Our Island Inn (Quirky Tales from the Caribbean)

by Rebecca M. Hale

  “Millicent’s gone off on a sleuthing expedition in the parking lot,” Maude replied with an eye-roll. “She’s got it into her head that your missing sous-chef has been murdered.”

  Elsie’s eyes widened in surprise – for the sleuthing aspect of the remark, not the conclusion that had been drawn about Jesús.

  “Don’t worry.” Maude slid Millicent’s plate toward her place setting. “We’ll take care of her key lime pie.”

  ~ ~ ~

  STEPPING AWAY FROM the table, Elsie left the women to their desserts, but she didn’t immediately return to the kitchen.

  Contemplating the potential problems associated with a nosy guest, she wandered toward the deck railing. She wrapped her hands over the top bar, leaned out over the open space, and looked down into the jungle.

  This was a dangerous place to be snooping about.

  It always had been.

  She thought back to the infamous night fifteen years ago. She’d been seated with her parents at one of the restaurant’s poolside tables. She only remembered bits and pieces of the actual event, but she’d heard the story repeated endlessly over the years in her father’s blustery sermons.

  The tale evolved with each retelling, but one aspect remained constant: the tortured fate of the wife, “condemned to an eternity stuck in limbo, haunting the steep ravine below the property.”

  Leaves rustled in the dense greenery at the edge of the clearing, thousands of individual movements converging into a unified force. It was as if the beast had sensed her presence – and responded.

  A silent whisper brushed against her cheek.

  Soon, the spirit promised, the secrets of Parrot Ridge would be revealed.

  Chapter 34

  Derailed

  BY THE TIME Millicent and the militant chicken settled their differences, Inspector Pickering had wrapped up his discussion with the innkeepers. Oliver and Glenn beat a hasty retreat as Pickering guided his pickup to the end of the parking lot and, with a warning honk to anyone who might be blocking the road below, dropped off the edge.

  Reluctantly, Millicent retraced her steps to the pavilion. She returned to the table as the last of her dessert was consumed.

  “It was a frozen key lime pie,” Maude said, holding up her empty fork. “We couldn’t let it melt.”

  Millicent was too wrapped up in her latest sleuthing endeavor to be distracted by the pilfered dessert.

  “We’re up to at least three people who’ve gone missing from this inn. Keep a close eye out, ladies. You’re lucky we’re not tripping over dead bodies left and right.”

  Mary stood from the table, sighing with disgust. “Really, Millicent, don’t be so morbid.”

  ~ ~ ~

  TRUE TO FORM, Millicent rose at the crack of dawn the next morning. Her compatriots, however, were frustratingly slow to start their day. By the time the rest of the women arrived at the pavilion to eat, Millicent had already finished her breakfast.

  “You’ll have to manage without me,” she said as the others sat down at her table.

  The announcement met with immediate protest.

  “Come on, Milli, you’ll miss out on all the fun.”

  “Give the sleuthing a break. You’re on vacation!”

  Maude pondered for a moment. Then she threw out her most tempting offer. “We’ll let you drive.”

  Mary shot Maude an admonishing look. “We might have to vote on that…”

  Millicent paused, considering.

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  ~ ~ ~

  AFTER A LEISURELY breakfast – far too leisurely in Millicent’s view – and an inordinate amount of dilly-dallying around, Mary, Kate and Maude set off on the day’s island excursion.

  Millicent waved goodbye to her friends from the top of the driveway, watching with relief as the rental jeep rolled down the hill.

  Then she straightened her cowboy hat, adjusted the neck strap for her binoculars, and slapped her hands together eagerly.

  “All right. Let’s get down to business.”

  Millicent had spent several hours contemplating how best to further her investigation into the disappearances at the inn. A thorough exploration of the entertainment pavilion seemed the logical next step. With the breakfast eaters cleared out, the area should be empty.

  If possible, she wanted to sneak inside the kitchen for a look around. But first and foremost, she would check the stairs on the far side of the deck and the nefarious restrooms below.

