Murder on the Riviera

by Anisa Claire West

  “That paper was tucked inside the book when I found it at the library. It has directions to the Island of Vinova. Like I said, a good spirit put them there.” The Secret Keeper nodded his head confidently.

  “Or an evil conniver who wanted to lure someone into a trap.” Kent’s alternative explanation rattled the old man.

  “No! That is not possible.” The Secret Keeper’s arm began to shake as he spoke.

  Herculea knew that Kent, ever the realist, could be absolutely right. But she couldn’t make a predetermination as to whether a “good spirit” as the Secret Keeper put it, or some evil force, had stuck the directions and map into the book. The only way to find out was to take that map all the way to the Island of Vinova and find the Golden Orca.

  Chapter 9

  The sunset was a flaming crimson ball splashing over the mountains of Rio de Janeiro. The sky was ablaze with every mile of that setting sun, whose fire bled out into the atmosphere like a gaping wound.

  Herculea sat in the taxi with the map and directions securely zippered in her purse. On her right side, Kent sat with a grim expression on his face. On her left side sat the Secret Keeper, who had insisted on taking this journey with them. At his cottage that afternoon, the Secret Keeper had nearly had to beg them to come along. Both Kent and Herculea viewed the old man’s presence as a liability. He was not half as spry as the young man he had been when this heinous spell was cast. Indeed, the Secret Keeper appeared frail and tired. But he had perked up like a pot of freshly brewed coffee when he told them how much it would mean to him to come along.

  “Think how many years I have waited for this! I want to be on that island and look in Mathilda’s eyes when I get my youth and mortality back! I want her to know that she has not won. Besides, you may need my Portuguese skills,” the Secret Keeper had persuaded, and Herculea could not argue with the last part.

  On the long journey to the Island of Vinova, they would pass through remote areas of Brazil, regions where English was not likely understood. Plus, Herculea felt passionately that the Secret Keeper deserved the firsthand satisfaction of victory after nearly a century of suffering and isolation.

  The taxi chugged along over bumpy, poorly paved roads. The map contained precise directions with measurements of latitude and longitude. They would surely find the island. That was a foregone conclusion. But, after reaching the destination, the events to follow were wholly unpredictable.

  Herculea glanced over at Kent, admiring his strong profile. She had never sat this close to him before and was acutely aware of their hips fused together on the hot leather seat. Still fatigued and without a good night’s sleep since her last night in San Francisco, Herculea wanted to rest her head on Kent’s chest. She imagined the soothing feel of his hand caressing her hair, lulling her into sleep. Kent’s eyes met hers suddenly, and there was a fierceness in his expression that suggested he was having similar thoughts.

  Inconveniently, the old man launched into a coughing fit, placing a hand over his chest as he heaved for air. Herculea smirked comically for a moment until the coughs became more raspy, and the old man’s throat constricted painfully. Instinctively, Herculea slapped him on the back as he leaned forward in his seat gasping for oxygen.

  “Are you okay?” Herculea asked.

  The Secret Keeper caught his breath before answering in a hoarse voice. “Yes, dear. Don’t worry. Just a tickle in my throat.”

  Clearly irritated by the man’s intrusive presence, Kent rolled his eyes before affirming, “I don’t think you’re able enough to take this trip. We’re only sitting in a taxi, and you’re practically choking to death. How will you deal with what lies ahead?”

  Taken aback, The Secret Keeper bristled. “I said it was just a tickle. So it was just a tickle. Don’t underestimate me, boy. I’ve been around a long time. I didn’t last this long from being weak.”

  The old man has a point, Herculea thought. It was remarkable how the Secret Keeper had survived a lifetime in such a decrepit body. He was so tall, his limbs long and lean, with no meat on the bones at all. The trio continued to ride in semi-awkward silence along the startlingly beautiful Brazilian coastline. The ocean became more crystalline with every mile south they traveled. Sands were as white as sugar cane, and the sky was sheer aquamarine.

