by Janni Nell
Marcel began reminiscing. “My grandfather heard her sing when he was a boy. He said she had a good voice, but he liked her risqué jokes better.”
I looked at the painting again. The artist had done a good job of capturing Queenie’s facial features, but, of course, her breasts dominated the picture just as they did in the flesh.
“Bet she was popular with the guys,” I said.
“Perhaps they looked, but no one touched. Everyone knew she was the woman of Captain Dick Finch.”
“I’m guessing he wasn’t Royal Navy,” I said, thinking of Queenie’s less than posh image.
Marcel chuckled. “Dick Finch was a pirate known as the Terror of the Tropics. Some say he committed many murders and fathered even more children. Others say he never killed anyone and loved only Queenie.”
“What did your grandfather say?”
“He did not mention the killing, but he said Queenie and Dick had true love. She gave up performing to join the pirate at sea. When he died, she began performing again, but his death had hurt her too much. She was often drunk. She forgot the words of her songs. Her jokes were no longer amusing. Near the end of her life, she sold her body to the sailors for gin.”
And now she was stuck on Lu’arna Island trying to sort out some unfinished business. Still, the pirate connection was interesting.
“Any tales of buried treasure?” I asked.
“Oh ho, everyone asks that. But no one has found it. So, I think there is no buried treasure.”
Dylan emerged from the men’s room and joined us in front of Queenie’s portrait.
“That’s strange,” he said, “she looks just like that woman we saw on Lu’arna, right down to the old-fashioned clothes.”
“That woman was at a costume party,” I said, falling back on the lie I’d told Dylan to explain her presence on Lu’arna.
“But even her face looks like the woman we saw,” he protested.
“Maybe she’s a descendant of Queenie,” I suggested. It was the best I could come up with on the spur of the moment.
Marcel shook his head. “I think not. Queenie did not have children.” He quickly filled Dylan in on the story he’d just told me.
At the mention of pirates, Dylan’s ears pricked up. “Any buried treasure around?
“Oh ho,” Marcel said, reciting his stock reply, “everyone asks that. But no one has found it. So I think, no, there is no treasure.”
Dylan glanced at me. “What do you think, Allegra? Should we invest in a couple of shovels?”
“Only if we can find a map with a big X on it.”
He laughed. “I’ll drink to that.”
By the time we left the pub, I was drunk enough to treat Dylan to my off-key version of Barry Manilow’s “Mandy.” Dylan refused to join in, claiming he didn’t know the words, but he did prop me up as I staggered along the sidewalk. We took a wrong turn, ending up in a blind alley that stank of urine and old cabbage.
“This doesn’t look like the marina,” I said, stumbling over a discarded soda can. A cat hissed from the shadows. You could smell danger in the fetid air. “We have to get out of here,” I whispered. I grabbed Dylan’s hand heading back the way we’d come, but the entrance to the alley was blocked by three guys who were all wearing low-slung jeans and attitude. Even paradise had its thieves, and tourists provided easy pickings. Especially drunk tourists.
The guys shifted their weight from foot to foot as though they were hungry for violence. The two shorter guys were kind of gangly like teenagers. Their faces were in shadow and there was little chance of identifying them in a police lineup. One of the shorter guys had a silhouette of spiky hair, the other a lip ring that glinted as he swung his head from side to side. The third guy was taller and overweight, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t pack a punch.
“We should just march past them,” I whispered to Dylan.
“Do you think they’ll let us?”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve been in a fight. If you can take the bigger guy I’m pretty sure I can handle the two smaller ones.”
Before Dylan could answer, the fat guy, who seemed to be the leader, said, “We want wallets, jewelry and money. Throw them on the ground.” He spoke precisely as though he’d learned the words by rote.
When we didn’t immediately obey, they all pulled out knives as sharp and pointed as an ice queen’s wit. I wished Dylan had brought his rifle.
“That changes things,” he murmured, eyes on the knives. “Better give them what they want.”
“You’re not serious?”
