by Jianne Carlo
“Fuck her.” He inserted the key, slammed open the heavy wood, and drop-kicked the blasted panel shut. Tomorrow, he would replace the fucking mahogany with walnut.
He sprinted to the library and halted in the doorway. The presents he’d given her lay at the edge of the tree’s skirt. He roared her name, stalked to the fucking Christmas tree, and shoved the pine onto its side. Ornaments scattered, glass shattered, and the plugs of light strings popped out of sockets. He dragged the tree to the kitchen, maneuvered the now almost denuded pine through the back door, across the deck, down the steps, and into the middle of the snow-covered yard.
He trudged to the tool shed near the fence and retrieved an axe.
Then he spent the rest of the night viciously hacking the first and last Christmas tree he’d ever have in his life into fist-size chunks.
At dawn, he went back inside, brewed a cup of coffee, and plodded to the master bedroom. He stood in the doorway, surveyed the space, and decided to call a realtor. No way did he intend to spend another night in this godforsaken structure. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and headed for the bathroom. Glanced at the screen and frowned. He had voicemail. Strange, he didn’t remember the cell ringing. Then he recalled her ‘tech-free holiday.’
What a sucker he’d been.
She’d played him like a maestro.
He hit the voicemail icon.
“Hey bro. Long time. Rutger Harlowe here. Need to talk. Call me ASAP.”
Satan checked the time and date of the call. Rutger had called while he’d been heating up their dinner on Christmas Eve.
He remembered picking up the cell from the floor. Had she deliberately put the phone on the floor? Why?
Shit. He lost his mojo and it was all her fucking fault.
Nineteen minutes later, armed with a packed suitcase, Satan drove down his driveway for the last time ever. He pressed the button for voice command. “Call Rutger Harlowe.”
The active Navy SEAL answered on the first ring. “Yo. What took you so long?”
“I was distracted. What’s up?”
“Helluva distraction, Angelica O’Malley, aka Angel Dare.”
Satan did a double-take at the console. WTF? “How the fuck do you know I even know the woman?”
“I set a tail on her on Christmas Eve. The reason I’m calling is that my tail discovered someone’s got a tail on you.”
Satan drove the car onto the shoulder and shoved the gearstick into park. “Why’re you tailing her?”
He couldn’t bring himself to say her name.
“We believe Angel knows Malik Mansoor’s real identity. FYI, she hopped on a plane to Port-of-Spain, Trinidad this morning.”
Chapter Eighteen
“The new board’s been approved. You’re now officially no longer part of Haven,” Indira Singh said. “Are you sure this is what you want, Angel? We can keep you on as a director. I’d love you to help me transition into the CEO role over a few months instead of only thirty-five days.”
Angel regretted agreeing to a Skype video three-way conference call. She forced a smile for Jess and Indira. “Indira, you and I both know that you don’t need more time. You’ve been at the helm of what—three similar foundations—over the last seven years. I’ve no doubt you’ll be able to manage without me.”
“Angel, are you sure about this?” Jess’s meticulous scrutiny had Angel cringing inside.
“I am, Jess. I have to handle the sale of the family business, and from what my lawyers tell me, that’s going to be a full-time occupation for the next six months. Well, ladies, we’ve completed everything on the handover agenda. Can we call it a wrap? I’m afraid I have a bank appointment in forty-five minutes, and the traffic in Port-of-Spain is brutal.” Angel crossed her fingers in her lap, the action hidden by the desk at which she sat. It was a small white lie, nothing like the whoppers she’d told by omission to Satan.
“Of course. You’ll be available via email and Skype?” Indira asked.
“For a while. Carnival’s fast approaching and things tend to grind to a halt during the season. With the influx of thousands of tourists, I’m not sure what my Internet access will be like. You can always text me via WhatsApp.” Angel caught Jess’s frown and knew the other woman wouldn’t let her off the hook easily. She stifled a sigh.
“Good luck with everything, Angel. I’m sure I’ll be in touch soon. Take care of yourself. Bye.” Indira’s face disappeared from the screen.
