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

by Diane Rapp

  “How did Patrick get hold of it?”

  Natalia scowled. “My aunt won a cruise. She got so excited, borrowed clothes and jewelry from everyone to appear elegant and rich. My mother loaned her my grandmother’s brooch. Patrick’s charm dazzled my aunt, but when the brooch went missing, she realized Patrick was the thief. She filed a report but Patrick snowed the company. I took this gig to get my brooch back.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a good motive for murder. You handled Patrick’s knife during your show, so you had time to slip the poisoned toothpick inside.”

  Natalia’s ebony eyes sparkled as she laughed. “Patrick’s death in Dominica ruined my chances of recovering the brooch today.” She handed Kayla an official-looking document. “It’s a search warrant signed by a St. Lucian judge. When the Aurora docked today in St. Lucia, I had authorization to search his safety deposit box and his room. Why botch the deal by killing him two days early?”

  Kayla sighed and returned the paper. “Sorry.”

  Natalia leaned back in her chair and smiled. “If you’re looking for motives there are several other people I know about.”

  Kayla brightened. “Really?”

  Natalia sipped her coffee. “You know how a mentalist works? We pay snitches for information about the marks at the show. I pay very well. In fact I offered a standing bonus for information about Patrick. That’s how I knew about the broken blade on his knife!”

  Kayla chewed her lower lip. “My friends could be in deep trouble if I don’t help them find out who did this before the police find out about…”

  “The great mutiny?” Natalia grinned. “I told you that my sources are very good. The mutiny won’t stay secret for long. Everyone knew about it.”

  “Great.” Kayla groaned. “Will you tell me who hated Patrick enough to kill him?”

  “So you can find the real killer? Why not!” Natalia nodded. “Mind if I smoke?” She dug into her purse and lit a cigarette without waiting for permission. She inhaled, blew a puff of smoke, and watched the bluish haze drift lazily toward the ceiling. “Talk to Steven Young, since you two are already so chummy,” she said.

  “Why Steven?”

  Natalia’s thin red lips curled into a sly smile. “He’s an undercover cop with Interpol, probably working on the case right now. Shocked? Men never tell you the whole truth, girl. I guess you’re safer with a lover on the right side of the law than a crook like Patrick.” Natalia tapped ashes into a saucer.

  Kayla felt like an idiot! Steven turned up at Riegert’s house. He knew about Poison Dart Frogs and asked too many questions. Was she a suspect? Kayla glanced up to find Natalia watching her.

  Natalia dropped her gaze. Her long lashes looked like feathers against an ivory cheek. “My best guess for the killer would be his drug-dealing partner, Chadwick—not the brightest penny in the stack. Oh! Don’t overlook Erin McFarland—a dancer on the Polaris, she claims Patrick killed her family in Dublin.”

  “Thanks.” Kayla jotted down the names. “Why did you visit Franklin Riegert’s collection of Poison Dart Frogs?”

  Natalia blinked. “You’re pretty good at this. Did Patrick die from Poison Dart Frog toxin? Never mind, I can read the answer in your face.” Natalia stubbed out her cigarette. “Franklin Riegert is Russian, old aristocracy. I hoped to learn if anyone offered to sell him the brooch, and I looked at those creepy frogs to encourage him to talk. Believe me, I wasn’t there to gather frog poison. Things that slither and crawl give me the jitters—snakes, frogs, spiders. If I murdered Patrick, I’d use a nice clean gun.”

  “Where were you on Wednesday?” Kayla tried to sound nonchalant.

  A chuckle rumbled deep in Natalia’s chest and she coughed. She said, “I flew into Dominica on Tuesday morning and sailed that night on the Polaris. We landed on Martinique Wednesday, where I stayed the night and joined the Antares Thursday morning. Steven’s got my schedule.”

  “I’ve got a flight in a couple of hours, so I need to go pack.” She held out an elegant hand, but as she squeezed Kayla’s hand a strange brooding expression flickered over her face. “Be careful, will you?”

  “Trying to scare me with your mentalist act?”

