Returning her attention to the inside of the little bungalow, Olivia surveyed the small sitting area with a pull out couch and a couple of worn but comfortable chairs. Nothing fancy. An old cargo trunk with a flat top served as a coffee table. Only a small loosely woven basket with a small handle on either side occupied the surface, a catch-all with loose change lining the bottom.
A few feet toward the back of the house was a small kitchen with the sink under the windows looking out to the bay. A couple stools at a counter, separating the kitchen space from the living area, made it an eat-in kitchen. The appliances didn’t match and appeared to be on their last legs but were sufficient for a photographer who was in and out and probably didn’t entertain much. Off to the right of the living area was a door to a small gallery that wrapped around to the back of the house, also with incredible views. There were a couple of small rooms to the left of the living space, one toward the back of the house her mother used as a bedroom and one in the front she used for a studio, and a small full bath in between that served the entire house. She poked her head into the bedroom and laughed out loud when she saw the Mahogany wood, four-poster bed was not made. The covers were thrown to the side as if someone had just rolled out of it. Her mother’s priorities never had included housekeeping.
Moving next door to her mother’s studio, Olivia leaned against the door frame and let out an extended breath. There was a worktable in the middle of the room with several prints scattered on top as if she had been in the midst of reviewing her work and had stepped away unexpectedly. A handful of her mother’s favorite photos had been enlarged and now hung proudly on the walls in frameless glass. Most were from a photo shoot she had done a few years earlier for a coffee table book about St. Thomas. She had been thrilled to do the shoot because it gave her the opportunity to go up in a helicopter to take pictures from a markedly different perspective than on land or by boat. It was that photo shoot that brought her down to the tropics, away from the frigid New England winters she despised, and she never left.
Olivia’s father’s career in finance kept him rooted in the Boston area although he traveled extensively. Being a true New Englander, he made it clear he had no intention of following his wife to the stifling hot climate of the tropics. During several years living apart, they often talked about making their separation official, but Olivia held out hope they would reconcile one day. The devastating news that the divorce was finalized came a few weeks before they received word of Liv’s death.
After her parents’ separation, Olivia stayed in Boston with her father upon his insistence and attended Rhode Island School of Design, much to her father’s disappointment. He thought she should go to a more traditional college and major in a more practical field of study than photography. After becoming frustrated by the structure of classroom education, however, Olivia eventually dropped out. She longed to learn photography from her mother, but her father refused to let her go. In the time since she walked away from RISD, she often asked herself if she should have stuck it out and finished with a degree. Every prestigious studio looking to hire a new photographer wanted a degree or experience, usually both. On her own, she’d had to work hard to drum up photography assignments so a large portion of her meager income was derived from selling framed prints of iconic Boston locations in local shops. During the summer months, she set up a table outside Faneuil Hall at Quincy Market and sold her work to tourists. She was able to make decent money as long as the weather was good, but she knew there was much more out there, if she could just get a chance to prove herself.
The silent emptiness that permeated the tiny bungalow took on a sound she had never heard before. She ached for her mother to walk in the door and light up the room. How could she really be gone? She missed her generous hugs, compassionate smile and animated conversation. Her companionship. A tear found its way to the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek.
“Miss you, Mom.” Her words sounded odd in the empty house. They nearly echoed.
Olivia’s feet trod noiselessly on her way to the kitchen where she grabbed the handle of the refrigerator. But then she stopped herself. Considering how long the contents could have been sitting there, there was no point in opening it. It might be filled with smelly, moldy food. Releasing the handle, she looked above to the rudimentary wine rack. There were a couple bottles in a rack that could hold a dozen. Her mother wasn’t a big wine connoisseur, but Olivia pulled out each bottle to see what her options were. One red, one white. She opted for the red. A Merlot. After rummaging around in the drawers, she located an old corkscrew and fumbled for a while before finally opening the bottle. There were no wine glasses to be found so she used a juice glass. It felt good as the liquid made its way down her throat. Although it warmed her inside, she shivered unexpectedly.