“What’s going on, Angel? Why are you so determined to cut all ties with your New York life?” Jess stared at her.
“Let’s not do this again, Jess. I need to find some closure about my parents’ deaths and my brother’s killing. You know I came back to Trinidad to deal with the ghosts of my past.” Angel so wanted this call over and done with.
“I know and I understand. What I can’t comprehend is why you won’t set a date for returning to New York. I miss you.”
Angel willed the tears back. “I miss you, too, Jess, but things work differently in the islands. Time is not something you can rely on. Everything goes later and longer than expected. I’ve no idea what complications will turn up with the sale of the bank. What with the way my brother and my parents died, I can only imagine it won’t be a straight forward process.”
Jess remained silent for so long Angel hit the refresh button thinking the screen had frozen.
“You haven’t asked about Satan. Not once.”
“Don’t go there Jess. It’s over and done with. Listen, I really, really need to go, or I’ll be late for my appointment. Give Gracie a huge kiss for me and send my regards to Devil. Later.” Angel clicked on End Call and exited Skype for good measure.
She lurched out of the chair and paced the perimeter of the hotel room. It had been thirty-five days since she’d left New York and not a hour went by without her being swamped by a combination of guilt, regret, and sadness. Today, was the first time Jess had mentioned Satan. Why? Had he asked about her?
What a fool she was to even think that he had. She stood in front of the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony and stared unseeing at the magnificent view of Port-of-Spain and the harbor. The day had dawned bright, sunny, and cloudless as per the norm in the dry season. The Trinidad Hilton, one of the island’s oldest hotels, was perched on a ridge overlooking the city.
In the distance, even through the closed doors, she heard the steady rhythm of steel bands practicing for the coming Panorama final competition, what Americans would call a championship event. She loved the music created by players hitting what the rest of the world called steel drums, but what Trinis termed “pan.” Ordinarily, the crescendo of a band of hundreds of musicians ‘beating pan’ would lift her spirits, but nothing could erase the bleakness marring her soul.
To ward off a threatening depression, she showered and changed. There was no bank appointment scheduled for today, she had lied about that. Angel sat down at the desk and pressed the spacebar on her laptop to wake the PC from hibernation.
She checked the delivery status of the letter she’d couriered to Jess three days ago. En route, expected delivery date, today, between nine and noon, she heaved a sigh of relief. Jess had to sign for the package and Angel would be antsy until delivery was confirmed.
She glanced at her cell. Ten-thirty. Maybe she’d go for a walk around The Savannah, Trinidad’s version of Central Park. No, it was already too hot for even a leisurely stroll. The pool and a swim instead, she decided.
While she changed into a black, one-piece halter swimsuit, she sifted through her worries. She wasn’t sure how much longer Yaman Moses would allow her to tease him. Could she stomach his disgusting and blatant sexual avarice today without vomiting?
God, she hated having to let him kiss her and had almost gagged when he stabbed his tongue into her mouth. She hated that her last kiss on this earth would come from him. A tidal wave of sorrow flooded her. She banged her forehead on the sliding glass doors. She was so tired. Tired of
pretending, tired of missing Satan each and every moment of the last thirty-five days, and tired of not being able to snatch more than four hours of sleep a day.
But, her plan was working. Tomorrow, while Yaman’s carnival fete was in full swing, in the presence of several hundred intoxicated party goers, she was going to poison him and the Trinidadian members of his cell with the anti-freeze she’d purchased from a hardware store in New Jersey. And before he died, she was going to tell him who killed him and why.
She donned a white and green tie-dyed floor length tunic, slipped into her flat flip-flops, grabbed a towel and her purse, and left room one hundred and twelve.
It was weird to be in Trinidad and stay in a hotel and not with a friend. The Trinidad Hilton marketed itself as the world’s first upside down hotel, so she had to go up to get to the pool level. Because it was the Friday before Carnival Monday, the hotel had not a single vacancy, and she had to wait two elevator openings to finally find space in one.
Her cell rang right as the doors buzzed open on the pool level. Angel exited, hurried to the side, fished in her purse, and retrieved her phone. Merylle, her brother’s ex-girlfriend, she pressed Accept.
