by Howe, A. E.
“Another meal done,” Brock said when everyone finally stood.
“Bridge game in half an hour?” Hume asked. Josephine studied the man. He had a commanding air about him, even after an excessive amount of bourbon. Did he get it from arrogance or had he earned it?
“I’ll grab a drink and meet you at the table,” Brock said with little enthusiasm.
“Would either of you like to join us? We could always open another table,” Hume said.
“One of them can have my spot,” Donavan answered. “I’d play if it were poker, but I’m going to read for a while.”
“I’ll be glad to join you,” Josephine told Hume. She was an average player and wasn’t at all interested in winning or losing, but a card game could provide moments of unguarded conversation. She was curious to know more about this group. She didn’t think it was mere coincidence that had brought them all to the island.
“Excellent. And you, Baron?” Hume asked.
“I think I will follow Mr. Donavan’s example. I’ve got a new Ellery Queen mystery for my night’s entertainment.”
“I have letters to write,” Zhao told Hume.
“Miss Molina?”
“But of course.”
“She is a world-class player,” Hume told Josephine. “We usually have to change partners during the evening.”
“For two reasons. First, because whoever is partners with her, they’re going to win. Secondly, because Jamila gets so angry with her partner that they have to be separated for the second game,” Brock said with a small laugh.
“I wouldn’t get angry if you all weren’t such stupid card players,” Jamila said without any trace of humor.
“You flatter me.” Hume laughed.
Neith was headed toward the stairs, having completely ignored the invitation to play bridge. Blasko, with the excuse of fetching his book, followed her. She moved with purpose and entered her room across the open staircase from Blasko’s just as he reached the second floor.
Blasko walked into his room and left the door open, watching Neith’s door while pretending to look for his book. When she didn’t come out after a reasonable interval, he closed his door and opened the French doors that led out onto the balcony. He walked around the balcony until he saw a figure leaning against the wall, her face illuminated by the ebbing glow of a cigarette.
Neith looked at him. Without a word, she seemed to extend an invitation to join her.
Standing at her side, Blasko looked out over the water sparkling in the moonlight. “The breeze off the water is invigorating.”
“The smell of the salt reminds me of Alexandria.”
“Do you miss Egypt?”
“Very much.” For the first time, Blasko heard emotion in her voice.
“I would like to visit Egypt someday.”
“I fear we have too much sun for you,” she said with the smallest trace of humor.
Blasko looked at her. Was she hinting that she was aware of his true nature?
“Why don’t you go home?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral. “Is your research so important?”
“This Timucua mound excavation will be the centerpiece of my doctoral dissertation.”
“Which is?”
“A comparison of mound-building cultures.”
“Of course. In your country, mound building culminated with the great pyramids,” he said and saw fire in her eyes.
“Egyptian culture was and is far more advanced than these primitives.”
Blasko bowed slightly, not wanting to start an argument on a subject that was clearly dear to her heart. He was sure that if he roiled her up, he’d never learn anything else from her. He didn’t need great powers of observation to know that this was a woman who could hold a grudge.
“I’ve read with great interest about the excavations of King Tutankhamun’s burial chamber.”
Neith spat in disgust. “Howard Carter is nothing more than a grave robber,” she hissed. “My country has been fought over for centuries. The invaders have always looted freely until stopped by the point of a sword.” She seemed to mentally shake herself, then asked, “Why are you and that woman here?”
“Just a trip to the coast during a hot summer.”
“Do not lie to me. There is more.”
“What about your fellow guests? Are they all here for the reasons they say they are?”
“Who knows?” she snapped.
“I’ve angered you?”
“I am always angry,” she said with a slight smile. “People anger me. You are no worse and no better.”
“Do the other guests anger you?”
She took a deep drag of her cigarette. “I told you, everyone angers me.” She dropped the cigarette on the floor and rubbed it out with her shoe. “I’m going in now. Enjoy the night.” Again she seemed to hint that she knew his secrets.
This Egyptian is dangerous, Blasko thought as he watched her enter her room and close the door.
Downstairs, Josephine was sitting across the table from Captain Hume as he obsessively shuffled a deck of cards while they waited for Jamila and Brock to join them.
“I hope the southern climate has been good for your health,” Josephine said.
“Doctor’s idea. I do believe he just wanted to get me out of his hair.” He was quiet for a moment, but before Josephine could say anything else, he finally said, “I was with the Royal Marines at Gallipoli. We’d sustained massive casualties and were getting ready for another assault against the Turks when I went into our dugout for a box of ammunition for my Webley. Belcher had his old Victrola playing some daft song when I entered. Three days later, they dug me out of the rubble. Don’t remember a thing. Got lucky when a support beam fell against another and held up part of the roof. Still enough debris fell on me to crush my chest. Six months’ recovery. Pneumonia. Never should have lived, the doctors said. Anyhow, I got shipped to Cairo to recover. They wanted to send me home. Wouldn’t let them. But they wouldn’t send me to France; instead I served on staff during the invasion of Palestine. Only regret is I didn’t get a chance to go toe-to-toe with the Jerrys.” He had grown restive while he talked, shuffling the cards the entire time.
