As they strolled up the shadowed street between narrow two- and three-story buildings jammed together like a medieval city, Charlie decided he liked walking beside Miss Penelope Albright. She didn’t make him feel like a Gulliver giant who had to stoop to her level to carry on a conversation. She strode briskly, matching him step for step.
In the interest of scientific experiment, Charlie increased his stride. Penelope increased hers accordingly, without any noticeable lessening of her questions on their surroundings. By the time they reached the restaurant, they were practically running, and she hadn’t uttered a word of complaint.
Charlie glimpsed a decided glint of mischief in her eyes as he opened the door for her. The lady liked meeting his challenge. That should have scared the hell out of him, but his mind had already gone on to the next test.
The hole-in-the-wall restaurant had changed hands since his last visit, but the food was still delicious. Charlie watched in anticipation as his companion bit into the spicy seafood concoction he’d ordered for her. His mouth fell open in surprise as she closed her eyes and savored it with ecstasy. Who would have thought Miss Blue Blood could handle chili peppers? As she sampled the exotic plantains and cassava next, he wondered if he’d been hanging out with the wrong women all these years.
Not liking the path of his wayward thoughts, Charlie glanced impatiently at his watch. If he wanted to catch Jacques, he’d better do it soon.
“I’m going out the back door and down the alley,” he whispered to drag her attention away from the food. “There are craft shops all along the street by the shore. I’ll meet you down there in about an hour.”
Horrified at being abruptly deserted in a strange place where she knew nothing of the local customs, Penelope started to object, but Charlie merely left some bills on the table and walked out. For a brief moment she considered running after him, then common sense prevailed. She wasn’t any safer with Charlie Smith than by herself. She had half a notion to go down to the dock, hire a water taxi, and leave him here alone.
Penelope had second thoughts about that while she idled over the rest of her meal. The architecture of Soufriere was a fascinating blend of French, Spanish, and something definitely island original. But the houses were old and decaying, resembling the shabbier parts of Miami or New Orleans. Some of the inhabitants of the town were little better. With her height and looks, she was accustomed to people staring at her, but here she felt like a duck ripe for plucking.
When she couldn’t linger any longer over the meal, Penelope thanked the cook behind the counter and sauntered out to the street, striving for a casual demeanor. She wondered how long it was before the sun set. The idea of walking these streets after dark didn’t improve her sense of security. She was as big a coward as her ex-brother-in-law.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled her gauzy cover-up around her in an attempt to conceal her vulnerability, and aimed for the shops. At least there were a few tourists wandering around there. She hadn’t expected an opportunity for shopping, but she didn’t object. Maybe she could find something to make Beth smile. And she needed to take her niece and nephew something.
She passed up the volcanic beads and seashells and other tourist wares in the arts and crafts shops. She recognized some of the willow furniture from the cottage, and the fabric wall hangings with the bold designs. Settling on a textured sculpture of a native woman in knotted kerchief for Beth and some hand-carved wooden toys for the children, she breathed a sigh of relief that the prices were clearly stated in U.S. dollars and counted out her money.
“They rob you, miss,” a sibilant voice whispered from somewhere near her elbow.
Glancing down, she saw a skeletally thin black man sitting in the shadows, polishing a bowl. Dark eyes glittered as he caught her gaze, then returned to his work.
Penelope really didn’t care. She’d rather be robbed than argue. But something in the man’s warning gave her pause, and daringly, she put back one of the toys. “I don’t think I’ll take two,” she said tentatively.
The clerk or artist or whoever it was behind the counter looked surprised, then smiled again. “I give two, special price, one for half price of first.”
Startled at how easy it was, Penelope laid out the bills, and with a bravery she hadn’t known she possessed, offered half her savings to the man on the floor. He slipped the money hastily into his pocket without so much as looking up.
Quite foolishly proud of her minor accomplishment, Penelope picked her way back through the shops to the street and glanced at her watch. Charlie’s hour was up.