  Thorough and methodical, she told herself. That’s the way to catch a killer. She hummed happily to herself.

  She felt certain Matlock would have approved of her strategy.

  ~ ~ ~

  MILLICENT STARTED DOWN the steps from the parking lot, pleased to see that, indeed, the pavilion was clear. The only other person on the pool deck was the young woman who had been helping in the kitchen the night before.

  What luck, she thought. A potential secondary witness to interview.

  Millicent proceeded toward Elsie’s chair, unaware that her investigation had just been perilously derailed.

  Chapter 35

  One Step Too Far

  ELSIE WAS SCHEDULED to clean rooms at the inn that morning, but she’d asked Oliver for a few hours off to study for her next police officer training test. Since only one unit was guest-occupied, it was an easy delay for him to allow.

  In fact, Elsie had already memorized the section of the manual that would be covered in the upcoming exam. She’d always had a sharp mind for details. If anything, she was over-prepared.

  The free time was for a different purpose.

  Millicent wasn’t the only one with investigative plans that day.

  ~ ~ ~

  ELSIE OBSERVED THE Golden Girls’ departure from the rear kitchen window, watching the parking lot as they climbed into their jeep – and left one of their members behind.

  Anticipating Millicent’s next move, Elsie hurried to a chair by the pool and settled into a spot beneath the shade of a canvas umbrella. As the older woman’s sneakers tread down the steps to the pavilion, Elsie picked up her reading material and pointed the cover so that Millicent couldn’t help but see the “Officer Training” label printed on its front.

  Over the book’s top edge, she glimpsed the other woman approaching her seat. Feigning disinterest, Elsie turned a page and pretended to stare intently at a random paragraph.

  She could not have cast a more fascinating lure.

  Millicent tipped her hat in greeting. “Hey, there. What a nice morning. That looks like a good place to read.”

  Elsie glanced up from the text. She laid the book on her lap, positioning it so that the cover was still visible. “Just doing a little studying.”

  Millicent nodded at the manual. “Police training?”

  “Yes,” Elsie replied with a short smile.

  “Really.” Millicent pulled up a chair, intrigued.

  Elsie pulled in the hook. “I’m a part-time deputy. I work with Inspector Pickering, the officer who stopped by the restaurant last night.”

  She had secured Millicent’s complete and undivided attention.

  “Oh, that’s fascinating. I’m Millicent, by the way.” The older woman scooted her seat closer and whispered conspiratorially. “Are you working with him on the disappearances here at the inn?”

  “I’m Elsie. Nice to meet you. Sorry, but I really shouldn’t say anything about the investigation. It’s against policy.”

  “Of course. I understand.” Millicent bobbed her head up and down. She was silent for a moment. “It’s just that I’ve been doing a little sleuthing around the place, and I might have stumbled onto a few clues.”

  Elsie set the police manual aside. The prop had served its purpose. Millicent was about to spill whatever information she’d gathered from her nosing around.

  “The innkeepers are involved. Well, Glenn is at least. I’m certain of that. The man’s got guilt written all over him, don’t you think? He lied about that J
esús fellow. The sous-chef didn’t take off to see a sick relative. He’s missing – just like the others.”

  Millicent tapped the binoculars hanging from her neck. “I watched Glenn yesterday afternoon from my balcony. I caught him standing over there against that railing, looking down over the edge. Isn’t that where the missing guests were last seen? In the dining area by the pool?”

  Elsie pivoted in her chair as Millicent pointed across the deck.

  “Maybe we should take a look.”

  Bemused, Elsie followed the amateur sleuth around the edge of the pool to the far northwest railing.

  Millicent raised her binoculars and held them to her face, scanning the clearing below. Elsie leaned against the railing beside her.

  “You know they say Parrot Ridge is cursed.”

  “Pshaw.” Millicent sounded skeptical.

  “It’s because of the previous owners,” Elsie persisted. “The wife found out her husband was cheating on her. She confronted him in the kitchen and stabbed him with a knife. He never saw it coming.”

