by Junie Coffey
“Well, they’re academics, Danish. That’s pretty standard behavior in that crowd.”
“Uh-huh,” said Danish, leading the way across the lawn. “The action is this way.”
Nina followed him. There was a small crowd clustered at the far end of the hotel beach, just past the last guest bungalow—the one housing Philip’s and Sylvia’s rooms. Yellow police tape surrounded the bungalow and blocked access to the beach in front of it.
Oh dear, thought Nina. Michel is not going to be so delighted this morning that I brought the conference to his inn.
She could see Blue Roker on the other side of the tape, standing with his hands on his hips talking to another officer. A police photographer was moving methodically around the building. A couple of other officers were wading through the crowd of onlookers, asking questions and taking notes. Philip was nowhere to be seen.
This is just surreal, thought Nina. She slowed her pace unconsciously as Danish charged ahead to join the group standing along the tape.
“Nina!”
It was Victor. He was standing on the porch of his bungalow watching the scene unfolding next door. Nina changed course and walked over to join him. They stood side by side for a moment, watching the activity.
“Blimey,” said Victor. He had a martini in his hand. It was shortly after eleven o’clock.
“Yes,” said Nina. “Poor Philip.” She said it, but did she really feel it? Philip was arrogant, insensitive, and self-centered. She didn’t like him much. But no one deserves to be violently attacked. So, yes, she did feel sorry for poor almost-dead Philip.
“Have you heard any news of what happened?” asked Victor.
“No,” said Nina, “except that the police seem to think it was attempted murder.”
“Blimey,” Victor said again, and sat down. He took a long sip of his drink. Nina sat down in the wicker chair beside him.
“Where are my manners?” said Victor, slightly flustered. “Can I get you something?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine, Victor,” said Nina. The smell of the gin was making her feel sick again. “Did you see or hear anything last night or this morning?” she asked.
Victor looked like she felt. Like he’d had a bit too much to drink last night and was paying the price this morning: tired eyes, and his normally immaculate attire somewhat wrinkled, like he had dressed in a hurry. Understandable under the circumstances.
“I must have crawled into bed about midnight last night,” he said. “I walked into town and stopped in at the bar on the waterfront, then I wandered home, had a nightcap in the hotel bar, and slept like a log until I was awakened by a woman shrieking on the beach out front this morning. She kept it up, so I stumbled out onto the veranda to see what the fuss was about, and there was Philip, lying faceup on the sand. He was sloshing back and forth in the surf like a dead fish brought in on the tide.” Victor went silent.
“Did you see Razor or Sylvia? Did the woman’s scream wake them, too?” asked Nina.
“Well, Nina, darling, between you and me, I don’t think dear Sylvia made it home last night. I think perhaps she put another notch in her belt last evening and bedded down aboard a sailboat at the marina. She and a well-preserved old salt were getting pretty chummy in the bar by last orders. A fellow from South Carolina who lives on his boat, if I recall the tale he told me.”
“And Razor?”
“Razor was already down on the beach when I stumbled out onto the veranda. He rose to the occasion, old Razor. Had his arm around the elderly lady, and he shouted to me to fetch the police, which I did. They’ve been here for hours now. I’ve been told to make myself available for questioning.”
Nothing seemed to be happening behind the police tape. Blue had gone inside Philip’s bungalow.
“I’m not sure what we should do about the symposium today. Has anyone seen Bridget this morning?” Nina said to Victor. “A lot of people have traveled a long way to be here. But it doesn’t seem right to just carry on as if nothing has happened. People are bound to be a bit rattled.”
“Yes,” said Victor. “All of us must quietly hope that our passing—or near passing—might cause at least a ripple in the daily activities of the people we know, even if life in the rest of the world goes on, oblivious.”
“Mmm. Maybe we should cancel the program for this morning and move it to later in the week. We’d planned to give people some time to explore the island and enjoy the hotel amenities, anyway, so there’s a bit of breathing room in the schedule. I should see if I can find Bridget and then go down to the office to make the arrangements and get the word out.”
