by Junie Coffey
It was the tail end of the afternoon by the time they got back to the inn. Everyone was exhausted. Nina said her goodbyes and walked slowly home. She took a shower and put on her new slinky black swimsuit under her shorts and T-shirt, thinking she might take a refreshing dip before the sun went down. Jumping into the water fully clothed from a moving golf cart didn’t count as swimming. She made a cup of tea and wandered outside.
“Honky Tonk Woman” by the Rolling Stones wafted through the palm trees from the direction of Les’s back deck. She could live with that. So. He was home. Good. Perhaps she could solve at least one mystery. She wanted to get to the bottom of what she saw from the top of Lime Tree Hill. She put her cup down and headed through the trees to Les’s deck.
He was tinkering with his barbecue, and he was wearing his swim trunks. Bonus.
“Les, I want to talk to you,” she said.
“Do you?” Les replied, glancing up at her briefly and then turning his attention back to his barbecue.
“Yes,” said Nina. “I want to know why the guy in the red truck is so interesting to you that you’re skulking around taking pictures of him and his pals.”
“Do you now?” said Les, still not making eye contact with her. She waited. He glanced at her before turning away again to close the lid of the grill and take a gulp from the beer bottle resting on the deck railing beside him. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he drank. He turned to face her.
“OK. We can powwow if you want, but it’s going to be in the hot tub,” he said.
“Absolutely not. No way,” said Nina.
“Yes way. And I’ll tell you what. Just to show you what a gent I am, because I know you’re a little squeamish, I’ll keep my trunks on. Although, I’ve got to tell you that trunked or trunkless, it’s still going to be Les-and-Nina soup with all the seasonings, baby.”
Nina gagged. “Oh God. That’s disgusting. You are truly disgusting.”
Les got into the hot tub carefully, holding his bottle of beer aloft. He slouched down on the underwater bench with a sigh.
“Well, I guess you’ll have to decide how badly you want to know what I know about Mr. X, the owner of the red truck. Note, I said want to know rather than need to know, just so we’re both clear that you’re being a busybody, and not acting in any official capacity whatsoever.”
Nina stood there uncertainly for a moment, weighing her options. The prospect of a Les-and-Nina soup was nauseating. On the other hand, she really wanted to know what the deal was with Red Truck Man. She was pretty sure he was up to no good. She sighed, then shuffled off her flip-flops and wiggled out of her shorts. She left her T-shirt on over her bikini top and climbed in, perching stiffly on the edge of the underwater bench.
“Now we’re talkin’,” said Les, sliding his eyes over her as she sat down. “Care for a beer, milady?”
Nina wasn’t a big beer drinker. She bought it mainly for guests. Mainly for Danish, but it occurred to her that it might take the edge off the situation.
“All right, sure,” she replied. Les reached back over his shoulder into the Styrofoam cooler on the table beside the tub and withdrew a bottle. He screwed off the cap with one hand and passed the bottle to her.
“A toast,” he said, holding his bottle up like a torch. “Here’s to being single and drinking double.”
Nina rolled her eyes and took a sip. Les gulped half the bottle, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin neck. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes.
“OK, Les,” she said. “Let’s hear it.”
“All in good time, all in good time. I think we should take a moment to appreciate the sunset. Isn’t it lovely?” he said, opening his eyes and gesturing to the spectacular panorama of the pink-, purple-, and orange-streaked sky before them.
“Yeah, it’s great,” said Nina, her eyes flitting briefly to the big orange ball of the sun sinking into the sea, then back to Les. “Start talking. I have things to do.”
A figure coming down the beach toward them caught her eye. It was Ted. He stopped in front of Nina’s cottage for a moment, then turned around and started slowly back toward his lodge. There were no lights on in the cottage, and the sun had begun its rapid descent while she was at Les’s. She gave a small, involuntary squeak. Mistake. Les swiveled his head around to see what had startled her, then looked back at her through narrowed eyes, like a shark on the hunt.
“Ah, Mr. Ted Matthews. Cover boy for Boring Fishing Story Monthly. Your cup of tea, is he? We should say hello. Hey! Matthews! Care to join us in the hot tub for a beer?” Les yelled to Ted, then grinned at Nina wickedly.