  “No, they never do.” Dropping the binoculars, Millicent shook her head. She had seen it happen on television hundreds of times. “What happened next? What’s supposed to have caused the curse?”

  Elsie gazed into the ravine, striking a solemn pose for maximum effect. “The husband staggered around, bleeding all over the place, before he died by the pool. The wife was so distraught that she jumped off this railing and fell down to the clearing. The police never found her body. They say she was dragged into the jungle by some feral beast that consumed her flesh and took on her troubled spirit. She’s the one who haunts Parrot Ridge.”

  Millicent laughed. “Surely you don’t believe in such superstitions.”

  “These are the Islands, Ma’am.”

  Swinging the binoculars back to her face, Millicent aimed the lenses at the rough ground beneath the deck.

  “Take it from me, Elsie. You can’t let your imagination get the best of you…”

  Millicent’s voice trailed off as her magnified field skimmed over an object sparkling in the weeds at the edge of the jungle. She adjusted the focus to zoom in.

  It was a plastic glass with a decorative palm tree affixed to the side. A few inches away, she spied a matching pink straw.

  “What was it Pickering said about a flamingo straw?” Millicent murmured. “Didn’t that thief run off with a set of Oliver’s glassware?”

  “I really shouldn’t say,” Elsie replied with a discreet nod that confirmed Millicent’s assumption.

  Unable to contain her excitement, Millicent hurried to the stairwell attached to the pavilion’s outer wall – and disappeared down the same steps that had swallowed up three before her.

  ~ ~ ~

  A FEW MINUTES later, Elsie returned to the chair beneath the umbrella shade and retrieved the training manual. She carried the book to the reception building and stored it in a closet behind the front desk. Grabbing her cleaning supplies, she headed toward the main building to begin her housekeeping duties. As she walked along the upper terrace, she glanced down at the pavilion and grinned with satisfaction.

  Millicent’s snooping would no longer be a concern.

  Chapter 36

  A Golden Gone

  MILLICENT WASN’T REPORTED missing until early evening.

  The other Golden Girls didn’t return from their morning jeep ride until late afternoon. The outing lasted far longer than anticipated due to the women taking several wrong turns on the island’s winding inland roads. More than once, while fruitlessly trying to identify their location on the map, the ladies regretted Millicent’s navigational absence.

  Their friend’s sleuthing abilities may have been in doubt, but her sense of direction was always spot on.

  Just when they thought they had joined the ranks of the permanently lost, they reached the outskirts of the main town.

  After a nice lunch at a restaurant by the ferry dock, the women drove back to the inn and retired to their suite for a much-needed siesta. Millicent wasn’t waiting for them up in the room, but that was hardly surprising. They reasoned she was off on a snooping mission somewhere around the inn grounds.

  It wasn’t until they emerged from their snooze and headed down to the pool for pre-sunset cocktails that they began to worry.

  Full-on panic ensued when Mary peered over the deck railing and spied Millicent’s cowboy hat upended in the bushes at the clearing’s edge.

  Once signaled, the alarm went out immediately.

  Inspector Pickering was hastily summoned.

  ~ ~ ~

  DESPITE THE SHORT notice, Pickering arrived with a sizeable posse. The potential loss of an elderly tourist constituted an all-hands-on-deck emergency. The situation required immediate resolution, particularly with dusk falling across the island.

  The convoy of police-related vehicles converged on the inn at the same time as the dinner crowd, creating a traffic jam on the main road next to the turn-in.

  Pickering deftly maneuvered around the safari trucks struggling to deliver their passengers up the clogged driveway. He parked his pickup and strode briskly into the pavilion, accompanied by his search team, a mostly male mix of officers and volunteers.

  The inspector listened to the fretful report of the missing woman’s traveling companions, furrowing his brow at the many references to a fictional defense attorney named Matlock. He had never heard of the American television show or its lead character, but he gathered that Millicent liked to play detective. The ladies feared that she had fallen during her sleuth-related wanderings and was lying injured somewhere in the woods.

