In Harm's Way (A Martin Billings Story Book 3) Page 11

  “As new data arrives.”

  “He might push hard enough to piss me off. You are heading back to HARM?”

  “I am. I’m tired and Gazele is doing the monthly inventory over at The Boat Shop. I’ve been postponed again.”

  Bill smiled at a passing Sally. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  “Things getting serious between you two?”

  “Things are always serious between me and women,” he said. “Seriously fun.”

  “Good answer.”

  Everyone likes being right, but there are times you really don’t want to be right; things you’d rather be wrong about. You find you are hoping beyond hope that your hunch, whether it’s a gut-wrenching feeling, or a suspicion, is wrong. That night, my hunch, the prediction that had been bouncing around in my head was that, like Amal of the classic Christmas tale, I’d have a night visitor.

  I was afraid I hadn’t seen the last of Donna. As the cast of dark characters surrounding her grew, I was getting the impression that she was serious bad news.

  Learning that this Nate character was even real had been a surprise. Not that he was who or what he said he was. Even the places where their stories converged and agreed, it stunk. The only that thing that was truly crystal clear was that I had no idea what was going on.

  I told myself that finding out what was true and false, establishing anyone’s guilt or innocence about anything, wasn’t my job. I took myself in hand, firmly pointing out (to myself) that trying to sort out a murder and the motives of strangers would do nothing but complicate my life.

  All things being equal, which they never are, I knew it would be best for everyone, especially me, if the lovely and sensual Donna simply decided that she didn’t need my help and quietly disappeared, never to be heard from again.

  I could live with that. The Nate & Nick show would follow her trail away from me and mine and that would be good. After all, I didn’t know the dead man, didn’t owe him a damn thing. Crazy or sane, if Donna had killed Warren Davis, she was the inspector’s problem and, if she hadn’t killed him, well, that was a problem for the courts and the Sister Island legal system to work out. Pulling someone out of a precarious situation is one thing, but getting involved in murder investigations is quite another, and best left to professionals.

  But luck isn’t kind, is seldom what you want, or passed out when you want it. Worse, getting involved isn’t always a matter of choice. Knowing all this, having given myself this heartfelt talking to on the boat ride back to HARM, when I walked up HARM’s accommodation ladder, it didn’t come as a total surprise to find her waiting for me on deck. I found that evil woman on the foredeck, sitting in my comfortable recliner and drinking my rum. Sitting next to her, on the table with the glasses and the half-filled bottle, was her gun.

  “You stay out late,” she said.

  “I thought you were going to call,” I said. “You said you’d call.”

  “I was,” she said. “Things changed.”

  “They always do.” I took the other chair. “That’s why we have things.”

  “Before you went to the police, you went to The Barracuda. You talked to Nate.” She took a long drink. “Then again tonight, back at the bar… I think you drink a lot, Marty.”

  “For medicinal purposes,” I said.

  “Anyway, I saw him again, this time with that fuck Nick. They were watching you. I think he was waiting for me to call. I think you told him I’d call.” She managed to sound like I’d betrayed her.

  “I did. He introduced himself to me. Did you expect me to be rude? He walked up and told me that he knew who I was and that we’d connected. It was natural for him to pump me for information. I couldn’t tell him anything he didn’t know and lying to him would just make him even more suspicious. As it was, he didn’t believe that I had no idea where you were for a minute and that’s why he kept watching me.”

  “You shouldn’t have talked to him. He’s a sneaky bastard who puts poisonous words in people’s ears for fun.”

  “Well, to be honest, I did want to hear his poisonous words, find out what story he wanted to tell me,” I said. “He was eager to spin the narrative, as the politicians say, and I wanted to see how much of it lined up with the one you told me.”

  “I told you the truth.”

  I smiled. “That’s cute, Donna. While I like you, you’ve been lying out your cute ass since we met. You’d already lied to me with a straight face about the boat and how you got there. If someone will lie about something as important as wrecking a boat, who knows what else they will lie about?”

  She seemed to accept that. “So, I’m curious. What story did he tell you?”

  I laughed and gave her a summary of his story, including his plan for getting her off the island without official permission by drugging her.

  When I finished, there was a moment of silence before she asked: “That sneaky bastard.” There was a hint of admiration in her voice. “Do you believe him?”

  “That you are crazy? I could buy that part. I mean you did come here waving a gun around and trying to get me to take you to some foreign place.”

  “I didn’t wave it around. I just let you know I had it. And that was after I fucked you. If you are going to score me having a gun as a bad thing, don’t I get good points for fucking you?”

  I laughed. “I think that was for you. But fair enough. Anyway, I don’t believe you ran away from some clinic where they were treating you for mad wife disease, or that he intends to take you back to get you help.”

  “Why not?” It was a fair question, but it still managed to surprise me.

  I wanted a moment to think through what I wanted to say, which made for a refreshing change. To stall, I grabbed a glass and poured a stiff drink, all the time thinking Donna was right. I needed to cut back on the rum.

