The Butterfly Farm

by Diane Noble

  The air was turning balmy again as dawn approached. I remembered Adam’s dormitory suite was an A-frame named Zahur. I pulled my wrinkled map from a vest pocket and located the building just northeast of the reception area.

  I trotted along the winding pathway, passing other early morning walkers. I had noticed on the schedule that the first yoga lessons were offered at 5:30, so it didn’t surprise me to see I wasn’t alone. Some were dressed in white robes; others in designer workout clothes. Most were friendly, smiling as I passed, but silent. I wondered if there was an unwritten rule about not talking before sunrise.

  I reached Zahur and tentatively stepped to the door. I was about to knock when I heard Adam’s voice behind me.

  “Well, this is another surprise,” he said.

  I turned to watch him approach from the path leading from the reception area. He was dressed as before in lightweight sweats, rather worn, I noticed in the lightening dawn. He carried a paper cup of what I assumed to be coffee in one hand, and a folded newspaper under the opposite arm.

  He grinned. “Cost me an arm and a leg to get someone to make a pot of coffee for me. Seems they don’t like to serve it before breakfast.” He handed me the cup. “You look like you could use a sip.”

  The coffee soothed my frayed nerves. I didn’t bother to tell him his comment was second only to telling a woman she looked tired.

  “Something tells me Zoë wasn’t there.”

  I shook my head. “It gets worse. Kate’s gone too. And the place is a mess—like someone had quite an altercation there. Have you seen Price or Max since you got back?”

  He frowned. “They were both asleep when I left to get coffee.” He unlocked his door, then stepped back so I could enter. The interior of the A-frame consisted of a great room, bath, and small kitchenette on one end. Price’s bedclothes were rumpled, but his spiked hair was visible at the top of his cotton blanket, just below the padded headboard. In a bed against the opposite wall, Max snored softly.

  We exchanged a glance. “I’m worried, Adam,” I said when we had stepped outside. “I’ve let my concerns about Carly go long enough without taking action, and now that these girls are missing—”

  He held up a hand. “We really don’t know that they are. There may be a perfectly logical explanation. And as for taking action, don’t go beating yourself up. There’s really been no action to take.”

  My heart seemed weighted with worries heavier than a ship’s anchor. “If Carly doesn’t reach the ship on her own today …” I shook my head slowly, unable to complete the thought.

  Around us, the spa was coming to life. A gong sounded in the distance. A tour group of what looked like pilgrims from Nepal slowly, gracefully, moved toward a large open-air pagoda on a grassy hillside. A thirty-something couple trotted by in designer workout togs, and a woman in her seventies moved serenely by as if walking to some inner music. Somewhere on the other side of the compound a macaw squawked. It was answered by a flurry of bird calls and flutters in the jacaranda trees overhead.

  “Maybe I should have a look at your suite. Did you leave it as you found it?”

  “I didn’t touch a thing.”

  We headed down a foliage-lined path to my pagoda. We’d taken only a few steps when Zoë came flying around a clump of low-growing palms. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her thin, sallow face paler than usual. She collapsed onto a nearby iron bench and stared at me. “Where’s Kate? Have you seen her?”

  “We were hoping she was with you. What’s going on?”

  Zoë was visibly trembling. “She was gone when I got back … and our room … it’s a mess. Have you seen it? Someone’s been in there … looking for something.”

  I exchanged a glance with Adam.

  “When you got back from where?” I asked Zoë.

  She swallowed hard and let her gaze drift somewhere over my shoulder. “I-I was going to meet somebody. Last night, in the middle of the night.”

  “Who?”

  “Price Alexander,” she whispered.

  “Price Alexander?” I was incredulous.

  She nodded sadly.

  “So you went on this walk,” Adam said, stepping closer, “and when you returned, Kate was gone. You haven’t been too concerned about what she does or doesn’t do before this. Why now?”

  She pushed up her glasses with her middle finger and nibbled on her lower lip. Not a pretty habit.

