by Cathy Ace
“Is his name Niall Jackson, by any chance?” It was worth a try.
“You know him?” Amelia sounded surprised.
“I’ve heard his name mentioned. He’s Nina Mazzo’s lawyer, representing her to try to get that strip of land from Mr. Freddie. That’s the one, right?”
Amelia nodded. “Him the man. Nasty like him father. But sharp, too. Never drinks. Much. That’s the difference. If a man drink and him angry, him fight with him fists. If a man don’t drink and him angry, him fight with him words. Niall fight with him words. Him and Mr. Freddie got history too. I think Mr. Niall try to make things good with Mr. Freddie lately – him even come see Mr. Freddie, and them talk together, alone in Mr. Freddie’s tower. Strange times. But I don’t think them agree. Mr. Niall got history with a lot of folk; him father a drinker for many years, so bad blood all over the island.”
“Granny, you ever comin’ back in?” called Tarone sharply.
I looked at my watch. Where had the time gone? “I’d better run,” I said, hating that I had to, but knowing Amelia and I would share a long journey the next day, when I could dig deeper. “I’ll be here at seven in the morning. See you then.” I waved as I hurried along the shell-strewn path.
I wondered if Mr. James Bond had ever felt quite as pleased with himself as I did at that moment. I couldn’t wait to tell Bud everything I’d learned.
The Catch, Caught
Everyone was waiting for me when I arrived at the main house. Sheila had taken the role as designated driver, which I acknowledged was kind of her, though my own early start the next morning meant I knew I had to be careful about how much alcohol I put away that night, too. Bud and I were squished together in the third row at the back of the Suburban and I managed to whisper most of my news to him as we made our way to the restaurant. He kissed me by way of congratulations for my stellar work, then suggested we could talk more after dinner. He asked me to hold off on sharing the information I’d gathered about Lottie – which annoyed me a bit because I’d been rather looking forward to confronting her about her lies.
“Leave it to me,” he concluded as we arrived at our destination. “I’d like to check a few things with John before we open that particular can of worms, okay?”
All I had a chance to do was agree as I got out of the vehicle backwards – not an elegant exit, but the safest way to wriggle around the middle bench-seat and step down onto the ground without twisting an ankle.
I patted down my wrinkled clothes as I took in the restaurant. Seeing it made me wonder if the meaning of the word wasn’t being stretched almost to breaking point; the place seemed to be not much more than a shack constructed from driftwood and gaudily painted corrugated iron sheets, bent and hammered into place. The color theme was – as often the case on the island – yellow, green, and black, with red trim, and there was a collection of what appeared to be randomly selected chairs and tables dotted across a dirt floor. My heart fell. Then I heard the music, and it fell even further. I never used to be averse to steel drums, but I’d heard enough of them in the past few weeks to last me a lifetime. Could I cope with yet another evening of them? It seemed I had no choice, so I slapped a smile on my face, and in we all trooped, with Bud, Jack, and John each carrying a bag full of fish.
Luckily, it turned out that the part of the restaurant you could see from the parking area was just the bar; the real eating area was beyond, arranged over a series of platforms that looked out over the ocean where the sun was beginning to head toward the horizon. Luckily, we hadn’t missed the sunset, and our table was far enough away from the band for the steel drums to provide melodic background music, all of which was good. The place was a-buzz with tourists; I was impressed that Lottie had been able to get us a table for six people at short notice, and at what appeared to be a popular time. After what Amelia had told me, I was itching to quiz Lottie about her history on the island, but I respected Bud’s wishes and didn’t plan to raise the topic at all.
We quickly ordered beers, then enjoyed them with the best possible view in the world. Sunsets in the Caribbean aren’t quite “blink and you’ll miss it”, but they aren’t far off; yes, they are spectacular, but that golden ball sinks into the sea extremely quickly, then the colors in the sky deepen and shift rapidly until you’re suddenly encased in another velvet, starlit night. The clouds that evening added to the drama of the sky’s changing palette, and seemed to disappear as darkness fell, which was good, because it’s not much fun to settle to dinner on an open deck if the rain chooses to sweep down from the mountains.
