Saving Tara Goodwin (Mystery Book 1) (48 page)

Opening the door, Luigi walked through and carefully placed her shopping on the bed, and following him inside, saw the room was light, bright and spacious with twin beds, then an en-suite bathroom and large double windows overlooking the sparkling sea.

Turning back to him, she realised he was struggling for words as he gestured whether to turn back the duvet and open the windows.

Giving him a warm open smile, she tried to remember her schoolgirl phrasebook of Italian conversation.

‘Si. Grazie Luigi.

Smiling, he turned away, and walking to the windows began to open them, and as she watched the easy movements of his young body, reminded herself that she was here to murder an ugly old woman, not to seduce a beautiful young boy.

But it might be fun to tease him, and why shouldn’t she. Didn’t she work hard enough.

Having decided to play her game, she took off her jacket and tossed it to the bed, and unbuttoning her creamy silk blouse, tugged it out of her skirt and slipped it off, and holding it out at arm’s length, waited until he turned round, and smiling to his sudden confusion, released it, and as it fluttered down in a shimmering whisper, stretched up her arms, her breasts lifted high in the tiny bra as she ran her fingers through her hair.

Luigi came to a halt, his confused eyes now drawn to the fullness of her soft cleavage, her large breasts lifted high and bulging from within the low cut, black, gossamer bra.

‘Luigi. Per favore
. Would you run the shower for me?’

His expression filled with embarrassed confusion, ‘
Signora
. I no understood.’

‘The shower, Luigi.
Comprende
?’

He shook his head, ‘No.’

Smiling, she beckoned to him, ‘Come, I’ll show you.’

Following her to the bathroom, he watched as she pointed to the taps of the shower while making a turning action with her hands,
‘Per favore. Fare la doccia.’

He sighed with relief,
‘Ahh. Si Signora
. I understood.’

‘Good boy.’

Turning the taps, his shirt became soaked as he tried to adjust the temperature, and watching him, Lucinda smiled as she stepped out of her skirt and slipped off the bra.

‘Grazie, Luigi. Grazie.’

Turning, his breath suddenly caught in his throat when he saw her standing there in nothing more than high-heels, stockings, suspenders and tiny black knickers.

‘
Signora
. I …’

‘What is it, Luigi? Oh, I see … It’s your shirt, it’s soaking wet. But never mind, slip it off and I’ll hang it in the sun to dry.’

In a hot flush, he stood perfectly still as Madam Coogan stood close, her breasts touching him as she slipped off his tie and began to unbutton his shirt, and peeling it off, tossed it away, and smiling into his dark eyes, drew him to her, the softness of her breasts rousing him as they bulged against his wet silky skin.

‘Madam.
Signora
. I …’

‘Hush now.
Silenzio
. Be quiet.’

Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his dark curls, and kissing him, let her tongue dance the demon in his mouth, and taking her lips from his, smiled when she saw the destruction of his young innocence taking place in front of her eyes, and unbuttoning his trousers, she pushed them down.

Luigi made no protest when Madam Coogan knelt down and took off his clothes, and taking him gently by the hand, led him into the steamy torrent of the shower, and he could only tremble when she put his arms around her, her breasts against his chest, and when she revealed to him the nature of passionate love, so came his awakening.

47

Climbing back over the gun emplacement, Frank walked down into Hugh Town, and passing by the hotel, saw the residents sitting on the terrace as they drank and chattered in the late afternoon sun, and rounding the corner, saw two old sailors passing the time by the sea wall.

They stopped talking when he stood beside them to gaze out to sea, but after carefully looking him over, they nodded to each other and started talking about a man called John.

‘He’s been on board that big old Barque.’

‘What, the Polywhatsit?’

‘Aye, that’s the one, she’s got a steel hull and weighs around two thousand tonnes.’

Lighting a cigarette, Frank settled down to listen.

‘So what’s John doing on her then, ‘cos he’s an engine man?’

‘Well what do you think, fixing her engines of course.’

‘But John’s a petrol man, everyone knows that.’

‘That’s why he’s there, ‘cos the carburettors need a good service before she sails, and John’s the best man when it comes to carburettors.’

‘I know, ‘cos he fixed mine, and the engine fell out.’

‘Well your old car is nothing but a rust bucket, it shouldn’t be on the road.’

‘It isn’t now, ‘cos the engine fell out.’

‘Well that’s good riddance if you ask me. Now what were we talking about?’

‘It was John, but it’s daft, nobody uses petrol engines no more, it’s all diesel.’

‘Well that’s right. But according to the crew, just after the second World War, Polywhatsername kept getting herself becalmed off the southern states of America, so the owner had a pair of Sherman tank engines fitted, just for in-shore cruising.’

‘Jesus. Well she’d need a ton of fuel on board to power those things.’

