Cassidy Kincaid Mysteries Box Set

by Amy Waeschle

  Relieved, Cassidy went to her pack and grabbed a set of clothes, then followed the deck around the corner. A low partition made of frosted glass blocks ended in a stone wall with a simple spigot. The concrete floor sloped into a shallow bowl with a drain in the center. She stripped down and in moments, the warm, clean water slid over her skin. Above her, a screened roof had collected a handful of large leaves. Beyond, she recognized several constellations. She scrubbed in the vanilla-scented shampoo, knowing she was hurrying, pulled by the anticipation she’d experienced since getting into Mel’s jeep.

  She turned off the water and dried off with a soft, fluffy towel. She squeezed out her long hair then stepped into her clothes—nothing special, she realized with dismay—a blue T-shirt (had she slept in this one?) and pair of long hiking shorts.

  Mel sat in one of the leather-backed rocking chairs on the deck. The bird book and binoculars had been put away, and two plates, cloth napkins, and silverware were placed on the small table along with a candle and two tall glasses filled with ice and something fizzing. Music played from inside—some kind of soothing Latin instrumental. Cassidy settled into the comfortable rocker.

  “Thanks for doing all of this,” Cassidy said, trying not to feel overwhelmed. It was her last day of vacation, why shouldn’t she spend it with a handsome friend-in-the-making who seemed content to take care of her?

  As if on cue, he answered, “It’s my pleasure.” They clinked glasses and Cassidy sipped from the drink, the ice cubes clashing into her teeth. It tasted of fresh mint, with lime, and a hint of sugar.

  They dug into the food, a kind of Asian bowl with rice, grilled cabbage, and fish in a spicy sauce. “So how did you find this place?” Cassidy said.

  “I didn’t.” Mel gave her an amused glance. “I built it.”

  Cassidy’s eyes popped open. “You did?” She looked around at all the details. “Wow.”

  “I had some help. Like with the railing,” he said, nodding to the intricate branch-lattice enclosure that surrounded the deck. “And the shower. That was tricky.”

  “How long did it take you?”

  “Three years,” Mel replied, scooping another bite. “But I didn’t do it full time. I had to piece it together.”

  “How long have you been in Tamarindo?”

  “Coming up on fifteen years, but in the treehouse for three.”

  Cassidy took another sip of her drink, imagining the changes he had seen in a town like Tamarindo. Changes that were good for his business, but maybe not so great for actually enjoying his time off—more traffic, crowded lineups, unruly tourists.

  Cassidy swallowed another bite and washed it down with another sip from her glass, rocking a bit in her chair.

  A pleasant quiet passed between them as they ate in the company of the insects chirping; a bird hooted rhythmically in the distance. It was exactly the kind of evening she had craved. After such a taxing afternoon, to unwind in quiet company felt almost magical. Mel seemed to read her mind; he always seemed to know what she needed. A quick fantasy about how it would end flashed through her mind, and she blushed.

  “You said you’d been out of town looking at property,” Cassidy asked. “Was it for surfing?”

  Mel was mid-sip, so he nodded, then smacked his lips. “A little scouting trip.”

  “Anything you wish to share?”

  “My boat’s nothing fancy,” he said. “But you’re welcome anytime.”

  Cassidy identified the subtle rub, and figured that she was unlikely the first of Bruce’s guests to fall for such luxury. But had Bruce’s charm been some kind of an act? A sense of doubt about his character resurfaced. What if it was true? What if his big, fancy boat was financed with dirty money, and he had fooled her?

  “You think you’ll come back?” Mel said.

  Cassidy forced thoughts of Bruce out of her mind. “I’ll always come back to Costa Rica. My work is here, on Arenal.”

  Mel raised an eyebrow. “Arenal, huh? It’s so beautiful up there.”

  A memory snagged in her brain of Pete pitching a story about one of the towns on Arenal’s flank, the one that had been destroyed again and again by the lava flows, but rebuilt every time. Pete was planning to meet up with Cassidy after one of her fieldwork cycles and visit the area for research. If he were still alive, it could have been on this very trip, a thought that filled her with sudden frustration. He won’t ever go on a trip with me again.

