Caribbean Moon (A Manny Williams Thriller, Book One)

by Murcer, Rick

“Liz, this is Manny again. Are you guys coming to Trunk Bay? Call me or get your asses down here.”

  He stopped pacing, clicked off the cell, and glared toward the ship’s gangplank. He adjusted his well-worn Detroit Tigers hat with the raised Old English “D” and pulled at the left shoulder of his bright-green palm-tree shirt, pacing like a caged panther.

  “Good God, man, will you settle down?” said Gavin.

  “I know, I know, but they’re never late, and this is the second straight get-together they’ve missed. I know they really wanted to snorkel at Trunk Bay. That’s all they talked about on the flight down.”

  “They have ten minutes before the tender pulls out. They’ll be here.”

  Manny didn’t think so. Something was haywire. His instincts told him so. It wasn’t customary for Liz and Lynn to be late for anything. In fact, he couldn’t remember a time when they had been. He was going to knock on their door on the way back from breakfast, but there was a Do Not Disturb sign hanging from the knob. He had raised his right arm to knock anyway, but then at the last second, dropped it back to his side. Maybe they just wanted to be left alone. Maybe they were just tired. Not everyone vacationed the same way, especially on a cruise ship.

  He drew in a deep breath of ocean air and gazed out to the Pillsbury Sound inlet. It looked like they could be touring the set of the Love Boat. Large, white yachts rocked gently in the aqua water while anchored sailboats of every size and color dotted the brilliant, early-morning seascape.

  Here he was, in the middle of his first Caribbean port of call, all this beauty, and he couldn’t get Liz and Lynn’s no-show out of his mind.

  There was only one way to alleviate the gnawing tension in his gut. “I’m going to go get them. I’ll be right back.”

  “Oooo, this could be good,” giggled Sophie as she stepped away from Manny and Louise.

  Manny gave her a sour look.

  “You just called them for the third time, and besides, you don’t have time, honey,” said Louise. “You don’t want to miss this trip to St. John, do you? Besides, maybe they signed up for the afternoon excursion. I think there is one at 12:30.”

  There was a building edge in Louise’s voice. Manny knew what that meant, only too well. He had no desire to tangle with her, or the persona that voice characterized, at least over this. Talk about Jekyll and Hyde.

  In spite of Louise’s subtle warning of future hell to pay, the urge to bolt the pier and find Liz and Lynn was overpowering. His senses were tingling all over. His cop senses. At times like these, he was virtually helpless to stop it. He had been trying hard to tame the workaholic brute on this trip, bury it deep, but the beast wasn’t cooperating.

  Damn. Think about it. What could go wrong on a cruise ship anyway?

  “Everyone aboard the boat that’s going to Trunk Bay, we be leaving shortly, mon,” blared the voice from the double-decked shuttle boat’s PA system.

  Manny hesitated, weighing how long he could handle Louise being pissed off at him. No brainer.

  “All right. Let’s go. They must have signed up for the second one. I’m still going to chew ass when I get back. They could have at least told someone.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll see them tonight, and you can chew all the ass you want,” chided Alex.

  “Better get your wife’s permission. About the chewing thing, I mean,” prodded Sophie.

  “Hey. I do have input into your work review,” Manny pointed out.

  “That’s better, O Guardian of the Universe,” Sophie snickered.

  They boarded and found seats on the lower deck, port side. The Sunkist pulled away from the dock and swung east, entering Pillsbury Sound toward St. John and beautiful Trunk Bay.

  The shuttle cruised past several smaller, quaint islands including one that Kevin Costner had owned and then sold after a major hurricane hammered the area. He had unloaded his Caribbean sanctuary for a paltry fourteen million.

  The more the tour guide spoke, the more enamored Manny was with the enchantment of his surroundings. Concern for Liz and Lynn was replaced by prospects for the upcoming excursion. He had never snorkeled before, and he was catching up with the rest of the group’s heightening anticipation.

  “So that’s what you do with that kind of money—buy an island in the Caribbean,” cracked Sophie. “Just once. That’s all I ask. Just once.”

