White Sand Blues

by Vicki Delany

  “Did that guy from the boat shack ever show up?”

  “No, but Westbrook says that means nothing. Sometimes islanders take off for a few days without telling anyone.”

  “What happens now?”

  Sally threw up her hands. “Westbrook wants to keep Dad for a few more days. That means he suspects something, doesn’t it?”

  “I don’t know, Sally.”

  “I’m not giving up. I know she killed my father. If you met this cop at work, that’s good. You can speak to him. Tell him our suspicions. Tell him to search Christina’s phone records. She might have called that guy she’s having an affair with. Now that Dad’s out of the way, she’s probably still meeting him. Tell Westbrook to start a search for Robert, the boat attendant. Tell him—”

  “Sally, I can’t tell the police to do anything. You told them what you suspect. Let them take care of it.”

  “It might be too late, Ashley. I think she’s making plans to leave.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The front desk clerk called my room this afternoon. She asked if I also planned to check out tomorrow. I told her she’d made a mistake. Only when I’d hung up did I wonder what she meant by also.”

  “Don’t do anything foolish, Sally.” I felt like I was caught in a hurricane. I needed some alone time. I didn’t want to spend any more time with Sally. But I was worried she’d do something foolish. Like attack her stepmother. “Let’s go for a walk on the beach. Maybe we can have a drink after.”

  “I’m going back to the hotel. That boat guy must have friends working there. I’m going to ask around. Try to find him. Will you come with me, please?”

  “I don’t…”

  “I need you, Ashley. I need someone to be with me.”

  What could I say?

  I was saved from saying anything. At that moment the phone rang.

  “Sorry to bother you,” Gord said. “I need you to come in to work.”

  “But I just got off.”

  “Kyle took a bad tumble on a broken patch of sidewalk. His ankle might be broken. I don’t have a medic for the evening shift. You’re it.”

  “I—”

  “I told you you’ll be on call when needed. You’re needed now. A driver will be there in ten to pick you up.”

  I put down the phone.

  “What’s happened?” Sally said.

  “I have to go to work. Sorry. Don’t do anything rash, okay?”

  “Me?” Sally said. “Act rashly?”

  She left, and I changed back into my uniform. My phone rang just as I was locking the door behind me. I hurried inside to get it. I hoped Kyle had turned out to be okay and I wasn’t needed at work.

  “Is that Ashley Grant?”

  “Speaking.”

  “Hi, Ashley. Alan Westbrook here. We met this morning. At the hospital. You were interested in the Julian Hunt case.”

  “His daughter’s a friend of mine. She told me the autopsy results. He’d been hit on the head, she said. Is that what killed him?”

  “The man drowned. Salt water in the lungs proves that. The autopsy did find a bruise on the back of his head. A bruise that might have been caused by a lot of things. Otherwise, no recent injuries. No signs of restraint or being in a fight. The daughter’s making wild accusations. It wouldn’t be wise for you to get involved, Ashley.”

  “I don’t want to. Believe me, I don’t. But Sally’s angry and frightened. She has no one else.”

  “Here’s my number,” he said. “Call me if you learn anything.”

  I found a scrap of paper and quickly jotted it down.

  “Are you seeing your friend tonight?” he asked.

  “I have to go back to work. I got called in.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you on the road then. I’ve pulled a double shift today too. Talk to you later.” He hung up.

  * * *

  My driver tonight was a woman named Liz. She was as chatty as Simon was quiet. She spent a lot of time filling me in on the romantic complications of members of her large family. Her middle sister’s youngest daughter was going with a man everyone disapproved of. I was saved from hearing why the family disapproved when we got a call.

  A bar fight. Man stabbed.

  Liz slapped on lights and sirens. We flew through the crowded streets of the local quarter. Away from the big hotels and condo rentals, I saw a different face of the island. Small houses, close together. Yards with carefully tended gardens or full of junk. Sometimes both on one property. People sat on their porches, enjoying the night air. Some stood in groups in the street, chatting with neighbors. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch as we sped past.

