Murder Caribbean-Style (High Seas Mystery Series Book 1)

by Diane Rapp

  Kayla’s eyes burned, her throat felt raw, and her mouth tasted of salty rubber. She swam at a slow pace. Steven stayed at her side but she refused to look at him. The water felt chilly as clouds blocked the sun, and fish darted away as they approached. The men climbed into the boat and Phillip helped Kayla out of the water. Avoiding Steven, she tossed her fins into a corner and collapsed onto a plastic seat cushion, exhausted and angry.

  The men spoke in low tones until Phillip erupted, spewing French invectives while Steven absorbed the abuse in silence. Phillip punctuated the tirade by slamming an open palm against the boat railing. Kayla understood little French but the words idiot and imbecile were clear.

  Mollified, she dried her skin and pulled on dry clothes. Steven plopped down beside her but she ignored him. “I’m sorry, Kayla. It was just a joke,” he pleaded. “You were watching that eel so intently, I thought it would be funny to startle you.”

  “It wasn’t funny! I nearly drowned!” she growled.

  “When I understood what I’d done, I stopped you from killing yourself. Do you realize we were at sixty feet? Swimming to the surface like that was dangerous!”

  It was true! She had panicked! Steven stopped her and used buddy-breathing until she calmed down. She mumbled, “I was scared, needed to get out of there!”

  “I’m ever so sorry, Kayla. It was a bloody mistake to grab your leg.”

  She blamed Steven for a bad joke, but realized she shared the blame for yielding to fear. “I’m afraid of snakes! That eel looked ready to bite me, and I guess I’ve seen too many monster movies. I’d be in a decompression chamber right now if you hadn’t helped me.”

  “What’s a good buddy for?”

  She looked at his face and laughed—a mark from the facemask outlined his nose and drooping eyes. “Do I look as bedraggled as you?” she asked.

  “No,” he mumbled. “I’ve always been attracted to the limp, drippy type.”

  Running her fingers like a comb through wet hair, Kayla said, “I’ve never seen a seahorse in the wild.”

  “Phillip always knows where to find evasive creatures. Last time he coaxed a small octopus out of hiding. While I was holding the octopus its tentacles wrapped around both of my wrists and I was stuck. It felt like a pair of handcuffs, and I nearly hyperventilated until Phillip released me from the tiny chap.”

  “You spend a lot of time in handcuffs?”

  Steven shrugged. “I’m known all over Europe for my dastardly deeds, didn’t you know? Interpol is my favorite hangout.”

  The French divers climbed back onto the boat, laughing and talking as the boat headed for the shore.

  “Do you plan to feed me?” Kayla asked.

  “I thought you were the catch of the day.” He tried a weak grin but Kayla scowled. “Can you forgive me?” He leaned forward. His eyebrows pulled together, distorting the facemask crease.

  “For a bowl of hot chowder, I’d forgive Jack the Ripper.”

  “It’s a good job I’m not a desperate killer; you’d be putty in my hands. See that shanty on the beach? They’ve got great lobster chowder. Will that do?”

  Kayla nodded. “As long as it’s piping hot; my hands feel like ice.” Steven grabbed her hands and exhaled hot breath onto her fingertips. She enjoyed the caress.

  They walked hand-in-hand down the gangway, passing under Phillip’s approving gaze. “Phillip’s right pleased you forgave me.” Steven nodded at his friend.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “I haven’t eaten yet, so you’re still under sentence of death.”

  “Let’s give it a rush then. I’ve never been closer to the noose in my life.” He ran, kicking sand all the way to the restaurant. Steven carried two steaming bowls of chowder to their table and watched as Kayla sipped the hot liquid.

  “So? Am I paroled?”

  “Okay. I’d hate to leave you with a criminal record. Speaking of criminals, why are you interested in Patrick’s death? He wasn’t a great friend of yours.”

  “I’m curious about crime and enjoy solving mysteries like an amateur sleuth in a detective novel,” Steven answered, dipping a hunk of bread into his chowder.

  “How’d you know Patrick died from Poison Dart Frog toxin?”

  “When I heard about Patrick, I called a local police friend. He told me the cause of death.”

