Glad that she would have the other forward stateroom to herself, she felt a touch of sadness as she missed Vengeance and her no-nonsense, seagoing layout. This boat was a real 'marina queen,' with dangerously open living spaces that offered few handholds, inviting falls while at sea. It looked spacious sitting in the calm water at a marina dock, but there was no storage space.
With the sloppy seas they were in, she wouldn't be able to sleep in her berth for her off-watch nap. She stepped back into the saloon, checking to be sure that she left Robert's quarters as she had found them.
She could see his legs through the companionway; he was standing in the cockpit, facing the side. She ducked her head so that she could see what he was doing. He had a pair of binoculars pressed to his eyes, apparently watching another vessel.
At least he was awake; she decided against making coffee to share with him. She was exhausted and somewhat depressed; she needed sleep more than she needed to make peace with him. She stretched out on the starboard settee, the heeling of the boat on the port tack rolling her securely into the back cushions. Conditioned by her time at sea to take her rest when she could, she was asleep within seconds, making the most of her time off-watch.
Chapter 9
"Hello, Ms. Chirac, and welcome back to Bequia." The customs officer gave Liz a big grin. "Are you and Ms. Berger keeping well?"
"Yes, thank you. It's great to be back, but she's not with me," Liz said. "I'm on a different yacht this trip."
"Not Vengeance, then?"
"No. I'm helping my friend get started in the business with his yacht, Isis. This is Robert Delorme; Robert, meet Lt. Anderson."
"Welcome, Captain. I hope I'll see you in Bequia often." Anderson extended a handful of papers for Robert to fill out.
Robert dismissed the greeting with a curt nod as he took the papers. Liz stood beside him at the counter as he began filling out the forms. Well acquainted with the process, Liz put the documents in order and passed them to Robert as he needed each one. Anderson excused himself for a moment to go to his desk and make a phone call.
They had stopped by the hotel so that Robert could pick up the guests' passports and add them to the passenger list, although they hadn't yet met the couple. The passports had been waiting for them at the desk, along with a note explaining that the people would meet Robert in the lobby after lunch. "That's fortunate," he had remarked at the time. "Gives us time to get the shopping done and stowed and clean Isis up from the passage." Liz was relieved that he realized his housekeeping needed attention.
"You come here a lot," he said as he filled in the blanks on one of the forms. "That's good; you can help the guests if they want to do some sightseeing. I've never been here before."
"It's a regular stop for us," Liz said. "Bequia is a special place; it's not even like part of the same country as St. Vincent. Most of the Grenadines aren't, actually."
"What do you mean?"
"St. Vincent's a little on the rough side -- lots of petty crime. Lots of drugs. Marijuana's a big cash crop, and they've got all the problems that go with it. The smaller islands are a lot friendlier."
Anderson had completed his call and returned to the counter. Robert handed the completed paperwork to him, and he began to go through it methodically. "You mean there are no drugs in Bequia, then?" Robert asked, surprise in his tone.
Anderson looked up sharply. He returned his attention to the papers in front of him, but Liz saw that his posture had changed. She could tell that he was listening to every word now. He put the papers down on the counter and typed something into his computer, studying the screen intently for a moment before picking up the papers again.
"I wouldn't know," she said. "I'm going by what I read in the local papers, but I sure don't see much evidence of a drug culture here. It's one of the reasons we always feel comfortable bringing our guests to Bequia."
Anderson passed the customs declaration back across the counter to Robert. "You need to inventory the spirits aboard, Captain, and initial those boxes that you struck through asking about cash and contraband. You're not carrying any controlled substances, are you?" He spoke to Robert, but he was looking at Liz.
Robert muttered something under his breath.
"I'm sorry, Captain. What did you say?"
"I said, 'Certainly not!' Isis is clean."
"I see," Anderson said. "I noticed from the computer that you have been in our waters twice in the last few weeks. You cleared in and out of Kingstown, and you only stayed for one night both times. You and Ms. Caroline Delorme, I think. Your wife?"
"Yes."