“Hi Mer.”
“Hey. I’m still pissed you’re staying at the Hilton. You know I have two extra bedrooms and would love to have you stay with me.”
Angel repressed a sigh. “I know and I love you for the offer, but I’m fine here.”
“It must be costing you a fortune to say there.”
Angel refused to argue over her choice of staying in a hotel. She deliberately changed the topic. “What’s up? You must be completely exhausted at this stage.”
Merylle was one of Trinidad’s premiere children Carnival bands’ designers. She worked non-stop on costumes from the day after Christmas right up to the day before the Junior Parade the Saturday before Carnival Monday and Tuesday.
“Actually, we’ve had no costume mishaps for the last two weeks. I’m ready to twiddle my thumbs, I’m so bored. There’s nothing going on until Saturday, so I figured maybe we could have lunch.”
Angel squeezed her eyes shut. “I wish I could, but I’ve a previous engagement.”
Silence.
“Fiona told me you and Yaman Moses were together at the US embassy’s carnival fete last night. The man’s a rapist, Angel. Why in God’s name are you with him?”
According to local gossip, Yaman Moses raped his young male employees at will. Merylle’s mom, Fiona Maharaj, had been the first woman ever elected to the Trinidad senate. A fact made even more significant because she was Irish-born and had become a Trinidadian through marriage. Fiona Maharaj family was well-known for her unconventional approach to child-rearing. All of her children referred to her by her first name.
Angel had cringed when she bumped into Fiona at the party.
“I’m not ‘with’ him. It sort of happened. We were both liming at Deedee’s and I didn’t want to drive because I’d had a couple of drinks. He offered me a ride.” Angel crossed her fingers at the lie. Yaman had taken her to the lime, which was a Trini word for an informal and unplanned hanging out.
“That’s a relief. Yaman Moses is a dangerous man, Angel. You should avoid him at all costs. Everyone knows he’s involved with the Syrian mafia. On a different note, one of the judges for the kiddie’s carnival on Saturday is down with a horrible flu, and we need a stand-in. Interested?”
The “Syrian mafia” controlled Trinidad’s illegal drug distribution and they laundered their money through local-owned banks. After finding her brother’s letter Angel now knew Martin had begun to suspect Yaman of being behind their parents’ home invasion and subsequent murder. She also knew her brother had been kidnapped by Yaman Moses and his son, Denis, aka Malik Mansoor, taken to Iraq, and forced to fight for ISIS.
What she didn’t know was if Yaman was a fanatic jihadist or simply a colossal thief? And where was his son Denis aka Malik Mansoor? Absolutely no one seemed to know, and she was too afraid to ask Yaman directly.
“Sure. Where do you need me and what time on Saturday?”
“Early, I’m afraid. I’ll pick you up. How about 7:00 a.m.? That way we’ll avoid all the traffic.” Merylle was so not a morning person, and she delivered the information in a funereal tone.
Angel hadn’t thought beyond Friday night and how to slip the poison to the right people. So far, she had identified five of Yaman’s henchmen. “No problem. I can’t wait to see your band in full force. How strong is it this year?”
“As of now, we have seven hundred kids and fifteen different sections, each one a different butterfly species. The king of the band is a glorified Monarch, and the queen is a jazzed up Blue Pansy.”
When Angel first arrived back in Trinidad, Merylle had invited her to Lilliput’s Mas Camp. She’d spent the entire day and night helping to make the wings of butterflies that the children would wear for that year’s theme—Papillion. She and Merylle had worked on the Monarch section. Back then, Merylle still hadn’t decided on the costumes for the King and Queen and parents were still registering children for the band. Lilliput was a non-profit organization and worked with local orphanages to provide free costumes for children.
“Omigod. I can just picture those hundreds of wings dancing in the sunlight as the sections of the band cross the stage. Lilliput’s going to be a shoo-in for Junior Band of the Year.”
“Shush. You’ll jinx us.”
Angel laughed. “You are so superstitious.”