  Kayla straightened. “I just remembered! Before you knocked on the door, I asked Riegert if anyone else from the ship toured his collection. He forgot to answer my question.”

  “It’s a right good question. I’ll call him while we wait for our chips.” He pulled out an address book from his pocket. “My cell phone is locked in the boot of the car, but they should have a public phone here.” He spoke with the waitress, who pointed out a telephone.

  Kayla wondered if Steven told her the entire truth. Was he just curious about the poison? Instinct made her want to trust him but experience warned her to be careful.

  Steven returned with a basket of fries. “Good thing I called him. Natalia Baliskov visited his estate last week. Riegert is Russian, descended from nobility, and Natalia needs help finding jewelry stolen from her aunt.”

  Kayla wiggled in her chair. “Could he tell her anything?”

  Steven nodded. “Yeah, he heard that someone from the Aurora offered an antique piece of jewelry for sale. Natalia seemed quite excited to hear about it.”

  “Was it Patrick?”

  Steven shrugged. “Riegert didn’t know, but he did say Natalia found his frog collection fascinating.”

  Thoughtful, Kayla twisted a piece of damp hair. “I’d like to talk with Natalia. Can you find out which ship she’s on?”

  Steven unfolded his schedule. “Right enough, Natalia and I alternate schedules. We’re in luck. The Aurora and the Antares both dock in St. Lucia tomorrow morning. We could see her before she flies to Barbados.”

  Kayla shook her head. “I’d rather speak with Natalia alone. Two of us might scare her.”

  Steven frowned. “If she’s involved, you could be placing yourself in danger.”

  “Me? Someone used the mutiny plan to cover up a murder. If anyone’s in danger it would be the other Chief Pursers. I’ll be fine. Natalia doesn’t even know we’re aware of her visit to Riegert. In fact no one else knows the true cause of Patrick’s death.”

  “You’d be surprised how fast information gets around on ship.”

  Kayla nodded. “Considering how many people knew about the mutiny, I believe the shipboard hotline is quite efficient.”

  “Watch your step!” It was an order that sounded more like an appeal as he squeezed her hand.

  That night Kayla and Shannon enjoyed Steven’s magic show from the first row. His long graceful fingers mesmerized Kayla. Flicking his wrist an egg appeared, vanished, and then two eggs appeared wedged between upright fingers. As he cast a sidelong glance at Kayla, Steven’s eyes sparkled, twisting his hand the eggs disappeared, and a white dove sat in his palm.

  Gliding across the stage, Steven stopped in front of Kayla’s table. His lips curled into a wry grin.

  “Do I have a volunteer?” he asked and scanned the audience. “Anyone with a spare fifty-dollar bill?” His gaze rested on a man in a tuxedo sitting behind her. “You, sir! Do you have a fifty or a hundred? Good! Come on up.” He motioned the man to join him.

  The man squeezed through the crowd and stepped onto the stage. Pushing chubby fingers through thinning hair, he held out a crisp fifty.

  Steven snapped the bill and held it up to the audience. “You yanks must iron your money, it’s never wrinkled.” He turned back to the gentleman. “Your first name, sir?”

  “Jeff.”

  Producing a pen from thin air, Steven said, “Please sign your name on the bill.

  Jeff nodded. Steven turned and let Jeff use his back as a writing surface. Rolling his eyes Steven slipped a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. He said, “Too bad, mate. I’m here to arrest you for defacing legal tender.”
/>   Jeff backed away and the handcuffs vanished.

  “Not to worry, just having a spot of fun! Now Jeff, slip your signed bill into this envelope. I’ll give it a good lick and seal it tight while you meet one of our gorgeous dancers.”

  Jeff blushed and glanced toward his wife in the audience.

  “Now don’t go asking for permission! Paula, would you come out and give us a hand?” Steven called.

  Dressed in a feathery costume with legs cut to her waistline, Paula sauntered onto stage carrying a tray with folding legs. The band played a stripper beat in time to her swinging hips. She handed the tray to Steven while winking at Jeff.

  “Great distraction, Paula,” Steven said as both men watched her walk off stage. He flipped the legs open and set the tray down. “Now for the climax of the magic trick!” He produced a lighted candle from his pocket and passed the envelope over the flame. “Jeff. The tricky part is not to get the envelope too close to the flame or it could—oops—well you see what can happen.”