As the last light of the sun faded there was a palpable stillness in the air – the “doctor” winds coming from the sea stopped blowing and it was as though the island held its breath for a moment before the “undertaker” winds from the inland mountains began to rustle in the palms. And with that rustling the now-familiar chorus of the tree frogs started; when we’d arrived on the island it had driven me to distraction, now I wondered how I’d cope without it.
We ordered appetizers we could share while we waited for the kitchen to prepare and serve our fish, however, when all the dishes arrived, it looked like more than we’d bargained for. I picked at the flat-bread-like bammy, and the sliced jerk sausage, forgoing everything else because I hoped our fish course would fill me up.
Bammy is easy to eat, and another one of those things I’d never thought I’d take to, but did; the menu for this place had made a point of explaining that their bammy was handmade on the premises, and had a “secret” blend of spices added to the grated cassava and butter for the baking process, before it was soaked in coconut milk, and fried. I could feel my arteries harden with each bite, but it was delicious.
Inevitably our conversation turned to Freddie’s death, and I told everyone about the plan for me to drive Amelia to Kingston the next morning, as Bud and I had hurriedly agreed I should.
“I’d love a run to Kingston,” said Lottie enthusiastically. “I haven’t been there for years.”
I was so tempted to say something that the only thing I could do was shove a piece of sausage into my mouth to shut myself up. Bud rubbed my leg under the table the way he rubs Marty’s head when he’s being a good boy and not mooching for scraps.
A server brought another round of drinks – we were all selecting beers from the lengthy list they carried – then eventually our empty plates were cleared. We were informed that our fish was all-but ready, and the men were congratulated on their catch. I wondered if anyone in the kitchen would have spotted that the fish had been bought not caught, but the boys didn’t seem to be too bothered, so I just chattered happily with Sheila about Tom, her nephew by marriage. Bud and I had met Tom White in Vegas, where he’d been a chef at the time. He’d now moved back to British Columbia and was due to open up his own place – one of those restaurants where they focus on farm-to-table dining. He was living with Jack and Sheila while he set up the business, so was able to look after their dogs and our beloved Marty, who enjoyed being a lodger with his doggie chums.
When the main course arrived, there was quite a performance; several servers writhed through the maze of tables to reach ours, each with a platter held high above their head. Side dishes of leafy, dark-green callaloo and fluffy rice dotted with emerald peas were placed for sharing, but a small portion of fish was served to each of us, individually.
As the last of the servers turned to leave, Bud said, “I thought there was more fish than this.”
“There sure is, sir. We bringin’ the biggest and the best one, last. Here it come, now.”
A striking-looking, tall, red-haired, freckled man was approaching us. He was dressed in a lightweight suit and carried a huge platter above his head. “Make way for the catch of the day,” he called in a strong Jamaican accent. As he drew closer, I knew I’d seen him somewhere before, but couldn’t put my finger on where, or when – an eidetic memory is like that: it’s all in there somewhere, but sometimes it doesn’t want to rev
eal itself in a timely manner. I told myself to focus on the food, and to give the matter some thought when I had a moment.
He placed the plate on the table, filling the only remaining space. “Biggest fish we seen today,” he announced, taking a bow as he stepped back. Having finished his theatrical performance, he smiled at each of us at the table in turn. I smiled back, of course, and was still looking straight at him when I saw his expression change. His smile shrank, and his mouth hung open, his eyes growing round.
“Hello, Niall,” said Lottie, calmly.
“Hello, Charlotte,” replied the shocked man.
We all looked at Lottie. “How are you?” she asked him, almost smiling.
We all looked at the man, who was swallowing hard. “Good,” was all he managed. “You?”
We turned toward Lottie. “Just fine. Daddy sends his regards. I spoke with him this evening. Your father’s dead now, I hear. What a shame.” She reached out to help herself to a heaped spoonful of callaloo, concentrating on the vegetable, rather than the man.
He stood there, swaying, for a moment, then said, “I didn’t know you were back.”
Lottie didn’t look up as she replied, “I’m not ‘back’. Just here for a short visit with my beau,” she indicated John, who was staring at her, wide-eyed. “You never left, I see.”
