Marla awoke as suddenly as she’d conked out. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she found herself lying flat on her back staring up at a flaky ceiling. Blinking, she tried to clear her muddled mind to determine what had happened. Her forehead throbbed, making clarity of thought difficult. Tempted to close her eyes, she forced herself to remain awake.
Get out of here, flashed a familiar refrain. Oh yeah, she’d been in a hurry, for some reason.
Groaning, she flexed her arms and legs. Her elbow and knee joints moved and nothing hurt. That’s good. Now figure out where you are, pal. Physically, she appeared to be intact except for the sluggishness that felt similar to caffeine withdrawal.
Groping with her fingers, she explored the hard surface she lay on. Not a bed, so she wasn’t in a hospital. Had she been in an accident and taken in by a bystander?
She swung her gaze around the four blank walls surrounding her, noting the little vented window high up and the solid white door. Puzzlement wrinkled her brow, intensifying her headache. Not a very welcoming room. Maybe she’d notice more if she sat up.
Struggling upright, she folded her legs Indian style for support and rubbed her hands over her face. Oh gosh, what happened? She couldn’t remember…Wait, she’d been in the shop. Vanilla…guavaberry liqueur. She’d tasted some and then passed out.
Lord save me, did I miss the sailing?
She couldn’t be on board the Tropical Sun. From the window, she glimpsed an electric wire strung outside. That meant she was still on St. Maarten. Could this room be at the rear of Madame Nadine’s emporium? Possibly the bartender had returned to the storefront and seen that Marla had taken ill. Madame Nadine could have brought her back here until she recovered enough to fend for herself.
Focusing her bleary vision on her watch, she widened her eyes. It wasn’t too late! All passengers were supposed to be aboard in fifteen minutes, but the ship wouldn’t leave port for another half hour. She couldn’t reach the pier by water taxi in time, but by a land route, yes. If she could rouse herself to leave and find a driver.
Moistening her lips, she craved a drink of water to erase the cottony dryness in her mouth. Her stomach felt queasy, and an edge of lethargy still sapped her energy.
Maybe it was the heat. Without air-conditioning, the room acted like an oven, making her suck in short, shallow breaths. How long could she last before succumbing to heatstroke? And if this was Madame Nadine’s place, why didn’t the woman come and check on her?
Sweat dripping down her chest, she pulled herself to her feet. Standing motionless, she waited until her body stopped shaking before staggering toward the exit. She tried to turn the doorknob. Hope dispelled when it wouldn’t turn.
Rattling it with more force, she gave up after the door refused to budge. Futility resulted when she banged her shoulder against the wood. Was it stuck from being warped or locked on the other side?
Maybe Madame Nadine had dumped her in here, and the door had jammed on the way out. Or she had left her in here on purpose. The countess could have put her up to it to avoid contact. If that was the case, surely the countess was long gone by now. Pounding on the wood, Marla shouted for help.
“Madame Nadine, are you there? Let me out!”
Voices came into earshot. Male voices chattering in a language she couldn’t understand.
Suddenly afraid, she slumped to a sitting position, her pulse racing. What if she wasn’t at the back of Madame Nadine’s emporium?
The men stopped outside her room. Someone tested the doorknob, which held fast. Snickering, one man uttered a remark in a foreign language that caused the other guy to laugh. Fear pelted her like needles of ice. She recognized his gruff tone. He was the same man she’d met in the shop.
Holding her breath, she waited until the pair moved away, their voices rising in argument. Finally, they retreated far enough for silence to reign.
She exhaled in relief. Tuning her ears, she listened for street sounds but didn’t hear any car engines, vendors hawking their wares, or motorcycles. For all she knew, she could be somewhere inland, far from the ocean.
A chill crawled up her spine like skeletal fingers playing upon her vertebrae. Is this what had happened to Martha Shore? Someone slipped her a Mickey and locked her up in San Juan? And was the intent to kill or merely to keep her from getting back to the ship?
Not that it mattered. If she stayed in this place much longer, she’d die from the heat. Perspiration poured off her face, and she hyperventilated. Her mouth hung open, and her limbs felt weighted down with flaccid immobility.