  Natalia shrugged. “Someone killed Patrick. If you’re checking into his death, you could put yourself into danger. Just be careful.” Her forced smile alarmed Kayla more than the original warning.

  “Did you have a premonition about Patrick?” Kayla asked, rubbing where Natalia’s long nails had dug into her hand. “I remember you gave him a strange look in the theater, like the one you gave me just now.”

  “Savvy girl. Sure. I get real flashes, inherited it from my grandmother, but I can’t count on them or interpret what I see for that matter.” Her dark eyes became dreamy as she stared at the ceiling. “I visualized Patrick falling down a hill with a ghoulish expression on his face. That’s all! I didn’t see him lying dead or anything.”

  Kayla shivered. “What makes you nervous about me?”

  Natalia brushed silken black hair away from her face with long red nails. She said, “I saw your face under water with your hair drifting out in an eerie halo.” She stood up to leave. “Hey, don’t let it bother you. It’s just Patrick’s death influencing me. Normal people conjure up nightmares but a Russian mystic starts seeing crazy visions. The day I take my act serious I’ll become a hostess on a TV game show.” She frowned and became serious. “Let Steven handle this alone and stay away from water.”

  “On a cruise ship?”

  Natalia shrugged and sauntered out of the café.

  Kayla thought, So, Steven lied! What’s new? I should have guessed after all those questions he asked about Patrick’s criminal activities, and then blinded me with outrageous flirting. Did he believe I was Patrick’s accomplice in crime and murdered my partner? Who cares what he thinks! There’s still a mystery to solve and if Steven’s a cop, I’ll use him for a change!

  Thumbing through her notes, she felt a sense of purpose. She already knew about Chadwick, but she needed to speak with Erin McFarland. She looked at the CCL schedule Shannon printed for her. The Polaris would dock in Barbados tomorrow. She’d explore St. Lucia today for her book update and work on the case in the morning.

  Was Patrick’s story about raising money for an Irish orphanage a cover to raise money for the IRA? Did it matter if he was an overzealous patriot or just a money-grubbing rogue? He was either a crook or a terrorist. Angry, she shoved the notebook into her bag and grabbed a copy of her guidebook. She needed to forget the murder and get to work.

  Leaving the ship, she gathered brochures at the information center and wandered through Pointe Seraphine Shopping Mall. Visiting shops, sniffing samples of European perfumes, and drooling over sleek examples of designer fashions, Kayla discovered that little had changed since her last visit. She decided to go someplace new and hired a taxi to drive to Pigeon Island National Park. Another Pigeon Island! Names of places repeated themselves from island to island.

  Castries looked beautiful. Expensive European-style homes clung to steep hillsides rising from the busy port while distant volcanic mountains and lush rain forest endowed the city with an exotic tropical ambiance. The taxi navigated a winding road, heading north from Castries, passing through the Cap Estate where opulent villas nestled in strategic groupings along a manicured golf course.

  Kayla’s mind wandered. She remembered exploring the southern tip of St. Lucia with Patrick. They snorkeled in the crystal-clear water at the base of the Pitons, twin volcanic peaks rising hundreds of feet from the vivid blue Caribbean waters. Patrick prized the blurry underwater photos from that trip, proudly displaying them on the mirror in his room.

  Kayla shook herself to dispel the memory and thumbed through the chapter on St. Lucia. All the attractions were places she once visited with Patrick. His ghostly fingers reached out through the pages of her book to torment her mind.

  Not today! This would be a new experience, free of memories. The oldest European
encampment on St. Lucia was on Pigeon Island, originally the stronghold of the pirate known as “Wooden Leg.” Lookout Hill afforded the pirate a high vantage point to spy English ships and Spanish galleons to loot. Eventually the English drove the pirate from his lair and built a mighty fortress that proved pivotal in defeating the French fleet.

  Inside the air-conditioned museum Kayla listened to a recording describe battle of Iles de Saints. Although she found military strategy boring, Kayla lingered in the cool museum, unwilling to plunge back into the tropical humidity. When she stepped outside, Steven was waiting for her. At the sight of him, looking cool and collected in a white cotton shirt and khaki shorts, Kayla erupted in anger.

