A Whisper of Danger

by Catherine Palmer

  Jess slipped her arm around Hannah’s shoulders. Together they watched the boy, his father, Hunky Wallace, and the rest of the heavily laden crew climb the staircase. Andrew Mbuti met the divers halfway up and helped carry the baskets and sacks of treasures from the wreck. As the men reached the top, everyone set down his haul and began talking.

  Splint grabbed Hannah and pulled her over to his bag to show off his finds. Andrew cornered Rick. Hunky and his crew knelt on the lawn to compare the booty. Jess watched the scene for a moment, thinking how familiar it felt. Familiar and right. She had prayed for peace. For the first time, she felt it slip around her heart.

  When someone tapped her on the shoulder, she jumped at the unexpected touch. “Yes?”

  “Jessica Thornton.”

  Jess turned to discover one final visitor of the day. As she lifted her head, she looked into the bright green eyes of Omar Hafidh.

  SEVENTEEN

  Splinter couldn’t believe it when he glanced up from the hoisting basket to find his mother deep in conversation with Omar Hafidh—that green-eyed goon! The guy had come right up behind her when nobody was looking. Now he was talking to her, staring into her eyes, and . . . he was touching her!

  “Mama Hannah, he’s holding her hand!” Splint hissed. “That’s totally putrid!”

  “Perhaps the man wishes to ask her a question. It is the African way to hold the hand of a friend.”

  “She’s not his friend.”

  “But you are my friend, and I have missed you today, toto.” Hannah took Splint’s hand. “Did you know I saved all the mango seeds from breakfast? Shall we play our game on the verandah while we still have some daylight?”

  Splint gave the old woman a smile. There was almost nothing he liked better than their mango-seed game. Hannah had taught him how to play right after he got to Zanzibar.

  First they took two of the four-inch-long seeds that were shaped like bars of soap—and when coated with stringy mango pulp were just as slippery. They set the seeds side by side at one end of the long verandah. Hannah would count in Swahili, “Moja, mbili, tatu!”

  Then she and Splint would stomp on their seeds with their bare feet. Each seed would shoot like a rocket down the concrete floor. The seed that traveled farthest was the winner. It was a gooey, sticky, slippery, messy game—and Splint loved it.

  But right now he was much more interested in what his mother was saying to Omar Hafidh. She had tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and she was nodding like she agreed with everything he told her. Splint glanced at Rick.

  Now there was a sight. Rick’s blue eyes were fairly shooting flames as he watched the couple on the edge of the cliff. The back of his neck had turned bright red, and Splint knew it wasn’t a sunburn. He elbowed Hannah in the ribs.

  “Rick’s going to clobber Omar Hafidh,” he whispered. “Rick doesn’t want my mom to have a boyfriend. Not unless it’s Rick himself.”

  Hannah studied the scene for a moment. “Toto, perhaps you should take Bwana McTaggart to play the mango-seed game on the verandah.”

  “No way. I’m going to find out what that freakazoid is up to with my mom. Watch me in action.” Splint put down the heavy piece of conglomerate he’d been showing Hannah and walked across the lawn to his mother.

  “Hey, Mom,” he said. “What’s up?”

  She reached out a hand and smoothed down his damp hair. “Splint, you remember Omar Hafidh, don’t you? He’s Dr. bin Yusuf ’s nephew. We met him in Zanzibar.”

  “I know who he is.” Splint stuck out his hand. “Hello, Mr. Hafidh.”

  “Good evening.” Those green eyes scrutinized the boy until he felt like a squid under a microscope. Then Omar again focused on Splint’s mom. “Tomorrow evening, then? We shall dine at one of the beach hotels. The Bahari. They have good dancing.”

  “Dancing?” Splint exclaimed.

  His mom gave him one of her withering looks. Then she turned back to Green Eyes. “I’d enjoy that. You’ll pick me up, then? Around seven?”

  “Seven o’clock will be very good.” He lifted the hand he’d been holding and gave the knuckles a kiss. “I shall look forward to seeing you then.”

  Splint thought he was going to barf! His mom was going out on a date with Omar Hafidh? Omar the green-eyed monster? Omar the Incredible Hulk with shoulders the size of Zanzibar Island? How could she do that?

