by Jaden Skye
“I’m very sorry.”
“What did you do for them to give you the money?” Cindy asked.
“They said it was just to help you sleep. They gave me something to put in the afternoon torte. Just for you, not Mr. Clint.”
“Food poisoning?”
“Not poison, a little something to make you sleep. They said they had to talk to him alone. I thought maybe they’d just rough him up a bit. That’s all. I swear it!”
“Who said it?”
“The men from the U.S. God forgive me, am I making it all right now? Will God forgive me?”
“Tomale, will you come back to the U.S. with me and be a witness? I’ll pay for everything. I’ll give you extra for your family.”
“There’s no more family,” he whimpered, “my mother is gone, everything is gone. When I found out that Mr. Clint was killed, I couldn’t go to work anymore.”
“Killed?” Cindy said. “You found that out?”
It seemed to be getting darker and darker outside, and the air in the house grew mustier as they spoke.
“God forgive me.”
“How?”
“I had nothing to do with it. I promise you. I only found out later.”
“How, Tomale?” she asked again, sweating in the small house.
Tomale shivered. A long silence filled the humid air.
“I heard that they ran over him with a boat. Head cracked open. “
Cindy crunched over in pain.
Suddenly, the sound of police sirens.
Tomale ran to the small window and peered out, petrified.
Cindy looked, too: three police cars were driving up to the house.
He looked over at her, his lip trembling. “Did you go to the police?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she said.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Why!? You have to run! Run away, hide!”
Waves of horror consumed Cindy. She couldn’t move, was glued to the spot, as she watched the police cars stop and a bunch of policemen run up to the house and burst in . One of them grabbed her around the waist. That woke her up. She tossed and turned, trying to loosen his grip. No matter what she did, it didn’t make a difference. He was stronger, tougher. Her body felt frail beside him, like a twig that could snap at any moment. His face, which had sprawling, carved features, looked impassive and resigned. He’d probably done this a thousand times. Was he going to kill her? Now the thought of it made her both angry, and sad.
Was this it? Was she going to die? To her great amazement, she wasn’t frightened. She almost felt ready.
At that moment, Tomale suddenly broke free, ran across the room, and kicked the policemen holding her, hard in the small of his back.
He cried out in pain and released her.
“RUN!” Tomale yelled at her, wide-eyed.
It was the last thing she heard, as she ran out the door. As she did, she saw them pouncing on Tomale in his house.
Under the shade of darkness she saw a motor scooter propped up against Tomale’s picket fence. She jumped on, kicked back the starter, and screeched down the back road, Thank God Clint had taught her how to ride. She knew the U.S. Consulate was a couple of miles straight down. It wasn’t far. She could make it. A huge, unexpected surge of energy filled her, as a loud rumbling sounded from behind.
She looked in the side mirror. Two police cars were on her trail. She revved the gas as far as it would go, and raced on and off the road, slipping between trees, around clumps of sugar cane. They couldn’t follow her there. She slipped off the road and then back on again, over and over, heading straight in the direction of the Embassy.
As she got further, she heard the police cars closer.
Please God, just a little further. This is no way to die, on a back road in Barbados. There’s too much good I can do alive.
Up ahead she could see the Embassy. Then, with one last, enormous push, she swerved off the road, on the road, and then straight through the Consulate gates.
Safe. Protected. On United States territory. The police could not follow her here.
She felt a vibration in her pocket and looked down at her cell phone. One new message. From the coroner. And it had attachments.
Chapter 24
When her plane landed at Kennedy airport, the word was out. Cindy was shocked. She was met by a flock of photographers and reporters. Cameras flashed. This was a big news story now.
As photographers flashed their cameras at her, she stood, stupefied, looking for the man supposed to meet her there: FBI Agent Farnell.
He was at the front of the gate, peering through the crowds, waiting for her.
He rushed forward to help her, making his way through the waves of people.
Before he got there, clusters of reporters ran up to Cindy, asking for comments.
“I’m happy to be home,” was all she could say .
“Is there any other comment you have? When did you know DGB was implicated?”
“I’m not sure,” Cindy was flustered.
“Did you know that the death of your husband would send a ripple all the way to Congress?”
Farnell put an arm around her and ushered her through the crowd into a waiting town car.
“What’s going on?” said asked, stunned.
She felt as if she were in a crazy dream.
As the car took off and she settled comfortably, Farnell handed her a newspaper.
