by Diane Rapp
“Kayla?” the woman asked.
“Yes.” Kayla recognized the girl as one of the protégé pickpockets.
“I’m Cassandra. Follow me to your table.” She crossed the floor with long strides, skirt swishing as she threaded through the crowd like a dancer performing difficult steps without a partner.
They stopped at a table marked reserved. Kayla said, “Thank you, Cassandra. How long have you been dancing?”
“All my life,” Cassandra said in a low raspy voice. “I’ve been on ship for three contracts.”
Kayla eased into the booth. “Do you know Maxine Munroe and Paula Roberts?”
“Aye. We’re chums from the same dance company, but we can’t all work on the same ship. We always get together for lunch when we’re in the same port.”
Kayla twirled a strand of her hair. “Do dancers enjoy helping Steven with his act?”
Cassandra’s brown eyes gleamed. “Yeah, Steven’s a real sweetheart, eh? We volunteer right quick when he needs help, but it takes nimble fingers to work the floor right and proper. I had experience, didn’t I?” Cassandra winked and wiggled her long fingers.
Suppressing a twinge of jealousy, Kayla asked, “What kind of experience?
“Dad was a cutpurse, good as they come—only spent five year in the dock. He taught me the trade young, but I gave it up to dance. Now I do it for Steven’s show. Don’t you worry yourself, luv. Steven’s head over heels ’bout you. I can tell. I’ll be getting back to work, now. Enjoy the show.”
She watched the show with a personal interest. Steven’s jokes were a bit odd but his slight-of-hand and illusions were first rate. If he gave up working for Interpol, he’d score a high-paying show business career. Handsome, charming, and talented, Steven could be a hit in Las Vegas. When he distributed belongings back to the audience, he handed Kayla’s watch to her with a sly grin.
Kayla’s mouth hung open as she glanced at her empty wrist. “Cassy thinks you’re first rate,” he whispered before moving to the next person. Kayla slipped her watch back on and thought, That girl is a good thief.
After the show Steven sauntered down the aisle to join her. She asked, “Who worked the floor for you on the Aurora?”
Steven adjusted his bow tie and grinned. “Are you jealous?”
“No!” she snapped. “Slight of hand might be useful when planning a murder.”
“Paula, Maxine, Bryanne, and Elena have all helped me from time to time,” he said in a half-whisper.
Kayla’s voice quivered with excitement. “Was Bryanne any good?”
Steven nodded. “She could make an illicit living. What’re you getting at?”
Kayla curled a stray hair behind her ear. “What if she exchanged knives in the restaurant when she argued with Patrick?”
Steven tapped his forefinger against his tight lips. “Don’t forget, someone tried to poison her, too.”
“Did they?” Kayla asked.
He folded his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels. “Are you suggesting she poisoned herself?”
Kayla moved down the hall with determined strides. “Maybe she wanted to draw suspicion away from herself and didn’t realize how sick she’d get.”
“Risky move.”
Kayla’s pace increased. “Not such a risk, she was immune to the poison as a child. Garrison claims there were articles published about her. I’d like to read one.”
Steven raced to keep up. “Interpol will find us a copy. You may be onto something.”
When they reached the cabin, Kayla felt too excited to sleep. They spent the evening sorting through the photos and chatting about the case. Bleary-eyed, Steven suddenly stopped and whistled.
“You’ll never believe this!”
“What?” Kayla grabbed the picture Steven held out. She moaned. “No! It couldn’t be Patrick! He’s in the white jacket?”
Steven examined the picture with a magnifying glass. “It’s Patrick,” Steven agreed.
Kayla plopped onto the bed. “But why?”
“Don’t jump to conclusions. I’ll fax the picture to Barbados and see if their witness identifies him,” Steven said.
“Why would Patrick steal frog toxin?” She twined a lock of hair in her fingers.
“It might just be a coincidence. Patrick visited the office on business regularly, so we might be looking in the wrong place for our suspect and reached a dead end.” Steven slid onto the bed and unwound Kayla’s fingers from the ringlet she created. He kissed her. “Don’t be upset, darling. The original idea was sound.”
