"You had a strange childhood. Your father let you do that?"
"Of course not. He thought I was in Bequia with Mrs. Walker."
"Did you have any friends your own age?"
"Sure."
"Girls? Or boys?"
"Both."
"So what did you guys do for fun?"
"I told you. We blew up coke refineries and killed government soldiers. They were all part of the rebel militia — lots of teenagers did that."
"That's terrible, Dani."
"The soldiers had it coming. They were on the drug lord's payroll. They would have done the same to us."
Liz shook her head and studied the sails. "We're about to sail right over Kick'em Jenny," she said, referring to the submerged, active volcano to the northwest of Grenada. "You want to come about or fall off to go around it?" she asked.
"Let's fall off. We'll leave it on our starboard side and bank on the wind clocking through the afternoon to pull us back to the east."
****
"What the hell am I supposed to do for two weeks, Mike?" Cynthia Savage asked, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts as she sat up in bed.
Mike Conrad stared at the ceiling, hands clasped behind his head. "What do you mean, Cyn? Sounds like fun to me."
"Right. Stuck on some boat with my freakin' father? For two whole weeks?"
"He's not that bad, as parents go, is he?"
"He's so full of shit. I know what he's up to; he showed me the brochure for this charter yacht. It's run by two young women — both hotties, from the pictures."
"Well, that'll keep him out of your hair, won't it? Can't you let the old man have his fun?"
"It's gonna be a long, dry spell, Mike."
"So? Find yourself some guy; there's bound to be some people your age around."
"I doubt it. We're meeting the boat in some nowhere place — a little, tiny island. It's so nowhere, it's taking me a whole day just to get there. I gotta fly to San fucking Juan and then to Barbados and then to somewhere called St. Vincent. Then I get on, like, a freakin' ferry boat to get to this little island. I leave here in the morning and I won't get there until after dark. Besides, I was thinking about weed, not sex."
"I heard of that place," Mike said, sitting up and fumbling for his pants on the floor beside the bed. He felt through his pockets until he found a joint. Sticking it in his mouth, he lit it with a match from the bedside table. He took a deep hit and passed it to Cynthia, watching as she dropped the sheet to take it from him.
She held the smoke in her lungs for as long as she could.
After exhaling in a long sigh, she took a breath and said, "This is some good shit."
"Mm-hmm," Mike said.
"What did you mean?" she asked.
"When?"
"You said you'd heard of that place."
"Oh, yeah. St. Vincent. They grow lots of weed there. Good stuff, too. My friend's parents have a house on Mustique. That's part of St. Vincent and the Grenadines."
"They grow weed there?"
"Yeah. Good shit. He brought some back once, the dumb bastard."
"Dumb bastard? You said he was your friend."
"Yeah. Dumb for smuggling marijuana. Really stupid; no way it's worth the risk when it's so easy to buy it here."
****
Ed Savage frowned at his secretary. "I'm not going to be here tomorrow, Linda. I'm headed out of the country for a couple of weeks with Cynthia, remember?"
She nodded. "I told him, but he said he didn't care about your personal problems. You're on a retainer, and he needs you."
"Damn it all. See if you can change my flights. I'll call Cynthia."
"I already booked you on new flights. Same flights, but for day after tomorrow."
"What about Cyn?"
"I didn't change hers; she's already flown the first leg, remember? I could — "
"No, that's all right. I forgot she was stopping over to see the McCarthys in Miami Beach tonight. Might as well let her go ahead; it's too late to change the charter arrangements. They can pick her up in Bequia tomorrow night and I'll join them the next day. No big deal."
"Should I call that charter broker for you?"
"No. No need, really. I'll just let Cynthia know. She can tell the women on the yacht. Shouldn't make any difference to them."
"Okay, then. I'll call his secretary back and confirm the meeting."
Chapter 2
"Welcome back, ladies," the customs officer said. "Always good to see you. You got some guests this time?"
"Thanks!" Liz said. "We do have guests, but we're picking them up here."
"Ah! That's good; mebbe they spend more money in Bequia that way." He grinned.
