An Easy Sail_A Connie Barrera Thriller_The 8th Novel in the Series_Mystery and Adventure in Florida and the Caribbean

by Charles Dougherty

  An Easy Sail - A Connie Barrera Thriller

  The 8th Novel in the Series — Mystery and Adventure in the Florida and the Caribbean

  C.L.R. Dougherty

  Copyright © 2017 by C.L.R. Dougherty

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  rev 1

  Contents

  Leeward and Windward Islands

  Guadeloupe to St. Lucia

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Join my Mailing List

  A Note to the Reader

  About the Author

  Also by C.L.R. Dougherty

  1

  "It never ends," Connie Barrera said, biting off the words through clenched teeth.

  "What's that?" Paul Russo asked. Both his arms buried in Diamantista II's engine compartment, he craned his neck around to look at her. "Problems with Marcia Levine?"

  They were anchored just outside the entrance channel to Jolly Harbour, Antigua, waiting to pick up their next charter guest. Connie sat at the chart table, her laptop computer in front of her. Scowling, she reread the offending email.

  "No, she's all set. She's arriving at three tomorrow afternoon. It's this stupid email from Leon Contreras."

  Paul stood up, stretching the muscles in his lower back. He wiped the grease off his hands and shrugged. "Okay, skipper. What's new with your Cousin Leon?"

  "He sent me one of those 'coded' emails of his, telling me to check that blind-drop email account he set up for us last year."

  Paul frowned. "And?"

  "I just read the message he left there." She shook her head. "I'm really getting tired of this. I thought we were set for a nice, easy charter with this Marcia Levine woman."

  "He wrote you about Marcia Levine?" Paul frowned.

  "No, of course not. Why would he do that?" she asked, her tone sharp.

  Paul put a hand on her shoulder and she turned to look up at him. "Slow down, skipper. Start at the beginning. I'm on your side, remember?"

  She smiled, but a tear ran down her cheek. Paul drew her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  She pulled away enough to look up and give him a wry smile. "I guess I was never meant to have a normal life."

  "Now, Connie, I don't know what you mean. What did Leon say that upset you?"

  "He's involved in some kind of investigation that he can't talk about," she said.

  "Is he in trouble or something?"

  "No. I mean, I don't know. Maybe. But that's not it. He thinks we may be in some kind of trouble."

  "We may be? I don't get it."

  "There's some big-time drug dealer whose people are trying to spy on Dani and Liz, he says."

  "Dani and Liz?" Paul asked. "But not us?"

  "He thinks they've targeted Dani and Liz as a way to get to us. He said the Miami Police Department was looking for the guy in connection with the theft of Vengeance."

  "The theft of Vengeance?" Paul asked, his eyebrows rising.

  "That's what he said."

  "This isn't making sense, Connie."

  "No, I know. But he thinks it's the same people who were after us before."

  "Why, though?" Paul asked.

  "Probably because of the scams I've run to avoid the drug dealers ever since I got crossways with Sam Alfano. I did too good a job of convincing them that I was connected to some mysterious cartel. Whoever this guy is, he's trying to monopolize drug smuggling into the southeastern U.S. Leon says I'm his target."

  "Then why steal Vengeance?" Paul asked.

  "After the big bash we all had in Miami for Mario's 75th birthday, Dani and Liz took a couple of weeks off and went to New York. They left Vengeance in Miami, and his people stole her."

  "But why?"

  "Leon says that they know Vengeance is a sister ship of ours. He doesn't know the details. He said your old partner was running the investigation. He thought you should call him."

  "Luke's running an investigation into the theft of a yacht?"

  "Leon said there was a murder-suicide connected to it. He's curious to know what Luke has to say about it."

  "About the murder-suicide?" Paul asked.

  "Right. That's the way I read it."

  "He's fishing for information; I'm not sure how I feel about that. I guess I'd better call Luke. Maybe he can tell us what's going on, but I don't know about sharing it with Leon."

  "Paul?"

  "Yes?"

  "I don't want to play these crazy games any more. I just want to run a nice, quiet, boring charter business. No drug smugglers and human traffickers, no castaways pretending to have amnesia, just sailing and showing our guests a good time. Can't we just have an easy sail, for a change?"

  "We'll get there, skipper. We'll get there. Let's see what Luke can tell us, okay?"

  "Okay, cookie. But before you call him, let's run into the marina. I want one of those chocolate croissants from the coffee shop."

  "It'll be interesting to see what happens to the Pink Pussycat now," Leon Contreras said. He sat at his makeshift desk in the cheap hotel room he and his two men were using as an office in Miami.

  "You mean who's gonna end up running it since Manny LaRosa killed himself?" Jorge Salinas asked.

  "Yeah, exactly."

  "Why the hell would LaRosa kill himself, anyway?" Jorge asked.

