Killer Knots Page 13

  Nor did she pass up the opportunity to meet you in Marigot. You can’t fool me with your prattle.

  “It’s not free if you consider the cost of the excursion, plus the taxi ride to get over here.” She plastered a cheerful expression on her face as they approached their restaurant table. “John got carried away with his shopping,” she told the others. “I retrieved him before he could buy Kate an expensive piece of jewelry.”

  “I should be so lucky.” Kate twisted her paper napkin. “Where’s our food? We’re spending a wicked amount of time at this place.”

  “You’re the one who told Grandpa to relax,” Brianna reminded her grandmother. “Look, the waiter just brought those people their meals. We should be next.”

  After Marla took her seat, Vail nudged her and waggled his eyebrows. She knew he was questioning her, but this wasn’t the time or place to discuss what was on her mind.

  They found time later at the beach, where rough waves and clumps of seaweed discouraged swimming. While Brianna and Kate soaked up the sun, and John lounged in a hammock slung between two palms, she and Dalton took a walk.

  Clouds clustered over the range of mountains, but at the shoreline, the sun shone brightly overhead, and the turquoise water sparkled. Wearing a sun visor and dark lenses, Marla squished her bare toes in the damp sand. She glanced at Vail in appreciation. Clad only in a pair of swim trunks, his torso gleamed with suntan oil. Her body responded with a coil of warmth. I’ll have to take the guy to the beach more often.

  “What took you and Dad so long to return at lunch?” Vail asked, noticing her eyes on him.

  “He’d gone window shopping, and I went to tell him our drinks were ready. What’s going on between him and your mother?”

  Vail placed one long, muscled leg in front of the other. “What do you mean?”

  “Surely you’re not oblivious to the fact that they have problems. He rarely touches her, and you’ve heard his snide remarks. Or maybe you turn the other cheek on purpose?”

  He swept his gaze to the horizon. “Dad isn’t happy. You know he recently retired. He wants to go out more and try new things, but Mom is stuck in her routine. She refuses to alter her lifestyle to the point of ignoring him.”

  “I can’t believe she ignores him. Maybe she resents the intrusion after having the house to herself all these years. It’ll take a period of adjustment on both their parts.”

  “Could be, but it isn’t going so well to start.”

  “What kind of things does he want to do?”

  “Travel, tap into his creative side, take classes. Mom doesn’t want to do anything different.” He kicked at a piece of driftwood in their path. Ahead was another section of beach, marked off by a rickety fence that ended at the sand. That area didn’t appear as populated as the stretch beyond, in front of a hotel. Beachgoers there splashed in a cordoned-off lagoon. She could hear their laughter as they strolled onward.

  “Kate probably has her friends and her own activities,” she offered. “John has to make a new life for himself without relying on his wife.”

  “His version of a new life is pretty radical.”

  Before Marla could ask what he meant, she glimpsed a sight up ahead that made her do a double-take. Lord save me, that looks like a person s bare butt. It can’t be, can it?

  “Dalton, look at that lady over by the lime-colored umbrella. Is she wearing anything?” The woman turned, and Marla’s jaw dropped. A pair of hanging breasts swung into view. She almost stopped in her tracks, staring in disbelief.

  “Good God,” Vail muttered.

  Quickly averting her gaze, Marla resumed her pace. She focused instead on the ocean, but her attempt to preserve decorum proved futile. She elbowed Vail. “Look at that guy wading in the water. You can see his, uh, you know, sticking out.” Stark naked, the man did nothing to hide his scrawny body.

  “None of these people have equipment I’d write home about,” Vail drawled, nodding at an older couple lounging naked on a couple of beach chairs.

  Reversing direction, they hurried back to their tour group. “You’ll never believe what we saw,” Marla told Kate, who’d waved her over to an empty chaise. “There’s a nude beach next to ours. The people are out in the open just as fresh as when they were born.”

  “No way,” Brianna said, sitting upright. “I wanna go see.”

  “You stay right here,” Kate ordered, giving the teen a stern glare. “Such a sight is not for young eyes.”

  “It’s not as though I haven’t seen a boy’s thingie before.”

