Dangerous Depths (16 page)

“Thanks, O’Brien,” I said, kissing his
belly.

“What for?”

“For getting me out of town.”

“What are you going to do now, Hannah?”

“I don’t know, maybe Dunn’s right. I’ll take
a few days. Think it through, I guess. I could use some time off
anyway.”

“Come on, let’s head back. You promised to go
to that fund-raiser with me this afternoon.”

I’d completely forgotten. O’Brien had talked
me into going with him weeks ago. At the time, I had been less than
enthusiastic. Now, with all that had happened, I hated the idea of
schmoozing with a bunch of political types. “I can’t believe
Reidman didn’t cancel, with Elyse in the hospital.”

“Too much invested in the event, I’m sure.
And Freeman wouldn’t have wanted to cancel,” he said. “Besides,
what else do you have to do now that you are out of a job? Sitting
around worrying about Elyse won’t do her—or you—any good.”

He grabbed my wrists and pulled me up. We
swam to boat, the warm water washing the sand, sweat, and sex
away.

***

We agreed to meet at the Callilou and I went
home to shower. When I got back to Pickering’s Landing, Sadie and
Rebecca were romping together in the surf while Daisy sat by
herself on the beach, intent on building a castle. When Sadie saw
me, she raced toward me, stopped, shook sand all over me and
yelped. Rebecca and Daisy were right behind.

After the explosion on Elyse’s boat and the
trauma of seeing Elyse hurt, Tilda had gone with the girls to stay
with her sister for a few days. I remembered them standing on the
dock that night, the water on fire, watching as Calvin had pulled
Elyse onto the dock. They’d stood back frightened and silent as
we’d done CPR and then rushed Elyse away.

“Hannah, Hannah!” Daisy lifted her arms and I
picked her up, twirling her around.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” I said. “Sadie and
I missed you.”

“Want to help me build da castle?” Daisy
asked.

“Sure. I kicked off my shoes and sat with her
in the sand.

“Make a tower right dar, Hannah,” she
commanded. I packed a heap of wet sand into a cup and turned it
over.

“Perfect! Let’s put a flag in it,” she said
poking a stick into the tower.

“Hi Hannah.” Tilda came out of the store,
carrying a pitcher and glasses. “How about some lemonade,
girls?”

“Yeah!” they cried, running to the picnic
table in the shade.

“I went by for a visit with Elyse today,”
Tilda said as she poured. “She seems the same. I’m so worried about
her. Dr. Hall didn’t have anything to say one way or another.”

“I know. All he ever says is we have to wait
and see. Tilda, do you know what Elyse did Sunday? I never saw her
at all that day. O’Brien and I went out sailing early and it was
late when I returned. I remember that her boat was dark when I got
home.”

“She came up to the store for a few things
that morning. We were about to leave for church. She said she was
going up to North Sound for the day to do a little work.

“How did she seem to you?”

“She was fine. Just like she always is.”

“Did you see her when she got back?”

“No. I heard a boat come in around maybe four
o’clock. I thought it was Elyse, but I was in the back taking
inventory.”

“Did you see anyone else around?”

“Just Jillian. I came out to check on the
girls. She was helping Daisy build one of her castles. She asked if
I knew when Elyse would be back but I didn’t. The child seemed
upset. I told her she could wait on the
Caribbe
.”

“Did you have a good time playing with
Jillian?” I asked Daisy.

“Oh yes! She is a ek-spurt at sand castles.
She told me so. She made a big, big, tower right in the middle of
the castle!”

“You like Jilli, huh?”

“She’s my friend. I wish she wasn’t so sad,
though. I gave her a big hug. But that stupid man came and ruined
it all.”

“Ruined what?” Tilda asked.

“Jilli’s tower. He stepped right on my
castle.”

“When did you see a man?” I asked.

“Well” —she looked at Tilda and hesitated— “I
was s’posed to be in bed.”

“It’s okay, Daisy. Tell Hannah what you
saw.”

“I was lookin’ out da window at my beautiful
castle. It was so pretty in da moonlight. Then I saw a man on the
beach and he stepped right in the middle of our castle.” Daisy
turned to her mother. “I’m sorry, Mama. I was only out of bed for a
minute.”

