Beachbound (Pineapple Cay Stories Book 2)

by Junie Coffey

  On the stool next to her, Frank chuckled into his beer.

  “Oh boy,” he said under his breath.

  “What’s so funny, Frank?” she asked. “No, wait. I don’t think I need any more advice, thanks. I can take care of myself.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about, sunshine. It’s that poor schmuck. He doesn’t know what’s hit him. He’s had a pretty good thing going here. Fishing every day, doing his own thing. Steak and beer for dinner every night if he wanted. Living a quiet life. Pretty much the ideal, if you ask me. Then you landed on-island. Boom!” He mimed an explosion with his hands, fingers splayed. He grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl on the bar and tossed them into his mouth.

  “I don’t know what you’re implying, Frank. I like a quiet life, too, as we have just been discussing,” said Nina.

  “Let me see. The last time I saw you, you were in a holding cell in the police station—stoned, as I recall. The time before that—just one day earlier—you were being escorted through town in a police cruiser. But maybe that’s what passes for a quiet life in New York City.” He chuckled again.

  “And how exactly do you know I’m from New York?” Nina asked indignantly. “I never told you that.”

  “Please,” he said.

  “Well, it’s been nice chatting with you, Frank. Ciao,” she said, standing and grabbing her bag off the bar.

  “Bye, Veronica!” she called to the end of the bar.

  “Sure, see you around, kid. Play fair,” Frank said.

  Nina decided to leave via the deck and walk home along the beach. But before she could start down the steps to the sand, she saw a young woman sitting alone looking out at the sea. It was Philip’s fan from the banquet. Nina went over and sat down across from her. She was young and pretty, with fluffy blonde hair and heavy eye makeup.

  “Hi. I recognize you from the conference. I’m Nina,” she said, putting out her hand.

  The girl startled. She looked at Nina for a second and then cautiously shook her hand.

  “I’m Samantha.” No smile. Was it fear Nina detected?

  “So . . . pet vacations,” said Nina. “Did you have a good talk with Philip Putzel?”

  Samantha looked distinctly uncomfortable now. She glanced around, apparently studying a couple of seagulls hopping along in the surf below the pier, pecking at the sand.

  “Samantha, just wondering, were you still talking to Philip in the hotel bar around ten o’clock the night he was attacked?” Nina asked, trying to keep her tone light. Nina was curious who Philip had been speaking to in the bar that night. Whoever it was had been just out of her sight.

  “Yes, I was. I already told the police that,” Samantha said quickly. “He talked my ear off for over an hour, and I finally got away at ten fifteen. I know it was precisely ten fifteen because I kept looking at my watch.”

  “Sometimes it’s better not to meet the people you’ve admired from afar, eh?” said Nina.

  Samantha shrugged and looked down at the table, then out at the water.

  “Samantha, is there something bothering you?” Nina asked gently.

  Samantha looked up at her. There was a pleading look in her eyes. “I think I’ve done something really bad,” she said.

  Nina didn’t react. She just held Samantha’s gaze and waited for her to continue.

  Samantha took a deep breath. “A couple of hours before the banquet, I was upstairs in my room getting ready. Someone slipped a note under my door. By the time I opened the door to see who left it, there was no one there.”

  She opened the straw bag sitting beside her on the bench and pulled out a white envelope and a copy of Philip’s book on catering to the pet-owning traveler. She pushed them across the table to Nina. Nina didn’t reach for the book or the note, thinking they might be evidence. She didn’t want to leave fingerprints.

  “What did the note say, Samantha?” Nina asked.

  “It said that if I got Dr. Putzel to sign his book on pet vacations and then arranged to meet him at his bungalow at midnight, I’d get two hundred dollars. I didn’t have to actually show up, just leave the signed book outside my door by ten thirty as proof I’d arranged it. I figured it was just someone trying to make a fool of him. It seemed like an easy way to make two hundred dollars and take that pompous windbag down a peg in the process. He’s such a lecherous snob.” She looked back down at the table, then up at Nina again.

  Nina stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue.

