by Carrie Doyle
“That sounds lonely.”
She paused. It was not the expected reaction. In fact, no one had ever even had a follow-up comment when she responded that way before. But Plum was unwilling to expose more of herself to this stranger, so she brushed him off. “It’s not, it’s lovely. Now tell me about these Rijos.”
Juan Kevin sat back in his seat. “Carmen Rijo is the widow of Emilio Rijo.”
“Am I supposed to know who that is?”
“You are not supposed to know, but you should know.”
“Who is he?”
“Who was he,” Juan Kevin corrected. “Emilio Rijo was the founder of Las Frutas, but more importantly his family members are sugar barons and control the sugar and molasses industry. Las Frutas was his family’s estate, and he was responsible for transforming it into this luxury paradise.”
“He did a good job.”
“Yes. He was a wonderful man. Brilliant. A visionary. We were very close; he was like a father figure to me.”
“And Carmen is a mother figure?”
Juan Kevin chuckled. “Not exactly. She is much younger than me. You see, Emilio had been married for thirty-five years to Alexandra, a former beauty queen, who is still very beautiful by the way. But Emilio had his head turned by Carmen. Although Emilio had strayed before, Carmen captivated him, and he left Alexandra and married Carmen. Within a year, he was dead.”
“Wow.”
“It was a terrible situation. Emilio and Alexandra have two grown sons—Martin and Julian—and they’re convinced that Carmen killed their father or at least had something to do with his death. Now there’s a battle for the estate. Martin is leading the fight. Although Alexandra and the sons were well taken care of in the will, Emilio left his new wife Carmen a beautiful villa and half of the resort. There is strife at Las Frutas and beyond. Much of the island is taking sides.”
“Which side are you on?”
Juan Kevin hesitated. “I prefer to stay neutral.”
“I don’t blame the sons for being mad. The new wife is there for five minutes and gets millions?”
“Emilio had a very volatile relationship with his sons. They disappointed him. He knew the boys would make Carmen’s life difficult, and he wanted her to be protected. It’s no surprise that Martin showed up and caused a scene. He is vengeful.”
“I’m sensing you’re not a fan of the sons.”
Juan Kevin chose his words carefully. “We are not close.”
“But do you think Carmen offed her husband?” asked Plum. “Sure sounds like she had motive.”
“I do not.” Juan Kevin bristled. “It was widely known that Emilio had a heart condition.”
“Maybe she did something to expedite his demise.”
“I do not see her as that sort of person. I’ve known her since she was young.”
“She’s the sort of person who would steal someone’s husband.”
Juan Kevin was about to protest but conceded. “Yes, that’s true, unfortunately. That came as a surprise to me. She was so sweet, is so sweet, I would never have believed it.”
“It’s always the sweet ones who have the killer instincts.”
He smiled. “You know from experience?”
“Daily. The publishing business in New York is ruthless.”
“I understand now why you left. That is why you quit, right?”
“It was time to move on. Have a new adventure.”
Plum was worried Juan Kevin would ask her more about her departure from the magazine world and she would have to reveal her termination, but fortunately, the waiter arrived at the table with their bottle. The white wine was crisp and fruity.
“Why do Emilio’s sons think Carmen killed their father? Do they have any proof?” Plum asked when the waiter had left.
“They believe they do, but it is hard to prove.”
“What is it?”
He took a sip of his wine before speaking. “Have you heard of Paraison obeah?”
“No.”
“It is a kind of sorcery practiced here by a small number of the population, especially in the village from which Carmen hails. What you might call ‘black magic’. Martin and Julian Rijo know Carmen is superstitious, and they claim that she mixed a potion to first enchant and then kill their father.”
“Do you think that?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t think Carmen needs potions to enchant someone. She is…breathtaking… Well, you will meet her and see for yourself.”
Plum did not like Juan Kevin’s response. It seemed he had a soft spot for Mrs. Rijo.
“But if Carmen is such a grieving widow, why was she at the bar doing shots with Nicholas Macpherson?” asked Plum.
“Emilio has been dead for a year; I cannot blame her for going out.”
“But having drinks with a bachelor party?”
“I am sure the men sought her out. She is very attractive.”
“Yeah, you said that,” snapped Plum. Jealousy was welling up inside her and that irritated her to no end. Juan Kevin was handsome, but he was a hotel employee clearly in love with his former boss’s wife. Plum could do better. “I think it’s bad form for a lady to be out boozing alone and cruising for men.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Didn’t I find you at the bar boozing alone?”
“That was entirely different,” she barked, angry that he had brought it up again. “I was getting a lay of the land.”
“No judgment from me.”
“I didn’t expect any.”
“And I would ask you to withhold judgment of Carmen until you meet her.”
“Sure,” lied Plum. She had already made up her mind.
