Sunbaked

by Junie Coffey

  Nina studied the photograph. Mary Sifton looked very young. There was a little smile playing on her lips and a twinkle in her dark eyes. Her dark hair was piled high on her head. Not for the first time, Nina observed how shockingly low the necklines for proper young ladies were in those days. The emerald rested on the snowy-white skin of her bosom. She stood with an ostrich feather in her hand, a blue sky full of fluffy white clouds in the background. It seemed amazing to Nina that the very necklace that had graced the neck of a young English girl in 1772—and was rendered in the brushstrokes of Sir Joshua Reynolds, one of Britain’s most celebrated painters—had hung around the neck of Tiffany Bassett at a party Nina had attended at a rock star’s ocean hideaway just the other day.

  Alice continued. “Of course, the National Portrait Gallery couldn’t send the Reynolds painting here. It’s far too valuable, and our museum doesn’t get enough visitors to make it worth the risk. However, they’ve offered to send a full-size reproduction of the painting,” she said with excitement.

  Danish stood with his brow furrowed, nodding as she spoke. Nina assumed it was his This is fascinating pose, put on to impress Alice.

  “We also have these letters, on loan from the archives at the University of South Carolina,” said Alice. She very carefully lifted one sheet, cradling it in her gloved hands. “They are letters between Mary and Robert, and between Robert and various friends and associates, written in the year leading up to their departure from Charleston on the Morning Glory.”

  Nina leaned over Alice’s shoulder and read:

  My dearest Robert, please hurry home as soon as you are able. The atmosphere here is quite changed . . .

  “The emerald is by far the most valuable artifact recovered from the Morning Glory,” said Alice. “It was appraised at three and a half million dollars, although, given its provenance, its portrayal in the Reynolds painting, and its romantic history, it’s very possible it would sell for more at public auction. But I don’t really know what the thief could hope to get for it on the black market . . .” She shook her head.

  “The records show that the Siftons were traveling with five other families. They were all slave owners. The passenger list also names eight female and ten male domestics and laborers. Unfortunately, we know very little about them, other than their names. However, we can still use the artifacts and the exhibit to explore the history of slavery in these islands, which is the family history of my ancestors and of many of the children on Pineapple Cay. Most, if not all, of the Europeans who settled here brought slaves, or bought them at local slave markets, to work their plantations.

  “No one survived the wreck of the Morning Glory, but the life stories of at least a hundred people can be told through the emerald necklace. Then there are the slave rebellions, the pirates, the wrecking, and the rum running. The history of local industries, music, and culture. I can’t wait to work on all of the exhibits.”

  Alice’s enthusiasm for her work was infectious.

  “I can’t wait to see it all,” said Nina.

  “Me, too,” chimed in Danish.

  Alice peeled off the white cotton gloves and laid them on the table, and they walked toward the door. “I’ve been trying to come up with ways to stir up some excitement and get more people to visit the museum. This new exhibit is a big opportunity,” she said as they went down the stairs.

  “Well, the theft of the emerald is definitely front-page news, but it may not be what you had in mind,” said Nina.

  Alice grimaced and sighed, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. Danish gave Nina a hard look.

  “I’m not sure what we’ll do if the emerald isn’t returned,” said Alice quietly. “The entire exhibit is built around the necklace. All this work might be for nothing.”

  Hearing the history of the emerald and its worth piqued Nina’s curiosity. “Do you have any idea who could have taken it? Was there any concern about the emerald being stolen before? Maybe someone read the articles about it and thought it was an easy opportunity.”

  Alice frowned. “It’s always a concern with a valuable museum piece, but it seems strange to have been taken from the Savages’ home. There weren’t many people who knew about the party, and there was so much security. Really, it would have been easier to steal it from the museum.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, and then Alice shook her head and perked up again. She smiled at Nina. “I’m sure the emerald and Tiffany will be found. Uncle John is working hard to find the kidnappers, and how far could they get? And Kiki and I came up with a great idea. It’s going to be so much fun! A community treasure hunt to celebrate the finding of the long-lost treasure of the Morning Glory! I hope you’ll come.”

  She handed Nina and Danish each a leaflet from a stack on the desk. It said Community Treasure Hunt in bold letters with a drawing of an open treasure chest and a few paragraphs of information.

  “It’s a two-day event, next Saturday and Sunday. There’s an article about it in today’s paper. Teams will meet in front of the museum Saturday afternoon at one o’clock. There’s a children’s event in the morning and then a bouncy pirate ship and face painting and all that stuff in the afternoon while the adults and older children do their hunt.”

  “That sounds great!” said Danish. “I’m in! Why don’t the three of us enter as a team?”

  Alice looked at him. “Kiki and I wrote the clues, and I know where they’re hidden. I’m not allowed to participate,” she said, “but I’d be so happy if both of you did. With everything that’s happened, I’m so worried no one will show up and it will be a big flop. Kiki and I talked about canceling it when Mrs. Bassett was abducted, but the pirate ship has already been rented and a band has been booked for Saturday night, and we can’t get our money back.”

