Rum and Razors (17 page)

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I’m a guest and still there.”

“I brought a couple from Lover’s Lagoon to the airport this morning,” he said. “They told me it was closed. That was why they were leaving. Very angry people.”

“The Simses.”

“That was their name. Not happy staying in a place all alone and with a bloodstained beach outside their window.” He slipped the Toyota van into gear and eased into the flow of traffic.

Although I was silent during the trip back, my mind was hardly idle. If the Simses had left, that meant I was the only remaining guest. Surely, Laurie would close the inn and ask me to leave. I would expect no less.

But the truth was I didn’t want to leave. I’d become consumed with the players and events surrounding Walter’s murder, and wanted to be there to witness firsthand the denouement. Have a hand in it if possible. There was a limit, of course, as to how long I could stay. I’d arrived on Sunday, and here it was Wednesday morning. I’d planned to stay two weeks, which left me another ten days. Whether the murder would be resolved in that time was conjecture. I knew one thing. I would do everything I could to hasten the process.

Jackson had been right. The rain started as we came over the last mountain, a gentle shower at first, a deluge by the time we pulled up in front of Lover’s Lagoon Inn’s main entrance. I paid and thanked him for a pleasant ride.

“You might consider staying at another place,” the driver suggested. “My cousin owns a very respectable boardinghouse in Christiansted, on St. Croix. Very pretty view of the harbor.” Before I could say that I intended to remain a guest at Lover’s Lagoon Inn, he handed me a card with a small color photo of his cousin’s guest house, and pertinent information. He wrote his name on it. “You go there, you tell her I sent you. Make you a good deal.”

“Thank you,” I said.

The lobby was deserted, as I expected it to be, with the exception of Maria, the young woman who manned the desk during the day. She was reading a book when I entered, quickly stood, and came to me. “Mrs. Fletcher. Mrs. Marschalk was worried about you.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” I said. “Where is Mrs. Marschalk?”

“In the kitchen preparing lunch.”

“For whom?” I didn’t mean it to sound as sarcastic as it came out.

“Staff—what’s left of it—and you, of course.”

“I understand the Simses have left.”

“Yes, and in quite a huff. They demanded their money back. We’ll be sending it to them.”

“How unfortunate. Well, excuse me. I want to see Mrs. Marschalk.”

Laurie was busy stirring something in a bowl in the large, state-of-the-art kitchen when I pushed through the swinging doors. She glanced up, smiled, continued her chore as she asked, “Where have you been?”

“In jail.”

She abruptly stopped her mixing, wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, and exhaled. “In jail? Whatever for?”

“I went to visit Jacob Austin.”

“Visit? Jacob? Jess, are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“But why?”

“Curiosity, that’s all. Detective Calid called me with the news of the arrest, and I couldn’t resist. It’s in these genes, I guess.”

My reply had been lighthearted, but her face was serious. No. Stern and disapproving was a better description.

“I suppose I should have told you I was going, but I left early to meet Jacob’s attorney, a public defender named Jackson.”

Laurie sat on a tall metal stool. She seemed unable to formulate her next words. Finally, she said in slow, measured tones, “Jess, that young man murdered my husband. Slit his throat.”

“I don’t think he did, Laurie.”

“You—don’t—think—he—did!”

“No. His child was sick that night and—”

“I know full well, Jess, that you write wonderful murder mysteries. But I didn’t know you were a trained police
investigator.
Detective Calid is.” I tried to respond but she continued. “He’s studied all over the world: Paris, London, the Soviet Union, or whatever it’s called these days. Jacob Austin is a ruthless killer. I don’t care about his sick child. I don’t care about anything except that he be brought to justice.” Another attempt by me to speak was summarily dismissed. “Did you know that Jacob made sexual advances to me?”

“No.”

“Well, he did. Walter was furious. Add that to the fact that he was lazy, surly to guests, and hated Walter, even threatened him, and you have your murderer.”

I knew it was futile to attempt to refute what Laurie had said. And so I didn’t. Instead, I said, “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. It was silly of me to visit the jail.”