Ted turned around again, looking for the source of the invitation, and Les waved him over.
“Welcome, welcome. The more the merrier. Nina and I were just chillin’, shooting the breeze. Being neighborly. You know Nina, don’t you?” said Les as Ted approached.
“Evening, Nina. Les.” Ted nodded at her as he spoke. He held her gaze, a slightly puzzled look flitting across his face before his features returned to a neutral expression. No smile.
Nina wanted to disappear. She could only imagine what Ted might be thinking, finding her cozied up with Les, drinking beer in his hot tub as the sun set. She stood up.
“I was just leaving,” she said, climbing awkwardly over the side of the hot tub, still holding the bottle of beer. She stood dripping in her bikini with her T-shirt clinging to her. She couldn’t even articulate a reasonable explanation for why she was there. Somehow, she didn’t think her desire to get dirt on the guy who drove the shiny red truck would make Ted think more highly of her.
“I heard you were in an accident,” Ted said to Nina. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine, thanks. Just a couple of scratches,” she answered.
“Good. Well, I don’t want to break up the party,” said Ted, already beginning to walk away. “I just wanted to see if you were OK. Thanks for the invitation, Les, but I’ve got to get back to the lodge. Good night, Nina. Les.” He gave her another look in the eye, then turned away to walk back up the beach along the shore. Nina watched him go.
“Oh dear. I hope he didn’t get the wrong idea,” said a smirking Les.
“You’re a jerk,” said Nina irritably. “What is your problem?”
“Oh, calm down. Can’t two neighbors have a friendly drink together? If Golden Boy Matthews’s ego can’t take it, that’s his problem. Now, are you interested in what the guy in the red truck is up to or not? Because I’ve got things to do—or perhaps I should say someone to do—very shortly. Not you, just to clarify, so don’t get your hopes up.”
“You’re a pig. Just say what you’ve got to say, and I’ll gladly be on my way,” said Nina. Way up the beach, Ted was now just a dark shape against the pale sand. The lights in the guest cabins below the main fishing lodge were visible through the trees. Nina sighed quietly and returned her attention to Les, who was leaning back in the hot tub with his arms stretched out along the rim and a knowing grin on his face.
Nina crossed her arms.
“Well?” she said. “We had a deal, Les. I saw you skulking around the dunes yesterday where Red Truck Man was up to something. And I saw you sneaking around the marina last night. What’re you up to?”
“Well, now, that’s not the question I agreed to answer. The question I agreed to answer is ‘What is your so-called Red Truck Man up to?’ Let’s call him Jimbo. I’ll tell you this much: Jimbo’s been a bad boy. He’s taken something that doesn’t belong to him.”
“What’s he taken that doesn’t belong to him?”
Les took a long pull on his beer before speaking. “Well, I’m pretty much done with him, and he’s not getting off this island anytime soon, so I’ll tell ya, just because I feel the tiniest bit of remorse about pouring cold water on your budding romance with Matthews. So sad. Sand.”
“Sand,” said Nina, letting his comment about Ted pass.
“Yessiree. Piles and piles of soft white sand. Jimbo and his
mates cruise in on a barge and suck it up with a vacuum pump when no one’s looking, then sell it for a hundred dollars a yard to a middleman who can get twice that from hotel owners who don’t ask too many questions about where it comes from. The trick is to take just a little bit here and there so no one notices it’s missing.”
“Why would anyone want to buy sand?” asked Nina. “This place is literally covered in sand.”
“Not here, obviously,” Les said. “But everyone wants a nice white-sand beach and palm trees on their Caribbean vacation. Problem is, half the islands in the Caribbean are volcanic or are missing a few beaches. Black sand, rough brown sand, or no sand. Florida, too, for that matter. No one dreams about sipping cocktails on a black-sand beach. The hotels import white sand and spread it like a blanket over their rocky, mud-colored shores. The schoolteachers gone wild from Akron don’t know the difference. It takes about a hundred yards of sand to cover your average beach volleyball court, and it’s got to be done every year or so. It’s a lucrative business.”
