Killing in the Caribbean

by Jennifer Fischetto

  There was a moment of silence.

  "Okay, fine, you won't admit it, I'll spell it out," Barclay said. "You are embezzling from your company and have been for a while now."

  I was right, but how did Barclay find out about it?

  "So, if you don't continue your payments to me, I'm going to share all I know as well as the evidence I have with your boss and the police."

  Damn. Some kind of friend he was. Now I understood why Greer had been a little hostile.

  "You wouldn't dare. If you did, this cash cow wouldn't be able to fund your gambling habit anymore. Then what would you do?" Greer's tone was low and gravelly.

  Barclay chuckled. "Do you think you're the only immoral sucker I know? Why do you think we all get along so well? It's so we can keep tabs on each other and our secrets."

  What kind of friendships were these?

  I suddenly regretted ever feeling envious of their bond.

  "I don't have that kind of cash available," Greer said. "I invested it all. I'll need some time to liquify some of my assets."

  Barclay chuckled again. "Sure, buddy. You have until our vacation. If I come home empty-handed, you're through."

  Scuffling sounds were heard along with a huff.

  "This will be your last payment, and if you even think of ratting me out…" Greer's voice grew lower. He sounded angry and dangerous. "I may have to kill you."

  The audio file stopped, and I sat there holding my breath. This didn't prove anything, but if I had to lay odds on the four of them, I'd bet that Greer had killed Barclay.

  I clicked on the last folder and saw a hodge-podge of files. There were no names or any discerning clue as to what they were about, just a long string of numbers and the .jpg extension on the end of each. A few of them were videos.

  I sorted them by date with the oldest first, which was dated only a month ago, and clicked on a video. It was grainy and dark. After a few seconds, I realized it was the inside of someone's home. It looked like hardwood floors, contemporary, boxy furniture, everything with straight lines and hard corners. A shadow passed and approached the far wall. It swayed. Not the shadow but the wall. What the heck?

  A trickle of light entered the space, and I realized that what had shifted were drapes on tall ceiling-to-floor windows. The shadow became a darkly dressed person, and this was definitely someone's living room. I couldn't make out if the person was male or female from the angle of the camera, but they weren't very broad, just an average build. I was staring down at the room on an angle, probably from a camera hoisted up in the corner between the ceiling and wall.

  The person looked along bookshelves and cabinets that lined the wall across from the boxy sofa. Other than the furniture, there didn't seem to be any personal effects. It looked like a bachelor pad. It could've been Greer's place or even Barclay's. Perhaps someone I hadn't met. I suddenly wouldn't have put it past Barclay to blackmail everyone he knew, and maybe this person was trying to find the evidence.

  I backed out of the video and realized the next two were all of the same house, the same room, and with the same person sneaking around. In the last one, this creeper was still dressed in black or dark clothes, and they entered a room off camera. If Barclay suspected someone was entering his home, he would've tried to figure out who and installed a security camera. This made sense, but why not put cameras all over his house? I sure would've loved to know what this person was doing off screen.

  When they came back into the living room, they headed to the windows, which turned out to be sliding glass doors. After they stepped outside and turned back to shut the door, the sunlight hit their body in a way that I caught a glint of something on their chest. It was high up on the left side.

  I stopped the video and zoomed in, which made the quality worse. But after a full minute of staring, it looked like letters. I shut one eye to see better, and it looked like NCS. Oh, that TV show, NCIS? So this person was a fan of a crime show. How fitting.

  The next image was a sheet of paper that looked like it had gotten caught in a door or a drawer. It had a chunk torn off the bottom left side and also along the whole top. There were three columns and each one was divided in two. The left side had abbreviations like CSF1PO and TPOX. Then the remaining columns were numbers. I had no clue what any of it meant, but at the bottom, in red, it said, Probability of Relatedness: 76.8427% and the portion of the fine print below that read: Based on the testing results obtained from the analyses of the DNA loci listed, the… The rest of it was missing.

  This was part of a DNA test. Did Barclay suspect he had fathered a child? From the way Whitney described his sexual appetite in college, this wouldn't have surprised me.