  “How dare you follow me?” she growled, and stomped past him on the garden pathway. “Am I your best snitch or your prime suspect?”

  Steven squinted. “What do you mean?”

  She whirled and they nearly collided. “You’re the cop! Why don’t you figure it out for yourself?”

  Steven shrugged. “Who told you?”

  “No explanation! No apologies! Just who told me?” She glared at him and crossed her arms. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

  He squinted against the sun’s glare. “It’s not good to tell a suspect in the investigation that you’re a copper. You were with the victim when he died, touched the knife the night before, and had right good motive.” He walked ahead of her along the pathway and Kayla followed. The path wound through formal gardens leading to the mossy ruins of the garrison.

  “So! What’s next? Do you take me to a seedy little jail for interrogation?” Kayla asked.

  Steven shook his head. “Of course not! I already ruled you out as Patrick’s accomplice in crime on St. Martin. You’ve never been a murder suspect in my book, but my superiors are hard to convince. Today they gave me clearance to solicit your help, so I came to find you.” The appealing expression in his blue eyes turned her insides to jelly, her fingers itching to stroke his smooth cheek.

  “Really? You don’t suspect me?” she asked.

  “No. But I needed proof for the top brass.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  He counted the points off on his fingers. “You had no prior knowledge of Poison Dart Frogs, no opportunity to collect the poison in Barbados, and Patrick used his knife without harm after you touched it. You couldn’t be an accomplice in his crime spree. You’ve lived in Colorado for four years and had no contact with the man.” He grinned, looking too pleased.

  She put her fists on her hips. “What about Shannon? She was on Barbados, and we both hated Patrick.”

  Steven shook his head. “Witnesses say that Shannon never left the ship in Barbados. She dealt with passenger emergencies while Patrick ducked off ship to do errands.”

  “Good!” Kayla plopped onto a shady bench. “You’re right! Neither of us had anything to do with his death, but I’m still mad at you.”

  He eased himself onto the bench. “Why?”

  Examining her fingernails, she kept her eyes averted. “You took me to lunch in Marigot to get information—asking questions about Patrick! Do you always romance a girl to pump her for information about old boyfriends?”

  He sighed. “Okay. Lunch was part of the job. I learned everything I needed to know and then I was on my own time. When I took you to my secret cove I was not working.” He curled a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

  She felt herself sinking. “How about the wine? The kiss?”

  “All my own idea.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “I liked you from the first moment we met and prayed you weren’t involved with Patrick’s schemes. If you had been . . . well, I don’t kiss potential convicts.” He touched her lips lightly with his own.

  Kayla pulled away, resisting an urge to kiss him hard. “How did you know where I was today?”

  “The Taxi Association, I can trace most visitors unless they walk, and people seldom walk in this heat.” He slid closer.

  “I can’t believe you’re a cop.”

  “Special agent, assigned by Interpol to the Caribbean, but you didn’t say who told you about me.” He draped his arm over her shoulder.

  “Natalia.” She leaned against him.

  “I should’ve known. Natalia’s network of informants is top drawer! We should put her on our payroll.”

  “Why track me down if I’m not a suspect?” Kayla asked.

  Steven squeezed her shoulder. “We’re following the same leads. In point of fact, you’re always a step ahead of me, so I secured approval to bring you in officially.”

  “I don’t know. I’m still mad at you for lying to me.”

  “I’m sorry, luv. It’s not good form for an undercover agent to reveal his identity if he hopes to remain alive.” He took his arm away and leaned his elbows on his knees. “It bothers me Natalia found out. If my cover’s been compromised…” He scanned the surroundings like a predator.

  Kayla sat up straight. “Could you be in danger?”

  “We could both be in danger!” He stood and paced like a caged lion. “Patrick was embroiled in very shady dealings—although he was a devil to catch in the act. If one of his cronies killed him, they won’t think kindly of our investigation. If it’s not a professional criminal, a first-time killer finds it easy to kill again.”

  A chill crept up Kayla’s spine regardless of the tropical heat.

  “I insist we work together,” Steven said, placing his hands on his hips. “You’ll be much safer in my company.”

