Honeymoon for One

by Beth Orsoff

  I slipped my shorts and tank top over my bathing suit. “Do you think I need a sweatshirt?”

  “I’ve got a jacket you can borrow if you get cold.”

  A regular Boy Scout.

  Jack piloted the dive boat a few miles out to sea before dropping anchor. For in instant I thought about Michael, wondering how far out at sea he’d been before he was stabbed and left for dead. I shook my head to banish the thought as Jack appeared with a flannel blanket and two bottles of beer. He spread the blanket across the front deck, and we sat side by side with our backs against the cabin’s windows as we watched the sun slowly drop behind the clouds.

  “Cheers,” he said, clinking his bottle against mine.

  “What are we toasting to?”

  “I don’t know. How about to a better night than last night?”

  “Or at least a better morning,” I replied and took a swig of my beer. And since he’d brought it up—”Um, nothing happened last night, right?”

  “I wouldn’t say nothing, seeing as someone murdered your husband. Doesn’t that make you a widow instead of a divorcee?”

  I knew I needed to come clean with Jack about Michael, but considering Cheryl’s reaction, I wasn’t eager to. Instead I said, “No, I meant between us.”

  He grinned like he was about to saying something wicked, then thought better of it. “Nothing much.”

  Nothing much. That wasn’t quite the same as nothing. “If nothing much happened, then why you spend the night?”

  “Can’t I just enjoy the pleasure of your company?”

  “When you’re sleeping alone on a love seat while I’m six feet away half naked in a king-sized bed? No.”

  “Good point,” he said, which he followed with a long swallow of beer but no elaboration. I was still trying to work up the nerve to tell him the truth when he said, “You should be thanking me, you know.”

  “Why? What did you do?” I knew what I wanted him to do but I didn’t think that fell into the category of “nothing much.”

  “I’m your alibi. If it wasn’t for me, you’d probably be in jail right now.”

  That killed the fantasy. “What are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t you realize you were a suspect?”

  “Not anymore. I told the police everything. They know I had no reason to kill Michael.”

  Jack gave me a questioning look then dropped it. “Maybe not, but Officer Martinez sure was interested in your whereabouts last night. Don’t worry. I told him you were with me and I had proof.”

  “What proof?” Please let it not involve a videotape destined for You Tube or “Girls Gone Wild.”

  “Your snoring.” He pulled on his ear with his free hand. “I think you might’ve punctured an eardrum.”

  “I do not snore!”

  “Are you sure? Because if not, then we weren’t alone last night. Someone in your room was sawing down a forest.”

  I leaned back against the cabin windows and sipped my beer in silence. Steven might’ve complained about my snoring a few times over the years, but he’d said it had gotten a lot better since my sinus surgery. Maybe it was all the alcohol.

  Jack elbowed me in the arm. “C’mon, don’t be mad. I might’ve exaggerated a little for Officer Martinez’ benefit.”

  “I’m not mad,” I lied.

  “You know what you need, don’t you?”

  God yes, but I couldn’t jump after he’d just busted me for snoring. “Another beer?”

  “Well that too,” he said, checking the level on my almost empty bottle. “But what you really need is a head massage. It’s not only a miracle cure for snoring, but it’s guaranteed to make you feel better too.”

  “You know this from personal experience?”

  He smiled and reached for my bottle. “I’ll be right back.”

  When he returned, he allowed me one long sip of my second beer before he set both our bottles aside and told me to lie down.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I promise you, you’ll want to be lying down for this.”

  “More personal experience?” I asked, before sliding down onto the blanket.

  Jack sat down behind me and gently positioned my head. He started with his thumbs and slowly circled my temples. Then he added the rest of his fingers and began massaging my scalp. By the time his hands reached the base of my neck, I was hovering between extreme titillation and just wanting to drift off to sleep.

  “Good?” he asked, as the scales tipped towards slumber.