  I clicked on the last video and sucked in a breath. It was not of Barclay's house but inside Aiden's bar, and it had been taken a few days ago. It looked as if Barclay had recorded this on his phone.

  What was he doing?

  The camera panned his friends seated at a table by the front doors. Then he shot the bar area and then crossed into the kitchen. The back door was open and light spilled in. Aiden stood there with another man. Wait, that guy looked a little familiar, but I wasn't sure where I'd seen him.

  From the camera's angle, I'd say that Barclay—assuming he took this—was hiding by that stack of boxes I'd seen when I came into Ocean Grille's kitchen.

  Aiden handed the man a regular white business envelope, and the man handed Aiden a small package. Each of them opened the other's gift and looked inside. The guy pulled money out of the envelope. I couldn't tell what he had given Aiden, but my stomach sank.

  My first guess was drugs.

  No, no, no. This couldn't be true. This explained his strangeness at the club last night. Hanging outside where people came and went, that extra long handshake with the cab driver, where drugs and money could've been exchanged.

  That was it!

  The guy in the video was the cab driver from last night. He was probably Aiden's dealer or whatever his title was on the drug hierarchy.

  Cady was going to flip. When I'd mentioned Barclay possibly dying from recreational drugs, I had no idea Aiden was dealing. I couldn't keep this from her. She deserved to know.

  I sat back in the chair and heard a sound behind me. I flinched and looked over my shoulder. The door was open a couple of inches more than when I sat down. Was there a breeze, or had Aiden stood there and watched me watch him buy drugs?

  I ejected the SD card and pulled it out of the computer. I started to put it back into my purse, but I wanted this sucker close to me. I couldn't lose it. Not only did it give motivation to each of Barclay's friends, as well as Aiden, but at some point, I needed to get it to the cops so they could do their thing.

  I stuck it in my bra, beneath my boob, and stood up. I walked back to the front of the bar and saw a couple more tables of customers had arrived. Aiden was behind the bar making drinks, and he looked to be in the weeds already, which was restaurant talk for being slammed and super busy. I'd waited tables in college.

  He looked up at me and gave a curt nod. No smile, no gratitude for helping save his business, which I hadn't really done, but still. I couldn't tell if his hard stare was because he was focused on working or if he knew what I had in my possession.

  "Um, thanks. I'll see you later," I said and walked off. It took everything in me to not start running.

  I headed back to the ship. As soon as I got to my room, I was taking a shower to feel human again and calling Kyle. I also wouldn't mind some food. It had been hours. And while all of that was important, I also knew I'd spend most of the night going over what I'd learned so far.

  Which was:

  1. Finley and Barclay spent some weekends at his cabin, suggesting they were still close regardless of the test copies Barclay had.

  2. Whitney and Barclay were having an affair.

  3. Barclay had been a ladies' man in college, hit on me yesterday, and possibly fathered a child.

  4. Barclay caught Aiden buying drugs
from a man on video.

  5. Barclay was blackmailing each of his three friends and maybe Aiden for all I knew.

  And 6. He'd caught an NCIS fan, on tape, sneaking around his or someone's home.

  He certainly pissed off one of them enough that they wanted him dead. But which one? Each of them seemed to have a solid motive. I still wasn't sure how Barclay had been poisoned, but my gut told me it had something to do with his insulin. Mostly because of the timing. He died right after he went to inject.

  I had no idea where someone would get that kind of chemical. Did they buy it online, or could they get it from a local drug dealer? I needed to do some research. Maybe even ask a certain doctor I knew. That would be a great way to end tonight.

  The ship was a few yards ahead. I stared out at the water, glistening under the setting sun. I looked up at the darkening sky and spotted several stars. It didn't matter what led me to life on a ship. I was grateful I'd had the opportunity. Despite seeing a man axed to death, the threats against my family, and the whole death thing, I knew how wrong everything could've turned out.

