by Carrie Doyle
“Oh, sorry,” said Gigi, quickly moving away to pack her things.
“I don’t have all day,” said Kirstie with impatience.
“Neither do we,” countered Plum.
“We want to know why you were staying at the resort this week,” said Juan Kevin.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
“Don’t play dumb,” said Plum. “We have proof.”
Kirstie hesitated, obviously weighing her options. “What proof?”
“Your father rented a villa for the week,” said Plum.
“So?” Kirstie asked.
“You were seen here by a member of the resort staff,” said Juan Kevin.
“Who?” asked Kirstie.
“It’s not important,” said Juan Kevin. “We want to know why you were here and why you didn’t tell us.”
Kirstie stared at them. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“Does Jason know you were here?” asked Plum.
Kirstie wagged her finger at Plum. “It’s none of your damn business.”
She turned and stormed away.
“Can we stop her?” asked Plum.
“Technically, no. She’s right; she doesn’t need to tell us anything.”
“Let’s go talk to Damián,” said Plum.
When Plum called Lucia to see if Damián was in the office, she was told he was on site, overseeing the pool repair at Casa Ciruela Pasa, one of the properties that he managed. Juan Kevin knew where it was, so they headed over.
“What does ciruela pasa mean?” asked Plum.
“It means prune.”
“That’s a terrible name for a villa. You might as well name it Casa Diarrhea.”
“Prunes get a bad reputation,” said Juan Kevin.
“For a reason.”
Casa Ciruela Pasa was located on a small lot by the heliport. It was on a quiet street and was the standard, white house with Spanish-tiled roof. This one was charmless. Several trucks and Damián’s car were parked in the driveway. They pressed the doorbell, but there was no answer.
“We know he’s here,” said Plum.
“Let’s go around back,” said Juan Kevin.
They unlocked the gate to the backyard and walked through to the pool area. Latin music was playing loudly. Two men were cleaning the pool while another washed the deck. Damián was sunbathing in his swimming trunks, doused in oil, lounging on a chaise. He had a soda next to him and was chatting on his cell phone. He quickly finished his call when he saw Juan Kevin and Plum and shot up.
“This is where you go during the workday?” asked Plum contemptuously.
“I’m working,” he said, wrapping a towel around his waist. “It should be obvious. I am managing the pool cleaning.”
“Yeah, right,” said Plum sarcastically. “Doing a great job.”
“Better than you are.”
“Does Jonathan know this is how you work?”
“Jonathan is very happy with how I work. It is you he is unhappy with.”
“Let’s not get into this,” said Juan Kevin, stretching out his arms to stop the two coworkers from attacking each other. “We are here to get answers.”
“To what?”
“Did you rent out a villa to Jonas Adler last week?” Juan Kevin asked.
“Yes,” said Damián.
“And did you meet him when he arrived?”
“I—” Damián stopped himself, as if calculating his official story. “I did not see him, but he assured me that he was all taken care of and checked in.”
“You little hypocrite!” said Plum. “You criticized me for not checking IDs, and yet you did the same thing—even worse! Allowed someone to check in without even meeting them.”
“He paid a lot of money for my discretion,” said Damián. “He told me his daughter had just had plastic surgery and she didn’t want anyone to see her, so she asked that I send a car to the heliport and allow her to spend the week alone.”
“Did you know that she might have come to murder her husband’s best man?” asked Plum.
“What?” asked Damián. “Not possible.”
“Kirstie Adler is the fiancée of Jason Manger. We don’t know her motive for coming to the island,” said Juan Kevin.
“To spy on him or to kill Nick,” said Plum. “That is a question we are looking hard at. And if she killed him, then you are an accessory.”
Juan Kevin gave her a look. “Well, not exactly.”
“I had no idea,” protested Damián. “You can’t blame me. I blame you, Plum. You have destroyed the ethics of Jonathan Mayhew Caribbean Escapes. We did everything correctly until you arrived. You have corrupted us. You have destroyed our reputation and our integrity.”
“I’m about to destroy you if you don’t shut up,” said Plum.
“Let’s stop this now,” said Juan Kevin.
“Yes, I never fear women, but Plum is so tall and large, she could harm any man,” said Damián.
“You little…” But Plum didn’t get to finish, because Juan Kevin wisely took her by the arm and dragged her away.
Chapter 22
Juan Kevin drove Plum back to the golf shop so she could retrieve her cart. Along the journey, she listed endless ways she wanted to torture Damián. They agreed to keep in touch and share information if it arose. Plum continued on to her office, which to her relief was empty except for Lucia, who gave her a friendly smile. Plum plopped down in her chair and sighed deeply.
“I thought when I moved here, there would be less stress,” she confided. “But instead, I’m up against a killer and a crime I need to solve.”
“You don’t need to solve it,” said Lucia. “Let the police do that.”
They both stared at each other before bursting into laughter. “That’s a good one,” said Plum.
“I’m leaving now, do you need anything?” asked Lucia.
“No, I’m set,” said Plum, looking at her desk. She didn’t really have any tangible work, but the thought of going home for the rest of the night depressed her. Lucia eyed her curiously.