  “You’re going to need a big-time raise or win the lotto. And I don’t think there’s any money in the budget for a raise,” Gavin jabbed.

  Sophie grabbed Randy’s face. “We’re buying lotto tickets when we get back.”

  “Good idea. I could get used to this.”

  Looking toward St. John, Manny noticed the flags flying high over one of the pointed gables of the Governor’s Mansion and wondered how much Liz knew about the mansion’s architecture because she loved that stuff. She’d be giving the group every detail and date.

  He stole a quick glance to the west side of the sound, trying to combat the voice of trouble that wouldn’t be silenced. He had never wanted to see Liz and Lynn as much as he did at that moment.

  Louise grabbed his hand and flashed him a radiant smile. He reached for her hand. He wasn’t going to spoil this trip for her. He owed her that. She was working hard trying not to think about the mammogram, so at least the Guardian of the Universe could do his part.

  Besides, just think about it. What could go wrong on a cruise ship?

  CHAPTER-22

  Jenkins spread out leisurely on a red-cushioned bench located on the upper tier of the Sunkist. The Ocean Duchess faded from sight as the shuttle bore steadily en route for St. John and Trunk Bay. His mind wasn’t swimming with possibilities (there was no room). Only unrelenting execution of his will controlled his thoughts. No time to indulge in frivolous perceptions of pleasure.

  A regal lion couldn’t have carried itself with any more confidence as he stretched, then rose from his seat, tilting his long body over the edge of the railing.

  He watched the group from Lansing gesture with animated hands and heard their tittering laughter. He felt like a Master looking down on his slaves. Why not? It fit.

  Stupid-ass, first-time tourists.

  Once the tour started, he would make sure that today would be a day that St. John would never forget, ever. And of course, when the time was right to reveal himself, they would forever remember him.

  Jenkins, the first passenger off the ocean shuttle, climbed into one of the colorful, floral-painted tour buses that awaited the Sunkist passengers. He flashed a compelling grin at the overweight driver and asked if it was all right to sit in the passenger’s seat because he got cramped in the smaller benches in the back.

  “No problem, mon,” responded the driver, presenting a well-practiced greeting of his own.

  Once everyone was aboard the three buses, they began the fifteen-minute trip to the bay. Each vehicle eased on to the road and veered to the left side of the narrow asphalt.

  After eight minutes of twisting, turning travel, the driver swung off at a sandy, well-worn turnout area so that passengers could take pictures of Hawksnest Bay and the thriving surroundings of Caneel Bay.

  The stop only served to intensify the impatient expectation knocking at his door. But there was a schedule to adhere to, and he would adhere to it.

  Every fiber in his body screamed for action because he longed to show the world his strength. His way.

  His smile, laced with friendliness, caused the driver to comment how happy the big man seemed. The island chauffer could not know how good a thespian Jenkins was, because his expression was the exact antithesis of his being. Patience, she’ll be there. Where else did she have to go?

  Finally, the caravan arrived at the welcome center of Trunk Bay Beach, and folks of all ages and sizes adorned in bright beach attire headed for the sand. To him, they scurried like lost peacocks just escaping their cages. Fools.

  Once most of the tourists had left the dirt parking lot, he hooked his bag over h
is shoulder and headed for the small group of gray-brown buildings that extended back into the sprawling brush some forty yards. He strolled past the small souvenir shop and made brief eye contact with the overweight, already-glowing woman behind the counter.

  Damn, eat a salad once in a while.

  He continued past the slightly larger, bamboo-sided grill where the smell of coffee and cooking ham had already infiltrated the warm breeze. He bent to fidget with his sandal, making sure no one was eyeing him. Once satisfied, he headed deeper into the thick trees. Working his way along the path, he reached the last building of the sun-faded trio and stopped, reading the neatly carved, wooden, three-by-three sign out loud:

  US VIRGIN ISLANDS NATIONAL PARK,

  TRUNK BAY

  RANGER ON DUTY, DOROTHY MAXWELL

  Hello, Ranger Maxwell.