Kayla said, “I need to talk to Natalia. Where can we find her?”
Steven kissed the corner of her mouth. “She boards this ship tomorrow in Antigua. Why?”
“Natalia knew about Patrick’s knife, told him the blade was broken during her show. One of her spies must know how it got broken.” Kayla kissed him back, running her fingers through his curly russet hair. “Maybe someone targeted Patrick because he saw who broke into that key box.”
That night Kayla’s mental newsreel flashed faces of people in the ship’s pictures, hundreds of faces, but only one man in a white jacket. After the excitement of capturing Chadwick, Kayla knew their list of feasible suspects dwindled while they were no closer to an answer. She remembered Bryanne in the hospital bed with Garrison holding her limp hand. Tomorrow they’d confirm Jaquie’s alibi and learn new information from Natalia about Patrick’s knife.
Chapter 10 ~ Tuesday—Antigua
Steven and Kayla got up early and faxed the photo to Barbados, using an office in Heritage Quay near the docking facility. They by-passed the glitz of the modern duty-free shopping center and walked a few blocks to Redcliffe Quay.
While Steven called Abel Preston in Barbados, Kayla wandered through the old-world ambiance of Redcliffe Quay, an old slave compound transformed into a quaint shopping plaza. She jotted down names of shops in the shaded courtyard and sampled papaya-flavored gum drop samples in the candy store. Finished with her notes, she discovered Steven slumped on a park bench brooding.
She sat next to him. “What’s the matter?”
“Abel said the picture came through but their witness won’t be available until late afternoon. Natalia won’t arrive until after lunch, so we’re dead in the water for now.”
Kayla pulled Steven to his feet. “Jaquie claims she spent Wednesday sightseeing. We’ll visit Lord Nelson’s Dockyard to update my book and verify her story at the same time. Let’s find a taxi.”
They strolled through pedestrian alleyways to reach the main road. “Thought you were sure of Jaquie’s story?” he asked.
“I am, but you said that a good investigator verifies the story of every suspect,” Kayla said. “Besides, I’m not sure about anyone at this point.” She stopped in front of an antique jewelry store. “Maybe we should check out Natalia’s story while we’re here.”
“Why? You saw the search warrant yourself.”
“What if Natalia thought she’d never find her brooch and got mad enough to kill?” Kayla pointed at the shop window displaying antique jewelry. “Let’s ask this merchant about her.”
Inside the shop a small dark man with a pointed nose greeted them. “I’m pleased to be of service,” he said, bowing at the waist. Dressed in a silk paisley jacket, Kayla thought the man looked like Sonny Bono from the sixties.
Kayla asked, “Have you heard of a hand-painted Russian brooch offered for sale?”
He grinned. “Lots of people are looking for that brooch.” He thumbed through papers on his desk and handed Steven a printed flyer. “See here? Some crazy lady is offering twice its value.”
“Do you know who might have the brooch?” Steven asked.
The little man’s eyes sparkled. “It might be possible to unearth the information.”
“For a price?” Steven pressed.
“A reward always makes the effort more sincere, doesn’t it?”
Steven flipped open his billfold and displayed his badg
e. “Cooperation can be its own reward. Do you often handle stolen goods?” Steven eyed the merchandise offered in the shop.
The man sneered. “A copper! I should’ve guessed. After receiving the flyer, I made it my business to find the brooch, didn’t I? When I learned an officer from the Aurora sold it on St. Martin I called the dealer.”
Steven leaned closer. “So where’s the brooch?”
Squinting at Steven, the little man sighed. “The dealer sold it Saturday but I’m still trying to find the woman who bought it.”
“Thanks for the information,” Steven said, stuffing the flyer into his pocket. He handed over a business card and said, “Call me first if you learn anything!”
“Always glad to cooperate with the police.” The man flipped a jaunty salute and stuffed the card into a drawer.
Outside the shop Steven glared at the window. “I doubt he’ll cooperate and we’ve got more questions for Natalia.”
