"Bill! Jane?" he exclaimed.
The couple turned to face him across the small room.
"David!" they responded in chorus and approached him. He shook hands with Bill and gave Jane a hug as he pecked her on the cheek.
"What are you guys …"
"Why are you here?" Jane interrupted, in a querulous tone.
"My agent recommended it as a place where I could finish the book without too many distractions. What a coincidence to find you here. Where are you staying?"
"We chartered a yacht; we're just passing through," Bill said. "Come and join us for lunch; meet our hostesses."
"You sure you don't mind?" David asked, looking at Jane.
"Of course not," Bill said.
"Why would we?" Jane muttered through clenched teeth, her left hand surreptitiously pushing something into the pocket of her shorts.
Dani and Liz stood up as the three approached their table. As Bill dragged another chair up to the table, he introduced the man as David Cardile.
"David's a fellow faculty member," he explained as they all sat down.
"What do you teach?" Liz asked.
"American literature and creative writing. I'm taking a term off to finish a book I've had in the works for too long."
"Getting it published should ice down your tenure," Bill said.
"I hope so. My agent says it's all but sold; she's really pushing me to get it done. She recommended Bequia as a good place to work on it, so here I am."
"It's going to be great," Bill remarked. "I've read part of it. Dani, you remember that interview I was transcribing when I had to borrow your Bluetooth speaker?"
"I remember your borrowing the speaker, but I was too wrapped up in the engine work to hear what you were doing."
"Oh. Well, anyhow, David's writing about this serial killer — really getting inside his head. So I interviewed the character, with David playing the part of the killer, to try to help him get a different perspective. It was a blast, and I think he's nailed the killer's personality. It's just dead on."
"Wish I felt as sure of that as you do, Bill," David said.
"Believe me, I've studied enough of them to know. You've got it just right; he's perfectly credible. All those feelings you expressed are consistent with the profiles of the real McCoys."
"Enough about the book," David said, looking at Liz. "So what's it like, running a charter yacht? Sounds like a dream job."
"It's a good living," Liz agreed. "Especially if you're sociable and you love sailing."
"How did you get into something like that? It's so completely foreign to me …"
"Well, it was to me, as well, until I met Dani. I always loved sailing, but she's the one who had the vision to put this together."
"I see." David turned his dazzling blue eyes on Dani. "What made you think of doing this for a career?"
"I grew up doing it. My father loves sailing, and he's always had a charter fleet, mostly in the Mediterranean. I started working as deck crew on breaks from school when I was about 13."
"So is your father still a charter captain, then?"
"No, he never was. He's in the import/export business; owning charter yachts is a sideline for him, a hobby."
"Did you ever consider doing anything else?"
"After university, I spent a couple of years in the investment banking business, but I didn't like it. Too many sharks."
That brought a round of laughter to the table, and Leon appeared as if on cue. He passed out menus to the new arrivals. "There's no hurry; take your time. Can I get fresh drinks for anyone?"
****
Most of the conversation at lunch had been between Bill and David, and it had centered on the recent killings in Grenada and Union Island. Jane had said little, and Dani and Liz had avoided intruding, participating only when asked for information. David had been hungry for details of the crimes; newly arrived, he had been unaware of them until Bill had brought them up. Bill had been happy to tell all he knew and had freely theorized about the killer's personality. The two men had agreed that the deaths must be the work of the same killer, and it was obvious from his questions that David was considering how he might incorporate the insights he gained into his book. As the conversation wound down after the food was finished, David excused himself, saying he wanted to make some notes. Bill and Jane had taken a taxi to visit the turtle sanctuary on the other side of the island, and Dani and Liz had picked up their grocery order and returned to Vengeance to stow the food.
As Liz put each item into a locker or the fridge, Dani updated the database Liz kept in her iPad. To take advantage of the small, oddly shaped storage spaces aboard meant stashing things where they might be overlooked if they weren't logged into Liz's inventory. As she put the last item away, Liz wiped perspiration from her brow with the back of her wrist. She rinsed her hands and face at the galley sink and suggested they sit in the shade in the cockpit until it was time to retrieve their guests from the dinghy dock in town.
"Did you catch the way Jane avoided talking with David at lunch?" Liz asked, once they were settled
"Not really. I just figured he was Bill's friend."
"He seems to be that, all right, but there's something between him and Jane, I think."
"Why do you say that? They barely looked at each other," Dani said.
"Oh, he looked at her, all right, but she was ignoring him."
"Just because you thought he was hot doesn't mean she does. Men probably always look at her, just like they look at you."
"No, he was looking at her with a kind of smug, possessive air, and she wanted no part of him even being at the table. It was like they had some kind of lover's quarrel going on that they couldn't bring out in the open."
"Maybe so -- I think I see what you mean. You think that's why she's seemed so preoccupied for the last few days?"
"Could be. I thought she was going to faint when Bill suggested we stay an extra day and take David sailing."
"He does seem oblivious to her reactions. I saw that, all right. She heaved a sigh of relief when David begged off."
