered it for longer than a second anyway. I was agile, quick on my feet, could do som
e pretty awesome dance-type flips, and was great at the aerial moves we did in the ship's shows, but Spiderman I was not.
Barclay's room was in the corner of this side of the hotel, but to its right, three feet away was Whitney and Finley's balcony. If I stretched out my body, I couldn't reach it, but I'd bet I could figure out a way across.
That only helped if Whitney stayed out of her room and if Finley wasn't chilling on their bed. What were the odds that I was that lucky?
I peeked back into Barclay's room, and Whitney was seated on the edge of the bed with her hands covering her face. She was slouched over and her body trembled. She was crying. No, scratch that. She was sobbing.
Poor woman. She had to be beside herself with her friend's death.
My gut told me to take the chance, so I texted Cady.
Come back. Stay in hall. When Whitney comes out of Barclay's room, distract her. Please.
Technically it was her doing that I was in this predicament in the first place.
I made sure my purse was securely zippered and the strap was snug around my neck and across my chest. Then I flung one leg over the side of the balcony and reached over. My fingertips grazed the smooth white railing. I wasn't keen on "grazing" saving my life, so I bent my legs into a pile position, dug my heels into Barclay's railing, and stood as straight as possible. Hooray for ballet training. And thank goodness I'd chosen to wear slip-on, gray canvas sneakers with my white Gucci shorts and top. Not my usual footwear, but yesterday had been hard on my feet and these were more flexible than anything else I owned. With equal speed and strength, I pushed off and flung my upper body toward my goal.
Mid-air I realized this idea was crazy.
CHAPTER TEN
There wasn't time to back out now. Arms fully stretched out, I gripped the opposite railing with both hands and used my core as well as my feet to propel me into a handstand. I did a backflip and landed safely on Whitney's balcony with my arms still raised over my head and a firm 9.0 landing.
If there had been a crowd, it would have gone wild.
I peeked through the French doors, and the room appeared to be empty. Yes!
My phone buzzed. It was a reply text from Cady.
Almost there.
I opened the door, stepped into the cool room, and stopped short. Singing sounded from the near distance. Singing and…water. Finley was in the shower. Shoot. I possibly didn't have much time.
Their room was a replica of Barclay's. I imagined the other one on this floor was the same. They all must've had money.
As I crept to their front door, I gave the room a quick sweep with my eyes. Unlike Barclay, they had personal items everywhere—hairbrush, makeup, perfume, deodorant, a small box of chocolates, a near empty glass of something clear, and other little things.
I eased open their door and heard Cady talking to Whitney about the weather. I nearly chuckled out loud at the mundane topic. I stepped out of the room, shut the door without clicking it, and pressed myself into the room's nook. I peeked out and saw Cady facing me.
She widened her eyes slightly upon seeing me and stepped to her left, forcing Whitney to also turn so her back was fully toward me.
Smart girl. Now I could creep out without being seen. Not being heard was another matter.
As if reading my mind, Cady began to fake cough. It definitely didn't sound real.
I stepped out of hiding and tiptoed quickly to the elevator. I spun around and prayed Whitney wouldn't get suspicious that she didn't hear the elevator ding.
"There you are," I said to Cady with a smile. "I've been looking for you."
Whitney turned and said hello.
"Hi. How are you today?" I asked.
Her eyes were still bloodshot and a little puffy. I pretended I didn't notice. "It's unbelievable."
I nodded and tried putting myself in her shoes. "I'm so sorry for your loss. That's why we stopped by, to pay our condolences."
She sniffled. "Thank you."
"How are the others holding up?" I asked and thought of Finley's singing. He hadn't sounded broken up, but maybe that was his way of coping. Each person wore grief differently.
"I'm not sure. None of us said a word on the trip back or the ride up to our rooms. We said good night, and I haven't seen Greer and Mimi yet."
"And Finley?" Cady asked.
Whitney shrugged. "We're both in shock still."
"Of course." Cady and I exchanged glances, not sure what to say next.
"Well, we wanted to check in on your guys," I said.
Whitney offered a small shadow of a smile. "That's kind of you. And I'm glad you did. I didn't get your number yesterday."
"Oh?" Why would she want to call me?
"Sightseeing. Today. Harrison's Cave. You both said you wanted to come along."
I stared at her, unable to comprehend why she was talking about being a tourist.
"Excuse me?" Cady asked, obviously confused as well.