“Allegra, this isn’t the time to be a hero. Don’t do anything dumb.”
But I wasn’t listening. Slowly, so as not to spook our assailants, I dug in my handbag. Extracting my wallet, I did as instructed and threw it at the leader. It hit him squarely in the eye. He yelped.
Taking him by surprise I kicked his groin. When he doubled over, I punched his jaw and he fell backward, losing his grip on the knife, which clattered to the ground. I scooped it up and tossed it into a dark corner of the alley.
Dylan had already tackled the guy with the spiky hair. They rolled on the ground fighting for control of Spiky’s knife. As I rushed to Dylan’s aid, the guy with the lip ring stepped in front of me.
He was a kid without much muscle, and I made the mistake of thinking he wouldn’t provide much of a threat. When I aimed a kick at him, he surprised me by wielding his knife like a pro. Fast and slick, he slashed my calf. Without missing a beat, he grabbed my airborne ankle and tipped me off balance. I crashed to the ground.
As I struggled to get up, wishing I hadn’t drunk that last vodka tonic, he leaped on me and straddled my chest. His eyes were blank and cold. Despite his youth, they were the eyes of a killer. As he raised the knife, preparing to plunge it into my heart, I called for the one person I knew would save me. “Dylan!”
But he didn’t come. One of the thugs had hold of him and was pounding his head into the ground. Looked as though I’d have to save myself. I grabbed hold of my assailant’s wrist, but I couldn’t stop the downward thrust of his knife.
A shadow loomed over me. It lifted my assailant off my chest and flung him against a wall. He slid to the ground, groggy and confused.
“Casper.” My breath caught in my throat.
He reached for the guy who was pounding Dylan’s head into the ground, picked him up and threw him against the wall beside his buddy.
“Get out of here. All of you.” Casper growled. The three guys struggled to their feet and took off.
As Casper knelt beside me, he said, “I’m sure Dylan would have saved you, but he’s out cold.”
Dylan lay nearby, unmoving. Hoping he was still alive, I crawled across the filthy ground to his crumpled body. The tang of blood got stronger. I touched his neck, feeling for a pulse. Long seconds passed while my clumsy fingers traced his stubbled skin. At last the tiny bulb of a pulse leaped beneath my fingers.
We called an ambulance. I went to the hospital with Dylan, who regained consciousness in the ER. They insisted on keeping him in overnight for observation, but I was allowed to leave since the knife slash on my calf wasn’t as bad as it felt. I didn’t even need stitches.
Casper walked me back to the marina to make sure I got aboard Dylan’s vessel in one piece. When I told Marie and Luc what had happened, they very kindly offered me a drink to soothe my nerves. It was the last thing I needed. Especially when they went to bed and left me to finish the bottle on my own. Soon I was so drunk I thought it would be a good idea to stagger the short distance to Heavenly and thank Casper for showing up on time. I mean credit where it’s due and all.
Casper heard me scramble aboard and came out to meet me. When Sophie followed him wearing pajamas, I snapped, “Sorry to interrupt,” and stomped off the vessel. My foot
caught in something and I fell flat on my face.
Casper said to Sophie, “Go back to bed. I’ll take care of Allegra.”
As he scraped me off the deck and into his arms I started to babble, “You slept with her, didn’t you? You’re in love with her.”
Casper started to say something, but I passed out before he’d finished. That’s all I remembered until I awoke next morning in a strange bed. Dylan’s bed.
Of course Dylan wasn’t there. He was still at the hospital but the scent of him lingered on the sheets. Ribbons of sunlight snaked across the bed, hurting my eyes. I groaned and pulled the covers over my head. Much of last night remained a mystery, but I did have a clear memory of the attack in the alley and Dylan being taken to the hospital.
There was more, though. Ignoring the pain in my head, I concentrated really hard. I felt the cold-eyed kid straddling me, saw his knife raised. I’d been that close to death before Casper had saved me. Guess I owed him a thank-you.
My stomach roiled. I struggled out of bed and sprinted to the bathroom. My head spun as I threw up.