  Cassidy realized that Mel had taken her plate, and when he returned, held out his hand. “May I have this dance?” he asked.

  Grateful, Cassidy let him pull her to her feet, and the painful road she had been walking dissolved into the night.

  Their bodies came close, the heat from his melting into hers. They moved together to the music in a slow dance, their bare feet shuffling on the smooth wood floor and their hips swaying gently as one. It was just like before, and Cassidy knew where they were heading, knew that she had wanted this all along. Cassidy looked up at him, and there was a moment’s pause, her breath rising fast and high in her chest. Then he kissed her, his lips soft and tender. She closed her eyes and kissed him back.

  They danced for a long time, as if time was theirs to stretch into as long as they needed, sharing a kiss, a caress, and it was nice to just move together and enjoy the beautiful night and the surroundings. It gave her time to put all of her thoughts to rest, to shift gears, to relax in Mel’s embrace. There was one kiss that went on longer than the others, and without thinking, she slid her hands under his shirt to caress his warm skin. And then he was leading her by the hand up the stairs to a round-shaped bedroom with a simple, low bed, a ceiling fan overhead, and a huge window open to the jungle. The music from below wafted up the stairs; they danced to it as Mel pulled off her shirt and everything else, and they were dancing skin to skin. Mel’s hands caressed her back; Cassidy put her arms around his neck, her breasts brushing up against his muscular chest. They kissed again, and her fingers tangled in his hair. She pressed her hips close to his. He lowered her to the bed, and she let herself surrender into his eager kisses, his expert touch.

  Cassidy woke the way she usually did, from a haze of a dream in the middle of the night. Facing away from her, Mel was curled on his side, the sheet drawn up over his hip, his left shoulder arching up in the darkness. The room was pitch black and the insects had quieted somewhat; though a breeze—coming from the land now—stirred the branches of the giant tree that the house was built around, making a soft sound, like water moving over stones. The tree also seemed to be swaying ever so slightly. Maybe this movement was responsible for waking her.

  She curled into Mel’s back, wrapping an arm around his waist, and tried to go back to sleep. Mel stirred but didn’t wake. Her mind turned to the day ahead: catching her shuttle to the airport, boarding her plane, and the many connections after that. It would take the entire day to travel back to Eugene, but she would use her time to jump back into her projects. With a start, she remembered that her laptop battery was dead. Her phone was dead, too. Groaning, she realized that sleep would elude her until this chore was accomplished, so she rose from the bed and tiptoed down the stairs, feeling her way along the trunk of the tree to the main floor.

  Even after she gave her eyes—gummy from sleeping in her contacts—a minute to adjust, it was still too dark to see. She shuffled her feet slowly, hands outstretched to catch herself if she stumbled, until her toe hit the soft nylon of her backpack. Methodically, she felt inside the main pouch for the neoprene laptop case, and removed it. She then searched for her phone and finally found it in the lid inside a special zippered pocket, along with her passport and wallet. Unfortunately, her charging cord was back at the Pelican Hotel in Nicaragua. She remembered Mel’s phone mounted to the dash of the jeep—wasn’t it a Samsung like hers? Maybe he had a spare cord.

  Cassidy checked the kitchen, her eyes squinting in the dark for outlets and anything looking like a phone or device attached, but she found only one outlet, b
oth sockets with cords plugged in. She found no outlets under the counter or around the corner, so she shuffled to the other side of the room to the roll-top desk and matching stool. Not wanting to wake Mel with the light from the gooseneck lamp, she felt around in the darkness and found an outlet in the floor, with two plugs already in the sockets.

  Relieved, she traced the cords up through a hole in the back of the desk. Cassidy paused, unsure of the etiquette. Would Mel mind her opening his desk and unplugging his devices? She stood there in the dark, unable to predict his reaction. If she were in his place, how would she feel about it? The thought of someone in the house she and Pete had shared gave her gut a lurch, but she pushed past it when the answer became clear: of course, she wouldn’t mind. All documents autosaved, so there was no risk of losing any important work.