Whitney managed to give a small smile, which seemed odd because she was sobbing a few minutes ago. I assumed she was simply being polite.
"When we woke up, Finley and I decided that we needed to continue our plans as if Barclay was still here."
"Why?" I asked.
"It's what Barclay would've wanted. He was all about having a good time. He wouldn't want us moping around. And since we're stuck here for a few more days, it seems like a good idea. Please join us. Barclay would've wanted you to, and to be honest… We could use the distraction."
So she wanted us to go check out a cave with four grieving friends and be their entertainment? Gee, that sounded appealing.
"We'd love to go with you," Cady said with a cheery grin.
Was she insane?
Before I could comment though, Whitney thanked us and said they'd meet us downstairs in the lobby shortly. Considering Finley was just in the shower and they hadn't even discussed it with Greer and Mimi yet—seeing how they hadn't spoken since Ocean Grille last night—I doubted it would be that quick. Just the same, Cady pulled me along and we were on the elevator headed for a day of weirdness.
"Why did you agree?" I asked as soon as the heavy metal doors shut.
"You didn't find anything in his room, so we need to ask them if Barclay was a drug user."
Seriously? I figured that not seeing evidence of drug use meant she'd let it go, but the determined line across her forehead suggested I was a fool. She wasn't going to let this go until she had answers.
"I don't know how appropriate it is to question them about whether or not their dead friend took drugs. I especially don't know if we should while exploring a cave," I said.
Cady shook her head in defiance. "We'll find a way."
At least she didn't expect me to do this next part alone.
Part of me wanted to feign a headache, upset stomach, or malaria to get out of this, but I also wanted to be a good friend. I knew she'd continue on without me, and it would be faster with me by her side. Plus, we'd get to see one of the places I wanted, so how could I complain?
The elevator stopped, and we stepped off and headed to a sleek black sofa, similar to the ones in the rooms, in the waiting area.
"How did you get into Whitney's room from Barclay's? Is there an adjoining door?" Cady asked.
"I may have jumped balconies."
Her wide eyes matched her hung open mouth. "Zibby! You could've died."
Very true, but I didn't want to alarm her. It was already over.
"It was fine. A mere three feet between them."
She shook her head. "You're crazy."
This might have been true as well.
"I didn't find drugs, but he was definitely taking insulin."
I started to pull the FBI card from my purse but thought better of it. I planned to call Kyle and couldn't explain that part to Cady. It was unlikely that an agent in Illinois had anything to do with Barclay's death in Barbados, so not mentioning it would be fine.
* * *
It was a th
irty-minute cab ride from Bridgetown to the parish of St. Thomas, where Harrison's Cave was located. Tours were booked ahead of time, and Barclay had done what he'd said he would and arranged for Cady and me to be included. He'd even gone ahead and charged our tickets to his credit card. A pang of appreciation and sadness stabbed at my heart upon learning this.
We decided on the tram tour, and when we went to sit down, Cady grabbed Finley's arm and shouted, "Let's mix up seating."
Whitney sat with Greer, which left me with Mimi.
"Harrison's Cave was named after Thomas Harrison, a prominent landowner in the 1700s," said the tour guide as the tram entered the limestone cave. He was a thin, dark-skinned man in his midthirties with an enthusiastic grin.
He gave us a brief history about the cave during the 1800s and 1900s and how it was difficult for the expeditions to access the natural cave entrances.
"But in 1974, Danish engineer Ole Sorensen and Barbadians Tony Mason and Allison Thornhill, rediscovered the cave and remapped it. The Barbados government then excavated the shafts and tunnels, and it opened for the public in 1981."
The air grew slightly cooler, which wasn't saying much, considering how hot the island was, but it was a pleasant relief. The sound of water surrounded us. The air went from musty earth scent to a more mineral smell the farther in we went. The intricately placed lighting created a warm, amber glow to the jagged formations, which were called stalactites and stalagmites. They were naturally created by the calcium-rich water that ran through the cave. The stalactites were spikes that hung from the ceiling, and the stalagmites grew upward from the ground, but they were thicker and more rounded, not as pointy.
I was too busy staring and taking pictures with my phone to grill Mimi. The tour was an hour long. I figured I'd have time toward the end. Right now I wanted to take in the cave—a memory for when I was back home.
The tram stopped in an area the tour guide called The Great Hall, and we were able to get out and look around.
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