  “What?” Kate and Marla sang in unison.

  “Billy Underwood showed me his in third grade.”

  “I hope you weren’t playing doctor,” Kate huffed.

  “With Billy? Ugh, what a jerk.”

  Kate threw Marla an exasperated look. “We’d better get back to the bus. The shops are waiting for us in Philipsburg.”

  They gathered their towels; collected John, who’d been snoozing in his hammock; and boarded their ride back to the capital city of Dutch St. Maarten.

  After a frenzied hour of shopping, Vail’s shoulders slumped and his eyes glazed. “Look,” he said, clutching several packages, “if you gals want to stay longer, I can return to the ship with Dad.”

  “I’m ready to head back,” Kate announced, her face flushed from the heat. “We may have to wait in line for the water taxi. I don’t want to cut it too close.”

  Am the only one who isn’t done? Marla thought with dismay. Brianna’s slouched posture and glassy expression indicated the teen needed a nap. They should all get back on board, but she’d seen a pair of earrings in one of the stores that matched the David Yurman bracelet Kate had bought Brianna. She’d love to buy them as a surprise for the girl. And maybe she could find some good men’s gifts if she had time alone.

  Besides, she hadn’t checked out the Belgian chocolate shop, Guavaberry Hut, or Trader Bob’s Emporium.

  Spotting a familiar brunette along Front Street, she waved. “There’s Betsy in front of Diamonds International. I’ll hook up with her and meet you later, if you all want to go back now. Dalton, would you mind taking these packages? I can’t schlep these plus my purse anymore. My arm feels as though it’s going to fall off.”

  He acquiesced with a weary nod. “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you alone.”

  She gave him a reassuring smile. “Betsy’s signaling to me. I’ll be fine. We’ll head back to the ship together.”

  Relishing her freedom, she hastened toward her new friend. They exchanged greetings before hustling into the shops.

  “My tour was awesome!” Betsy gushed, tapping Marla’s arm. “I’ve always wanted to traverse the tree canopies in a rain forest, but my muscles will be sore for the rest of the week.” Out on the street, she halted abruptly in front of a fine-arts gallery, her face blanching when she spotted a painting in the window. “Holy mackerel! That’s impossible.”

  Impatient to move on, Marla squinted. “What is it?”

  Betsy pointed a wavering finger. “T-that painting…it’s a work by Alden Tusk. We have the exact same piece back home in the museum.”

  CHAPTER 11

  How can the same painting be here if it’s back home in your museum? Marla asked Betsy.

  “I have no idea. Alden never painted a similar picture twice. Someone must have made a copy.” Striding inside the shop, Betsy demanded to see the owner.

  Marla followed, hoping to inquire about Alden’s ballet portraits. She’d love to find one of the paintings with herself as subject. Who knew what it would be worth today?

  “Where did you get that painting in the window?” Betsy demanded of a man with a walrus mustache who’d hurried over.

  “Hello, ladies. Our buyer obtains the pieces for our shop,” the proprietor explained. “If you’re interested in that particular item, I’ll give you a good price.”

  Betsy pursed her lips. “The artist was my friend. We have a similar canvas hanging in the museum whe
re I work. Alden would never have painted two of the same scenes. This tableau is quite memorable, with a young boy gazing at a tree stripped of leaves. His mournful expression leaves an emotional impact.”

  Marla, glancing out the front window, spotted Thurston and Heidi Stark strolling by. Suddenly, Thurston stopped, his eyes bulging as he caught sight of the painting on display. He bent toward his wife, murmuring a few words into her ear. Then he dashed off across the street, signaling to someone Marla couldn’t see from her vantage point.

  Curious, she excused herself from Betsy’s company. Outside on the sidewalk, she spied Thurston arguing with Cliff Peters in front of an alleyway. Heidi remained frozen in place, staring at them with an unreadable expression.

  “What’s wrong?” Marla asked her. “I noticed Thurston freaked out when he saw this painting. Betsy says it’s by Alden Tusk, but the original is in your museum.”

  Heidi slowly turned her head and regarded Marla with an icy expression. “Drop it, Marla. This isn’t anything you need to concern yourself about.” Her girlish voice seemed incongruous with her harsh words.

