Our Island Inn (Quirky Tales from the Caribbean)

by Rebecca M. Hale

  Crunching on a slice of carrot, Millicent squinted across the deck toward the kitchen. A young woman swept through the swinging doors carrying several plates of food. The opening provided a glimpse of the interior, and Millicent spied Maya bent over the stove. Glenn hovered nearby, apparently attempting to help. From the little Millicent could see, he wasn’t accomplishing much other than getting in the way.

  She couldn’t suppress the creepy grin that spread across her face.

  There was no sign of a male sous-chef.

  The mystery was still on.

  ~ ~ ~

  MILLICENT MANAGED TO refrain from commenting on her murder-related observations for almost forty-five minutes, through two meal courses and a dramatic sunset. But in the lull before the dessert course, she could keep quiet no longer.

  She’d just spotted something that vindicated all of her wild suspicions.

  “There! See, I told you!”

  Kate tossed her napkin into the air. Mary grabbed her fork and waved it threateningly across the table. Maude chuckled in amusement.

  Millicent paid them no heed.

  She stared intently at a man who had entered the pavilion from the parking lot. His uniform was similar to those that had been worn by the customs agents the ladies had encountered while passing through immigration earlier that day. The officer’s demeanor indicated he was at the restaurant on business, not stopping by for a late night snack.

  “Cover for me.”

  Millicent pushed away from the table and jumped up from her seat. Two steps later, she stopped and returned to her chair. Deftly swooping up the cowboy hat, she crammed it onto her head.

  As Inspector Pickering approached the bar at the opposite end of the deck, she provided an unnecessary explanation for her actions.

  “I’m on the case.”

  Chapter 30

  Odd Man Out

  I NEARLY DROPPED a plate at the sight of Inspector Pickering standing by the bar.

  I happened to be peeking out over the kitchen’s swinging doors when he arrived. His broad shoulders and commanding presence were easy to identify.

  I pulled back from the entryway, hoping he hadn’t seen me. “What’s he doing here?”

  Maya took the plate from my hand and set it on the counter beside the ceramic bird that she’d earlier pushed beyond my reach.

  It was a necessary precaution. I was a klutz in the kitchen and, obviously, a poor substitute for Jesús.

  For months, I’d watched Maya and her husband prepare meals, but I’d never appreciated how seamlessly they worked together. They moved as a team, a single cohesive unit. I suppose that was why she’d overlooked their romantic incompatibilities. In his professional capacity, he was invaluable. He anticipated her needs before she called them out.

  By contrast, I was an obstruction and, despite my best efforts, utterly useless – and that was before Inspector Pickering’s unexpected presence at the inn.

  The chances of broken crockery and salt being accidentally substituted for sugar had just escalated dramatically.

  ~ ~ ~

  ELSIE’S ASSISTANCE HAD kept the dinner service from being a complete disaster. She’d showed up late in the afternoon and offered to help.

  She was her typical staid self, perhaps a little more rigid. It was a striking comparison of different muted behaviors. Where Maya’s silence conveyed an inner peace, Elsie’s cast a sullen shadow.

  We’d been in close quarters the entire evening, but Elsie hadn’t made eye contact with me. Her lips remained tightly sealed, rejecting any suggestion of conversation. She’d simply stepped into the hole next to Maya, filling it almost as well as Jesús.

  While I was still concerned about what Elsie might have seen during all those late nights on – and below – the pool deck, I now had far more troubling matters on my mind.

  After leaving the apartment, I’d fetched Maya’s packages from the jeep and scampered into the pavilion to deliver them. Then I’d spent the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen pantry. Using an old sweatshirt as a pillow, I’d curled up on the floor with my journal. I’d scribbled in it for over an hour, trying to make sense of the gold chain and red hoop earring I’d found in the jewelry box drawer.

  I was certain the items had come from our two missing guests. The distinctive accessories combined with the damage to my front bumper and Romeo’s abandoned jeep had left me with some unsettling questions about my partner.