  Carefully, she rolled back the lid of the desk. The thick wood squeaked once but then tucked back inside itself without further protest. A phone was plugged in but a separate cord lay vacant—probably for a laptop, she reasoned. Maybe he used it at the surf camp, but only sometimes brought it home.

  With a careful tug, she released the cord from his phone. As she did so, it came to life, the screen full of text messages. She ignored these, but noted the time: 3:06 a.m. Feeling more and more guilty for messing with his things without permission, she went to plug in her phone when his screen lit up with an incoming call.

  The image of the caller filled the screen. At first, Cassidy didn’t trust her eyes; she should have taken the time to remove her contact lenses before falling asleep, but she had been so content, lazy almost, and hadn’t wanted to disrupt the enchantment of letting sleep come leisurely, sweetly, in Mel’s arms. So when the recognition came, it felt like it happened in slow motion.

  It was Reeve’s neighbor. The name JUNO flashed below his image.

  Cassidy felt a strange sense of unease. Her logical brain went right to work, trying to find a solution. Did he work for Mel at Crazy Mike’s, and something was wrong? A fire? Was someone hurt?

  But Cassidy had never seen Juno at Crazy Mike’s. Could the two of them be surf buddies? That’s probably it, Cassidy decided. Maybe they were supposed to go surfing this morning, and he’s calling to wake him up, or to change the plan. Something about that didn’t sit right, though. Only fanatical surfers got up at three a.m. She didn’t think Mel was the fanatical kind.

  Her curiosity in charge now, she picked up Mel’s phone again. Juno’s call ended without a message. She scanned the previews of the text messages, all from different no-name phone numbers. They were written in some strange code, like E36 2,200, A91 1800. Another no-name number’s text message read: New photos operational.

  Cassidy lowered herself to the stool, and tried to organize her thoughts. Just because Mel knew Juno didn’t mean something was wrong. It was a small town. Mel was a business owner, he probably knew everyone. Then, she remembered the dreadlocked drummer at the apartment. He’s a bad man, the drummer had said. People coming and going at all hours of the day and night. So if the police had really come to arrest him, why was he calling Mel? To ask him to bail him out?

  Cassidy was relieved to have found an answer. Of course, that was it. Mel was the kind of guy who would bail out a kid in trouble.

  She plugged in her phone then tried to weave her laptop cord into the hole in the back of the desk so she could plug it into the floor. That’s when she noticed the camera. The message flashed into her mind: New photos operational. She remembered the bird book and binoculars on the deck’s table. Maybe Mel was some kind of nature photographer.

  A seed of doubt had crept into her mind. She tried to ignore it, telling herself that she was being ridiculous.

  The battle between her fingers and her mind went on for what felt like minutes. Don’t, a voice inside her head blared, but her fingers were faster. She pressed the home button and the small screen lit up. She took a long, steadying breath and pushed the back arrow. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t.

  It was a girl. Her brown eyes were hollow and her small face was so devoid of emotion that she could have been a statue. Her long hair flowed down her back, and she wore earrings, little silver balls.

  Unable to stop herself, Cassidy clicked the back arrow again. It was another girl—similar in age, sitting in a chair, the background dark and empty, her eyes glancing off to the side, as if watching someone. Her white shirt had a curved collar, the kind on a school uniform.

  Cassidy put the camera back, her fingers shaking. Carefully she unplugged and replugged everything, trying to remember exactly where each device had been, then rolled the desktop down, inch by slow inch. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt her ears, and a nauseous churning in her gut told her she would soon be sick. She hurried back across the floor, her backpack and strewn things resembling the carcass of an eviscerated animal. Quickly she stuffed her things back inside, separating out the items she would need: hiking boots, socks, long pants. There was only one thought in her mind: Run.

  Twenty-Two

  She had pulled on her underwear, a sports bra, and a T-shirt when the floor above her creaked. Carefully, she turned around, her eyes fixed on the stairway. Another gust moved the treehouse. She waited through another eternal moment and then, not hearing any more sounds from above, slipped on her socks and pants, both so grubby from fieldwork they could have stood on their own, and tied her hiking boots.