  The corners of his mouth jerked into a satisfied simper. She was where she was supposed to be—and now he was where he was supposed to be.

  He knocked on the door of the squat building and waited. The door groaned open and a tall, thirtyish woman with mousey-brown hair tied back in a ponytail leaned partway out of the screen door.

  Dot Maxwell was average-looking and the Kelly-green park ranger uniform did little to flatter her unusually thin body. She hadn’t changed. Her commitment to a vegetarian lifestyle made her appear gaunt and almost sickly. Her white skin reflected none of the color that her sun- soaked environment could coax out of the palest of pales. Playing on the beach or basking in the sun didn’t seem to be part of Dot’s agenda. He wondered if that was why she got the job that most sun-worshippers would kill for. She was about the work, not the surroundings. But she would play soon enough. And only for him.

  He suspected most people, seeing her for the first time, would assume that Dot would retire an old spinster. There was also an almost daunting sadness about her that sent off melancholy vibrations. Some people were just downers.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I was wondering if you had a bandage. I stepped on one of those darn Starvation Fruits and put a hole in my foot.”

  The ranger’s answer halted before it began. He felt her study his face. He sensed her heart skipping beats as harsh recognition overcame any denial.

  Dot’s face contorted with terror, paralyzing fright that wouldn’t allow her to utter a sound, let alone a scream. He’d seen it before.

  He shoved the ranger with a powerful straight arm, and the thin woman flew some eight feet through the air, sprawling helplessly on the wooden floor.

  The park ranger lay there, trying to gather her shaken senses. He reached down with cable-taut arms and lifted her from the floor like a rag doll, her feet dangling a foot off the surface.

  “Why again, why?” she choked.

  As the cloth pressed against her nose and mouth, he supposed she at least deserved an answer. “Because we didn’t finish the last time, my love. I’m your fate, Dot. No one escapes their fate.”

  He placed her tenderly on the floor, closed the opaque shades resting over the tired wooden windows, and locked the door.

  The short-sleeved blouse tore easily, as did the rest of her uniform.

  He had waited long enough. Too long. It was time for these festivities to renew, and renew they would.

  CHAPTER-23

  “Manny, can we talk about a little problem I have, or maybe had? Hell, I don’t know,” said Sophie.

  “I don’t care what your bra size is.”

  “No. Not that—Really? You don’t care? You haven’t thought of me in that way? Are you lying?”

  “Soph, I’d never lie to you.”

  “You ever heard of a woman scorned?”

  “You ever seen Louise pissed off?”

  “Good point. But seriously, I need to talk.”

  Manny had been waiting for this conversation, and it was about time. He hoped she hadn’t waited too long, that things weren’t too crazy.

  The rest of the group snorkeled near the small, rocky island that sat smack in the middle of pristine Trunk Bay waters, oblivious to Sophie and Manny coming in to take a break.

  The island climbed out of the water about fifty yards away from the beach. Manny had just had first-hand communion with black-tipped angelfish; yellow-and black-striped sergeant fish; long, narrow pipefish; and rainbow-tinted parrotfish.

  “Sure, Sophie. What’s up?”

  Sophie moved her small foot back and forth in the fine white sand as her downcast eyes watched, but never really focused. She finally looked up, tears trickling down her cheeks.

  “I’m having an affair. Or maybe was having an affair is the right thing to say. I’m not sure it’s over. I don’t know how to explain it.”

  It was Manny’s turn to watch his feet in the sand. “I know. I don’t know with whom, but I know.”

  Sophie looked at him with stunned surprise. Her mouth moved like a fish out of water, but nothing came out. The second time on this trip his loquacious partner had been rendered speechless. He could get used to this.

  He took her left hand into his right. “Listen. We’re friends. Partners. Cops. You think I don’t see things about you that others can’t? I could tell you were seeing someone. You laughed a little too loud on the phone when you weren’t talking with Randy. You were constantly messing with your hair and putting on fresh makeup. You sometimes left work acting like a giddy, seventeen-year-old schoolgirl, even after we put in tough, ten-hour days. Sorry, Sophie; those kinds of things don’t go unnoticed by a workaholic detective.”