"Could be," Dani said. "We'll come back and add them to the paperwork before we go anywhere."
"That'll be fine," the man said. "When they come?"
"On the ferry this evening," Liz said. "Joe's Taxi's going to meet their flight and take them to the terminal in Kingstown."
"Mm-hmm," the man nodded and stamped the paperwork. "I probably see you in the morning, then. Enjoy Bequia."
"Thanks. We always do," Dani said, stuffing the papers in her shoulder bag as she and Liz walked out onto Bequia's main street. A lone car crept through the surging crowd of pedestrians like a mouse in a room full of cats.
"We've got some time to kill," Liz said.
"I thought you'd want to go to Gloria's and stock the larder. Or at least to the Rasta market, for some fruit," Dani said.
"It's too early to go shopping. I could use some coffee and maybe a snack."
"Shall we go to Mrs. Walker's, then?" Dani asked, stepping across the eighteen-inch span of the open sewer that ran between the steps of the government office building and the street.
"Sure," Liz said, turning to the south. "Sewer's ripe this morning."
"It's that onshore breeze," Dani said. "Keeps it from draining until the tide drops. It'll be fine in an hour or two."
They walked down the street, keeping to the west side of the flower bed that divided what was intended to be a vehicular lane from the pedestrian walkway. Liz stopped every few feet to examine some blossom that caught her eye.
"The flowers take care of the aroma down this way," she said.
Dani acknowledged Liz's comment with a nod, but her attention was drawn to a display of model boats that one of the street vendors was setting up in the shade of the trees that grew between the walkway and the beach.
"Mornin', Dani," the old man said, a snaggle-toothed grin breaking through the grizzled beard that covered his face. A big yellow, green, and red knit cap flopped over his head, hiding his dreadlocks.
"Good to see you, Sam. You thought anymore about that model of Vengeance?"
He chuckled. "Workin' on it. It's back at the shop; should be ready in a few days, dependin' on how busy t'ings are. You in a hurry, gal?"
"No, but we've got guests coming aboard tonight. I just thought if you had it ready, we might make a sale for you."
"I 'preciate that, Dani. I t'ink it's a good idea, 'bout offerin' the guests a model of Vengeance. Soon come, but it don' do to hurry this kind of work, see. It takes time to do it right, an' tha's the onliest way to do t'ings."
"Okay, Sam. No hurry. You just let me know."
"Oh, yes. I will do that. You ladies goin' to see Mrs. Walker, I 'spect?"
"Yes, we are."
"Tha's good. Tell her I see her fo' lunch in a bit, please. Ask her can she save me a goat roti, if you don' mind."
"Okay," Dani said, turning to find that Liz was window shopping across the way at a craft shop that featured hand-made batik fabric.
"Looking for something in particular?" Dani asked.
"No, but I was thinking some throw pillows out of that cloth would brighten up the main saloon."
"Want to go in?"
"Another time; I'm fading. I need that coffee."
****
"Linda?" Cynthia said, holding her cell phone to her e
ar as her eyes scanned the faces in the gate area. "It's Cynthia, I'm — "
"Glad you called, Cynthia. Your dad's been trying to reach you. He's been delayed; he wants you to go ahead to Bequia. He's got a meeting today, but he's scheduled on the same flights tomorrow."
Cynthia swallowed, hard. "He ... why didn't he call me?"
"He tried your cell, but he couldn't reach you, so he called Anna's parent's place in Miami Beach. You were supposed to be visiting her, remember?"
"Um, right. I … uh — "
"Never mind, Cynthia. It doesn't matter to me, but you're busted. Better get your story straight before tomorrow, kid."
"Thanks, Linda." Cynthia disconnected the call and joined the line waiting to board.
Once she reached her seat, she stashed her bag in the overhead compartment and strapped herself into the window seat. She needed to rest after her marathon evening with Mike, but sleep eluded her. She was too preoccupied with what to tell her father.