"Yes, but did you see the way David looked at her while he was thinking it over? Like he was watching her sweat it out and enjoying her discomfort. He may be hot to look at, but I think he's probably a real bastard."
"She did seem relieved when he said he had to spend his time writing; I saw that, for sure."
****
The ship's clock struck eight bells as Jane sat by herself in Vengeance's main cabin. She hadn't learned to interpret the clock's striking, but a quick glance revealed that it was midnight. She hadn't tried to go to sleep; she knew it would be fruitless. Everyone else had gone to bed early, turning in a little after 10 p.m. in anticipation of an early departure and a long sail to Rodney Bay, St. Lucia, tomorrow. She had retired with Bill to their stateroom, knowing she wouldn't go to bed yet. As Jane undressed, she found the note David slipped into her pocket when he hugged her earlier. She hid it between the pages of Bluewater Killer, the book about Dani's brush with white slavers a few years ago. She wanted to throw the slip of paper over the side, but she hadn't had an opportunity yet. As much as she wanted to be rid of the note and of him, she had to know what it said. The very fact that he had written the note in anticipation of seeing her was disturbing. How had he known they would meet?
When Bill had come out of the tiny washroom that adjoined their cabin, she had told him she was too keyed up to sleep and that she intended to read for a while. Yawning, he had scratched his hairy belly and nodded as he crawled into the bed. He had begun to snore before she eased the door shut. Alone in the main cabin, she opened her book, planning to read until she was sure everyone else was asleep. Soon lost in the story, she had not noticed the time passing until the clock chimed. She took the note from its hiding place and smoothed it on the table.
Dear Jane,
I've missed you terribly. It's time for us, now. I can't keep waiting, and you've said we can't continue to see one
another because of your feelings for Bill. What about my feelings for you? And yours for me? I know you; what's between us is real. You couldn't fake your pleasure in our relationship any more than I could.
Leave the bastard, Jane. Come away with me. We'll take the advance from my book and start over somewhere else; I won't have any trouble finding a teaching position, and we won't need money anyway; the advance will set us up nicely for years to come. Don't make us wait any longer. Come to my villa this evening; it's 3A at the Mango Tree Resort. Until then,
All my love,
David
Before she and Bill left for Grenada, she had done her best to make David understand that she didn't love him, that their affair had been a horrible mistake. It had begun with an after-class encounter when she was his student. He had been as handsome then as he was now, a dashing young professor. He was every coed's heart-throb, and she had been young, naïve, and single. She had known early in their relationship that there was something off about David; he was completely self-centered. She had wanted out of their relationship after their first few trysts, but in the small community of the private university, it had seemed impossible for her to escape him. It had been easier just to go along; the sex wasn't great, but she knew he wouldn't let her go quietly, and she feared the embarrassment of a nasty, public ending to their clandestine affair. Although it wouldn't have reflected well on him as a junior professor, she had no doubt he would have twisted it to put the blame on her.
When her relationship with Bill had led to marriage, she had thought that would put an end to David's unwanted attention, but it had not worked that way. Frustrated by what she perceived as her weakness, she had continued to see David during the three years she and Bill had been together, hating herself more every day. Finally, once she and Bill had booked their charter, she told David they were leaving for the term, and that when they got back, she would not see him again. She had hoped the period they were apart would give her the strength to refuse him when she and Bill returned. Foolishly, she had thought that a cooling-off period might bring him around, as well.
She didn't believe his presence in Bequia was coincidence, but how could he have known where to intercept them? Then she remembered the blog for Bill's students. Bill's blog post before they left Grenada had spelled out their short-term itinerary. That's how David had found them. Now she worried that he would continue to pester her as they sailed up the islands. She could try to alter their route, but she knew Bill was committed to visit certain places, and without telling him her reasons, it wouldn't be easy to get him to change his plans. She couldn't tell him about David; it was too shameful.
Grinding her teeth, she ripped the note into tiny pieces. Careful not to make too much noise, she climbed the companionway ladder and took a turn around the deck, padding softly with her bare feet on the teak. She tossed the bits of paper into the sea, wishing she could shred David Cardile and throw the bits into the sea with his note.
Chapter 11
David Cardile was finishing a leisurely breakfast in the coffee shop of the Mango Tree Resort. Although he was disappointed that Jane had not come to his room last night, he wasn't surprised. He resolved to persist, knowing she wouldn't have the determination to end their affair. After all, it had been going on longer than her marriage to that insufferable jerk, Bill Fitzgerald. His jaw tightened at the thought of having to pretend friendship with the buffoon. At least he could find humor in the notion of Fitzgerald's supposed expertise in the psychology of killers.
David felt too wound-up to write this morning. Last night's futile wait for his lover had left him restless. Needing a distraction, he decided to take a stroll along the shady strip of road that paralleled Bequia's waterfront. He would visit the bookstore again; that woman, Claudia, could take his mind off Jane, at least for a while. He signed the tab for his breakfast and stuck it under his coffee mug, crumpling his napkin and dropping it on the table as he rose from his seat.