Crossing the room back toward the lumpy couch under the front windows, Olivia flopped down into the well-worn cushions and slowly sipped her wine. It was early evening, but the length of the day was taking its toll. She felt overwhelmed sitting in her mother’s house, the responsibility of handling her affairs sitting firmly in her lap. Her mother’s missing Jeep weighed heavily on her mind as well. Why was it gone? How was she going to get around the island? She had counted on that car and admonished herself for assuming it would be there. Unfortunately she was not close to downtown Charlotte Amalie with its sidewalks and shops.
Olivia took another sip, holding the rich red wine in her mouth for a while before she swallowed. She loved the sensation as it trickled down her throat.
From behind her, Olivia heard the sound of a car making its way down the steep driveway. It took her by surprise at first. Then she remembered she had committed to going to dinner with the guy she had just met. She hated that she didn’t have a lot of options and, in particular, no transportation. Olivia stood up from the couch, drank the last sip of wine, dropped her empty glass on the counter and walked to the door. Colton was already out of his car, an older model, dark metallic blue open Jeep Wrangler with a roll bar. She looked it over. It was eerily similar to her mother’s car, just a different color. As she recalled, her mother usually kept the soft top on her Jeep, but apparently Colton preferred his with it off.
Watching him walk confidently toward the house, she couldn’t help but feel giddy inside. There was something about him she liked. She hoped she wasn’t completely misreading him and getting blindly sucked in. Before he got to the door, he looked up, and noticing her in the doorway, stopped short of the steps, smiling broadly.
She opened the screen door and stepped out, returning his smile. “You came back.”
Flinching in response, he looked surprised at her comment. “Of course I did. I said I would.” His arms were outstretched with palms facing up.
Feeling herself blushing, she turned her face away from him ever so slightly.
“You know, I was actually thinking that—and you can tell me no. . . .” He gestured with one hand while the other shoved deep into the pocket of his shorts. “. . . instead of going downtown and spending money on going out to eat, we could stay in . . . at my place.” He paused, examining her face and then continued. “I ran over and picked up a few things at the little market. I didn’t have much in my fridge so I needed to stop anyway. It wouldn’t be anything fancy, but we could have a nice dinner. What do you say?”
Olivia tried to keep herself from blushing further. This was not what she was expecting at all. At the same time, she didn’t want to spend money going out for dinner either. She could feel her feet taking little steps but going nowhere.
She opened her mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words.
“Seriously. It’s no big deal. Just two people having dinner at the same place. No commitment. No worries. You should have a ‘welcome to the island’ dinner when you first arrive, you know. What do you say?” He stepped closer and looked deep into her eyes.
Olivia beamed at the offer. What could she say? He made it sound like a reasonable proposition. Sh
e cocked her head sideways with a grin, pulled the inside door shut behind her and followed him out to his car. The screen door shut on its own with a click.
It was a short ride over to the small house on Skyline Drive. Partway there she wished she had grabbed the other bottle of her mother’s wine. She hated showing up on someone’s doorstep empty-handed.
Colton easily navigated the intersection at the top of the hill from Magens Bay as she imagined he had done many times before. There was less traffic than earlier, making it a smoother transition from one road to the other.
As they pulled into his driveway, he announced, “Welcome to Riptide.” He looked pleased to be able to share it with her.
Colton’s view was remarkably different from hers. While her mother’s house looked north out to Magens Bay, his house faced south, down to Charlotte Amalie and the harbor beyond. It was a breathtaking view. From their vantage point, they could see a cruise ship tied up at the West Indian Company Dock at Havensight. During high season WICO could handle three ships at one time, lined up end to end. Two to three more could dock at nearby Crown Bay, also located on the south end of the island, just to the west. On particularly busy days, there might be a cruise ship anchored in the middle of Charlotte Amalie Harbor, in which case, passengers would be tendered to shore by smaller boats.