  Herculea tried to pretend that she was on a tourist bus, just like any other privileged mortal. This was not a grave journey to challenge the crude destiny someone else had chosen for her, but rather a lighthearted prance through South America. Next, Herculea imagined, the tour bus would be heading west and crossing over into her homeland, Peru. There, she would leave the bus behind and meet her mother at a café in Lima where they would sit outside in the baking sun and sip ice cream sodas.

  Herculea’s heart ached as she forced herself back to reality. A flashback of Pedro hovering over her body drifted into her mind. As though it were pesky dust on her kitchen floor, Herculea quickly swept the vision away. The most intense sexual experience of her life had somehow stemmed from the cruelest prank that could be played on a person. Herculea’s lips tightened as she wondered where Pedro was now. How she would relish the taste of victory over her callous nemesis.

  *****

  The last of the wooden planks was nailed securely to the door. Pedro dropped the hammer to the ground, panting from exertion. His empty house in Brazil was completely boarded up, impenetrable. Pouring the contents of a water bottle over his head, Pedro looked towards the blindingly blue sky. He had spent all morning preparing for his departure, and now, at the sweltering peak of the afternoon, he would leave this house behind forever. The memories of what he had done to Herculea were painful beyond all bearing. He felt a remorse such as he had never known, a regret that manifested as physical pain in his joints and muscles.

  “Why?!” He shouted in a cracked voice.

  His only reply was the reverberation of his own voice, a sound so pitiful he did not immediately recognize it. Why hadn’t he taken things more slowly with Herculea and given her the chance to learn about his immortality first? He should have wooed her and allowed her to make the choice herself. Now, his entire life stood in jeopardy. Herculea had fled with The Immortality Abyss, and if she had read it, then he was doomed. If she had reached the Secret Keeper, a shriveling old man doubtlessly ravenous to reclaim his stolen youth, then Pedro ran the risk of staying immortal, but not as he was now. No, if Herculea joined forces with the Secret Keeper, Pedro would be ever trapped in the deteriorating body of an old man.

  Pedro cringed to think of his earlier arrogant text message to her. It had just been a ruse. He was not confident of anything. He was terrified to his very core. Out of the shadows, one of the stray cats meowed and rubbed flirtatiously against his calf.

  Looking down at the feline, Pedro shook his head uselessly. “Oh, why can’t I have nine lives that come to an end instead of one that will never end?!”

  His voice sounded pathetic to his own ears, and Pedro’s signature hard shell began to form around his heart again. He was not vanquished, nor would he allow himself to be. Ever. The Silver Goddess had already wrought enough damage by banishing him from the island. If they had never parted, there would have been no need to scour the globe searching for a replacement mate for the long road of eternity. And then the Secret Keeper would be harmlessly locked away in his lonely cottage, an old man forever.

  “NO!” Pedro bellowed.

  In a furious instant, Pedro resolved to crash upon the shores leading to the Island of Vinova. Though he could not set foot on Vinova, he could land near the water, waiting patiently for Herculea and the Secret Keeper to arrive. Once he found them, it would be easy to tackle the frail old man and drag him onto his jet. Yes, he would kidnap the old man and bring him back to the cottage where he belonged. And board it up. Tightly. Then, he would return to claim Herculea. Pedro rubbed his hands together in anticipation of his victory.

  Herculea would have to learn to love him. The eternity of luxury and jet
setting he had to offer would entice any woman. He would never allow her to reverse her immortality. His plan was flawless. Pedro chuckled under his breath and wrung his hands together listlessly. All he needed to do was stop them before they got to the island. With his lavish wealth, procured in a host of unsavory ways over the decades, that shouldn’t be hard to do at all. His jet would land by nightfall.

  Chapter 10

  The helicopter’s propellers whirled around dizzyingly and deafeningly as the aircraft ascended. The taxi ride had just been the first leg of the journey. The pending helicopter ride would be followed by a boat trip to the Island of Vinova. Sandwiched between Herculea and the pilot, the Secret Keeper wore a courageous face. Herculea imagined that this was the most exciting thing to happen to the man in years. Living so reclusively in that cottage certainly hadn’t cracked his spirit. If anything, Herculea believed those seemingly endless years of solitude and suffering had all culminated on this day, on this earsplitting helicopter ride.