  The bar we’d been called to wasn’t much more than a shack. Flashing red and blue lights in the windows advertised brands of beer. A police car was parked outside. Its lights competed with the beer advertisements.

  Inside, men stood against the walls. A woman in a police uniform was talking to the onlookers. No one seemed to be under arrest. Alan Westbrook crouched beside the man on the floor.

  I knelt beside him. The body lay in a pool of blood. So much blood. His throat had been slashed.

  He was on his back. Empty eyes stared up at nothing. Shards of brown glass were scattered around him. A broken beer bottle. I checked for a pulse. Nothing moved under my fingers.

  “Didn’t have a chance,” Alan said.

  I glanced around the room. The policewoman was talking to the bartender.

  “Killer’s gone?” I asked.

  “Appears so,” Alan said.

  “Bobby Green.” Liz stood behind me.

  “You know him?” Alan asked.

  I got to my feet.

  “He’s my cousin Jeanette’s youngest,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t be, honey. He was always up to no good.”

  I glanced around the bar. A couple of women sat together at a table. They were crying silently. No one else seemed particularly upset. The body of Bobby Green lay in the middle of the floor. No one approached him.

  “Doesn’t look like he had many friends,” Alan said.

  “Can we take him?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I’ve seen what I need to. Now I have to find out who.”

  “You won’t be short of suspects, honey,” Liz said. “I’ll let my sister know. She can call the boy’s mama.”

  * * *

  We delivered the late Bobby Green to the morgue. We were standing outside, getting some air, when a car pulled up. Made back in the 1980s, it was now more rust than metal. A young man was driving. He jumped out, ran around the car and opened the passenger door. He helped a woman out. She wore a dress that could double as a tent. She looked at Liz. Liz looked at her.

  Then the large woman and the young man went inside.

  “Is that the dead man’s mother?” I asked Liz. “Your cousin?”

  “Yup.”

  “You’re not friends?”

  “Nope. Every family has their black sheep, honey. Bobby’s mama never did him no favors. I feel sorry for the boy. He tried sometimes. Got hisself a job, I heard.”

  “What did he do?” I asked, although I wasn’t really interested.

  “Worked at one of the big fancy hotels. His mama told everyone he was the equipment manager.” She snorted. “But he just checked out boats.”

  That got my attention. “What hotel?”

  “Club Louisa. Didn’t you have a call there day you arrived?”

  “I did indeed. I need to make a phone call. Can I borrow yours?”

  “You don’t have one?”

  “I haven’t had time to get a local plan yet.”

  Liz handed me her cell phone. “I’ll wait in the truck. Don’t be long. My stomach tells me it’s dinnertime.”

  I dug in my pocket for the number and made the call.

  “Westbrook.”

  “It’s Ashley Grant here. I’ve learned something you might want to know.”

  “Go
ahead.”

  I could hear people in the background. A man shouted. Alan was probably still at the bar. Trying to find a witness who’d talk to him or his partner.

  “Bobby Green worked at the Club Louisa,” I said. “In the boat shack.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Bobby. Robert. It’s got to be the man who was there Monday morning. When Julian Hunt signed out a paddle boat. Or, if what my friend suspects is true, didn’t sign out a paddle boat. He’s the man who didn’t come to work the next day.”

  “Thanks, Ashley.”

  * * *

  At 11:00 PM I handed the night shift over to Rachel. Then I went home and fell into bed for a couple of hours’ sleep. At six thirty the next morning I was up and ready for another day at work. Simon picked me up. We were on the hop most of the day.

  A child stung by a jellyfish. A man who fell off the only cliff on the island and landed on the rocky beach below. The usual college-age drunks passed out on the beach before lunchtime.

  Kyle, the evening-shift medic, had not broken his ankle. It was only sprained. He’d be back at work in a day or two. Gord said he’d take the extra shift today.

  “Let me put in a couple of hours with Liz,” I said. “You told me you like to be home when your kids get in from school. You can come back after dinner.”