  “How come you never said anything?” she asked, shoulders slumping lower.

  Manny looked at his hand around hers and then back to her. “Remember when we had that miscarriage a few years back? I sat at my desk and drew those little pictures of the baby’s face and wondered how close to right I’d been. If the baby’s eyes would have been blue or if he would have had blond hair. You were the only one to ever ask about them. But when I told you who they were, you just gave me a hug and never mentioned it again. You knew I had to work it out myself.”

  “So you think I have to work this out for myself?”

  “I could tell you how wrong it is. What it would do to Randy if he found out. But I think you already know.”

  Sophie’s brown eyes moistened, then ran unchecked.

  “He hurts me. At first I thought it was, like, rough sex. Just a little kinky, you know. The last time he bruised me up pretty good. I told him it was over.”

  Manny gritted his teeth and dug his feet deeper into the sand. He had seen too many bruised faces, battered and scarred bodies. Pain inflicted in the name of love, whatever that twisted bullshit meant.

  “I have two questions. Is it over, and who is it?”

  His partner looked out to the island as the others were working their way back to the beach.

  “He hasn’t called in two weeks, and I . . . I . . . damn, I sort of miss him. But I think I’m past the hard part.” Sophie nodded slowly. “Yeah. It’s over.” She grabbed one of the blue beach towels and dabbed her eyes and face.

  “You have to promise to keep it to yourself and not confront him if I answer your second question. You have that damn save-the-damsel-in-distress thing going on, and you can’t give in to it.”

  After a long moment, he sighed. “Okay. For you, I’ll do my best. But no promises.”

  Just then, Sophie’s chubby husband emerged from the clear water with his fluorescent-green snorkel dangling from his hand.

  He shook water on the two detectives like some oversized, shaggy dog trying to dry off from the rain. Randy laughed like a mischievous ten-year-old and sat down to take off the matching flippers.

  “Saved by the bell. I’ll tell you later, I promise,” she whispered.

  “Deal.”

  CHAPTER-24

  When the departure time neared, the Lansing contingent packed up their multicolored beach bags and headed for the changing rooms to shower and put on dry clothes. The tour buses would pull out at
noon. No questions asked.

  “No island time on this trip,” stated the tour guide.

  “That’s fine with me,” joked Alex. “I swallowed enough salt water to lower the ocean’s level an inch or two.”

  “You can die from that,” answered Sophie.

  “Then bury my fat ass right here.”

  “Well, you’re right about one thing.”

  “What?” asked Alex.

  “Let’s just say we can’t bury you here,” she grinned.

  “Funny. Bad things happen to smartasses.”

  “Too late. I’m already a cop.”

  “Who says there’s no karma?”

  “Do I have to separate you two?” asked Manny.

  “No, Dad,” said Sophie.

  The return trip to the Sunkist went quickly despite the driver making an unexpected stop at the turnout. It seemed that two of the passengers finally figured out the operation of their digital cameras and wanted to arrest some once-in-a-life-time memories.

  While they waited, Manny’s mind turned again to the Casnovskys and why they hadn’t made this excursion. Did they have a fight? Over what? Were they seasick? Not an uncommon occurrence for sure. Maybe they were—

  “Penny for your thoughts?” asked Louise.

  “Just getting hungry and can’t wait to get back to the ship to eat,” he lied.

  “We’ll be back soon. I’m getting hungry myself.”

  Louise nudged him to look at the pictures on their digital camera. He shifted his attention to his wife and the pictures.

  They pulled away from the scenic turn out and ten minutes later boarded the Sunkist. Manny and Louise walked up to the front of the boat to watch the Ocean Duchess grow bigger as they approached St. Thomas. Then Louise went below deck to sit with Stella because the stiff breeze was blowing her hair into snarls and the hot sun was too much.

  While Manny took in the approaching St. Thomas, Sophie shuffled up to his side and leaned over the railing. Mellow island music blared from the shuttle’s speakers as the roiling smell of burning diesel from the Ocean Duchess’s colorful smoke stack became ever-more intense.