  The Browns and the Doyles jogged by at a slow clip, huffing labored breaths. “Greetings, y’all,” Ed wheezed with a wave. “Beautiful mornin’.”

  They were decked out in matching workout clothes—the Browns in violet, the Doyles in dark salmon, racing stripes in all the right places. I wasn’t sure that Ed and Don were too happy with the colorful hues, but their wives seemed delighted.

  “You going to yoga lessons later?” Barbara called out as they passed.

  “Not sure. I have to rearrange my sock drawer.”

  “Do y’all good.” Ed grinned at Zoë. “You especially, sugar. You need to put some roses in those cheeks.”

  When they were gone, I turned again to Zoë. “The last I knew, you two weren’t speaking. You and Kate, I mean.”

  “We talked last night after you went to bed. She said I shouldn’t be mad, that you were just trying to help, and that we needed to put aside our differences. Start over again.” She shrugged. “I still don’t like her, and I’m pretty sure I’m not on her list of favorite people. But she seemed really sorry for what they did yesterday.”

  I didn’t comment.

  “Kate said Price wanted to talk to me. To apologize for scaring me on the bridge. He was supposed to meet me at a place where we would have some privacy. She even told me which path to take. I did what she said, but Price wasn’t there. I looked around for a while, then finally came back here.”

  “Why would you believe her?” Adam said. “It was probably another practical joke.”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have. But she seemed so sincere. Plus, I’d overheard what she said to you about being sorry—I didn’t think she’d lie to you. So I believed her.” Her eyes teared. “She was asleep when I left the pagoda, but when I got back”—she shuddered—“it looked like she was in a hurry to get out of there … or maybe she’d caught someone breaking in. I can’t tell you why, but it scared me. Now I’m worried about her.”

  “Do you have any idea where Kate might have gone?” Adam seemed to dismiss the idea of foul play. “Did she mention anything, any clue at all, last night when you talked?”

  Zoë shook her head.

  I figured out where Adam was going with this. Before we went to the resort manager, we needed to make sure Kate hadn’t just slipped out to have a good time.

  Adam turned to me. “You and Zoë check to make sure she hasn’t returned to your suite,” he said. “I’ll wake the boys, see if they know anything.”

  We met at the reception area a few minutes later. Price trailed along after Adam, rubbing his eyes. Max looked dazed. “What’s the deal?” he mumbled with a yawn.

  Zoë glared at Price. “Why weren’t you there last night?”

  He rubbed his hair, mussing it even more. “Why wasn’t I where?” He yawned and scratched his ribs.

  “Kate said you wanted to talk to me.”

  “You’re crazy, woman,” he said, his eyes watering with another yawn. “I haven’t seen Kate since dinner last night. She didn’t say anything about you, and I certainly didn’t either. Why would I?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. If looks could kill, he would have been dead.

  The La Vida Pura manager was a fresh-faced, healthy-looking man in his forties who sported long, wavy hair tied into a rather thick and brushy ponytail. His eyes were luminous and his expression said he knew something about the world the rest of us could never comprehend. Slight of build and not terribly tall, he was almost a caricature of what I would expect a health-spa-and-resort manager to look like.

  He smiled as he walked toward the counter
to greet us, introducing himself as Brian Carrington. When he spoke, I guessed he was American, or perhaps Canadian. This job seemed like something an American would go for, though, so I put my money on that. And probably a Minnesotan seeking warmer climes.

  “How can I help you?” His tone was pleasant and hushed to the point of making me strain to hear him. And me with perfect hearing.

  “A young woman who was staying in our suite last night has disappeared.”

  He tilted his head, a calm expression still fixed in place. “Disappeared?”

  Zoë stepped to the counter and began to explain about her middle-of-the-night walk, the invitation that prompted it, and how she thought it was Price who wanted to meet her. She cast a hurt glance his direction. He looked confused with all the commotion this early in the morning.

  “I can and will, of course, alert security,” Mr. Carrington said. “Let me have the young woman’s description.”