  Oliver had always been so quiet and controlled, traits I’d attributed to his upbringing.

  By all accounts, his younger years had been traumatic. He’d been bullied, teased, and even occasionally beat up due to his small size and his sexuality. As a result, he was extra sensitive to the feelings of others. He once made me stop the jeep so he could hop out and move a wayward turtle off the road. He was a kind, gentle soul.

  Or so I’d thought…

  Now I found myself wondering if Oliver might be responsible for the disappearances at the inn.

  Was his polished demeanor merely a mask for a monstrous killer – one who’d been provoked by my infidelities?

  ~ ~ ~

  I STAYED IN the pantry until it was time for the dinner service to start. Before venturing out into the cooking area, I tucked the chain and the earring into the journal’s front flap pocket and slid the book into its hiding place behind the green-labeled jars.

  I wasn’t sure what else to do.

  Throughout most of the dinner service, the kitchen’s swinging doors had served as a protective barrier separating me from my potentially homicidal partner. But with Pickering’s arrival, I feared I was about to be drawn out into the open.

  Maya sliced a knife through a key lime pie she’d removed from the freezer, neatly cutting out several triangular pieces. “Maybe the inspector has found Jesús.”

  I bit my lip, afraid to respond.

  Somehow, I doubted the likelihood of that scenario.

  ~ ~ ~

  OLIVER POKED HIS head through the swinging doors, breaching my defenses. “Pickering wants to speak with us.”

  The sight was almost more startling than that of the inspector.

  “Did you call him?” The question came out more sharply than I intended.

  Oli’s face registered confusion – at least I think it did. Now I was questioning everything.

  “Of course not.”

  The kitchen fell silent. Even Maya’s constantly busy hands stopped moving.

  “I’ll be right there,” I said, and he was gone, back on the other side of the door.

  I crossed to the sink and washed my hands. As I reached for a dishtowel, Maya retrieved the ceramic bird she’d pushed against the wall and returned it to the edge of her workspace. For the first time, I noticed a crack in the parrot’s left wing.

  “What happened to your bird?” I asked, more to alleviate tension than out of any real interest.

  Maya shifted her attention to a skillet on the stove. The pan contained a sweet raspberry sauce that would be poured over the frozen key lime pie.

  She didn’t look up as she made her reply.

  “I broke it.”

  Chapter 31

  Come Home to Roost

  INSPECTOR PICKERING MOTIONED for us to walk with him to the parking lot. I let Oliver go first, hanging back as long as possible before reluctantly following.

  Pickering stopped beside a lamppost next to the reception building on the east side of the lot.

  I held my breath, waiting to hear what had brought the policeman to the inn so late. Oli adopted the same anxious stance – and I wondered what thoughts were going through his head.

  “Sorry to bother you again,” Pickering said, removing his notepad from his front shirt pocket. Despite the phrasing, his tone indicated that he was far more sorry for himself than for any inconvenience he might have brought to us.

  “Has there been a development in the theft investigation?” Oliver asked urgently.

  The inspector rubbed his chin. H
e looked like he’d had a long day. Wearily, he arched his eyebrows.

  “You mean have I recovered the missing pink flamingo straw?”

  Oliver flinched at the sarcasm.

  Pickering grunted apologetically. “I don’t expect the merchandise to be returned. The cash, I’m sure, has already been spent. My men are keeping an eye out for this Romeo fellow at the port, but I doubt he’ll leave the island on public transport.”

  I considered mentioning the abandoned jeep that had been run off the road, but negated the idea. Where would that discussion take us? Was I prepared to point an accusing finger at my partner?

  I hadn’t yet reached that level of certainty or acceptance.

  I glanced at Oliver, whose face had fallen in a dejected manner, but I couldn’t help but speculate – was it all an act?

  ~ ~ ~

  PICKERING OBVIOUSLY WANTED to complete his mission and head home. He flipped open the notepad and shifted his stance so that he could read the top sheet in the lamppost’s beam.