  “Mmmmm. This is better than sex.”

  He slid his hands down the back of my neck. “Don’t be so hasty.”

  That was enough to tip the scales back. I was flirting with an orgasm and his fingers never even reached below my shoulders.

  Chapter 24

  BY THE TIME JACK stopped massaging my shoulders the sky, which had been shades of pink and orange when he’d started, was now blue-black. “We missed the sunset.”

  Jack slid down next to me and propped his head up on one elbow. “Don’t worry,” he said, and let his free hand rest on my stomach, sending hot sparks shooting in all directions. “They’ll be another one tomorrow.”

  Then he leaned over and our lips had barely touched when a speed boat roared past us, spraying drops of sea water across the bow. I was so startled I bolted upright, smashing my head into Jack’s cheek. “Oh my God, are you okay?”

  “I will be,” he said, rubbing his twice-in-two-days wounded jaw.

  We both watched as the speed boat u-turned and came back for a second pass. But this time instead of spraying us it idled alongside.

  “Jack mon, is that you?” the speed boat’s captain yelled out.

  “Hey Manny,” Jack said, but before he stood up he whispered, “Stay here.”

  “Whatcha doin out here? Collecting da turtles again?” It was too dark to see his face, but I could hear the laughter in his voice.

  “No, just having a beer,” he said, and reached down for the one he had left sitting on the deck.

  I heard a click and then a bright white light was shining in my eyes.

  “That you there, Lizzie?”

  “Hi Manuel,” I said, shielding my eyes as I stood up too.

  “Yeah,” Manny said, “you collecting again Jack.”

  I thought of several possible meanings, none of them positive. Jack said, “We were just heading in.”

  We were?

  “Party tonight at the Blue Iguana. You can bring Lizzie.”

  “Maybe,” Jack said.

  “Okay mon. See you.” Then the light clicked off, the engine revved, and Manny was gone.

  I didn’t know much about boats, but Manny’s was sleek and fast and looked like something beyond the means of a dive boat captain unless their really was still gold left in those old underwater wrecks. “That’s his boat?”

  “His cousin’s” Jack said, pushing one of my wayward curls behind my ear.

  “What does his cousin do?” Whatever it was, it must be lucrative.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Before I could answer that I did want to know—I was always on the lookout for a good story—he bent down and kissed me. His lips were rough and chapped, but his tongue felt like velvet as he explored my mouth and teased my own tongue. I was just starting to melt into him when something cold and wet splattered on my face.

  “What the—”

  “Just a raindrop,” Jack said, wiping it away with his thumb. Then he leaned in again, but before our lips even touched another raindrop smacked my forehead.

  Jack reached down for the blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Want to go back to your place?”

  Oh yes.

  By the time we reached my bungalow our clothes were sopping wet clothes were clinging to us. I could’ve jumped him right there, but I hadn’t showered after my long and sweaty day and I no longer smelled like the hotel’s signature papaya-pineapple soap. I left Jack with my collection of airport purchased magazine
s and strict instructions not to leave, while I showered off the day’s sweat and sunscreen. Then I changed into a form hugging sundress with my black lace bra and panties underneath.

  Jack greeted me with a wolf whistle and a bare chest; his t-shirt hanging over the back of the desk chair, dripping water onto the purple rug. “Wow,” he said, “Maybe I should go home and change.”

  I pulled the “Time” magazine out of his hands and tossed it on the coffee table, then hiked up my sundress so I could straddle his long, tan legs. “Don’t even think about it Scuba Boy.”

  “Scuba Boy?”

  “You prefer Scuba Man?” Then I leaned in for a kiss, but he placed his hands on my shoulders and held me back.

  “Lizzie, I’m not just some dumb beach bum.”

  “I know. You’re a marine biologist.” Although how that could possibly be relevant at this point in time when all I wanted to do was have sex with him, and judging from the bulge in his shorts he wanted to have sex with me too, I didn’t see.