The headlines screamed: Large oil company executive, Henry Greerson, arrested on suspicion of murder. Washington lobbyists and Congressmen possibly involved.
Farnell looked at her with different eyes. “You did good.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” said Cindy.
“Yes, you did.”
“That coroner’s report you sent me was just what we needed,” he said. “We already have a confession from Greerson—he’s looking to a plea deal. DGB is going to go down. And they’re going to bring a lot of lobbyists—and a few Congressmen—down with them.”
They drove in silence, getting onto the Van Wyck, heading in the direction of her house in Cove Bay.
“To be honest, I didn’t think you could pull it off,” he said, and broke into a small smile.
“I didn’t think so, either,” she said, smiling back.
“Want a job with the bureau?” he asked, smiling wide.
She looked at him and smiled back. “No thanks.”
She finally set the paper down, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. Flashes of Barbados kept crossing her mind.
“I faced death right on,” Cindy said, “and I wasn’t afraid. Do you know what that does to a person?”
“Yes,” he said, as they drove in silence. “I do.”
*
As Farnell dropped her off, she saw that Ann and Frank were waiting for her on her front lawn.
Ann’s shoulder was in a sling, but she had a smile on her face. And Frank, for the first time, smiled back at her, too. He looked at her with a whole new respect.
Ann ran up, and the two of them embraced. They both started to cry.
“I’m so happy you’re well,” Cindy said.
“And I’m so happy you’re home safe,” Ann said.
As they pulled away and headed towards the house, Frank looked at her.
“I’m sorry, Cindy,” he said, “for everything I said. It seems you were right all along.”
He put a protective hand on her shoulder as he lead them into the house.
*
Hours later, the three of them still sat around the kitchen table, drinking coffee, watching the news, and going over the story endlessly. Finally, they were getting tired out. And it was almost time for Ann and Frank to go. For good, this time.
“Clint’s family called,” Ann said.
Cindy’s body clenched up.
“Don’t worry. They’ve changed their tune. They’ve seen the news. They’re actually grateful to you. They’re relieved to know how he died. They’re grateful for everythi
ng you’ve done. And I think they’re ashamed of themselves. They don’t know how to thank you.”
“I don’t need them to thank me,” Cindy said. “I’m content.”
“Well, at least they’ve dropped the whole house issue. They said to tell you that it’s yours to keep. They’re not going to try to fight you on it.”
Cindy nodded. She looked around the place and realized how much it felt like home. She was happy she wouldn’t have to leave it.
*
The next morning Cindy woke up alone in the house, and for the first time, she felt good. It was different now being home in Cove Bay. She jumped out of bed, and began her day. She was grateful to be here for now. There was still a lot of cleaning to do, especially from the mess from the break in, and Cindy was happy to do it. She wanted to put everything in order, make the place a home again.
She got up and went to the window. Summer was here and the garden was in full bloom. She opened the window and leaned out, letting the fragrance of the flowers and trees fill her.
She walked out of the house and into the garden that she and Clint had started. It was beautiful, filled with color and life. As she stood there, among the flowers they’d planted, she knew that Clint was with her, and that he would have wanted her to let her life bloom, too.
As she stood there, staring, her cell phone rang. She kept the ringer on these days, and she was no longer afraid to answer it.
It was Helene. An old college friend, from Wisconsin. She’d read about what had happened to Clint, and what Cindy had accomplished in Barbados. Helene was amazed. She said that she, herself, had been living on a Caribbean Island for the past six months. But something awful had happened. She couldn’t tell Cindy what over the phone. Her voice started to shake.
Cindy held her breath. She felt Helene’s anguish.
Helene had already called in two Private Investigators, but it hadn’t do any good. She needed help badly. Would Cindy help her? She didn’t know where else to turn. She would pay a good fee and all expenses if Cindy would only fly down and help.
“I’m not a detective,” said Cindy.
“Please,” Helene said. “I don’t know who else to ask. I’m at a dead end. And you’ve been through this. You understand what I’m going through. And clearly you know what you’re doing.”
Cindy thought of her father. Was he looking down, trying to push her, still, to follow in his footsteps?
“Let me think about it,” Cindy said.
She took down all of her information before hanging up.
She closed her eyes and breathed deep, listening to the call of the summer birds. Maybe this had all happened for a reason. Maybe she could help others, too.
Maybe, just maybe, she’d go.
COMING SOON…
Book #2 in the Caribbean Murder Series
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