“You could have a point. As for right before the show, anyone wanting an advance look would have had to get past security. The exhibit was roped off.”
“How many guards were on duty that night?”
“You’d have to ask Cliff Peters. I can tell you this—Thurston went apoplectic after the disaster when he discovered the middle panel was missing. I think he intended to bid on the set for himself.”
“But how did he learn the triptych was incomplete, unless he saw the two end panels with a gap in between? Would he just go by Eric’s claim that the center one was gone?”
“A number of people pushed their way into the exhibit hall during the commotion following Alden’s accident. Eric appeared just as surprised as anyone by the missing piece. He’d set up the display beforehand.”
“Someone must have been awfully quick to swoop in there and steal the center panel.”
“True.” Helen pressed a hand to her forehead. “I’ve got a headache, so I’m afraid we’ll have to finish our discussion.”
“One more question.” Marla leaned forward. “How could the triptych have ended up here?”
Helen’s troubled gaze met hers. “After Alden died, his works of art went back into his estate. His executor donated some of them back to the museum, but the rest would have been sold. Anyone could have bought the two end pieces, perhaps the same person who’d swiped the middle panel.”
“Through an intermediary, I imagine.” Collecting her purse, Marla stood. Dalton must be bored stiff waiting for her outside. “Thanks for talking to me,” she told Helen. “Can I bring you anything from your cabin?”
“No, but you can do one more thing that’ll help give me some peace of mind. Speak to the countess. She may know what happened to Martha.”
CHAPTER 10
Who’s the countess? Marla demanded, anxious to leave the infirmary and explore St. Maarten.
“Surely you’ve seen her at the blackjack tables. She makes it a point to sit next to Sandy.”
“I didn’t know Bob’s wife likes to gamble.”
“Holy macaroni, haven’t you seen her at the bingo games?” Helen said. “That’s a favorite pastime of hers at home, along with gardening and volunteering at the horticultural station.”
“So who’s the countess,” Marla repeated, “and why is she so friendly to Sandy?” And where does Sandy get the money to throw out at games of chance when Bob keeps whining about how he’s the underdog at work?
“She’s an older woman, quite possibly in her seventies, with fluffy blond hair. With her makeup and fancy chiffon outfits, she reminds me of a film star from the nineteen forties. You must have spotted her around the ship.”
Marla gave her a thoughtful glance. “I’ve only passed through the casino on my way to somewhere else, so I haven’t noticed her. I’ll keep a closer watch. Why do you think she would know about Martha?”
Helen narrowed her eyes. “She’s been keeping an eye on us, and I swear she and Sandy must be hatching something together. I’ve tried to insinuate myself into her graces, but I don’t seem to count where she’s concerned. I’m thinking maybe it’s really something of Bob’s that she wants.”
“How did you hear about her title? Where is she from?”
“I overheard a crew member addressing her. She speaks with an accent but I couldn’t find out anything else.”
Marla patted her arm, careful not to touch the IV tubing. “I’ll see what I can learn. You get some rest now.”
She scurried into the waiting room, where Vail sat frowning over a paper in his lap, a pen poised in his hand. Her heart warmed at the sight of him. A lock of hair, ebony streaked with silver, tumbled across his forehead. His chest, broad and solid, stretched his knit shirt taut, while hip-hugging jeans enfolded his muscular legs. A coil of heat wrapped in love assaulted her. What other man would wait so patiently while she visited a sick friend?
“I’m ready,” she announced, retrieving the beach bag she’d left in his care.
“I’ve got one more question,” he said, pointing to the daily trivia sheet available each day from the ship’s library. “What did ancient Egyptians do when their family cat died?” Rising, he rolled his shoulders before showing her the answer choices.
“I don’t know. Fasted for seven days or burned their clothes?”
“Nope, they shaved their eyebrows,” Vail said, reading the correct response on the back.
“Good for them. Let’s go.”
He held the door open for her. “How’s Helen feeling?”
“She’s dizzy, but that’ll pass. The worst thing is she broke her wrist.” She paused, facing him. “Helen thinks someone pushed her down the stairs.”
