Death in Paradise (27 page)

Marie instantly homed in on my red eyes. "What's the matter?" she demanded.

I pulled the book out of my tote bag. "I was reading this."

She nodded approvingly. "I read that in my book group. Cried my eyes out. Then I went back and read it again and cried in all the same places. I wish she'd hurry up and write another one like it."

Ed shook his head and looked pointedly at his watch. "We'd better get going," he said. "It's a beautiful place but traffic on this island moves like molasses."

I followed them to the elevator. Marie had a huge straw tote bag, a net bag with a bottle of spring water, and a wide-brimmed hat. Ed had a bulging duffel bag filled with snorkeling gear and a second bag that seemed to be stuffed with towels. They looked like they were going away for a week. I had my book, a spare T-shirt, a towel, my own bottle of water, an elastic to tie back my hair and heavy-duty waterproof sun block. Let the fishes beware.

Ed apologized as I squeezed myself into the backseat of their rental car. "I reserved a midsized car and all they had was this. Midsized only to a child of six. I believe there is a bus going, if you'd rather not have your knees in your ears."

"This is fine," I assured him.

After a lifetime living with Boston drivers, it was a pleasant surprise to ride with Ed. He drove carefully, used his turn signals, allowed people in front of him, and never once leaned on the horn no matter how stupidly the driver in front of him behaved. We arrived safely and in plenty of time and he hadn't even worked himself into a frenzy. It was very restful. Even I, despite my mother's attempts to make me a lady, curse when I'm driving. Sometimes, when things heated up at work, I'd get so tense I started grinding my teeth. My dentist was threatening to make me a mouth guard. He told me half the women in his practice were wearing them. Part of the equal opportunity stress women had fought so hard for.

"That must be the boat," Marie said, as I slowly worked my way out of the car. Getting out was a lot harder than getting in, and Ed Pryzinski didn't miss the grimaces as I twisted and turned my bruised torso. His eyebrows went up in an interrogatory way but he didn't say anything. Shortly after we went on board and got ourselves settled, a big snorting bus pulled up and most of the people I'd been looking forward to getting away from climbed off.

First Jolene, who seemed to be carrying a lot of luggage. Then Shannon and Zannah got off together, laughing about something, and I heard Shannon's voice, "This had better be fun. I need some fun." The bus was like a clown car, disgorging many more people than it looked like it could hold. So far, besides Rob who'd said he was going to sit on the beach, the only person missing was Jonetta. I assumed that she had gone to Maui Memorial Hospital with Rory. Laura Mitchell got off, looking small and pale next to the rest of her family. There was her scholarly brother, Geoffrey, her perfect sister, Charlotte, the red-haired woman in polka dots with the big hat must be her mother, and the man hovering protectively behind the polka dot lady must be the stepfather, Howard. He looked like a Howie to me.

Laura's family, along with about half the people from the bus, crowded onto our boat. The others headed for a second boat at the other end of the parking lot. Shannon, Zannah, and Jolene went with that group. As it filled up, I was glad that we'd come early and staked out our spots. After my close encounter with Jeff Pullman, I needed my space. I needed enough room to stretch out. My body was not keen on being folded as it had been for the past hour. I scanned the crowd with my cop-seeking eye but I didn't see anyone whose demeanor said "cop" to me. It looked like Nihilani and Bernstein agreed with me that I didn't need a bodyguard for my fun excursion.

The last person off the bus was Jonetta. Last but not least. She was wearing a tie-dyed muumuu in neon colors, topped by a hat with a black center and a bright yellow brim that looked like an enormous sunflower. As I sat and watched, it seemed to me that the crowd parted before her, as before some juggernaut, making way for an obviously superior being. Last off the bus, but sooner onto the boat. My boat. The whole craft dipped in response to her arrival.

"In another time," Marie whispered, "the Hawaiians would have made her a queen."

"She's something," I agreed. "She's every bit as imposing as she looks, too."

"You know her?"

