Killing in the Caribbean

by Jennifer Fischetto

  Where was Cady?

  She'd gone to help Aiden. How long did that take? Oh, she was probably talking to him about the video of him with the cab driver. Well, I hated to interrupt, but I was done. I planned on heading back. I'd decide if I was packing or handing in my two-week notice when I got on board. I considered leaving Cady a text first, but I noticed her phone on the table. Shoot. I didn't want to take off and have her worry about me.

  I headed around the bar to the kitchen. They were getting rum, so I assumed he kept it there.

  "Is there any service?" shouted one of the new tables.

  When no one replied, they got up in disgust and walked out. Aiden would not be happy about that.

  I wasn't happy either.

  All of this for nothing. Yeah, Greer was still the lead suspect, but something was nagging at me. His temper. He was volatile for sure, but whoever premeditated inserting succinylcholine into Barclay's insulin had patience and was precise. That didn't feel like Greer.

  If this was true, that only left Finley and Whitney.

  I pushed open the kitchen door and heard muffled voices from the office.

  I couldn't believe Whitney would kill the man she was sleeping with. She seemed genuinely upset about his death. Whether he was a good time or she developed feelings for him, she wouldn't have murdered him.

  So Finley.

  Were cheating scores enough to damage his political chances? Certainly some politicians were elected with some stains on their record. We had once elected a Hollywood actor for president. I wasn't sure how that worked. Perhaps a city councilman who cheated his way into and/or out of college was a big enough deal.

  I stepped farther into the kitchen and stood there, waiting for a lull in Aiden's and Cady's voices so I could knock and interrupt. I couldn't hear a word they were saying, which was just as well. Snooping and eavesdropping was fine for murder suspects but not so much for best friends.

  Finley definitely had the patience to premeditate a murder, but why not pay him off? Murder couldn't have been the best solution. Unless he wasn't surprised about Whitney and Barclay. Maybe Finley had known and it made him flip.

  What about Aiden though?

  It was possible. He was also here when I looked at the SD card, right before my dunk into the Atlantic. If my first instinct was right and he was dealing drugs, he had a lot to lose. Not just the extra income from dealing, but if he lost this bar, his family would be in trouble. I needed to trust Cady though. She knew him way better than I did, and if she said he wasn't a dealer, then he wasn't.

  Aiden's and Cady's voices grew louder, and Cady shouted, "I can't believe you're not answering my question."

  Maybe I shouldn't interrupt them. I could wait here until they were done. Back to Barclay…

  The only other person on the drive was that NCIS fan creeping around in the surveillance video. I started to laugh at how appropriate it was that this person was that much into a crime show that they owned its merchandise. What did NCIS stand for? Navy something? Weren't they a part of the military?

  As I tried to remember what the acronym stood for, my mind played leapfrog.

  Barclay's insulin.

  His friends.

  Succinylcholine.

  Greer's flaky, red skin.

  Their vacation to the Caribbean.

  Anesthesia.

  Being friends all of these years.

  Photos of them here and at the airport.

  Secrets.

  And then it hit me. Why didn't I see the connection before?

  "Crap. I know who killed Barclay," I said out loud.

  I pivoted on my heels, ready to run up front and grab the sergeant, but as I turned, something dark flew toward me and struck me in the face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  I cried out and fell backwards. My butt hit the kitchen tile hard, and between the pain in my forehead and now my tailbone, I'd be a walking bruise tomorrow. If I was still alive then.

  The sound of footsteps moved closer, and something metal clanked against the floor.

  I winced sharply as I opened my eyes and pressed my palm to my forehead. I pulled my hand away and checked for blood, but thankfully I only saw my skin. What had struck me?

  I spotted a metal tray on the floor near my feet. That had been the culprit.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, even though I pretty much figured out that Barclay's killer had overheard me say I knew who they were.

  Way to go, Zibby. You couldn't keep that to yourself or make the announcement in front of the cops?

