An Easy Sail - A Connie Barrera Thriller: The 8th Novel in the Series - Mystery and Adventure in Florida and the Caribbean (Connie Barrera Thrillers)

by Charles Dougherty

  Reuben Griffin reread the email he'd just received from the man with the scarred face. He had a new mission for Griffin in Miami.

  Griffin was relieved that his boss seemed to have accepted the failure to locate Lennox; he'd been worried that the man might be upset. Griffin had not given up on finding her, but he was stuck for the moment.

  He had called the men on Lennox's client list, explaining that he'd taken over from her previous agent. He told them he was recruiting new talent, and needed their candid evaluation of Lennox and any of the other girls that Manny LaRosa had sent their way. They all gave Lennox rave reviews, but none of them had heard from her in months.

  The boss might be willing to back off on the search for her, but Griffin wasn't. Based on her pictures in the file and the comments from her clients, she was a valuable piece of merchandise. He'd find her eventually and put her ass back to work.

  Meanwhile, the boss had another project for him, more directly related to the drug business. Finding two Rastas in Miami would be like looking for needles in a haystack, except these guys were both well over six feet tall. And he had their names. Unusual names, at that. They were U.S. citizens, too, which meant they might have drivers' licenses and credit cards.

  The email from the scar-faced man said they spent a lot of time in Dominica and were cousins of the man called Sharktooth. Griffin would ask Caruthers to have Patrick ask around about them while he was in Dominica checking out Sharktooth.

  The boss said there was a picture of them in the art gallery that Sharktooth's wife ran in Portsmouth. If Patrick could break into the gallery, he could get a copy of the picture. That would speed things along, for sure. Griffin took a burner cellphone from his desk drawer and punched in Charlie Caruthers's number.

  "Any word from Patrick?" he asked, when Caruthers answered.

  "Last I heard from him, he was headed for Portsmouth. Why?"

  "Good. I got a little extra job for him tonight," Griffin said. "Can you get in touch with him?"

  "Yeah, sure. What do you need?"

  Griffin explained what he wanted Patrick to do.

  "That's all?" Caruthers asked. "You sure you don't want him to mess up the woman? She might know more about them, like where they're staying in Miami. I mean, if she's got their picture in her shop, and all. Know what I'm sayin'?"

  "Depends on how it works out," Griffin said. "What's his plan with this Sharktooth guy?"

  "I told him what you said about not spookin' these people, so he was gonna ask around, quiet like. Not to confront this Sharktooth directly, right?"

  "Yeah, that's good. So how's he gonna question the guy's wife, then? That would give away our game, wouldn't it?"

  "You say she's got an art gallery. Maybe he could make it look like a robbery or somethin', you know?"

  "You mean, like, not related to asking about Sharktooth?" Griffin asked.

  "Yeah," Caruthers said.

  "That won't work, Charlie. If she tells Sharktooth the robber was askin' about the cousins, he'll figure it out. The man ain't an idiot."

  "Yeah, but you know Patrick. Once he's through wit' her, she won't be tellin' nobody nothin'."

  Griffin took a couple of deep breaths, stalling while he thought about that. "Okay," he said. "I'll leave that between you and Patrick, but make sure he doesn't tip our hand. If he does her, it's gotta be clean. No blowback. You got that?"

  "Yeah, Reuben. No problem, mon. I'll get you their address and phone number. You jus' wait an' see."

  17

  "What time did you arrive last night?" Sandrine asked, as the waitress cleared their breakfast dishes from the table. She and Phillip had met Connie, Paul, and Marcia at the marina restaurant near Sandrine's office.

  "Not long after sunset," Connie said.

  "And how was the sail?" Phillip asked.

  "Fantastic," Marcia said. "Connie found the wind about two hours out of Portsmouth. We had great sailing after that. We were between a beam reach and a close reach the whole way."

  "You sound like a sailor," Phillip said.

  "I'm just learning," Marcia said. "Did I get that right?"

  "You did fine," Connie said. "You're a quick study."

  "My office will be opening just now," Sandrine said, glancing at her wristwatch. "We will go arrange your inbound clearance, and I have only a small bit to do this morning. Five minutes — no more, and then I am free for the day. Connie said that you would like to see Fort-de-France, Marcia, and perhaps we will do a little of the shopping, yes?"