“And I’m sorry, too, Jess, for blowing off. I suppose I’m feeling more pressure than I’m willing to admit.” She hopped off the stool and picked up the bowl in which she’d been mixing ingredients. “Taste?” she asked, extending the bowl to me.

“What is it?”

“Crab cakes. For lunch. You’ll join us, I assume.”

“Yes, thank you.” I tried a spoon of the delicately seasoned crab and bread crumbs. “Delicious,” I announced.

“And lobster for dinner,” Laurie said. “Spinach salad with mandarin oranges and a special dressing, watermelon sorbet for dessert.”

“An ambitious menu for so few people,” I said.

“So few—? Oh, I forgot. I’m hosting a small dinner party this evening. Right here. The inn may be short of guests, but it is my home after all. Please join us.”

“I’d be delighted. Who’s coming?”

“Some friends. Chris Webb. Senator Jensen. Former Senator Jensen. He resigned, you know.”

“Yes, I heard. I thought he’d left the island.”

“He’s back to tie up his legal and financial affairs. There’ll be a couple of travel writers, too, who knew Walter. They happen to be next door at Diamond Reef for a conference. They might dredge up tearful memories, but I can handle it.”

“Who are they?”

“Travel writers.”

“I mean, their names. I met a few of them.”

“You did? Oh. Well, there’s a woman named Jennifer Fletcher—” She laughed. “Funny, I never thought about you and her having the same last name.”

“That is a coincidence.”

“And a few others I’m sure you don’t know. Cocktails at seven on the patio. We’ll have the dining room to ourselves.”

“I’ll be on time.”

“The Simses left this morning. Did you meet them?”

“No, just saw them.”

“Unpleasant couple. Almost came to blows with Maria at the desk.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. Glad they’re gone. Well, back to work, Jess. See you in the dining room in an hour?”

“Yes.”

“And Jess, the offer still holds for you to move into the main house. Frankly, having you all alone at the far end of the villas makes me a little nervous.”

I smiled. “I haven’t felt nervous—yet. But if I do, I’ll be here in a flash, my bags packed.”

“Good. If you decide to do that, just call for Thomas.”

I’d no sooner settled into Villa Number Ten, when Thomas arrived carrying a small telephone answering machine.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Mrs. Marschalk wanted you to have it, Mrs. Fletcher. There’s no one at the switchboard now that all the guests—the
other
guests—have gone. I’ll hook it up to your phone so you won’t miss any messages.”

“That’s very thoughtful, Thomas. Thank you.”

It took him only a minute to make the connections. As he was leaving, he asked, “A drink?”

“A little too early for me, but thank you. I’ll wait for lunch.”

I opened the top of the answering machine and read the abbreviated instructions on how to record an outgoing message. Confident I understood, I held down a button labeled “ANNC.,” and after a tone sounded, said in as formal a voice as I could muster:
“This is J. B. Fletcher. I’m unable to take your call right now, but please leave a message following the tone and I’ll get back to you.”
I released the button and heard a faint beep. I tapped the “ANNC.” button as instructed and heard my voice played back. Not destined to win me an announcer’s job but good enough.

I closed the machine’s top and took a shower. The phone rang while I was in the bathroom, but there wasn’t any need for me to pick up on the bathroom extension. If I’d programmed the answering machine properly, the message would be waiting when I got out.

Sure enough, the message light was flashing when I came to the living room. I pressed “PLAY” and listened:
“This is Maria at the desk, Mrs. Fletcher. I didn’t know you’d brought an answering machine with you.”
She giggled.
“It startled me. Anyway, I forgot to give you a message before. It’s from a Dr. Seth Hazlitt. Please call him.”
The number she gave was not Seth’s home or office in Cabot Cove. There was no area code. It sounded familiar for some reason. Then I realized it was the main number at Diamond Reef.

Seth at Diamond Reef?

Impossible.

I called and asked the operator if a Dr. Hazlitt was registered as a guest. Her answer was to put me through to his room. “Dr. Hazlitt here,” he said.

“Seth? It’s Jessica.”

“Hello.”

“What are you doing in St. Thomas?”

“Escapin’ some bad weather back home,” he said. “Been cold as a dog, and the wind northeast ever since you left.”

