Our Island Inn (Quirky Tales from the Caribbean) (6 page)

Daisy
had crept to within inches of my torso and was quickly closing the gap that I had just opened up. I tried to make another escaping step, but I ran into one of the kitchen’s stainless steel counters. I almost knocked over a small figurine of a parrot that Maya kept next to her knives.

Jesús
ducked into the pantry, leaving me alone with the vulture.

She wore nothing but a string bikini and a matching pair of bright red hoop earrings.
The earrings looked to be of much sturdier manufacture than the bikini.

“Hello, Miss Jones.” I swallowed
what little spit could be found in my dry mouth. “How can I help you?”

Daisy
Jones would never be described as shy or inhibited.

She draped her arms around my neck and pulled me
down toward her, digging her fake fingernails into my skin.

“I do
n’t think this is a good idea.”

My words had no
deterring effect.

“I’m really not interested…”

The red hoop earrings wobbled back and forth as she rose up on her tiptoes. From the pucker of her mouth, I anticipated the lipstick-imprinting kiss she planted on my cheek.

T
he painful pinch to my rear end was a complete surprise.

With a mouse-like squeak, I hurdled over th
e counter and fled the kitchen.

~
~ ~

I ASSUMED JESÚ
S had observed the scene from his hidden position in the pantry. I expected to get teased about it that night after dinner.

I didn’
t realize Elsie had seen the entire interaction from the rear kitchen door.

It turned out she was always watching.

I BARRICADED MYSELF inside the apartment for the rest of the afternoon. Noodles and Yum-Yum guarded the door – not that I expected those dogs would be able to stop the likes of Daisy Jones. It was the only time I’d ever considered trading in the poodles for a pair of mastiffs.

The lipstick stain on my cheek proved almost impossible to remove. The chemical composition had apparently been modified for the tropical climate
, making its application semi-permanent.

I scrubbed at the blot with a washcloth, rubbing my face near raw. The best I could achieve was a
diluted red smear.

The lipstick
was the least of my problems.

I dreaded
that night’s dinner service.

Oli
and I typically circulated among the guests, chatted with them, and made sure they were enjoying their meals. Being midweek and offseason, there would be fewer diners on the poolside deck, making it difficult for me to avoid the lecherous Miss Jones.

It
probably sounds silly that a grown man would be afraid of a five foot two former cheerleader, but Daisy had me in a state of panic. Pacing back and forth across the living room, I almost started to hyperventilate.

I felt as if I was reliving the
terrible comedy of my marriage. Only this time, I couldn’t escape by changing my address and phone number.

A
fter several deep breaths and a long soak in the hot tub, I began to regroup. I couldn’t let this woman bully me, I told myself firmly. I would walk out to the pavilion with my head held high and resume my innkeeping duties – from the safety of the kitchen.

With the dinner service about to start
, I gathered my courage and left the apartment.

Noodles and Yum-Yum wagged their
stubby tales supportively as I crept out the front door and cautiously peered around the corner of the building.

~
~ ~

DAISY AND HER
boyfriend were seated at the northwest end of the dining area, the table with the best sunset view.

It was a beautiful evening.
The setting rays cast a silver reflection across the water as the sky shifted through various shades of pink, purple and blue. In my opinion, the pre-sunset vista was actually better than the one provided by the final descent of the sun’s glowing orange ball.

But t
he pair seemed oblivious to their surroundings. A petty fight was in progress, evidenced by the way they glared at each other.

“
I don’t know why we bothered coming down here if you’re just going to sit around all day reading that book. You never pay any attention to me.”

Given the s
urly pout on Daisy’s face and the way she gripped her water glass, it looked like the boyfriend was about to receive a cross-table dousing.

Seconds later, a splash could b
e heard across the dining area.

Oliver hurried toward the couple’s table, intent on calming the pair down and, I suspect
ed, preventing them from breaking any of his precious glassware.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, I sprinted across the pool deck, slid around the bar, and dove into the kitchen.

Jesús collapsed into a fit of laughter.

Maya
shook her head and returned her attention to the stove.

I stood panting be
side a counter, relieved that the flush on my face hid the lipstick residue on my cheek.

But I’d gained only a temporary reprieve. Daisy wasn’t finished with me yet.

OLIVER RUSHED INTO the kitchen to relay an order change to Maya.

He was unusually
flustered. In our first months of operation, I’d seen Oli handle the most difficult guests without breaking a sweat or revealing the slightest discomfort. Despite my initial concerns, he’d proven himself a pro at customer relations. No matter how tense the situation, he was always cool as a cucumber. It took a lot to get under his skin.

He shook his head. “That woman is
driving me crazy.”

No further identification was needed. Everyone knew
exactly who “she” was.

He bent over Maya’s shoulder and pointed at the nearest skillet on the stove. “
I’m sorry, but she just told me she’s allergic to garlic.”

Maya sucked in her breath
as if drawing on deep reserves of patience. Then she picked up the skillet and dumped the contents into the sink. Without speaking a word, she started the dish from scratch. It was the second alteration called in from Daisy Jones. It was unlikely to be the last.

