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

by Diane Rapp

  Jillian winced when he mentioned Dominica. She gestured toward the sofa and eased her frail body into an overstuffed chair. “It’s good to have visitors. I’ve been too reclusive, staying inside, and resting since the incident.”

  Kayla and Steven settled on the sturdy sofa. With shaking hands, Jillian pulled an afghan over her knees although the room felt stifling hot to Kayla.

  “My doctor won’t allow me to travel, and frankly I didn’t have the energy to return to England just yet. Bryanne plans to join me here during her convalescence.”

  “She’s still in hospital?” Steven asked.

  Jillian peered through watery eyes. “Yes. Gary says he’ll bring her along in a day or two. She’s recovering splendidly but is still quite weak.”

  “You haven’t seen Bryanne yourself?”

  “No.” A blue-veined hand fluttered against her chest. “My heart isn’t what it used to be. Doctors threaten to commit me to the hospital without fail if I leave this house.”

  “Do you feel well enough to answer a few questions?” Kayla asked sounding concerned.

  Jillian’s thin lips curled into a wan smile. “I’m quite rested, my dear. Please ask your questions.”

  Steven leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “This might be difficult but we’re investigating Patrick’s murder. Facts that may seem irrelevant or personal may provide the key to solving the crime.”

  “I understand. Please continue.”

  “Were you aware of Bryanne’s immunity to Poison Dart Frog toxin?” Kayla asked.

  “Of course. It was well known within the family.”

  “Do you know if Bryanne or Garrison told anyone else about the frogs?”

  Jillian shook her head. “It wasn’t a topic of conversation since Garrison’s father and my sister both died as a result of their research.”

  Steven said, “We understand you named Patrick as trustee of a charitable foundation in your will.”

  Jillian’s eyes glistened. “Yes,” she said with a deep sigh. “It was a trust to benefit that precious school in Ireland. Patrick would control the funds in the trust.” Her gaze dropped to trembling hands. “I was ignorant of his true nature, you understand. He deceived me with his charm, his easy manner.” She fussed with the blanket, rearranging folds.

  Kayla admitted, “Patrick was a very persuasive man.”

  Jillian searched Kayla’s face and smiled. “I’m a foolish old woman who sought romance, and yes he was persuasive.”

  “Did you provide for Bryanne and Garrison in that will?” Steven asked.

  Jillian picked lint from the afghan. “They’d have been comfortable but not wealthy.”

  “And now?”

  Her fingers twitched. “I’ve learned my lesson, young man. Changing one’s will to encourage love and respect is not an admirable practice. I’ve created an irrevocable trust for each of them so they’re financially secure.”

  Kayla interrupted, “What we need to know is…how do I put this…did they know the terms of the will that favored Patrick? Did you tell them they were cut out?”

  Jillian stiffened and grew pale. Opening a pillbox, she placed a pill under her tongue and reached for a glass sitting on the table.

  “Are you okay?” Kayla rushed to Jillian, gripped the woman’s cold hand and felt a rapid pulse in the thin wrist. A moment later Jillian waved her off.

  “I’ll be fine,” she whispered. “I’m prone to these little attacks but I keep my medicine handy. Give me a moment, my dear.”

  She inhaled deep, controlled breaths. Her rheumy eyes roamed the elegantly furnished room until her gaze rested on the heavy curtains that obscured the view. “The entire house was designed to capture the expansive ocean vista,” Jillian said, “but I couldn’t bear to look out there. We can’t see Dominica, but I know it’s there. When I crossed that ocean my happiness ended and I didn’t want to be reminded, even though it was a false happiness.”

  “We’re sorry to refresh your pain. Can we call someone to stay with you?” Kayla asked, worried.

  Jillian’s bloodless lips curled into a sardonic smile. “I don’t need anyone. A local woman comes in to do the mundane tasks.” She sat up, her expression hardening. “Don’t stare at me as if I were ready to crumble before your eyes! I buried two husbands and a son, so this is a minor crisis, young lady. We do not believe in faltering under adversity.”

  Her eyes shifted to Steven. “You’re English, so you understand?”