She'd been dating Mike since her sophomore year, when he had been a senior. Her father had never approved of her taste in boys, and Mike was no exception. She had worked hard to maintain her relationship with Mike since he'd gone away to the University of Miami, but her father had not allowed her to accept his invitations to come to football weekends or fraternity parties.
She'd used the Anna McCarthy ruse twice before, but both times, she'd included brief visits with Anna and her parents at their place in Miami Beach. This opportunity had come up on short notice, and the McCarthys weren't there. She'd gambled and lost, but she'd think of something. Besides, the old man was a hypocrite. He chased anything in skirts, and she knew he caught more than his share. Who was he to tell her who she could date?
She woke up when the plane's tires hit the tarmac. Rubbing her eyes, she got to her feet and retrieved her bag. As she stretched her legs on the walk through the concourse in San Juan's airport, she thought about what Mike had said about his friend buying weed in St. Vincent. Aside from the aggravation of getting her caught in a lie, this change in her father's plans could be an opportunity.
She passed an ATM on her way to her connecting flight and replenished her cash; she would buy some of that high-grade grass when she got to St. Vincent. If her old man were busy with the two babes on the boat, she would have plenty of time to herself. She might as well be prepared.
****
After several hours on small, twin-engine commuter planes, Cynthia enjoyed the fresh air when she stepped onto the tarmac of E. T. Joshua Airport in St. Vincent. Even though she broke a sweat just from breathing, it was a relief to be in the open. After a hundred-yard walk during which perspiration soaked through her blouse, she was inside the terminal. It was still warm, but at least the air-conditioning reduced the humidity.
She showed her passport to an immigration officer and breezed through baggage claim to customs, thankful that she had only a carry-on bag. She walked through the green-flagged, nothing-to-declare lane into the arrivals area and stood for a moment studying the crowd of taxi drivers holding hand-lettered placards.
Spotting one that said "Mr. Savage," she pushed through the crowd to the man holding it and explained that Mr. Savage was her father, and that he would be arriving at this time tomorrow. The young man with the placard nodded and smiled.
"Welcome to St. Vincent, Ms. Savage. You still wanting to go to Bequia?"
"Yes, please."
"My name is Wilbur, and I work for Joe's Taxi. Your charter company arranged for the pickup. Let me take your bag, and I'll show you to the van."
"Thanks, Wilbur," she said, handing him the carry-on. "That your first name?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said, and led her toward the exit. A white mini-van with the legend "Joe's Taxi and Tours" painted on the side sat idling at the curb, the air-conditioning running full blast.
As Wilbur hefted the bag into the back, she noticed his slim, muscular build. "Please, Wilbur, don't call me 'ma'am.' You make me feel like an old woman. My name's Cynthia."
He turned and nodded, a grin splitting his dark, handsome face. "Okay, then. Cynthia it is. We got some time to kill before the ferry to Bequia. If you'd like, I can take the scenic route and you can see some of our beautiful island." He opened the sliding door and gestured for her to climb in.
She held his eyes for a moment, smiling, and then ran her gaze over his torso, lingering on the ridges of muscle under the snug, cotton polo shirt. She couldn't miss the gold charm in the shape of a marijuana leaf that hung from the slender chain around his neck and dangled just below his Adam's apple. She batted her eyes and looked back up at him. "Is it okay if I ride up front?"
"Sure," he said, his eyes taking in her curves. "Whatever you'd like, Cynthia." He closed the sliding door and opened the front passenger door, extending a hand to help her up the step into the front seat. "You must wear the seat belt, though, in front."
She nodded, smiling, and buckled herself in as he got in and pulled away from the curb.
"We have an agricultural economy here," Wilbur said, as he gestured at the lush, green countryside just outside the airport.
"I've heard about that," she said. "A friend told me that you grow some fine weed here."
He took his foot off the gas and turned to look her in the eye for a moment. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him. He returned his attention to driving, and said, "Weed?"
"Grass, bud, ganja, whatever you want to call it," she said. "Guess it's a good cash crop."
"Your friend smoke?"
"Uh-huh. You?"
"From time to time, mebbe. You smoke?"
"When I can."
