by Brenda Hiatt
“You mean there’s a question of whether they’ll pay you your commission, even if they have proof Melanie is still alive? That doesn’t seem fair.”
He shrugged. “It’s more a matter of demonstrating that I’ve done enough to earn it. After all, if Melanie just turned up in Miami on her own, I wouldn’t expect to be paid. I’m hoping to show I helped to flush her out.”
I thought I understood. It wasn’t enough for the insurance company to get out of paying. Ronan had to prove he had been responsible for their savings. Not that he was, really, but I could help him make it look that way. Suddenly, his dinner invitation didn’t seem nearly as flattering.
I was about to refuse when I realized that photos of the spot where the ring was found might be useful to Stefan Melampus and his lawyers, as well.
“I’d be glad to,” I said. “I was hoping to dive again before leaving Aruba anyway, and this is a good excuse.”
I was pretty sure he could take much better pictures with his fancy camera than I’d be able to manage with an underwater disposable. If Ronan was willing to use me for his own purposes, I was within my rights to use him for mine. I’d tell him about Stefan Melampus and the FBI later.
Maybe.
Chapter Eleven
EVEN WITH MY eyes open to Ronan’s motives, that dinner was one I’d remember fondly for a very long time. The food was excellent, and whatever his true agenda, Ronan was a heck of a charmer, one of those men who could make a woman feel like she was the only one in his world. After two daiquiris I stopped reminding myself that it was an act and just let myself enjoy it.
Lucky for me, he was serious about that dive tomorrow and called it a night before that practiced charm—or the daiquiris—led me to do or say anything really stupid.
He said good night to me by the elevators, and though the temptation to invite him up to my room was strong, I resisted, telling myself exactly what I’d stopped telling myself two hours earlier—that being attentive to lonely women like me was part of his stock-in-trade. Riding up in the elevator alone, it felt like a hollow victory.
“At least you’ll be able to live with yourself,” I murmured aloud, just before the doors opened. And there’s still tomorrow, I added silently as I traversed a hallway that looked longer than ever.
No surprises awaited me; the room was just as I’d left it, and there were no messages on the room phone. My cell phone showed I’d missed a call from Deb, but she hadn’t left a message, so it couldn’t have been too important. Nothing from Stefan Melampus or the FBI, which was a relief. No new developments about the ring or the case to keep me from sleeping.
I did finally listen to my mother’s voice mail, but as I’d expected, it was just a continuation of her earlier theme—reporting on Tom’s doings and urging me to take action I had no intention of taking.
“I’m afraid he might go back to that Darlene woman if you don’t take advantage of this opportunity soon, Wynnie,” she concluded.
I didn’t call her back.
The radio alarm woke me at eight the next morning. I rolled over and shut it off with a groan, marveling that I’d remembered to set it at all. My head was pounding, and my body ached, but I’d promised to meet Ronan on the boat dock at nine thirty, so I struggled out of bed. This was twice in one week I’d had too much to drink. Wasn’t I old enough to learn from my mistakes by now?
I stumbled into the bathroom and flipped on the light, then made the mistake of glancing into the mirror. Apparently the ring, which I’d put back on its chain, had worked its way onto my pillow sometime toward morning. I sported a distinctive red circle on my right cheek that made me look like I was coming down with some exotic new disease. I hoped it would fade before I went downstairs.
I took a quick shower just to wake myself up while coffee brewed in the in-room coffee maker. After downing two cups as I donned swimsuit, shorts, t-shirt, and sunscreen, I felt much closer to human.
It was nearly nine by now, which meant if I was going to get breakfast before meeting Ronan, I needed to hurry. I picked up my mask, fins, and snorkel and headed downstairs.
I bought a pastry, a banana, and another cup of coffee from the little kiosk in the lobby on my way out of the hotel ten minutes later. Outside, I found a bench facing the ocean and settled there for a few minutes to eat.