The mood shifted, and after the food came, they stuck mostly to the topic of Nick Macpherson’s death, analyzing the information they had learned from Jason and Deepak and trying to avoid mention of the Rijo family. The rest of the night felt flat to Plum, and she was disappointed. It certainly wasn’t the romantic event she had imagined. Suddenly it wasn’t that fun spending time with Juan Kevin, who undoubtedly had a mad crush on Carmen. That realization made Plum gloomy, whereas Juan Kevin seemed aloof. They both seemed relieved when the dinner was over, and they quickly left the restaurant as soon as they had eaten.
Chapter 9
Plum woke to a banging on her door. She was momentarily befuddled and wondered why she was waking up in a sun-filled room rather than her dark New York City apartment, but then reality came rushing back. The banging continued, and she shot out of bed and rummaged around for a bathrobe. She shrugged into it and tied it tightly around her waist before stumbling to the door, bleary-eyed.
Captain Diaz and a tanned young officer with a pencil mustache stood on the threshold.
“Did I wake you?” Captain Diaz asked with a crocodile smile.
“No. I was just doing my sit-ups,” she lied.
“I apologize if it’s early, but I thought you would be excited to know the coroner has returned with his conclusion, and he has stated in his findings that Nicholas Macpherson was indeed murdered.”
Plum was flooded with a variety of emotions. “I’m not excited that he was murdered, but I am gratified that my hunch proved to be true,” she corrected. “What does this mean?”
“It means that there will be an investigation,” stated Captain Diaz. “The friends will have to remain on the island until further notice. They are suspects. And you will have to come with us and tell us everything you remember about the man who came to your office claiming to be Nicholas Macpherson as well as give us a list of anyone who had access to the villa.”
“Okay, let me get dressed.”
“It will be a very long day for you,” said Captain Diaz, almost tauntingly. “In fact, a very long week.”
“I get it,” she snarled.
Captain Diaz wa
s not wrong. It was a very long day. The police headquarters was a squat, grayish stucco building located between Las Frutas and the town of Estrella. It was centered on a half-acre, dusty, terracotta plot shrouded by untamed bushes and stumpy trees. The doors and windows were framed by bars, and there were two white plastic chairs on the porch, which appeared inharmonious with the rest of the staid enterprise. There were plenty of people in attendance, but it was unclear what their jobs were, and there was a languorous air in the building.
The scarred desk at which Plum sat fielding questions was in a stifling back corner where the heavy air was ripe with sweat. Captain Diaz was primarily interviewing her, although other unidentified officers came and went to either listen to her or ask a random question. Every now and then, Captain Diaz rose and congregated with his colleagues in a cluster in the middle of the room, presumably discussing the case. There seemed to be no sense of urgency, and Plum’s irritation was increasing with her impatience. She found herself answering the same questions over and over again and was annoyed by the passivity her responses elicited. She wasn’t sure if it was penance for her insistence that they look into this case or if it was the pace at which things were done in Paraiso, which was definitively slower than the pace of life in New York City. She figured it was a bit of both.
“Why is there no air-conditioning in here? I’m roasting.”
She realized that her designer cap-sleeve dress in textured silk with stilettos might have been the wrong choice to wear to the police station. Or anywhere in Paraiso, for that matter. She had wanted to appear in control and professional, but she realized she might need to rethink her wardrobe choices.
Captain Diaz leaned towards her. “Sweating under pressure?”
Plum wanted to roll her eyes, but as this was “law enforcement,” she knew it would be a bad move. “Of course not. I’m just not used to this climate.”
“Many cannot take the heat.”
“Right.”
“Señorita, can you please tell me why you immediately thought this was murder?”
She sighed, aggravated. “Like I told you, anyone could tell that his face exhibited bruising consistent with a vicious attack. It didn’t look like a fall.”
Captain Diaz nodded slowly, staring at her with his wolflike eyes. “Do you have experience with murder?”
“No.”
“Did you have a relationship with the victim?”
“A relationship?” Plum repeated skeptically. “Absolutely not.”
“Aha! Why did you repeat ‘a relationship’?”
“Because I thought it was an absurd question.”
He rubbed chubby fingers on his stubbled chin. “Very interesting.”
“Why is that interesting?” asked Plum.
Plum could not believe that this was the line of questioning. Was this man serious? Captain Diaz scribbled something down in a notebook. Plum wished that she could read upside down. And she really wished she could read Spanish upside down.
“Do you have a criminal past?” asked Captain Diaz.
“No.”
“Have you ever been accused of a crime?”
She thought back to when she was accused of throwing the gum in Brad Cooke’s hair on the school bus and was about to say she had been falsely accused, but clearly Captain Diaz had no sense of humor, and it would only delay the interview.
“Never,” she said with certainty.
“I see,” he said, slowly. Then he wrote something down.
After another half hour of mundane questions, some of the same ones over and over again, Plum was finally breaking. The clock struck noon.
“Can I go now?” she demanded truculently. “I cannot tolerate this inefficiency any longer, and I have told you all I know.”
“Soon.”