  "Maybe he didn't," Contreras said.

  "You think maybe it was some kind of setup?" Miguel Alvarez asked.

  "I'm just trying to keep an open mind," Contreras said. "Wouldn't be the first time the cops jumped on an easy answer to close a case. They would have told the press as little as they could, anyway. I wish we had a way to get information from the Miami Police Department without blowing our cover."

  "What about the building's security people? We could try them instead," Miguel said. "They might know something."

  "That's a thought," Contreras said. "You still have those phony press credentials?"

  "Yeah," Miguel said. "I'm on it."

  "Just a second," Jorge said. "Did you find out anything from your cousin, Leon?"

  "Not yet. I just sent her an email. She hasn't had time to answer. Why?"

  "Her husband was a cop, right?" Jorge asked.

  "Yeah. Paul Russo — he ran homicide for the MPD before he retired," Contreras said. "You thinking maybe we could use him to get info from the cops?"

  "It was just a thought," Jorge said.

  "Yeah, maybe so," Contreras said. "I dropped a hint about that, but I'm not sure
how it will play with them. Meanwhile, why don't you see how things are shaping up at the Pussycat while Miguel checks out the security staff in that condo?"

  "You got it, boss," Jorge said, grabbing a scruffy backpack and heading for the door.

  "Later, guys," Miguel said, leaving as well.

  "You know," Paul said, "before I call Luke, we need to talk about this Contreras character."

  "Okay," Connie said, "but I've told you everything I know about him. What's on your mind?"

  "I'm going to be hitting Luke cold with this. He won't be surprised that we've picked up on the theft of Vengeance — he knows we're close to Dani and Liz. But I feel a little uneasy about playing him, you know? We were partners for a long time. That's not how it works between us."

  "You're saying you want to tell him about Leon?"

  "Well, yes," Paul said. "Leon's as good as asked us to pump Luke for information about that murder-suicide, so I feel like I need to be open with Luke."

  "Then tell him. I don't get what's bothering you."

  "I feel a little like I might be betraying a confidence. If we're right about Leon, and he's some kind of deep-cover agent for the DEA or whoever, I could do him some damage. I'm kind of caught between protecting him and being open with Luke."

  "But you trust Luke," Connie said. "And Leon never said we shouldn't tell anybody."

  "That's true," Paul said. "I trust Luke, absolutely. But I've worked with more than a few people in Leon's situation. I have to respect how he might feel about my telling Luke about him."

  "Well, Leon must be in Miami, if he's picked up on the theft of Vengeance, and he suggested we talk to Luke about it," Connie said. "I'm confused."

  "Yeah, me, too," Paul said. "I wish I could talk to Contreras before I call Luke."

  "I don't know how to call him," Connie said. "I have the last phone number he called me from, but he said it wouldn't work for long, and that was months ago. And he doesn't trust telephones, anyway."

  "I don't blame him for that. What about this email? You said it was a blind drop of some kind?"

  "It's just a free email account. We both have the password. He leaves a message for me in the drafts folder, so it doesn't get sent anywhere. He said that keeps it from being intercepted or traced. The internet connections to the account are encrypted. I read the message and delete it. That way, the next time he checks, he knows I saw it. I can leave him one the same way."

  "And you let him know by regular email when you leave a message in the box?"

  "I guess so. That's what he did when he left me this one. It's been one way, so far, but we could try it."

  "Write him and ask him if he's okay with me talking to Luke about him as a source. I won't use his name; I'll just tell Luke it's somebody I know from before who's been dependable, okay? Let's see if that makes Leon nervous."

  "Okay. I'll do it now, and we can go ashore for an early dinner. Maybe we'll hear from him by the time we get back."

  2

  "Don't worry; I'll be fine," Marcia Levine said. Her smartphone was on the desk, set to speaker mode. "Make the most of the opportunity, but behave yourself."

  Her fiancé chuckled. "I always do."

  "Uh-huh," she said, scribbling a note on her to-do list. "Just remember, the press will be watching. So will I."

  "I'm the one who oughta be jealous," he said. "You're gonna spend the time gallivantin' around the Rockies. All those handsome ski instructors lookin' to make your holiday memorable, and nobody keepin' tabs on you."

  "That's not so; it's a writers' workshop, not a ski vacation."

  "Uh-huh," he said, chuckling again. "Writers' workshop? How damn hard is it to write blog posts that nobody's gonna read? You need special trainin' for that kinda bullshit?"

  "You'd be surprised," she said, "and don't belittle my work."

  "You know I'm just teasin'," he said. "I'll miss you."

  "And I'll miss you, too." Rolling her eyes, she added another note to her list.

  "I'd better go," he said. "Time to board the plane."

  "See you in three weeks, then," she said, making a kissing sound into the phone. "Love you."

  "You, too," he said, disconnecting.