When I was done, I wiped the crumbs off my lap and stood, nodding cordially to a handsome young man on the next bench. He looked vaguely familiar, and I decided he resembled one of Deb’s numerous friends-who-weren’t-boyfriends. Which reminded me, I’d never returned her call.
Ah, well. My phone was still in my room, and I wasn’t going back for it now. I didn’t want to take it on the boat anyway. I’d call her later.
I reached the dock at nine thirty-two, to find Ronan waiting.
“Good morning!” he called—much too cheerfully, I thought. “I was starting to wonder if you’d overslept. I booked us a couple of spots on Van’s Vandal and rented you some equipment. You might want to check the BCD and wetsuit for size before we shove off.”
I nodded, taking deep breaths of the morning sea air and trying to get into the spirit of the thing. “They’re going to the Debbie II?”
“It’s just us and one other couple, and Van knows me, so he was willing to go wherever we wanted. The others didn’t have a preference, so I talked up the site, and they’re fine with it.”
I had no trouble believing that Ronan had been very convincing. The other couple was my age or older, maybe fiftyish, and I noticed the woman kept glancing over at Ronan and smiling. Yeah, he was an equal opportunity charmer, all right.
Ronan introduced me to Van, a heavyset, dark-skinned man I guessed to be in his early sixties, with the accent typical to the locals.
“Yah, I just do this once or twice a week, for the fun and to meet the pretty ladies,” Van told me with a wink.
“So Ronan brings ladies to you on a regular basis, does he?” I asked with a grin. The thought didn’t really bother me. Much.
But Van just laughed instead of answering.
“You’ve got me pegged as a player, don’t you?” Ronan asked as we stepped aboard the little boat. It was about half the size of the Scubaruba, the boat I’d learned to dive from.
“Does it matter?” I knew it shouldn’t. I’d only known Ronan a few days, and I’d be leaving Aruba myself in less than a week.
He shrugged. “It matters to me. I’d like you to think well of me, Wynne—even if I don’t particularly deserve it.”
I couldn’t think of anything appropriate to say, so I busied myself with my equipment. The BCD and wetsuit were the same size I’d worn during the lessons. I was touched that Ronan had remembered, then realized he probably hadn’t. They only came in about three sizes, so it wouldn’t have been hard for someone with experience to guess which would fit me.
“These will be fine,” I said.
I started attaching the regulator to the BCD and air tank, then looked up to see the handsome young man I’d nodded to earlier speaking earnestly with Van on the dock. Van seemed skeptical about something, but then shrugged and nodded. The man stepped aboard, and Van pointed at the extra dive equipment piled near the front of the boat.
“Another passenger?” Ronan asked when Van came over to make sure my equipment fit.
“Yah. Name’s Lenny. Says he lost his PADI card, but he really wanted to come—was even willing to pay extra. Hope he knows what he’s doing. You have your card with you, Missie?” he asked me then.
I fished my temporary card out of my shorts pocket and presented it proudly.
“Ah, just certified, are you? Well, Ronan’ll keep a good eye on you, I’m sure.” Another wink, then he went to cast the boat off from the dock.
I decided not to be insulted, since I was undoubtedly the least experienced diver here.
The older couple had their own equipment and were setting up their tanks like pros. And the young man . . .
. . . was watching them like a hawk and trying to mimic everything they did. I wondered how long it had been since he’d dived, and whether we had another Rick on our hands.
With that possibility in mind, I finished setting up my own equipment, then moved in his direction. While Ronan chatted with Van on the bridge, I tried to unobtrusively see whether young Lenny had attached everything correctly.
He hadn’t. The air hose that was supposed to feed into his BCD, to inflate it, hung loose. And when I got a little closer, I could see that he’d apparently tried to attach his regulator to the tank with the dust cap still in place. He wouldn’t be able to get any air out of the tank at all like that.
“Um, do you need some help?” I offered, automatically slipping into “mom” mode. He did remind me of one of Deb’s friends, after all.