Think, Marla. Dalton needs you. So does Brianna. You have to get out of here.
Shaking her head, she felt some of the mental cobwebs dissolve. Whatever she had drunk must have been quick acting. Did Madame Nadine slip it into her cup in cahoots with the man, or did he do it when she was distracted? Remembering how she’d had the sensation of being watched on the street, she realized he could have been following her. Madame Nadine may have had nothing to do with her predicament.
But then who was he, and why had he accosted her?
Not wanting to be around when he returned, she rose and shuffled to the door. This was her only way out, and if it wasn’t bolted on the other side, she had a chance.
Wondering if the door itself could be removed, she examined the hinges. Although rusted, she didn’t think they’d give easily. Picking the lock was her only resort, but what to use?
Her gaze fell upon her handbag. Thank goodness she still possessed it. The person who’d dumped her in here probably wanted to erase any evidence of her presence. Or else he hadn’t noticed how she’d had it cross strapped over her shoulder.
Unfortunately, she’d removed her nail file and Swiss Army knife to pass through the ship’s security clearance. What else did she have that could be useful? Snatching her handbag, she dumped its contents on the floor.
Pouncing on a cellophane-wrapped mint, she tore at it like an animal. She’d never thought of a restaurant mint as a trophy, but this was a prize like none other. Popping the candy into her mouth, she relished it as a child would a stick of sugarcane. The sugar taste brought saliva into her mouth and gave her a boost of energy.
Now to get out of here. She scraped through the contents of her handbag—wallet, sunglasses, lipstick, comb, powder compact, mini hairspray, hand sanitizer, Tampons, pens, and business card case—but found nothing she could use as a lock pick. Stuffing everything back inside the handbag, she flipped a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her fingers touched metal.
Bobby pins.
Sckmuck, you should have thought of this trick before. Grabbing a pin, she straightened it and bounded to the keyhole. A little maneuvering might work on this old door. Grateful to Vail for his lesson in lock picking, she stuck the pin inside and jiggered it. Nothing happened.
Come on, you stupid lock. Sweat dripped down her face as she continued her efforts, the pin becoming slippery between her fingers.
She tilted the angle, feeling for a latch. A clicking sound told her she’d hit her mark. Another twist of the doorknob, and the lock released. Thank God.
Cracking the door open a notch, she peered around its edge. Another room faced hers across a short hallway. It appeared much like this one, unfurnished and deserted. At the end of the corridor was an opening to a weed-filled yard.
Hoping the men weren’t outside, she crept to the passage. Oh, shit. Her heart sank when she saw them chatting by a cluster of banana plants, dragging on their cigarettes. Forget that idea.
One route eliminated, she turned back and padded down the hallway, careful not to make a sound. Thankfully, the rest of the small house appeared deserted. She cracked open the front door, then ventured outside, her wobbly legs carrying her as far as a rickety white fence before she heard a shout from behind.
Adrenaline boosted her energy. Flapping open the fence gate, she dashed across the street and wove through several backyards in a residential neighborhood.
> Assuming she could elude her pursuers and catch a ride, it should be a shorter hop to the port from here than downtown Philipsburg, with its congested traffic.
Spying an old Chrysler rumbling down a side street, she clutched her handbag and charged after it, waving her hands. “Help, please. I need a ride.”
The driver stopped and peered at her through an open window. “What you doin’ here, sister? You get lost?”
Grateful he spoke English, she observed his missing front tooth, age lines, and steel-wool hair. “Yes, that’s right,” she said in a breathless rush. “Please, I need your help. I’ll pay anything if you’ll take me to the port. I’m on one of the cruise ships, and it’s going to leave without me unless I’m there within the next ten minutes.”
Realizing she must look a mess with her limp hair, sweat-stained shirt, and cracked lips, Marla gazed at him imploringly until she heard a triumphant cry from off to her right. A quick glance told her the two men were on her tail. Without waiting for a reply, she threw open the passenger door and hopped inside the vehicle.
The islander grinned. “All right, missy, you got a deal. An old guy like me can always use some American dollars.”