  "That sounds like fun," Marcia said. "Connie said there were shops for most of the European designers. And there are other sights to see, as well, correct? An historic library and some museums, maybe?"

  "Yes, of course," Sandrine said. "And Connie, will you be coming with us?"

  "Oh, I'm afraid I'd be a drag on you two. I'm not in the same league as you when it comes to shopping. Besides, it looks like we're going to have a nice, calm morning. I can touch up a little of the varnish while you explore downtown. It'll give the two of you a chance to get acquainted."

  "So, okay, then," Sandrine said. "We will take the Jeep, yes, Phillip? You are okay with that? Maybe you and Paul will go fishing, so you don't need it?"

  "We'll manage. I don't know about the fishing, but if you want the Jeep, I'm sure Connie and Paul can give me a ride home in the dinghy."

  "Then Marcia and I, we are going to be doing the town, the way you say. We will have some shopping and see some historic places, and have a nice lunch. Then maybe some more shopping on our way back here. This evening, we have dinner at our house, yes?"

  "That sounds perfect," Connie said. "Why don't I go with you now and handle the clearance paperwork, then you and Marcia can get started. Paul and Phillip can enjoy another cup of coffee here. I should be back in a few minutes."

  The three women left, and Phillip turned to Paul. "She seems pleasant enough," he said.

  "She asks a lot of questions," Paul said. "Some of them are pretty strange. It'll be interesting to hear Sandrine's reaction to her after a whole day. Did you talk with Sharktooth yesterday?"

  "I did. He told me about her and her questions. He said you were going to see if Luke could find out anything about her."

  "I sent him an email, but I haven't heard from him. When Connie gets back, we can give him a call. Did you tell Sandrine what Sharktooth said about Marcia and her questions?"

  Phillip smiled. "Yes. She might have some trouble with her English today, if Marcia gets too nosey. And once she and Marcia are out of here, Mary Ellen's going to join us."

  "Glad Sharktooth warned us about her change of identity," Paul said. "I can see why she's nervous. That Manny LaRosa character was bad news. If Guillermo Montalba was mixed up with him, she's got good reason to be covering her tracks."

  "She's really changed," Phillip said. "It won't be as apparent to you and Connie, but it's way more than just a new name. Her whole personality's different now. I'm betting this is the real her. You'd never guess about her past. Sandrine's kind of adopted her; she hangs out with us a lot."

  "Dani and Liz seemed to like her," Paul said. "Did you talk to them, by the way? About her name and all?"

  "Yes. Thanks for suggesting that. We should have thought of it. Not that Dani and Liz would have told anybody, but still, accidental leaks happen. Speaking of that, did you tell Luke?"

  "Only that Sandrine had fixed it so that anybody looking would discover that Beverly Lennox had gone back to Miami. I didn't want to pass on her new name in an email. I figured if he needed to get in touch with her, he'd call you."

  Phillip nodded, looking over Paul's shoulder at the entrance to the restaurant. "Connie's coming back, and Mary Ellen's about ten steps behind her."

  "I think we should get out of here," Paul said. "Let's head for your place; no point sitting here where somebody might see her and wonder what we're doing. You intercept the two of them. Connie can take you both to the dinghy while I settle up. I'll meet you ther
e directly."

  "I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw that woman walk into the customs office with Sandrine," Mary Ellen said.

  Connie was steering the dinghy through the maze of anchored boats off the marina's docks. At idle speed, the outboard was quiet enough for the four of them to converse in a normal tone. Mary Ellen sat across from her, and Paul and Phillip were sitting in front, facing back toward them.

  "Marcia?" Connie asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

  "Marcia?" Mary Ellen asked. "That's the name she's using?"

  "Marcia Levine," Paul said.

  "You didn't recognize her, Phillip?" Mary Ellen asked.

  Phillip frowned, shaking his head. "No. Should I?"

  "Remember the sketch of Berto?" Mary Ellen asked.

  "Well, yes, but … "

  "Imagine that woman with dark, curly hair, cut like a man's. Forget that buzz-cut blonde hair, and strip off the makeup."