“Do you run in circles like this all the time?” Kayla slid her hand into the crook of his arm and inhaled the delicious scent of his cologne. “If Natalia killed Patrick, then who attacked me in Grenada and why?” Asking the question flooded Kayla with memories of the attack, the feeling of the man gripping her shoulders, the spicy scent of cologne as he whispered his warning.
“It was Garrison Caldwell,” she said with a laugh.
Steven tilted his head and peered into her eyes. “Who?”
“Bryanne’s brother. He wore the same scent as the man who attacked me. I caught a whiff of his cologne, diluted by antiseptic odors in the hospital, but it was the same cologne. He’s the right height.”
Sparkle returned to Steven’s eyes. “Capital! Now we’re making progress. Garrison might be his sister’s accomplice. They both wanted Patrick away from their aunt. Maybe he followed you to Grenada.”
“Why would he warn me off after Bryanne nearly died?”
“I can check with Interpol straight away, find out if he entered Grenada that morning.” Steven dragged her along at a faster pace. “It’s great working with a partner. How about flagging down a cab, while I make a call, luv?” He opened his cell phone, turning away from the traffic noise.
Kayla waved at a group of taxi drivers standing near their cars. A driver broke away from his friends and ran up to her. “Taxi, miss?” His white teeth gleamed against ebony-colored skin.
She nodded. “How about a ride to Lord Nelson’s Dockyard?”
“The two of you?” He asked nodding at Steven. “My cab’s just across the lane. I’ll go start the air conditioning.”
On a wild ride across the island, the driver dodged potholes and babbled on about Antigua. The taxi raced past windmill ruins, sleepy villages, green fields full of black pineapples and donkeys roaming wild.
Kayla listened to the taxi driver describe Nelson’s Dockyard. “The British Royal Navy first built the dockyard in this hurricane-proof natural bay and used it as naval headquarters in the Caribbean for a hundred-fifty years. Admiral Nelson sailed his fleet out of this harbor to fight the Spanish. Our government turned the dockyard into a national historic park and renovated naval buildings that were falling apart.
“You’ll see buildings where British sailors lived and repaired their ships, but we’ve also got plenty of shops, museums, and a hotel right in the dockyard. In April we’ve got a famous regatta that brings over a hundred yachts to race each year. Today you’ll see that the harbor is filled with pleasure sailboats and tourists, since it’s the safest place to dock ships year round.”
Kayla wondered why the cruise ship terminal hadn’t been built in this beautiful harbor filled with colorful sails. Perhaps the government needed to attract tourists to the town of St. John’s, the capital and spread the wealth.
At the dockyard entrance Kayla found guides offering private tours through the national park. The guides competed among themselves for the privilege. She asked, “Did any of you take a small French woman named Jaquie Ludlow on a guided tour of the dockyard last week?”
A small black man stepped forward. “I’m Harvey. Was this woman a smartly turned out lady who worked on the cruise ship?” Kayla nodded. “I had the pleasure of guiding her myself, mum. Did she recommend me?”
Kayla glanced sideways at Steven. “Yes. Could you take us on the same tour she took?”
Harvey beamed. “Spot on! It’s an honor to serve people who work on the ship.” He swaggered before his friends as Steven paid the entry fee. “Come this way, ma’am.” He led them through the gate.
Harvey explained the original functions of the buildings in the compound as Kayla took notes. They entered the maritime museum as Steven interviewed Harvey. Stopping in front of a glass display filled with naval antiques, Steven asked, “Did Miss Ludlow spend the whole afternoon here?”
“No. She visited the dockyard for about three hours, taking lunch at the tavern. My friend Jake took her away in a taxi at about 1:30.”
“Is Jake here today?” Steven pressed.
Harvey’s grin revealed a gleaming gold tooth. “I’m sure he’s available.” Harvey’s friend would pay for the referral. “Jake drives safe. He knows all the proper places to show you on an island tour, not like them other blokes.”
Steven beckoned Kayla away from the exhibits. “Harvey will introduce us to the same driver Jaquie used last week. Are you finished?”
“I’ll be right there.” Sorting through the array of brochures, she picked out several to take and shoved them into her bag.