“No kidding. Who?”
“She didn’t notice.”
He gave her a skeptical glance. “Then it could have been anyone, even another passenger in a hurry. As long as she’ll be all right, I wouldn’t worry about it. Worry instead about catching our tour group.”
They emerged onto the pier and stood staring at the green-covered mountain peaks while the wind whipped their hair. Marla grappled in her purse for a couple of bobby pins and stuck them on either side of her part. She’d been growing out her bangs, and hair kept falling into her eyes. It would be easier to manage when her layers were longer.
Another cruise ship had already pulled into port ahead of them, one of the Carnival line. Ashore, she observed houses nestled amid the slopes beyond a sandy beach. The water, a dark teal, lightened to aqua with the rising morning sun. Their tour group was supposed to meet in front of the Philipsburg courthouse, and passengers had been advised to take the water taxi into town. Walking to the booth, they met up with Kate, John, and Brianna.
“Where have you guys been? We were getting ready to leave without you.” The teen’s tone held more worry than anger.
Marla gave her ponytail an affectionate yank. “Sorry, I stopped by the infirmary to visit Helen.”
“How is the poor woman?” Kate Said, While John distributed their transportation tickets. His face held a resigned look as though this excursion hadn’t been his idea. At least he was being a good sport to come along.
Marla climbed onto the open-air boat rocking on the water. “Helen will be fine.” She raised her voice to be heard over the engine and the island music blaring from a loudspeaker. The vessel vibrated as they got under way. A stiff breeze cooled her neck as they sped along the water toward the center of town.
“Do you have a swimsuit?” she asked Brianna, sitting beside her on the long bench.
“Under my clothes,” the girl replied, gesturing to her shorts and tank top. “Man, look at all those shops. I hope we’ll have enough time to browse after the tour.”
“You’re the one who wanted to go to the beach, muffin,” Vail reminded her.
“Yeah, but Grandpa said we should go to the French side first. That’s why we picked this tour.”
Marla gave the older man a sharp glance. This excursion had been his idea? Why visit Marigot on the French half of the island? St. Maarten and St. Martin, the Dutch and French sides, had been coexisting for nearly 350 years. But they would have had enough to do if they’d just stuck to Philipsburg. Did John have an ulterior purpose, other than simple curiosity, for wanting to visit the French side?
The town sucked her in with its warren of narrow streets crowded with shops, tourists, and noisy vehicles. The buildings seemed to absorb heat from the pavement, causing her body to film with sweat. Running into a Burger King to use the bathroom, she took short, shallow breaths in the furnace-like air.
Outside, she crossed Front Street to meet her group by the courthouse. Scanning the heads, she saw no one from the museum crowd. Betsy had gone to swing among the treetops on the rain forest adventure tour, while the Wolfsons had signed up for the butterfly farm and nature parks. Heidi had mentioned something about the shipwreck snorkeling tour, but she doubted Thurston would go along. Maybe Cliff had accompanied her, although Marla thought
he’d mentioned mountain biking.
Hoping her party had made the right choice for fifty-four dollars per person, she filed after the others onto the air-conditioned bus that would take them through the hills. It looked cloudy over the mountain range, but she hadn’t bothered to bring an umbrella. She also wore a swimsuit under her clothing, so it wouldn’t matter if she got wet. Sitting in the window seat beside Vail, she twisted forward to regard Kate across the aisle.
“You’ve been in the casino, right? Have you met a blond woman known as the countess?”
Kate’s expression brightened. “Oh yes, dear. Charming lady. She doesn’t speak English that well, but she takes such an interest in the people around her.”
“Is that so?”
“She sat next to me at the slots one night, and we struck up a conversation. She asked me all sorts of questions. I gather she cruises a lot and likes to meet people. Veronique told me how her husband died, and she manages their properties now. They didn’t have any children.” Kate beamed at Brianna, who stared out the window in the adjacent seat. “Poor lady. She has no idea what she’s missing.” Her glance swung to Marla and her son. “Are you two, uh, planning to add to your family?”