  She shook her head, curious about his guarded farewell. Somebody must have joined him as he was saying goodbye; his tone of voice had changed at the end of the call. She wondered who it could have been. Whoever it was, he had not wanted them to know he was talking with her.

  Looking at her list, she put the question aside. It didn't matter; she owned him, in more ways than he knew. There would be party girls involved in this junket he was on; there always were. He was an incorrigible womanizer, but she didn't care. She had secrets of her own.

  Picking up her smartphone, she opened the text that had come in while she was on the call. It was from her brother, full of last-minute instructions.

  "Men," she said, to the empty room. They were all clueless, even her brother. And they always had to be in charge. She smiled. Men were so easy.

  "Thanks," she tapped out on the screen, her thumbs flying. "I didn't think of that. I'd be lost without you to keep me on track. How am I going to cope, being out of touch with you for the next three weeks? Love, Marcia." She sent it and turned off the phone.

  She turned her attention to the article she was writing. She wanted to get it uploaded and get to sleep; she had an early flight to Antigua in the morning.

  Leon Contreras sat staring at the screen of his laptop computer. He reread the message that Connie Barrera had posted to their email drop. As he studied it, he chewed the inside of his cheek.

  He took a deep breath and closed the laptop. Contreras wanted to discuss this with Jorge and Miguel. Shaking his head, Contreras scratched at the day's growth of whiskers on his chin. Just a little while ago, he'd told Miguel and Jorge that he wished they had a way to discuss the case with Pantene. Now Connie and Paul were offering a way to do that.

  Contreras had reviewed Paul's and Luke Pantene's personnel files through his DEA channel. Both men had solid records with no hint of corruption or carelessness. The concerns expressed in Connie's reply spoke to Paul's grasp of the risks of undercover work. The man knew his business. Paul's caution about sharing Leon's identity with Pantene resonated with Contreras's own.

  Connie and Paul didn't know about his team or about his affiliation with the DEA. They only knew him by his birth name, Leon Contreras. During one of their exchanges a few months ago, Connie had challenged him to prove he was her cousin, because one of Paul's FBI contacts had told her that Leon Contreras had died in prison years ago.

  Contreras told her the name of a kitten that their mothers had owned as children. That had convinced her of his identity. She and Paul were the only people besides Jorge and Miguel and his boss at the DEA who knew Contreras was still alive.

  He was using a well-established cover name now, as were Jorge and Miguel. He wouldn't disclose their current identities to anyone, including Connie and Paul.

  If anyone checked on Leon Contreras, they would hit the same dead end – that he died years ago. Still, he'd prefer to remain anonymous to the police. Contreras understood Paul's reluctance to pump his former partner for information. Keeping Pantene in the dark about Contreras would make it worse.

  Contreras weighed his options. He could drop the whole thing and cut Connie and Paul off, with or without explaining. Other than his name, they had nothing concrete.

  The problem was that Contreras needed information from Pantene.

  He could tell Paul to go ahead, but to protect his identity as best he could. Would Paul be able to get Pantene to share what he had? It would depend on how much Pantene trusted Paul's instincts.

  All he could do was ask. And he had information of his own that he could offer in trade. He'd post another message to Connie and Paul after he discussed it with Jorge and Miguel.

  "I lucked out," Miguel Alvarez said, helping himself to a slice of the pizza on the table. "Damn! It's cold; you tw
o couldn't wait for me to order?"

  "We didn't know how long you'd be," Contreras said. "Want me to put it in the microwave?"

  "No, that's okay. Then the room would smell like a pizza parlor for the rest of the night."

  "You said you got lucky?" Jorge asked.

  "Yeah. The guy that was working tonight was on duty the night the cops found LaRosa and Roberts."

  "Was he willing to talk?" Contreras asked.

  "Couldn't shut him up. He said it started when a detective showed up with a sketch. He even had a copy. Same sketch you picked up from the two cops that day at the Pink Pussycat, Jorge. The detective gave him the same story. The guy was wanted for questioning about the theft of that yacht. They had a tip that he was headed for the condo building."

  "So he let the detective stake out the place?" Jorge asked. "Some security guard."

  "Yeah. He always wanted to be a cop, but ... well, you know the story. Anyway, he and the detective watched the monitors for the security cameras. Saw the guy in the sketch come in, followed his progress through the building to unit 7E, and the detective called it in. Ten minutes later, this captain showed up with another detective and a couple of uniforms. They had a warrant for the guy in the sketch. The guard took them up to the unit and they found the two bodies."

  "He have a name for the captain?" Contreras asked, as Miguel stopped to take a bite of his pizza.

  "Pantene," Miguel said, after he swallowed his pizza. "And get this — that condo was locked from the inside. Even the sliding door onto the balcony had one of those security bar things in place, and the chain was on the front door."