Harvey waved as they emerged from the park, and Jake, the taxi driver eagerly shook their hands. “Jake is the best driver on the island—my own brother-in-law—so I guarantee he’ll take you on the best tour you ever had.”
Jake towered over Harvey. His broad shoulders strained the linen fabric of his pressed floral shirt as he shook Kayla’s hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he mumbled.
“Can you drive us to the same spots you took Jaquie Ludlow?” Kayla asked.
“Who?” He cocked his head and looked sideways at Harvey.
“You know!” Harvey prompted, “That jammin’ little French tart you ferried ’round last week.”
Jake grinned. “I’d not likely forget her, would I? She went to the beach—you know the one where they sun themselves in the all together—so is that where you want to go?”
“Did she stay long?” Steven paid Harvey and the guide strolled back to his buddies.
Jake leaned against the taxi. “She stayed at that beach three hours, so I jammed the pedals to reach the deep water harbor before sailing time. She tipped me right generous.”
Steven pressed, “You sure she stayed at the beach the whole time, didn’t go anywhere else while you were away?”
“She didn’t leave the beach.” Jake rubbed his chin with long supple fingers. “You see I parked right there so not to lose a sure fare to them free-lance drivers. I stayed right in front, so I’d notice if she came up the path from the beach. You want to go to that beach today?” He grinned at Steven.
Kayla poked Steven in the ribs. He said, “No, just take the scenic route back to the dock. “We’d like to see the coastline.”
“Too bad.” Jake winked at Steven. “Nice view at that beach, right?”
“I thought nude beaches were prohibited on this island,” Steven asked as he climbed into the taxi.
“We have 365 beaches, so nobody pays a mind if tourists prance around like fools.” Jake replied with a shrug.
“Jaquie told you the truth,” Steven murmured to Kayla.
“Good. I didn’t really think she was one of our suspects.”
Steven leaned against the bright flowers of the taxi’s terrycloth seat cover. “You identify with her!”
She examined a chip in her nail polish. “Yeah, I guess so. The same scoundrel stung both of us and I believe her story. I wanted my judgment to be right for a change.”
“So you’re still worried about Natalia?” Steven draped his arm over her shoulder. She leaned ag
ainst him, enjoying the feel of his hard body.
Steven’s cell phone rang and he answered and listened. “Thanks Abel. I appreciate the call.” He frowned when he hung up. “Abel’s witness identified Patrick as the man in the white jacket.”
Kayla stiffened. “Did he actually see Patrick break into the lock box?”
“No. He noticed Patrick at the door of the office, so later they assumed he was the thief. Patrick’s job had him in the Port Authority often, so he might have been there on official business.”
Kayla chewed the polish on her thumbnail. “Either way it’s a dead end. If Patrick was the thief, we’ll never know why. What about Garrison? Did he fly into Grenada on the day I was attacked?”
“Yes.” Steven squeezed her shoulder. “He took a flight to Grenada from Barbados.”
“He seemed like such a nice guy. If he wanted to scare me, do you think Bryanne could be involved?”
Steven shrugged. “We need to flush out the information.” Checking his watch Steven said, “Let’s pack as soon as we get back. Natalia will need the room.”
“Good. It’ll give us a few minutes to ask questions,” Kayla replied.
In the stateroom Kayla marveled at the efficient way Steven packed his bags. “I don’t have time to squander on the mundane,” he said as he noticed her watching. “I never leave personal items strewn around the room. I economize. My shaving kit stays in its own zipper bag, my costume jackets and pants are hung together so I can zip them into a suit bag, and wrinkle-free shirts are already folded in a stack. I stow dirty laundry in a duffel bag, until I get back to St. Kitts and swap for clean stuff from George’s place.”
She sprawled on the bed out of his way. “It sounds very sensible.”
Steven rolled his eyes. “You mean it sounds very English of me, don’t you?”
“What?”
Steven placed folded underwear into a corner of his suitcase next to his shoes. “You Yanks talk in stereotypes—it comes from watching too much cinema—the English are always portrayed as stuffy. We’re too organized, too controlled, too…”