“You should be talking to Jason Manger and Deepak Gupta. I think they know more than they have said.”
Captain Diaz didn’t respond but instead went to the center of the station again to consult with his colleagues. They appeared to have given him the green light, because when he returned, he told her she could go.
“But remember, you are a person of interest. Don’t leave the island.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
He scoffed. “Of course.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You tourists don’t listen to our rules. You do whatever you want. You come to our beautiful island and play by your own rules and then return home.”
“This is my home. I’m not a tourist.”
He smiled, baring all his teeth. “We will see how long you last.”
She was about to protest but had to acknowledge that it was true; she was actively trying to move back home. She thought of staying just to prove Captain Diaz wrong, but it wasn’t worth it.
***
When Plum mounted the steps to Golf Villa 24, she heard raised voices emanating from Jonathan’s office through the open window. She paused and moved closer in order to hear better.
“Jonathan, this will destroy the company. We have worked so hard. You must get rid of the American.”
Plum’s ears pricked. It was Damián. That little scoundrel.
“I will get rid of her, but not until after we get the article in the Market Street Journal,” said Jonathan smoothly.
“Is it really worth it? She will ruin us before then.”
“I don’t think so. I can contain this.”
“I have already heard a competitor mention they heard of the murder.”
“Tell them Jonathan Mayhew Caribbean Escapes has nothing to do with Casa Mango or anything that happened at all. Plum was acting as an independent contractor—she is not on staff, and we have no official agreement with her. That contract self-implodes in three months. I will terminate her after she gets us that good press.”
“This is risky.”
Plum heard Jonathan sigh. “I know you didn’t want me to hire her…”
“And I was right!”
“Yes, you were right. But let’s use the old girl for all she’s worth and then send her packing back to New York!”
Plum waited in the bushes until she was sure that Damián had left Jonathan’s office and she could properly compose herself. She was humiliated and felt more sorry than angry, which was not her usual reaction. When had Plum become vulnerable to criticism? What was happening to her thick skin? Was the blazing sunshine melting it away?
She had no choice but to act as if she hadn’t been eavesdropping, so she sauntered into the office as if she hadn’t a care in the world. When she entered, Damián was staring at his computer, and Lucia was on the telephone. Plum moved toward her desk where there was a woven basket stuffed with fruit.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“I brought it for you,” said Damián.
“That was very nice of you. It’s not my birthday, you know,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously.
“I know that, of course,” said Damián. “I believe you said you had your fortieth birthday in June.”
“My birthday is in June, but I am not forty. Not even close,” Plum scoffed.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I simply want to say you look good for your age.”
“We are almost the same age.”
“I think not,” sneered Damián. “But no matter. It is not a birthday gift. I am presenting you this basket with my deepest condolences.”
“Condolences? What do you mean?”
He didn’t wait for her to finish. “Plum, I heard the police confirmed that your bachelor party client was murdered in Casa Mango. The client that you promised a safe vacation in paradise ended up dead. He is no more. Under suspicious circumstances. And I have brought you this fruit basket to extend my deepest condolences for him and your future.”
Plum was seething. The ne
rve of this man! She looked down at the fruit basket—full of rock-hard mangos and green bananas and snatched it off her desk and slammed it on his.
“Thank you for your gift of unripe fruit…”
“As the tragic death happened at Villa Mango, I thought it appropriate…”
“You are too cunning for your own good.”
Damián gave her a faux sympathetic look. “I am sure it will take a long, long time to recover from this terrible situation. Especially when there is the inevitable lawsuit. Therefore, I present you with fruit to remind you that you will never go hungry with friends like me.”
“I am not worried about going hungry, Damián.”
“Yes, I know you have extra flesh on your bones, but I worry about the future.”
“Unreal.”
“It is just a friendly gesture.”
“Okay, that’s it, Damián,” said Plum. “Don’t you have to be somewhere else? Isn’t one of your girlfriends waiting for you?”
“My date this evening is a young, beautiful woman who is back from modeling in Europe.”
“Where there are many diseases,” Plum pointed out. “All of which I hope you get!”
“What’s this?” asked Jonathan, who was standing by the door, his face decidedly grim.
Plum quickly sat down at her desk and picked up her phone. “I’m about to get on a call with the Journal. Let’s chat about it later.”
Jonathan’s face brightened. “Of course. And do tell them about the new pickleball courts.”
“Absolutely. I think that’s a game changer,” fibbed Plum, doing everything in her power not to roll her eyes.
***
Plum was eager to evacuate the office and found that she was famished after forgetting to eat breakfast, so she decided to call over to Casa Mango to see if Jason and Deepak wanted to join her for lunch. She felt it was the least she could do, and it could be an opportunity to milk them for more information. Lourdes answered and said Jason and Deepak had signed up for an excursion and taken off on the catamaran to Carolina Island for the day. Plum thought it was a curious move and wondered if Captain Diaz would be annoyed.