“I thought the marines served on ships?” Josephine watched the man closely.
“I did a bit of that too. Was on several different ships in the South Pacific.” As Hume spoke, his eyes held an odd nostalgic gleam that hadn’t been there when he was talking about his actions in Gallipoli.
“Is our hero telling you war stories?” Brock asked, walking up to the table with a tumbler full of amber whiskey.
Hume looked up at him with a frown. Josephine saw the hardness in his eyes and thought that Brock would do best to tread lightly.
“You will be my partner,” Jamila told Brock as she joined them. “If no one objects?”
“Jolly good,” answered Hume.
“Are you going to yell at me the whole time?” Brock asked before taking a deep drink from his glass.
“I will if you are playing like an idiot,” Jamila challenged him.
“Ha! Let’s do this then.”
“Don’t drink so much. It doesn’t make you play any better.”
“Makes you look better,” Brock responded with an edge to his voice.
There are limits to how far Brock wants to be pushed, Josephine thought. She also noted that the barb got to Jamila, who looked down at the pile of cards she’d been dealt and ground her teeth.
“Our opponents are going to defeat themselves.” Hume smiled at Josephine.
“A little tension at the table tightens up everyone’s game,” Josephine said and picked up her cards.
For the first dozen hands, there wasn’t much talk as everyone tried to get a feel for how the other players were bidding and playing their cards. It was clear that Jamila was talented enough that she could pull along an average player like Brock, so that Hume and Josephine had to struggle to keep up.
During a break between games, Josephine stoo
d up to stretch her legs. She saw Donavan sitting in a wingback chair near the bar and walked over to him. She noticed that he was reading a book on lost gold mines of the Southwest.
“What type of boat do you have?” she asked when he glanced up at her.
“I’m renting a local man’s trawler while I’m here,” he answered, his finger tapping the empty glass that he held in one hand. Josephine could sense an inner battle going on when he set the glass down on the table next to the chair. “I’d be happy to take you out on it.” Then he added as an afterthought, “Your cousin the baron is welcome to join us, of course.”
“Unfortunately, he is allergic to the sun,” Josephine said, deciding to broach this subject as soon as possible and hoping she could head off any gossip once everyone noticed Blasko’s odd behavior.
Brock and Jamila had walked over to the bar and seemed more interested in the conversation between Josephine and Donavan than in refilling their glasses.
“Really? I had a friend who burned just stepping out on a sunny day, but I don’t think he was actually allergic.” Donavan sounded only a little bit skeptical.
“That must be… awkward,” Jamila observed.
“I knew a fellow who was allergic to grass. Inconvenient for him,” Brock said. Josephine was grateful for his comment, as it seemed to settle the matter.
“We should get back to the game,” Jamila said, leading the way to the table.
Josephine would have preferred more time with Donavan. I guess that will have to wait for the boat ride.
“This is such an interesting group of folks,” Josephine said a short while later as she sorted her cards and tried to decide what to bid. Her game was suffering as her attention was divided between play and finding ways to learn more about the other guests. “Jamila, you said you’re an artist?”
Jamila glanced up from her cards.
“I do sketches of the natural world. But really, I am just like you and your cousin. I am a tourist.” Josephine thought she detected a slight smirk.
Hume started the bidding, so everyone concentrated on the hand. The game absorbed most of Josephine’s evening, and her efforts to learn anything more about her companions were met mostly with brief, unenlightening answers. It didn’t help that Hume, Jamila and Brock all occasionally asked pointed questions of her, trying to learn what she and Blasko were doing on the island.
After four games, they agreed to call it a night. They had switched partners for the last two games, which resulted in Jamila and Josephine winning handily.
“You play very well,” Jamila complimented her as they stood up from the table.
“Not as well as you.”
“Several times in my life I’ve had to depend on my card skills to make a living,” Jamila admitted.
“Were you born in Spain?”
“Yes,” Jamila said, and Josephine thought this was going to be another in a series of one-word answers. To her surprise, however, Jamila continued, “But my family traveled around. The truth is I am Gitano… a gypsy.”
“I guess that life wasn’t easy for your family.”
“Yes and no. Hard work and hard looks from the people in the towns. We traveled throughout Spain and Portugal. My father was killed in an accident and his brother wanted to marry my mother, but she despised him. It was not long before she took me and my sisters and fled. I was fourteen. That is when life truly became hard…”
Jamila stopped in front of the mahogany breakfront that took up half of one wall. She opened one of the cabinet doors to reveal numerous bottles of alcohol with people’s names on them. “Mrs. Lachlan lets guests keep their own liquor. Would you care for some wine?” she asked, taking out a green bottle with a peeling label.
“Please.”
Jamila set up two glasses and filled them almost to the rim.
“Thank goodness your country came to its senses about Prohibition.” Jamila drank deeply from the glass.
Josephine didn’t bother explaining that Prohibition was going to take a long time to be rolled back throughout the country, especially in the Deep South.