“Thanks so much.” She leaned back against the cushion as he pressed the accelerator. The car lurched ahead with a belch.
“Oh, don’t thank me yet. My gas tank is down low. If we don’t stop for fuel, this trip will be over before it starts.”
CHAPTER 12
Don’t ever leave my sight again,” Dalton snapped, pacing their cabin. “You’re lucky the captain waited to leave port.
Marla opened her eyes. She lay flat on her back in bed with a cool washcloth on her forehead. They hadn’t made it to dinner and had ordered room service instead. Already she felt better after a hot shower, light salad, and coffee.
“1 have you to thank for the delay,” she said.
After searching for her throughout the ship, Dalton had urged the security officers at the gangplank to hold their departure. His pleas had been answered when her savior’s car had screeched to a halt by the gate. She’d rocketed down the pier, up the ramp, and into his waiting arms.
“I’ve never been more worried in my life. You’ll be the death of me yet. Didn’t I warn you not to go anywhere alone?”
She winced at his hoarse tone. “I’m sorry. One minute I was with Betsy, and the next minute, she’d gone. I saw the countess and hurried after her.”
His smoldering look could have started a fire. “Is that woman responsible for what happened to you?”
“Which one, Madame Nadine or Countess Delacroix?” Marla swallowed, her throat dry from the memory. “I don’t know if either one of them had a hand in my situation. The man who entered the shop was definitely involved. I recognized him in the house where I ended up. When I was distracted, he could have put something in my drink.”
Vail plowed stiff fingers through his peppery hair, which seemed to have sprouted more silvery roots since their embarkation. “I thought you said the bartender pushed those liquor samples on you.”
Folding her hands under her head, Marla gazed at the ceiling. “Madame Nadine admitted she did business with the countess. It appears Countess Delacroix’s family owns vanilla plantations, and Nadine sells vanilla extract in her shop. They could be conspiring together, but for what purpose?”
“You tell me. And why knock you out of the picture?”
She gave him a steady glance. “Remember, I spoke to Helen at the infirmary. I’d assume that whoever injured her doesn’t want her to talk about what she knows. Such as, the countess has been kibbitzing with Sandy Wolfson in the casino.”
“So? If they’ve been seen together, their association is hardly a secret. There’s something else at stake.” His mouth tightened. “I’ll locate that so-called aristocrat and interrogate her. No one will hurt you again.” After snatching his wallet from the desktop, he stuffed it in his pocket.
“Shouldn’t we ask the security team to report my attack to island police?” Marla asked.
“Go ahead, for all the good it will do.”
“I’ll come with you then, and we can stop off at Guest Relations.” Tossing the washcloth onto the nightstand, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. When no ensuing dizziness resulted, she stood up. “What did you tell Brie and your parents?”
“That you were too tired from shopping. They’ll save seats for us at the second show, unless you don’t feel up to it?”
“I’m fine, and we should ask your dad about his relationship with Irene.” Collecting the fliers for that evening’s gift shop specials, she stuffed them into her Coach handbag. Dress code for tonight was casual, so she’d donned a pair of black slacks and an embroidered coral top. She reached for her lip gloss, then smeared it across her mouth.
“What are you talking about?”
“I saw them together in Marigot. They were in a fine-arts store negotiating with the proprietor. Your father gave us an excuse at the lunch table so he could run off to meet her.”
“That’s preposterous.”
She spun to face him. “What’s even more interesting is that Betsy spotted a painting in another shop window. She claimed it was an exact replica of one by Alden Tusk in their museum. Thurston was passing by. He took one look and his face paled.”
“And this is your concern, why?”
“Your dad is acting weird, Martha Shore is missing, Helen got pushed down the stairs, and now someone’s trying to put me out of action. Isn’t that enough? As for why I’m a target, we’ve already discussed that. Don’t you want to find out what’s going on, especially if your dad is involved?”
Vail’s expression hardened. “I’ll admit things aren’t as rosy between him and Mom as I’d expected, but I can’t believe he’s mixed in with this museum crowd.”
