Bluewater Betrayal: The Fifth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 5)

by Charles Dougherty

  Connie found this softer, more feminine side of Dani's personality reassuring. She liked Dani a great deal and respected her competence, but she found her a little intimidating. She had worried that without Liz as a moderating influence, she might have trouble getting along with Dani. A tear in Dani's eye made her more approachable, but even so, Connie sensed that she needed a little time to herself. Connie quietly stepped below and began clearing away the remains of their hasty breakfast.

  While neither of them had been surprised by Liz's decision, the time for her departure had come so quickly that none of the three had been prepared. After the emotionally charged evening, they had crashed and slept soundly until dawn. They had awakened in a panic, all feeling that they had overslept. Liz had packed her duffel bag with the efficiency of an old salt while Dani and Connie had gotten in one another's way in the galley trying to put together a quick breakfast for the three of them.

  With only a few spills and curses, they had managed to load a pot of coffee and three bowls of cold cereal with milk and fruit onto a serving tray. In the quiet of the early morning anchorage, they could hear Liz's chuckles as she listened to their fumbling while she packed. They had barely had time to finish their cereal and pour coffee before Robert appeared alongside.

  Liz had invited him aboard for a cup of coffee, but he had politely declined, pointing out that they had only 30 hours before they were due to pick up their charter guests, and they had to sail the 120 nautical miles to Kingstown, St. Vincent. Their leave-taking had been cut short and was hampered a bit by Robert's presence. Connie thought that was probably just as well.

  She and Dani were planning to pick up the rebuilt injector pump and install it this morning, and they were hosting a dinner aboard for Phillip and Sandrine tonight. Assuming the injector pump job went according to Dani's plan, they would leave the next morning and sail up the west coast of Martinique to St. Pierre. They would spend their first night as a two-person crew there. They were going to work their way back north to the Virgin Islands to resume Connie's tour of the Eastern Caribbean, which had been interrupted by the crooks who had been chasing Connie when she boarded Vengeance a few weeks earlier.

  ****

  "I think that boat's coming straight for us," Liz said, lowering the binoculars. Robert was at the helm, intent on the sails as he got the feel of the boat. They had only been under sail for a minute or so. He glanced over his shoulder but couldn't see the boat.

  "Is it a red and yellow pirogue?"

  "Yes."

  "That'll be a last minute delivery, then," he said.

  "Delivery?" Liz asked. "What kind of delivery?"

  "Oh, it's just some stuff I need for the charter. Nothing to worry about." He turned the bow into the wind enough to cause the sails to flog, distracting Liz from her question about the delivery as she turned to look up at them. "Hey! How about a little help?" he barked.

  "Sorry," Liz said, putting the binoculars into their rack beside the helm and turning to the starboard primary winch to trim the jib. After a few turns of the winch, she studied the sail for a moment. Satisfied, she was about to move to the mainsheet winch on the coach roof. Before she took a step, Robert yelled.

  "Dammit, Liz! Wake up; get the main, will you?"

  Her face flushed with anger as she moved over and cranked in the mainsheet.

  "Tighten the vang! Quick! She's overpowered. Pay attention!"

  Liz turned and looked at him for a long moment before she climbed onto the coach roof and pulled in the boom vang, flattening the mainsail and reducing its power. She noticed the pirogue was only about a mile away and closing fast. She stepped back into the cockpit, willing herself to calm down. She sat down on the cockpit seat on the windward side, her back to the rail, her teeth grinding.

  Robert said, "That was completely unacceptable; I thought you knew how to sail."

  Stealing another look at the boat in pursuit, she stood up and faced Robert, who was glaring at her. With practiced speed, she brought her flattened right hand up and around like she was cracking a whip, landing her open palm flat over his left ear with enough force to knock him down. Stunned, he shook his head as he tried to get up, his eyes rolling a bit. Liz shoved him aside and took the helm.