They walked out onto the porch. Josephine was enjoying the wine and it mixed well with the warm salt air. “You never really said why you chose to visit Cedar Island,” she said.
“Neither did you,” Jamila countered.
“I had an uncle who came here years ago. He wrote to me about the island. I wanted to see it for myself.” And that’s all true, Josephine thought, as far as it goes.
“I read about the island too, in an old journal. The author made it sound like a place that would be worth my time to visit, with many native animals to sketch.” Jamila looked out across the docks at the calm Gulf waters.
“And has it been worth the trip?”
“I’m not sure yet, but it’s becoming more interesting,” she said, finishing her wine. “I think I will turn in now.”
As the woman walked back inside, Josephine was left to wonder what exactly she’d meant.
Chapter Seven
Josephine was surprised to find Blasko pacing the floor in her bedroom.
“You have your own room,” she reminded him.
“I want to compare notes with you,” he said eagerly.
“Have you seen Grace?”
“No, but Anton said they had a fine dinner in the kitchen. There were several other staff who ate with them, including the cook, a maid and that waif of a girl who helped Mrs. Lachlan serve us.”
“I can hear everything y’all are sayin’.” Grace’s voice came through the wall.
Josephine went over to the door of the bathroom that served both their rooms and knocked lightly. “Grace?”
“I’m in the finest tub I’ve ever been in,” she said in a dreamy voice. “I might never get out. The water sure is fine.”
“I want to talk to you about the other folks who ate dinner with you.”
“Nothin’ to tell. Those are the most closed-mouthed people I’ve ever met. Didn’t get a dozen words from any of ’em. You ain’t goin’ to want in here for a while, are you?”
“Enjoy yourself,” Josephine said with a smile.
“Sure ’nough,” Grace responded with a satisfied tone.
Josephine walked over to where Blasko was staring out the window, pretending not hear Grace’s voice from the bathroom. “Are we in agreement that the group downstairs is not some random assembly of tourists?” she asked.
Blasko nodded, glad to hear that she had sensed the same things he had. “I think they are hiding something, both individually and as a cabal of some sort.”
“The question is: does it have anything to do with us or Uncle Petey’s death?”
“Normally, I would think that highly unlikely. But after everything else we’ve experienced in the past year…” Blasko shook his head. “Maybe the letter your uncle left at the post office will tell us something.”
“If there is a letter. Even if Uncle Petey really did leave one, it might not be there now.”
“I know we’ll have a hard time learning anything else from that crowd. I judge that they are all well practiced at keeping secrets.”
“Captain Hume strikes me as sympathetic.”
“Perhaps, but he is an old soldier. I wouldn’t mistake sympathy for weakness. Tell me about the card game and what you learned.”
Josephine shared the little she knew about the group.
“Interesting,” Blasko said, looking down at the floor and stroking his chin in a thoughtful manner.
“What?”
“A connection. At least between three of them.”
“I don’t see it.”
“You said that Hume was sent to Cairo to recover from his wounds. Neith is Egyptian and Jamila is Gitano.”
“Jamila is from Spain.”
“Yes, but the Gitano are said to have come to Spain after generations in Egypt.”
“There doesn’t seem to be any love lost between Jamila and Neith,” Josephine said archly.
�
��Maybe it is a coincidence. I’m not sure how Zhao, Brock and Donavan would fit anyway.”
“Donavan invited me out on his boat. Actually, he invited both of us.” She added the last part to see what sort of reaction she would get out of Blasko.
“Bah! I hate boats.”
“And sunlight.”
“Exactly. But I wouldn’t go even at night.”
“You need to have gold and your native earth under you to cross a river.” Josephine brought the subject up carefully. The baron never liked to talk about his weaknesses.
“I told you that when you brought me here. I even had my car seats lined with a few gold coins and a light dusting of soil from Romania.” His voice was stiff and he kept his chin elevated and eyes averted from her.
“Is the ocean the same as a river?”
“I don’t know!” he snapped, irritation creeping into his tone. “I took precautions with the crate when I traveled across the Atlantic. Whether it was necessary or not, I do not really know. All I know is that running water makes me very… uncomfortable.”
“I’m just trying to understand,” Josephine said quietly, by way of an apology for mentioning his vulnerabilities.
“It’s fine. Go with Donavan and find out what you can.”
“I think I’ll ask someone else to go with me. He looks like the type of guy who could be… difficult.”
“Difficult?”
“Like an octopus.”
“Ahh,” Blasko said. “Be careful.” He reached out and took her hand.
“Are you going out on the prowl tonight?”
“If you mean, am I going out to look around the town?—then yes, I am.” He dropped her hand. He hated it when she suggested that he skulked around at night like some madman.
“Why don’t you check out that bar they were talking about?”
“One of my first destinations.”
“I picked this up from the front desk.” She handed him a small matchbook. Written in red letters on a black background were simply the words: The Dragon, Cedar Island.
“It sits near the docks just north of us. I could smell the stale beer from the balcony,” Blasko said.
“First thing tomorrow, I’m going to the post office to see if Uncle Petey’s letter is there.”