Colton turned off the engine and they both scrambled out. Immediately after they shut the car doors, she heard a dog bark twice. It sounded like it was coming from inside his house. A furry face appeared at the door of the modest abode that looked like stucco and had been painted a creamy ivory a long time ago. Even in the waning daylight, she could tell it could use a fresh coat of paint. There was a hand-painted wooden sign to the right of the door proclaiming the name of the villa as Radical Riptide, an apparent nod to a love of surfing.
Colton reacted to his canine friend. “Hey, Jake! We’re back! Good to see you, old boy!”
The Australian shepherd was excited at Colton’s return. Olivia could tell he was trying hard to behave himself and not jump on the inside of the screen door, practically wiggling out of his skin waiting for Colton to open it. As soon as he entered, Jake sat down obediently, waiting to be petted. Definitely well-trained. Olivia stepped into the doorway behind Colton, but the dog did not react to her presence. It crossed her mind to be offended, yet instead, she was impressed with his behavior. Colton bent over and stroked his face with both hands and then moved one hand to the dog’s side and stroked him over and over. His free hand came to rest on his own upper thigh. Jake was enjoying the attention.
“Nice dog, Colton.” She wondered if he could sense a hint of surprise in her voice.
“Thanks. He’s a great guy. We’ve been together for quite a while, ever since I rescued him from the local shelter.” He kept one hand resting on Jake’s back while he spoke. “My next door neighbor loves him, too, and takes him when I have to go off island.”
“That’s great. You’re lucky. . . . He’s lucky.” Olivia thought Jake looked to be purebred. “And such a handsome dog.”
“Yeah, it works out well for both of us.” He stood up but Jake didn’t move, keeping his eyes on Colton. “Come on in.”
Moving in from the front entryway, she could see his house was set up similarly to her mother’s. There was a small living area immediately to the right with a small cut out in the wall that opened to the kitchen in the back. Following Colton, she walked past an open space on the left with comfortable furniture and an open door on the far left wall she assumed led to a bedroom. Drawn in by the view, Olivia kept walking toward sliding glass doors to the gallery that ran along the back of the house while Colton veered right into the small kitchen. Jake was close at his heels.
“Like the view?”
Standing in the open doorway, she turned toward his voice. “It’s stunning.”
Opening the fridge, he pulled out a couple of beers, lacing his fingers between the tops of the two bottles.
“Wanna brew?” He winced slightly. “Sorry, I didn’t think to get wine, in case you prefer wine. I guess I had my heart set on beers tonight.”
“Oh, no problem. I’d love a beer.” She surveyed the space inside the doorway she had ignored on her way to the view and deduced it was his music room with an electric keyboard and two amps set up in one corner. Next to them were the guitar case she had seen him carrying in the airport and a couple different guitars resting against the walls in random places. There was also a futon, two mismatched stools and a distressed wooden coffee table with handwritten sheet music and pencils scattered across the surface as if there was a composition in progress. A small tarnished and bent brass chandelier with four spindly arms was tied up to the center of the ceiling to prevent anyone from bumping into it. She was amused that his music space was much more important than a formal sit-down dining area. The focal point of the room was the brightly painted surfboard leaned up against the remaining corner, as if it was there to drip dry.
“Ya sure? I could see if my neighbor has any wine, if you’d like.”
“Heavens, no. I would love a beer. Thank you.” She was not about to get picky when he was being more than generous.
“Oh, and of course I always have rum on hand. Some coconut rum on ice? I may have some pineapple juice I could mix with it.” He rummaged through the small cupboard above the stove, pushing the bottles in front aside and peering farther inside. “No, sorry. Guess we’re all out of rum. That’s odd.”
“A beer is fine. Really. Thank you.” In passing, she was curious who he had meant by “we.”
He examined her face as if to see if she was just trying to be a good sport. Finally he opened each top with his hands and held out a bottle. She took it willingly and their eyes met. They clinked the tops of the bottles in a toast.