When I finally faced myself in the mirror, I grimaced at the sight of my pasty skin and bloodshot eyes. Not a pretty sight. I washed my face, hoping Dylan’s expensive soap would improve my appearance. It didn’t. I borrowed two headache tablets and a big squeeze of toothpaste, but I drew the line at borrowing his toothbrush.
I returned to the cabin and sank onto the bed, head in hands, struggling to remember last night. I was pretty sure I’d learned something important, but when I tried to remember, my brain hurt. Focus, Allegra. Memories struggled to the surface of my mind: the no-star restaurant that had brilliant food…a really old bar, where I’d had too many vodka tonics…the wall of the bar that featured a picture of Queenie…
Bingo!
Everything came back in a rush. Queenie’s boyfriend had been a pirate. Chances were she knew a lot more about the treasure than she’d told me. I jumped to my feet. Not a good move. My head threatened to explode. Somehow I forced myself to remain upright. I had to get back to Lu’arna Island. Immediately.
It was no surprise that Luc and Marie wouldn’t take me until Dylan had been released from the hospital. That could take hours and I didn’t have time to waste. Swallowing my pride, I threw myself on Casper’s mercy.
Chapter Ten
“What’s up?” asked Casper as Heavenly increased speed. “Aren’t you happy to have another chance to solve this case?”
“Sure, but I still have to convince Oak to rehire me.” I slumped on the bench-like seat in the stern. Something poked my butt through the thin cushion. “You should get this seat fixed,” I snapped.
Casper’s frown disappeared. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
“No. Yes. Of course. What else would it be?”
He shrugged. “I can’t think of anything.”
His easygoing attitude made me want to scream. “Can’t you? Really?” I shouldn’t have raised my voice. It made my headache worse.
He smothered a sigh. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re really trying to say? It’s not like you to be so obtuse.”
“Obtuse?” I spluttered.
“It means—”
“I know what it means.”
“Why are you mad at me?” He seemed genuinely confused. “I thought you’d be happy. Last night I showed up on time to rescue you. I did my job to the very best of my ability.”
“After I passed out, you put me in Dylan’s bed. What’s with that?”
“I thought you’d like to sleep there.” His brow puckered. “I rescued him for you and that’s not in my job description.”
“I’m not sure you can claim you rescued Dylan. He is in the hospital.”
“But he’s not badly hurt.”
“Okay, okay. Your timely appearance was responsible for Dylan’s survival.”
“Thank you for the acknowledgment. Even if it was grudging.”
“Oh shut it, Casper. How long till we reach Lu’arna?” I shifted on the thin plastic cushion and felt the hard lump again. “What the heck is this?” I pulled the cushion off the wooden bench, revealing a charm bracelet. The tiny silver cradle and the red heart gleamed guiltily in the sunlight. “That’s Sophie’s.”
“Great.” Casper beamed, reaching for the jewelry. “She wondered where she’d lost it. What’s the matter? You knew she was here last night. You saw her.”
In her pajamas.
“I’m sorry you don’t like Sophie,” he went on. “I was hoping you could be friends.”
“Are you kidding? How can I be friends with someone who might cost you a place in Heaven?” Oh crap, I hadn’t meant to say anything, but suddenly I couldn’t stop. I was so angry and hurt. “Casper I’m sorry, but this has to be said. I’ve kept quiet up until now, but I can’t stand by and let you ruin your chance of entering Heaven. Not when you’re worked so hard to follow your Rules of Conduct. For Pete’s sake, you almost won an Angel Award and got fast-tracked to Heaven. Anyway, it’s not just about you. I’ve worked hard to control my own feelings. I’ve given up the chance of doing the horizontal—” I clapped my hand over my mouth. “Forget I said that.”
He said softly, “You’ve misunderstood. It’s not like that.”
“Don’t you dare tell me how much you love her. Don’t you dare.” I backed away as if I could put enough distance between us to stop his words reaching me.