“If you want to interview somebody, then find out how he knows Irene and why they’re conniving together.” Unfolding the Tropical Tattler, she checked the list of evening activities. “Other than a digital camera demo and a cigar club meeting, there isn’t much going on until after the show. Let’s look in the casino for the countess, and if she isn’t there, we’ll hunt for Brie. We should spend more time with your daughter.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
On the way to the casino, Marla stopped at Guest Relations to talk to a security officer. He wrote down her description of the house where she’d been locked up but said not to expect much in the way of a response from island authorities. The young man seemed more concerned about the cruise line’s reputation if she let the media know she’d been mugged.
Satisfied that she had filed a report, she entered the casino. Vail wandered off to check the blackjack tables for the countess, while Marla patrolled the slot machine aisles looking for Kate. She found her future mother-in-law propped on a stool diligently dropping coins into a machine with flashing lights.
“Hi, Mom,” Marla said, tapping her on the shoulder. “Sorry we missed seeing you in the dining room. I got back too late from shore.”
Kate half rose to give her an affectionate hug. “Dalton was worried about you.”
“I know. I got carried away and forgot to look at my watch. It won’t happen again. Where’s Brie?”
“She’s waiting with John to get into the theater. They’ll save our seats for the late show.” Kate dipped her hand into a huge plastic cup filled with quarters and resumed her play.
“I hope Brie had a good time on the tour. We didn’t expect to be stuck in so much traffic, and the beach could have been nicer. We’ll have to let her choose the next excursion.”
“That’s thoughtful of you.” Kate smiled, her eyes crinkling like worn dollar bills. “You’ll make a fine mother.”
Marla’s cheeks warmed. “I hope so. It’s a new experience for me.”
“I don’t have any doubts,” Kate said. “Remember how I told you John and I are considering buying a condo in Florida? We could rent a place in the meantime to help you
arrange wedding details.”
At least Kate didn’t suggest they stay at Marla’s house, unlike Vail’s former in-laws. Her considerate attitude made Marla feel even more kindly toward her.
“I’ll have enough to do moving my salon,” she confessed, “so I might take you up on your offer.” Although I’m not sure how my mother would react. I haven’t exactly talked to Ma about wedding plans yet. “We don’t know when our house will be ready, but it shouldn’t be long afterward. For Brie’s sake, we want to be married before combining households.”
“I’ll talk to John. He’s been consulting a real estate agent, but not about rentals. Prices are sky-high on property in South Florida. It’s hard to find anything affordable.”
“Tell me about it.” If it weren’t for the substantial portfolio she’d inherited from Aunt Polly, Marla wouldn’t have been able to contribute toward the new home’s down payment. As Marla thought over Kate’s words, a lightbulb popped in her brain. “Irene told me she’s a real estate agent. Maybe John has been asking her for advice. I’ve seen them together a few times.”
“Really?” Kate’s eyes rounded in surprise. “I’ll ask him, but my bet is they’re discussing his stained glass hobby. John thinks he’s good enough to enter juried art shows. I imagine he’s trying to convince Irene to sponsor him.”
Could that be the real reason why John kept crowding Irene? He was serious enough to want to exhibit his work? That would explain his desire to travel, if he hoped to participate in art festivals around the country. It could also explain the tension between her prospective in-laws. Perhaps John felt Kate didn’t appreciate his talent and his compulsion to succeed. And maybe Kate feared his new ambition would drive him away from her, not to mention wreak havoc on her established routine.
Opening her mouth to pose a question, Marla noticed Vail’s frantic arm signal from around the corner. “I’ve got to go,” she told Kate. “We’ll talk more about this later.”
She’d just rounded the end of the aisle when she spotted Countess Delacroix rising from a seat beside Sandy Wolfson at the next row over. Behind the Frenchwoman hovered a mustached gentleman dressed in a white dinner suit. He had slicked-back hair and a deep tan. Waiting until the couple strode a sufficient distance from Mrs. Wolfson, she hastened to their side. From her closer vantage point, the countess seemed shorter than she’d first appeared, a full head below Marla’s five feet, six inches.
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