  Mimi hovered over me and held a finger to her lips. "Sssh."

  She wanted me to be quiet?

  She jutted her head toward the office door. "If you let them know it's me, I'll have no choice but to kill them too."

  That was when I noticed she had tied rope around the office's doorknob and then around metal shelving nearby to prevent it from opening. It was smart. Too damn smart.

  Mimi was taller than me and slightly wider, but I had years of dance training. I could get past her. As soon as I got to my feet.

  I tried to stand, and Mimi pulled something out of her pocket. It was a syringe.

  Oh, heck no!

  I was not going to die like Barclay. Or any way. Not now. Especially not since my mess with Frankie Esposito had been cleared up.

  I scooted back on my butt until I hit another set of shelves. Something rattled, and I looked up to see a couple of large aluminum bowls set on the edge of a shelf closer to the top. If they fell on me, they'd be light, but I really didn't want to get conked in the head yet again. Twice in two days was more than enough.

  "Look, we can figure this out," I said, keeping my voice down so my friends didn't have to suffer.

  She laughed as if I'd told a joke. "And how will we do that? Do you honestly think I'll let you out of this kitchen alive? You know it's me. You just said so."

  Yeah, I did, didn't I?

  "But I don't know why." As if that made a difference.

  Shawn had mentioned that succinylcholine was used with anesthesia, and there was that skin specialist business card in Mimi's bag. I'd assumed it was Greer's, due to his hands, but then I remembered the name of the place. Northshore Skin Care Specialist. NSCS. That was on the sweatshirt, not NCIS. And while I couldn't make out if the figure in the surveillance video had been male or female, Greer was too broad. Finley maybe could've fit, but he didn't have a connection with the skin place. Mimi did since the card was in her bag.

  And then there was her slipup. She had told me that she'd first met Finley and Whitney at the airport and that Barclay had invited her on this trip. Greer couldn't say no, which meant she was with Greer and Barclay when the trip came up and the invitation was offered. But when she was at the police station earlier today, she'd told the constable that she had met Barclay for the first time at the airport. She'd confused her own story, and boy did I know how difficult it was to keep lies straight.

  I gripped the vertical pole that supported the shelves and dragged my body upright. Maybe I could use a bowl as a shield. Luckily they stayed in their place and didn't tumble on me.

  "You're not going anywhere," she whispered and took a step toward me.

  I held up a hand and tried to appear weak, which wasn't difficult considering she looked a little distorted and I probably had a concussion.

  "Barclay didn't have a folder on you."

  "Did he have a copy of my DNA test?" she asked with a light chuckle.

  Her DNA? Surely she wasn't Barclay's daughter. They were around the same age. Definitely born the same decade.

  "That was yours?" I asked.

  She bugged out her eyes. "I had to know if he was my half brother for sure. I snuck into his house and took his toothbrush and some hair. It was too easy."

  Brother? It had been a sibling test.

  Cady or Aiden tried the office door, and when it wouldn't open, they began to shout.

  Mimi turned her attention away from me long
enough for me to stand upright completely.

  When she looked back, her expression darkened. "You're not getting away, so don't bother trying."

  I grabbed the wobbly bowls and scoffed. "If you expect me to stand still while you inject me with poison, you're dumber than I thought."

  Technically I hadn't thought she was dumb at all. I hadn't considered her once. Shame on me for not looking at the least likely suspect. I'd never make that mistake again.

  "At least tell me why?" I asked.

  Cady's and Aiden's shouting escalated, and they started banging on the door.

  "So you haven't figured that part out. What kind of meddling sleuth are you?"

  Apparently not a very good one. At the moment, I was more concerned with the playful smile that danced across her face. Well, that and the poison in her hand.

  "My father wasn't simply a workaholic devoid of empathy and compassion. He thrived on ignoring my mother and me. He never attended any of my school functions."

  Was she seriously blaming her murderous actions on her father's neglect?