I
felt bad that I had been shirking my dining duties. We had other guests that probably needed attention, and Oli looked like he was being run ragged, but there was no way I was venturing onto the pool deck now.

With a sigh,
Oliver turned to me and put his hands on his hips. He nodded pointedly at my cheek.

“
Your girlfriend says the downstairs toilet is clogged.”

My face
reddened as I realized someone must have told him about my encounter with Daisy.

I hadn’t lied to
Oli about the woman’s romantic overture, but I hadn’t disclosed it to him either. It was one more tiny deceit on top of all the others. The cumulative guilt caused my throat to swell up.

S
puttering, I looked across the room at Jesús, but he merely shrugged in bewilderment.

“I…she…it was…” I tried to explain
and then stopped at Oli’s teasing wink.

“I’ve got to
get back out there to the tables,” he said, exhaustion heavy in his voice. “Glenn, can you go check the restrooms?”

I c
aved under his pleading look and issued a meek reply.

“I’m on it.”

~ ~ ~

WITH GREAT APPREHENSION
, I eased out the kitchen’s swinging doors, dropped to my knees, and crawled toward the end of the bar. It was a short ten-foot distance to the top of the stairs that led down to the lower level, but the crossing would expose me to the patrons seated on the pool deck.

Unless the boyfriend
– or Oliver – had thrown Daisy into the pool, she was bound to see me.

Hoping
to see a raging quarrel, I peeked over the bar’s counter.

To my chagrin, the
couple had throttled back to a sullen détente. Daisy munched on her salad, pausing every other bite to scowl across the table at the boyfriend, who had pulled out his book and was straining to read by the dim light of the nearest candle.

Oliver was nowhere to be seen.

Deciding to take my chances, I summoned the reserves from my earlier life’s athletic training, flexed my leg muscles, and scampered across the dining area.

After dashing
down the first few steps, I stopped and plastered my shoulders against the pavilion’s outer wall. Panting, I listened for any indication that Daisy had spotted me and resumed her romantic pursuit.

Hearing nothing but the
dinner service’s regular ambient noise, I heaved out a relieved sigh and continued toward the restrooms.

I even began thinking about the potentially unpleasant task of having to unplug the women’s toilet.

Halfway down the stairs, however, a familiar footstep caused me to stop short. It was the distinctive tread of a petite blonde with enormous red hoop earrings.

I froze in place and
gripped the railing, my left foot hanging in the air, as Daisy’s perfume swilled around me. The muscles in my rear end tightened, anticipating another bruising pinch.

I held that
awkward position for almost a minute, waiting for the inevitable ambush.

B
ut nothing happened.

Finally,
I turned and scanned the steps above me.

The staircase was empty.

She was behind me – of that much I’m certain – and then she wasn’t.

It was a
rather disconcerting moment of relief.

Puzzled,
I proceeded to the women’s restroom. Whatever blockage had caused the initial complaint was clear by the time I knocked on the door and inspected the empty cubicle. Finding nothing amiss, I returned to the main level.

On my
way to the kitchen’s safe bunker, I glanced at the far northwest table, but I saw only Daisy’s abandoned salad plate and the boyfriend bent over his book.

I figured
Daisy had happened upon a more receptive target for her aggressive advances, and I felt a twinge of sympathy for the unlucky bloke.

I never once thought
she’d been taken against her will.

~
~ ~

THE BOYFRIEND WAITED
at the table, strumming his fingers against the tablecloth as he watched the sun go down alone.

The
main entrées were brought out, Daisy’s unsalted, un-garlic-ed rosemary chicken dish having been prepared three times over.

The boyfriend dove into his conch fritters
without any pretense of waiting for his partner. He gobbled down his meal, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and then stared sullenly at Daisy’s food. A few minutes later, he slid her chicken to his side of the table and ate it too.

It wasn’t the first time she’d left him at a restaurant
, presumably to go off with another guy.

It
was
the first time she didn’t return home or come back to the hotel room by the next morning.

~
~ ~

OLIVER AND I drove into the parking lot from our regular sunrise trip to the beach to find the boyfriend sitting outside the reception building.

If the young man had been nonchalant about Daisy’s absence the night before, he was now emotionally distraught.

“You’re sure
she’s missing,” Oliver asked gently. He cleared his throat before posing the more delicate question. “You don’t think she might have…”

“No,” he cut in
adamantly and then amended. “I mean, yes, she probably went off with someone, but she wouldn’t be gone this long.” His face paled as he struggled with the next sentence. “She always comes back.”

His gaze dropped down to his
pale sandaled feet. With a gulp, he corrected himself.

“She always came back before.”

~ ~ ~

I PULLED OLIVER as
ide.

“This is just like the pill-popping husband,” I whispered. “
The one who disappeared a couple of weeks ago. You don’t suppose…”

Oliver cut me off.
“I think we know what happened to Miss Jones.” He tapped the side of my face with his finger. There was still a trace of lipstick on my cheek.

Grumbling, I conceded
his point.

D
espite doubting the validity of the boyfriend’s concerns, there was nothing we could do but call the island police.