‘She has, and according to that six man, foreign crew, there’s a companionway leading from the afterdeck to a bloody great tank that’s full with over four hundred gallons of the stuff, that’s why they can only have a smoke, up on the forward deck.’

‘Well that sounds bloody dangerous to me.’

‘It is, because Polywhosit is a floating death trap, and especially now, ‘cos John left the fuel lines bare, and he can’t fit the carburettors back on till the day after tomorrow, so till then, just keep your fingers crossed, and hope that dopey crew don’t go messing about and switch the fuel pump on, if you see what I mean.’

Frank put out the cigarette, and as the two old sailors were turning to walk away, bent down to the cobbles with two twenty pound notes in his hand.

‘Excuse me, but I think you must have dropped these.’

‘Well I’m damned, I do believe we did, and now we’ll have a pint for you, young ‘un, just for your honesty, you understand.’

Taking the money, the old man screwed up his weather beaten face in thought.

‘Well, young ‘un, I don’t rightly know why I’m telling you this, I must be getting old, but tonight’s not much good, it’s a clear sky, you see, so the moon will be full out, but tomorrow night will be different ‘cos there’s a stack of cloud cover coming in.’

Watching the two old sailors wander off, Frank wished he could thank Antoinette, and god knows how she managed it, but not only had she given him all the detail he needed, but she’d also put
Polyvotis
out of action for one more valuable day.

In the local supermarket, he bought enough food supplies to last, and stepping inside the Atlantic Inn, settled down with a pint of Guinness to do some hard thinking, and thanks to Mrs P and her man, John, he now knew how to deal with
Polyvotis
.

Enjoying the Guinness, he thought it through - but it wasn’t going to be easy as any materials he would need could only come from the island, then tomorrow he had to get over to Tresco, make camp and wait for nightfall, then swim to
Polyvotis
, get on board and leak the fuel out from the disconnected lines, set his incendiary device and swim like hell.

So all he needed was the right materials and some ammunition for the catapult.

Finding an old hardware store, he browsed along the shelves and found an old fashioned brass alarm clock.

It had a strong circular case and a large dial, and sitting on top of the casing were two large bells, one on either side. Standing up between them was a tall hammer, which at the time of the alarm would thrash violently left and right to strike each bell like a demon.

Taking it over to the counter, he bought boxes of matches, a sharp modelling knife, a tube of superglue, and a box of twenty, large ball bearings.

Climbing over the gun emplacement he dropped down onto the slope, slithered down to the edge and thumped onto the shelf, and setting to work, stripped the striker edge from the box of matches and glued it around the hammer, and taking the matches, cut their heads off and stuck them all over the two alarm bells.

And now, at the chosen time, the hammer would go crazy and thrash the striker edge against the match heads on the bells, and if he allowed three hours to drain out the petrol, there should be enough fuel in the bilges’ to send
Polyvotis
to hell in a blaze of glory.

Unzipping a compartment in the Bergen, he took out the martial arts catapult, which with the correct ammunition, was nothing less than a silent killing machine.

The body was carbon fibre, the elastic, high tensile, and the pouch, soft chamois, the almost perfect assassination weapon as no man’s head could survive a ball bearing flying at maximum velocity.

Stepping out into the late afternoon sun, Lucinda felt more comfortable in a tee shirt of the palest olive green, creamy yellow shorts and soft leather sandals, but she’d barely walked five paces when she heard an urgent young voice behind her.

‘Madam. You go? I come. I come you.’

Swinging round she saw Luigi, his dark eyes burning intensely.

‘No ... you mustn’t. You’re supposed to be working.’

Looking at her, his expression became desperate, his body hard and taut.

‘Work not good, better I come you.’

Lucinda groaned,
‘Oh god, what have I started?’

‘I come you. Yes?’

‘No Luigi, I must be alone for a while. So please go away.’

He stepped forward, eyes pleading, swallowing hard, ‘But madam, I love you.’

Frowning, she quickly glanced around but thankfully there was no-one to be seen.

‘Now listen, what time do you finish? What time do you finish work?’

He thought for a moment, ‘Work? Finish? Yes, is six o’clock.’

‘Alright. So come to my room at six,
comprende
, my room, six o’clock.’

He smiled and sagged with relief, ‘
Si
. I come. Is good, yes?’

She sighed, ‘Yes. Okay. Now for god’s sake go away before someone sees us.’

With Luigi having returned to the hotel, Lucinda stormed off into town.

Bloody hell …

She’d only meant to have some fun, but now she’d woken the lover inside the boy, and he obviously wanted more.

She should have known better, but couldn’t resist being the first woman to have him.

It was a complication, and though his seduction was exciting, what if anyone found out?

Jesus, he was only sixteen.

