Island of Secrets

by Janni Nell

  “Queenie?”

  I surveyed the palms and ferns. Everything was still. The birds had stopped chattering. The undergrowth had stopped rustling. Someone was there, but they refused to show themselves. It could’ve been Queenie. It could’ve been anyone on the island. Was it suspicious the person wouldn’t show themselves? Possibly. But perhaps the explanation was as simple as someone intent on solitude, who didn’t want to talk to the nosy investigator.

  I recapped my bottle and moved on, but this time I didn’t call Queenie so often and I listened hard to the sounds of the island. Sometimes I heard rustling behind me. Once, when I turned to check, I saw a snake. Other times I saw nothing, but I felt eyes on me. It was starting to creep me out, when someone answered my call for Queenie.

  “Helloooo, who’s there?” The accent was American. It sounded like Evie. “We’re at the Pool of Reflection. Come on up.”

  I followed the sound of her voice, pushing my way through thick ferns until I reached a small clearing, which contained a body of water about the size of your average backyard swimming pool.

  At one end of the pool, a little waterfall trickled beneath a small bridge. On closer inspection, the bridge proved to be a bowl-shaped stone. Evie was bent over it arranging a mountain of orange, pink and yellow hibiscus.

  When she saw me, she said, “I thought you’d left the island.”

  “Change of plans.”

  “Oh good. We’ve missed you, honey.” Turning back to her flower-arranging, she added, “These are for the spirit of the island. To bring peace and prosperity.”

  “If you believe that kind of thing,” snorted Lyn. “But none of the guidebooks mention this place, so nobody knows its original function.”

  “It’s obviously some kind of shrine,” said Evie. “Why shouldn’t it be for the spirit of the island? Why shouldn’t my flowers bring peace and prosperity?”

  Lyn rolled her eyes, but no one could deny this place was peaceful. Even the birdlife seemed muted and respectful. I was the odd one out. After the disappointment of my search for Queenie, I was anything but peaceful. I was so hot and cross, I could’ve doubled for an Easter bun.

  Satisfied with her flower arrangement, Evie took off her shoes and dangled her feet in the pool. Ripples chased each other across the surface. “Join me, Allegra,” she invited. “You look stressed. This will relax you.”

  I wasn’t in the mood. It was bad enough that Queenie was avoiding me, but I now had the added pressure of discovering the identity of my mysterious pursuer. I didn’t really believe the simple explanation of someone seeking solitude. I was sure it was linked to the case somehow. “Come on, honey.” Evie patted the ground beside her. “Dip your feet in the water. You’ll feel better. Honest.”

  What the heck. I pulled off my trainers and socks. The water was cool. I wiggled my toes. The big one tingled almost as though it was trying to itch. It tried really hard, but nothing happened. Soon even the tingle disappeared, leaving me more pissed off than ever.

  Pulling my feet out of the pool, I muttered, “This isn’t working.” I tugged on my shoes—didn’t care that my feet were wet—and strode away. When I was out of sight of the aunts, I yelled, “Fuck,” very loudly and stomped around pulverizing leaves beneath my soles. I flattened more of the local flora than I really should have, but on the upside I felt much better.

  Returning to the aunts, I said, “I’m relaxed now.”

  “We heard,” said Lyn. “The whole of the South Pacific heard.”

  I pulled off my shoes and plunged my feet into the pool again. No tingles this time, but at least I was calmer.

  “What do you think of the statues, Allegra?” Evie asked. “Nobody seems to know who made them, but I’m thinking you might, given your profession and all.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Lyn said, “We know you’re a paranormal investigator. We might look like a couple of crazy old gals, but we’re not stupid. At least I’m not.” She glanced at Evie, who laughed, knowing her friend was teasing. “So, tell us about the statues.”

  Remembering Lyn’s skepticism about Evie’s offering to the spirits of the island, I said, “I thought you didn’t believe in the paranormal.”