  Marla gave her an appraising glance. Despite her strappy heels, butt-high shorts, and revealing top, she didn’t sound as clueless as she appeared. Her eyes flashed before she turned and stalked away.

  Undoubtedly Thurston hammered at Cliff about the reproduction. Marla would love to hear what they were saying, but as she jostled through the thinning crowd, she saw Brooklyn Jones waving from a produce market.

  Hustling over, she regarded the large fellow. Glowering, he leaned toward her and spoke in a gravelly tone, “Don’t pay them no mind, sister. Thurston and Cliff got somethin’ to fight over. You don’t want to stick your nose into their business.”

  “Thurston is upset, and rightfully so,” she explained. “First Alden Tusk falls to his death in the museum, and now one of his paintings turns up here, or at least a close copy. Cliff isn’t doing a very good job as security manager.”

  “That ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.” He picked a weighty papaya off a stand and examined the fruit as though fortunes were etched in its skin. “Mr. Stark understands how things are between young Mr. Peters and his wife. You’d be blind if you’ve missed it. Those two are tight as a strangler fig.”

  Marla’s gaze searched for Heidi, but the blonde had vanished. Smart shikseh to stay out of her husband’s warpath.

  “So why doesn’t Thurston fire Cliff?”

  “He lacks the authority. Oily calls the shots, and it suits him to keep Cliff around.” Rapping her shoulder, Brooklyn moved his face so close she smelled his garlic-scented breath. “Maybe Olly likes having a security guard who’s so easy to distract.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Uh-uh. I’ve said enough.” Putting the papaya back, he strode a few paces to a display of guavas. “You taste the liquor they make here on the island? Pretty strong stuff.”

  Someone bumped her elbow, and she felt a tug on her handbag. Clutching the purse against her side, she whirled around and saw a kaleidoscope of people. Any one of them could have jostled her, but the tug had been hard, too hard to be accidental. Rummaging in her bag, she breathed a sigh of relief when her fingers found her wallet and passport.

  As Brooklyn meandered off, Marla scanned the street for Betsy, but her friend had gone. Sniffing a blend of ripe fruit warmed by the sun and exhaust fumes from cars choking the street, she hitched her breath. Here she’d done the very thing Vail had cautioned her against—ending up alone. She needed to catch the water taxi and get back to the ship.

  Waiting for the traffic to ease so she could veer around a patch of cracked pavement, she shrugged off an eerie feeling of being watched. Did they have pickpockets on the island? Or was she imagining things based on Martha’s disappearing act?

  She’d just crossed the road when a flash of movement caught her eye. Entering the Guavaberry Mercantile farther down Front Street was an older woman with teased blond hair, a heavy application of makeup, and a silk blouse and skirt. She looked too elegant for an ordinary tourist and too well dressed for a native. Wondering if this could be the elusive countess, Marla hurried after her. Charmed by the cherry-red cottage with gingerbread trim, Marla entered the emporium. Inside to the left stretched a mahogany bar topped with liquor bottles and disposable plastic cups.

  “Hello, missy,” said the bartender, a large-girthed dark woman with a singsong voice. Her wide smile revealed yellowed teeth. She wore a turban, the fabric matching her flowing caftan. “Would you like to sample our famous island guavaberry drink?”

  Marla glanced to her right, where shelves stocked with hot sauces, cookbooks, boxed rum cakes, and souvenir glassware took up space. Beyond the front section, which may have been the living-and dining-room space of a converted house, sat a cloth-draped round table with two chairs. A beaded curtain separated the rest of the place from the public. The strips of beads wavered, as though someone had just passed through.

  “Where’s the woman who just came in here?” Marla demanded. Behind her, she heard a bell tinkle over the door as another patron entered.

  The bartender’s gaze flickered momentarily with recognition. “She went back to get ready for a reading. You got business with the countess? I’ll give you a drink while you wait. You taste this, you wanna buy.”

  Marla shifted her purse, watching the man who’d come in from the corner of her eye. He wore a black T-shirt and baggy pants and had the swarthy complexion of a native. Her skin prickled. He appeared to be browsing the gift items, but she’d swear his intent wasn’t on shopping. Never mind him. The bartender had mentioned the countess, so she was on the right track.