  "Mind how you speak to me from now on. I don't like being cursed and yelled at. I'm heaving to now; get yourself together and go to the lee rail to get your delivery. We'll finish this discussion when he's gone."

  ****

  "Where will the parts be coming from?" Connie asked.

  "Probably from France. These guys are the biggest distributor in the Caribbean; I'm surprised they didn't have the seals in stock, but the good thing is that there's daily air freight service here," Dani said. "If we were in most of the other islands, we'd be looking at a week instead of another day or two."

  They were in the restaurant at the marina again, having coffee and pastries after hearing the disappointing news about the pump.

  "You said you wanted to touch up the brightwork anyway," Connie said. "I guess we can do that while we wait."

  "Yes. It'll give you a chance to try your hand at applying varnish."

  "Liz told me that it was just like putting polish on a big fingernail," Connie said. "Is that right?"

  "I guess so. I don't do nail polish. You'll have to let me know."

  "I will. If she's right, then you'll at least have the assurance that you could do your nails if you ever wanted to."

  "I can't believe she's not out there on Vengeance," Dani said. "She'd be doing all kinds of prep work for some fancy meal to serve Phillip and Sandrine."

  "Yeah. You cooking tonight? Or am I?"

  "Shit! I forgot all about that. Can you cook?" Dani asked.

  "Sort of. How about you?"

  "Sort of. What should we have?"

  "What's in the fridge?" Connie asked. "Liz had us all stocked up to leave tomorrow. There must be something we can serve."

  "We could go check the freezer," Dani suggested.

  "Freezer?"

  "Yeah. She keeps all the meat frozen until she's ready to use it."

  "We can thaw it in the microwave, right?" Connie asked.

  "We don't have a microwave."

  "Oh. Well, how long does it take to thaw something out?"

  "I haven't any idea. Liz always cooked. I did the blue jobs; she did the pink jobs."

  "Huh? Blew jobs? That sounds vaguely nasty."

  Dani chuckled. "Blue jobs often are nasty. It's a sexist joke amongst the yachties. Blue jobs are the ones that the 'little boys' do, and pink jobs are the ones that they leave for the girls."

  "I see. I think we may be in trouble. We need to figure out how we're going to feed our guests, Skipper."

  "I've got it. We'll just step over to the grocery store and buy some nice, fresh steaks to throw on the grill."

  "What about vegetables?" Connie asked.

  "What about them?"

  "Are we going to cook some?"

  "We could get extra steak," Dani suggested.

  "Potatoes," Connie said. "Can you bake potatoes on the grill with the steak?"

  "Hey, wait. I've seen Liz cut them up with some onions and put them in aluminum foil with butter and salt and pepper. She just puts that right on the grill with the meat. We'll get potatoes and onions, too."

  "And a salad," Connie said.

  "That comes in a bag, right? And you just pour some dressing on it?"

  "Right," Connie said. "I can do the salad and cut up the potatoes and onions for you if you can handle the grill."

  "Sounds good. I think grilling is technically a blue job, anyway. Salad's probably pink. Think we can find some kind of prepared dessert at the store?"

  "That sounds like a blue job to me," Connie laughed.

  Dani put some money on the table next to their check. "Let's go grocery shopping," she said as she stood up.

  Chapter 8

  After an hour at the helm, Liz still had not adjusted to the quick, jerky mot
ion of Isis in the choppy water off the northeast corner of St. Lucia. She was accustomed to the gentle motion of Vengeance; the heavier boat had more momentum than Isis, which resulted in a smoother ride. She had discovered that Isis was more responsive to small changes in sail trim and steering, too, for the same reason. While the sports-car-like responsiveness was fun at first, she was already fatigued from the rapid, irregular motion. She had been on watch ever since the swarthy, leering man had delivered a bulging backpack to Robert right after they made sail.

  The way the man had stripped her with his eyes while making a show of licking his lips had infuriated her even further, to the point that she had difficulty forcing herself to apologize to Robert after the man left; she still couldn't believe that she had struck him. Even Dani had more self-control than that. He had accepted her apology, offering one of his own in return as he suggested that the stressful situation hadn't brought out the best in either of them.