“Do you know who the man was? Have you seen
him before?” I asked.

“I think it was some bad man, ‘cause he was
mean to step on my castle.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t Jilli?”

“Oh no, Jilli would never be mean like
that.”

“What did the man look like?”

“Big, like a monster.”

“Everyone looks big to Daisy, especially at
night,” Tilda explained. “At three, her world is all mixed up in
fantasy and reality. There are often monsters about in her
imagination. Since the explosion and seeing Elyse hurt, it’s been
worse.”

“Did you see what color the man’s hair or
skin was or what he was wearing?” I asked.

“He had on a black cape and white, white,
skin, and he had a long pointy nose!”

“Oh Daisy! She’s always making stuff up,”
Rebecca said.

“Am not! He went away in a car just like
Mandy’s,” Daisy shot back at her sister.

“Mandy?”

“That’s her doll,” Rebecca explained.

“What does Mandy’s car look like?”

Daisy pointed a little wagon in which her
doll sat.

“Did it look like the wagon, Daisy?”

“Yes.”

“How did it look like the wagon?” Jeez,
questioning a three-year-old was harder than any interrogation I’d
ever conducted.

“I don’t know,” she said, putting her thumb
in her mouth.

“Was it the same color?”

She brightened. “Yes, it was red, red, red!
Just like Mandy’s!”

Christ, a white guy with a black cape and a
pointy nose. If he’d parked under the street light, she’d have been
able to tell that the car was red. One thing I was sure of, black
cape, pointy nose, and red car or not—Daisy had seen someone on the
beach that night.

I’d go to O’Brien’s damned fund-raiser. Then,
one way or another, I was going to track down the guy in the black
cape.

I was late by the time I’d showered and
driven to the Callilou. The parking lot was already full. I ended
up parking up on the road and walking down a dirt path to the
restaurant, which was perched out on the point at Nanny Cay.
Reidman had bought the place cheap after the last hurricane blasted
through the island. It had blown off the roof of the old restaurant
and destroyed the interior. He’d torn the old place down and built
a five-star restaurant that catered to the tourists. Nothing on the
menu went for less than forty dollars unless you ordered a
salad.

The restaurant had been designed with
Reidman’s needs high on the list. His living quarters filled the
upper level, some four thousand square feet enclosed behind walls
of glass. The guy better pray that another hurricane force wind
didn’t find its way around the point. I’d never been in his
apartment but Elyse had said the view was incredible. All I could
see on the second floor as I walked down to the restaurant was
reflection, ocean and sun bouncing off the glass.

Reidman had been running the restaurant for a
little over a year. Before that, he’d been living in New York and
working at one of the big investment companies. Evidently he’d made
a bundle, getting out of the market before it collapsed, and then
moving down here, returning to New York periodically on business.
Elyse had told me that the restaurant was more a diversion for him
than anything else. He liked fine dining and good wine and this
gave him the chance to dabble in both.

O’Brien was waiting for me in the restaurant
lobby. “Hannah, you look wonderful, even in your clothes,” he said,
eyes twinkling.

“I like you better naked,” I whispered. Then
I wrapped my arm around his waist and gave him a surreptitious
pinch on the ass. He flinched.

“Sunburn,” he said as we were ushered to the
Freeman’s table in the front.

O’Brien had to be contributing a sizable
amount to warrant this kind of attention. Everyone else was already
seated. Of course, Alex Reidman had a ring side seat.

I found myself sitting next to Betty Welsh, a
reporter for the
Island News
. She was a hefty woman,
British, five-ten, probably 200 pounds, with long fake nails
painted ruby and shoulder-length hair, dyed black with purple
tinges, perfectly coifed and turned up at the ends. Her attire was
always garish. Today, she’d toned it down a notch. She wore a grey
dress with green splotches all over it and green spiked heels.

I had to give her credit though. She had
perfected her look and to hell with anyone that didn’t like it. I’d
gotten to know Betty a few months back when she’d done a piece
about a drug smuggling case I’d been involved in. She was fair,
reasonable, and a snoop, and above all took her job very
seriously.

