The Tangled Web: an international web of intrigue, murder and romance (3 page)

Lauren had no idea what to say. The request was bizarre. Had it not been made by her aunt, she would have laughed it off.

“I know this is asking a lot of you, Lauren,” Margaret persisted. “But this is a matter of national importance. That’s as much as I can tell you.”

Lauren’s eyes strayed from her aunt’s face to a brilliant shower of fuchsia bougainvillea cascading over the garden wall.
It’s a matter of national importance
. Something was afoot and Margaret’s lips were sealed, at least as much as they could be given the unusual request. Lauren’s instincts told her it was something subversive, nothing as drastic as a revolution perhaps, but something that would likely cause a massive shake-up within the government. She agreed wholeheartedly that drastic measures needed to be taken to put an end to the crime and corruption, which had infiltrated the very heart of government. What was happening to the country was heartbreaking. Like a rotting mango, it was being eaten away by maggots. The man on the street was beginning to get restless, but that was inevitable. You couldn’t have such callous indifference to the plight of the people without the lid blowing off at some point. Yet she couldn’t help wondering what had led Margaret to become involved in something of that nature, if indeed, that was what it was. As close as they were, Margaret had never shared her thoughts about the government, which was understandable.

“Would you at least think about it?”  Margaret asked, cutting through her thoughts.

Lauren took a deep breath. “You’re asking a lot of me, Aunt Margaret. Give me some time to think about it,” she finally compromised. “This is not a decision I can make this minute.”

Across the Atlantic in the Czech Republic, Pavel slid his mobile phone back into his pocket and lit a cigarette. It seemed things were finally coming together on the island. Now he needed to book his flight to London, but breakfast would have to come first. He went into the kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator not surprised to find virtually nothing but a few cans of Plzen, his favorite Czech beer. The last thing he wanted to do was go out, but he had little choice this morning if he wanted to eat. He locked his front door carefully then skipped down four flights of old stone stairs to the ground floor. As an added precaution, he locked the heavy wooden door that opened onto Navratilova, one of the well-trod historic thoroughfares of Prague. Within short walking distance, there was a small restaurant that had become his mainstay for a good, basic meal at any hour.

It was only mid October, but winter had already begun to show its frosty face in a chilling drizzle that transformed the dull of the old cobblestone street to a smooth sheen. As he walked towards the restaurant thinking about his upcoming meeting with the woman from the island, Pavel hunched against the cold, which showed little respect for his expensive outer jacket. The leaves on the trees in the park across the street were in their final death throes, signaling the end of a season. Even nature can’t escape death he smiled darkly.

FOUR

Logan’s eyes snapped open as a strange sound woke him from a deep sleep. He lay for a moment, blinking until his eyes began to adjust to the bright sunlight streaming through the blinds. The sound, he now realized, was the cooing of wood pigeons outside in the garden. He sniffed. The smell of cooking was making its way through the cottage towards his bedroom. He rolled out of bed and dragged on some shorts, heading in the direction of the kitchen.

Ivy was over the stove whipping up breakfast. Barefooted, it was easy to approach her from behind without giving himself away. He sneaked up behind her and tweaked her ample ass playfully.

“Mr. Logan! You behave yourself now, sir,” she admonished him without turning away from her task.

“Now, how on earth did you know it was me?” he asked impishly.

“Mr. Logan, who else would dare to do a naughty thing like that to an old lady? You should be ashamed of yourself,” she fussed in a lame attempt at indignation.

“So what’s the news, Ivy? Anything interesting?”

“I left the newspaper by your chair in the living room,” she muttered dourly.

“Is Mr. Mike up?” Logan asked, eyeing the cast iron skillet on the stove.

“Not that I know,” Ivy frowned disapprovingly.

Logan stooped and hugged her from behind as he viewed the contents of the skillet, which still held her full attention. He noted she was fixing his favorite breakfast, a veritable feast passed down from the old plantation days. Eyeing the array of pots and pans on the stove, he became suddenly ravenous.