  “You don’t have to convince me. I’m not stupid when murder’s involved.” She tried to make it sound like a joke, but her voice trembled. “Should we compare notes?”

  Steven shook his head. “Not here, we’re too exposed. Come along.”

  He grabbed her hand and rushed down the pathway. It opened onto a pristine beach where a sleek speedboat bobbed against a rickety old wharf. Steven guided her to the boat, waved at someone in the nearby restaurant, and unhooked the ropes. Kayla climbed on board.

  Kayla’s heart raced. Two men emerged from the footpath as Steven shoved off from the pier. Keys jangled and the engine roared. Steven kicked the boat into gear and almost jolted Kayla from her seat. She crouched as Steven banked into a sharp turn that set waves splashing against the wharf. He gunned the engine and sped out of the harbor.

  “Who was that?” Kayla shouted over the din of the motor.

  Steven shrugged.

  Afraid bullets might zing overhead Kayla peeked back at the beach. The two men disappeared into the restaurant without firing bullets or chasing them across the water. Perhaps Steven jumped to the wrong conclusion, perhaps not.

  She eyed Steven. Why should she trust him? He had the skill to switch knives and as a thwarted policeman he might have grown weary of chasing an elusive crook. How long had Patrick eluded him? Did Steven decide to take the law into his own hands, using the mutiny as a cover? Kayla shook herself mentally. This wasn’t some horrible movie about bad cops. She could trust Steven.

  He cut the motor inside a hidden cove and Kayla appreciated the sudden quiet. He dropped the anchor and flipped open the cooler at his feet. “Beer?” he asked, handing her one without waiting. “This is one of my favorite places. I designed a house to nestle among those trees. Come, I’ll give you a tour.”

  He peeled off his shirt and jumped into the water. “Come on in, the water’s wonderful.”

  Kayla shed her garments to reveal a lavender bikini and jumped in feet first. The shock of cool water dissipated as she swam to shore.

  Steven picked up stray palm fronds to sweep an area clean and tossed coconuts aside. As Kayla approached wringing the water from her hair, Steven bowed elegantly.

  “Welcome to the living room. The kitchen and dining area are to the left, and the bedroom is over there.” His gaze lingered on the curves of her bikini.

  She fought an impulse to cross her arms over her chest.

  He plopped down on the sand, leaned back on his elbows,
and turned his face into the sun. “I hope the accommodations meet with your requirements, milady.”

  “Perfect.” She folded her legs and sat on the sand. “This is a lovely spot. Have you really thought about buying it?”

  Steven laughed. “Sure, the only problem is money, since anything on this section of the island is much too expensive. I’d need to save for years just to pay duty on building materials.”

  “Duty?” Kayla sifted cool sand through her fingers. “I thought the islands were duty-free.”

  “Only for tourists in duty-free shops, but islanders pay through the nose. Duty charges double the cost of materials to build a bloody house. Sometimes I wonder if I’m on the right side of the law.”

  “You do?” A knot formed in Kayla’s stomach.

  “Not really, but it galls me to work my whole life to afford a small piece of dirt.” He sighed. “If it was a piece of dirt like this one it might be worth it.”

  He closed his eyes. Sunlight glistened from beads of water on his hard body while Kayla wondered about Steven’s dedication to the law. Could the lure of easy money entice him into a life of crime? It corrupted Patrick.

  “How did you become a cop and join Interpol?” She asked.

  “You remember I told you about the bobby who taught me magic? Well, he saved me from a life of crime. It’s a long story.”

  “I’d like to hear it.” Kayla lay on her side and propped up her head with her hand.

  Steven smiled. “I was raised near London by a single mum. My father was a merchant seaman, hardly ever home. Then one day he decided he didn’t want a family. I was just a tot when he called mum and told her to get a divorce, to send him the paperwork through his local union. He sent an odd twenty quid in the mail at Christmas or birthdays, but I never saw the bloke again.

  “My older brother reacted by becoming a juvenile delinquent, running with a rough crowd. He gave Mum a terrible time, even though she worked long hours as a secretary to support us. He died from taking a bad lot of drugs when I was ten.”