“Cassie was married to him?” Harriet couldn’t hide her surprise. She couldn’t picture the pleasant, well put-together resort manager coupled with the surly-faced man in the office doorway.
“Isn’t that a little uncomfortable for them?” she asked. “Both working here and being divorced? Unless they both wanted the divorce, of course.”
Albie grimaced. “From what I hear I’d go with uncomfortable. At least for Cassie. They were still married when they were hired. Rumor has it neither of them wanted to give up their new job. So here they are.”
“He doesn’t look very friendly.”
Albie looked at Big Ed thoughtfully. “No, he doesn’t look at all happy to see us. I wonder why that is?”
Chapter Fifteen
The morning after Alex’s visit, Harriet had showered, dressed, and eaten a slice of leftover pizza by the time Albie drove up to her cottage in a rugged all-terrain vehicle. To her relief she had slept well, and despite the bottle of wine she had polished off at Solly’s, awakened refreshed and ready to tackle any problems the day might shove her way.
“Good morning, Albie.” She smiled at the wiry, dark-skinned man who was rapidly becoming a friend. Albie flashed his bright smile in return and they were off.
“Where would you like to start today, Miss Harry?” he asked as he handed Harriet a go-cup of hot, fragrant coffee.
She sipped the dark, bitter brew and sighed with appreciation. Real coffee. She usually drank chicory root or mint tea because they fit her budget better, with the very occasional coffee splurge. The coffee boosted her spirits even further.
“I want to meet everyone who’s on the island.”
Albie looked at her out of the corner of his eye, one arm draped casually on the wheel, the other holding his own go-cup. He looked very native in his usual bright, baggy, knee-length shorts and flat-soled flops on his feet.
“That’s a lot of people. You thinking you should look for your boyfriend’s murderer, Miss?”
“Bradley Higgins wasn’t my boyfriend, Albie.” She took another sip of the coffee while she contemplated how much to tell Albie.
“The truth is that Bradley was little more than my jailer,” she said finally. The hard truth needed to be faced in the open or it would fester in her. “I was one of his possessions and he wanted me back where he could control me. I’m sure that’s why he came to the island. To force me to leave with him.”
When Albie said nothing she felt compelled to explain further. “And yes, I want to get a feel for the people here. I may not have loved Bradley anymore, but someone took his life and that person should be brought to justice. Alex told me that no one has left the island since Bradley’s arrival so the killer is still here, hiding in plain sight.”
“I heard Alex brought you dinner last night.”
The change of subject had Harriet turning in surprise. She swallowed a too hot sip of coffee and winced at the pain. “How did you hear that?”
Albie merely raised his eyebrows.
Harriet faced front again with a scowl. “Never mind,” she said, disgusted. “Island, right? Everyone here knows everyone else’s business. Except me, because I don’t know everyone.”
“Nooo, I don’t think it’s general knowledge yet that Alex is keen on you, Miss Harry. I ran into Lana this morning when I was getting the coffee. Apparently she saw Alex leaving your cottage last night. She wanted to know if I knew why he was visiting you. I got the sense she had been looking for him and wasn’t happy about where she found him.”
Harriet flushed. “It’s really none of her business,” she muttered. “Alex came by to question me about Bradley. He brought pizza as neither of us had eaten dinner.”
And he kissed me, she added silently. The memory of the heat in that kiss and her subsequent embarrassment made her face flush.
“What was Lana doing hanging around outside my cottage last night? She has an apartment over the kitchens, doesn’t she?”
“That is correct, Miss Harry. Miss Lana and the head chefs all live over the kitchens.”
Harriet pointed a finger at Albie. “Exactly. So why was she spying on me last night?”
“I don’t think she was spying on you. She has a thing for Alex.” They drove past the main complex and headed north.
“If it matters any,” Albie continued as he stopped and waited for a large green iguana to cross the road, “Alex has never shown the least interest in any of the women on the island, including Lana, despite the fact that she’s been throwing herself at him for the last month–ever since the day he arrived.”
He shot a look at Harriet and raised an eyebrow. “If it matters.”
Harriet hesitated, then huffed out a half-laugh, shaking her head. “Thanks, Albie. It-it might matter. I don’t know yet.”
“All right then. You’re a nice person, Miss Harry and I believe Mr. Hayes is a stand-up guy.”
The iguana disappeared into the bushes and they moved forward again. “We’ll work our way up the west side of the island,” Albie told her. “You’ve already seen Kidd’s Cove and met Mr. Douglas. He’s the only non-employee on the island at this time.”
Grateful for the change in subject, Harriet turned her attention to the beauty of the island. The all-terrain was open to the elements with no roof or windows except for a split windshield. They drove in an easy silence, enjoying the exotic scents carried on the breeze and drinking their coffees. The sea sparkled to their left. Formations of white gulls with black heads graced the sky, and colorful birds flitted through the foliage on their right.
Harriet took several deep breaths and felt lighter than she had in years. Maybe even since she’d been a young child. She had few memories of her life before her parents’ death, only the occasional flash of running and playing with other children, or of her mother singing her to sleep. Her mother had been a contralto, she remembered suddenly, with a deep, raspy tone not unlike Harriet’s own.
