“Isn’t this where the alexandrite stones are?” Vail asked.
Marla studied her port map. “No, that’s Goodmark Gallery at the opposite end. What do I need to see them for?”
He shrugged. “I just thought you might like to learn what they’re worth.”
“Why? I know the gems that I found at Sugar Crest Resort were valuable, but my brother needed them more than me. I can do without seeing them change from red to green in different kinds of light. These are probably from Brazil anyway, not the rare Russian stones.”
“How about this place? You haven’t bought anything yet.” He pointed to D. Montero’s Silver Shop, its front door open to the air, like all the other places.
“Let’s keep going. I want to find a store that sells vanilla. According to what I looked up on the Internet, if it’s really pure extract, the label should say it contains thirty-five percent alcohol. Otherwise it could be the synthetic variety with potentially harmful ingredients.”
After yielding to temptation and visiting Mi Casa for Mexican crafts, Viva Mexico for tequila souvenirs, and Pama Duty Free for brand-name cosmetics and perfume, Marla headed for the Silver Emporium and Diamonds International. She spent more than her budget on a tanzanite necklace, white gold earrings, and silver bracelets for her salon staff. Then she dodged into a huge emporium selling everything from hot sauces, coffee, and vanilla to papier-mâché, pottery, and pewter.
Bewildered by so many choices, she sauntered toward the food section to examine a brown bottle labeled Natural Vanilla. Contents listed were vanilla beans extracted in water, alcohol, and corn syrup. It also said, THIS PRODUCT DOES NOT CONTAIN COUMARIN.
“So is it real or not?” Vail asked, examining a selection of tequila. He seemed fascinated by the worms inside some of the bottles. Holding one bottle upside down, he shook it.
“If I had to guess, I’d say no, but I could be wrong. I wish the countess was here. I’d ask her.”
Her wish came true, although it wasn’t until later, after they’d shopped their way down the avenue. Her arm muscles ached from hauling so many bundles. They took a break for lunch at Palmeras restaurant in a plaza opposite the tender pier and then resumed their trek. The sun warmed her back, making beads of sweat glisten on her forehead. She filled her lungs with the salty sea air.
Opposite the main street, a seawall separated the avenue from the shoreline. Colorfully painted mannequin heads like porcelain carnival figures adorned posts at regular intervals. They reminded her of Mardi Gras masks. In the background, a masted ship sailed by, flags flapping against a sky dotted with cumuli.
“Did I tell you how lucky I am to be with you?” Marla said, turning to Vail. He’d learned to tolerate shopping because it made her happy. In return, she had acquired an enjoyment of parks where he liked to identify the different trees. Next time they took a cruise, she hoped they’d have the opportunity to do more nature excursions. Brianna liked parks too, but she preferred the beach more.
His face crinkled into a smile. “I’m the lucky one to have you. Look at all these fellas giving you the eye as we walk past. They’re envious of me.”
“Truthfully, I’m trying to ignore them.” Their blatant stares made her uncomfortable. Maybe it was because she imagined one of them trying to lure her and Vail down a side street.
Reaching an intersection, she stepped off the curb and glanced to her right. Parked cars lined one shaded side of the crossroad while motor scooters claimed space at the opposite curb. Electric wires draped the overhead space. An ice truck approached, bumping along the uneven pavement.
“Hey, is that the countess coming out of that building over there?” Marla squinted, wondering if she needed prescription sunglasses. She could just make out the woman’s swirl of blond hair, but the way the lady moved gracefully in her heels and the skirt ensemble she wore with a wide-brimmed hat told Marla she’d hit the mark. Even a shopkeeper wouldn’t wear an outfit so formal.
“You’re right,” Vail said as the countess strode in their direction. She appeared to be alone, which struck Marla as odd. Where had her gentleman companion gone? Instead of a small handbag, she carried a large portfolio case snugly under her arm.
“Marla,” the countess said with little enthusiasm when they encountered each other. “I see you and your fiancé have been generously contributing your money to the people of Cozumel.”
“Yeah, it’s a good thing this is our last port. I’ll have to extend my working hours to pay off the bills.”