  "What are you saying," Connie asked. "Paul and I haven't seen the sketch of Berto. Or Guillermo Montalba, I guess he is. Right?"

  "Right," Mary Ellen said, staring at Phillip, watching his expression. "Well?" she asked him.

  "You could be right," he said. "I can't make the mental adjustments for the hair color and the makeup, but the bone structure's similar."

  "Wait," Connie said, reaching across the dinghy, putting her hand on Mary Ellen's arm. "Are you saying she's Berto, or what?"

  "Not Berto. His sister," Mary Ellen said. "Graciella Montalba. They look like twins; maybe they are, even. But that's her. Thank God she didn't see me — I was behind the one-way mirror in the back office."

  "You sure that's Graciella?" Paul asked.

  "Yes. Phillip, do you still have the sketch of Berto, and that newspaper article with her picture?"

  "Sure," Phillip said. "In my office at home."

  "I'll show you, then," Mary Ellen said. "Wait a second. Do you guys have a picture of her? Marcia, I mean?"

  "Her passport's in my bag with the ship's papers," Connie said.

  "You have a copy machine, right, Phillip? In your office?"

  "Sure. You're thinking about marking up photos?"

  "Yes," Mary Ellen said. "Copies of photos, anyway. Too bad Liz isn't here. We could use an artist's eye. But I think I can show you."

  "I'm halfway there, already," Phillip said. "Just thinking about what you said about the hair and the makeup."

  "And I'm halfway there, too," Connie said. "For a different reason. That would explain all the questions she's been asking, and the fact that I couldn't find a writer named Marcia Levine on the internet."

  "Writer?" Mary Ellen asked. "She claims to be a writer?"

  "A ghostwriter," Paul said. "That's how she explained not showing up when Connie searched for her on the web."

  Mary Ellen shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. Ghostwriter or not, every writer I've ever run across takes whatever publicity they can. A ghostwriter would need to sell herself, don't you think? Anyway, it doesn't matter. That's her — Graciella Montalba. I have no doubt about it."

  "You said 'Thank God she didn't see me,' a minute ago," Connie said. "Does she know you by sight?"

  "I don't know. I never met her, but it's totally possible that her brother showed her a picture of me."

  "Did he take your picture?" Paul asked.

  "Not that I know of," Mary Ellen said, "but … there are a lot of pictures of me around. I was … uh, well, there were pictures of me on this website that he might have shown her."

  "I see," Connie said. "Well, there's no reason to take a chance, is there? I can't see any reason to let her see you."

  "No. You're right. But it could have happened; lucky for me that it didn't. I'm sure it's no accident that she's here on your boat. Her brother's probably looking for me, since I've seen his face."

  "We think he may be interested in us, too," Connie said. "Her presence here could be because of that, instead."

  "Why you?" Mary Ellen asked.

  "Hold that question," Connie said. "Now that we're out of the anchorage, I'm going to speed up. We won't be able to talk without yelling, but we'll be at the dock in Ste. Anne in a few minutes."

  "How long have you been friends with Connie and Paul?" Marcia asked, as Sandrine negotiated the bumper-to-bumper traffic heading toward Fort-de-France.

  "Phillip and I met her a few years ago," Sandrine said. "She came here on a charter yacht that is operated by some friends of ours. That was before she went into the charter business on her own."

  "Would that have been Vengeance?" Marcia asked. "With Dani Berger and her partner?"

  Sandrine gave her a quick sideways glance, frowning. "How do you know this?" she asked. "Connie, she tells you this, perhaps?"

  "Yes, that's right. I saw their boat on the broker's website when I was looking for a charter, at around the same time I found Diamantista II. I noticed the similarity between the yachts."

  "Ah," Sandrine said. "I see. So you ask Connie and Paul do they know Dani and Liz? She is the partner of Dani, Liz Chirac, yes?"

  "Actually, Connie brought it up when I asked her how she came to be in the charter business. She told me she'd been in the Bahamas for a while and wanted to see the Caribbean, so she chartered a yacht run by two women who taught her to sail. I made the connection to the website. So how do you know them?"

  Stopped in traffic, Sandrine turned to face Marcia, raising her eyebrows. "Them?"