She cherished those brief glimpses of her childhood when they came, because other than the hologram of her parents, they were all she had left of her early life. Life before Aunt Wendy and Uncle Arthur.
Albie took the righthand fork, explaining to Harriet that it would take them to the resort’s amusement park. He drove for three-quarters of a mile and pulled into a wide, shallow, sandy space backed with a tall cyclone fence. A sign indicated the space was set aside for guests to park their carts.
“We walk from here.” Albie left his go-cup in the vehicle.
Harriet took a last sip and did the same. They followed the fence until they reached the lefthand edge of the parking lot where the wide entry gate stood open. There was no ticket booth as every activity on the resort was included in the package price.
Harriet trailed through the gate behind Albie, her head swiveling left to right and back again as she tried to take it all in at once.
The state of Maine didn’t have any large amusement parks. She and Solly had once tried the mini-coaster, Ferris Wheel, and bumper cars at Old Orchard Beach, a tourist town located a short distance south of Portland that boasted a small amusement arcade.
They had saved the money they’d collected from recycling cans and bottles, skipped a few meals to save more, and had hitchhiked to the park, excited to get out of Portland’s city proper.
The memories of the smells and giddy excitement of that day came rushing back to her. They had splurged on potato fries drenched in acidic vinegar and salt and drank lemon fizzies and wandered the long beach filled with vacationing tourists. It had been a fun adventure for two poor teens, but they’d never gone back.
The Island Resort’s amusement park made that long ago one seem like a toddler’s playground. The roller coaster track towered over the entire park, climbing and winding through and around the other rides, its high points so far above Harriet’s head that it hurt her neck to look up at them.
“Wow.”
“The coaster was especially designed by Aldous. He’s supposed to be the
world authority on historic parks.”
“I can believe it. This is amazing.”
“Come on, we’ll look for Braxton. He manages the park.” Albie led Harriet on a winding path through the rides, with the roller coaster a constant presence over their heads.
They passed a large water slide, with its labyrinth of twisting open and covered tubes and a waterfall that landed in a large pool designed to resemble a tropical lagoon. Water droplets shimmered and sparkled in the sunlight off the waterfall’s spray and fractured into miniature rainbows. Tiny lizards and birds, vibrant with color, darted through the lagoon jungle.
To Harriet it looked enchanting and magical. She could imagine how a child might view it.
Instead of bumper cars, the amusement park had a speedway track that circled the park’s perimeter. Sleek and colorful cars built to resemble rockets, sat empty at the starting line.
There were gentle rides for toddlers and wild, whirly-rides for older children, rides that whipped a person in circles and one that dropped the brave from a one hundred foot tower.
Harriet’s stomach flipped over just looking at them.
“There he is. Braxton! Have a minute? I’d like you to meet someone.” Albie took Harriet’s hand and led her to the backside of a man working on the guts of a carousal. Brightly painted horses, lions, and giraffes smiled down at her as she waited for the man to extricate himself from the narrow opening.
Braxton pulled himself from the center of the carousel and jumped to the ground. He was one of the largest men Harriet had ever seen.
He stood seven feet tall and weighed at least three hundred fifty pounds by Harriet’s guess. His beefy arms were covered with sweat and grease.
He pulled a grease-covered rag from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his weathered face, leaving several smears of black behind. He had a large, fleshy nose, fleshy lips, the soft mocha-colored skin that told her he was mixed race, and the greenest eyes Harriet had ever seen.
His shaved head glistened with more sweat. The man was obviously not suited for tropical climes.
“Brax, this is my friend, Harriet Monroe. She’s also the resort’s new PR Director. Harry, this is Braxton Holliday, manager of the new Holliday Amusement Park.”
Harriet smiled with pleasure at being called friend, and at Braxton’s apt last name, although she didn’t mention it. She knew how irritating it could be to be teased about your name. She’d been teased plenty about the old-fashioned Harriet and even more about her chosen nickname, Harry.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Holliday,” she said, extending her hand. “This looks like a frosty park you have here. Did you design the layout and choose the rides yourself?”
Braxton’s smile transformed his whole face into that of a friendly bear. His enormous hands engulfed Harriet’s as he took hers in both of his and shook it gently.
“Call me Brax, honey.” His voice was a deep, pleasant rumble.
“I tracked down most of the rides from dead parks all over the world–amusement parks used to be a big deal, you know. All but the coaster, of course. That was specially designed for Mr. Wade by a friend of his named Aldous. My crew and me, we just built it according to Aldous’s plan.”
He looked up at the track overhead and shrugged. “Beats me why anyone would want to subject themselves to that, but it’s Mr. Wade’s money. He can spend it as he sees fit. Me, I’m just happy to see these things working again.”
Harriet indicated the carousel and the inner workings showing through the open door. “This is absolutely beautiful. Are you having trouble with it?”
Braxton looked proudly at the ride. “She is a beauty, isn’t she? I found her in pieces, the animals scattered to kingdom come, bought up by antique collectors so people could decorate their fancy houses with ‘em. Took me two years to track down enough to fill the platform. I did all the res-to-ration work myself according to old photos I found. She’s over three hundred years old and still grand.”