Deciding it would be much more relaxing if she thought she were returning to the cottage alone, Penelope sauntered toward the dock where the water taxi had left them. She didn’t know how one went about hiring a boat, but she’d figure it out. The water ride had been considerably more comfortable than the potholed road.
Noting the evening sun settling into the banks of clouds over the ocean, she hurried a little faster through the dusty street.
Before she reached the dock, a familiar hiss beckoned from beneath a wind-bent palm tree. Startled, she scanned the shadows, at last locating the man in a tattered shirt carrying his polished wooden bowls from strings around his neck. She suspected he was the same man from the shop, although how he had managed to get here before her, she couldn’t imagine.
Just a little afraid, she hesitated, not going nearer but waiting to hear what he had to say.
“Your man, he got big trouble. You follow me.”
And with that ominous statement, he rattled off down the road, leaving Penelope to follow if she dared.
FIVE
Slipping out the back of the restaurant, Charlie cut across the yard and down a side alley between two crumbling residences. He’d told Penelope an hour, but he suspected if he didn’t return at the appointed time, his lady friend wouldn’t mind in the least. She would probably hope that he’d fallen off a cliff and merrily go her own way. He’d been looking forward to the argument over that big double bed though. Even with his entire business collapsing around his ears, his mind was on sex.
Focus, Charlie.
He hurried past crumbling stone facades and weathered Creole-style buildings with wooden gingerbread and wrought-iron railings. Too many people knew him here. It had been ten years and he’d changed some, but he couldn’t very well hide his size or color. The population here was predominantly black, so he looked like a tourist. But he walked streets most tourists didn’t take.
Turning down a narrow alley, he encountered suspicious glares from the assortment of men and boys lounging against street corners and sitting on stoops. If it weren’t for the hot Caribbean sun blazing down on them, he’d think he was in a Chicago slum. The pounding beat of a steel drum from one of the bars quickly dispelled that notion.
Charlie understood the insults muttered in patois but he ignored them. One advantage of his size was that most people didn’t confront him physically. The disadvantage was that he didn’t consider it fair play to grab the pip-squeaks by their shirt collars and wring them out. Picking on someone his own size was difficult when everyone was smaller.
Finding the house he sought, Charlie didn’t bother knocking on the front door leading into a half-empty general dry-goods store. Stepping over the rusted hulk of a bicycle, he wended his way through a littered side alley and around the back.
The stench of rotting fish assaulted him from one side; the delicious odors of a spicy island gumbo wafted toward him from the other. Hoping he hadn’t completely lost touch with his contacts here, Charlie stuck his head over the sagging half of a rear door and hollered, “Jacques!”
A small, curly-headed toddler with wide eyes appeared first, taking in his alien presence and scampering away. Then with a low muttering stream of indistinguishable invectives, a tall shadow advanced out of the dim interior. Hair braided in a multitude of thick dreadlocks, the bony silhouette loped into view.
“Captain! You come back!” he said in the
lilting accents of the island. “Come in! Come in!”
His graying beard tapering to a point, his black skin stretched taut over his thin frame, Jacques appeared more apparition than human. But the strength of his hug was real enough. Charlie caught Jacques’s skinny biceps in a tight squeeze and practically lifted his friend off the ground.
“You haven’t changed any,” he said dryly. “I’d rather wrestle an alligator.”
Jacques emitted a high, thin cackle. “Life make me strong. Sit, sit. Antoinette will give you gumbo. You have had no gumbo until you have Antoinette’s.”
“Gone and got yourself married since I saw you last, have you?” Charlie took the seat offered at the rickety kitchen table and winked at the toddler peeking at him from behind a beaded curtain. He knew better than to get down to business as soon as he arrived. The chances of accomplishing anything before dusk were slim. Somehow, he would have to get word to his impatient lady. Releasing any fantasy of returning to that double bed and his irate companion, Charlie concentrated on the conversation.
