Our Island Inn (Quirky Tales from the Caribbean)

by Rebecca M. Hale

  Her perfume traveled across the room, a heady aroma that advertised her intentions. It was a scent designed to hook a man by the nose and draw him to her, whether or not he was so inclined. She was a vicious consumer of the opposite sex, a man-eater in every sense of the word.

  She reminded me of my ex-wife.

  It’s difficult to recall much about the boyfriend. He was completely overshadowed by her presence.

  Daisy leaned across the counter and sized up poor Oli in a single glance.

  Then she looked over her shoulder and focused her gaze on me.

  Her eyes were aggressive, pawing at me from across the room. I think she sensed my natural tendencies pointed in the opposite direction, but that did nothing to dissuade her. She was convinced she could recalibrate my compass and turn me to the other side.

  I was an irresistible challenge.

  Yep. Just like my ex-wife.

  ~ ~ ~

  I WAS YOUNG when I married. By young, I mean psychologically immature, more so than young in age. I allowed myself to get pushed into a commitment that I had no intention of honoring.

  It was a mistake I vowed never to repeat.

  She was a girl I had dated on and off throughout my college years. I viewed her as part of my disguise, a foolproof cover that would ensure I wasn’t outed to my football teammates. I enjoyed playing the sport and had aspirations of making it into the pros. I didn’t want anything to jeopardize that opportunity.

  The wedding ceremony was held a few weeks after graduation. I was on the short list for a second roster slot with a professional football team, and marriage seemed like a good way to shore up my heterosexual credentials.

  It was a frilly flower-filled affair, paid for by my wife’s parents. The chapel was filled to capacity, rows and rows of witnesses to my bald-faced lie.

  At the time, I didn’t see it that way. I was trying to assimilate myself into a cultural norm to which I didn’t belong. I felt an enormous pressure to conform to societal expectations – and I feared the repercussions should the truth be revealed.

  Of course, I bear some of the blame. I wasn’t dragged kicking and screaming to the altar. I was, however, awfully squeamish about the matter.

  I wasn’t confused about my sexuality, just terrified to act on it.

  In the end, none of the football opportunities panned out. With the demise of my athletic career, the reason for the ruse evaporated. My wife tried everything she could to keep me tied to her, but the marriage didn’t live to see its first anniversary.

  I had to run like heck to escape that woman. After I filed for divorce, I changed my phone number and moved across town to an unlisted address. I did everything I could – short of plastic surgery – to make myself untraceable. I tensed every time I entered a grocery store, afraid I might accidentally run into her.

  Once I’d extracted myself from her suffocating vortex, I dared not give her the chance to pull me back in.

  The trait of overbearance isn’t limited to the male gender.

  Chapter 11

  Daisy’s Dalliance

  DAISY JONES DIDN’T waste any time making her move. Not more than an hour later, she found me in the kitchen, discussing the evening menu with Jesús.

  She’d left her boyfriend on a lounge chair by the pool. I remember now that he was a bookish type. I think he was in med school. He looked like he hadn’t seen the sun in months. Most of the time, he kept his nose tucked in a paperback novel he’d brought along on the trip.

  Daisy must have heard our voices from the other side of the bar. I often forgot how easily sound traveled through the open air.

  Jesús had started one of his jokes. He had an extensive repertoire of off-color tales. Each one ended with an innuendo-laden zinger. Oli didn’t approve, but I thought they were hilarious.

  I was doubled over in laughter, my back to the swinging doors, so I didn’t see Daisy approach – but Jesús did.

  He stopped, midsentence. The smile dropped from his face, and he stared down at the floor.

  The pad of bare feet on concrete was accompanied by the unmistakable stink of her perfume.

  “Glenn,” Daisy said huskily as the scent crawled over my shoulder. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Oliver refused to give me your location.”

  Wincing, I envisioned the torture Oli must have endured safekeeping that information.