  “Won’t say no to that,” my boss said. “Thanks.”

  As soon as he left, I spoke to Liz. “Did you hear anything more about your cousin Bobby?”

  “His brothers are out lookin’ for the man what killed him. Family’s gathering at his mama’s house.”

  “I’d like to pay a call on his mother.”

  She eyed me. “Why you wanna do that, honey?”

  “To pay my condolences.”

  “You pay your condolences on every patient?”

  “Well, no. I have some questions about him. Will you take me? I don’t know where his mother lives. If we get a call, we’ll leave.”

  She scratched her cheek. “We can’t tell Gord we took the ambulance on a personal visit.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  * * *

  The small ramshackle house was so packed with mourners I thought it might burst at the seams. People crowded the front yard and spilled onto the street. On the way over, I’d told Liz why I was interested.

  “Bobby’s mama won’t help you,” she said. “Can’t help you either. Him and his brother Jimmy were tight. Jimmy’s the only one of them worth a darn. We’ll talk to Jimmy.”

  Liz led me into the crowded house. Men smoked and drank beer in the front rooms. Women hurried in and out of the kitchen, bearing platters heaped with food. Everyone stopped talking to stare at me. I did sort of stand out in this neighborhood. I tried to look friendly but solemn. People greeted Liz, and she greeted them in return. Some looked at her with hostility. She ignored them.

  The house was hot. Too hot. The air was full of smoke and cooking smells. Too many people packed too close together.

  Jimmy sat at his mother’s side. He was a good-looking man in his late twenties. He wore pressed black slacks and a button-down, blue-and-white-checked shirt. He nodded to Liz.

  “Jeanette,” my driver said. “My condolences.”

  “Thank you for comin’,” the large woman said. She wiped her eyes with a tissue.

  “Got a minute, Jimmy?” Liz asked.

  “Sure.” He stood up. “Be right back, Mama.”

  We went outside. The mourners who’d gathered in the small yard moved aside to give us some space.

  Liz introduced me to Jimmy. “Ashley’s got some questions ’bout what Bobby mighta been up to.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said.

  Jimmy’s dark eyes studied my face. “Thanks.”

  “Have the police been here? Have they asked who might have killed your brother?”

  “They spoke to Mama before I arrived. To Eddie and Freddy also.”

  “Those two wouldn’t help the police none,” Liz said.

  “Bobby had a job at the Club Louisa,” I said. “He worked at the boat shack. Is that right?”

  “Yes.” Jimmy held out his hands. “My brother had some problems. All my brothers have some problems. But I keep trying. I pulled a few strings to get Bobby that job. Then the darn fool up and quit.”

  “Why’d he quit?”

  “He said he didn’t need a job anymore. More fool him. He’d come into some money. I asked him where he got it. He said he didn’t steal it. He said he knew where to get more. My brothers always think they’re about to come into money.” His face twisted in anger.

  “Did you tell the police this? It might be important.”

  “I didn’t speak to the police.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “They didn’t ask to speak to me. They won’t go to a lot of trouble to find out who killed one of the Green boys. Bobby was my brother, and I loved him. But he was a lazy fool and a loudmouth. He got into an argument with a drunk in a bar. He got himself killed.” A car pulled up in front of the house, and people poured out of it. They called greetings and headed our way. “I have to go,” Jimmy said. “My mother’s waiting. My family’s troubles have nothing to do with you, Ashley. Thanks for coming, Liz.”

  He went back inside.

  “Get what you came for?” Liz asked me.

  “I think I did.”

  EIGHT

  WHEN I GOT HOME, I called Alan and told him what I’d learned.

  “That’s worth knowing, Ashley,” he said. “But I don’t see that it’s relevant. Witnesses say a man came into the bar. He was already drunk and getting aggressive. He knocked into Bobby. Bobby spilled his beer. A fight ensued. A knife appeared. The killer ran off.”

  “Was this man a regular in that bar? Had he been there before?”