  Steven nodded and Jillian sighed. “To answer your question, I informed Patrick about the terms of the trust. I did not tell Bryanne and Garrison. Unless Patrick told them—and I can’t imagine why he would risk his prize by informing his rivals—I can’t see how they would know. Is that all?”

  She rose, fluffed the pillow that had assumed the contour of her body, and draped the afghan over the back of her chair. Steven said, “We appreciate your candor. Give our regards to Bryanne.” The timbre of Steven’s voice sounded formal, aristocratic. Jillian assumed an air of dignity, like donning an invisible cloak that transformed a dejected matron into a stately gentlewoman. She led them to the door at a brisk pace.

  “Thank you for coming. Now I must see to this place, after all, we’ve a convalescent arriving soon.” She gazed through the open door at the ocean. “It’s a rather beautiful view. I must pull those curtains open.” She closed the door with a firm click.

  Kayla maneuvered down the steep path. “Do you think Bryanne and Garrison knew about the trust? Why would Patrick tell them?”

  “Gloating?”

  “Perhaps he’d say something if he were absolutely sure about the money but why risk a fortune to satisfy his ego?” Kayla chewed on her lip. “I have a gut feeling that Bryanne told someone about Poison Dart Frogs and that led to murder.”

  Steven checked the time. “We’d better move along if you want to see St. Pierre before the ferry arrives.”

  “I can’t think about sightseeing right now! This case is too perplexing,” Kayla grumbled.

  “As your mentor, I insist,” Steven said. “Don’t jeopardize your career for this case.”

  “Mentor?”

  “Until I become your husband, I’ll be your mentor. Shall we be off?” He winked and opened the door of the Mercedes.

  Kayla stuck her tongue out and climbed into the car.

  “Better and better,” he murmured. “Tell me about St. Pierre. It’ll get your mind back on your book.”

  “St. Pierre was known as the Paris of the West Indies until 1902, when Mont Pelée erupted killing everyone except one prisoner.”

  Steven steered the car through winding streets, dodging pedestrians who seemed unconcerned with traffic. “Didn’t they know the volcano was ready to erupt?”

  “Scientists warned local politicians to order an evacuation but greed prevailed. They ignored the warnings until it was too late. Their mistake cost hundreds of lives. A museum shows all kinds of artifacts recovered from the ruins. Do we have time to visit?”

  “If we buy baguettes to eat on the ferry and don’t stop for lunch, I think we can spare time.” Steven sprayed gravel as he accelerated onto the freeway. “On Martinique I drive like the French,” he explained as Kayla grabbed her seat belt and clicked it shut.

  “I’d rather arrive in one piece.”

  Steven narrowed his eyes. “We’ll make it, even driving on the right.”

  The sleepy seaside village of St. Pierre appeared untouched by catastrophe as they wandered through the museum. “Look at these musical instruments,” Kayla said, pointing at distorted shapes that would never play another tune.

  “I like their liberty bell,” Steven responded. “I thought you Yanks had the monopoly on cracked bells. Is yours a poor copy?”

  Kayla shook her head. “No! Our bell was cracked long before this one. Our revolution occurred over a hundred years before Mont Pelée erupted.”

  He playfully squeezed her shoulder. “You understand, the revolt of the c
olonies wasn’t a high point in English history classes.”

  “Really? They don’t cover it at all?”

  “There were colonies all around the world, India, China, and Africa. We studied the important wars.”

  “Ha!” She poked him in the chest. “You only studied the wars you won!”

  “Now this is interesting.” He moved to look a large piece of oxidized glass.

  “Coward,” Kayla mumbled. “I think we’d better secure our lunch before we board the ferry. What will you do with the car?”

  Steven dialed his cell phone. “Order lunch and I’ll call my friend.”

  “You trust me to pick out the food?”

  “Of course, since I eat almost anything. Run along.”

  She sauntered across the street. As Steven carried their bags from the car, Kayla arrived loaded down with a large basket.

  “Looks elaborate,” Steven said. He tried to peek inside but Kayla slapped his hand.

  “You trust my judgment, remember?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Did you spend our whole bankroll on that basket? I’m on a tight budget.”