  “Mom!” he screeched as the man walked away toward his car. “Mom, what are you doing?”

  “Splint, please get control of yourself. You’re practically foaming at the mouth.” She started off toward the house as though nothing momentous had happened. “Wash your hands for supper, please.”

  “Mom! Mom!” He scampered to her side as she strode past Rick. One look at him and Splint knew things were as bad as he’d feared. Rick didn’t look happy at all. He had two white spots on his cheeks, and a vein on his forehead was twitching. “Mom, are you going out on a date with that guy?”

  “Omar? Sure. I haven’t been out to dinner in a long time.”

  “And dancing! Did you say you’d dance with him? Mom?”

  “Will you please calm down, Splint? I’ve had people combing through the house all day, and I’m exhausted. The last thing I need is your histrionics.”

  “Mom, you can’t go out with him.” He caught up close enough to grab her arm. Giving a quick glance behind to make sure they were alone on the verandah, he stood on tiptoe and whispered his message. “Rick likes you! He told me so himself. Today on the boat! You can’t go out with Omar Hafidh. You need to go out with Rick!”

  Splint’s mom put her hands on his shoulders and stared into his eyes until he had no choice but to be quiet. “Rick McTaggart has not asked me to go out, Splint. Omar Hafidh has.”

  “But, Mom, that guy’s a total Frankenstein.”

  “He’s a nice man.”

  “You just like his muscles.”

  “I do not like his muscles. Well . . . I don’t hate them. But I’m not going out with his muscles, Splint. I’ve been wanting to talk to Omar for some time. There are things we need to work out about Uchungu House and about Dr. bin Yusuf ’s art. Giles Knox is going to spend the next three days here, and I’m trying to get a feel for the relationship between him and Omar. There are some things I need to know, Splint, and I think I can get my answers tomorrow night.”

  “If you marry Omar Hafidh, I’ll never forgive you. I don’t want him to be my father. I want Rick to be my father!”

  She let out a breath. “Splint, honey, I’m not going to marry Omar. We’re just going out to dinner, that’s all. Now, come over here and sit down on my lap. I need to tell you something very important.”

  Splint had always liked cuddling up with his mother. She was soft and warm, and she smelled good. He had been crawling into her lap since he was a little baby, and he hoped there would never come a time when he’d be too big. When she cradled him, his mother always looked deeply into his eyes. She always told him how much she loved him. It was the time they connected best.

  Now he climbed onto her lap and folded his long legs into the big pillowy chair on the verandah. He knew his mom would get water and sand all over her skirt, but she wouldn’t mind. He had just laid his head on her shoulder when Rick McTaggart walked up to the edge of the verandah where his motorcycle was waiting. He studied Splint and his mom for a moment. His face was rigid, like he was trying hard not to show how he felt when he looked at the two of them.

  “I understand you’ll be busy tomorrow night, Jessie,” he said in a low voice.

  “She’s going out to dinner with Omar Hafidh,” Splint told him, “and dancing, too. They’re going dancing at one of the beach hotels.”

  “Is that right, Jessie?”

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  Rick raked his fingers through his hair. Splint could see the vein leaping around in his forehead. Rick clenched his jaw like he had something to say and was trying to hold it back. Then he hooked his leg over the cycle
, started the engine, and roared off in a blast that sent gravel spraying across the verandah.

  “He’s mad,” Splint said. “He likes you, and you’re going out on a date with that green-eyed gorilla instead of with him.”

  “Rick could ask me out on a date if he wanted to.”

  “Would you go?”

  She hardly hesitated a moment. “Yes.”

  “You didn’t used to like him.”

  “That’s true.”

  “It’s because of the past, isn’t it, Mom? It’s because of when you and Rick knew each other before. A long time ago.”

  She nodded. “Splinter, honey, I’ve told you about some of the things that happened when I was very young. But not everything. You were right when you said I had held some information back from you. At the time, I didn’t think you needed to know. Now you do.”

  “Rick is my father,” he said. “Isn’t he?”

  She stiffened. “Splint . . .”

  “Am I right? Is Rick my father?”