  Kent, on the other hand, looked out the window anxiously, as the helicopter rose shakily above the treetops. The pilot seemed competent enough, but Kent had a fear of helicopters and other small aircrafts. He had heard too many stories on the news of disaster flights. Herculea seemed to decipher his thoughts as she placed her hand firmly on his forearm and gave him an impromptu kiss on the cheek. He didn’t bother trying to talk to her over the racket of the helicopter. Instead, he enjoyed this rare moment of non-verbal communication and rubbed the palm of her hand firmly against his.

  Oxygen was scarce inside the overheated helicopter, and Herculea tried to ward off a wave of nausea. Mentally, she returned to her yoga practice, going through the series of relaxing poses in her head and trying to recapture some of the peace they had brought her. She began a round of breathing, inhaling into the belly, ribcage, and top of the lungs fully before expelling all the air slowly. Herculea repeated the breath several times, but could not stop the frenetic beating of her heart or the beads of sweat that formed on her brow. Herculea willed herself not to become sick.

  The pilot shouted something incoherent in Portuguese and pointed out the window. Herculea blinked in the overwhelming sun and saw waves of seawater crash against the shoreline. Gratefully, she smiled at the pilot, knowing that the nauseating helicopter ride would be over in a matter of minutes and they would land on the beach.

  Herculea’s stomach dipped and lurched as the pilot began the turbulent descent onto the empty shoreline. Wishing that she felt well enough to admire the stark beauty of this deserted Brazilian beach, Herculea instead focused on keeping a rein over her queasy stomach. The Secret Keeper, meanwhile, looked like a child riding a roller coaster for the first time. The expression on his face was pure glee. Kent remained stone-faced and pensive as he continued to rub Herculea’s hand.

  The din from the helicopter was becoming intolerable to Herculea’s strained eardrums, which she thought might pop at any moment. The pilot let out a satisfied “whoop” as he steered the helicopter safely onto the sand. Herculea did not know why he looked so pleased with himself. The man had stopped dangerously close to the water. If he had landed just a few seconds sooner, they might have fatally plunged into the murky Atlantic Ocean. This fact did not escape Kent either. He gave the pilot a gruff handshake and tight smile while shoving a wad of cash into his hand.

  Kent squirmed to maneuver his large body off the helicopter. As Herculea followed closely behind him, she overheard the pilot talking to the Secret Keeper in spitfire Portuguese. Although she couldn’t understand a word of their discussion, the pilot’s tone sounded as if he were giving instructions.

  The Secret Keeper nodded amiably and gave the pilot a brief hug and slap on the back. Clearly, this was a day at the amusement park for him, even without an actual roller coaster.

  “Are you ready to sail the sea?” He asked cheerfully, waving goodbye to the pilot as the helicopter took off.

  “Not without a watercraft,” Kent retorted wryly.

  “Of course not!” The Secret Keeper chuckled. “Of course there are no commercial boats that go to Vinova. So, we can pay a private yacht owner to take us there.”

  “And how far are we right about now?” Kent queried.

  “Not far at all according to my map.” Herculea unfolded the frayed and crumpled parchment. “Look how close the pilot brought us.”

  She placed her finger over the tiny point in the sea where the Island of Vinova lay. It had looked so innocuous on the map. Exotic and exciting out there in the deep of the ocean. No one looking at the map would ever guess that it was a place so foreboding, concealing so many unorthodox secrets.

  Kent examined the map with narrowed eyes. “By my measurement, the island is less than 200 miles away.” He frowned suddenly and added, “That means we’ll arrive in the dark. I don’t think that’s a wise idea.”

  “Well, we really don’t have a choice, do we? We can’t sleep here on the beach,” Herculea said.

  Kent glanced over his shoulder at the Secret Keeper who had removed his shoes and was dipping his bare feet in the ocean. It was hard to be angry at the old crone; the fellow had such a childlike innocence about him. Still, the old man’s presence grated on his nerves. If the Secret Keeper were back at his cottage, things would be much different. The idea of sleeping on the beach would not seem so outlandish if it were just he and Herculea, rather than the two of them plus this benevolent but bothersome old man.