  "It'll be better once we've settled in to a routine," he had said. "We should probably go ahead and start standing watches so that we can both get some rest before we pick up the guests."

  Liz had readily agreed. Looking at his frazzled appearance and the dark circles under his eyes, she had suggested that she would take the first watch, since she was already at the helm. He had nodded and scurried below, taking the backpack with him. It had never left his hand from the time he had taken it from the man in the pirogue.

  She wondered again what was in the backpack, but she had refrained from asking, thinking that it was better to let the passing of time bring some equilibrium to their shaky relationship. She missed the easy camaraderie that she and Dani and Connie had enjoyed. She was in love with Robert, and they had once dreamed of being able to sail away together, but she knew from observing many couples over the last two years that shipboard life often taxed even well-established marriages. She and Robert didn't have the solid foundation of a marriage or even a comfortable relationship to help them weather the changes wrought by living in close quarters on a yacht. "We've never even sailed together," she said, not realizing that she had vocalized her thought.

  She chastised herself for her negative feelings, remembering that this didn't have to be permanent. She was going to give it a try for two weeks and then she would know, one way or the other. She couldn't allow her disappointment in the shortcomings of Isis compared to Vengeance to affect how she felt about Robert. "But if this works out, we'll have to get a better boat," she muttered under her breath, realizing this time that she had lapsed into her habit of talking to herself when she was alone on watch. "Better watch that," she mumbled.

  ****

  Robert wasn't quite asleep; he was suspended in that dreamy state that followed the initial high. He had hardly been able to wait to get below with the backpack and feed his craving, but he had forced himself to hear Liz out when she had offered her apology. Aside from the stunning effect of the blow she had dealt him, he had been shocked at her violent reaction. It was quite at odds with the agreeable young woman he had seduced in Brussels. He had been momentarily worried about what this new side of her personality might portend, wondering how she would feel about being part of the debauchery that was a fundamental element of his new venture. To quell his anxiety and help himself think through this, he had helped himself to a couple of lines of coke as he emptied the backpack and carefully stashed the smorgasbord of recreational drugs.

  The old Liz had been straight, although she had seemed non-judgmental when she encountered occasional drug use among their acquaintances. The separations resulting from job-related travel had afforded Robert the opportunity to indulge his penchant for pharmaceutical experimentation without disclosing his habit to Liz. He had been able to hide his growing dependence from her.

  She had seemed malleable enough back then, so he thought that he would be able to charm her into compliance once they picked up their guests. He considered discussing his plans with her, but after he restored his composure with another hit of coke he realized that it would be better just to let things happen. She'd go with the flow. Who could resist a 24-hour-a-day party, after all?

  He had readily embraced the vision, once the man had explained it to him.

  "You know them people wit' the big catamaran? Them Dutch couple?"

  "The one with the fluorescent green paint?" Robert had asked.

  "Tha's the one. You know what them people do?"

  "No, not really."

  "They make business takin' people out to sail naked, do sex alla time. Crazy. Big money."

  "You want me to run a floating whorehouse on Isis?"

  "No. We got a better idea, see. Sex okay, but drugs better. You run charters, but kinda like them all-in-one resort. You know? One price, all the food and drink part of deal?"

  "Yeah, but…"

  "You lissen, 'Berto. Lemme finish sayin'. People charter Isis, they get alla drug they want, part of package. See?"

  "Yeah, okay, but what do I get out of this?"

  "People pay us for the week or two. We pay you, say $5,000 for week. We pay all expense, drugs, booze, food. We keep your share back 'til we even for shipment you los', but you get drugs too."

  "I need crew. Somebody to cook, help me with the boat."

  "How much they cost?"

  "Say around $3,000 per month?"

  "Okay. No problem. We give you money for this person, take from your share."

  Robert thought about this for a moment, realizing that he could pocket some of the cash if he could get someone to crew for less money. He could pay them with drugs, and this fool would be none the wiser.

