Trouble in Paradise

by Franklin W. Dixon

  I was staring right at two of them, leaning over the railing at the far end of the deck. I bopped over there, playing it cool.

  “Hello, ladies,” I said, in my smoothest imitation of Joe. I lifted my lemonade, making a little toast—and it sloshed out of the glass, splashing all over my white shorts!

  I don’t know what it is, but I totally lose my cool whenever I get within six feet of a pretty girl. And two of them at once? Forget it.

  The girls both put their hands to their mouths to hide their giggles. I tried to think of something funny to say, something that would erase the lame first impression I’d just made.

  Before I could think of anything, two good-looking young guys came over to them and started flirting. Suddenly, it was like I’d totally disappeared. No one so much as looked at me.

  Rats! I’d blown my chance to interrogate the perfect witnesses—and embarrassed myself besides.

  Now I had to go back up to the room and change. There was no way I could talk to anyone with my shorts looking like this.

  I went back through the bar. It was really crowded now. I had to weave through all the people between me and the lobby. I passed through the open door to the side hallway and started up the stairs.

  As I reached the second floor, I heard a door on the floor above me softly open and close.

  Wait a minute, I thought. That sound had come from right where our room should be.…

  “Joe?” I called.

  No answer. Hmm …

  I climbed the rest of the stairs to our floor. There was no one around. It must have been someone going into a room, not out of one, or surely I would have seen them.

  Right?

  I took out my key and opened the door. “Joe?” I called again.

  Nothing. I went inside.

  Everything seemed normal—except that I didn’t remember either me or Joe leaving our window wide open. I went over to it and peered outside.

  To my right was a drainpipe, covered with an enormous hanging vine. I leaned out and tried to see if anyone was climbing down—but I couldn’t get a really good look without actually climbing out onto the drainpipe myself.

  I decided against it. If someone had tried to snoop on us (the bartender, maybe? I hadn’t seen him on my way back through the bar)—I’d interrupted their search before it even began.

  I changed shorts, rinsed out the yellow stain as best I could, and was about to go back downstairs when I heard a soft knocking at the door.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Jenna. Remember me, from the smoothie stand?”

  “Oh! Sure!” I almost ran to the door to open it, I was so happy to hear her voice.

  “Hi, there,” she said, giving me a smile that made my knees go rubbery.

  “Hi.” I gave her a stupid little wave of my hand. “What’s up?”

  That was all I could think of to say? “What’s up?”

  Luckily, Jenna didn’t seem to notice. “Are you busy?” she asked.

  “Me? No, not at all!”

  “Can I … come in?”

  I realized that I was standing in the doorway, blocking her way. I moved aside for her. “Sure! Come on in. I was just heading downstairs, actually.”

  “Oh. Well, don’t let me stop you if you have someplace to go.”

  “No, no. I was … I was just going to go see if I could find you. I … looked for you a few minutes ago, but you weren’t around.”

  “I just now got off work,” she explained. “I do the books at the end of the day, so I was back in the office.”

  She went over to the window and looked out at the harbor and the twinkling lights of St. Thomas in the distance. “Nice night.”

  “Definitely. It … it really is paradise here.”

  “Well, yes and no,” she said mysteriously.

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just that when you live here, it’s different somehow. It’s still a great place to be, but, well … it’s a small island. When something exciting happens, everybody’s all over it. Know what I mean?”

  I had no clue what she was talking about. I would have asked her what she meant, but I didn’t want to look like an idiot.

  “Would you like to sit down?” I asked.

  “Thanks.” She settled on the side of the bed nearest the window.

  “So … how long have you been here?” I said, with my typical lack of cool.

  “Two years. During my freshman year of college, I came down to work over the winter break, and just … never left. I mean, it’s paradise, y’know?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I agreed, staring into her eyes. “Paradise. Definitely.”

  “And you? Is this your first time?”

  “Huh?”

  “On St. John.”

  “Oh! Uh, yeah. Never been here before.”

  “And you’re with your brother.…”

  “Yeah. Joe. He’s a year younger than me.”

  “Where is he, anyway?”

  I laughed. “Oh, he’s downtown, checking out the scene.”

  I let her think Joe was just looking to meet girls. I didn’t tell her what he was really looking for—evidence in the hunt for Esteban Calderon.

  “I see,” she said, her lips curling into a sly smile. “And … you didn’t go with him?”

  “I’m … shyer than Joe.”

  “Aw … I think that’s so sweet.” She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. “You’re sweet.”

  I was paralyzed. I just absolutely could not move.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Uhh …” I swallowed hard. “Yeah. I’m fine. It’s just … the heat. I’m not used to it.”

  “You want to go up to the roof? Get some air?”

  “Sure!” I leaped to my feet and escorted her out into the hallway and up the stairs.

  There was a tiny garden up on the roof—and in one corner, a bubbling hot tub just big enough for two.

  “So, you and your brother came down just for vacation?” Jenna asked.