  "He was also a tyrant. Mom and I had to look and behave a certain way always, even when he wasn't around. He felt the wife and daughter of a plastic surgeon needed to be perfect."

  Plastic surgeon. So that was where she got the drug from. North Shore must've been where her father had worked. If I'd googled her better, I could've learned this, gone to the police, and ended this earlier today.

  "Years of neglect and abuse at the same time." She laughed, and I noticed tears in her eyes. "Can you imagine? It was so insane."

  I knew what it was like growing up with a single mom. She'd been kind and supportive of us kids, but she'd struggled to make enough money so Timmy and I hadn't had to go without much. There'd been days my brother and I'd had to fend for ourselves, cook our own meals, and go to sleep before Mom returned home from work, so I really didn't want to hear her rich-girl, Daddy didn't love me enough sob story. Everyone had hardships in life. Most of us didn't kill because of it.

  She sniffled and seemed to pull back any emotion she'd been feeling. "Then on his death bed, he suddenly wanted me to sit with him. At first I was hesitant. I barely knew the man. But I believed he finally realized he had been wrong all of those years. He was going to apologize."

  Her jaw tensed, and her free hand balled into a fist. Apparently that was not why he'd wanted her by his side.

  "When I'd told him how I felt growing up, he'd insisted that he'd worked so much to provide for us. He ignored his treatment of us—his ridicule if Mom didn't look her best when they were seen in public, how she'd gained some weight as she aged, how her cleaning skills weren't good enough, so he'd hire a housekeeper and then scold Mom for wasting his money and mock her need for help in front of guests." Her voice steadily rose as she spoke until the last word came out with in a rushed breath.

  Wow, life with him sounded awful.

  "I never cared about the money. I only wanted his attention. I told him this, hoping I could make him feel better as he slipped away. He was quick to point out that I'd been fine using his money for my education." She chuckled again, but this time it got caught in her emotion.

  I glanced to the office door and wondered if she'd been loud enough for Cady and Aiden to hear her. I couldn't tell. My pulsed soared from the fear, the adrenaline, the very real desire to run away.

  "He was actually upset that I had gotten a degree. Can you believe it?" Mimi asked with a light laugh that suggested she thought her father had been the disturbed one.

  "Then he shared his secret with me. He'd had a son. A man he never met but whom he saw occasionally from afar. My father would go to his baseball games and watch from the bleachers. He sent his ex-lover child support," she said through gritted teeth.

  Barclay.

  "I wasn't upset that he cheated on my mom. It was kinda obvious. I didn't care that I had a half brother out there or that he sent child support. I cared that he watched this boy grow up, yet he barely paid me any mind. I lived in the same house as him." She jabbed her index finger into her chest repeatedly.

  Her voice climbed again until she reached the next octave. "I cared that he talked about this son as if he'd been the pride of my father's eye. And then, he told me that he had drawn a will and left Barclay half of his estate."

  Ouch! The pain in her tone was not only unmistakable, but I felt it too. It was raw, and I actually felt for her, which was insane because she had killed a man and planned to do the same to me.

  "This arrogant, oversexed, blackmailing SOB was going to inherit half of my money. I think not. It all should've gone to my mother. She deserved it for being married to him all of those years."

  "So you planned to kill Barclay before he inherited," I said.

  Her smile sent chills down my back. "It was ingenious. Until the police performed some break-neck-speed tox report and you got involved."

  Yeah, I could see how I ruined her plans of murder and slipping back to the States.

  "When did you put the poison in his insulin? Here or back home?"

  "At home, but he only had access to it here. I had snuck into his house and stolen an empty bottle. I filled it with the toxin, packed it in my suitcase, and slipped it into his carryon when we landed in Barbados. You'd be amazed at how easy it was to distract him with the mention of hot women."

  So his wandering eye helped in his own murder.

  "How did he get a copy of the DNA report I found in his files?" I asked.

  She smirked. "I tore off the parts with the details that gave away who the test was done on, and then I broke into his house a second time and left it there."

  "Why?" I asked.