“Allegra,” he repeated, “it’s not like that. Sophie and I aren’t…we’re actually…but I told you last night. Don’t you remember?” Suddenly his eyes twinkled. “That’s why you’re so pissed off. You don’t remember.” He rocked with laughter. “Oh, this is priceless.”
Now I was really pissed off. Casper had given me some crucial information about his personal life and I’d been too drunk to remember. Concentrating really hard, I tried to put together the pieces of last night. After we’d left Dylan at the hospital, I did kind of remember staggering to Heavenly. Had I asked Casper about Sophie? I squeezed my brain until it hurt, but all that came out was a vague memory of him saying something about her right before I passed out.
Now I was desperate to know the truth. “You’re right,” I admitted. “I don’t remember. What did you tell me?”
“I’m not sure I should repeat it,” he said, pretending to be offended. “I’m really disappointed you weren’t listening the first time.”
Through gritted teeth I said, “Don’t make me hurt you. I want to know everything. Now.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you do,” he teased, “but maybe I don’t feel like telling you.”
“Then I’ll have to guess,” I said, watching his face closely for signs I was on the money. “Clearly your relationship with Sophie isn’t the grand passion I imagined. So what’s going on? Is she your morsub? Is she another angel?” I studied Casper closely for signs I’d hit pay dirt, but his expression betrayed nothing.
He coughed. In a husky voice he said, “I can’t talk anymore. I’m coming down with laryngitis.”
“Angels don’t get sick.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” He pointed to his throat and shrugged.
I punched his arm. For the rest of the journey to Lu’arna, I sulked. Casper kept out of my way. I think he was having a hard time controlling his instinct to roll around on the deck laughing.
* * *
Oak wasn’t happy to see me. When I barged into his office, he barely glanced up from his computer. He didn’t offer me a chair, but I took one anyway and pulled it up to his desk.
“I’ve got something to say to you,” I snapped, “and I’d appreciate your full attention.”
Pushing his glasses up his nose, he gave me one minute to explain why I felt I could now solve the case. I talked fast. He didn’t interrupt.
/> When I was done, he said, “So, to summarize, there’s a ghost on Lu’arna who had a boyfriend who was a pirate. And, hey, this is why you believe you can now stop the war between the mers and Tikini-kai?”
Ignoring his skepticism, I said, “That’s correct. I want a chance to question Queenie about the treasure. See what she knows.”
“And if she knows nothing?”
“I’ll leave Lu’arna immediately. Give me another chance. Please.” Usually I don’t beg, but right then I was ready to fall to my knees. I had a good feeling that if he gave me another chance I could discover what had happened to the dowry and the Star of Light.
Oak tapped a pen on his desk. The end was chewed. He stuck it in his mouth and chewed some more. Finally he said, “I’ll give you two days. But I won’t pay you unless you succeed.”
“Fair enough.” This was no longer about money. My professional pride was at stake. I offered my hand, and was surprised when he took it and gave a brief shake. After dumping my bags in my old guest cottage, I set off in search of Queenie.
The first place I’d seen her was the beach where I’d picnicked with Dylan, so that’s where I started looking. I didn’t think she’d be hard to find. Especially when I opened a bottle of gin and let loose its aroma. I was disappointed she didn’t immediately appear, but maybe ghosts have no sense of smell. I’d never asked.
Swapping smell for sound, I yelled, “Queenie. Queenie. I’ve got gin. A whole bottle just for you.” If that didn’t bring her out of hiding nothing would.
I wandered along the beach calling her name. After fifteen minutes I finally acknowledged she wasn’t within earshot. I continued my way along the coast, calling out, opening the gin at regular intervals, but nothing induced her to appear. Thinking she must have gone inland, I abandoned the coast and followed one of the walking trails that wound up the hills in the center of the island.
“Queenie? Queenie?” I called, but she either couldn’t or wouldn’t answer me.
The tropical heat sucked sweat from my pores. I sank onto a rock, uncapping my water bottle and taking a long drink. As the too-warm liquid slid down my throat, I sensed someone watching me.