  “This Nate, and for the record I don’t believe he is your husband, tried to make me think he came down here with a plan. He pretends that he is a sad husband who is afraid of the complications of dealing with the authorities and winging it. That’s the first load of crap. It took a lot of work to track you here. I don’t believe you used his credit card to buy a plane ticket for a minute. No, he did some serious legwork. And if he is just Joe husband, the idea of smuggling you out of a country… shit, it wouldn’t even occur to him. No, that part stinks. Even if everything else he says is true, he doesn’t intend to dope you up and fly you home to some clinic.”

  Her smile was one of those thin, almost seductive ones that makes you acutely aware of the color of a woman’s lipstick, if she’s wearing any, and the shape of her mouth. “You are a smart boy.”

  “No, I’m not. If I was smart, I would have listened to Ugly Bill and left you standing on the reef until the coast guard came along for an official rescue. Then you’d be in jail, and whatever the truth about Nate is, it would likely be all over.”

  “You don’t want that. I’d be useless once I’m dead.”

  “You aren’t particularly useful now — not to me. In fact, you’ve become quite a pain in the ass.”

  She grinned again. “But you like me.”

  “Like isn’t the word I’d use.”

  “Then let’s say you are drawn to me.”

  Among my many character failings is my affinity for the strange, lost, corrupt, out-of-step people of this world. They attract me and are attracted to me, with some kind of spiritual magnetism that even Ugly Bill hasn’t found adequate words, nor an appropriate poem, to articulate. In his defense, I can’t say he’s put a great deal of effort into the search. Given that he is a member of my semi-official gaggle of misfits, that’s understandable.

  “Possibly. But under the circumstances, I don’t like having you around,” I told her.

  “Why? Are women still considered bad luck on boats?”

  “Mostly those wanted for murder. I consider having the authorities breathing down my neck as one of the worst forms bad lu
ck can take — unless they are uniquely incompetent. The dilemma here is that even if I think you didn’t kill Warren Davis, the inspector does, and I’m getting the impression that Inspector George is not at all incompetent. You need to go away or turn yourself in. This halfway shit is nuts.”

  “It is getting far too complicated,” she said.

  I agreed, but doubted we worried about the same complications. For me, the object was to untangle myself from this dilemma, but I was sure her agenda included things I didn’t know about.

  “I think you aren’t telling the real story any more than Nate is.”

  She snapped me a defensive look that I saw plainly even in the flicker of moonlight. “And what is the real story?”

  “Something else. He talks about a ticking clock that is associated with finding you. What’s that about?”

  She shrugged. “It could mean lots of things.”

  “Okay, don’t tell me. But the fact that you’ve stayed here, haven’t gotten off the island, tells me you know.”

  “You wouldn’t help me leave,” she said sweetly.

  “You are a resourceful person. You’ve managed to stay hidden from the police and the off-island crew on a rather small island. If your main concern was getting away from Nate, you could easily have paid a fisherman to take you to another island.” I pointed to the gun. “You wouldn’t need to use that at all. No one would know where you’d gone.”

  She relaxed. “So why don’t I leave?”

  “My number one guess would be that you have some unfinished business on the island. Something you need to take care of. I also think Nate knows what that business is, or at least has an idea what it is.”

  “Interesting theory. And what business could I have on this cute little island? St. Anne is pretty, but I’ve never been here before and before Nate showed up, I didn’t know anyone but you and Ugly Bill.”

  “If I knew the answer to that, I’m sure I could sort out the rest of it,” I said.

  She stretched, then stood. “Well, I’m getting bored, so I think I’ll leave you to work it all out, to make your convoluted plans to save the Western world from itself.”

  “You aren’t good at sarcasm,” I told her. “Not at all.”

  “I must be, or it wouldn’t bother you.” She headed toward the railing, taking out her cell phone. “I arranged transport,” she said as she typed. “That rowing shit sucked big time. I got a blister on my thumb.”

  “Like so many things, it’s not that hard if you learn how to do it right.”

  “Maybe you can teach me,” she said. “You do seem to love explaining things to me.”

  “In another life,” I said.

  I heard the purr of a motor in the dark. “You need to restock your bar,” she said, throwing a leg over the railing.

  “You could act like a civilized person and bring a bottle now and then, the way guests do.”

  She laughed. “You wouldn’t like me acting civilized, Martin. Not at all.”

  After she was gone, I finished the bottle. There wasn’t much in it. Then I fell asleep under the stars, totally convinced Orion was laughing at me. If it hasn’t ever happened to you, I can tell you that having your favorite constellation laughing at you doesn’t make you feel warm and fuzzy and confident about the future. Not at all.

  12

  I slept fitfully, waking at first light. With fresh morning smells in the air, I made a pot of coffee and sat in my recliner to drink drank it and eat some toast to hold me over. I sat, letting my jumble of thoughts attempt to organize themselves without my interference. It didn’t help. My subconscious came up empty.

  Once I knew The Barracuda would be serving breakfast, I motored around the point and docked with the yachties, heading in to sit across from a cheerful, relaxed version of Ugly Bill, basking in the morning sun with a satisfied grin on his face.