The elder woman flicked her gaze toward Vail. “Vraiment? Then you need to marry, so your amour can buy baubles to circle your neck and clothes to adorn your body.”
“Where is your friend? Did he stay on the ship?”
“Non, Claude went on the submarine expedition. I had business in town and did not require him to accompany me.”
Require? Undoubtedly, the countess pulled the strings in their relationship. Interesting how she expected Vail to be the dominant partner in marriage. So what does that make me, an accessory? Maybe you ‘re an accessory as well, only to crime.
The countess glanced over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes almost imperceptibly. “I have calls to make. We will not see each other again. Au revoir, mes amies.”
Vail raised his eyebrow in a questioning slant. “Aren’t you continuing the cruise?”
Countess Delacroix gave a theatrical shrug. “My mission is accomplished, and I must follow through on the mainland. But you need to beware, cherie,” she told Marla. “Certain parties aboard are poised to erupt. You do not want to be caught in their crossfire.”
Sensing the woman was about to leave, Marla clutched her bony arm. “Wait. Do you know who’s been plotting against us? We almost didn’t make it back from Roatan. Someone paid our driver to take us on a detour so we’d miss the sailing.”
The countess peered down her nose. “I know who it is not, but he, too, still searches for answers. You may consider him a friend. And that is all I can say.” Turning away, she left.
“Whom do you suppose she means?” Marla asked Vail.
“Kent Harwood? We know he’s investigating the museum gang.”
“How would the countess possibly be acquainted with him? From what I’ve gathered, she’s never been to the museum, plus he only works there part-time.”
Vail pointed down the street. “What about that guy?”
Twisting, she let her jaw drop in surprise. Bob Wolfson was emerging from the same door as the countess had exited. “Bless my bones, we found him! Let’s go see what he’s been up to.”
Waving, she attempted to catch his attention, but he hurried off in the opposite direction. Feeling as though her shopping bags had accumulated weight during her brief conversation with the countess, she scurried after him, Dalton by her side.
Her steps faltered when she regarded the office from which he’d appeared. “Real estate? Do you suppose he was buying more property? And where’s his wife? How did he ditch Sandy when she must be suspicious about his investments?”
Clearly enjoying the puzzle, Vail gave her a lopsided grin. “Maybe Sandy convinced him to make a deal with the countess.”
Marla shifted her burdens, ignoring a painful twinge in her shoulder. “You could be right. If I were his wife, and he pulled something like this behind my back, I wouldn’t be too happy. She’s entitled to share in his nest egg.”
“So she might’ve demanded that he sell his property. Bob can’t take the money back to the States, because he’d have a big tax liability. Speaking of which, where did he get the cash in the first place to make his land purchases?”
They exchanged stunned glances. “The bank on Grand Cay-man Island,” they said in unison.
“Typical route for money laundering,” Vail cracked.
“Holy highlights, that could be what Helen meant. Somehow the head docent figured out Bob was siphoning funds from the museum. She’s hot to trot for the guy and doesn’t mind taking risks, meaning she’d fle
e to Mexico with him to enjoy his bounty. She must be figuring he’s eager to leave his staid wife.”
Glancing around to make sure they weren’t being overheard, she stepped closer to an overhang to benefit from the shade. “And Brooklyn knew. Brooklyn told Kent that Bob had charged for kitchen items he’d never ordered.”
“That’s three people. But we’re guessing. Let’s go inside the office here and ask some questions.”
Posing as a wealthy couple interested in investing in Mexico, they mentioned their association with Bob Wolfson to the dark-haired woman in a red suit who greeted them in Spanish, and then flawlessly switched to English after Marla spoke.
“Senor Wolfson is one of our regular customers,” the lady said, while Marla stared at a mole on the woman’s nose. “We count on his business every year at this time. What can I do for you? Are you interested in a villa, perhaps, in Guadalajara or Lake Chapala? More than fifty thousand Americans live there now, so you’d feel right at home.”