  Given the inn’s recent – and past – history, Pickering wasn’t so sure of those assumptions.

  He scribbled in his notepad while the search team swept the ridge’s upper perimeter. It didn’t take long for the group to report back empty-handed. Pickering had expected as much. The innkeepers had already searched the area surrounding the inn.

  Standing on the deck’s northwest corner, the inspector cupped his hand over his brow and squinted at the gulls circling above the narrow beach on the far side of the jungle.

  The pointed avian shadows had adopted an aberrant flight pattern. The birds were after something more than fish.

  “We need to get down to the water.”

  The innkeepers had been hovering nearby, anxiously awaiting instructions.

  Glenn shook his head. “It’s not possible, Inspector. Not without a helicopter.”

  “I left mine at the station,” Pickering replied wryly.

  He gazed down at the clearing, stroked his chin, and then motioned for a man from the search team to join him at the railing. “What do you think, Reverend?”

  The reverend was a well-fed man in his late fifties with the plump build of a medieval friar. He stepped forward to consult with the inspector.

  “There’s a trail,” the reverend said, nodding at the clearing. “I remember it from before.”

  Chapter 37

  In Recent Use

  AT THE REVEREND’S reference to a trail, I shook my head in disbelief.

  “There’s no way,” I said, interjecting. “I’ve never heard anything about a trail down there.”

  Inspector Pickering ignored me. He turned from the railing and strode out to the parking lot.

  I watched in horror as he returned with a machete in one hand and, panting at his side, an enormous slobbering mutt. The four-legged companion was at least as menacing as the weapon.

  It looked just like the dog I’d seen chained in the inland driveway a few months earlier.

  The animal glared up at me, as unfriendly as before. A low growl rumbled in the back of its throat.

  Pickering tapped his thigh, and the dog immediately moved into position at his heel. “Good girl, Clarice.”

  “Yes, good girl.” I murmured, distancing myself from both the dog and the search crew as the inspector directed his team toward the pavilion’s outer stairs.

&n
bsp; I was concerned about Millicent’s disappearance. She seemed like a nice old lady – a little eccentric, perhaps, but sweet enough.

  However, at this point, I would rather have gone anywhere in the world other than the clearing below the deck, much less into the jungle.

  Pickering saw me edging away from the group. “Sir, if you don’t mind. Please come along with us.”

  Despite the polite phrasing, the inspector’s tone indicated that compliance was not optional.

  ~ ~ ~

  OLIVER FELL INTO step behind me as Pickering led the way down the exterior stairs, Clarice panting at his knee. Elsie marched a few feet behind the inspector, fulfilling her role as junior deputy.

  With the sun dropping toward the distant horizon, the area surrounding the pavilion’s foundation had already fallen into shadow. While the scene from the pool deck sparkled with beauty, the clearing below evoked a spooky aura. The dense jungle loomed beyond, a macabre theater of unspeakable terrors.

  Pickering paused at the landing outside the restrooms, as if summoning his courage before tackling the last flight of steps to the bottom. Many of the volunteer searchers shuffled nervously in place. They looked like they expected a fire-breathing demon to burst out of the woods. Even Clarice appeared hesitant to tackle the task that lay ahead.

  But I felt certain the spirit the locals feared had long since made her way up the stairs and into the inn.

  She’d taken up residence inside my partner.

  I couldn’t bring myself to look Oliver in the eye, afraid of the monster I might see reflected back.

  ~ ~ ~

  PICKERING REACHED THE edge of the clearing and crouched to the ground, studying the grass and the surrounding bushes. Clarice dropped her head to the dirt, loudly sniffing as she rummaged back and forth through the weeds.

  You didn’t need enhanced nasal faculties to detect the stale scent in the air. The stench I’d noticed during my earlier visit to the clearing had intensified, and the source was now unmistakable.

  It was a rank odor that could only come from death.