"Is your wife aboard for this trip, Captain?"
"No. Why are you asking all of these questions?"
"It's my job, sir. Just routine. Where is Mrs. Delorme?"
"I don't have to answer that."
"I don't have to grant your clearance, either, sir." Anderson's manner stiffened perceptibly. "It's in the discretion of the examining officer. Now, where is your wife, please?"
"I don't know, actually," Robert said. "She left me in Martinique, with no explanation. I fail to see what that has…"
"She is listed as one of the owners of Isis," Anderson interrupted. "Is that correct?"
"Yes, but…"
"If I grant the clearance, how long will you be staying in our waters this time, Captain?"
"I don't know. It depends on what our guests want to do."
"Ah, yes. Your guests. You understand that if they bring contraband aboard your vessel, it is your responsibility."
"Yes. What's going on here? I know my…"
"Rights?" Anderson interrupted. "You sound like an American. You have no rights here, except what you are granted under our laws. We had a report that Isis was involved in a suspicious encounter with a speedboat belonging to known smugglers after you left Kingstown on your last trip. Would you care to comment on that, Captain?"
"We didn't have any such encounter. Someone's setting me up."
"And why would that be, Captain?"
"Ask them. I have no idea what you're talking about."
Anderson eyed the line that had formed behind Liz and Robert. He looked at Robert for a long moment. Finally, he picked up a stamp and brought it down firmly on the customs document. "I'll admit Isis, Captain. But only because Ms. Chirac is your crew. She wouldn't knowingly associate with a drug smuggler. I remind you that your vessel is subject to boarding and search at any time while you are in our waters. If you have contraband aboard, I advise you to get rid of it now. You do not wish to go to Her Majesty's Prison in St. Vincent and the Grenadines, I assure you. Take this form and the passports to the immigration counter. Enjoy your stay, Ms. Chirac."
****
Liz held her peace until she and Robert were out of earshot of the people on the street in front of the customs office. She was leading the way to Gloria's Gourmet, the grocery shop where she had often bought provisions for Vengeance. As she stepped over the open storm sewer that ran along the side of the street, she glanced at Robert and noticed that he had wrinkled his nose at the noxious odor emanating from the stagnant water in the concrete-lined ditch. "Special place, indeed," he said.
"What was going on back there?" she demanded.
"I should ask you that question. Why are you so buddy-buddy with the customs officer? You and Dani pay him off or something?"
Liz stopped abruptly and turned to face Robert. "That's offensive. He's a nice man; he's always gone out of his way to be pleasant to us, and he's accommodating when our guests decide at the last minute that they want to stay an extra day."
"He ever ask you about contraband? Threaten to have Vengeance searched? What a jerk. Typical bureaucrat, getting back at someone he sees as representing his former colonial masters. My grandfather would say…"
"I get it," Liz interrupted, "but you're wrong. He's never behaved that way with us. In fact, in all of the times I've dealt with officials in the islands in the last two years, I've never seen a customs office
r anywhere behave that way, even when provoked."
"Are you saying that I provoked…"
"Yes! You were rude. He was just doing his job. What's this about you and Caroline, anyway?"
"It's bullshit; that's what."
"Were you in Kingstown?"
"Yes. That much is true."
"Why in the world would you go there? It's a lousy anchorage, and it's not yacht-friendly in the least. Everybody knows that; it's a typical commercial harbor."
"Caroline had read about the quaint architecture: the buildings with the second floors projecting out to provide shade for the sidewalks. It actually is quite pretty in places. Have you ever walked around downtown?"
"Yes. It is pretty, but we usually anchor at Bequia and take the ferry over; it's safer."
"I'll remember that for our guests."
Annoyed at his effort to deflect her questions, Liz resumed her interrogation. "Why did you only stay for one night?"
"You're right; it's a lousy anchorage, and…"
"Then why did you go back a second time? You could have come here. It's only a two- or three-hour sail, if that."
"What can I say, Liz? Caroline wanted to give it another chance, but she hated it. There was garbage floating in the harbor. She wanted to go back to Ste. Anne, so we left."