  “Uh-huh,” I lied—convincingly, I hoped.

  She looked right through me again. I wondered how I could bring up the subject of Esteban Calderon without giving away my mission.

  “So,” I began, “a lot of interesting people must come through here, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “We get movie stars sometimes. And a couple of NFL players stayed at the hotel last winter.”

  “Diplomats, too?” I asked.

  She tilted her head to one side. “Oh. You must have heard about that guy going missing. Ugh.”

  “Ugh?”

  She rolled her eyes. “The police and FBI were all over this place for days. I was so glad when it finally quieted down.”

  “Did they ever find him?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  She leaned over the railing, staring out at the harbor lights. “He probably drowned or something. It happens every few years—someone goes swimming or diving and doesn’t come back. The currents around here are pretty strong—and there are lots of sharks, of course.”

  I leaned over next to her, and we stood there, side by side. On the one hand, I was really attracted to this girl—and I got the feeling she felt the same way.

  On the other hand, I had to find out what she knew about the case, even if it made me seem unromantic.

  “So, how long was he here at the hotel before he went missing?” I asked, staring out at the night.

  Luckily, she didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. “Oh, a long time. I think he was here for about ten days before it happened—he had an open-ended reservation.”

  “Mmmm,” I said, hoping she’d keep talking.

  “Esteban—well, let’s just say he made a big impression,” Jenna said, smiling. “He was a real party animal. A couple of times he came back to his room at six in the morning, singing at the top of his lungs.” She laughed. “I happened to be on late duty those nights. Believe me, it wasn’t easy to quiet him dow
n.”

  “What was he singing?”

  She giggled again. “I don’t know, it was in Spanish.”

  Then she stopped laughing. She turned to me and looked right through me. “What do you care, anyway? He’s not here, and we are.”

  She reached up and pushed my hair back off my forehead. I knew if I was going to kiss her, this was the moment. The thought of it was almost enough to distract me from my purpose—but not quite.

  “I’m curious,” I said. “Did anything unusual happen during his stay?”

  “Are you still on that?” she asked, backing off. I could tell she was a little annoyed.

  “Sorry,” I said. “But if anyone noticed something unusual, it would probably be someone like you.”

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “What are you, a cop or something?”

  I could tell she was joking, but she was getting too close to the truth for comfort. “No, but I’m into detective books and stuff. Just play along with me for a minute, okay?”

  She shrugged, but she gave me a little smile. “Go on, then.”

  “If I was a cop, and I told you that any little thing you noticed might save a man’s life, what would you say?”

  She thought for a moment. “I’d say … the most unusual thing was that he had visitors the night before he disappeared.”

  Yes! Pay dirt!

  “Visitors?” I repeated, trying to sound casual. “What kind of visitors?”

  “Well, I’d never seen them before, but the reason I noticed is because … well, I would have crossed the street to avoid them, you know what I mean?”

  “Mmm … wow.” I wanted her to keep on talking—every detail counted.

  “One had a scar on his face that was really hideous—like he’d been cut with a dull knife. And the other was just really ugly—and I don’t usually say that about people, but he was so mean-looking—with dead eyes.”

  “Mmmm.”

  “The thing that really made me notice was that they weren’t the kind of guys you’d expect to see with Esteban. He always dressed well. Seemed like he had money and some class. Not like those two guys he brought up to the room with him that last night—and at one a.m., no less.”

  “Hmmm …”

  “So, is that what you meant by ‘unusual’?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, that’s the kind of thing I had in mind. Anything else?”

  “Nothing I didn’t tell the police and the FBI.” She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “Like I said, I’m glad all that’s over with—it’s no fun being grilled.”

  I got her meaning loud and clear—she wanted me to change the subject, now.

  “So you didn’t tell the police about the two mean-looking guys?”

  She shook her head slowly, and I saw that her lip was trembling.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  She looked around, just to make sure no one else had come up onto the roof. “Can I trust you?” she whispered.

  “Sure!”

  “You won’t tell anybody? Not even your brother?”

  “Mmm,” I said, not wanting to make a promise I couldn’t keep. Whatever she told me, I would definitely have to share with Joe.

  Anyway, she seemed to take my “mmm” for a yes.

  “I got a phone call … the next night … after the police found Esteban’s abandoned jeep,” she said.

  “A phone call?”

  “I was working in the office. The police had just come by the hotel and were going through his room, looking for clues. The phone rang, and it was this—this horrible, whispery voice, saying, ‘Keep your mouth shut, if you want to live.’”

  “Do you think it was one of those two mean-looking guys you saw?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I never heard them say anything.” A little sob forced its way out of her throat. “I—I can’t believe I’m telling you all this. I don’t know why, but I think I can trust you. I—I had to tell someone. It’s been eating me alive.”

  “I understand, totally. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Do you think I should have told the police?”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “You’ll be all right.”

  “I’ve been so afraid.…”

  “Don’t worry—I’ll protect you.”