  Zoë and Price provided the details, which the manager wrote down. Max looked bored. When Price had finished, he stepped back and gave me a bitter stare. He was still angry about the episode on the bridge. I hoped my return stare conveyed that he wasn’t my favorite person of the morning either. The trick played on Zoë last night had his fingerprints all over it.

  “I know it’s probably useless to tell you not to worry,” Carrington said. “But let us work on this, and you try to enjoy the rest of your day here. Very often these sorts of things resolve themselves.”

  I ground my teeth. If I heard one more such platitude, I thought I might scream. I stared at him, hard. The Look, my kids called it. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s useless to tell us not to worry. If she hasn’t turned up within the next two hours, I want the authorities called.”

  Still smiling, Carrington said, “I think that’s a bit premature, Ms., uh …”

  “MacIver,” I said without returning his smile. “I’m afraid I must insist, Mr. Carrington. I need a phone, cellular so I can take it to my room for privacy.”

  “We don’t allow guests to bring cell phones to La Vida Pura for obvious reasons,” he said. “But I do have one for emergencies.” He reached beneath the desk, pulled out a flip-top cell phone, keyed in a code, and handed it to me. “You will be billed for usage, long distance and local.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Way to go, Mrs. MacIver,” Max said when we’d exited the office. He held up his hand to give me a high-five, but I wasn’t in the mood.

  I left them standing by the fountain and beelined to my suite. I’d been put off one time too many, and considering the dangers these kids might be facing, I wasn’t about to be put off again. I needed a plan. And quick. I would start with a call to Tangi.

  When I reached the pagoda, I punched in her number. After eight rings, I got her voice mail. “Hi, Tangi. Your daughter is missing” wasn’t the sort of message one leaves on an answering machine. So I disconnected.

  Sitting down, I searched my multitude of pockets for Jean Baptiste’s business card. If ever there was a need for pulling strings with the local authorities, it was now. It didn’t matter that I had some nagging suspicions about him. Finding Carly was more important.

  I pulled out a small spiral notepad, two mechanical pencils, a click-down eraser, three BIC pens, my stateroom key, a high-intensity emergency light, nail clippers, four rolls of 35mm film, a canister of DEET (travel size), a tube of sunscreen, a small hairbrush, a pot of lip gloss, a tube of Vaseline, my Swiss army knife, an emergency police whistle, a battery-lighted magnifying glass, and a few other odds and ends.

  I couldn’t find the card.

  My brain had turned to fuzz from too little sleep. I patted the pockets, opening and closing the Velcro strips. Still no card.

  Where had I put it?

  I sank back into the chair and closed my eyes.

  The sun was long past rising, and my stomach was definitely complaining about a lack of food. I was fighting fatigue and a brain-splitting headache, and I was worrying myself sick over this brood of kids. Just when I thought my kid-worrying days were over.

  And now I’d misplaced the number that would connect me to the one lifeline I thought I had in this maze of dead ends.

  I sighed. “Lord, it’s me again. I’ve muddled it up. My brain’s gone into reverse mode, and I need some help here.” I started to mention the card and how much I needed that phone number, then I halted in midthought.

  Praying to find a business card felt a little peculiar, like I was one of those people I’d heard about who pray for a parking space nearest the entrance to the mall. I was vaguely ashamed and started over.

  “Lord, it’s Harriet again. What I really need here is your strength, your peace. You know how I take everybody else’s burdens on my shoulders? Did it with Hollis. Did it with each of the kids, even after they were out of the nest. I don’t think they knew I was praying so hard for them that my knees got calluses.

  “I know I’m supposed to lay my burdens down at the foot of the cross, but you know how hard that is for me to do. I know I don’t need to bear them alone, but I just can’t seem to help myself.” I sighed. “I guess you already know that, though, don’t you?”