  “I don’t believe arranging flowers on a rock will bring peace and prosperity to the island. But that doesn’t mean I’m not interested in your theory on the statues.”

  I hadn’t taken much notice of them before, but now I took a closer look. There were ten, each about a foot tall, positioned at regular intervals around the pool. Square stone heads sat on equally square bodies with very little neck in between. The stone was mottled and weathered but you could still make out the sharply pointed noses, straight lips and big almond-shaped eyes with eyebrows that slanted upward.

  There was something about the faces that reminded me of goblins. My best guess was that the statues had been made by a tribe that used to live on Lu’arna. Not the Tikini-kai. Maybe the Talini-kai, or one of the other Kai tribes. Deciding not to mention goblins, I said, “They were probably made by a Polynesian tribe.”

  “Funny,” said Lyn, “we thought they looked a bit like the goblins that came to talk peace with the mermaids. We were watching from the jungle. Oak would be horrified, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

  Gee, the aunts were even nosier than I was. I arched an eyebrow. “You probably know more about this case than I do.”

  They laughed, but I wasn’t kidding.

  Evie said, “Enough about the case. I want to hear more about that lovely man we saw you with on the marina. Are you two engaged yet?”

  I wasn’t sure whether she was referring to Casper or Dylan—she had watched them both through her binoculars—but I couldn’t resist teasing her. “Sure, we’re getting married next week.”

  Evie beamed. “Can we come to the wedding?”

  “She’s kidding,” said Lyn. “Just as well too. Holiday romances never last.”

  Evie looked confused. “Didn’t you meet Randy on vacation?” She turned to me, explaining, “That relationship worked. They were married for thirty years.”

  Lyn’s mouth turned down at the corners. “More than once I considered leaving him.”

  Evie’s jaw sagged. “You never told me.”

  “This isn’t the kind of thing you spread around, but I’m going to share for Allegra’s sake. Randy wasn’t faithful to me. He didn’t cheat often, but he cheated long. Maybe three affairs during our marriage but they each lasted for years.”

  “You never told me,” Evie repeated. Then, “Why did you stay?”

  “Better the devil you know,” said Lyn lightly.

  “That’s BS,” said Evie.

  Lyn shrugged. “We had four kids. He was a good father and a good provider. I knew he’d never leave me because he was the kind of man who liked to have his cake and eat it. Beware of holiday romances, Allegra. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Thanks for the warning, but I’m not planning to get married any time soon.”

  “Not even to Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome?” asked Evie, her tongue all but hanging out. “He wants you bad, honey. You can tell by the way he looks at you. Like he wants to eat you up.”

  “That’s how the big bad wolf looked at Red Riding Hood,” said Lyn.

  “Gosh, imagine you quoting fairy tales,” said Evie.

  “Heaven help me, I’m turning into you.”

  “You could do worse.” They laughed together. Their camaraderie was wonderful.

  I wondered whether Wanda and I would end up like them. Would we still be friends in fifty years? Wanda, a great witch. Me, a great investigator. I liked to think we would.

  “So why did you return to Lu’arna?” asked Evie.

  Since they already knew much more about the case than Oak would’ve liked, I figured th
ere was no point lying to them.

  “Last night, in Papeete, I got a breakthrough. There’s someone on the island I need to speak to.” Then, since the aunts seemed to specialize in snooping, I asked, “Have you seen a woman in an old-fashioned red dress?”

  “Is that why you came back to Lu’arna? To find this woman?”

  “She’s part of it,” I said.

  Lyn answered, “We saw her at the peace talk. She was in the jungle watching, but she ran away when she realized we’d seen her.”

  “Have you seen her since then? I’ve been looking everywhere for her but she seems to be hiding from me.”

  “Maybe she’s disappeared.” Evie was goggle-eyed. “Maybe she’s been murdered!”

  Unlikely, since she was already dead. “She has to be somewhere on the island.”

  “We’ll help you look for her, won’t we, Lyn?”