  “Yes, sweetheart. He is.”

  “I figured it out. You wouldn’t tell me, but I guessed it anyway.” Splint felt so strange all of a sudden. A mixed-up ball of feelings rolled around in his stomach—joy, anger, disbelief, resentment, loss, exhilaration. Even though he didn’t want them, tears filled his eyes. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me?”

  “At first, it didn’t seem to matter. You were little. We lived in London, so far away from Africa. I didn’t think I would ever see Rick McTaggart again.”

  “And here he is. Right here in Zanzibar. Mom, God wanted you to find Rick again.”

  Her arms tightened around him. Hannah walked across the verandah into the house and gave them one of her smiles, as though she knew exactly what they were talking about. Splint brushed a tear off his cheek. He really hated it when he cried, but sometimes he just couldn’t help it. And finding out who his father really was seemed like as good a time as any. Especially since his father was Rick McTaggart, his favorite friend in the whole world.

  “God did want Rick and me to find each other,” Splint heard his mom say. “I had been very angry with him for leaving. I couldn’t forgive him, and I’d grown bitter. But now—through a lot of prayer and a lot of long conversations with Rick—I understand why he went away. He had many problems to work his way through. He needed to grow up before he could take his place in your life. He needed to find out who he really was. Most of all, he needed to give his heart to Jesus. Rick did all those things, Splint. Now he’s truly ready to be your father. And I’m willing to let him.”

  “Does Rick know I’m his son?”

  “I told him last night.”

  “What did he say?” He wiped off another tear. “Did he . . . did he sound glad? Does he like me, Mom? Does he want me?”

  She kissed his wet cheek. “He loves you, Splint. He asked me if he could take you out on the dive boat today just to watch you. He wants to be with you more than anything in the world.”

  “I noticed he was awfully happy today. Every time we were up on deck, he was singing and laughing and telling stories. I thought it was because of you.”

  “Me?”

  “I asked him why he was grinning, and he started singing one of his goofy songs about a ‘purty little gal.’ So I said, ‘Who’s the purtiest little gal you know, Rick?’ And he said, ‘Your mother, Jessie.’ So I asked him if he liked you, and he said he sure did. Then he got real serious, and he told me you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. He said you have a good heart, and you’re talented and sweet and on and on until I thought I was going to get sick. Then he told me I was blessed to have you for a mother. So I said, ‘If you think she’s so great, why don’t you ask her out on a date?’ And he said he thought he just might do that.”

  “Really?”

  Splint sat up and looked into his mother’s eyes. “But you’re going out with Omar Hafidh!”

  “Yes, I am. There’s more to it than you know.” She shook her head. “And no, I’m not going to tell you everything that happens in my life—everything I’m doing and thinking and feeling. There are some things ten-year-old boys just don’t need to know. This is one of them.”

  He nuzzled back into her shoulder. “I’m glad you told me about Rick,” he said. “I think you made a good choice when you married him—even if he did run off and leave you and me alone for a while. I’m going to like having him for a dad. We’ll be the best family ever.”

  Splint could hear his mother catch her breath. He knew she didn’t have any plans to be Rick McTaggart’s wife again. But then, Hannah always said God knew best. And Splint had no doubt God was planning to give him a mother . . . a father . . . a family. The sooner the better.

  Rick sat on the edge of the coral cliff just beyond the kiosk and watched the sun slip into the Indian Ocean. He turned the ice-cold beer bottle around and around in his hands. The malt scent drew him like a sweet perfume. He lifted it to his nose and took a sniff. Rich dark beer. Escape.

  He had bought the beer with the few shillings he found in the pocket of his still-damp jeans. Damp from the storm the day before. He had huddled over Jessie through the storm, watching her, protecting her. He had slept at her door all night . . . guarding her. In the night she had given him the greatest gift imaginable. He had a son!

  Equally wonderful, Jessie herself had melted into his arms. She had slipped her hands around him. She had touched his cheek, laid her head on his chest, wept in his embrace. He had been so sure of everything. So sure he was walking through the door into a new life. An hour ago, the door had slammed in his face.