  I assumed my most professional innkeeper expression, turned around – and immediately took a step back.

  Daisy had crept to within inches of my torso and was quickly closing the gap that I had just opened up. I tried to make another escaping step, but I ran into one of the kitchen’s stainless steel counters. I almost knocked over a small figurine of a parrot that Maya kept next to her knives.

  Jesús ducked into the pantry, leaving me alone with the vulture.

  She wore nothing but a string bikini and a matching pair of bright red hoop earrings. The earrings looked to be of much sturdier manufacture than the bikini.

  “Hello, Miss Jones.” I swallowed what little spit could be found in my dry mouth. “How can I help you?”

  Daisy Jones would never be described as shy or inhibited.

  She draped her arms around my neck and pulled me down toward her, digging her fake fingernails into my skin.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  My words had no deterring effect.

  “I’m really not interested…”

  The red hoop earrings wobbled back and forth as she rose up on her tiptoes. From the pucker of her mouth, I anticipated the lipstick-imprinting kiss she planted on my cheek.

  The painful pinch to my rear end was a complete surprise.

  With a mouse-like squeak, I hurdled over the counter and fled the kitchen.

  ~ ~ ~

  I ASSUMED JESÚS had observed the scene from his hidden position in the pantry. I expected to get teased about it that night after dinner.

  I didn’t realize Elsie had seen the entire interaction from the rear kitchen door.

  It turned out she was always watching.

  Chapter 12

  A Brave Man

  I BARRICADED MYSELF inside the apartment for the rest of the afternoon. Noodles and Yum-Yum guarded the door – not that I expected those dogs would be able to stop the likes of Daisy Jones. It was the only time I’d ever considered trading in the poodles for a pair of mastiffs.

  The lipstick stain on my cheek proved almost impossible to remove. The chemical composition had apparently been modified for the tropical climate, making its application semi-permanent.

  I scrubbed at the blot with a washcloth, rubbing my face near raw. The best I could achieve was a diluted red smear.

  The lipstick was the least of my problems.

  I dreaded that night’s dinner service.

  Oli and I typically circulated among the guests, chatted with them, and made sure they were enjoying their meals. Being midweek and offseason, there would be fewer diners on the poolside deck, making it difficult for me to avoid the lecherous Miss Jones.

  It probably sounds silly that a grown man would be afraid of a five foot two former cheerleader, but Daisy had me in a state of panic. Pacing back and forth across the living room, I almost started to hyperventilate.

  I felt as if I was reliving the terrible comedy of my marriage. Only this time, I couldn’t escape by changing my address and phone number.

  After several deep breaths and a long soak in the hot tub, I began to regroup. I couldn’t let this woman bully me, I told myself firmly. I would walk out to the pavilion with my head held high and resume my innkeeping duties – from the safety of the kitchen.

  With the dinner service about to start, I gathered my courage and left the apartment.

  Noodles and Yum-Yum wagged their stubby tales supportively as I crept out the front door and cautiously peered around the corner of the building.

  ~ ~ ~

  DAISY AND HER boyfriend were seated at the northwes
t end of the dining area, the table with the best sunset view.

  It was a beautiful evening. The setting rays cast a silver reflection across the water as the sky shifted through various shades of pink, purple and blue. In my opinion, the pre-sunset vista was actually better than the one provided by the final descent of the sun’s glowing orange ball.

  But the pair seemed oblivious to their surroundings. A petty fight was in progress, evidenced by the way they glared at each other.

  “I don’t know why we bothered coming down here if you’re just going to sit around all day reading that book. You never pay any attention to me.”

  Given the surly pout on Daisy’s face and the way she gripped her water glass, it looked like the boyfriend was about to receive a cross-table dousing.

  Seconds later, a splash could be heard across the dining area.

  Oliver hurried toward the couple’s table, intent on calming the pair down and, I suspected, preventing them from breaking any of his precious glassware.

  Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, I sprinted across the pool deck, slid around the bar, and dove into the kitchen.

  Jesús collapsed into a fit of laughter.

  Maya shook her head and returned her attention to the stove.

  I stood panting beside a counter, relieved that the flush on my face hid the lipstick residue on my cheek.

  But I’d gained only a temporary reprieve. Daisy wasn’t finished with me yet.

  Chapter 13

  Out of Character

  OLIVER RUSHED INTO the kitchen to relay an order change to Maya.

  He was unusually flustered. In our first months of operation, I’d seen Oli handle the most difficult guests without breaking a sweat or revealing the slightest discomfort. Despite my initial concerns, he’d proven himself a pro at customer relations. No matter how tense the situation, he was always cool as a cucumber. It took a lot to get under his skin.

  He shook his head. “That woman is driving me crazy.”

  No further identification was needed. Everyone knew exactly who “she” was.

  He bent over Maya’s shoulder and pointed at the nearest skillet on the stove. “I’m sorry, but she just told me she’s allergic to garlic.”

  Maya sucked in her breath as if drawing on deep reserves of patience. Then she picked up the skillet and dumped the contents into the sink. Without speaking a word, she started the dish from scratch. It was the second alteration called in from Daisy Jones. It was unlikely to be the last.

  I felt bad that I had been shirking my dining duties. We had other guests that probably needed attention, and Oli looked like he was being run ragged, but there was no way I was venturing onto the pool deck now.

  With a sigh, Oliver turned to me and put his hands on his hips. He nodded pointedly at my cheek.

  “Your girlfriend says the downstairs toilet is clogged.”

  My face reddened as I realized someone must have told him about my encounter with Daisy.

  I hadn’t lied to Oli about the woman’s romantic overture, but I hadn’t disclosed it to him either. It was one more tiny deceit on top of all the others. The cumulative guilt caused my throat to swell up.

  Sputtering, I looked across the room at Jesús, but he merely shrugged in bewilderment.

  “I…she…it was…” I tried to explain and then stopped at Oli’s teasing wink.

  “I’ve got to get back out there to the tables,” he said, exhaustion heavy in his voice. “Glenn, can you go check the restrooms?”

  I caved under his pleading look and issued a meek reply.

  “I’m on it.”

  ~ ~ ~

  WITH GREAT APPREHENSION, I eased out the kitchen’s swinging doors, dropped to my knees, and crawled toward the end of the bar. It was a short ten-foot distance to the top of the stairs that led down to the lower level, but the crossing would expose me to the patrons seated on the pool deck.

  Unless the boyfriend – or Oliver – had thrown Daisy into the pool, she was bound to see me.

  Hoping to see a raging quarrel, I peeked over the bar’s counter.

  To my chagrin, the couple had throttled back to a sullen détente. Daisy munched on her salad, pausing every other bite to scowl across the table at the boyfriend, who had pulled out his book and was straining to read by the dim light of the nearest candle.

  Oliver was nowhere to be seen.

  Deciding to take my chances, I summoned the reserves from my earlier life’s athletic training, flexed my leg muscles, and scampered across the dining area.

  After dashing down the first few steps, I stopped and plastered my shoulders against the pavilion’s outer wall. Panting, I listened for any indication that Daisy had spotted me and resumed her romantic pursuit.

  Hearing nothing but the dinner service’s regular ambient noise, I heaved out a relieved sigh and continued toward the restrooms.

  I even began thinking about the potentially unpleasant task of having to unplug the women’s toilet.

  Halfway down the stairs, however, a familiar footstep caused me to stop short. It was the distinctive tread of a petite blonde with enormous red hoop earrings.

  I froze in place and gripped the railing, my left foot hanging in the air, as Daisy’s perfume swilled around me. The muscles in my rear end tightened, anticipating another bruising pinch.

  I held that awkward position for almost a minute, waiting for the inevitable ambush.

  But nothing happened.