"And what about this 'encounter' with the speedboat that Lt. Anderson asked you about?"
"Damn it, Liz! You're worse than the cops. What are you playing at?"
"I'm sorry, Robert, but if we're going to make this work, I need to be comfortable with your situation, and right now I'm not. Not at all. I don't think he made that up about the smugglers."
"Pirates would be more like it," Robert grumbled.
"Pirates?"
"I don't know what else you'd call them. We were about halfway across the channel to St. Lucia when they roared up alongside. Three guys in a big, flashy speedboat with assault rifles. Two of them came aboard while the third one stood off a few yards, drifting along beside us. One of them held me at gunpoint while the other one…, he…, well, you can imagine what they did to Caro. Then they beat us senseless and ransacked Isis. We came to after a few hours adrift and limped back to Martinique. Caroline left not long after that."
Liz frowned. "I've never heard of such a thing happening at sea in this part of the Caribbean. Maybe down closer to the Venezuelan coast, but not up here. Petty theft from anchored boats is pretty common in some spots, but not that kind of violence. Did you report it?"
"Why bother? These people are all in on it. They would have just dragged it out, made it worse. They wouldn't have done anything."
Liz shook her head. They were on the front porch of Gloria's. The grocery store occupied most of what had once been a luxurious cottage; Gloria and her husband lived in a few rooms that were closed off from the shop. As they stepped into the cool interior, a bell on the door tinkled. A disembodied female voice cried from behind some shelves, "Welcome, I'll be right with you."
A moment later, a short, plump woman in a sari stepped into view. When she saw them, a big grin split her face. "Liz! How nice to see you! Dani is with you?"
"No, not this time, Gloria. I'm helping a friend who's just getting started in the business. Gloria Pandit, meet Robert Delorme."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Delorme." The woman smiled and bowed her head slightly. "Welcome. I carry most things that people want for luxury charters, but if you don't see what you need, please, you must tell me, and I will have it for you the next time you visit. And what is the name of your yacht?"
"Isis," Robert replied. "You can work with Liz. I'll just take one of these cold beers," he said, opening a glass-doored refrigerated case and helping himself, "and wait out there in the shade at that table. Call me when it's time to pay." He opened the beer and stepped back outside.
As the door closed, Liz gave Gloria an embarrassed smile. "He's someone I used to know back in Brussels," she offered, in response to Gloria's unasked question. "I think it's just temporary, this arrangement. He's not the man I once knew."
Gloria smiled and nodded. "They often are not," she said, as she took the shopping list from Liz's hand and picked up a basket.
Chapter 10
Liz followed Robert into the dimly lit lounge off the lobby of the small beachfront hotel. She paused, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the transition from the dazzling midday sun outside. She was determined to ignore the tension that had grown between them as they put away the groceries. Robert was clearly annoyed with her; she could see that he was in an anxious state. His replies to her questions since their argument had grown ever more terse. He had told her little about their guests, except to say that the man was from Miami, a business associate of one of his backers from Martinique, and that this was a sort of trial run for Robert. He had stressed the importance of making a good impression on these people, as their goodwill was critical to the success of his charter venture. He implied that they could send him a great deal of business if they enjoyed their holiday. Liz prided herself on her professionalism; she was sure by now that she had made a mistake about Robert, but she intended to acquit herself well as crew and chef before she parted ways with him at the end of this charter.
She spotted the couple before he did. The man sat with his back to the wall, watching them with a smirk on his face. He was stunningly handsome, Liz noted, if your taste ran to the Latin-lover stereotype. He was sprawled in the booth, his linen-clad legs stretched out into the aisle, ankles crossed above his designer sandals. A thick gold chain nestled in the dark mat of hair that burst from the open neck of his sky-blue, short-sleeved shirt. Of a creamy silk, the shirt clung to his muscular chest and shoulders. His well-developed arms were draped casually along the back of the booth. The smirk deepened when he saw that Robert had spotted him, but he didn't move.