  “Pet vacations aren’t even my area,” said Samantha. “I run a travel agency that caters to history buffs. You know, ‘the Dread Pirate Blackbeard slept here,’ that kind of thing . . .” Her voice trailed off. She took a sip of her lemonade, then focused on a sailboat tacking across the harbor toward Star Cay.

  “So, did you get the two hundred dollars?” asked Nina.

  “Yes!” said Samantha, looking Nina directly in the eye again. “Someone slipped it under my door in the middle of the night while I was asleep. I thought it was all a big joke! I walked into town to have breakfast at the bakery, then spent it all on a dress and a pair of earrings I’d had my eye on. When I got back to the inn, the police were there, and Dr. Putzel’s bungalow was surrounded by crime tape!”

  “Samantha, did you tell the police about the note?” asked Nina.

  “No! I was ashamed by what I’d done. I just thought it was funny and kind of exciting, and I wanted the two hundred dollars. And I’d already spent the money! I convinced myself that telling the police wouldn’t help them find the attacker, anyway. I never saw or talked to anyone, and the note is typewritten. But then Sylvia Putzel-Cross was attacked! I’m probably an accomplice to one crime, and by not telling the police about the note, I maybe allowed the attacker to strike again. I’m in big trouble, and I don’t know what to do.” She looked miserable.

  “Samantha, listen to me, you’ve got to go to the police station right now and tell them everything. I don’t think you’re in as much trouble as you think you are. You didn’t try to kill Philip or Sylvia, after all,” said Nina. At least, I don’t think you did. “But if you don’t tell them everything you know, you will be in trouble. The station is right over there.” She pointed to the imposing blue building a few doors down.

  Samantha twisted a paper napkin without speaking. Finally, she said, “All right.”

  Nina stood and waited for Samantha to follow her. They walked down the wooden stairs to the beach together, and then Nina watched the young woman walk slowly down the beach toward the police station.

  As Nina turned to leave, movement on the wooden walkway at the marina caught her eye. It was Les again! He was moving stealthily and seemed to be looking for something or someone. He peered surreptitiously at the stern of each boat, where their names and registration numbers were displayed. He must have found what he was looking for, because he stopped in front of a midsize powerboat and scribbled something in a notebook he took from his breast pocket. Then he snapped a photo with his phone before tucking it in his back pocket. He looked around as though trying to determine if he was being watched. When he saw Nina, he fixed her with a stare. She pretended not to see him and turned quickly up the beach toward her house. She forced herself not to look back to see if he was still watching her.

  What is he up to? she wondered, yet again. Maybe he does have more going on than playing video games and drinking beer all day. Well, one crime at a time. Danish and Pansy were coming over to pick her up so that they could go down to The Pirate’s Wake to check out Philip’s alibi. The sooner any aspiring murderers were caught, the sooner her life would return to normal. Philip’s conference and all the bad vibes that seemed to surround it had sideswiped her easy-living-in-the-islands plan.

  Danish and Pansy were waiting on the veranda when she got home. Danish was drinking a beer.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Nina said. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

  “No worries,” said Danish. “Thanks for the beer.”

  He w
ent inside and put the empty bottle on her kitchen counter; then they all climbed into Pansy’s golf cart and headed south. A mile or so south of Coconut Cove, Pansy turned off the two-lane Queen’s Highway onto the dirt road that led to The Pirate’s Wake. It was a seedy watering hole on the waterfront that catered mainly to local men of leisure. It held a pool table and not much else. A younger crowd looking for cheap booze after The Redoubt closed occupied seats at the bar most nights, and on Thursday nights the joint was jumping for the two-for-one watered-down rum punches. There was no beach, but a rickety dock out back had room for a few patrons to tie up.

  As Pansy slowly picked her way around the deep potholes that pockmarked the narrow dirt lane, the shiny red truck Nina had seen on the beach earlier that day roared toward them from the direction of the bar, swerving around the golf cart without slowing down. Nina turned around in her seat to watch him bounce along over the bumps in the road like a bucking bronco.

  “Who is that guy?” Nina asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Pansy. “I’ve never seen that truck before.”

  Nina watched the truck until it made a right-hand turn onto the Queen’s Highway heading south. It disappeared from view.