  I stood, walked over to the glass door, and looked out at the lush landscape, gleaming jewel-like in the morning sun. A coffee plantation created a darker green hue on the distant hills, fading into a pale tropical sky. I thought about God’s mercy, his love. The problem I had, as always, was taking other people’s problems on myself, then resenting it because of the burden it represented.

  Some people were called to serve God in safe places—at least to me they seemed safe. But recently I was feeling kicked out of my comfortable little nest into a dangerous new world. I wasn’t sure I liked it.

  “I thought I was done with all this heartache over others, Father,” I whispered. “All this pounding the doors of heaven.” I sighed heavily. “But I guess the calluses on my knees are going to be permanent.”

  I started refilling my vest pockets with the items I’d set on the coffee table. I thought about the parking-lot miracles I’d heard about through the years and held my breath, hoping for a tiny miracle of my own. But no business card appeared amid the clutter.

  A knock sounded at the door. I rose to answer it.

  Adam stood there, leaning against the doorjamb, ankles crossed, and looking a little uncomfortable. He held two dark, fruity muffins on a paper plate. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” I stepped back.

  “How about if I have that look around?”

  I gestured toward the chaos. “Be my guest.”

  He placed the muffins on the coffee table between the canister of DEET and the Vaseline. “I’ll start with the girls’ bedroom.”

  I followed him through the doorway.

  He crossed the room and, frowning, picked up a folded piece of paper from Kate’s pillow. “Have you seen this?” He unfolded it and held it to the light.

  I walked over to the bed and read the handwritten note over his shoulder:

  To whom it may concern,

  Please don’t worry about me. I need to get away for a few days.

  This wild place is calling me to adventure, something I’ve always dreamed of. I will rejoin the cruise farther south, maybe take a ride on the Canal de Tortuguero and catch the ship before the cruise is over. Tell my parents not to worry about me.

  Kate Rivers

  I found Jean Baptiste’s business card beside the coffee maker. I had no inkling of when I had put it there. My aunt Tildie once mistook a bottle of vanilla extract for a bottle of aspirin and poured it into her hand.

  I sighed. Jean’s card today, a handful of vanilla tomorrow.

  “Jean?” I said into the cell phone.

  “Yes, this is Dr. Jean Baptiste.”

  “Jean, this is Harriet MacIver. We met on the ship?”

  His voice turned from clinically cool to warm. “Harriet! Of course.”

  I was alone in
the suite. Adam had left to shower and change, but he planned to be back in a half hour to accompany me to the local police station in Playa Negra. I appreciated his willingness to help, but I couldn’t rid my mind of the chilling look he’d given me right after we read the note. It was as if he knew something dark and desperate that he wasn’t willing to tell me.

  “You said to call if I needed you.” I crossed my fingers, hoping he was still in Playa Negra. It had been less than twelve hours since I’d seen him emerge from Nolan’s limo.

  “Yes, yes, Harriet. And I meant it. Have you heard anything about the girl … Carly Lowe?”

  “Another of the students disappeared last night. You probably remember her. Kate Rivers.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  “Are you there?”

  “Yes, yes, I am. I’m just stunned to hear it. Are you certain she’s gone? I mean, could it be a coincidence?”

  “She left a note telling us not to worry, but I can’t help thinking there’s more to it than that.” I related Zoë’s account of events, then added my own thoughts about the rooms being searched.

  “I wish I’d known before I left Playa Negra. I had business there until quite late last night and flew out at dawn.”

  I instantly felt guilty. If only I’d thought of calling him earlier. “I’m so sorry—” I began.

  But he cut me off. “Not a problem. This is important. The weather’s clear. I can be there in an hour.”

  “I hate to pull you away from your work.”

  “Don’t say another word. I’ll get there as quickly as I can. Plan to come into town with me; bring photos of the girls if you can get them. We have to move fast.”

  Relief flooded through me. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “Can you meet me at the airport?”

  I hesitated as old fears whirled up from the pit of my stomach. Airports, especially those housing private planes, were the settings for my worst nightmares. Finally, I said, “Of course.”