  “Cassidy?” Mel said, coming down the stairs in a pair of pajama-like pants.

  Cassidy froze.

  “I thought I heard something,” Mel said, rubbing his face and squinting. “What time is it?”

  “Early,” Cassidy said, swallowing the still-burning bile in her throat.

  He came to stand in front of her. “What’s wrong?” He looked so genuinely puzzled that she had a moment of doubt. And she so wanted to give in to that doubt. How could this man, this kind, thoughtful man, who seemed to know what she needed before she even knew it herself, who had rescued her from loneliness, from herself, not be real?

  Cassidy tried to speak but nothing came. It was like the words were at the bottom of a well.

  He noticed her outfit, then, and his compassionate look changed. “What’s going on?”

  Cassidy forced her mind to work. Think. “My flight,” she stammered. “I have to get there early, and I didn’t want to wake you up.”

  Mel seemed to think on this for a moment.

  Cassidy swallowed.

  His eyes did a quick flash to the desk and back to her. “What have you been doing?” Mel said, all kindness in his voice gone.

  “Me?” she said, but it came out sounding like a squeak. “Nothing,” she gasped. “I woke up and didn’t feel so good, so I thought I’d just walk back to town, and meet my ride.”

  “No,” Mel said. “Try again.”

  Cassidy resisted the urge to look in the direction of the desk, but it was like he could feel it’s pull. A mounting sense of panic took hold as she tried to think her way out of this.

  Mel sighed. “I knew it was too risky to bring you here.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I just . . . wanted to feel normal,” he said. “You’re so . . . good, and sweet, and I haven’t had that in a long time, you know?”

  Cassidy staggered backwards, her foot snagged on a pack strap, and she went down hard on her butt.

  Mel slumped down to the futon. “I never meant for this to happen. It’s not like . . . ” He sighed. “But I’m locked in, now. There’s no way out.” He looked at her. “I’m afraid there won’t be for you, either.”

  “What do you mean?” Cassidy said. Icy tentacles wrapped around her lungs and squeezed.

  Mel just sighed.

  Cassidy’s panic roiled inside her as her predicament became clear.

  “If only you’d just kept your nose out of it,” Mel said, his eyes flashing with anger. He stood, and looked around, and a calm settled over his features. “Let’s go,” he said.

  “You killed Reeve, didn�
�t you?” Cassidy said from the floor. Could she make a break for it? If she left her pack, she could outrun him. But what about her passport, money? How would she get out of the country?

  Mel looked away.

  “He found out about what you do, and you killed him.”

  “He thought he was so clever,” Mel said through gritted teeth. “But nobody steals from me.”

  “Steal . . . ?” Cassidy shook her head in confusion. “You mean Jade?” she asked, the connections coming together too fast in her mind.

  “It’s not like I didn’t know where that boat would end up.”

  “But she got away, didn’t she?” If she moved slowly enough, would he notice her inching towards the door?

  Mel’s jaw clenched in the dark.

  Cassidy realized with sudden horror that he had been in San Juan. “You said you’d been gone for a few days. You were there.” She remembered her hotel room and the clothes that had been on top of the bag and not inside the way she had left them. “You were in my hotel room.”

  Mel walked to the kitchen counter and grabbed his keys.

  Cassidy eyed the door but it was too far away. “What were you looking for?”

  “His phone,” he said.

  Cassidy realized that she still had it, in the bottom of her pack, the battery in a separate pouch. “If I give it to you, will you let me go?”

  Mel stood at the edge of the counter, looking down at her in the green glow from the kitchen. He seemed to be giving the idea some thought.

  “I almost had a lucky break when he attacked Juno.”

  Cassidy inhaled sharply. The taxi driver—Juno worked for Mel driving the girls around.

  “But he got off with a fine,” Mel said, removing a small case from a cupboard above the refrigerator. He slid the case and keys into his pocket. “If only he would have killed him, then my troubles would have ended there.”

  “How can you even talk like that?” Cassidy said, unable to keep her disgust from her voice. “These are human beings.” Her voice began to quaver. “The girls, they’re just children.” She suppressed a sob. “How could you do this to them?”