  They parked in front of the windowless building and went in through the side door. The front of the building opened to the water, but The Pirate’s Wake was still cool and dark in the middle of the afternoon. As her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, Nina could see two men playing a slow game of pool on the covered cement patio out front. She was pretty sure they were the same two guys she’d seen playing pool the last time she, Pansy, and Danish were there. She glanced around. Every square inch of the walls and ceiling was covered with women’s underwear, giving the room an almost cozy, upholstered feel, if you didn’t look too closely. There was a bartender behind the bar. In front of him at the bar sat a guy with a beer. Nina was pretty sure they were the same two men she’d seen at the bar the last time. They stared at Nina, Pansy, and Danish.

  Danish strode purposefully over to the bar. “Howdy, fellas. Got a question for you. Did you see a short, pudgy fella in a Hawaiian shirt in here Wednesday night? An out-of-towner?” He looked from the bartender to the patron, then back again. The customer just lifted his bottle of beer to his mouth and drank, keeping his eyes on Danish.

  “Sure, I saw him,” said the bartender. “Kind of overly interested in the decor, if you know what I mean. We get ’em in here once in a while. The fetishists. In fact, I’m seriously considering redecorating. Maybe something with a nautical theme. Or maybe some shabby chic. I’m reading the magazines. Keeping a file. We’ll see. I just need to figure out how to work in the pool table. We have a certain casual vibe here I’d like to keep.”

  Nina looked around. A sand floor, three bare light bulbs over the bar, the smell of burned french-fry grease from the kitchen, and talk radio from the main island blaring from the speaker perched on top of the fridge behind the bartender. Casual was one description for the vibe.

  “What time did he get here?” asked Pansy. “And when did he leave?”

  “Boy, you’re a curious bunch, but OK,” said the bartender. “He was here all night. Had supper at the bar. Grilled me and Maurice here for a couple of hours about the underwear. I coaxed Shirley-Anne into dancing with him for a while so I could get a little break. He was really into it. It was a sight to see. He stayed until we closed at one o’clock. I called him a cab.”

  “So, he was telling the truth,” said Danish.

  “Thanks,” Nina said to the bartender, who shrugged. “One more thing, if you don’t mind,” she said. “Who was that guy who just left? They guy in the red truck?”

  She could feel the sudden tension in the air. The man on the stool got up and walked away.

  “Never saw him before,” said the bartender tersely. “Can I get you something?”

  “No, thanks, man. We’ve got to go,” said Danish. The bartender grabbed a couple of empty bottles off the bar and disappeared into the kitchen without another word.

  “That was weird,” said Pansy.

  “Mmm,” said Nina. She walked outside and looked down at the rickety dock. A man with a gray ponytail under a ball cap was sitting in a lawn chair on the deck of a rundown tub of a boat tied to the dock. His dog was lying on the deck beside him in the shade of an opened umbrella. Rusty and Rusty. The dog got up and wagged his tail when he saw Nina approach. He barked a friendly greeting. Rusty the man looked up from the newspaper he was reading.

  “Hi, Rusty,” called Nina with a wave. Rusty the man responded by raising the newspaper in front of his face to block her view of him and his view of her. Rusty wasn’t overly fond of visitors.

  Nina took the hint, and they left. Pansy dropped Danish off at the inn and Nina at her cottage before hurrying to pick her kids up from playgroup.

  10

  The next morning, the conference delegates were beginning to show signs of stress after looking over their shoulders for a murderer for the last several days. At the scheduled midmorning break, they hovered in small groups on the side veranda. A refreshment table was piled with baskets of freshly baked muffins and chilled pitchers of fruit juice and iced tea. The delegates eyed one another warily and chatted dutifully about the presentation they had just attended on the comparative density of vacationers on French and Italian beaches.

  Nina approached a clutch of delegates in time to hear Bridget guffaw and say, “I mean, I just don’t get France. What’s the big deal? I went to the beach there once. There wasn’t even any sand! Why do people pay all that money to lay out on a rock ledge or on a stony beach with a half-naked stranger sitting two feet away from them? I mean, Fort Lauderdale has about twenty-five miles of sandy beaches to choose from.”