Liz took in the endless waves of soft, blond hair cascading over the bare, tanned shoulders of the woman who sat with her back to them. She knew that the woman had spent untold hours on that hair, all to achieve the look of casual disarray. The woman wore a clinging, white silk backless halter dress with an absurdly short skirt which showed off her tanned, muscled legs. She had dragged a straight chair around so that her shapely calves were displayed on the seat, her blood-red, five-inch-heeled, slingback pumps dangling from her toes. Seeing her companion's change in expression, she turned languidly to peer over her shoulder at Liz and Robert. Lifting a frosty glass of orange-colored slush in her left hand, she ran a serpent-like pink tongue over her crimson lips as she unabashedly gave Robert the once-over. She kept her ice-blue eyes fixed on him as she guided the straw to her lips with the manicured fingers of her right hand. She cast a quick, dismissive glance at Liz, returning her gaze to Robert as she took a long sip of the drink, licking her lips again as she finished. She winked slowly at Robert and smiled before she turned back to the man.
Liz felt puritanically frumpy in her trim khaki shorts and white cotton polo shirt, her salt-bleached, reddish-blond hair drawn into a tight, practical bun high on the back of her head. In spite of her residual anger with Robert, she was amused by his awestruck reaction to the obvious show. He closed his gaping mouth and swallowed hard as he stepped forward. "Mr. Contreras?"
"Are you from Isis?"
"Yes, sir. I…I'm R-Robert Delorme, and this is my m-mate and chef, Liz Ch-Chirac."
"P-pleased to m-meet you, C-Captain," the man mocked, as the woman giggled. Robert's face flushed under his tan. Contreras studied Liz with an intensity that made her glad for the dark surroundings as she felt herself blush. "Our luggage is out in the lobby. Come back when you've loaded it in the launch." His dark eyes were fixed on Liz. "Liz, join us while he takes care of the bags, hon. What will you have to drink?"
"Thank you, but I don't care for anything. I'll just give Robert a hand."
The man gave her a curt nod as the blonde turned to cast a dagger-like look in her direction. Liz felt his eyes burning blisters on her hips as she followed R
obert to the lobby.
****
Liz took her time in the fruit market, visiting each stall, sampling the wares, and chatting with the vendors. She was relieved to be ashore alone. Despite her commitment to herself to see this charter through in a professional manner, she had serious misgivings.
She and Robert had taken Contreras and his companion back to Isis, now anchored a few yards off Princess Margaret Beach. As they had climbed into the dinghy, Contreras had brushed against Liz suggestively, murmuring, "You call me Gus, sweetheart," in a soft tone, while his companion had been ogling Robert's bulging biceps as he wrestled with the luggage.
On the way to Isis, Liz had asked about dietary preferences and the woman had demanded plenty of fresh fruit at every meal. Liz had seized the opportunity to leave them alone with Robert, already sensing trouble. Gus kept leering at her, while Kandi was equally open in her flirtation with Robert; it couldn't end well. She chuckled at the recollection of their interactions so far. After the request for fruit, to which Liz had responded, "No problem, Mrs. Contreras," the woman had snapped at her.
"No! I'm Kandi. Ms. Dulzuras to you." Turning her feline smile toward Robert, she had continued, "but I'm Kandi for you, Captain."
As soon as they were aboard Isis, Gus and Kandi had disappeared into the aft cabin to change. Before Liz had a chance to leave for the market, Kandi had emerged, clad in a white thong bathing suit bottom and her red slingback heels, proudly displaying a body that spoke of hours in the gym as well as some time under the knife of a skilled surgeon. Remembering Robert's reaction, Liz laughed aloud.
She realized with a touch of sadness that she no longer felt anything for him but pity. She wished that she didn't feel so obligated to follow through on her commitment to help him get his business started, but determination was deeply ingrained in her nature. Still, it was going to be a long few days, especially if she had to evade Gus's advances. Maybe Kandi's blatant flirting with Robert would distract Gus.
Bluewater Betrayal: The Fifth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 5) Page 6