"She's on the board of the association with me." Everyone was staring at her. Jonetta didn't seem to notice. She settled herself on a seat in the shade, pulled out a book, and started reading. The rest of the passengers were loaded, the crew made several announcements about fitting us with equipment, where we were going, and what the protocol would be, and we were off.

I pulled out my own book and was luxuriating in a steamy scene in some natural hot springs when someone tapped me on the leg. I quickly closed the book. It's embarrassing to be caught reading sex scenes. Once, during a very boring meeting when I was awaiting my turn to speak, I pulled out a book and started reading and suddenly realized that I was sitting in a crowded room while absorbing one of the most erotic passages I'd ever read. Even though reading is a private thing that takes place between the eyes and the brain, it was not the kind of thing to read in a room full of people. My whole face got red and I quickly put the book away, hoping the people sitting on either side of me hadn't been reading over my shoulder.

Laura Mitchell stood there, looking forlorn. "Hi," she said. "Can I sit with you?"

"Of course you can, dear," Marie said. "We'd love to have you join us." She took her big bag off the seat and set it down by our feet.

Laura squeezed herself into the space and gave Marie a winning smile. "I'm Laura Mitchell," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm a friend of Thea's."

Marie shook the offered hand. "Marie Pryzinski," she said. "And this is Eddie."

Laura shook hands again. "I get so bored with them. Geoffrey is always playing with his video games. Charlotte always has her nose in a book, and my stepdad spends all his time fretting about my mom." She leaned forward and said, in a conspiratorial whisper, "She's pregnant."

She settled herself back on the seat. "Where are you from? I'm from Iowa."

"Cleveland," Marie said, "so we're both midwesterners. Is this your first trip?"

"Yeah," Laura said. "I thought it would be more exciting than this. I was expecting giant waves and erupting volcanoes and stuff, not that skinny little beach in front of the hotel and you have to make reservations and pay big bucks for everything you want to do. But I'm looking forward to the fish. I've only been snorkeling once and it was great. That was when we went to the Virgin Islands. Since my mom married Howie, we go lots of places. Howie wishes we'd stay home. Hey..."

I liked Laura but I was beginning to wish she'd go back to her family. I wanted to sit quietly and read my book. She was like a little whirlwind, causing a swirl of commotion around her. I was weary of commotion.

She bent down and rustled around in her backpack, murmuring to herself as she sorted. I hoped we weren't in for another trip through her treasures. When she did straighten up, she was holding a newspaper, the
Maui News.
She opened it, folded it to display the thing she wanted to show me, and thrust it into my face. "Did you see this?"

I took it and stared at the picture she was pointing to. It was a picture of me, looking like death warmed over, coming out of a hospital emergency room, leaning heavily on Andre's arm. Laura was pointing, not to me, but to Andre. "That's the guy you showed me the picture of, right? Your boyfriend the cop?"

"Yes. That's Andre." My voice was practically strangled by anger and surprise. Not because there was a picture of Andre. Because there was a picture of me. And a caption, identifying me. And a little story beside it—"Private School Detective Attends Education Conference"—describing my involvement in resolving the death of a student at the Bucksport School, and querying whether my presence at a private school conference where an attendee was murdered might be more than mere coincidence.

A lot of words inappropriate to utter in the presence of a minor bubbled to my lips. I clamped my jaw tight and didn't say anything. Dr. Pryzinski reached over and took the paper out of my hand. Read the story, shook his head, and whistled. "My, my," he said. "There's more to you than meets the eye."

 

 

 

Chapter 19

 

"I don't know where they got this," I said, "or how they got it. But if I ever find out it came from someone I know, I'm going to dismember them with my bare hands."

Marie looked shocked. "You're a detective? A sweet young girl like you? I never would have imagined...."