They discussed local happenings over an enormous bowl of seafood accompanied by the local beer. Good thing he hadn’t filled up earlier. By meal’s end, Charlie bounced the toddler on his knee and had a better idea of island politics as they’d developed since he’d left. Jacques might parade his religious beliefs in public, petition the government to save the rain forests, and lead tourists on nature hikes like an aging hippie, but he had a shrewd understanding of what went on behind the scenes. He knew everything and everyone on this end of the island. And it was here that Raul had disappeared.
The sun lowered toward the sea as they took their drinks out on the back step and spoke quietly while Antoinette and the toddler slipped into the interior.
“So, what brings you back, my friend?” Jacques asked. “I hear you do big things in the States. You made friends with your papa, no?”
Charlie shrugged. “I never had any argument with Dad. It was just difficult visiting him over that distance. We developed his construction company once I got back there. It’s doing fairly well now.” Charlie crushed his beer can. “Dad died last year.”
“Ahh, I am sorry to hear that. You come back now to tell your mama?”
Charlie uttered a harsh laugh. “Not likely. She already knows. She just never cared. No, I’m not here to see her. I’m looking for Raul.”
Jacques gave him a shrewd look but did not comment. He and Jacques had known each other almost as long as Charlie had known Raul. Jacques had been a father figure for them both.
The older man nodded in understanding. “There is bad hoodoo in these parts now. Money is the root of all evil.”
“Greed is the root of all evil. We’re our own worst enemies. Who needs devils and demons when we have humans?”
Jacques glowered. “Don’t you be preaching to me, mon. What can I do to help?”
Slowly, gathering his thoughts as he went, Charlie outlined the background of his enmity with Jacobsen, Raul’s disappearance with the company money, the liens, and the papers halting the company’s development project. As he reached this last, Jacques growled a guttural curse and threw his empty soft drink can at a yowling cat.
“You best go talk to your mama, boy. That man of hers has the hoodoo these days. He owns this half of the island.”
“That’s an exaggeration. Emile keeps expanding the plantation, but he’s never had any interest in development. I think he’d like his own private island, but a good chunk of one makes him happy. His name never came up when we were developing the site.”
“Things change. You talk to your mama. There’s things out there you don’t know ‘bout. I start looking down here, but the spider spins its web from the top.”
Charlie grimaced at the image. “I thank you for the help. Could I get you to put me up for the night? I have to send a lady back where she belongs.”
Jacques gave a wicked grin. “Don’ worry. No problem.”
The blazing red Caribbean sun had hit the blue bank of clouds on the horizon by the time Charlie hurried down the street toward town. He didn’t like taking the main streets, where he might encounter someone familiar, but he’d left Penelope alone entirely too long. He didn’t look forward to a ranting tirade; he didn’t want to be responsible for anything happening to her either. He had this nagging feeling that leaving a beautiful snob like Penelope alone for any period of time could be an invitation for trouble.
Curse his wretched hormones. Why couldn’t he have picked out a mousy female who would nod her head and look at him with dewy-eyed awe, obeying every word he said?
Pride goeth before a fall, he muttered to himself, just before someone slammed a telephone pole against the back of his head.
***
Penelope screamed as she saw Charlie topple like a tree. The dark figures clambering over his fallen body scampered into the shadows before she could reach him. Even the mysterious man she’d followed had somehow melted into the dusk.
She didn’t know how her informant could have known this would happen, and she didn’t care. Fury overrode any sense of self-protection. There had to have been half a dozen men and a big stick to bring Charlie down from behind. Not that he probably didn’t deserve it and that she hadn’t considered it herself, but she’d always had contempt for cowardice.
By the time she kneeled beside him, Charlie was pushing up from the dusty street, shaking his head, and groaning.
“I should have known they couldn’t hurt you by hitting you in the head,” she murmured more in distress than disgust as she touched the bloody lump. She dug through her purse for the packet of moist napkins she always carried when traveling.