“That’s not quite what we had in mind.” Marla offered a conspiratorial smile. She plopped her packages on an empty chair and felt her shoulders sag from relief. Rubbing her neck, she continued, “We understand Bob bought property in the mountains.” Surely vanilla grew on fertile hillsides? Her guess relied on the countess’s claim that she owned adjacent territory.
While the saleslady maintained a polite expression, her eyes chilled. “I’m so sorry; you must be misinformed.”
“Countess Delacroix is our friend,” Vail cut in, his tone hard-edged. “She claims her family owns estates in the area, and they were seeking to expand their vanilla-growing operation. Did Bob Wolfson accept her offer to sell?”
A lightbulb popped in Marla’s head. “I told Bob he should give up his idea to build a resort and settle for a more intimate bed-and-breakfast instead. That would appeal much more to the tourist trade. It wouldn’t require as much capital either. We’re sort of interested in doing the same thing.”
“Oh, I see. Then you might be interested in this plot of land over here.” The woman walked to a display of terrain in a glass case. “Senor Wolfson just purchased this section with the proceeds from his sale to the countess. It is a prime location for a hacienda, as you see. And more than one lodging facility will bring in tourist dollars.”
“It looks great. We’ll have to think about it.” Vail jerked his head, signaling they should go. They’d gotten the information they needed.
Marla hesitated. “If we should decide to buy, what kind of currency do you accept? I doubt that Senor Wolfson pays in traveler’s checks.” She chuckled as though that were a joke they shared.
The real estate agent folded her arms across her chest. “He brings cash, but you may do a wire transfer. Or you can speak to our investment department.”
“That won’t be necessary, thanks. We’ll let you know.” Vail shuffled Marla outside after the lady gave them a brochure.
“Hold on,” Marla said as they reentered the world of traffic congestion, construction noise, and Spanish dialect. She veered toward the main avenue. “So you think Bob was embezzling money in his job as business manager? If so, what did that have to do with Alden Tusk’s death?”
“The artist may have discovered Bob’s crimes. Don’t forget, Kent Harwood is on the case because somebody is substituting fake paintings for original artworks. Maybe Bob has been doing more than cooking the books. Maybe he’s responsible for the museum thefts as well.”
CHAPTER 20
I can’t believe how late it is,” Marla said as they hurried back toward the ship.
“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Vail replied in a sardonic tone. He compressed his lips as though doing so would keep the fatigue dragging on his eyelids from spreading.
The crowd in downtown Cozumel had increased threefold as the day’s tour excursions had emptied their occupants into the main shopping district. Marla wove her way through the throng, feeling as though her arms were being pulled from their sockets. Her bundles weighed heavier with each step. Vail carried his share with a stoic expression, but Marla could tell from the set of his shoulders that he was pushing it.
“Maybe we can still make afternoon tea on the ship,” she said brightly. Food would revive them both, especially a cup of coffee with cookies and fruit.
“Look, there’s Betsy,” Vail said as they approached the street corner near Goodmark Jewelers.
The museum’s public relations director stood watching the mariachi band. Betsy couldn’t have been in town too long, because she hadn’t bought anything. Straps from her swimsuit peeked out from under her scoop-necked shirt. Shorts and sandals completed her sporty attire.
“Hi, how’s it going?” Marla greeted her. “How was the snorkeling expedition?”
Betsy’s face became animated as she poked Marla in the ribs. “Hey, guys. You wouldn’t believe the water here. It’s so clear you can see straight to the bottom, and the fish are fantastic. I hated to leave.” Her gaze focused on their packages. “Holy mackerel, you’ve been busy.”
Marla grinned, ignoring Vail who stood by with his eyes narrowed as though alert for pickpockets. “Man, I am way over my budget. But who cares? I may never get here again.”
“Never say never,” Vail muttered.
She rounded on him. “Why? Would you go on another cruise?”
He shrugged, jostling the bags in his arms. “I suppose so. The ships leave right from our backyard, so it’s no big deal to hop on one, and the food beats eating donuts every day. I’d hope for a more restful trip, though.”