  “Sure, we’ll be there,” said Nina. “Maybe we can get Pansy and her husband to be on our team. I’m sure they’ll take their kids to the morning hunt, but maybe Pansy can get someone to look after them for the afternoon. It will be fun! What a great idea, Alice.”

  Alice beamed. “Great! My Uncle John said he’d try to send a team from the police.”

  Danish’s mouth hardened into a straight line.

  “Well, if you need any more information about the Morning Glory, please just ask, Nina,” said Alice. “I thought I’d lock up a bit early today and go hang these flyers around town so we can get a good turnout this weekend.”

  “I’ll help you!” exclaimed Danish, lunging forward to grab the stack of flyers off the desk and then again to grab the stapler.

  Alice looked at him sideways for a moment and then said, “OK.”

  They all walked out together, Alice locking the door behind them. As the door closed, Nina caught sight of the pastries, adrift on two napkins on the desk. Alice and Danish headed for the main street, and Nina decided to make herself scarce by stopping in at the public library before heading home.

  The sign on the door read OPEN WEEKDAYS 2:00–4:00 P.M. OR BY CHANCE. She was in luck. The knob on the door turned, and she pushed it open. A small, bent-over woman with a cap of iron-gray hair looked up from the book she was reading as Nina came in and sang out a cheerful hello. The library was one large room, with a small public washroom off the vestibule. Bookshelves lined all four walls, and a polished wooden table with eight chairs around it took up the far end under a mullioned window. Resting on a wooden lectern in one corner was an enormous dictionary, five inches thick. It was an old Oxford English Dictionary, the leather cover scuffed and cracked.

  Nina browsed the shelves and picked out a couple of novels and a book on the history of Pineapple Cay, then took them to the checkout counter where the librarian sat.

  “Found something, dear?” asked the woman with a smile.

  “Yes, thanks,” said Nina. “May I get a library card, please?”

  “Of course!” said the librarian. “Always glad to have a new member.” She slowly opened a drawer in the wooden desk and took out a notebook and a blank cardb
oard membership card. She asked Nina how to spell her name and then wrote in her address without asking for it. Nina smiled—apparently another friend of Miss Rose who’d been kept up to date on Nina’s move via the beauty salon. When they were done, she handed Nina a photocopied flyer for the book club.

  “Since you’re new in town, dear, maybe you’d be interested in joining our book club. We meet here on the first Saturday of every month at ten o’clock. We’re choosing the next three selections this week. I should warn you, the discussions can get a little heated, but we’ve instituted a new rule. You can only speak when you’re holding the talking stick.”

  “Thank you, I’ll think about it,” said Nina. She looked over the previous year’s reading list as she strolled down the gravel walk to the gate. There was The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Lighthouse by P. D. James, and Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None.

  Hmm, she thought. A self-help book and three mysteries set on remote, idyllic islands where horrible murders are committed. What’s that all about? Thrills and chills from the safety of the hammock, or some more deep-seated taste for the dark side?

  She looked around. A woman walking her dog down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street smiled and nodded to her. Nina waved back. With the exception of the Bassetts, people seemed very friendly here, but maybe sunny Pineapple Cay was not quite as sleepy as it seemed.

  7

  On Tuesday morning, Nina dawdled on the porch with her coffee, leafing through a pile of paint chips she had picked up at the hardware store and sketching plans for her flower beds. Then she sat down and wrote a long e-mail to Louise, providing a description of the tiny yellow house and her white-sand backyard, as well as a slightly giddy recounting of her day with Ted. She paused before adding a brief account of Tiffany’s disappearance. She also sent an e-mail to her parents and brothers with much of the same information, but she left out the bits about Ted and about Tiffany’s abduction.

  She didn’t really feel like playing tennis this morning, but when it was time to get ready, she forced herself to get up and change into something appropriate. Although she wasn’t particularly interested in the game, she was curious to learn more about Lance and Tiffany’s relationship. Could he possibly have abducted her and stolen the necklace? He’d seemed awfully unconcerned about her whereabouts yesterday. After talking to Alice, Nina was increasingly curious about the other guests at the party. Perhaps one of them had something to do with it. As Alice had said, few people knew about the event. Had anyone been missing from the party when Tiffany disappeared?

  And regardless of the emerald or Tiffany, Nina was determined to stick to her resolution for her new life: to say yes rather than no when opportunities came along. It was so much easier to stay comfortably put at home, but she was determined not to miss anything else.

  When she got to the tennis courts, Lance was already there, finishing up a session with a couple of boys who looked to be about ten years old. Patience clearly was not Lance’s strong suit. He was trying to teach them how to serve the ball, showing them again and again how he threw it in the air, reached his arm up, and brought the whole weight of his body down on top of it. Again and again, the boys threw the balls in the air and heaved the rackets, which were almost as big as they were, above their heads to whack the ball across the net. Again and again, the balls went into the net, or sailed high over the fence. Occasionally, one of the boys missed the ball entirely, and it fell to the ground behind or in front of them, and then they both laughed their heads off. Lance was getting increasingly irritated, and it showed in his face and in his curt tone.

  Finally, he looked at his watch for the fifth time in five minutes and said, “OK. That’s enough. Your mom said to meet her by the pool.”