Nina pushed herself up and out of the chair. She looked over at Philip’s bungalow. Danish was working the crowd, talking to hotel staff and conference delegates.
“Have you seen Philip?” she asked Victor.
“No,” replied Victor. “There was an ambulance here earlier. The paramedics went inside for a while, but they came out again empty-handed and drove away. My guess is Philip wouldn’t agree to go to the hospital. I think he must still be in his room. A couple of hotel workers took him in on a stretcher when he was found.”
Nina sighed.
“I guess the right thing to do would be to go over and check on him,” she said.
“I’d volunteer to go with you, but I don’t think Philip would find my presence very comforting,” said Victor.
Is that another allusion to some conflict between Victor and Philip? Nina wondered.
She sighed again. “OK. Bye, Victor. Why don’t you come down to the inn for a coffee later, when you’re ready. I’ll be in the lobby.”
“Yes, all right,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ll freshen up and join you presently.” He went inside, and Nina started up the beach toward Philip’s bungalow. Danish came loping toward her.
“Got some good intel from the bystanders. Where were you?” he said.
“I stopped to see Victor,” Nina said.
“Victor Ross, I presume? According to my sources, Philip’s arch nemesis. Rivals from way back. Hate each other’s guts. Maybe there’s a woman to blame, somewhere in the olden days?” mused Danish, a finger on his chin.
“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think they’re in competition that way. Victor’s my friend, Danish. And professors of leisure studies do not have arch nemeses,” replied Nina.
“Well, anyway. Get this—there was something written on the guy’s chest in black marker: ‘I win.’ Permanent marker. Sounds like something an arch nemesis would write, doesn’t it? The giant syringe was an EpiPen. The kind allergic people use when they get stung by a bee or something like that.”
“A shot of Adrenalin. Who told you that?”
“Mike, the security guard. Ross burst into the lobby, yelling, ‘Get the police, there’s a dead man on the beach,’ which freaked everybody out. Mike ran over to preserve the crime scene until Roker got there. Turned out the guy—Putzel—wasn’t dead, but Mike saw the message written on his chest.”
“Oh my. Well, I guess that would explain why the police have ruled out an accident.”
“Yeah. Well, I’ve got a yoga class in five. Michel wants to keep things as normal as possible. Catch you later. I’ll come by your place later, and we can go over what we’ve got so far.”
“No, Danish!” she yelled after him, but he didn’t seem to hear.
Nina walked across the sand to Philip’s bungalow. Blue was back outside, and his officers were taking down the crime-scene tape. Nina walked over to Blue.
“Hi again, Blue,” said Nina. “May I go in and see Philip?”
He hesitated for a moment. “Yes,” said Blue. “Follow me.”
Philip was sitting up in bed when they entered the bungalow, a bank of thick pillows propping him up. A nurse in a starched white uniform and cap was gently dabbing a sponge on his face. His face and hands—all that was visible above and below the hotel-issue terry robe he wore tightly wrapped up to his neck—were covered
in angry red welts and patches of scaly skin.
“Nina!” he shouted when he saw her. There was certainly nothing wrong with his voice. Nina took a deep breath and moved to his bedside. Blue took up a position opposite her, behind the nurse’s chair.
“How are you feeling, Philip? Can I get you anything?” Nina asked.
“You can get me the hell off this island!” he shouted. Nina flinched. Blue looked at Nina, but kept silent.
“I have never had such a horrific night in my life!” said Philip forcefully. “First the kitchen mixes up my room-service order and nearly kills me with a shellfish appetizer, then the nonexistent security at this hotel fails to detect a thief breaking into my bungalow and dragging me down the beach in the middle of the night!”
He shouted at Blue, “I will be pressing charges!” Blue’s expression did not change.
Would it be possible to avoid Michel for the rest of my life here on Pineapple Cay? Nina wondered. Maybe if I do my grocery shopping at seven o’clock in the morning, right when the store opens, and limit myself to my cottage and environs, and never go to another village function . . .