“If this sand stealing is a regular practice, why I am just now seeing Jimbo and his shiny red truck everywhere? And why are you so interested in him?” asked Nina.
“Well, Jimbo’s been a greedy boy. And he’s getting cocky. Instead of concentrating his business on the uninhabited cays around here, he’s cutting corners, taking sand off Pineapple Cay. It isn’t his usual hunting grounds, but he’s sold enough recently to buy himself a brand-new truck, get it shipped over here on the mail boat, and drive it back and forth through the middle of town ten times a day. That’s attracted the attention of various onlookers. Moron. He should have stuck to his legit job at the distillery. He deserves what’s coming to him.”
“And how do you know all this?” asked Nina. “What does it have to do with you?”
“Nope. You’ve used up your one wish. Let’s talk about something else,” said Les. “My turn to ask a question. Do you wear your hair like that because you think it looks sexy, or because you don’t own a hairbrush?”
“Good night, Les. It’s been a real pleasure, as usual,” said Nina, heading toward her cottage.
11
Nina woke up the next day determined to set things right with Ted. She spent the morning over at the inn dutifully attending conference sessions, including “How to Market Polar Bear Dips As Tourism Products in Northern Climates” and “Promoting Road-Hockey Tournaments to Expatriate Snowbirds at Beach Resorts.” It was the last full day of the conference, and mercifully, the delegates were due to start heading home that evening. The regularly scheduled twenty-seater couldn’t handle them all at once, so they were shipping out in batches. With any luck, no more of them would be picked off before they were safely off the island. Nina was looking forward to putting the whole week behind her and getting back to normal. Preoccupied with thoughts about her encounter with Ted the previous night, the recent attempt on her life, and the guy in the red truck, she declined Victor’s invitation to join him and a few others for lunch.
“Let’s meet up at The Redoubt for dinner later,” she suggested instead.
Nina walked home through the village. As she passed Les’s house, she noticed his car was gone, and the air was blissfully Guns N’ Roses–free.
She wondered what he was up to as she opened her own white picket gate and went up the path to her front door. She inspected her window boxes. Her flowers were perking up—looking quite pretty, in fact. Blue had been right in his diagnosis and suggested treatment. Passing through her tiny cottage with a brief detour into the kitchen, she pushed open the screen door onto the veranda and leaned against a post sipping a glass of iced tea. She looked up the beach to the point. No sign of activity. All the fishing skiffs were pulled up onto the sand in front of the lodge. Strange. Usually at this time of day, the guides were out on the flats with clients. She remembered Ted’s battered wide-brimmed hat, still sitting on her kitchen counter. Now might be a good time to walk it over to him.
She gazed out at the gorgeous white-sand and turquoise-water vista that served as her backyard and smiled to herself. Despite her recent near-death experience, she still couldn’t quite believe her good luck in landing in such a beautiful place. It was serendipity. Victor was wrong. Our life stories aren’t written in advance by our genetic codes or our hormones. Or even by our pasts. Along with whatever blows life delivers—like a philandering husband—there is room for the delightfully unexpected and for charting our own courses.
The sun was at full strength and the water enticing, so Nina decided to take a quick swim before heading up to the fishing lodge. She went inside and peeled off her clothes, slipped on her swimsuit, and padded barefoot down to the shore and into the surf. The water was crystal clear and just cool enough to be refreshing. Schools of tiny fish darted around her ankles as she waded out across the soft, sandy bottom. When it was deep enough, she dove under, then floated on her back with her hair trailing in the water like seaweed, feeling the sun on her face. The saltwater stung her scratches.
In such an idyllic setting, it was hard to believe that someone had really tried to kill her and Danish yesterday. It had to have been an accident. Brakes wear out. A tear could look like a cut, couldn’t it? She didn’t have a clue what brakes looked like or how they worked. And the break-in at Sylvia’s could easily have been a petty thief who thought the bungalow was empty. But what about Philip? That was definitely not an accident. Someone very angry had tried very hard to kill him. And if that was true, were the other two incidents possibly unrelated? She just didn’t know.
She swam a few lengths back and forth in front of her cottage, then splashed back to the shore. She glanced over at Les’s bungalow as she walked up the path. Still no sign of him or his bare bum. Very curious.