I smiled. It was good to hear someone talking “Yankee” again. I also had my doubts about his stated reason for having come to the Caribbean.

“So, Jessica,” he said, “I thought a few days in the sun would warm these bones.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Considered stayin’ with the Marschalks, but ‘cause ’a the trouble there I thought it might be best to stay out of Laurie’s hair. Spoke with Jilly, and she recommended this place.” Jilly was Cabot Cove’s best travel agent.

Somehow, I couldn’t picture my slightly corpulent friend fitting in next door with its heavy concentration of tall, tan, young, and lovely singles. Not Seth’s style, but he was adaptable to most situations. “Mort with you?” I asked. Usually, when Seth ventured from Cabot Cove, he was accompanied by our sheriff, Morton Metzger. They were best of friends.

“Gorry, no,” he said. “Asked him to come along but he couldn’t get away. Just me, Jessica.”

“Well, this is a surprise, Seth.”

“And I promise you I’ll stay out ’a your hair, too. What’s new with Walter’s murder?”

“A few things. I’ll fill you in when I see you.
When
will I see you?”

“Whenever you say. I plan to sit about here, get some sun, read the books I brought along with me. You just give a call, and I’ll be there.”

I considered suggesting he join Laurie and me for lunch, but realized that would be presumptuous. Then I thought of that night’s dinner party. I’d tell Laurie that Seth was on the island and see if she wanted to include him in the guest list. “I’m tied up most of the day, Seth. In fact, I have to run out right now but—”

“Sounds like you’re a mite busy, Jess. Thought you came down here for a vacation.”

“And I’m enjoying my vacation. I have some shopping to do. Tell you what. I’ll give you a call later this afternoon. Maybe we can catch up for dinner.”

“Ayah. I’ll be waiting.”

I hung up, went to the terrace, and looked down over Lover’s Lagoon. A large, flat barge came into view as it rounded a spit of land and chugged slowly into the lagoon itself. I fetched a small pair of binoculars I always carry with me on trips in the event there’s time, and opportunity for bird watching, and focused on the barge. A dozen men were onboard, some wearing the uniform of St. Thomas police, others dressed in diving gear. The craft came to a stop and preparations began that soon led to three divers going over the side. I surmised they were in search of the weapon used to kill Walter Marschalk, something I was surprised hadn’t happened earlier.

Was it likely that the murderer had tossed the weapon into the clear water of the lagoon? It would have made sense, I suppose, especially if it had been a sudden, impetuous act without premeditation. There are two basic types of murders—those that erupt in a moment of extreme passion, and those planned ahead and carried out with a modicum of precision. If someone had planned to kill Walter, I would have put my money on the weapon being carried away for disposal elsewhere, far from the crime scene.

I watched a few more minutes, then settled in my chair and reviewed my growing list of notes and observations before adding to them.

I’d been remiss in following up on some things.

 

 

Having made that notation prompted me to go to the bedroom to retrieve the divorce papers from beneath my clothing in the dresser drawer.

They were gone. Maybe I’d moved them. I searched everywhere, in every drawer. Nothing. Someone had taken them from the villa.

I carefully inspected the room for a sign of someone having rummaged around in search of the papers. Everything seemed in order. Whoever had taken them had been very neat, or knew ahead of time exactly where they were. But who could that be? The chambermaid? She wouldn’t have any interest in those papers—unless she’d been instructed by someone to look for them. It was possible that Laurie had eventually learned that I’d accepted the papers from the process server. If so, why not simply confront me? She gave no hint during our brief kitchen meeting that she knew, or was upset. But then again Laurie was proving to be a cool customer in the face of myriad adversity.

 

I jotted down what I remembered of the papers. I hadn’t read them thoroughly, had only skimmed them. But I remembered the action for divorce had been filed in Miami, and recalled the attorney’ s name—two names actually, a law firm—Karczmit and Bonner. I wasn’t certain of the spelling of the first name but it was close enough. An unusual name, I’d thought when first seeing it. And I remembered Bonner because of the double n. I notice things like that. Don’t ask me why.