I recognized several other familiar faces
scattered around the room, including Edmund Carr and Amos Porter.
The bank probably covered Carr’s lunch but I wondered how Porter
could afford to attend such an affair. Maybe he couldn’t afford not
to, given his gravel business.

Waiters were already rushing around, pouring
wine and setting food in front of people. For three hundred dollars
a plate, we got what Reidman was calling a traditional Caribbean
meal—chicken—and lots of speeches. As soon as silverware stopped
clanking and dishes were removed, Reidman introduced Freeman.

Freeman wiped his mouth, set the cloth napkin
on the table and rose, acknowledging the applause with a slight
bow. He was wearing a black suit with a subtle grey stripe through
it, a grey shirt and one of those red power ties that politicians
seem to favor. He walked to the podium and waited for a minute
before he began, making sure that all eyes were upon him.

“First, I must thank my wife, Sylvia, for
putting up with me all these years and for her total support during
this campaign.”

Sylvia stood, gave the loyal wife smile and a
little wave. She too was dressed the part: conservative brown suit,
just a shade lighter than her skin, pearls on her ears and around
her neck. She wasn’t nearly as comfortable with the attention as
her husband was.

Freeman started his rap about how he was in
favor of responsible development, better education. He said that if
elected, he would get tough on crime and was concerned about the
recent spate of robberies in the islands. Without being too
blatant, he managed to blame Dunn and the current administration
and promised to find the best people to get the situation in hand.
I wondered what that meant for the Chief.

He went on to promise to protect the
environment for our future generations while promoting the economy
working to insure more jobs. How he would do this, though, he did
not say. It was one of those “feel good” speeches, long on
rhetoric, short on details. Lots of laughs, lots of emotional
appeals.

Finally, he opened the floor to questions.
“Just a couple,” he emphasized.

Amos Porter was the first on his feet.
“What’s your stand on regulating businesses?” he asked. “I know a
lot of people think that there should be strict controls,
especially where the environment is concerned.”

“Amos, I don’t think a lot of controls are
necessary. We’ve got a number of very responsible business folks on
the islands. I know you’re one of ‘em.”

Amos smiled and sat down. Freeman had told
him what he wanted to hear.

“You can’t count on everyone being that
responsible,” a voice said from the back. It was Tom. He and Liam
were leaning against the back wall.

“So far it’s worked. I think you
underestimate the folks in these islands.” He tried to move on to
another question, but Tom wasn’t letting him off the hook yet.

“What about a complete moratorium on the
taking of turtles in the territory?” he asked.

“Well, Tom, you’re kind of an outsider here.
For those of us who grew up in these islands, whose families have
been here for centuries, the harvesting of turtles is part of the
culture. We need to respect that. The season is short enough to
protect the turtles.”

“Are you saying that you are against a
moratorium?”

“I’m against regulating our people from doing
something that they have always done. Now don’t get me wrong, I
don’t want to see the wanton killing of turtles and the excessive
trading of turtle products.”

“What about the fact that turtle is still on
the menu in restaurants around the BVI?”

“Those are local folks doing what they’ve
always done.”

“Sooner or later, there won’t be enough
turtles for even the locals to take,” Tom said. “And how are you
going to reconcile your stand on supporting business and
development with the loss of habitat that results from all the
growth?”

“I don’t think we’ll run out of turtles,
Tom.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Tom said unable
to hide his frustration.

“Let’s move on to another question,” Freeman
said, cutting off any further discussion.

“What about the charter boat industry?” Betty
asked. “Everyone knows it’s getting out of hand. The anchorages are
overcrowded, there is rampant disregard for the reef, and no
effective methods for controlling pollution.”

“Well, that’s a good question and one I plan
to address as chief minister. In fact, I’ve already been talking
with a lot of the charter owners here about forming a coalition to
study the problem and come up with solutions. Peter O’Brien has
offered to head things up. Care to comment, Peter?”

This was the first I’d heard of O’Brien’s
involvement, but I wasn’t surprised. It was just like him to pull
his competitors together for the good of the islands. I could see,
though, that he was unprepared and uncomfortable speaking in this
political atmosphere. O’Brien was no politician.