He reached up and plucked a fat joint from over the sun visor. Lighting it, he inhaled deeply and passed it to her. "You can, now," he grinned, exhaling as he spoke.
She took a hit and passed the joint back to him. "That's good stuff all right," she said, as she let the smoke out after twenty seconds. "Locally grown?"
He bobbed his head up and down. "Like your friend said, we grow some fine weed here."
"Any chance you could help a girl with a problem?"
"Could be. Depends on the problem."
"Uh-huh," she said. "I thought you might be able to."
"What do you need? Weed's not a big deal, but other stuff's not so easy."
"Weed's what I'm looking for. I'm gonna be on a boat for two weeks, so I kinda need to stock up."
"No problem. You got cash?" Seeing her hesitation, he said, "I only ask 'cause I can stop at a bank machine if you need to."
"How much?"
"Twenty — that's U.S. dollars, not E.C. That'll get you a good stash. Enough for you to take care of a few friends, maybe, for a couple of weeks."
"How do we make it happen?"
"Easy. I make a phone call. When we get to the ferry terminal, you pay me, like you payin' for the taxi. There's a bar on the ferry. You order a Piton and some salted nuts. The bartender will give you the beer and a paper bag with the nuts and a baggie in it. No big deal."
"You've done this before," she said.
"Mebbe so," he said taking another hit and passing the joint back to her.
"Make your call, Wilbur," she said, as she raised the spliff to her lips.
****
Festus Jacobs sat in the shade of the awning on the upper deck of the ferry as it idled against the dock in Bequia. He could see the people disembarking from here, and he knew they couldn't see him. The girl strolled down the ramp with that loose-jointed gait that marked her as stoned to those in the know. He'd spotted her earlier in the bar when she made the pickup. She must have sampled the goods on the crossing.
He didn't monitor transactions like this as a rule, but the Dragon Lady was interested in this girl. That meant money, and Festus believed in following money.
He saw her approach the two women who held a sign with the name "Vengeance" lettered on it; that must be the name of the yacht. They were making this too easy. He had expected to have to follow the girl to learn
the boat's name, but now he didn't even have to get off the ferry.
He stood, turning away from the crowd ashore and looking out over the harbor. Removing a small pair of binoculars from his shoulder bag, he swept his gaze across the boats at anchor, pausing on the fanciest looking one. He put the glasses to his eyes and adjusted the focus, estimating that the boat was around 60 feet in length.
The hull gleamed white in the late afternoon sun, and the varnished brightwork sparkled like gold. The boat swung slightly with the breeze, and he was able to make out the beginning of the name picked out in gold leaf on the transom. Everything about the vessel screamed money, even the oversized U.S. flag that wafted in the gentle breeze.
There would be plenty of money from this one, and not much risk. Marissa Chen — the diminutive, middle-aged woman that everyone called the Dragon Lady — had enough of the senior police officers on her payroll to make this work. Festus could run small-time scams on his own, but just looking at that boat told him this one would be too big for him and his cronies. He was happy to be working for the Dragon Lady on this one.
Chapter 3
Cynthia had rolled a joint from her new stash and smoked it on the ferry. She was feeling mellow when she looked over the crowd at the foot of the gangway. She spotted the two women pictured in the brochure her father had shown her. One of them held a placard bearing a line drawing of a sailboat and the legend, "Vengeance." Going with the flow of the crowd, she took almost a minute to reach them.
"Hi," she said, stopping in front of them and dropping her bag. "I'm Cynthia Savage."
"Welcome to the islands, Cynthia. I'm Liz Chirac, and this is Dani Berger. Is your dad far behind you?"
"Um, he couldn't make it today. He got sucked into some kind of meeting with a client." Cynthia grinned, waiting.
"Is he still coming?" Dani asked after several seconds, frowning.
"Who?"
"Your father. Who else?" Dani snapped.
"Oh. I guess. Linda said he's on the same flights, um, tomorrow, I think."
"Who's Linda?" Liz asked, stepping forward so that she was between Dani and Cynthia.
Bluewater Rendezvous: The Eighth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 8) Page 22