  She smiled at me and ran her hand over my cheek. “You really are sweet.”

  Leaning forward, she kissed me lightly on the cheek.

  I thought I was going to die right there and then—but I fought off the urge to kiss her back. I’d just uncovered some potentially major clues in this case—and I wasn’t going to just leave them hanging.

  “What room was he staying in, by the way?” I asked.

  She backed away, staring at me, eyes wide. “You are a cop!”

  “No! No, no. I’m just … well, my brother Joe and I, we’re sort of amateur detectives,” I admitted. “So when we read about this kidnapping or whatever, at the same hotel where we had reservations, naturally we were curious.”

  She took a moment, deciding whether or not to believe me. “It was room seventeen, on the second floor in the other wing,” she said. “But you can’t go in there—they sealed it off as a crime scene.”

  “Oh.”

  “Frank,” she said, taking my hand. “It’s our secret, right? What I told you?”

  “I promise, Jenna. You have my word.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But tell me one last thing. You don’t really believe Esteban died accidentally, do you?”

  A shadow seemed to creep over her face, and her expression darkened. She shook her head slowly and looked down at the ground.

  “Me neither,” I said.

  We went back downstairs and said good-bye outside the door to my room. “See you tomorrow?” I asked.

  She gave me another melting smile. “Mmm-hmm.” Leaning over, she kissed me once more on the cheek, then went quickly down the stairs.

  I fished my key out of my pocket and opened the door. Right away I realized—something was different.

  Both Joe’s and my bags had been opened and their contents tossed all over the beds and the floor.

  Someone had been in here while I was up on the roof!

  5.

  The Shadows Creep Closer

  I wasn’t the least bit convinced there was anything to this case. As far as I was concerned, this guy Esteban was just some super-rich party animal who’d gotten happy feet and decided to get away from it all for a while.

  I could picture myself in his shoes—paparazzi chasing him everywhere he went, people trying to make friends with him because they wanted something from his rich, famous father. The urge to disappear must have been strong.

  Still, you’d think the police, or at least the FBI, would have found some trace of him by now. Since ATAC had been called in, it meant they hadn’t.

  It also meant that, if Esteban had disappeared on purpose, he’d done a really professional job of covering his tracks.

  So … maybe he’d had some professional help? Like, of the criminal kind?

  I wandered the streets of Cruz Bay, trying to put myself in Esteban’s shoes on that last night he’d been seen. I followed the sounds of reggae and ska music coming out of the doorways of clubs and nightspots.

  If I were a rich young guy like Esteban, which one would I have walked into?

  I started flashing Esteban’s picture to people at the various clubs. It had been nine days now since his disappearance, so a lot of the tourists who had been here with him had gone home by now. So I concentrated on people who looked like locals—you know, slow-moving people with deep, leathery tans.

  I finally had some luck at Rasta Pete’s. The bartender, a fine-looking blonde named MaryAnn, told me Esteban had been a regular after I described him. “He was a really good tipper,” she said. “I think he liked me, y’know?”

  “I’m sure he did,” I said. “But was he here on the night of the eighteenth?”

  That was the
night he’d gone missing.

  “Uh-huh.” MaryAnn leaned over the bar, so that I could hear her over the music, which was really blasting away.

  “Was he alone?” I asked.

  “Well, yeah—for a while.” She made a face, like she was trying hard to remember.

  “What do you mean, ‘for a while’?”

  “These two other guys came in—well, they didn’t really come in, it was more like they stood in the doorway. Esteban was right in the middle of flirting around with me, you know? And then he sees these two guys, and it was like, whoa. He paid, and left right away.”

  “With the other two?”

  “I’m not sure. Those guys were already gone by the time he paid. But they could have been waiting for him right outside.”

  “Would you say Esteban’s mood changed when he saw the men?”

  “I’ll say! It was like a dark cloud came over him—he forgot all about flirting with me, just like that!” She snapped her fingers for emphasis.

  “Just like that, huh?”

  Hmmm. Maybe there was something to this kidnapping theory after all.

  “Say, what are you, a detective or something?” she asked me, giggling.

  “Me? Nah—just curious.”

  “Hey, curiosity killed the cat, y’know. Better be careful who you talk to.”

  Huh? Was she threatening me?

  No, no way—she was just kidding around, I could tell by the expression on her face.

  Still, her words sent a chill through me. If word got around that Frank and I were looking into the disappearance—and word was bound to spread, on an island as small as this—things could heat up for us in a hurry.

  Other customers came up to the bar, and MaryAnn went over to take their drink orders. I found myself a table—centrally located—and tried to home in on the conversations going on all around me.

  It seemed like Esteban’s disappearance was not the main topic. Instead, everyone was talking about some sunken ship that had recently been discovered in the waters nearby.

  I caught some snippets—“Santa Inez was her name”; “… they say skeletons were still shackled to the deck.…”; “… worth a bundle …”—but it was way too noisy in Rasta Pete’s to make much sense out of it.

  I had another idea.