  “You say the countess is here for a reading? Do you tell fortunes?”

  “Madame Nadine reads your signs, lady,” the proprietress said in a haughty tone. “I have the gift, same as my mama before me. You want an appointment? Rules say you gotta sample my brew first. I know you’ll wanna buy a bottle for your friends back home.”

  “Okay, fine, I’ll buy a couple of bottles. Just tell the countess I need to talk to her, okay?”

  “Countess Delacroix don’t talk to just nobody. Why you wanna see her?”

  “A friend of mine gave me her name. I have some questions to ask about a mutual acquaintance.” Then, suddenly afraid she wouldn’t be able to communicate with the Frenchwoman, Marla queried, “She does speak English clearly enough, doesn’t she?”

  The bartender laughed, a wheezy sound coming from deep within her chest. “She done speak seven languages, lady. It’s all that vanilla. Makes her smart.”

  “Vanilla?”

  “You don’t know why she’s so rich? True vanilla is expensive, and Countess Delacroix’s family owns many plantations. See those shelves over there?” She pointed toward a row of labeled brown bottles. “I carry her product, pure Mexican vanilla extract. You go to Cozumel, and you’ll find lots of bottles for sale, but it ain’t always real.”

  Marla glanced at the man, who was busy perusing a selection of Caribbean coffees. He’d paid no heed to their discussion, but he wasn’t in any hurry to make a purchase either.

  Madame Nadine poured a few ounces from two different bottles into the plastic cups. “You there, mister. Come taste a free sample. You’ll like this better than that other shop down the street. My prices beat theirs, too.”

  “Thanks, I could use a shot,” he said, sauntering over.

  Marla took a step back, observing his stubbled jaw and hard glacier eyes. “Look, I have to get back to my ship. Is the countess coming out or not? She shouldn’t have to prepare for a reading. I’ve had one by a psychic, and Reverend Hazel held my eyeglass case for vibes.” Her predictions had been right on the mark, too, but then Cassadaga, Florida, was known for its certified mediums.

  Feeling parched as well as frustrated, Marla snatched one of the little cups and gulped the contents. Her throat constricted as the strong liquor scorched her esophagus. Its fruity taste left a pleasant aftermath, mak
ing her consider its possibilities as a gift for her brother back home.

  “Wait here,” Madame Nadine told her. “I’ll go get Countess Delacroix for you.”

  Watching her disappear behind the curtain, Marla was startled to feel a tap on her shoulder. She spun to face the man hovering by the bar. A grin split his face like an ax cleaving a tree trunk, giving her the impression he didn’t smile often.

  “Try this,” he said, holding up one of the little cups. “It’s sweeter than the other. People from the States like it a lot better.”

  Marla grasped the cup, wondering what was taking Madame Nadine so long to retrieve the countess. Maybe she should have followed her through the curtain. Without thought, she downed the liquor, then set the empty vessel on the polished countertop. That should quench her thirst until she got back to their cabin.

  Glancing at her watch, she winced. “I can’t wait any longer. Will you tell Nadine that I had to leave? I’ve wasted too much time here already.” She was beginning to think she’d been bamboozled about Countess Delacroix even being there. Likely the woman had left through a rear exit.

  And likely Dalton will be white with worry over my absence.

  Berating herself for lingering, she hastened toward the door. Midway there, a twinge of queasiness hit her stomach. Oh great. She shouldn’t have drunk alcohol on top of that meal from the French cafe. Or maybe the liquor didn’t agree with her system. Who knew what extra ingredients it contained.

  Planting a hand on her abdomen, she wavered. Her face flushed, a wave of heat moving from the top of her head to her toes. Were those walls moving inward, or was it the enclosed, stuffy atmosphere making her see things?

  Lurching toward the exit, she stumbled again as dizziness overwhelmed her. Get outside! a warning in her head shouted. Her vision narrowing, she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other. Voices murmured from behind, but she couldn’t make out what they said. She gasped as her stomach clenched with a sudden, sharp pain, and then all went black.