“No. Jamaica’s my home.” The stunned-looking man finally dragged his eyes off Lottie and looked around the table at our faces, which must have all shown our surprise. “I…I am Niall Jackson, owner of the restaurant. Good evening to you all.” He scurried off, heading to the bar, where I suspected he’d pour himself a stiff drink.
For about thirty, long seconds Lottie acted as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened and chattered on about how good the fish and vegetables looked, and how successful the men’s fishing trip had been.
No one responded until John said, “You know Niall Jackson? Isn’t he the lawyer who’s representing that Italian woman – Nina Mazzo?”
“Yes, I do. And yes, he is,” replied Lottie.
“You didn’t think to mention knowing him when his name cropped up?” continued John. His voice had a harsh edge to it.
Bud placed his hand flat on my leg and pressed down.
Lottie finally looked at John. “I didn’t think it mattered. I spent a good deal of time here in Jamaica when I was younger, as I told you. Mummy, Daddy, and I used to eat here. When Niall’s father owned the place. Niall owns it now. They’ve always been good at fish here.”
It was plain to me that Bud hadn’t had a chance before dinner to tell John what I’d learned about Lottie’s time in Jamaica; I felt sorry for John because he’d been blind-sided and wasn’t taking it well.
Sheila said, “So Niall’s father used to run the place, now he does? And he’s also a lawyer? That’s quite the workload, I’d have thought. Long hours.”
Jack cleared his throat. “He seemed surprised to see you, Lottie.”
Lottie laid down her cutlery. “You mean he looked shocked and horrified to see me, and I sounded heartless and cold, don’t you?”
Jack fidgeted. “Well, he sure didn’t seem pleased to see you – let’s put it that way.”
“Yes, let’s,” replied Lottie, with a hint of cruelty in her voice. “Daddy had a nasty run-in with Niall’s father many moons ago; I was quite young at the time, and it made an impression on me. I didn’t know Niall terribly well, because he’s a bit older than me, but I’m of the opinion that the apple rarely falls far from the tree, and his father was a deeply unpleasant man. He made both Mummy and Daddy terribly unhappy, and he almost killed me, too.”
That was everyone’s cue to abandon any thought of their food.
John spluttered, “What do you mean Niall Jackson’s father almost killed you? How?”
Lottie placed her hand on his. “It’s not really as dreadful as it sounds, John. It was probably just a case of bad food poisoning – and possibly a complete accident. But Mummy and I were both terribly ill, and Daddy was convinced that Niall’s father – Keith – had poisoned us intentionally.” She sighed. “Looking back, it might just have been some poorly prepared ackee – which can be toxic, sometimes fatal. But Mummy and Daddy weren’t getting along terribly well at the time and…well, I think Daddy suspected there was a bit of a thing between Mummy and Niall’s father. I’d have been oblivious, of course. They worked us like slaves at that school.”
“I thought you said you used to come here on vacation,” said Sheila, sounding confused. “Why were you going to school during your vacation? Was it like a summer school?”
I was so glad Sheila was there, because she was great at asking all the right questions without sounding as though she wanted to point shiny lights at Lottie – which I suspect I’d have done.
Lottie sat back in her chair and stared at her plate. I took the chance to exchange a furtive glance with Bud, then I adopted the half-smiling, vacant expression I usually reserve for the faculty meetings I’m forced to attend at the University of Vancouver.
Finally, Lottie leaned forward and spoke quietly. “John, we really haven’t known each other terribly long, and I’ve been brought up in a home where saying nothing is the best policy, largely because Daddy could never talk about his work, and Mummy barely spoke about anything beyond her blessed gardens. I don’t talk about my past a great deal; it’s private, and irrelevant to the person I am today. Of course you don’t know everything about me – who could after just a couple of months? I certainly don’t know all about you. And the rest of you?” She looked coolly at our faces. “Well, we’ve only just met. And we’ve all been rather preoccupied since Freddie died. I thought it would just complicate matters if you all knew that I used to live here, and had a history with the place. With Freddie too, truth be told.”
“You knew Freddie Burkinshaw before this visit?” John sounded almost apoplectic. “What the…? Why didn’t you tell me? The man’s dead. You’ve been actively investigating his death. Why didn’t you speak up?”