“To being back on the rock. Cheers.”
“Cheers.” The beer tasted crisp and felt refreshingly cold in her mouth and throat on its way down.
“So, I’ve got some mahi-mahi I’m going to grill and make into fish tacos, if that’s okay with you. They’re all seasoned and ready to go.”
“That sounds delicious.” Was he kidding? She could have eaten the packaging the fish had been wrapped in, she was beyond hungry. Hopefully she would be able to eat with some discernible table manners.
“I’ve already chopped veggies, cilantro, and mango. The rice shouldn’t take long either. Let’s head outside and I can grill while we enjoy the view with our beers.”
Sounded like heaven to Olivia. She wondered how she had gotten so lucky to meet him and hoped he turned out to be a good guy. He was off to a great start.
Before long, they were eating a deliriously scrumptious meal while being gently caressed by the evening breezes. Jake settled into a corner at one end of the gallery under a hammock hanging limp in the shadows. Lights came on down below in Charlotte Amalie as evening crept into the harbor. They wove their way through polite conversation that just scratched the surface of safe topics. Olivia was careful not to get too detailed about herself or why she was back on St. Thomas. Did anyone need a reason to come back to the island?
They paused their conversation long enough to watch the cruise ship back out and steam out of the harbor, leaving a gentle wake behind it before turning east, disappearing behind Muhlenfels Point. Colton only left her side long enough to throw dishes in the sink and grab a couple more beers. Jake jumped up and trotted along right behind him, intent on not letting him out of his sight. Even though Olivia insisted on helping with the dishes, Colton refused and said he would take care of them in the morning. The night was for relaxing. He returned to the gallery, leaning against the railing next to her, gazing out to the harbor. Jake settled back down not far away with a gentle thud and a soft groan. The twinkling lights from Charlotte Amalie below seemed magical to Olivia. They shared the stillness of the moment, both lost in private thoughts.
A voice from inside the house startled them.
“Should have known!” Her voice
was loud and grating.
They turned simultaneously to see a beautiful young, dark-skinned woman in the doorway, dressed as though she was heading out on the town—skinny black jeans; heels; a low-cut, black-and-red-geometric-patterned loose shirt, and enough makeup to last the evening without reapplying.
Olivia could sense tension in the air as Colton groaned, and his posture became rigid. Jake sat upright, on guard, keeping an eye on the intruder. He growled half-heartedly as if afraid of being heard.
“You don’t waste any time, do you?” Her voice escalated as she walked toward him, her thin index finger wagging at him accusatorily. “I thought you might be back by now, and I came to pick up the rest of my stuff.”
“Alana—”
“Oh, don’t let me interrupt.” She lunged closer and raised the rest of her fingers on her right hand to expose her palm to him and glared into his face. Long, deep red nails curved beyond the ends of her fingertips.
Thankful to be just the spectator, Olivia prayed it was going to stay that way. She didn’t know Colton and certainly didn’t want to get to know his acquaintance.
“I’ll just grab what I need and leave you two alone.” She glanced at Olivia, holding her glare for a moment then running her eyes down the front of her and back up again.
Olivia felt a chill rip through her body and she shifted her feet, securing her stance against the railing and folding her arms, shielding herself from any ancillary aggression.
Alana then turned and stormed back into the house. “Lord knows I wish I’d done this a long time ago.” Her voice trailed off.
Olivia didn’t dare look at Colton, but she watched out of the corner of her eye as his shoulders fell.
He loped toward the door, turning on the threshold to speak to Olivia. “I’m sorry. I’ll just be a minute.” The stress lines on his forehead and his pursed lips revealed his embarrassment. Jake trotted into the house behind him to assist. After a few minutes of subdued conversation she couldn’t discern, the tense atmosphere abruptly deteriorated. It sounded as though pots and pans were being tossed onto the kitchen floor.
The Empty Chair ~ Murder in the Caribbean Page 3