  Kent looked around him at the picturesque sand dunes and flocking sea gulls. It would be such a perfect setting to romance Herculea and finally show her, with his mouth and body, how he really felt. He sighed in frustration and looked back at Herculea, who was staring at him quizzically waiting for an answer.

  “I suppose we can’t sleep here on the beach,” Kent finally admitted.

  “Right. So, we have to find a yacht owner this afternoon and take our chances getting there after dark.” Herculea shrugged resolutely. “Actually, we might be safer than if we arrived in daylight,” she observed.

  “How’s that now?” Kent clipped.

  Herculea replied, “Because nobody will see us. We don’t even know if they have electricity on this island. It could be pitch black. And if it is, then we can get our bearings and hide if necessary.”

  “Get our bearings and hide?” Kent repeated incredulously. “Do you hear yourself, Herculea?”

  She shot him a stubborn and sullen look. “Yes, that’s what I said.”

  Kent shook his head in exasperation. “And how do you figure we’ll get our bearings in the dead of night?”

  “I don’t know, Kent!” Herculea cried, rapidly losing patience. “Nothing about this entire trip makes sense, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you can help me rather than trying to sabotage me with your incessant logic!”

  Kent couldn’t resist a chuckle. He knew very well that his logical mind was both gift and flaw. Perhaps this whole ludicrous experience would serve as a test for him. Was he incurably rigid, or could he manage to let go? Could he tap into his spontaneous and daring side---if such a side did indeed exist?

  Without another lucid thought, he grabbed Herculea and thrust her against his chest, nearly knocking the wind out of her. She stared up at him with those wild dark eyes and parted her lips in surprise. He took advantage of the vulnerable moment to press his lips against hers in a reckless, emotive kiss that bordered on savagery. To his delight, she relaxed against him and reciprocated the kiss with her own intoxicating brand of passion. Eagerly, she allowed him to slide his tongue into her mouth as he gripped her hips and moved them in circles against him.

  Her body felt more fiery than the sunstar that blazed over them relentlessly, baking their flesh and elevating their temperatures to feverish levels. Herculea moaned femininely as his hands continued to work her hips in a globe-like motion while he plundered her mouth desperately. She could feel his hardness pressing into her hips as he lifted her slightly off the ground in his capable embr
ace.

  She yelped in protest as he suddenly broke off the kiss. Herculea opened her eyes to behold Kent staring intensely at her swollen lips.

  “Nothing logical about that,” he muttered hoarsely as his breathing came in ragged puffs.

  Both speechless and breathless, Herculea merely nodded her assent. Her body felt shockingly hot and moist. She wanted more than anything for him to rip both their clothes off and make love to her on the burning sand. She didn’t care if the sand scorched their bodies or if the sun burned them to a crisp. All she wanted in this moment was to feel the weight of Kent’s strong torso bearing down on her own as he penetrated her and thrust away all their worries.

  That kiss was nearly seven years in the making, she thought. The chemistry she had sensed between them had not been imaginary. Every passionate look in his eyes, every soothing touch of his hand---everything had been real. She basked in that knowledge, not taking her eyes from the crystal blue orbs that sparkled even more brilliantly against the backdrop of the ocean. She could swim in those oceanic eyes, swim all the way across the Atlantic as the earth tilted on its axis and rendered her heart a glorious, helter-skelter mess.

  Regaining a modicum of control over his breath and voice, Kent explained, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that, Herculea. I’ve always wanted it to be the perfect time, the perfect place. In the middle of the San Francisco rain on New Year’s Eve. Ice skating in New York on winter break. At home in London on a Thames River cruise. But of all the times I’ve fantasized about kissing you, it never felt as good as that.”

  Herculea loved the raw honesty and vulnerability that Kent evoked. “I’ve been wanting you too,” she admitted slowly. “I’ve been daydreaming about us since we left California.”