“It’s not superstition, I have a third eye.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s not go there.” Angel glanced at the ceiling. She loved Merylle, but the woman’s artistic bent also came with a heavy dose of believing in the supernatural. Merylle frequently hosted séances and did Ouija board readings.
“I had a dream about you last night. That’s the real reason for this call. Promise me you won’t travel by sea while you’re here.”
The hairs on the back of Angel’s neck prickled. Nooda Moses, Yaman’s youngest sister, had invited her to lunch at Sails Inn restaurant. Sails Inn was located in a private marina attached to one of the top mooring facilities on the island, typically referred to by Trinis as Power Boats even though yachts also anchored there.
A spear of fear javelined through Angel. She had a sudden, urgent compulsion to let at least one person know her schedule. “I’m having lunch with Nooda Moses at Sail’s today.”
“Don’t go. Cancel. Have lunch with me instead.”
“What was your dream about, Mer?” Angel held her breath.
Silence. “It was vague. Um, I just remember—”
“No it wasn’t. I can always tell when you’re lying. You…um…tell me.” Goosebumps peppered Angel’s arms even though the temperature was well above seventy.
“You were in a coffin. In the ground. Buried Alive.”
Her throat went dry. An icy chill settled over her, she shivered, and walked to the exit. The double doors whooshed open, and she jogged into the sunlight and tropical heat. “How did the sea come about?”
“I saw you bouncing around on the floor of a boat. You were in a body bag.”
Shit. Her knees quaked. She found a chair and collapsed into it. “That’s a very specific dream, Mer. Can you do me a favor?”
“Of course. Anything. You know that.”
“Have dinner with me tonight. Here at the Hilton. Would seven work for you?” Her hand shook, and the phone almost slipped out of her grip.
“Yes. Where do you want to meet?”
“In my hotel room, one-one–two. I’ll leave a key for you at the front desk.” Angel had no idea why she felt desperate to have Merylle check her room.
“Why? I don’t need a key. I’ll just knock.”
“Humor me, okay. You have me all jittery with this talk of coffins and body bags.” The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
“I shouldn’t have told you. Sorry. It was just so vivid.”
“No worries. I�
��ll block it out.” She checked the time on her phone. “Gotta dash. See you at seven.”
“Looking forward to a relaxing evening. Bye.”
“Bye.” Angel stared at the blank screen unseeing.
“Pleasant morning, Miss. Can I get you a drink? Or a bite to eat?”
Angel hadn’t noticed the waitress’s approach. She looked up, but couldn’t see for the blinding sunlight. She shaded her eyes, faked a smile, and said, “Thank you, no. I just remembered something I forgot in my room.”
“You’re Angel Dare. Can you autograph this coaster for me?”
Surprised the waitress recognized her, because Trinidadian audiences were famous for their fickleness, and she had been gone almost five months, Angel accepted the coaster and a ballpoint pen. “Of course. Who should I make it out to?”
“My mom loved you on the evening news. Her name’s Margaret.”
Angel wrote out the autograph, gave it to the waitress, and stood.
“Thank you so much. This will make my mom’s day.”
“Have a good one.” She planted another smile on her mouth and hurried away.
Deciding she needed to keep moving, she headed for the walkway carved into the hillside, and hurried down to the ground floor entrance to the hotel. She slid her keycard into the slot, opened the door, and wandered down the corridor.
The housekeeping cart was parked in her doorway. She edged around the bulky trolley. A woman wearing the Hilton’s distinct uniform vacuumed the carpet on the other side of the bed. She glanced up and turned off the appliance. “I was just finishing up, miss. This is your room? I apologize—”
“Yes, yes. You need to see my ID. I understand.” Angel retrieved her wallet, ambled over to the woman, and flashed her driver’s license.
“Thank you. Some people get annoyed, but especially at Carnival time, we have to be very careful. Would you like extra shampoo or lotion?”
“No thanks.” Angel put away her wallet and waited until the woman had left, and the door clicked closed. She went straight to her laptop, signed in, and checked the delivery status of her letter. Jess had signed for it. At least one other person would know what really had happened to her brother and maybe…her.