“My daughter-in-law is picking up my grandson today, and I’m going to the supermarket in Estrella. Would you like to come with me? It’s the opposite direction of my house, so I could drop you home after.”
“Really?” asked Plum.
“Yes,” said Lucia. “You should stop shopping at the resort grocery store. It will bankrupt you.”
“I know,” agreed Plum. “And they don’t even have good produce, which is strange for an island. There’s an abundance of holiday snacks—chips, dips, drinks—but it is slim on the basics.”
“That’s why you have to shop like a local,” said Lucia firmly. “Let’s go.”
When Lucia turned on the car, once again rap music came blasting out. Lucia quickly snapped it off.
“Do you listen to this?” asked Plum.
“It’s my guilty pleasure.”
“Lucia, you surprise me,” said Plum.
“There’s lots to me you don’t know.”
“I’m sure.”
When they drove out of the Las Frutas gates, the scenery became less manicured and wilder. The dusty road cut through a large farming region that was growing sugarcane. The eight-foot-high fibrous stalks swayed in the wind.
“The world’s largest crop,” said Lucia.
“Sugarcane?”
“Yes. Brought to Paraiso by Christopher Columbus.”
“That guy got around,” said Plum.
“He did,” Lucia agreed. “It’s provided my country with a complicated history, not to mention economic disparity. It has brought many extreme wealth—like the Rijo family—and others a steady income. But there are people who live in horrible conditions and work themselves to the bone for the bread on their table.
Also, we can never forget how the production of sugar was entangled with the slave trade.”
Plum nodded.
“When we learn of the sugarcane industry in school, the teachers have a saying: How can something so sweet be borne of something so bitter?”
“Are the Rijos despised in Paraiso?”
Lucia paused before she answered. “There are those people that revere them. They employ thousands and thousands and are very generous to many charities. They established schools, paved roads, built villages.”
“And to others?”
“Others believe they exploited their own people. There was always a story that Eduardo Rijo—that was Emilio’s father—made a pact with the devil. And the devil often comes to claim his debt.”
“Do you think that’s true?”
Lucia shrugged. “I’m not a big believer in that, but I respect the people who do. The Rijos have had their share of tragedy, but so do most people. And the rest of the time, the Rijos are living a lot better than everyone else.”
The quaint buildings in downtown Estrella ranged in height from one to four stories. The facades were a mixture of bright colors: teal, turquoise, and coral. Most had striped awnings and large signage advertising the lottery, ATMs, or Coca-Cola. Motorbikes were dotted along the streets in the parking spots. The downtown was abuzz with activity. Music was emanating from an unidentifiable location, but it provided an upbeat backdrop, like the soundtrack to a movie.
Lucia pulled into the lot of a building that looked entirely different from the neighboring structures. It was a boxy, windowless, cinder block construction that identified itself as La Sirena. Crowds were leaving with grocery bags bursting with products, abandoning their carts all over the parking lot.
Once inside, Plum was overwhelmed by the options. She had never seen so many varieties of fruit and couldn’t wait to stock up. She held up a yellow starfruit.
“What’s this?”
“We call it cinco dedos, which means five fingers. It’s delicious.”
Plum wanted to try everything. Under Lucia’s tutelage, she filled her basket with the most exotic fruit. There was something called sea grapes, which Lucia said was great to make jelly out of, so Plum put that in her basket in hopes that she might pick up a new hobby. Lucia demonstrated how to crack open the hard shell of limoncillo with her teeth, revealing a tart, fleshy fruit like a lychee. Zapote was an oval, brown fruit that was not unlike a sweet potato, and Lucia advised Plum to use it in smoothies. Lastly, Plum purchased a thorny soursop, whose creamy flesh tasted like custard.
Lucia suggested that Plum purchase only the vegetables grown locally. That included fresh kale, cabbage, spinach, carrots, cauliflower, beets, garlic, onions, plantains, and potatoes. Soon Plum had so many items that she had to switch from a basket to a grocery cart.
“Those are perishable. Are you sure you can eat all of that?” Lucia asked when she saw the pile of goods that Plum had gathered.
“I hope so. I can make soup if things are about to expire,” said Plum with the confidence of someone who had actually made soup before.
After produce, they moved on to the pantry section and picked up bags of rice and beans, coconut milk, meat, chicken, and a variety of spices. Plum bought fresh-squeezed chinola (passion fruit) juice that Lucia recommended for breakfast, as well as local honey and yogurt. Plum was energized. This was so much more inspiring than the grocery store at the resort or even the grocery store in her neighborhood in New York. Maybe she would really learn how to cook? She instantly conjured up an image of her making a gourmet meal for Juan Kevin. He would be ecstatic at her prowess in the kitchen and her ability to make local Paraison favorites.
In the checkout line, a short middle-aged man with bushy eyebrows stood behind them and greeted Lucia. She introduced him to Plum.
“This is Charlie Mendoza; I think you talked to him about resort entertainment,” said Lucia.
“Yes!” said Plum. “So nice to meet you in person.”