Not attempting to rise, he rested on one elbow and, nearly cross-eyed, glared up at her. “What in hell are you doing back here? I thought I told you to stay near the beach.”
“You told me you’d be back in an hour too. You tell me a lot of things. That doesn’t necessarily mean any of them are true.” She ignored his wince as she applied the towelette to the back of his head. It wasn’t bleeding much and seemed more scrape than cut.
“Look, we have to get out of here. Those thugs could come back any minute once they realize you didn’t bring the cops with you.” Pulling the towelette from her hand, he struggled to sit up.
“Any normal person would be nauseous, have a splitting headache, and be dizzy as all get out after a blow like that. Why would you want to be normal?” she asked sarcastically as he pushed to his feet.
“Any normal female would be weeping and carrying on and offering to take me back to rest my poor head on her pillow,” Charlie countered, staggering slightly as he straightened. “Let’s just accept that we’re different. Come on, let’s see if we can still catch that taxi. I want to get you out of here.”
“Can you walk?” Penelope asked doubtfully, for the first time admitting a measure of fear, whether for herself or this man she couldn’t quite determine. She glanced nervously at the narrow street, wondering who watched from the darkened doorways beneath overhanging balconies.
“I’ll manage.” Finding his balance, he proceeded onward with only a slight hitch in his gait. “I’ve been hit from behind by a two-fifty tackle and survived.”
“I daresay you were wearing a helmet at the time,” she reminded him.
Charlie glanced at her wryly. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Did you hire those guys, just to teach me a lesson?”
“Well, I wish I’d thought of it, but I haven’t learned my way around that quickly. I think it more likely some of those old chums you’re hiding from hired them.”
“Chums don’t come after a guy with a tree. Did you see what the hell they hit me with?”
“A big stick,” she said calmly, although her heart still raced and perspiration slithered down her back. “Shouldn’t we call the police?”
“Unless you can identify them, it wouldn’t do any good. The town’s inhabitants don’t normally attack tourists. They’re smarter than
that. Gives the place a bad name. It’s me they were after. And I’d rather not let the police know I’m here.”
Penelope made a noncommittal noise while mentally tallying all the reasons he wouldn’t want the police to know of his presence. The list was far from reassuring, yet still she walked beside him and worried about his welfare instead of running as fast and far as she could. Maybe his incompetence at covert activities reassured her. She’d helped Zack out of his various scrapes throughout their college years. Maybe it was just habit, one she really ought to break.
They walked the rest of the way to the dock in silence. Penelope imagined Charlie’s head hurt like hell so she obligingly kept her opinions to herself. By tomorrow, she would be back at the work she knew best, and he could fall into the ocean for all she cared. Somehow, they just had to struggle through the night ahead. With his head pounding like a kettledrum, Charlie shouldn’t present much problem. From the right perspective, she could almost feel grateful for his attackers.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered as they reached the dock in time to watch the sun ease into the sea in a blaze so hot it should have produced steam.
Ignoring his profanity, Penelope watched the magnificent sunset with awe. The lapping of the waves at her feet, the cool sea breeze, and the tropical setting of riotous flowers and palms soothed her shattered nerves. She could almost wish they had those champagne glasses in hand now. With a little music and moonlight, she’d be completely lost.
“The taxi’s gone,” he explained, pointing out the obvious if she’d just had the presence of mind to look.
Jerked back to reality, Penelope gazed at the deserted dock that had swarmed with people not half an hour before. Nighttime fell quickly in the Caribbean, and darkness shrouded the beach. “Won’t it come back?” she asked tentatively, hoping he’d give the answer she wanted to hear. “It’s probably making a run to the resort.”
She couldn’t see his exasperated look, but she felt it. “It’s gone back to the resort, all right, and that’s where it will stay. It doesn’t run after dark.”
Volcano Page 5