He looked up at me with an almost panicked expression, which he quickly disguised, glancing down, then up, then over my left shoulder, never quite meeting my eye. Poor guy—I should have known he wouldn’t want me to see him making a fool of himself.
“You need to take this cap off,” I said, pointing, when he didn’t reply. “Right. Then retighten it. And this hose should go in here.” I showed him how to attach it to the vest properly.
“Um, thanks,” he muttered under his breath, looking more embarrassed than ever. At least he didn’t bluster like Rick had.
“No problem. I guess it’s been a while, huh?”
He nodded, still not making eye contact.
I waited for a few more seconds, then gave it up. “Well, enjoy the dive,” I said and retired to the other side of the boat, where Ronan joined me a moment later.
“What was that about?”
“He just needed a little help,” I said. “I think he must be pretty rusty.”
“Yeah, it’s surprising how quickly you can forget the details if you don’t dive for a while. But he’s not your responsibility, you know.” His look told me he’d noticed how I’d tended to mother Rick and Linda during our lessons.
My smile was probably sheepish. “I’ll try to remember that. I guess it comes of being a mother for so long.”
“And just how long is that?” He seemed genuinely curious.
I’d hedged before when the topic had come up, but I refused to lie outright. With a sort of mental shrug, I said, “Bess, my oldest, is twenty-four, and Deb will be twenty-three next month.”
“Wow, I never would have guessed you could have kids that old. You must have married in your teens.”
I knew it was just flattery, but I appreciated it anyway. “Not quite, but close. I was twenty-one. And thanks.”
“Just the facts, ma’am.”
His quip reminded me of the FBI guys, one of whom might conceivably arrive on the island in the next day or two. I really ought to tell Ronan about them.
“Guess we ought to get our wetsuits on,” he said before I could figure out how to phrase things. “We’ll be there in just a few minutes.”
Knowing it would take me a while to struggle into my rubberized sausage casing, I peeled off my t-shirt and shorts and got right to it, trying not to ogle Ronan’s extremely fit body as he did the same. I’d tell him about the FBI—and maybe Stefan Melampus—after the dive. It probably wasn’t something I should talk about within earshot of the other divers anyway.
“So, do you think I’ll be able to talk you into at least one more dive after this one, before you leave Aruba?” Ronan asked as he slipped into his own wetsuit as though it were silk instead of rubber. I tried not to hate him for that—or to think too much about leaving Aruba in only a few more days.
“I’d like to,” I said. “I was reading up on some of the dive sites, and I thought the wreck of the California sounded especially interesting, what with its history with the Titanic and all. I’m kind of a Titanic buff, since the movie,” I admitted with a grin.
Ronan grinned back, but shook his head. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but that bit you’ve read—it’s all over the Web and some tourbooks—is a myth. Our California here isn’t the same one that ignored the Titanic’s SOS. That was the Californian. This one sank several years before the Titanic even launched.”
“Oh. Well, shoot.”
“Yeah, they keep the story alive because it’s a good tourist draw, I think. But you wouldn’t be able to dive it this trip anyway. It’s not deep, but it’s on the north side of the island—the windward side—which means currents and high surf. It’s a tricky dive even for experienced divers. Definitely not one for a newbie.”
“Then I guess it’s just as well the Titanic thing is a myth. Now I won’t mind missing it.”
“There’s not a lot left of it anyway, hundred-year-old wooden wreck and all.” He buckled on his weight belt, and I went back to fighting with my neoprene girdle.
The wetsuit challenge hadn’t gotten any easier with practice, except that I knew how to avoid pinching myself with the zipper, but eventually it was on. The boat was stopping as I zipped it up to my throat. I tucked the ring on its chain inside the wetsuit, fastened my weight belt around my waist, then scooted back against my tank to snap myself into my BCD.
There were already a couple of other dive boats moored in the area, I noticed, then I turned to see Lenny watching me intently from across the boat. I gave him a cheerful thumbs-up when I saw he’d managed to get into his own wetsuit and BCD unassisted. He quickly looked away without smiling back. Still embarrassed, I assumed.