  “Good morning!” Nina said with more enthusiasm than she felt. “Bubba and Nancy Delancy have invited anyone who is interested to join them on their boat for a trip over to Delancy’s Island. We’re meeting on the dock in an hour. Don’t forget your bathing suits!”

  She smiled and moved on to the next group. To her surprise, Danish was standing there with a heaping plate of fruit salad in one hand and a frosted glass of iced coffee in the other. There was a ring of smiling admirers listening to him hold court.

  “Yeah, Gerry. You facilitated the hell out of that small group discussion, man. I took a course in change leadership at Boulder College of the Healing Arts, and your performance was textbook,” he said. A short man in pressed Bermuda shorts and Birkenstock sandals grinned widely in response.

  “Hi, everyone,” said Nina. “If you’re up for an outing today, we’re leaving at noon from the dock. Otherwise, enjoy the afternoon by the pool here.”

  The crowd began to disperse.

  “Danish, what are you doing here?” said Nina, grabbing his elbow. He turned to face her.

  “Well, good morning, Nina. I ran into Gerry and Mike at The Redoubt last night, and they were pretty interested in my insights into the cruise-ship industry based on my employment as a yoga instructor and gentleman dance host for Supersun Cruise Line. We had a few cocktails, and they invited me to come share my thoughts with the gang this morning. I won’t lie and say it’s been the most riveting two hours of my life, but I appreciate the invitation. Say yes when you might say no, that’s my motto.”

  “Didn’t your cruise-ship career only last about nine days until you were put off the ship in Nassau?” said Nina.

  “Sad but true,” said Danish. “But those were nine jam-packed days. I saw a lot. Behind-the-scenes stuff, you know. You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” He tilted his head back to drain the last of his iced coffee, then set the empty glass on a table behind him and popped a wedge of pineapple into his mouth.

  “Uh-huh. Well, I’ll look forward to that. Excuse me, I’ve got to get going,” said Nina, heading for the door.

  “Okeydokey,” he called after her. “Catch you later. I’ve got some details regarding our project to share with you ASAP.”

&n
bsp; She pretended not to hear him. She walked briskly home, changed into her bathing suit, and pulled on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. She stuffed some sunscreen, a towel, and a hat into her straw bag, then headed back to the inn. A small crowd was milling about on the dock beside the Delancys’ enormous gleaming white yacht.

  They were all there—Philip in his huaraches and a Hawaiian shirt, Sylvia looking cool and chic while chatting to a handsome ship steward at the foot of the gangway, Bridget eagerly clutching her giant canvas satchel and grinning at anyone who glanced her way, and Victor, standing aside with his hands in his trouser pockets observing them all, his eyes obscured behind tortoiseshell shades. Even Razor Hudson had turned up in his voluminous swimming trunks, although he had also brought his laptop.

  They made their way onboard, and the steward led them up onto the forward deck.

  “Hey, Nina! Isn’t this cool? This is the life, man.” It was Danish. He was reclining in the hot tub with a fruity beverage in his hand.

  “Ah, hello, Danish,” she said.

  “Yeah, Gerry and Mike opted to catch some shut-eye due to last night’s slight overindulgence, so they bailed, but Nancy invited me to come with.”

  “Of course!” said Nancy, who was lying on a sleek padded chaise longue, wearing a frilly beach cover-up and a wide-brimmed straw hat. She waved her long magenta fingernails casually as she spoke. “The more the merrier. Danish was just giving me the lowdown on what happened to poor Sylvia the other night. You poor thing!” she said to Sylvia, who was leaning back onto the chaise longue beside her. “Never a dull moment around here, it seems.”

  “Hey, man, what’s with the computer?” Danish asked Razor. “Maybe you didn’t get the memo, but this is a recreational outing.”

  “Oh, my interest here is purely professional. I’ve heard about these places. Day camps for adults. This is a stellar opportunity to see what your average person will do when the constraints and responsibilities of everyday life have been removed, and all they have to do is indulge their hedonistic desires. Thank you very much for the invitation, Mrs. Delancy.”