  Footsteps sounded behind me, soft but fast. I hoped it was a crew or staff member and not a guest. I wasn't in the mood to put on a big smile and be cheerful. I needed twelve hours of sleep after my shower and meal, not that I'd get that much rest. When I finally returned to New York, I planned a full day in bed. So much uninterrupted sleep that my body wouldn't understand what was happening.

  I considered glancing over my shoulder to be polite and greet the person, rather than ignore them, but before I made up my mind, something hit my back, shoving me forward. I stumbled and righted myself, only to be shoved again.

  I cried out and heard light chatter in the near distance.

  What the heck was going on?

  My brain couldn't comprehend the reality of this, but it couldn't be a joke. This was beyond not funny.

  I started to turn, to see who was behind me and tell them off, when the person grunted and I felt an explosive pain at the back of my head. The expression white hot pain was nothing compared to the fireball that ignited and spread out like hot tendrils throughout my skull, down my neck, and across my shoulders.

  I reached up to touch my hair, as if that would stop the pulsating pressure, and I was pushed once again.

  This time I couldn't collect my balance. One foot over the other like some drunken dance and gravity pulled at me fast. I glanced down and didn't see the concrete anymore but shimmering darkness. It wasn't until my hand touched the cool surface that I realized I was falling off the dock and into the water. My shoulder, then my head, and soon the rest of me hit it with such force that I went immediately under.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  As soon as I broke the surface and came up for air, someone was reaching in to help pull me out. I couldn't see who they were. I had choked on the water, not fully prepared for going under. Two strong hands grabbed at my shirt and then under my arms. I was lifted so my back faced my rescuer.

  When my butt touched the concrete, I grabbed the person's hand and clung on, so ever grateful they'd helped. I didn't want to think what could've happened had they not been here, but the terror of it all swirled through my mind. I continued to cough. My head throbbed, my pulse raced, and my eyes, nose, and the back of my throat burned. Normally I was a good swimmer, but between the unexpectedness and the knock to the head, I was beyond disoriented.

  "Are you okay?" my rescuer asked. His voice was deep and full of worry.

  His. That voice. I knew it.

  I turned my head and stared into Shawn's dark eyes. Relief washed over me, and tears pricked my eyes. I twisted my upper body and threw my arms around his shoulders. "Thank you," I whispered into his warm neck.

  We stayed in that embrace for what seemed like forever. Then he stood up, lifting me with him, until I faced him completely and our bodies pressed against each other. His arms circled around me and held tight. My tiptoes barely touched the ground, his strength holding me up. He smelled of soap and fresh laundry with a hint of musk.

  He set me down and pulled back slightly. Lines creased between his brows. "Are you sure you're all right?"

  I allowed my arms to drop, not wanting to let go but also aware that I'd now soaked his clothes. That was when I realized he was dressed in gray cargo shorts, a blue T-shirt, and matching sneakers. He was either returning from or going into port.

  I nodded and winced at the sharp pain that stabbed behind my eyes. "Yes, I think so."

  He cocked a brow to say he didn't believe me. His eyes roamed my face but studied my eyes, perhaps looking at how large or small my pupils were. "I want to make a proper examination when we get on the ship. What happened?"

  "Someone shoved me, hit me on the head, and then pushed me into the water."

  His eyes widened, and he stepped back until he was no longer touching me. "This was on purpose? Can you walk? Should I carry you?"

  I nearly laughed. I'd fallen into the water. I didn't get hit by the boat. Besides, carrying me on board like An Officer and a Gentleman would get guests and coworkers talking. "Yes."

  "Come on." He placed his hand against the small of my back and guided me toward the ship.

  That was when I realized I was missing my left shoe. I glanced at the water and didn't see it bobbing on the surface. Who knew where it was. They weren't designer or expensive, but they were a cute pair of hot pink walking shoes. I patted my side. Thankfully my purse was still around my neck and torso. And double thankfully my phone was water resistant. Three cheers for modern technology. I was sure everything in there was soaked.

  It wasn't until we were off the elevator that I realized we weren't on deck thirteen where the sick bay was located.

  "Where are we going?" I asked.

  We stopped before Security, and he knocked. "This is a crime. You need to report it, Zibby."