  I ordered a big breakfast. Naturally, the bread was too sweet, the eggs over cooked and the bacon not crisp. Breakfast is not their specialty, but I enjoyed it anyway.

  “You seem pleased with yourself,” I said.

  “Wrong deduction,” he said. “I’m pleased with Sally and she seems pleased with me,” he said. “You, on the other hand, seem stressed out. That’s not the island way, mon.”

  “I am stressed. But I can’t see what to do about it.” When he scowled, I told him about my night visitor. That story made him laugh.

  “You set yourself up for that.” He nodded toward Gazele working behind the bar. “You do know that there are some nice girls on the island who would love for you to visit them, and they aren’t even suspected of murder. You do have to make an effort but I’m of the opinion that you should carefully consider the life choices you make while they are still available to you.”

  “I’d like to shake her off,” I said.

  “Tell her you won’t play.”

  Bill loved making things simple, but… “It isn’t that simple,” I said.

  “Albert Einstein, no slouch at dealing with complex things, famously wrote: ‘Make things as simple as possible, but no simpler.’ Those are good words to live by.”

  “And, like most clever adages, easier to say than do.”

  “It’s thinking them up that’s the hard part.”

  “Did she call? What that woman say?”

  We turned to see Inspector George.

  “Well, good morning, Inspector George,” Bill said. “Sit down and we can get you some coffee. How are you on this fine, tropical morning? How is Missus Inspector George and the little Georges?”

  “I got no time for them pleasantries,” he said, but sitting anyway. I waved at Sally to get her to bring him the coffee he didn’t have time for.

  “The ministers are on my back about this murder case. The yachtie magazines are all calling the ministers for information, details. They all writing stories about what happened. We need to be able to smile and say we caught the lousy criminals, and it is safe for they to come to St. Anne.”

  “The ministers are getting worried,” I said. “Tourism is way too big a thing here.”

  “It’s almost the only thing,” Bill said. “Being so dependent on it is a mistake. The politicians see corporations coming in and investing in tourism as easy money, but it’s an illusion. The real money flows out of the country and into the pockets of the investors. The life span of a resort, the period they earn serious money is about five years, so they don’t build them as well as they could, and no serious wealth stays here. That leaves the taxes they pay, the ones ministers lining their own pockets don’t waive, and the wages paid to local staff. Other than fishing and some niche exports, that’s all keeping body and soul together on the islands. I recommend some diversification.”

  The inspector blinked. “The issue I have on my plate isn’t economic diversification or even long-term economic success. I have a murder to solve. From where I sit, if I solve the murder, all the nonsense goes away.”

  “Today, that is true,” Bill said. “Tomorrow, who knows?”

  Wiping his large hands over his face, the inspector sighed. “In a few days’ time we got a minister, some minister, bringing an important man to this island. He’s the head of some investment company they hoping gonna build a resort here.”

  Bill snorted. “And ruin everything good about this island. They’ve already overbuilt St. Agnes.”

  “I can’t have a murderer running loose while the minister is showing off the island.”

  “And what can we do to help?” I asked, blurting out the words before realizing I was offering my services for yet another unintended rescue operation. If I hadn’t noticed, the look on Bill’s face would have made it clear. I sighed and said nothing, but clearly he was right that this reflexive response of mine needed some work.

  “I’d be glad to have your help. Tell me where the woman is and I go get her,” he said flatly.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then tell me
something you do know, because I can smell it when someone is holding back information from me.”

  “Well, I know that she came to my boat last night.”

  That news didn’t please him at all. “And once again you didn’t call me?”

  Embarrassed, I shrugged. “She said she didn’t call because she saw me talking to Nate and it spooked her.”

  Inspector George calmed himself with a slow intake of breath. “Did you explain my offer?”

  “I did. She was not impressed or swayed, I’m afraid. She said she is better off the way things are.”

  “What she gonna do?”

  I stared at the table, noticing for the first time that it was covered with a laminated version of the same tourist map I’d seen in the Inspector’s office. I wondered if there even were any other maps of St. Anne. Idly, I traced the coastline with my finger. “She didn’t say. We discussed the fact that she could have left the island easily enough, and she indicated she had business here.”

  “What kind?”

  “She didn’t feel I had a need to know.”

  “How she get to your boat?”

  I shrugged again. “She was waiting for me when I got home. When she’d said her piece, she texted someone who came out to get her.”

  “Who?”

  “A black man in dark clothes, in a dark boat with no lights. I don’t know who.” Before he could ask, I added, “I didn’t see the person, just heard the motor. It was a pretty rough 48 horse Yamaha.”

  He shook his head. “I’m gonna check around, have the boys talk to folks and see what anybody knows, if anything. It’s not much of a trail, but it’s relatively fresh. Course, if you’d called me when it happened, the trail would be a lot fresher. And don’t tell me she had a gun, cause after she left you had no reason not to call. See, it’s that kind of thing that make me wonder who you want to help when you start talking about helping.”

  Sometimes I wondered that myself.

  “I can tell you something else — she hasn’t even tried to leave the island.”