Ivy finally dropped what she was doing and turned to look at him. Hands akimbo, she shook her head disapprovingly. “Mr. Logan, you know better than to be walking around the house without a shirt. Why don’t you go get dressed properly while I put breakfast on the table? And wake that lazy Mr. Mike while you’re at it. Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.” Logan grinned and slunk off to get dressed. Nothing had changed. Ivy was still in command.

Ivy was the salt of the earth, the essence of island mother, and, like so many others, she was father too, the yin and the yang of parenthood, the strength that held the fragmented pieces together; the women who walked down from the mountains, hips swaying down impossibly steep paths, baskets heavy with produce for the market miraculously balanced on their heads. These were the women of the island, these and the ones whose voices shrieked out from the ramshackle corrugated zinc shacks of the city slums, chiding barefooted children to order. It was their cry that began the day, provided a meal for a hungry stomach. It was their arms that offered solace from hardship at night.

She glanced at Logan fondly as he left the kitchen. He was like a son to her and she would have dearly loved to spend a few minutes talking with him. Unfortunately, Mike had arrived, even before him and, as usual, would monopolize his time. She wasn’t overly fond of Mike. He was a charmer all right, but he was a good for nothing as far as she was concerned. Dear lord, the man had never worked a day in his life. She didn’t understand what Mr. Logan saw in him. There were times she felt tempted to say something, but there was an old saying here on the island,
Cockroach nuh have nuh business in a fowl fight
.

She remembered well when she had first gone to work with the Armstrong family at Vale Verde. She had been little more than a teenager and Mr. Logan had just turned two. They were both grown up now, he and Miss Virginia. Those times at Vale Verde were long gone. She hardly saw Logan anymore and Virginia seldom came to the cottage. Nothing had been the same since their parents had passed on. “Lord have mercy,” Ivy moaned, thinking of how many people she knew had passed on. Some died from heart attacks or one thing or the other, but others... like those friends of Mr. Logan’s parents. Stabbed to death in their house in the middle of the day. Things were going from bad to worse. They said the Prime Minister was as corrupt as anyone else. Everybody thought things would get better when he was elected, but he was just like the rest of them, lining his pockets and doing nothing to help poor people. She missed the old days. You could at least count on getting up in the morning unless you died a natural death. Now young men were carrying guns for the drug posses and decent people lived like prisoners, guarded by iron grilles over every door and window. Deciding it was probably better Logan’s parents were in the hands of the Lord, she spooned breakfast into the serving dishes and took the pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator. True to her word, she had breakfast on the table in ten minutes.

“Didn’t expect to see you back so soon,” Mike said looking up from his heaped plate. “Anything in particular going on?”

“Just a few loose ends that need tying up,” Logan replied evasively. He quickly changed the subject. “Come to think of it, Lauren Anderson is interviewing me this afternoon.”

“What kind of interview?” Mike asked surprised.

“Some kind of lifestyles of the rich and famous nonsense from what I understand.” He laughed. “Just hope she doesn’t want to know what brand of toilet paper I use.”

Mike dug into his breakfast thinking. Logan guarded his privacy like a pit bull, so why would he have agreed to an interview with Lauren Anderson? As a reporter, she was as aggressive as they came. What made her a particularly dangerous predator was she didn’t come across as aggressive. Just as nice as could be. Besides, ‘lifestyle’ stories weren’t Anderson’s thing. She was an investigative reporter, one who was ferocious in her criticism of the government.

“Know anything about her?” he asked Logan.

“Nothing really, but I read a piece of hers I found very interesting.”

“She’s a shark, Logan. Watch out. Beautiful woman though, drop-dead gorgeous. Mind you don’t find her too irresistible,” he joked through a mouthful.

“Oh? So how did she escape you?” Logan grinned.

“Let’s just say she never gave me the time of day,” Mike shrugged. “Can’t win ‘em all.”