  “I thought it was a generous expense account.”

  “I’d rather not explain a picnic basket of pastries on an expense report.”

  She headed for the ferry. “No need, this is my treat! The proprietor was extremely happy with me because I mentioned his store in my book. He credits me with a sharp increase in business. The basket is free, loaded with enough goodies to last two days! No more grousing about money.”

  “Consider me grouse-less.” He executed a sweeping bow and waved at the storekeeper, who stood outside his open door. “Merci beaucoup, monsieur,” he shouted.

  The man beamed and returned an elaborate bow.

  “They always try to out bow us, the French do,” Steven said. “Did he include some fois gras?” He tried peaking under the lid but Kayla swung the basket out of reach.

  “Later, mon ami.”

  “Spoil sport.”

  Customs officials checked their papers, stamped passports, and examined their bags, leaving the picnic basket unopened. As they boarded the ferry, Steven complained, “Those chaps inspect every parcel. I counted on it, but rather than alleviate my curiosity they left the basket untouched. Nothing is fair with the French. They have a grudge against the English.”

  Kayla chuckled. “Henri cleared the basket with customs, discussed the vintage of the wine and complemented me on my good fortune.”

  “Set up again,” Steven protested. “When do we eat?”

  “Soon.”

  Shaped like a tugboat, broad and powerful, the ferry could plow through rolling waves and fight strong cross currents in the channels between islands. Riding low in the water, the ferry offered an open-air observation platform surrounded by a waist-high railing atop the main cabin. Most passengers preferred to ride inside, protected from wind and rain, but Kayla climbed the stairs and plopped onto a bench.

  She proudly opened the basket and Steven peered inside. “I don’t believe it! We’ve got two bottles of French wine, sliced Parisian ham, imported cheese, deviled shrimp, crackers, crusty bread, and fruit.” He pulled out a hard roll and sliced it open with his penknife. “We’ve got enough here to feed everyone on the ferry.”

  “Sure, let’s take it downstairs and start passing it out.”

  Squeezing a packet of Dijon mustard over a stack of ham and cheese, Steven shook his head. “Not on your life! I plan to enjoy every bite. What’s for dessert?”

  Kayla grinned, “Passion fruit tarts.”

  Wiping mustard from the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin, Steven sighed. “Traveling with an author has wonderful benefits.”

  “I’m glad lunch meets with your approval.” Kayla fixed herself a sandwich as the ferry pulled away from the pier, plowing through the wake of other boats crossing the harbor. “Henri said we’d see a good view of Mont Pelée ahead. I promised we’d offer a toast to the volcano for good luck.”

  Steven leaned back, stretching his legs. “A sacrifice to the fire god?”

  “Why not?” Kayla loosened her hair, letting the breeze catch the silken strands.

  “It’s superstition, locking the barn door after the horses escape.” Steven pointed at the rising mountain. “It looks peaceful, hard to imagine the volcano blew its top and caused so much damage.”

  “Any volcano can be dangerous; remember Mt. St. Helens?”

  She handed a bottle of wine to Steven. He used the corkscrew attachment on his penknife—a red Swiss Army brand—and extracted the cork with a loud pop. She saw the faint outline of Dominica rise from the ocean mists in the distance.

  “Dominica is full of volcanoes,” she said.

  “Yeah.” Steven squinted against the sun. “It looks eerie, kind of like the island in the original King Kong movie, don’t you think?” He poured wine into two plastic cups. They toasted the volcano with an elaborate gesture, and then dug into the picnic basket again.

  Steven said, “This volcano is called Pelée and the Hawaiians called their volcano goddess Pele. Do you suppose there’s a connection?”

  Kayla shrugged. “Similar names occur all around the world. Maybe there’s a good reason.”

  “It makes sense to think of a volcano as a woman.” Steven grinned as Kayla punched his arm. “You illustrate my point, luv.” He opened his notebook. “Let’s review our list of suspects.”

  “Okay.”

  “We must cross off Chadwick. Jerry phoned and Chadwick’s alibi checked out. He’s snug in jail but not for murder.”

  “Natalia’s got an alibi,” Kayla said, “and I verified that Erin stayed on the Aurora all day.”