Marla coughed. “We, um…listen, the tour guide is talking. Did she just say the island has thirty-five beaches? And that’s a salt pond over there. The salt turns light pink when it matures and is ready for reaping.”
Vail squeezed her hand, his eyes crinkling. “Give it a rest, Mom. We’re not at that stage yet.”
Gulp. I hope we ‘re never at that stage, thank you. Taking care of one teenager is enough for me.
Turning her head, Marla gazed out the window while pondering the identity of the mysterious countess. Why would she have befriended Sandy and then Kate? Could she be pumping them for information, or had Helen guessed correctly that she was in cahoots with Sandy? And if so, for what reason?
The bus sped past structures painted turquoise, lemon, coral, and suntan. Dogs ran loose in streets dotted with palms and banana plants. Many of the tin-roofed houses had wall air-conditioner units protruding from them, while others just had open windows for natural ventilation. Goats and ducks roamed the weed-filled yards, and overhead, utility lines flanked the roadside.
As the lovely nutmeg-skinned tour guide—whose name was Michelle—rambled on, their vehicle climbed a winding hillside, exposing a panoramic view of the ships in harbor and the glistening sea beyond. A more affluent neighborhood came into sight, where red flowering trees, Spanish barrel-tile roofs, and modern architecture prevailed. Then they drove farther up, the engine straining, as a cliff dropped off on the right side with only a guardrail for protection. Cactus grew wild along the road, competing for space with ferns, vines, and yellow wildflowers visited by delicate white butterflies.
“All of our produce on the island is imported,” Michelle spoke into her microphone. “The Dutch side still uses guilders, while on the French side, euros are standard.”
“This tour should have started an hour earlier,” someone in the backseat grumbled. “Look at this traffic! We didn’t need to come here to get stuck on the road.”
“Why do we have to go to a beach?” another lady groused to her husband. “We live in Florida.”
Marla almost agreed with her as the bus crawled along the two-lane road. Eventually, they reached the summit of Cole Bay Hill and began their descent toward Simpson Bay Lagoon. As they approached Marigot, she noted street signs in French, two-story homes decorated with religious ornaments and carved balcony railings, and a distinct absence of traffic lights.
Once they reached their destination, passengers spilled from the bus like ants from an anthill. Forgoing the native craft market for lunch, Marla and company found an outdoor cafe and plopped down at a round table. An orange umbrella shaded them from the strong midday sun, occasionally mitigated by a passing cloud. A waiter, whose pale face and long curved nose reminded her of an ibis, tossed over menus. No, make that a rooster. His hair was so moussed, it stood straight up.
She slapped a hand onto her paper place mat before it blew away. Flags flapped outside storefronts and palm fronds rustled in the tropical breeze stirred by the sea.
Glad she’d fastened her hair back with a couple of bobby pins, Marla perused the menu choices and decided on an avocado and shrimp salad.
“It looks as if we’re going to have a long wait,” John complained, glancing at his watch and then down the street. He tapped his fingers impatiently. “Those other people haven’t even been served their drinks yet, and they got here first. I think there’s only one waiter, and he seems overwhelmed by the crowd.”
“Relax,” Kate told him. “We’ll still have enough time to look around.”
“Oh, here you’re willing to explore, but at home you don’t want to go anywhere.” His gaze dropped to his wrist, making Marla wonder why he’d insisted they take this particular tour.
“At home, I have plenty to do. I can’t just take off without a lot of advance planning,” Kate retorted.
Marla blinked. This sounded like an old argument. She cast a sly glance at Vail. He sat stoically, his lips compressed.
“Grandma, what should I get to eat?” Brianna cut in. “They don’t have anything normal.”
“Normal being a hamburger, I suppose?” Vail said, the corners of his mouth curling up.
Kate turned her attention to the teenager. “How about the lobster lasagna with bisque sauce? Or the grilled red snapper?”
“Yuck. Maybe I’ll stick with the garden salad.”