Showered and freshly dressed in a clean white T-shirt and cutoffs, Nina headed up the beach to the lodge with Ted’s hat in her hand. She felt invigorated. As she approached, however, she realized something had changed since she’d gone inside for her shower. There was now a bikini-clad woman reclining on a beach lounger and reading a magazine in front of the guest cottages. She glanced up as Nina approached.
“Hello!” the woman said. “You’re the first person I’ve seen on this beach since I arrived. How do you do? May I help you?”
She was about Nina’s age, Nina guessed. Maybe a little younger. She was stunningly beautiful, her ruby fingernails and toenails manicured to perfection, with just the right hint of matching lip gloss framing her perfect toothy smile. Friendly, thought Nina, but who is she, and what is she doing at Ted’s fishing lodge wearing a bikini?
“Hi,” Nina said. “I’m the neighbor. I just wanted to return Ted’s hat. He left it at the bar.”
“Oh, he’s up there,” said the woman, gesturing up toward the main clubhouse. “He said he had some paperwork to do. I thought I’d enjoy this lovely beach today. Would you like me to give it to him?”
It was like a shock of cold water sluicing through her chest. Nina hadn’t seen this coming. Ted had a girlfriend visiting. New, old, occasional, it didn’t matter. There was someone else.
“Ah, thanks. That’s all right. I’ll get it to him later. Thanks. Enjoy your holiday,” Nina said, and swiftly turned and headed back toward her cottage still clutching Ted’s hat, suddenly downhearted.
Nina changed her clothes and went back to the inn. She sat through the remainder of the conference discussions in a bit of a daze. Victor was right about one thing. The waterslide and lazy-river proponents did get into a heated argument with the wilderness canoeing and white-water-rafting advocates. The points of contention seemed to be which type of activity created more jobs, which was more fun, and whether or not it mattered if we had any natural rivers left. Nina was thankful for the distraction. After the meeting adjourned, some delegates migrated to the bar and eventually into the dining room. Nina climbed in a van that was headed for The Redoubt.
The bar was jumping. Veronica had brought in a blues musician for the evenin
g, and he was playing a searing slide guitar on the raised stage in the corner when Nina followed after the group from the conference. Patrons were two deep at the bar, and most of the tables inside and out on the deck were full of noisy patrons. Candles were lit on all the tables, and the servers moved briskly from table to table and to and from the kitchen. Nina hung back by the door, not eager to wade into the crowd. She watched the group she’d arrived with colonize a picnic table on the waterside deck.
“Hiya, Nina!” It was Bridget with her perennially sunny smile. She was wearing a new batik sundress and a pair of Pansy’s sea-glass earrings. Her nose and shoulders were sunburned.
“Bridget, how are you doing?” said Nina.
“I’m great!” said Bridget with a huge smile. “Guess what? Philip came over to me this morning and told me he called someone he knows at the research institute I want to work for and got me an interview next week! Isn’t that amazing? I’m so excited! And I’m meeting Les here later for dinner. He’s so great, don’t you think? I’m having such an amazing time!”
So, Philip had come through for Bridget. Maybe his trip to Pineapple Cay had been transformational for him, after all. John Steinbeck would approve, thought Nina.
“That’s such good news about the job, Bridget. I’m very happy for you,” said Nina, avoiding comment on Les’s greatness. She looked around. “Where’s Philip tonight?”
“I don’t know,” said Bridget. “I stopped by his bungalow on the way over here to see if he wanted to come along, but he wasn’t there. Sylvia was on her porch having cocktails with Nancy Delancy. She said she hadn’t seen or heard from him since the last session ended. I guess he’s tired, with all that’s happened.”
“Yes, I imagine so,” said Nina. “I’ll see you at the inn to say goodbye tomorrow morning, Bridget. Have fun tonight.”
She leaned against the bar and scanned the crowded room again, looking for Victor. He’d skipped the last session at the conference. She saw the solo traveler Victor had ambushed with a bottle of wine. He was seated in a booth with the two women he’d shared the wine with, along with a couple of other people. They were eating and laughing. They looked like they were having a good time.