  “We confirmed Jaquie’s movements ourselves.” Steven frowned. “That leaves just two suspects from our original list, Bryanne and Garrison.”

  Kayla sipped her wine. “Without more evidence we can’t prove anything unless one of them confesses.”

  “We could take them in for questioning. Maybe one of them would break.”

  “I still can’t believe they did it. Are you sure we haven’t missed anyone?”

  Steven sat sipping his wine. “It’s always possible. There were lots of people who got swindled.”

  “Did you ask Duncan if anyone flew into Dominica last Wednesday?” Kayla asked.

  “No. He’s not on the regular flight schedules, so most people wouldn’t know they could use him. I’ll see if I can reach him.” He extracted Duncan’s card from his wallet and punched the buttons on his cell phone. “He’s out of range. I’ll try him tonight after we get to Dominica.”

  “That’s okay. Maybe we’ll find our answers here.” Kayla gestured at the craggy island.

  Steven cupped her chin with his hand. “What do you have in mind when we get there?”

  “I want to find the knife.”

  He shook his head. “The police found Patrick’s knife lying a few feet from his body.”

  Kayla shook her head. “He had two knives at Natalia’s show. Did anyone find the second knife in his cabin?”

  “No but the knife we found contained traces of the poison. What do you hope to gain by finding his second knife?”

  “Bryanne shoved a knife into Patrick’s pocket. Her prints should be all over one of the knives. Since all the prints on the tainted knife were smeared, maybe she handled the untainted knife.”

  “What if we don’t find a second knife?”

  Kayla shrugged. “We’ll keep looking for answers, recheck all the suspects.”

  Although the day was sunny on Martinique, rain pelted the ferry as it chugged through the rising swells of the channel. The wet lovers scrambled into the security of the ferry’s interior, slamming the door against a gust of wind. The main cabin looked like a cargo hold. Caged chickens, crates of vegetables, and household merchandise bulged from cardboard boxes in the aisles.

  “The weather’s always like this, mate.” A tall man, wearing a rain slicker over shorts, told them. �
��Once we leave the protection of Pelée, we’re in for a gale.”

  “I guess it’s raining on Dominica?” Kayla squeezed water from her dripping hair.

  He nodded. “We get 350 inches of rain each year to keep Dominica green.” He grinned. “Bananas love rain.”

  Kayla wondered if they could find Patrick’s knife in a deluge. “Steven, let me use your phone to call Genny.”

  “Already done, luv. She’s meeting us at the dock.”

  Kayla tied her limp hair into a ponytail. “Very efficient, I could use your help on my next book. You’d be my personal assistant.”

  “Job security, that’s what I’m aiming at,” Steven said wrapping his arm around her. “If I’m indispensable, you’ll have to marry me.”

  “Keep working on it, luv.” She brushed his cheek with a light kiss.

  Genny stood on the slippery dock dressed in a yellow rain slicker that barely reached her knees. Peering from under the rim of a white baseball cap, she grabbed a bag with one hand and balanced a gigantic umbrella with the other.

  “Here we go again,” Genny said cheerfully, “offering liquid sunshine to our guests.” Leading them to the van, she opened the sliding side door by pushing down the handle with her elbow and shoving the door with her shoulder.

  Kayla scrambled onto the bench seat, and brushed water off bare legs and arms. “Glad to see you, Genny. This is Steven.”

  Steven slid onto the seat next to Kayla and turned to shake hands with Genny, who bent her six-foot frame inside to shake Steven’s hand with slender fingers. “Good to meet you, Steven. You must be the gent who called?”

  “That’s me. It’s a good job you could meet us on a day like this.”

  “No problem. It’s been raining for two days, so not many tourists want to brave the elements. Your room’s all set and I’m your private guide tomorrow.” She cast a sideways glance at Kayla. “No extra guests this time!”

  “Good work, Genny.”

  “I’m here to serve.” She slid the door closed and tucked her lithe frame into the driver’s seat. She gestured at mesh bags hanging from the back of her seat. “You’ll find slickers in there, but I hope you brought along hiking boots and hats.”