“Excuse me,” John said, scraping his chair back as he hopped to his feet. “I’m going to look in that store with the hot sauces. Order me the salmon with coconut milk and ginger.”
“Hey, if you’re going shopping, can’t I come with you?” Brianna inserted. “We could check out the West Indies mall over there.”
Marla followed her gaze past the Restaurant Largo Cafe to the large building housing an indoor shopping center. “Wait until we finish our meal, hon. Then I’ll go with you.” Her attention switched to John’s retreating form. He had a long, lean torso like Vail.
The waiter arrived to take their orders, after which Marla excused herself to use the bathroom.
“You shouldn’t drink so much coffee when you know we’re going ashore,” Vail chided her.
“Tell me about it. I’ll just be a minute.”
Grasping her purse, she stepped inside the cafe, crowded with tables, and made her way to the rear, where a door was labeled W.C. Isn’t that a British term for water closet? The restroom turned out to be a one-person affair, and she had to wait. Thankfully, she’d brought her bottle of hand sanitizer, because she needed it when she was through.
Stepping outdoors, she noticed her iced tea had arrived but not her meal. Nor had John returned. Glancing up the street, she squinted at the sight of him scurrying into another shop. She’d better tell him their drinks had come.
Passing by storefronts with tempting displays, Marla wished she had time to browse the jewelry in Oro de Sol, cameras in Maneks, and Swarovski crystal in Little Switzerland. John had gone into a gift shop featuring fine arts and crafts.
Peering in the window, she noted he wasn’t alone. Irene Smernoff looped her arm through his and smiled brightly at a clerk in a dress shirt and tie. John was talking earnestly, gesturing at something on the countertop.
Marla hesitated, curious to hear what they were discussing but not wanting to be accused of following her future father-in-law. Leaning in a nook by the open doorway, she nodded at a passing couple.
“It’s well worth the price, and we can promise you more where that comes from,” Irene trilled. Leaning forward, she gave the shopkeeper a view down her cleavage in a designer sundress that could have graced a garden party. “You won’t find anything else like this, I guarantee it.”
Bless my bones, are they selling something to this guy?
A street-washing machine rumbled past, spraying water onto
the sidewalk. Marla leaped back, tripping on an uneven piece of pavement and tumbling onto her backside right at the store’s entrance. Several pairs of eyes darted in her direction.
“Oh, hi…um, I was just coming to get you, Dad.” Gritting her teeth to a jarring pain in her hip, she struggled to right herself. The contents of her handbag had spilled out, and she found herself in the humiliating position of crawling on her hands and knees to retrieve her wallet, comb, styling brush, breath mints, Tampons, and other personal items while Irene snorted with laughter. Her stiff facial muscles must prohibit a real belly laugh, Marla thought. How unfortunate for her.
John belatedly came to her assistance. “Here, let me help you.” Rescuing her emergency penlight, he handed it over before hauling her to her feet. Behind his eyeglasses, his gaze darted toward the museum director’s wife.
Irene stood in front of the counter, blocking Marla’s view of the items on top. “You can go,” she told him. “I’ll finish up here.”
“Sure, fine. Thanks a bunch,” John stammered. He charged out of the store with Marla at his heels.
“What was that all about?” she demanded, brushing dirt off her shorts as she rushed in his wake.
“Nothing important. Something in the store caught my eye, and Irene figured she could get me a good price for it.”
What, you think I’m some kind of schmuck? Tell me another story. “And just how did Irene happen to be here? She didn’t come on our tour.”
“She took a taxi from the Dutch side. Cost her a whole lot less than we paid.”
“Where’s her husband?”
“Oliver is across the street, checking out the native market behind the Coconut Juice House. They’re taking the catamaran yacht tour from the marina.”
“They could have joined us for lunch.” She waved to Vail, who’d been anxiously scanning the street. He stood as he saw them coming.
“They get lunch on board along with complimentary rum punches.” John gave her a grin reminiscent of a snake that had just swallowed a rat. “In case you haven’t noticed, Irene can’t pass up the opportunity to get a free drink.”
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