  Her smirk grew to a full-fledged Cheshire cat grin. "So he'd wonder, and then when he took his last breath, I could whisper in his ear, 'You'll never get a dime, Bro.'"

  That was why she'd knelt before him when he was dying. I thought she was looking to see if something was lodged in his mouth obstructing his airway, but she'd wanted to let him know she had killed him. The glee on her face was twisted and scary.

  "Did Greer actually hit you?" I asked.

  She chuckled. "No. He's loud and angry, but he wouldn't hurt anyone. Not even you when he lunged. He probably did that to scare you."

  It had worked.

  "How did you two start dating? Seems pretty coincidental that you hooked up with your victim's friend and get invited on this trip," I said. Since she was spilling her guts, it seemed fitting to ask.

  "Greer was easy. I'd spent a lot of time watching Barclay, who also watched his friends. What a jerk."

  Was she not aware of her actions?

  "Greer isn't a ladies' man like his pal, but he was easy to hit on and pick up at the bar. I only approached him that first time to see if he'd spill anything about Barclay. Greer had been drunk. The second time I 'accidentally' ran into him he was still sober, and we had a nice conversation. He asked for my number."

  She smirked and glanced off for a second, probably reliving the moment. "That was when I knew my plan was meant to be. The Universe had sent me a way into Barclay's circle. The trip was a complete accident."

  She really believed fate wanted her to kill a man?

  "There was tension between the men, and I think Barclay invited me to piss Greer off. He knew we hadn't been seeing each other long enough to go to the Caribbean yet. That just fell into my lap, and it was when I cemented my details."

  Two thoughts sprang to mind. One was wow. At everything I'd learned. And the second was how confessing during the big reveal at the end of a mystery book seemed to work in real life too.

  "I think I hear someone," Cady said before shouting again. She and Aiden continued banging.

  They'd only heard something now? Maybe it was because I was on the receiving end of this syringe, but it almost sounded like people in the dining room should've heard Mimi's confession.

  "Why couldn't you leave it all alone?" Mimi asked with a slight frown. "If Barclay had
n't wanted to sniff around you, we wouldn't be standing here now. So you can thank him."

  She really meant that, didn't she?

  Before I could ask, she ran forward.

  I lifted the bowls to not only use as a shield but a weapon too. I aimed it at her wrist and put my strength into it. The whack sounded sharp.

  She winced and her arm wavered, but she still held on to the syringe.

  I considered heading out the back door, but I didn't want to turn away from her to undo any locks. She'd likely jam me in the back of the neck with her needle. The only other way out was past her and through the bar.

  Shouldn't the others be looking for us by now?

  I considered shouting out to Cady and Aiden. Did he have his phone on him? But I didn't want to take the chance that something would go wrong and Mimi would make them her next victims. No, I was on my own.

  I pivoted to my right, much like in rehearsals. Too bad the stage manager hadn't seen it.

  Mimi followed. Every step I took, she mimicked and stayed directly in front of me.

  Three feet farther was an empty metal prep table. I threw the bowls at her and ran. I jumped up onto the table, amazed I calculated the distance correctly with how the room was still swaying.

  Her eyes widened. The victory of surprising her gave me confidence.

  Score one for Zibby.

  Now, what the heck was I going to do up here?

  Not every plan was well thought out.

  I quickly searched for a weapon, but the room was practically sterile. The closest knife was on the other side near the fryers. What kind of kitchen setup was this?

  Mimi wasn't going to wait either. She jabbed toward my shin with the needle, but I shuffled to my right and escaped.

  Without hesitation, I threw my arms up and my body toward the end of the table, doing a cartwheel. My palms hit the cool, shiny surface, and instead of angling straight ahead like I did jumping balconies, I twisted my body so I'd land close to where we first started this dance.

  Feet firmly on the floor, knees bent, I snatched up the metal tray.

  She groaned behind me, and I hoped I'd have time to make a move before she jammed me with the needle.