“You too, Plum. And I haven’t forgotten about you. I’m working on that thing you asked me about now.”
“Thank you!” she said.
They chatted as they checked out before taking their bags and convening in the parking lot. Charlie and Lucia were comparing notes on grandsons, outlining the boys’ abilities to wrap their grandparents around their fingers. Plum listened to the amiable conversation until she was distracted by a figure across the street.
“Excuse me, but is that Carmen Rijo?” Plum asked Lucia.
Both Lucia and Charlie turned in the direction of Plum’s gaze.
“Yes, I believe so,” said Lucia.
“She looks rather dramatic,” said Plum. Carmen was wearing all black as well as a black headscarf.
“She’s going to have her cards read,” said Lucia. “A woman who calls herself Priestess Pepe has a store there. She is not Paraison, and no one knows where she is from, but she now has a following.”
“Is she legit?” asked Plum.
“No,” said Charlie quickly. “Just like Carmen.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Plum.
Charlie shook his head. “I shouldn’t say anything.”
Plum waited, unblinking. It was a trick she had learned from her former boss. Say nothing and people will continue to ramble. If Plum had said, “I get it,” Charlie would not have clarified what he meant.
“Carmen is a very cunning person,” said Charlie. “I have to be careful because I work at the resort, but I am loyal to Alexandra, the first Mrs. Rijo. I saw firsthand how Carmen manipulated Emilio and presented herself as a sweet, naive girl. But there is nothing naive or sweet about Carmen. She is calculating.”
Plum nodded. “I can believe that.”
“Be careful of her,” warned Lucia. “She’s dangerous.”
“I will be,” Plum promised.
Lucia had to pop by the bank to deposit checks for the business. Plum took the opportunity to garner a closer look at Priestess Pepe’s establishment. The storefront had no signage except for a poster of tarot cards against a red curtain. The door was open, the scent of incense wafting out to the street. Plum poked her head in. There was no one in the dimly lit sitting room. The stifling room was meagerly decorated with a sunken couch and a side table occupied by a lamp with a tasseled shade. She could make out voices behind a velvet curtain that separated the reception area from the back, and Plum moved stealthily to see if she could hear Carmen and the priestess.
“I was prepared,” whispered Carmen.
“I know,” said a voice Plum assumed belonged to the priestess.
“You showed me that Tower card, and I knew that evil was coming. I took care of it.”
“You must use the cards to your advantage to prepare against your enemies. You had the Three of Swords card last week. Some people believe it only represents heartbreak or loneliness, but you knew it was a warning against betrayal and rejection.”
“Yes. I had to crush the enemy before I was crushed,” said Carmen.
Plum was leaning closely against the curtain, straining to hear.
“Everyone wants something from you. Only trust me,” warned the priestess.
“I know,” said Carmen, who started to whisper.
Plum tried to make out what she was saying. She leaned so close to the curtain that she lost her balance and fell down into the room. Two surprised heads jerked in her direction.
“I’m so sorry!” squealed Plum. She lifted herself off the floor.
Carmen glared at her. The priestess—a chubby, middle-aged woman who looked vaguely East Asian gave her a curious look. They were both seated at a table with the tarot cards spread out in front of them.
“I’m with a client now,” the priestess said. “You can come back in half an hour.”
“Okay, yes, thanks,” said Plum. “Hi,
Carmen.”
“Hello,” said Carmen evenly. Plum thought she could decipher a suspicious tone in the widow’s voice.
“I just picked up some groceries at the store across the street, and I thought I would see what this is all about,” said Plum, as if they had asked for an explanation. “I’ve got to run now, but I will be sure to come back another day.”
They watched in silence as she dusted herself off from her floor jaunt and left the store.
Lucia was standing by her car and witnessed Plum make her exit. When Plum reached her, she gave her a shake of the head.
“Why did you go in there?”
“I wanted to see if Carmen would say anything, you know, incriminating.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she would confess to murder?”
Lucia didn’t reply but opened her car door and got in. Plum followed suit. When she pulled out of the parking lot, Lucia spoke.
“You have to be careful, Plum. Charlie and I were not kidding when we said that Carmen is dangerous. The Rijos are powerful. You don’t want to get mixed up with them.”
“I know,” said Plum. “It’s just that Juan Kevin seems so enamored with Carmen that he won’t even conceive of the fact that maybe she had something to do with Nicholas Macpherson’s death.”
“Why are you so sure she does?”
“She didn’t tell us she had gone back to Casa Mango with him.”
“She’s private.”
“It would have been useful.”
“Only if you wanted to incriminate her.”
Plum was about to protest but had to concede that Lucia was correct. “I think Carmen has a dark side.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you. Stay away if you want to have a future here.”
Chapter 23
Plum was excited to unpack her groceries. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a stocked pantry or robust refrigerator and wondered if she’d ever had one. In recent years she had relied on take-out delivery or dinners at restaurants. To be fair, the tiny galley kitchen in her New York apartment hardly inspired culinary creativity. But now that she had more space and excellent produce, she could become the next Julia Child.