  "Dani Berger and Liz Chirac," Marcia said.

  "Phillip is a friend of Dani's father. He has known her since she was a young girl."

  "So does that mean you know Sharktooth?"

  "Sharktooth?" Sandrine asked, frowning again.

  "From Dominica," Marcia said. "He's apparently a friend of Dani's father as well."

  "Yes, of course," Sandrine said. "I think so. You have met him, this man with the strange name? Maybe he gives you the tour of Dominica, yes?"

  "That's right. He's in the import/export business, he said."

  Sandrine allowed the silence to linger, concentrating on the traffic.

  After several seconds, Marcia asked, "I was wondering, what kind of trading does he do?"

  "I am not understanding this question, Marcia. Maybe you ask a different one? My English, sometimes, it is not so good."

  "That's okay. I just thought you might know. He seems prosperous for a tour guide."

  Sandrine shook her head, biting her lower lip as she waved at a driver waiting to pull into the traffic. The driver tapped his horn and waved his thanks as he pulled into the line in front of Sandrine.

  "The traffic, it is how you Americans say, crazy, yes?"

  "There are a lot of cars," Marcia said. "Where is everyone going?"

  "Fort-de-France. It is the big city. You will see."

  "Are you from here originally?" Marcia asked.

  "Originally, I am from a small town near Versailles, in France."

  "Oh, so you really are French, then?"

  "Mais oui, bien sûr." Sandrine gave Marcia another frown, facing her while the traffic was stopped. "But of course, I am really French. What do you think? I am une chinoise, maybe?"

  "No, no. Sorry. I only wondered if you were from Martinique."

  "From Martinique? I am living in Martinique, for sure. But Martinique is France. I am sorry for the English. I am not understanding what you are asking when you wonder am I from Martinique. Wondering means to be amazed, yes?"

  "It can mean that. I meant to say I was curious to know if you were from Martinique."

  "I am sorry again, Marcia. Why would you be amazed if I am from Martinique?"

  "It doesn't matter," Marcia said. "I chose my words poorly, I think. So you are from outside Paris. How did you come to live in Martinique?"

  "Ah," Sandrine said. "I see. I think I understand what you are asking. I move here because of my work."

  "With the customs service," Marcia said.

  "Mais oui."

  "And why did you choose M
artinique?"

  "I do not choose Martinique. Le Douane, they send me here because I have no family here. This is the way to be sure against the corruption, yes? As Jesus say, 'No man can be the prophet in his own country,' you see?"

  "That makes sense. It would seem to be an effective policy," Marcia said.

  "Yes, I think so."

  "And Phillip?"

  "Yes? What about Phillip?" Sandrine asked.

  "How did you meet? He's an American, isn't he?"

  "Yes, but he is living here."

  "I understand, but was he living here before you married him?"

  "Yes. He lives here for some time before we meet. He is retired from the working, as you say, and he likes the islands. Especially, he likes the French islands, I think. Maybe because he likes the French culture, but you must ask him."

  "Is it exciting to be in the customs service?"

  "Exciting? Perhaps sometimes it is more interesting than other times. For me, it is my job. What would be exciting, to you?"

  "Do you ever catch drug smugglers?"

  "There are drug smugglers here. The cocaine, it comes into St. Lucia, and then they bring here and try to send to Europe."

  "Why here?"

  "Because Martinique is part of the E.U. The smugglers, they think once it is here, it is easy to distribute in the other countries in Europe, because of the open borders. I think it is like the U.S.V.I. and Puerto Rico, the same thing for them to smuggle into the U.S. mainland, Florida. You understand?"

  "I think so," Marcia said. "But why St. Lucia?"

  "Because," Sandrine said, "St. Lucia is part of the Organization of Eastern Caribbean States. You have heard of the OECS?"

  "Maybe. Those are the countries that were English colonies?"

  "Yes, basically. They form a trading block, and their main language is English. The islands are mostly very poor, and they cannot afford to patrol their waters very well. There are many miles of coastline, very hard to patrol, so the drugs come to the different islands from maybe Venezuela, or Colombia. To go to the U.S., maybe they put many small shipments together in the U.S.V.I. or Puerto Rico. Shipments originating there are already in the U.S., yes?"