“You have enough weight there, buddy?” Van asked him as he made the rounds, checking on each of us. “Oh, wait, here’s your weight belt here. You won’t get far without this.”
He helped Lenny unfasten the bottom of his BCD, slip the weight belt around his middle, and refasten the vest.
“You have done this before, right?”
“Yes, yes, of course. It’s just been a while. I’ll be fine.” I noticed he wasn’t making eye contact with Van, either.
“Okay, if you say so. Check your mask and fins for fit, since they’re rentals. Everyone else has their own. Right?” Van glanced around at the four of us, and we all nodded.
“All right, everyone, be back at the boat in one hour, or when your air gets to one thousand PSI, whichever comes first. If you have any problems, come up and give me the signal for help, and I’ll fish you out. Ronan here has done the Debbie II several times, so he can be your unofficial guide, right, Ronan?”
“Sure, no problem,” Ronan replied with an easy grin. “Just follow the blue fins.”
He stood up, and I envied the effortless way he walked to the back of the boat with a full tank on his back. With a wink through his mask and a jaunty salute, he braced his regulator and weight belt and strode off into the water.
I hung back and let the couple go next, just in case Lenny needed any last-minute advice or help. I knew Ronan was right that he wasn’t my responsibility, but I couldn’t switch off mom-mode that easily.
“Go ahead,” I said to him when we were the only divers left on the boat. “Don’t forget to keep a hand on your regulator when you step in.” He probably didn’t need that advice, but I gave it anyway.
Actually, he looked more nervous than I’d expected as he shuffled to the back of the boat, but he did put a hand on his regulator as I’d said—though he neglected to put the other one on his weight belt. The boat was rocking just a little, which probably explained his awkward entry.
With a parting smile for Van, I did my own final shuffle to the back, then took my giant stride into the water. As the ocean closed briefly over my head, I was pleased to have made my smoothest entry to date.
Bobbing back up, I saw Ronan waiting for me a short distance away and kicked over to him so we could begin our descent
together. The other couple was already on their way down, and the younger fellow was following them. He’d be okay now, I thought.
“Ready?” Ronan asked.
I nodded, and he let the air out of his vest and began descending at an impressive rate, only pausing to equalize once that I noticed. How did he do that? Practice, I guess. I was a good bit slower, stopping to pinch my nose and blow at least half a dozen times before I made it to the bottom, where he was again waiting for me.
He gave me a questioning “okay” signal, which I returned, then he motioned for me to follow him toward the nearby hulk of the Debbie II. Glancing back, I saw the others following about ten yards back and remembered that Ronan was supposedly leading this expedition.
I hoped they’d all find other stuff to interest them before we started snapping shots of the place I’d found the ring. Otherwise they were bound to wonder what in the heck we were doing, and I really didn’t want to spread the story any further until I’d spoken with either the FBI or whoever Stefan Melampus was sending.
That didn’t turn out to be a problem. There was enough to see on and around the Debbie II that our group spread out as soon as we reached it. I could see a couple of other divers, presumably from one of the other boats, exploring the hull as well.
Personally, I found the ship even more fascinating the second time around, with interesting stuff growing all over it as well as the eerie glimpses into the interior. Ronan snapped a few shots as we went, the strobe of his camera revealing an array of colors I hadn’t been able to see without that extra lighting.
By the time we made our way down the far side of the ship to the place I’d found the ring, we were alone. The others were still twenty feet above, swimming along the more interesting deck of the ship. The older couple had a camera at least as nice as Ronan’s, so they were taking pictures, too.
Ronan and I drifted down to the seabed, and I scanned the length of the ship’s keel, looking for the giant moray, which would be the only way I’d find the spot the ring had been. Without Jason there to direct me, I realized it could take me a while. What if the eel was deep under the ship, not showing itself today?