It took a major effort not to roll my eyes or explode. At least she hadn't said "little," and people made the mistake of thinking me sweet often enough so I ought to be used to it. Besides, this time it was my own fault. I had played the ingenue when I wanted to get Bernstein off my back. As ye sow, so also shall ye reap. "This is a bunch of hogwash," I said. "I'm here as a board member of the National Association of Girls' Schools. I'm here as a participant, as a speaker, as an organizer. I made my reservations months ago... or at least, my partner did...." Here my irritation did spill through. "It doesn't say here that I'm supposed to be a psychic detective—that back in January we were anticipating something might happen to Martina."

"In a way you were, though," Ed Pryzinski said. "Your board had planned to oust Martina."

How did he know that? Would the stolid Nihilani and grouchy Bernstein, who refused to talk to me, confide in him because he was, in effect, "one of them"? "Not quite so dramatically. Besides, what does that have to do with price of eggs in... oh, never mind! Look, this is filler. Drivel. Inflammatory junk. I am not involved in this investigation. I don't want to be involved in the investigation of Martina's death. Every time I get involved in an investigation, I end up getting hurt. I'm sick of being bruised and battered. I'm sick of being scared and worried. I just want to do my job and go home."

I broke off. They didn't need to hear this, and I risked my protests having the opposite effect—the "methinks she doth protest too much" problem. But I couldn't resist adding, "I'm not even supposed to be here. My partner is. I only came because she got sick at the last minute. This afternoon I don't even want to think about work. All I want to do is float around in the water and look at fish. I'm going to forget about Martina, and single-sex education, and girls' schools..."

Laura, bored by our adult conversation, wriggled off the seat. " 'Bye," she said, and wandered away. She quickly struck up a conversation with the cute brown-haired college student sitting behind us. They were talking about the kinds of fish they were likely to see, looking at a chart the boat had provided. I was sorry to have disappointed her but too caught up in my own sense of violation to set it aside and give her the attention she craved. That's what her family was for.

The article had singled me out in an unwelcome way. I don't mind being known for competence. I've tried to earn a good reputation—but not as a detective. Because of this, for the rest of the conference, people would be staring and pointing and watching me expectantly, waiting for the "private school detective" to do her thing. We were moving briskly through blue water, the island looked lovely and the sun was beating down warmly. I ought to have been having a good time. Instead I had an anxious tightening in my chest and a rising uneasiness I couldn't quite explain, except for the unpleasant knowledge that the bad guys can read just like the good guys.

Maybe Bernstein was right—much as I hated to admit such an irritating guy could be—maybe I should just go home. Of course, no sooner did I think about leaving than I began making a mental list of all the things I'd need to do first. Thea the Obsessive. Ms. Fixit. Go back to the hotel and print out the rest of the stuff we needed to finish the conference, transfer the rest of her files over to my computer, and then give Rory's laptop to the midnight twins. Who knew what they might find? I hated to do it. Turn over the computer, that is. Who knew how long they'd keep it? Rory's successor was bound to need it.

Jonetta and Jolene had been right that we should take it, but Rory's peculiar behavior, more than her suicide, made me think I ought to give it to the police. It was just the stuff that needed to be done first, things that became more work for me. Every day, in every way, I was getting better at delegating, but who was I going to pass this chore along to? My life was already so much to do, so little time, and now people would be expecting me to add crime solving to my list of tasks. I sighed, my shoulders hunching defensively as I thought about how things would be at the banquet tonight.

"I don't blame you for not wanting to get involved," Ed Pryzinski said as he folded up the paper and stuffed it in his bag. "Nice-looking guy, that Andre. Marie, did you happen to bring those pictures of the children?"

She nodded. "I think so," and began digging through the enormous bag. After a minute, she made a triumphant sound and held up an envelope of photographs. She pulled them out, shuffled through, selected one. "That's Eric," she said, pointing to a tall, lanky kid in his early twenties. He didn't look anything like his parents. "He's twenty-four. Works as a climbing guide in the Rockies. It's such a dangerous job. I never stop worrying about him. But our Eric is kind of a Peter Pan. He doesn't want to grow up. This way, he works with kids, and thinks he'll stay a kid forever."