  “One of my junior officers went back through our passport records. It seems we have another unaccounted guest associated with your inn.” He looked up from the notepad. “A gentleman from the States who stayed here with his wife a few months ago – a Mr. Hamilton?”

  Oliver shuffled sideways, visibly nervous. I didn’t look any different. Neither of us was eager to discuss the first missing guest with the inspector.

  Pickering noted our guilty postures as he resumed his probe.

  “It seems he came to our island on vacation, listed your hotel as his temporary residence when he passed through immigration, and that’s the last anyone saw or heard of him. His wife Olivia returned home to Texas alone.”

  The inspector stared grimly at us.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve got Mr. Hamilton stashed in a cupboard around here, do you?”

  I think he was only half-joking.

  The silence stretched out until I felt compelled to speak.

  “Oh, well, Mr. Hamilton…he just…disappeared.” I finished the sentence with a shrug. I could tell from Pickering’s vexed expression that I had only made matters worse.

  Oliver jumped in – to keep us both out of jail or to protect himself – I wasn’t sure which.

  “That was a strange situation, Detective Pickering. You see, Mr. Hamilton and his wife had dinner on the deck by the pool. Sometime after the dessert course, he left for the restrooms beneath the kitchen. He went down the stairs attached to the pavilion’s outer wall, but no one saw him come back up.”

  Pickering sputtered in disbelief. He was so shocked by the comment that he didn’t even correct the erroneous title Oliver had given him. “Why didn’t you mention this the last time I was here? That’s where Daisy Jones was last seen, wasn’t it? In your restaurant? Did she visit your restrooms too?”

  “Mrs. Hamilton wasn’t at all concerned about her husband,” Oliver protested, avoiding the Daisy Jones question.

  “I think she was relieved,” I chimed in – again unhelpfully.

  The inspector was unimpressed.

  “He was an unpleasant man,” Oliver explained, cringing at the memory. “Going on and on about his little blue pills.”

  Pickering thunked his notepad against his palm. His eyes narrowed at the two of us.

  “You can’t just have people vanishing into thin air around here.” He put his hands on his hips. “Is there anyone else I should know about?”

  Oliver and I looked at each other, a rare direct exchange. He broke away first.

  “Well, there’s Jesús, the sous-chef. Apparently, he took off to go see a sick relative, but his departure was rather sudden.”

  I gulped, listening to my lie being retold.

  At that moment, a squawk screeched across the parking lot. It sounded as if someone had accidentally stepped on Charlie or one of his or her feathered associates. Likely, a dinner patron had committed the offense while trying to navigate the darkened portion of the lot.

  But I saw it as a signal from the depths below the deck.

  My misdeeds were catching up to me – in a series of unforeseeable consequences that were rapidly spiraling out of control.

  To put it bluntly, my chickens were coming home to roost.

  Chapter 32

  The Moves Like Matlock

  MILLICENT TROTTED UP the pavilion steps and peered out at the parking lot. She studied the layout, plotting how best to maneuver toward the innkeepers and the man she’d heard identified inside the pavilion as Inspector Pickering.

  The rectangular lot was about half full with a couple of jeeps interspersed among the safari trucks that were waiting to transport dinner guests back to the resort. Most of the artificial lighting was concentrated around the pavilion entrance and the reception building. The far end of the lot, connected to the top of the driveway, was almost pitch dark.

  The challenge, Millicent soon realized, was to pick a path that would avoid her being exposed in the gaps created by unoccupied parking spots. In order to make her approach unseen, she would have to walk to the dark end of the lot and loop around the other side.

  She pulled up her knee high socks, adjusted the waistband on her loose-fitting shorts, and got ready to move. She was as nimble as anyone could be after two knee surgeries and one hip replacement.

  She tugged on the brim of her cowboy hat, securing it to her head.

  “Let’s see what this old lady can do.”