  He was right, but the last time I reported something, I nearly got my mother killed. I wanted to do the right thing, but my hesitation was real. I didn't say anything though. Just stood there dripping and shaking.

  Shawn noticed my trembling and probably assumed I was only cold from the water.

  The door opened, and the Chief Security Officer, Harvey Wright, stood before us. Tall, lean, with a great smile, this man was very easy on the eyes. I'd only spoken to him a handful of times, mostly in the form of "hello," "great day," and "enjoy yourself." All I knew about him was that he hailed from New Zealand, which was pretty evident from his rich accent.

  "Dr. Bishop, Miss Foster, how can I…?" He took in my wet hair and clothes and stepped back. "Come in. What happened?"

  We entered the office, which felt smaller than it probably was due to the four desks and chairs that occupied it. A coffee and tea station was set up on a shelf, and a mini fridge sat beneath it.

  There was no one else in the office, and based on the steam traveling upwards from a blue mug on the farthest desk, I assumed that was where Harvey worked.

  He pulled over two chairs—one from each unoccupied desk—and asked us to have a seat. He walked around the messy desk and sat down.

  I gingerly sat on the edge, squishing and making awful sounds. All I could do was hug myself and try to concentrate on the now rather than continuously replay that awful fall. I stared at the green carpeting and noticed a patch of gravel was pressed into my remaining shoe. I was drenched, possibly concussed, and I had to buy new sneakers.

  Shawn glanced at me and looked around the room. He stood up and walked to the shut door. There was a black jacket hanging on the hook.

  "May I?" he asked Harvey.

  "Yes, of course. I apologize for not thinking of it myself," Harvey said.

  Maybe my thinking was a little slow due to being struck on the head, but it didn't dawn on me that their conversation was about me until Shawn wrapped the jacket around my shoulders. He held on for an extra few seconds, and I wished he wouldn't let go. I wanted to press myself against his chest again, but I figured that would
be inappropriate and awkward.

  "Tell me what happened," Harvey said.

  I retold the events and shivered despite the jacket.

  Harvey's brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything.

  "What did you see?" Harvey asked Shawn.

  "Nothing concrete. I was getting ready to leave the boat and go into port when I heard a cry out and a splash. I turned around and saw a figure darting off, but I couldn't make out a description. A guest on the ship was talking, and my attention was in two places. When I reached the area I saw the figure run from, I peered into the water, saw Zibby just below the surface, and helped her out."

  My pulse raced as he told his side of the story. I thought I'd had my wits about me as I walked back to the ship, but apparently not. I'd been so preoccupied with Barclay, his death, his friends, and Aiden that I allowed someone to get that close to me without turning around. I knew better. I'd grown up in New York City.

  "This wasn't an accident," Harvey said and reached for the phone. He grabbed an index card from a side drawer and dialed.

  I frowned, trying to figure out what he was doing, and he turned the card over. It listed phone numbers and addresses for the police, fire, hospital, and ambulance.

  "We create them for every port so we don't need to do a Google search if there's an emergency," he said.

  While he told the police that I'd been attacked near the ship, Shawn leaned over and squeezed my hand.

  He offered me a reassuring smile, but I couldn't return it. It was starting to truly hit me. I'd been assaulted. Someone had pushed me into the Atlantic. This night was not going as planned.

  When he hung up, Harvey said, "They will send someone out. I believe the police will say this is their jurisdiction so they will handle it, but I'm glad you brought this to my attention. We have a duty to keep our guests and staff safe."

  Both men were probably thinking this was a random mugging attempt. If it was, the timing was super coincidental. Harvey either didn't know about Barclay's death or hadn't put it together yet. Shawn looked pensive, and I wished I could tell his thoughts. I decided not to say anything in front of Harvey. Like he said, this was the Barbados police's responsibility. I also didn't want the chief security officer digging into my background. It wouldn't be hard for him to learn about the Espositos, which would be weird enough, but then to learn that I got this gig because Kyle cashed in a favor would be too much. I was qualified, but I didn't want word leaking and have the other cast members look at me strangely.