  The boys let the rackets fall to the ground with a clatter and took off running in the direction of the pool. Lance wearily reached down to pick up the rackets and placed them on a chair by the side of the court, then took a long drink from his water bottle. Nina walked toward him across the court. The little scene with the boys reminded her why she didn’t play tennis. It required a lot of skill and effort, and you had to pay attention because the action was unpredictable. She preferred athletic pursuits that were repetitive and relied on physical strength or endurance, like running and swimming, where she could tune out and think about other things.

  Lance saw her coming and wiped his face and hands with a white towel, which he then threw over the back of the chair. He turned toward her with his hand outstretched.

  “Nina? Hi, I’m Lance. I’ll be your instructor today. Do you play tennis?” he asked, glancing at her running shoes and shorts.

  “No,” said Nina. “Probably only two or three times in my life.”

  Lance sighed barely audibly. “No problem. We’ll work on the basics,” he said.

  His manner was professional, if unenthusiastic. If his brain was in turmoil over his missing ladyfriend or from committing a violent crime, he certainly didn’t show it.

  “Let’s start with the serve,” he said, and repeated the demonstration he’d given the boys. Nina halfheartedly hit a few balls into the net, then decided to liven things up a bit.

  “So, how did you come to be working here at the inn, Lance?” she asked.

  “My father’s a friend of Barry Bassett’s, and he got me the job here. Dad does some legal work for him. I just finished college, and my father was hassling me to do something. Of course, that was before he and Michel started their big feud.”

  “So, you knew the Bassetts from home,” said Nina as she whacked another ball, this time over the net—but out of bounds.

  “I met Barry a few times when he came over to see Dad. We live in Connecticut, and Barry was based in Miami and then here. I never met Mrs. Bassett until I came down here.” His voice did not give anything away. Nina had an unwelcome flashback to the scene by the equipment shed the other day.

  “What’s she like?” asked Nina.

  Lance looked at her. “She’s OK, I guess. I give her tennis lessons. He treats her like garbage,” he said, hitting the ball hard over the net.

  “You know them both. Do you think he could have had anything to do with her disappearance the other night?” asked Nina. She was being far nosier than she would usually have been. She was reminded of a study she’d read about people’s behavior on vacation, how they do things completely out of character, letting their inhibitions run free. She wasn’t exactly on vacation, but it would be hard for an observer to tell the difference at this stage.

  Lance looked at her sharply this time. He didn’t speak for a second. “Maybe. They pretty much hated each other, as far as I could tell.” He was silent for a moment, then spoke again, louder and at a higher pitch, as though he was deliberately trying to change the subject.

  “Jules Savage sure isn’t like I thought he’d be,” he said. “There are more books in that house than in the public library. And all of his watercolor paintings of flowers and his kids and Kiki all over the place. But no groupies lounging on water beds. Kind of disappointing.”

  He pointed at Nina and said, “Do it again, and this time, don’t bend your wrist.”

  Nina endured another twenty minutes of hitting the ball slowly back and forth across the net with Lance, and then a terrifying interlude with a machine firing tennis balls at her like a machine gun while Lance stood on the sidelines shouting ineffectual instructions as she tried to avoid getting hit.

  “Enough!” she said. “I’ve had enough for today, thank you very much.”

  “OK, it’s your dime,” he said, and then seemed to switch gears. He sidled up to her and dabbed at her neck with a white towel. She hoped it wasn’t the same white towel he’d used to mop up his own sweat before the lesson.

  “I’ve been pretty cruel to you today,” he murmured.

  She suppressed the urge to gag.

  “How about I make it up to you by buying you a drink at the bar
later? About seven o’clock?” he said. It was as though he felt it was his duty to put on the moves, like he was on sleaze autopilot. She took a couple of steps away.

  “Thanks for the lovely offer, but I’m busy tonight. I actually only met Tiffany once or twice, but I was at the Savages’ party when she was abducted, and I find it really upsetting that she’s still missing. I’m meeting up with a couple of friends who were there that night, and we’re going to see if we can remember anything that might help the police find her,” said Nina. She watched his reaction carefully.

  Lance regarded her steadily for a long moment and then shrugged. “Yeah, well, that sounds like a blast, but from what I’ve heard, the police think the kidnappers have taken her to Havana. They think it’s Russian-mob stuff Barry was mixed up in, in Miami. That’s what my dad told me on the phone last night. Have fun, though. See you around. If you want another lesson, you know where to find me.”

  He grinned with his mouth but not his eyes, grabbed his tennis bag, and headed toward the main building.

  Well, that was very interesting, thought Nina as she walked down the long tree-lined drive to the main road. So maybe there is something to the Barry-and-the-Russian-mob theory, or maybe Lance had heard that rumor, too. Maybe he’d started it. She walked slowly on. It was Tuesday, the day Kiki Savage had invited her to stop by and talk about her article. She hadn’t given it a lot of thought, in light of the activities of the past few days, but now she wondered how she was going to get there. Just then, she heard the whir of a golf-cart engine and saw Danish, wearing his uniform, driving toward her in his red post-office cart. She waved to flag him down.