  He sighed. “The witnesses all said they didn’t know him. I could have told you that before we even questioned them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That may or may not be true. It’s that sort of place.”

  “If he was…”

  “Ashley, take my advice. Don’t go around asking questions. Leave it to the police. Leave it to me. This is a low-crime country, but no place is crime-free. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Liz Oswald gets a lot of respect on this island. They let you into Mrs. Green’s because you were with her. Don’t go back to that neighborhood on your own.”

  * * *

  Alan thought Bobby’s death had nothing to do with Julian Hunt. I didn’t agree. Bobby either assigned a paddle boat to Sally’s father, or he didn’t. If he didn’t, he knew who had wanted it to look as though he had.

  He’d come into extra money.

  He’d said he expected to get more.

  And then he’d been killed.

  Sally was right. Her father had been murdered. Perhaps even by Bobby himself. Had Bobby tried to get more money out of the person who’d hired him? Had he then been killed for his greed?

  Alan had told me not to get involved.

  But I was involved. Even though I didn’t want to be.

  By now it was very late. I went to bed. I was exhausted, but I tossed and turned most of the night. I was due to work the evening shift later that day. But instead of getting some much needed sleep, I got up with the sun.

  I went for a run on the beach and then for breakfast in the restaurant. I tried to concentrate on my book, but my mind couldn’t stay focused. I hadn’t spoken to Christina Hunt yet. If I wanted to find some answers, I needed to do that this morning.

  Sally had told me Christina was planning to leave the island today. I’d forgotten to ask Alan if he knew about that.

  He’d told me not to be asking questions. I figured he meant asking questions in the Greens’ neighborhood. Not at Club Louisa.

  I arrived at Club Louisa shortly after ten. I didn’t know what I thought I could do there. I was no detective. I couldn’t accuse Christina outright of hiring a
hit man. Two hit men, if the greedy Bobby had been taken care of too.

  I’d speak to Christina on the pretext of offering my condolences. I’d take it from there. If Christina wasn’t around, I’d look for Sally. Sally had said she was going to ask the hotel staff about Robert. It was highly unlikely any of them would talk to her. She might not have heard that Robert, aka Bobby, had been killed.

  The cab dropped me off in front of the hotel’s main building. I didn’t go inside but headed for the neat white villa in which the Hunts were staying.

  My hotel was nice, but the Club Louisa took it up a notch. Maybe two notches.

  It was quiet. Not many guests were around. A gardener trimmed a hedge, while another deadheaded flowers. A maid pushed a loaded housekeeping cart. A light, refreshing wind stirred the palm trees. The ocean sparkled in the sun. Alan had told me this was a low-crime country. It didn’t have the sort of security I’d seen in other Caribbean destinations. No gates, no guards. I simply walked around.

  Villa five, where Sally had her room, was one of the last on the property. Four rooms were on the main level of the villa. Three of the doors were closed. A housekeeping cart sat in the corridor. A maid came out of the open door across from Sally’s room. She nodded politely to me. She was young, short and thin. Her skin was a deep black. She had large dark eyes and a pretty, heart-shaped face.

  I said, “Good morning.”

  “Morning.” She took a pile of fluffy white towels off the cart. She looked a lot like Darlene, the manager of my hotel. I stopped abruptly. A name tag was attached to her hotel uniform. Candice.

  “You wouldn’t be related to Darlene, who works at the Ocean Breeze, would you?”

  Her smile lit up her face. “Sure would be. You know Darlene?”

  “Yes, I do.” I held out my hand. “I’m Ashley.”

  “The new medic? Welcome.” We shook hands.

  “I’m here to pay a call on Christina Hunt. Is that her room?” I pointed.

  “Yes, but she’s not in right now. She went out about fifteen minutes ago. Poor lady.”

  “You mean because her husband died?”

  Candice’s bright smile faded. Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s so sad. He was such a nice man. She’s a lovely lady.” She fumbled in her pocket for a tissue.