Pushing the problem to the back of her mind, she began to wander around, and as she explored the nooks and crannies, her eye was caught by a little restaurant that specialised in fresh seafood, so she reserved a table for eight o’clock.

Walking past the Mermaid pub, the sounds of laughter came out through the windows, and the wild, uninhibited enjoyment seemed to become strangely mixed with the sound of her brand new sandals, slapping on the cobble stones, and the mixing of sounds reminded her that life on these islands might just as well be a parallel universe - because she wasn’t here to sing, to play music and drink too much - she was here to kill.

So why was that? It was such a mystery.

Wandering along the jutting quay she heard waves breaking against the sea wall, and it was a sound she loved, the sound of freedom.

Stopping to read the sailing times, she saw the names of the launches that could carry her away to all the other magical islands, and it wasn’t the spray of the wind and sea that made her dark eyes so wet and misty - it was tears.

Looking around the harbour, she saw sailboats, cabin cruisers and launches, but there was nothing the size of
Polyvotis
, so maybe the larger vessels were anchored elsewhere, maybe out in deeper water, but where?

Thinking back to the colour map of the Scilly’s, she remembered being surprised there were so many islands, so searching for
Polyvotis
could be like looking for a needle in a scattered haystack, but then she saw a man in well-worn overalls hurrying towards her along the quay.

‘Excuse me. I’m looking for my friends, they’re on a yacht, but I can’t find them.’

The man didn’t seem to want to stop, ‘Sorry love, can’t help you, I’m late already.’

‘Oh please. I’d be very grateful, you see I don’t know where to look.’

He faltered, ‘A yacht, you say. Well your best bet is to ask at the Harbour Master’s office, it’s just along the quay, but they’re closed now, so come back in the morning.’

It was a setback, but she supposed tomorrow would do, and anyway, it was six o’clock and the boy would be waiting.

It was a nuisance, but wandering back, wondered if it might be possible to guide his passion against the honourable Mr Lewis, and if she could, it would save her the trouble.

As Frank made off along the Garrison trail, he practised with the catapult on head height targets, the brute force and accuracy never failing to surprise him, each shot being perfect, and reaching a granite archway, fired the last of his trial ball bearings, and saw the solid granite had actually been slightly chipped, and no man’s head was as hard as granite.

Walking into town, he made his way along the town beach to a surfing shop, and bought a black wetsuit, a pair of top class flippers, a rubber helmet, good quality snorkel and an anti-glare face mask.

Later, in the Atlantic Inn, he bought a pint of Guinness and went out onto the terrace, and watching the sun sink to the horizon, wondered if he’d forgotten anything, but it was too late now.

Finishing his pint, he strolled along to Porthcressa Beach, and buying fish and chips from the trailer, strolled back through the town to Garrison Hill, and passing by the hotel, wondered what he might be doing at this time tomorrow night.

But never mind, tomorrow would have to take care of itself.

So he would have a good night’s rest up on the grassy ledge, and in the morning, wake early, sort out his kit, pack the day sack and leave the Bergen safely hidden on the ledge, then make his way down to the quay and buy his ticket for Tresco.

It was as easy as falling off a log, so what could go wrong with that?

Lucinda had hardly tossed her bag onto the bed when a soft urgent tapping came on her door, and with a knowing smile, called out, ‘Come in, the door’s open.’

Watching, she saw the door gently open, and peering inside was a nervous but highly excited, olive skinned young boy.

‘Hello Luigi. So you remembered.’

Stepping inside, he closed the door, and smiling awkwardly, swallowed hard.

‘Si madam, I understood, six o’clock. So is okay? Yes?’

She smiled, ‘Well I suppose that would depend on what you want.’

Frowning, he struggled to understand the words, ‘Depende? Of me?’

She sighed … For hadn’t she known all along she would have this young boy, the temptation was just too much, and anyway, he might fit in nicely with her plans, so lifting her tee shirt, she slowly stripped it off, and smiling, unclipped her bra and tossed it away.

‘Is this what you want?’

He stared, but stood perfectly still, all the words he’d practiced now having vanished.

Slipping off her shorts and knickers, she walked to him, and taking his hands, placed them to her breasts, ‘Is this what you want?’

He began to chew his lips, his hands frozen, his chest bursting to his heart beat.

Gently closing his eyes, she made him stand quite still, and taking off his shirt, tugged his shorts and pants down to his ankles, and slipping her arms around him, bounced her soft tummy against his erection.

‘Is this what you want?’

When his eyes opened, they seemed on fire, like coals from a smouldering furnace.

Taking his hand, she led him over to the bed, and sitting down, laid herself out.

‘Is this what you want?’

In a sudden surge of passion, he lunged down, but she brought her knee up into his chest.

‘Oh no, not yet. You must want me so badly you’ll do anything for me.’