He patted the neck of an ornate black horse with a gentle hand, a man obviously happy in his work. Harriet smiled at him and he winked as if reading her thoughts.
“She runs just fine,” he assured her. “I just like tinkering on her. You come by when I’m running it for the guests and take a ride.”
“I’d like that,” Harriet responded, pleased by the invitation.
“So, Brax,” broke in Albie, who knew the man could talk for hours about his carousel, “me and Harriet are trying to track down everyone who was on the island a couple days ago. Do you still have a crew here?”
“Did. Had two dozen guys help me set everything up. They were here almost nine months. The last of them left four days ago. The various ride operators showed up yesterday. They’ll be here this afternoon to get up to speed. The food stalls will be manned by the kitchen. Why?”
He looked at them closely, his green eyes suddenly sharp with understanding. “You’d be wondering if I know anyone who might’ve killed that northern boy.”
“Bradley Higgins,” Harriet said. “His name was Bradley Higgins and I knew him.”
“Sorry for your loss, lass, but there weren’t nobody here but me and I been working day and night tying up the last loose bits so we’ll be ready when the first guests arrive. I certainly didn’t kill your friend.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that I thought you killed him,” Harriet said, embarrassed. “I just . . . crap. I’m trying to help Alex Hayes find the murderer,” she finished lamely.
Braxton raised a sausage-like finger and wagged it in her face. “Take some advice from me and let Alex do his job. You go sticking your nose in where it don’t belong and you might not like what happens.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you might wind up dead like your friend.”
Chapter Sixteen
Harriet looked around the marina before climbing out of the all-terrain under Big Ed’s watchful eye. She saw several droids rigging sailboats down at the docks and no one else. Since these droids weren’t built for interaction with people their faces were simple, frozen masks. She suspected they would be deactivated while guests were about.
“I don’t think Big Ed wants company,” she whispered, turning back to Albie. “Should we go?”
Instead of answering, Albie raised a hand and called to the man watching them. “Morning, Ed. I’m showing Miss Harriet around the island. Thought we should check out the marina.”
Big Ed grunted a reply that made Harriet feel even less welcome. “I think we should go,” she repeated.
“Nonsense.”
Harriet followed her companion across the crushed shell lot to the office, aware that the expression on Big Ed’s face hadn’t changed. If anything, the scowl deepened as they drew closer.
“Ed, this is Harriet Monroe, the resort’s PR Director. Harry, this is Ed Whitfield, the marina’s assistant manager.”
“How do you do, Mr. Whitfield. I’m pleased to meet you.” Harriet held out her hand. The assistant manager hesitated so long she thought he was going to ignore her, but then he grabbed her hand, gave a quick hard shake, and dropped it as if she’d given him an electric jolt.
“Not much to see.” His voice sounded like icy, shallow water washing over pebbles–raspy, rough, and unwelcoming. Any exposed skin looked brown and tough like tanned leather, the skin of a man who spent most of his time on the water, unprotected from the sun. His hair and eyes also looked as if the sun had leached all color from them.
Harriet held her smile in place even though she would have preferred to turn around and leave. Big Ed’s pale blue eyes stared at her without warmth or even the slightest interest. She took a deep breath and told herself not to let the man intimidate her.
“There’s lots to see,” she disagreed firmly. “I think the marina looks very inviting. So many different types of watercraft for people to choose from. Do you charter fishing trips from here as well?”
“Yes.”
H
arriet refused to give up. “Snorkeling and sightseeing too? I think sightseeing would be particularly attractive for families with older, less mobile, members and young children.”
“Yes.”
Well, that hadn’t worked. Harriet looked at Albie, silently begging him for help.
“We must have caught you in the middle of something, Ed,” Albie said easily. “Why don’t I show Miss Harry the boats myself and let you get back to it.”
“Suit yourself.” Big Ed stepped back inside the office and slammed the door, making the bell on it jangle in protest.
Harriet waited until they were well out of earshot before exploding. “That attitude certainly won’t fly with the resort guests,” she said. “I can’t believe how rude he was.”
“He was rude, I’ll give you that. Beyond being introduced, this is the first I’ve spoken with him since I arrived. Fortunately the marina manager should be back by tomorrow.”
“Where is he?”
“He had to go to the mainland unexpectedly yesterday.”
Harriet grabbed Albie’s arm. “What? What’s the manager’s name? Don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that he just happened to leave the island while Alex is looking for a killer?”
Albie flashed his bright smile. “The manager’s name is Leonard Dixon and he had to rush his wife to the mainland hospital because the resort isn’t equipped to deliver babies, although I think Mr. Wade might rectify that oversight now.”
“Oh.”
Deflated, Harriet turned her attention to the boats. She’d always had a soft spot for working waterfronts. As a young runaway in Portland she’d often whiled away her time hanging out on the docks, watching the fishing boats and container ships unload, and the ferries taking tourists out to the Casco Bay islands and sightseeing around Portland’s harbor.
There had even been a few times when she managed to sneak through the gate to the yacht club’s marina and wander its docks, admiring the luxury boats that belonged to Portland’s upper crust.
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