  Rick wiped a bead of water from the lip of the brown beer bottle. “She’s going out to dinner with Omar Hafidh. And dancing, too. They’re going dancing at one of the beach hotels.”

  Wait a minute, Rick had wanted to shout at her. You can’t do that! You’re Splint’s mother! You’re my wife!

  No. She wasn’t his wife.

  He had lost her ten years ago. Walked away.

  Rick thought back to the last time he had sat on this rock near the kiosk. He had told Andrew Mbuti the whole story of his youthful marriage and the mess he had made of his life. Andrew had challenged Rick to win Jessie back. To love her with all the love a husband had to give a wife. To fulfill every commandment in the Bible. To make it happen.

  “God!” Rick ground out. “I don’t know how! I’ve tried. Tried so hard. But I can’t. Can’t force it.”

  His grip tightened on the beer. If he drank it . . . and another . . . and another . . . he could silence his grief. He could stop the pain. At least for a few hours he could escape his failures, his mistakes.

  Couldn’t he? Rick lifted the bottle and studied the last of the sunlight glowing through the amber glass. If he drank this beer, he knew he would only add one more mistake to the list.

  “God,” he said again, “I can’t do it. I give it to you. I give Jessie to you. My son. My future. Everything.”

  He tilted the dark bottle and let the beer run out onto the sandy soil. It foamed like the ebb tide. Then it seeped into the earth and vanished. A sacrificial offering. Pouring out of sin.

  Why didn’t he feel any better?

  “Rick!” Andrew’s voice pulled him up sharp. “There you are, man! Why didn’t you wait for me? Hunky said you blasted out of the driveway like a demon was after you.”

  Rick turned around. Andrew was sauntering toward him. And right behind him . . .

  “Jessie.”

  “Hi, Rick.” She looked down at the empty beer bottle in his hand. Then she glanced at the wet spot in the sand.

  Rick shrugged. Maybe Jessie understood the choice he had made moments before, maybe she didn’t. If he told her he had rejected the easy escape, he didn’t know if she would believe him. Didn’t know if she could ever believe him, ever trust him, after what he’d done to her.

  He stood. Jessie looked great, dark hair blowing around her shoulders, eyes shining. He felt wrinkled and wet and miserable.
Why had she come? What did she want?

  “Your lovely lady said she needed to talk to you,” Andrew told Rick. “So I brought her along. Excuse me, but I’m going to the kiosk for a samosa. Anybody else want one?”

  Rick shook his head. Jessie declined, too. They watched Andrew walk away. Then Jessie sat down on the rock and tucked her knees up under her chin.

  “Sit with me, Rick?” she asked.

  He hunkered down again. She was too close. He could smell her. Her hair blew against his shoulder. Soft. Like a warm breath.

  “Rick,” she said, “I just wanted you to know I told Splinter about you. Us. Well . . . really, he told me. He had it figured out already.”

  She leaned against his shoulder. At the contact, every muscle in his arm stiffened. He could hardly breathe, let alone talk.

  “Smart kid,” he managed. “So, how did he take the news?”

  “He cried.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  She gave him a little whack on the arm. “He’s thrilled. You should have seen him running around the house shouting the news to Mama Hannah and Miriamu and Solomon. I bet he’ll never get to sleep tonight. It’s more exciting than Christmas.” She leaned against him again. “I wish you hadn’t left. I know he’d really like to be with you right now.”

  “I needed to do some thinking.”

  “Big changes are never easy.” She tapped her toes on the stone. “Rick, could I ask you to help me out with something?”

  Uh-oh. What was this going to be—to look after things while she went on a date with Omar Hafidh? He knew jealousy had curled through his stomach like a poisonous snake. But how could he stop it? He wanted Jessie in his life so much. He’d prayed for her. Prayed to make it work. And now?

  “What is it you need?” he asked.

  “You.”

  His head jerked up. “What?”

  “I need you. I agreed to talk with Omar Hafidh tomorrow night. He’s Dr. bin Yusuf ’s nephew, you know. I have a suspicion he might have been involved in the murder, maybe as a henchman for Giles Knox. Anyway, I thought if I could question him, maybe I could get to the bottom of it all. But . . . I’m scared.”