“Why didn’t Freddie say something about knowing you when you arrived?” asked Sheila.
We all nodded, and stared at Lottie.
She flushed. “Daddy told him not to. And Daddy told me not to, too.”
John slapped his napkin onto the table. “Your father did that?”
Lottie nodded, and poked at her fish.
John glared at Bud. “So, Tarquin Fortescue’s up to his neck in this? Him and Roger, I bet.” He turned his attention to Lottie. “Is that who’s pulling your old man’s strings? Roger Rustingham? Your good old ‘Uncle Rusty’?”
Lottie chewed her lip. “I don’t know. All I know is that Daddy keeps phoning me, asking questions, and telling me what to do, and what not to do. I think he’s afraid that if you all find out what I know, it will look bad for me.”
I was on the edge of my seat.
“And why would that be, Lottie, dear?” asked John, sounding frighteningly calm.
“It’s about the treasure, you see.” The tealights flickered on the table, and Lottie’s eyes glittered. I suspected she was about to go off on one of her breathless diatribes again. I was right.
She settled herself. “The treasure is Captain Morgan’s Panamanian cache, that he supposedly buried on this island. I know a lot about it. More than most. I found out about it when I was a girl here. And when Freddie showed me the crystal skull I was sure that meant he’d found the rest of the treasure too – because Morgan must have buried the skull with the rest of it, mustn’t he? And if Freddie had that, then he must have found all of it. Daddy knows how big a part of my life the treasure has been. I track items being sold around the world that might have been part of it. Daddy didn’t want me to come here at all. I thought that telling him I was coming with John would make him change his mind, but it didn’t. He said John would be too busy doing his own thing to keep an eye on me, so he forbade it. I’ve no idea what he meant, other than that he mus
t have suspected that John would prefer to spend time with his old friends than with me – which is true, as it turns out. But, as I told Daddy, I’m not a child, and I have my own money, so I came. It was just too good an opportunity for me to miss – to stay at Freddie’s estate again, have a poke about. But when we got here, I found that Daddy had already spoken to Freddie about not letting me talk to him about the treasure, which Freddie has always poo-pooed in any case, even when I was young.”
As I looked at this beautiful, still-young woman, with the face of a petulant child, I wanted to shake her. And still she hadn’t finished.
“I first saw the crystal skull when I was about nine years old. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I couldn’t imagine how it had been made, it was so perfect, almost liquid…and yet made from something that was so difficult to carve. I thought it was magical then, and I still think that today – though I haven’t set eyes on it for many years. It was just after I first saw it that I heard the rumors of a trove of treasure brought to Jamaica by Henry Morgan when he left Panama. Eventually, Charles II knighted him and made him Lieutenant Governor of Jamaica. But I bet Cait, at least, already knows all this; Morgan was Welsh – you two even share a name. There aren’t a lot of Welsh people who’ve achieved what he did, and John’s told me that you’re still rabidly Welsh, despite the fact you ran away from the police to live in Canada.”
All eyes swivelled toward me. I hadn’t been expecting such a neat bit of character assassination as part of an explanation about why Lottie had lied to us all, so my response came from my heart and out through my mouth, without a great deal of editing along the way.
“You’ve got the cheek to cast aspersions on my character when you’ve been lying to us all this time?” I snapped. “Yes, I’m Welsh; always will be, though I don’t think of that as some sort of disease, as you seem to, rather a birthright of which I am proud. And yes, I chose to leave my family, friends, and my home, because the English tabloids – not the British tabloids, they’re all English – chose to hound me and make my life unbearable after I’d been released by the police – released I emphasize – having been completely cleared of any suspicion of having killed my abusive ex-boyfriend. But I’m not the one who’s lying to everyone’s face about my connections with both a man we just found dead, and one of the people possibly connected – somehow – with that death. You are. You’ve known Freddie since you were a girl. You used to live here, even attended school here. Were you in school with Niall Jackson? Is that how you knew him? You’re the one who needs to tell us what’s going on, not me. So, tell us, Lottie; don’t change the subject with me as your scapegoat. You won’t enjoy the results.”