  The envelope burst into flame and Steven dropped it onto the tray. “Sorry about that, old man! But any chap who booked this cruise must have money to burn, eh? Paula, clear this mess away and we’ll start the next illusion straight away.”

  Jeff frowned.

  Steven shrugged. “Well Jeff, since you’ve paid the price to be on stage, I’m sure to get the next trick right.”

  Paula gave Steven a saber and an orange. Steven handed a filmy scarf to Jeff. “Hold this out front stretched between both hands so I can demonstrate the sword is nice and sharp.” Steven swung the blade and sliced the scarf.”

  “Now let’s do the same with the orange.” Steven handed the orange to Jeff.

  Jeff looked doubtful, trying to hold the three-inch orange out with shaking hands.

  Steven tested the weight of the saber, touching the edge of the blade to the orange. “The orange seems a bit small, doesn’t it?”

  Jeff nodded. As Steven lifted the sword for the final swing, Jeff backed away.

  “I sense you’re a bit nervous. Would you rather not hold the orange in your hands?” Jeff nodded. “It’s less dramatic but I can accommodate.” Steven pulled out a tiny crossbow from his tuxedo pocket. “Balance the orange on your head, but stand right still while I shoot.” He aimed the tiny weapon at Jeff, who promptly hid the orange behind his back. “No? Well, the audience might not appreciate arrows flying about either.”

  With a flick of his wrist, the crossbow vanished and Steven brandished a dagger with a sparkling silver blade. He grabbed the orange, tossed it into the air, and skewered it with the dagger. “In the mood for a juicy tidbit, Jeff?” Steven quickly sliced through the orange.

  “See here! There’s a fifty-dollar bill inside!” Steven handed it to Jeff. “If it’s got your signature, it’s yours!”

  Jeff unfolded the bill and grinned. “It has my signature all right.”

  The crowd applauded, and Steven bowed. “Thanks Jeff, you’re a good sport, give us a clap for Jeff.” The band played Hey, Big Spender as Jeff walked back to his chair waving the fifty.

  That night Kayla’s mental newsreel reviewed what she learned about Poison Dart Frogs. She felt afraid the police would believe she and Shannon worked as a team to kill Patrick during the mutiny. Steven certainly disliked Patrick, and he had the sleight-of-hand capability to switch knives without anyone knowing. But Steven was not on Dominica yesterday. Who else had motive to kill Patrick with an obscure poison?

  Chapter 6 ~ Friday — St. Lucia

  After breakfast Kayla followed the sound of angry voices to the Purser’s Office. Natalia was shouting at Andy Thompson.

  “I have the legal right to examine that box, so open it now,” Natalia demanded.

  Andy said, “I just can’t do it.” Natalia towered over Andy, who pushed his glasses up on his nose and made a valiant effort to stand his ground.

  “My aunt filed a stolen property report! If her jewelry is in Patrick’s safety deposit box, I have a legal right to retrieve it.” Natalia leaned forward.

  Andy nervously brushed wayward red hair from his forehead. “You’ll be able to claim it through the courts.”

  “The courts!” Natalia erupted. “That could take years.”

  “I can’t break company rules,” Andy pleaded. “It could mean my job.”

  Natalia paused and her voice became soothing, gentle. “Everyone knows Patrick was a swindler and a thief. Most of the things in his box are stolen property. If you help discover valuable contraband, the rightful owners will be grateful. You’ll be a hero and the cruise line won’t blame you for opening the box.”

  “You think so?” Andy leaned forward, mesmerized.

  “Mr. Thompson!” The conversation ended as the captain appeared with two police officers.

  “Yes, sir!” Andy saluted. “May I help you, sir?”

  “Hand over the safety deposit box belonging to Patrick MacIntyre. These officers have warrants to open the box.”

  Natalia did not miss a beat. “Captain, I request permission to be present at the opening of the box.”

  The captain was a stately Swede dressed in a pristine white uniform designed to compliment his broad shoulders and trim waistline. The set of his square jaw and his steely gaze belied the notion of challenging his authority. Nevertheless, Natalia stood her ground.