  ~ ~ ~

  TRYING TO LOOK casual, Millicent strolled toward the driveway drop-off. She soon reached the parking lot’s dark region. Slipping into the shadows, she began sneaking up the east side.

  Bent over at the waist, she crept along the back bumpers of the safari trucks until she reached the outer glow of the lamppost near the reception building.

  She was getting close now. She could hear the low rumble of the men’s voices. Another couple of yards, and she should be able to pick up their conversation.

  But this last bit would be the trickiest.

  Here, the light from the lamppost was much stronger. She would have to be more creative in how she conducted the next crossing.

  Millicent studied the four-foot gap to the cover of the rental jeep that she and her fellow Golden Girls had driven up to the inn earlier that day.

  Swinging her arms for extra momentum, she jumped across the swath of light – and nearly face-planted into the asphalt.

  “That was a close one,” she muttered, brushing herself off.

  Then she glanced down at her tennis shoes, which were brightly lit by the light streaming beneath the vehicle. Fearing the inspector and the innkeepers would see her feet, she grabbed the rear door’s upper metal trim and climbed onto the jeep’s back bumper.

  She scooted along the bumper, straddling the spare tire, until she could peek around the jeep’s opposite corner. Then she tilted her good ear toward the lamppost.

  “Bingo,” she whispered triumphantly.

  Pickering’s deep voice was as intimidating as his physique. She could hear him clearly now – and she could hardly believe the exchange that was occurring between him and the innkeepers.

  “Who’s Romeo?” she thought curiously. “Now we have a thief?”

  The eavesdropping yielded still more stunning details. She quickly added new names to her list of missing persons.

  “Mr. Hamilton? Daisy Jones? Good grief, how many people have been abducted from this place?”

  Millicent was so transfixed by this flood of information that she didn’t notice the sweat building up on her hands. As the conversation turned to the missing sous-chef, her arthritic fingers began to lose their grip on the jeep’s metal trim.

  Just then, a breeze caught her hat. Instinctively, she reached up to catch it. The sudden motion was all it took to disrupt her balance. Her feet slipped on the bumper, her hand released from the trim, and she fell to the ground in the bushes behind the jeep’s parking spot – landing on a disgruntled chicken.

&nbs
p; The subsequent squawk startled the trio standing next to the lamppost.

  As the indignant bird glared up at her, Millicent muttered a self-rebuke.

  “Good thing Matlock wasn’t here to see that.”

  Chapter 33

  A Silent Whisper

  ELSIE MONITORED THE meeting between Pickering and the innkeepers the best she could from the kitchen’s rear window, but she couldn’t spare more than a few minutes to stare out at the parking lot.

  The dinner service wasn’t yet finished, and she was needed in the restaurant. Pickering’s latest visit to the inn would be a hot topic at the police station. She would find out soon enough what had brought him there that evening.

  Returning to the kitchen, Elsie picked up an order of finished dessert plates, expertly balancing them across her arms.

  Maya remained focused on her workstation. Pie and cake related dishes were spread across the counter in various stages of completion. She seemed oddly detached from the events going on around her.

  Despite her husband’s disappearance, she didn’t appear to be the least bit interested in what Pickering and the innkeepers were discussing outside. As Elsie had observed on several occasions, the woman had a strange way of compartmentalizing her emotions.

  The chef simply smiled her thanks and continued cooking.

  ~ ~ ~

  HER ARMS FULLY loaded, Elsie backed through the swinging doors and pivoted toward the dining area. It was a task she’d performed hundreds of times before, a route she’d navigated so frequently she could have walked it blindfolded.

  Winding through the tables, she made her way to the prime spot on the far northwest end where three white-haired women were enjoying the warm tropical night.

  The fourth seat was empty.

  Elsie distributed the dishes. As she set down the fourth plate, she nodded at Millicent’s vacant chair.

  “Is your friend okay?”

  The question elicited bitter groans from two of the Golden Girls, a wry chuckle from the third.