As he approached the shop, he saw yellow crime-scene tape stretched across the gate in the fence that separated the bookstore's small flower garden from the street. The yellow tape seemed so incongruent with the tranquility of the little village that he wondered briefly if the shop were being used as a movie set. He crossed the street to the waterfront park opposite the shop to get a better view of the storefront, noticing as he did that a police launch of some sort was tied across the end of the town dock.
The double doors of the shop stood open, allowing David to see several men in uniform moving about in the shadowy interior. He saw a man crouching, a camera in his hands. The flash strobed several times as the photographer duck-walked in a semicircle, his back to the doorway. David took a seat on the end of a park bench so he could see what was happening in the store from the corner of his eye without appearing to gawk. He took a stylus from his shirt pocket and began to make notes on a small tablet computer, occasionally glancing up from his work. He gave the appearance of being focused on the tablet computer while observing the activity in the bookstore.
After five minutes, four men in smart uniforms emerged from the store carrying a stretcher. David craned his neck enough to see that there was a black plastic body bag on the stretcher. The men carried it to the police launch and stepped aboard. In moments, they roared off with blue lights flashing, making for the harbor entrance. A minute or two later, two more uniformed policemen came out onto the front porch of the bookstore and turned to secure the doors. Once satisfied the lock was holding, the two men walked around to the back gate in the fence surrounding the shop and left.
David had been struck by the absence of onlookers; the few people in the vicinity had all busied themselves, ignoring the crime scene until the police left. In ones and twos, they began to make their way to the park where he sat. Soon, there were a dozen or so men and women congregated in the shade of the big tree a few yards from his bench. They spoke softly among themselves for a few minutes during which they surreptitiously studied him, the stranger in their midst. He was close enough to make out most of what they said, although there wasn't much continuity in their remarks. He caught the name, Claudia MacKenzie, a couple of times. He picked up the phrase "… naked as the day she was born," in one woman's comment. Another woman shook her head and muttered, "Decapitated, they said."
****
Liz and Dani were sitting in the cockpit with Bill as they worked their way up the western side of St. Vincent. They had enjoyed a boisterous sail across the channel from Bequia earlier, but after a couple of hours, they were in the wind shadow of the big island and had to resort to the diesel. A mile or two offshore, there was barely enough breeze to keep the sails from flogging as Vengeance sliced through the mirror-like surface of the clear, dark blue water. The smooth ride and droning of the engine had a soporific effect on Jane, who confessed to having read into the early hours of the morning. She had gone below and was stretched out on the port settee in the main cabin, sound asleep.
After steering under power for a few minutes, Bill had relinquished the helm in favor of the autopilot, complaining that it wasn't the same as when Vengeance was under sail. He and Dani had made small talk about how much less alive the boat felt under engine power than when she was driven by a fresh breeze. Liz had gone below and returned with a carafe of coffee. As she filled their mugs and passed them around, Bill brought up yesterday's encounter with David Cardile.
"That's a real 'small-world' experience, all right," Liz remarked.
"The way Liz was ogling him before you and Jane came into the restaurant, I was embarrassed to be at the table with her," Dani said.
Liz punched her on the shoulder playfully.
"He's a handsome devil, for sure — all the undergraduate women fight to get in his classes," Bill agreed. "How he's managed to stay out of trouble, I don't know, the way they all throw themselves at him."
"You two seem to be good friends," Liz prompted.
"We got to know one another because of Jane, oddly enough; he
was another of her advisors when she was in grad school. She may have taken an undergrad course or two from him, as well — I don't know. I knew him to speak to before, of course; it's a small faculty, but we didn't discover our common interests until Jane's thesis brought us together."
"Sounds like a pretty tight academic community," Dani said.
"Small schools can be like that. It's not always a good thing; sometimes there's friction, and no way to avoid it. Jane really doesn't like him very much. They had some kind of falling out years ago — about her thesis, I guess. She won't say much about it — never would."
"Has he written many books?" Dani asked.
"No, this is his first one. He's taken some heat about that, too, from his department chairman."
"Because he hasn't published enough? You mentioned tenure yesterday," Liz said.
"Sort of. He's published enough academic papers to get by, but he was hired to teach creative writing, and it's tough to be credible in that field without having a book or two on the market."
"Makes sense to me," Dani said. "Maybe teaching something requires different skills than actually doing it, but I can see where students would wonder."
"Wonder what?" Jane asked as she climbed into the cockpit.
"Have a nice nap?" Bill asked.
"Yeah, thanks. I feel caught up on my sleep now. What did I miss?"
"Not much. We were just talking about David and his tenure problem."
"I'm betting he's never going to finish that book," Jane said as she sat down by Liz. "He's been working on it as long as I've known him."
"He'd probably have an easier time of it writing about being a ladies' man, from what Bill was telling us," Dani said. She saw a strange look flash across Jane's face.
"He's got the looks, but not the personality; he's too full of himself. Same thing with the writing; he talks a good game, but he's superficial."
Bluewater Stalker: The Sixth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 6) Page 7