Logan dropped the subject. It was good that Mike had given him the heads-up on Lauren Anderson, but he had bigger things on his mind than an interview with a reporter, though she had written an article suggesting corruption in the government that had piqued his interest. The matter foremost on his mind was something he could share with no one. As close as he and Mike were, even Mike could not be told the reason for him being on the island at this time. He didn’t think asking Mike to check out that business in Cali would necessarily lead to any suspicion on Mike’s part, though Mike was good at sniffing things out he had to admit. He wondered if Mike knew anything about the missing McGuire boat. “Any more news on that McGuire boat?” he asked.

Mike looked startled. “Nothing further,” he answered hurriedly. “They haven’t found the boat. No boat. No bodies. Not a trace of anything.”

Logan took a gulp of juice and grunted. “Place is going down the tubes. My guess is they were murdered. Too many innocent people are getting killed.”

“That’s nothing new. Besides, what makes you so sure they were innocent?”

“One can never be sure these days. Seems like everybody and their mother are dealing drugs.”

Mike choked on his toast. Coughing uncontrollably, he grabbed his water glass. “You could say that’s what’s holding up the economy,” he sputtered, wiping the tears from his eyes with his napkin.

Logan gave him a searching look. He put the vague suspicion that had floated through his mind on hold.

“Thanks for bringing me those reports,” he said. “I had a chance to look at them.”

“Why the rush is what I want to know.”

“I just wanted to make sure you found everything I needed. I don’t have a lot of time and it may have taken you a few days to dig up more.”

“I won’t even bother asking what this is about,” Mike said scraping the last morsel from his plate.

FIVE

Lauren dabbed the shine from her nose and checked her makeup again. Her face showed signs of fatigue, but other than that, she was fine. As she gave herself the final look-over, she couldn’t help laughing inwardly at the extra pains she was taking over her appearance. Logan Armstrong was just another interview after all, so why all the fuss? The answer, she quickly reminded herself, was the interview with Logan Armstrong was an auspiciously lucky break. Personal interviews were not her bag, but if she played her cards right, Armstrong could lead her to the person she really had questions for. Satisfied she passed the mirror test, Lauren checked her recorder, slipped it into her tote and went to her car.

Logan was strolling across the front lawn when she arrived at the cottage. Waving her to the end of the drive, he walked over to greet her. Lauren gave him a discreet once-over as he opened the driver’s door for her. He was surprisingly tall, and a lot better looking than his photos suggested.

“Thank you for coming all the way up here,” he greeted her with a tentative smile.

Lauren was slightly taken aback. She had almost been reduced to begging for the interview with him and now he was thanking her for coming? “Not at all,” she replied hesitantly, “It’s me who should be thanking you. I appreciate your time.”

He looked at her awkwardly. “I suppose inside the house is as good as anywhere for this?”

“Yes, that would probably be best.”

“Well then, I suppose we might as well begin,” he said leading her into the cottage with barely masked reluctance.

Lauren’s observant eyes flitted around as she followed him into the living room. The fireplace immediately caught her interest. “That is a very unique fireplace. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like it.”

“It was built with stones from the river. As you can see, they were carefully hand- picked.”

“How near is the river to the house?”

“Quite near. You can see it from the edge of the lawn. You can hear it from in here sometimes,” he answered offering her a seat.

“How old is this house?” she asked sitting and taking out her recorder.

Logan eyed the recorder apprehensively. “About one hundred and twenty years old. Can I get you anything?” The offer of refreshment had barely escaped his lips when Ivy appeared with a tea trolley.

“Was that rehearsed?” Lauren asked, hardly able to hide her amusement.

Logan repressed a laugh. He also found Ivy’s seemingly on-cue arrival quite funny. “No, not rehearsed,” he smiled. “If you want to know the truth, this place is run like a ship. In fact, Ivy is more like a drill sergeant than a ship’s captain.” He turned to Ivy, “Ivy, this is Miss Anderson from Island Daily News.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Anderson,” Ivy gushed. She stood hesitantly for a moment before tearing herself away. As he watched her leave, it occurred to Logan Ivy may have been eavesdropping. She was a huge fan of the columnist.