  “Why should I consider your request, Miss Baliskov?”

  Natalia met his stare without flinching. “Property stolen from my family could be inside the box, so I want to identify it for future legal action, sir.”

  “Stolen?” His lips tightened into a thin line. He turned to Andy, who shrank under the captain’s glare. “Do we have paperwork, Mr. Thompson?”

  “Yes sir, in triplicate, sir.” Andy’s voice cracked on the final sir.

  With a curt nod the captain barked, “Permission granted.” He turned to the policemen. “I assume you have no objections.” It was not a question.

  “No, sir. We’ll make note anything she identifies.”

  Andy handed the box over and saluted. The captain touched the shiny black brim of his hat and headed down the corridor, followed by the officers and Natalia. Kayla waited a moment before she approached the counter.

  Andy sat on a chair looking pale. “That was a close one,” he muttered and furiously wiped his eyeglass lenses.

  “You put up a good fight,” Kayla said.

  Andy shook his head. “In five minutes she’d have opened that box and my career would be flushed down the crapper—excuse the expression.”

  “She’s opening the box right now,” Kayla said. “Do you have a copy of the report Natalia mentioned? I’d like to know what she’s so anxious to find.”

  Andy nodded. “Sure. I printed a hard copy when she started in on me. Be my guest.”

  Kayla scanned the page. “She’s looking for an antique brooch with a hand painted miniature of a woman, estimated value $500.00. Doesn’t sound very valuable,” Kayla said.

  “Natalia claims the painting is a family heirloom, maybe she’s a Russian Countess or something.” Andy blinked.

  “Thanks, Andy.” Kayla handed him the paper and walked down the hall. As she approached the captain’s office, she tried to contrive a reason for disturbing the meeting. She might offer the captain a signed copy of her book as a thank you gift for the successful book signing session. Did she have a copy in her purse?

  As she rummaged through her shoulder bag, the door banged open and Natalia stomped out. “Blast that fiend! He sold it or stashed it away somewhere else,” Natalia hissed.

  “You look like you need to talk,” Kayla offered. “Come on. I know a quiet place.” Kayla steered Natalia to the Trade Winds Café, almost empty at this hour. Dejected, Natalia slumped in her chair.

  Kayla asked, “How do you like your coffee?”

  “Cream and sugar to the brim,” Natalia said in a surprising American accent. Kayla filled their cups at the self-serve station and returned to the tab
le.

  “Your brooch wasn’t in the box?” Kayla asked.

  Natalia frowned. “No! He had papers and receipts, but no brooch. I recognized names of antique dealers on those receipts so I’ll check them out, believe me.”

  Kayla stirred sweetener into her coffee. “Why is the brooch so important?”

  Natalia scrutinized Kayla through the rising steam of her coffee. She leaned forward and spoke with a low conspiratorial Russian accent. “You want for me to become clean? Okay, I tell you. My family, they smuggled KGB secrets inside the jewelry. So! Everything it changes in Russia. Now is time to make much money by selling these secrets to highest bidder.”

  She rocked back in her chair and laughed at Kayla’s surprise. “Sorry, I’ve always wanted to say something like that, being Russian and all.”

  Kayla frowned. “Your accent seems to come and go.”

  Natalia shrugged. “The accent is part of my act. As a kid in Cleveland, Russians surrounded me. My relatives all spoke bad English and it embarrassed me. Russia was the enemy and I was American like all my friends. Later, in college my heritage gave me an advantage. I didn’t need to rebel to be different, and everyone thought I was exotic, mysterious. I studied my Russian relatives, perfected the accent, and now my mystic act pays very well.”

  “What’s so important about the brooch?” Kayla asked again.

  Natalia stared into her coffee mug. “Since the Communists are out, I plan to visit and find out the truth behind all the stories. I have a new gig starting next month, so I need to find the brooch before I leave the cruise line.”

  “What stories?” Kayla pressed.

  Natalia sighed. “My grandmother was a nurse in the royal household. The brooch was a gift from Czar Nicholas, a miniature portrait of his wife, Alexandra. It’s my inheritance, a valuable piece of my history, stolen by that bastard.”