“I’m really sorry about what happened to you, Philip,” she said. “Of course, I’ll help you make arrangements to leave, if that’s what you want.” Philip was quiet for a moment, glaring at Nina. He looked out the window and then back to Nina.
“No. I have my reputation to uphold. Fifty people have traveled around the world to hear me give my paper on pet tourism. I am a professional. I’ve done fieldwork on Daytona Beach at spring break. I can take it. We will stick to the program.”
“Yes, Philip,” said Nina. “So, was anything taken from your bungalow?” she asked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Blue stand up straighter.
“No. He must not have expected me to be here. I fell asleep on the floor next to the bed after injecting myself with the EpiPen. I didn’t wake up until bloody Razor Hudson started slapping my face and splashing sea water on me this morning. I was lying on the beach in my underwear! What if Charlotte Critchlow from Westbury College had looked out her window and seen that? That woman thrives on being the bearer of other people’s bad news.”
Nina was thinking that pretty much everyone already knew exactly what he was wearing when he was found and what was written on his chest. And, unfortunately, after his speech last night, most seemed to find it funny, rather than tragic. He didn’t actually die, after all. Anyone who didn’t know the details would find out at the scheduled midmorning break.
“So, the person who broke into your bungalow didn’t take anything but hauled you down the stairs onto the beach while you were sleeping and wrote something on your chest? Odd kind of thief,” said Nina.
“Already the gossip has started!” shouted Philip. “Who told you about the message?”
“All right,” said Blue. “I need to question Dr. Putzel further, Nina. You’ll have to go now.”
“Of course,” said Nina. “Philip, if you need anything, just give me a call. I’ll talk to Bridget and move things around a bit to give you some time to recover.”
Philip just said, “Humph.”
Blue’s eyes followed Nina as she left the room.
Back out on the beach, Nina glanced around. To her right, a police officer was sitting on a beach lounger talking to two women in maid uniforms sitting opposite him. To her left was the white stucco two-story villa where Bridget was staying. Nina hiked her bag up on her shoulder and plodded down the sand to the villa. She rang the bell several times without any luck and was just about to leave when the door opened, and there stood Les. Mercifully, he had a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Well, good morning, Nina,” he said. “What a—surprise. What can I do for you? We were in the middle of an epic session in the hot tub.” He stood in front of the door to bar her entry—and her view—into the house.
“Oh, it’s you. Why are you everywhere I am all of a sudden? I’m here to see Bridget, if you don’t mind,” Nina said, peering over his shoulder. The door swung wide open.
“Hi, Nina!” said Bridget with a big, gummy smile. She was wearing a flowered bathing suit that accentuated her matronly figure. “Come on in! You’ve got to see this place! It’s amazing! We’re having breakfast up on the rooftop terrace. Come on up!”
Bridget was off and up the stairs before Nina had the chance to get the news about Philip out. She followed Bridget up to the roof. Les trailed behind.
Nina had seen the rooftop terrace before, when Pansy had shown it to her. The view was spectacular. A row of teak sunbeds with thick mattresses and linen shade canopies was positioned to take in the long sweep of beach and the turquoise sea. At one side of the terrace, the hot tub was boiling away. Out of the corner of her eye, Nina saw Les shed his towel and climb into the hot tub with a loud, obnoxious sigh. He popped the top off a beer. Nina pointedly looked at her watch. He closed his eyes and lay back against the built-in headrest.
“Isn’t it amazing?” said Bridget, spreading her arms wide and grinning contentedly. “Who needs Philip Putzel when you have this? He was so mean last night. I decided to skip his stupid presentation on dog vacations this morning and just hang out here with Les.”
Does she really not know what happened? Nina wondered. Philip’s bungalow was right next door. Nina looked over at the hot tub. It was on the side of the terrace away from Philip’s bungalow. If Bridget and Les had been over there all morning, she supposed it was conceivable they hadn’t noticed the activity down below.