  Finally, I turned and scanned the steps above me.

  The staircase was empty.

  She was behind me – of that much I’m certain – and then she wasn’t.

  It was a rather disconcerting moment of relief.

  Puzzled, I proceeded to the women’s restroom. Whatever blockage had caused the initial complaint was clear by the time I knocked on the door and inspected the empty cubicle. Finding nothing amiss, I returned to the main level.

  On my way to the kitchen’s safe bunker, I glanced at the far northwest table, but I saw only Daisy’s abandoned salad plate and the boyfriend bent over his book.

  I figured Daisy had happened upon a more receptive target for her aggressive advances, and I felt a twinge of sympathy for the unlucky bloke.

  I never once thought she’d been taken against her will.

  ~ ~ ~

  THE BOYFRIEND WAITED at the table, strumming his fingers against the tablecloth as he watched the sun go down alone.

  The main entrées were brought out, Daisy’s unsalted, un-garlic-ed rosemary chicken dish having been prepared three times over.

  The boyfriend dove into his conch fritters without any pretense of waiting for his partner. He gobbled down his meal, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and then stared sullenly at Daisy’s food. A few minutes later, he slid her chicken to his side of the table and ate it too.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d left him at a restaurant, presumably to go off with another guy.

  It was the first time she didn’t return home or come back to the hotel room by the next morning.

  ~ ~ ~

  OLIVER AND I drove into the parking lot from our regular sunrise trip to the beach to find the boyfriend sitting outside the reception building.

  If the young man had been nonchalant about Daisy’s absence the night before, he was now emotionally distraught.

  “You’re sure she’s missing,” Oliver asked gently. He cleared his throat before posing the more delicate question. “You don’t think she might have…”

  “No,” he cut in adamantly and then amended. “I mean, yes, she probably went off with someone, but she wouldn’t be gone this long.” His face paled as he struggled with the next sentence. “She always comes back.”

  His gaze dropped down to his pale sandaled feet. With a gulp, he corrected himself.

  “She always came back before.”

  ~ ~ ~

  I PULLED OLIVER aside.

  “This is just like the pill-popping husband,” I whispered. “The one who
disappeared a couple of weeks ago. You don’t suppose…”

  Oliver cut me off. “I think we know what happened to Miss Jones.” He tapped the side of my face with his finger. There was still a trace of lipstick on my cheek.

  Grumbling, I conceded his point.

  Despite doubting the validity of the boyfriend’s concerns, there was nothing we could do but call the island police.

  And so we received our first visit from Inspector Pickering.

  It would be the first of many.

  Chapter 14

  Inspector Pickering

  INSPECTOR ORLANDO PICKERING turned his pickup onto the inn’s steep drive, beeped his horn, and gunned the accelerator with the casual ease of a lifelong islander.

  The engine squealed, struggling against the grade, but the driver never doubted the truck’s ability to complete the task. The threadbare tires gummed the hot asphalt, the rubber squishing as the wheels scaled the steep slope.

  Topping the ridge, Pickering guided the vehicle into an open slot near the reception building. He patted the steering wheel as if praising the truck for finishing the climb.

  The pickup was a stand-in for the police department’s official painted Ford, which had been out for repairs for the past three months. There was no expected date for the car’s return to service, but Pickering didn’t mind. He preferred to use his own vehicle.

  The driver’s side door swung open, and a heavy black shoe thudded onto the pavement. As Pickering brought his considerable frame to a standing position, he glanced across the parking lot at the B&B’s painted sign, and his mood darkened.

  It was a mistake for these people to be up here, he thought with disapproval. Nothing good could come of it.

  There was a reason no one had dared to rebuild on Parrot Ridge – until now.

  ~ ~ ~

  PICKERING WAS A young lieutenant when the previous innkeepers met their infamous demise. He hadn’t personally observed the aftermath of the violent row, but like the rest of the island’s West Indian population, he knew the story.