  "It could work," he said, hiding his enthusiasm.

  It was brilliant; like Club Med except with the inherent privacy of a chartered yacht. His partners had already begun marketing the concept; they had several charters booked for him. He knew this first one was a pilot run; he was in on the ground floor of a huge opportunity.

  When the man had mentioned the big green catamaran with the naked people, he hadn't quite understood. Like most of the people who caught a glimpse of the Dutch-flagged vessel, he had assumed it was just a bunch of uninhibited friends out for a good time.

  When he learned that it was in effect a floating brothel, he still hadn't grasped the opportunity that his new associates visualized. Only when he understood that they were going to substitute drugs for sex did he realize the opportunity they were offering him. Sex, of course, would follow, fueled by the free flow of any sort of drugs the clients wanted. They had even had the forethought to include Viagra in the backpack.

  ****

  Liz was tired and hungry when her four-hour watch ended. Robert had seemed subdued; he didn't look well-rested and hadn't been in a talkative mood. Liz had shrugged off his moodiness and gone below to scavenge in the refrigerator. Accustomed to her own well-stocked larder aboard Vengeance, she had been taken aback to discover that there wasn't much food in Isis's galley. She had made a dry sandwich of moldy cheddar and stale bread. Rummaging in her duffel bag, she took out a notebook and a pencil and sat down at the nav station. While she munched on the unappetizing sandwich, she planned a week's worth of meals for four people and made a grocery list.

  Robert had told her there had been a change of plans. They would be picking their guests up in Bequia rather than Kingstown; the couple was spending the night tonight in one of Bequia's quaint beachfront hotels. That suited Liz; Bequia was a more attractive spot, and there was a gourmet grocery store that specialized in provisioning charter yachts. She could stock the galley while their guests enjoyed Bequia's beach. She would suggest to Robert that they anchor Isis within swimming distance of Princess Margaret Beach, and the guests could amuse themselves while the two of them did the shopping. She would need his assistance to carry the groceries anyway.

  Before she went to sleep, she wanted to check out that backpack. She rinsed her dish and glanced around the cabin, spotting the backpack where he had shoved it under the dining table. Given th
e way Robert had clung to it, that surprised her. She had expected that he would have at least stashed it somewhere safe, if not hidden it.

  She glanced over her shoulder, looking out through the companionway. Robert was in the helmsman's seat, leaning back against the stern rail. His arms were draped casually over the railing to either side, and his feet were up on the steering pedestal. She could see the helm swinging through a narrow arc as the autopilot steered. As she watched, Robert's head fell to the side, his mouth dropping open. She was at first alarmed that he was asleep on watch, but then she realized that this was an ideal time to examine the backpack. She could wake him before she turned in; maybe she would make him a thermos of coffee as a peace offering.

  Bracing herself against the erratic motion of the yacht, she made her way to the settee in the saloon. She dropped into the cushions and put a hand on the edge of the table as she reached down to lift the backpack onto the seat beside her. It felt light; when she unzipped it and inspected the main compartment and all of the pockets to discover that it was empty, she wasn't surprised.

  She stood and took another look through the companionway. Robert was still asleep. She got up and went forward through one of the two doors that were on either side of the mast. She had stashed her things in the forward cabin on the starboard side when she came aboard, so she chose the port side, guessing that Robert would be using it. That would leave the aft stateroom for their guests, who would share the big cabin with its king-sized bed and the tacky mirrored ceiling.

  She was familiar with the layout of Isis; it was a generic 50-foot charter yacht with two forward staterooms, each with its own en suite head and shower. Even farther forward, beyond the two staterooms that she and Robert would use, there was a tiny double tucked away in the bow which was used for storing odds and ends.

  She stepped into Robert's cabin and closed the door, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the funky odor. Dirty clothes were strewn about. She took a quick look through the lockers and drawers, finding nothing unusual. She was dismayed at the slovenly way his things were stored.