  “Almost,” he said. “I’m in the doctoral program at Scripps.”

  “Scripps? Isn’t that in San Diego?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Goddamnit!” I said, and slid off his legs and onto the couch. “Couldn’t you have waited until after we had sex to tell me?”

  “What’s wrong with San Diego?”

  “Nothing, except it’s less than two hours from where I live.”

  “And that’s a problem?”

  Of course it was a problem. This was supposed to be a vacation fling. Someone I’d have great sex with then never see again. I couldn’t sleep with him if there was a chance I could actually date him. “If you go to school in San Diego then what are you doing in Belize?”

  “Field research. My specialty’s Loggerhead Sea Turtles. There’s a nesting beach on the other side of the island. I could take you if you’re interested.”

  It was my goddamn honeymoon and I still couldn’t get laid. This was the worst vacation ever! “You should go.”

  “What! A minute ago you were all over me and now you want me to leave?”

  “Yes,” I said, and grabbed his wet t-shirt off the desk chair and tossed it at him.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Me? Do you always mention to women you’re about to have sex with that you happen to live in San Diego? Was there some reason that little nugget of information couldn’t wait?”

  “What’s wrong with San Diego?”

  “Nothing,” I said, and sat back down on the couch feeling utterly defeated. Why had I even come to Belize?

  “Maybe I was being presumptuous,” he said, as he yanked his wet t-shirt over his head but his arms couldn’t find the sleeves and he pulled it off again, “but I thought you’d be happy to hear we lived near each other.”

  I knew he wouldn’t understand the vacation fling theory, guys never do, but he seemed like a nice enough guy and he deserved the truth. “Hold on a sec, there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “What? You really did kill your husband?”

  “I don’t have a husband. I never did.”

  “Ha, ha.”

  “It’s not a joke. Michael wasn’t my husband. I met him at the bar at LAX while I was waiting for my flight.”

  Jack’s angry smile faded, replaced by a vacant stare somewhere above my head as I told him the story of how Michael became my fake husband and my soon to be fake ex-husband. He already knew the dead husband part of the story. I waited for him to speak, but after a while I couldn’t take the silence. “So what do you think?”

  He finally looked at me. “I think you’re nuts.”

  “In a good way?”

  “No,” he said, heading for the door. “You’ve been lying from the moment we met. For all I know, this is a lie too. Maybe you’re one of those lunatics that can’t tell fact from fiction.”

  “Jack, I swear, this is the truth. I’m sorry I lied but—”

  He slammed the door shut behind him. In less than one week I’d managed to get dumped by my fiancé, get another man killed, a third to slam the door in my face, and alienate every other person I’d met on the island. This entire trip had been a mistake. To hell with the $2200. I was getting out of here tonight.

  Chapter 25

  I WENT TO THE lobby to call the airlines. The woman on the other end of the phone told me if I could catch the nine o’clock to Belize City, she could get me on the eleven o’clock to Miami, and then I could catch a seven a.m. flight back to L.A.

  “Book it.”

  “Okay Ma’am. That will be three thousand five hundred and fifty dollars.”

  “What happened to twenty-two hundred?”

  “No Ma’am. The only seats available on the Miami flight are first class.” I heard the tapping of her keyboard. “If you want to wait until Saturday—”

  “No, just charge it.” I’d worry about paying for it after I got home. That’s what credit cards were for.

  I asked the concierge to call me a taxi and I went back to my room to pack. I didn’t even bother to fold the clothes. They were all going straight into the wash anyway. I just wished I could get rid of the memories that easily. An image of Michael on that cold metal table flashed through my head again, but I willed it away.

  I didn’t bother calling the bellman. My suitcase had wheels so I dragged it back to the lobby myself.

  “I hope everything was alright, Mrs. Garcia,” the desk clerk said. “May I ask why you’re checking out early?”