“Can I tell you something a little bit naughty, Nina?” said Bridget conspiratorially, snorting a giggle through her nose as she walked toward the edge of the terrace facing Philip’s bungalow.
“OK,” said Nina warily, following her.
“Last night, I saw Philip in his outdoor shower, just before the banquet.” She put her hand over her mouth, widened her eyes, and laughed her big, inelegant—but joyous—laugh. “Yeah,” she continued in a whisper. “He stood in front of his shaving mirror and practiced his speech—totally in the buff. It was like watching a train wreck. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.”
Nina wondered how much she knew about Les’s nudist lifestyle.
“Look,” said Bridget. “You can see right into the walled garden behind his bungalow from here.” She gestured toward the bungalow and then turned to look herself. “What’s going on?” Bridget asked, looking at Nina questioningly. She seemed to be noticing the police officers and the crowd for the first time.
“Philip was attacked last night. Someone tried to kill him,” Nina said.
Bridget’s hand flew to cover her mouth.
“Oh my God!” said Bridget. “Is he all right? What happened?”
“He’s OK,” said Nina. “He’s in bed recovering, but he’ll be all right. Did you see anything last night?”
“No!” said Bridget. “Les and I came back here after we saw you on the beach after the banquet, had a few more drinks with my housemates up here on the roof, and sat in the hot tub for a while. We went out for a moonlight swim—the moon was almost full last night, you know? Spectacular. That was maybe about one o’clock. I got excited because I saw some tracks in the sand, like turtle tracks, you know? Like in a David Attenborough documentary? I thought maybe some giant turtles were coming ashore to lay their eggs. It was a big, deep groove in the sand. I thought maybe we could watch. That would be so cool, but Les pointed out that they were running parallel to the water, not away from the water. Duh, Bridget.”
Nina glanced over at Les, who raised his beer bottle in acknowledgment.
Nina was thinking about what Philip had said about being dragged out of his bungalow and down the beach by his assailant. So, if those were the tracks Bridget saw, it happened sometime between ten o’clock and one o’clock. Philip ordered room service, too, she remembered. If she could find out when that was, she could narrow down the time frame of the attack.
“Where did you see the tracks, Bridget?” she asked. Bridget wa
lked to the front of the terrace and gestured to the left, up the beach away from the inn.
“Going that way,” she said. “We went for a swim, had another soak in the hot tub, then went to bed,” she said. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Nina looked over at Les again. He was lying back in the hot tub with his eyes closed.
“What about you, Les?” Nina asked. “Did you see or hear anything strange last night?”
He opened his eyes slowly and focused on her. “Well, here’s a clue, Nancy Drew. I was otherwise occupied all evening. I saw and heard lots of strange and wonderful things, but not from your professor friend.”
Bridget giggled.
“All right, Bridget, thanks,” Nina said, turning back to her. “We need to reorganize the conference schedule for today. I can go get started with Josie, but can you come over when you’re ready?”
“OK,” said Bridget.
Nina walked down to the water in front of Bridget’s rental villa, then up the beach a short way. She didn’t see any sign that a body had been dragged through the sand. Of course, any tracks below the high-water line would have been washed away by now. She sighed and headed back down the beach to the inn. What started out as a simple assignment has turned into a sticky mess, she thought. Open revolt and wounded egos at the opening banquet. Attempted murder. What next?
Nina spent about an hour in Josie’s office rejigging the conference schedule and contacting as many of the delegates as she could to inform them of what had happened. Groups of them sat talking in hushed tones on the veranda as the day wore on. Eventually, Bridget appeared and took over on the front line. Nina sent a message to Philip’s wife, informing her that there’d been a mishap, but that he was fine. When she was finished, she went out into the airy lobby to wait for Victor. She’d just sat down on a sofa in the corner when Michel came in from the side veranda where lunch was now being served. She could hear the parrot who lived in a cage on the veranda shriek after him in a Parisian accent, “Yes, I hate you, too. Don’t worry.”