“You, rest? That’ll be the day.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I meant that I’d prefer to spend a week where no one is out to kill us.”
“Oh…yeah.”
Betsy mouthed something, but Marla couldn’t hear her over a sudden blast of trumpets. “I’d like to pick up a CD of this music!” the brunette shouted, her eyes gleaming. “It makes me want to dance.”
“Too bad you can’t ask Oliver Smernoff. He’s bought a disc of native music in every port.”
“You’re right. I thought he downloaded most of his tunes and went around with those iPod things in his ears so he wouldn’t have to listen to Irene. Or maybe Oily listens to the CDs at home when he paints.”
Marla’s heart skipped a beat. “Oliver paints? I didn’t realize he had artistic talent.”
“Oh no? He used to be quite good and even taught art classes in the past. I don’t know why he stopped, but obviously his interest in art led him to the museum.” After stepping aside so a family of four could pass, Betsy leaned closer. “I’m just grateful Olly never had any contact with Alden when he practiced his instrument. Poor Alden couldn’t stand to listen to anything orchestral, especially flute music.”
Marla and Vail exchanged glances. “Oliver plays an instrument, and he paints?” Marla said slowly.
Betsy froze. “You don’t think…?”
“We have some questions to ask people,” Vail stated. “Let’s get back to the ship.”
“I just got here,” Betsy pointed out, “and I want to shop. You guys go ahead.”
“Are you nuts? You shouldn’t be here alone.”
“I’m not a schlemiel, Marla. Thurston and Heidi are inside that jewelry shop. I’ll tag along with them.”
Relief washed over her. She wouldn’t want anything to happen to Betsy this close to the end of their cruise.
“Okay, then we’ll see you at dinner. Happy hunting!”
An hour later, Marla felt refreshed after dumping her bundles in the cabin, showering, and changing into black slacks and an amethyst knit top. Pleading fatigue, she remained in the cabin while Vail went topside for a snack.
He must have turned their radio on, because as she laid down on the bed, closing her eyes, she heard soft music playing in the background. Her eyelids popped open. What had Vail meant when he’d said they had more questions to ask people? Was he thinking the same thing as her?
A sudden obse
ssion to find the museum director gripped her mind. Leaving Vail a note that she’d gone to locate Oliver, she decided to try his stateroom first. Remembering the tale of a honeymooner who’d vanished from his balcony cabin, with bloodstains left behind, she vowed not to enter unless Oliver’s wife was present. It was too easy to toss a body overboard with no one the wiser.
When no response came to her knock on the Smernoffs’ door, she trod down the hallway toward the midship elevators. She’d look for Dalton, and they could proceed together.
The elevators were held up by people returning from Cozumel, so she forced herself to climb to deck eleven. Every couple of landings, she stopped to catch her breath. Her legs didn’t ache as much as at the beginning of the cruise, but she seemed to get winded easier. Or maybe she was just tired after walking in port all day.
Admiring a Burmese sandstone carving of an eleventh-century deity in a glass case, Marla waited until her respiration slowed before gripping the banister again. A Cambodian bronze warrior kept her company at the next rest stop.
Unfortunately, her climb brought nothing but frustration, because she couldn’t find Vail when she searched the throng at the buffet. Pushing her way outside, she propped her sunglasses on her nose while scanning the bodies at the pool area.
Her gaze zeroed in on Kent Harwood, who squatted on the edge of a chaise lounge facing Cliff Peters. Cliff lay back sunning himself, his muscular body greased like a wrestler’s. He didn’t seem in the least concerned about whatever Kent was saying, despite the angry expression on the inspector’s face.
Deciding not to bother them, Marla passed through to the solarium and spa. Where had Dalton gone? Inspiration hit, and she hastened toward the teen center. He might be looking for Brianna.
Her search proved fruitless, even when she tried his parents’ cabin, the promenade deck, and various lounges. Since they hadn’t left port, the shops and casino were still closed. Thinking of all the hideaways on board, she detoured by the Pirate’s Grotto, but her spirits fell when she found the disco deserted. Nor was her fiancé skulking about the photographer’s gallery.
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