  He must be new if he hadn’t heard about me. Even the housekeeper was looking at me funny today.

  “Family emergency,” I said and signed the bill without reading it. After all the debt I’d incurred for the wedding and now the honeymoon, what was a few thousand dollars more.

  I arrived at the airport ten minutes before boarding, which was still plenty of time for my inter-island flight to Belize City. I was surprised when I spotted Jeremy and Karen at the snack bar. I thought they’d left hours ago.

  “Lizzie,” Jeremy called, waving me over. “What are you doing here?”

  I collapsed into the chair Karen offered. “Going home. This entire vacation has been a nightmare and I just want it to end.”

  “I’m so sorry about spilling the beans to Cheryl,” Karen said. “It wasn’t intentional. She over heard us talking and….”

  So that’s how Cheryl found out. I told Karen not to worry about it. “She probably wouldn’t have taken it any better if I’d told her myself.” Jack hadn’t. “Now everyone knows.”

  “Then you told the police?” Jeremy asked.

  “After I I.D.ed Michael’s body.” I shuddered thinking about it again. “I know you said to wait for a lawyer but when Sergeant Ramos started asking me about the funeral arrangements, I just had to tell.”

  Jeremy nodded as he swallowed his last of his hot dog. “The police can be very persuasive. But at least they cleared you.”

  “What do you mean cleared me?”

  “Didn’t they tell you it was okay to leave the country?”

  “I didn’t ask. Was I supposed to?”

  Before he could answer, a uniformed man walked up to our table. “Are you Elizabeth Mancini?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need you to come with me please.”

  Jeremy jumped up. “I’m her lawyer. What is this about?”

  “I received a call from the Police Chief asking me to detain Ms. Mancini.”

  “But my flight’s leaving—”

  As if on cue, the P.A. cut me off to announce Maya Airlines flight number 17 to Belize City would begin boarding from gate number three. Jeremy started arguing with the airport security guard, Karen tried to mediate, and I pushed our group towards Gate Three. I knew this was all just a big misunderstanding and I didn’t want any of us to miss our plane.

  I was happy to see Sergeant Ramos walking towards us. He was out of uniform, but still easily recognizable with his badge pinned to his leisure shi
rt and his gun at his waist. He could explain to the guard that it was okay for me to leave.

  He didn’t seem as happy to see me. “Ms. Mancini, I thought we agreed you would make yourself available for further questions.”

  “Is this woman under arrest?” Jeremy demanded.

  “Who are you?” Sergeant Ramos asked.

  I handled the introductions and Jeremy explained that he and Karen were both lawyers back in Boston and were filling in until I obtained local counsel. “If this woman is not under arrest, you have no right to hold her here against her will.”

  “Mr. Markowitz, maybe you are not familiar with the laws in this country. I may detain Ms. Mancini if she has information about a crime.”

  Karen pulled some folded papers from her purse. “According to the Judges’ Rules,” she read, “if you detain her, you must inform her that she has the right to speak privately with her attorney before she makes any statements.”

  Sergeant Ramos sighed. “Ms. Mancini, you have the right to speak privately with an attorney. Do you wish to waive this right?”

  “No,” Jeremy answered. “Don’t say a word, Lizzie. I’m calling the Consulate. Karen, go find a pay phone.”

  “But honey,” she said, “we’re going to miss our flight.”

  “I don’t want you two to miss your flight.” And I didn’t want to miss it either. I wanted to answer Sergeant Ramos’ questions and go home.

  Jeremy shook his finger at me. “No talking, Lizzie.”

  “Do not intimidate my witness, Mr. Markowitz.”

  “You mean suspect, don’t you, Sergeant Ramos?”

  The accusations escalated with Sergeant Ramos threatening to arrest Jeremy for obstruction of justice (which I suspect isn’t even a crime and he just picked it up watching American cop shows on T.V.) when the P.A. squawked again announcing the final boarding call for flight number 17 to Belize City.