  “Sure. With all three of us searching we’re bound to find her.”

  But, even if we found her, would Queenie have the information I needed to solve the case?

  * * *

  When I returned to my guest cottage, I had blisters on my feet and a rumbling stomach. Even worse, I was no closer to finding Queenie. I decided to grab a quick meal before considering my next move. In the kitchen of the big house I found Polly baking an enormous fish for dinner. It smelled delicious, but I wasn’t going to have the pleasure of eating it. Polly agreed to whip me up a shrimp salad.

  As she chopped and seasoned, she asked, “Why did Oak rehire you? Did you work out another clue or something?”

  Very naïve of me to imagine anyone on the island didn’t know I was a paranormal investigator. They could look me up on the internet as well as anyone. Not that I have my own website, but I’m whispered about in a few dark corners. Still, that didn’t mean I was going to share every detail of the case.

  When I wasn’t forthcoming, Polly flattered me. “You’re so clever. How do you work it all out? I mean take this case. You’ve got the mermaids and some ugly goblin-things, plus a buried treasure. How will you find the treasure? Do you have a map? Is that why you returned to the island? You can tell me anything. I won’t repeat it.”

  Yeah, like I believe that. The whole island is a hotbed of gossip.

  “I probably shouldn’t discuss the case with you,” I said. “Oak might fire me again.”

  “We don’t want that,” she said with genuine concern. “But if you ever need to toss ideas around, you know where I am.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Although I had no intention of acting upon it.

  Polly put my salad on a tray, adding fruit and a bread roll that had been freshly baked that morning. “Enjoy.”

  I trotted back to my cottage and took the meal onto my balcony. As I ate the shrimp salad I thought of Dad. I guess it was the garnish of macadamia nuts that brought him so sharply to mind. Dad had never missed an opportunity to remind us that macadamia nuts were native to Australia.

  I looked into the west across the vast expanse of ocean that separated Lu’arna from Australia. A plane could take me there in a few hours. I could search for Dad. I was an investigator. I had a good chance of finding him. But what if I didn’t like what I found? What if he was totally happy with his new life and didn’t welcome an intrusion from a long-lost daughter? What if he had a new family?

  Sometimes it’s better not to know the truth. Oh, I knew all the psychology. Fear was holding me back. Blah, blah, blah. But I wasn’t yet strong enough to face the truth. Even a tough kickass investigator has a vulnerable place. Until I toughened up my emotions, I wasn’t going anywhere near Australia.

  I’d lost my appetite. I took the remains of my meal to the small kitchen. I was stowing the plates in the fridge when I noticed something on the floor. A garter. The red satin was stained with sweat and age, the lace tattered. Had Queenie been in my cottage? Had she been here searching for gin while I’d been all over the island searching for her? More to the point, had she found any? I checked the bottles of spirits. Yep, the one containing gin was missing.

  It was already dark, but I grabbed my flashlight and went in search of her. If she was as drunk as I suspected, she shouldn’t be hard to find.

  Chapter Eleven

  I found Queenie by the sound of her snoring. She was slumped between rocks at the edge of the beach where I’d first met her. The incoming tide had soaked the hem of her gown. Her head lolled and a trail of drool glistened on her chin.

  I shook her shoulder. “Hey, wake up.”

  She snored louder.

  “Come on, Queenie, I need to talk to you.”

  She groaned and rolled away from me.

  This time I shook both her shoulders. “I want to talk to you about pirates.”

  “Pirates?” She opened one bleary eye. “Don’t know nuffin’ about pirates.”

  “Cut the crap. I know you were involved with Captain Dick Finch.”

  Her lower lip trembled. Tears flooded her eyes. “Dickie,” she mumbled. “I loved that man. I was loyal to ’im till the day he died. Even when that smart lieutenant—Royal Navy, you know—offered me a king’s ransom to betray me Dickie. I says no. I stayed true to me man and he took me with him all over the world.”

  “You met him in London?” It seemed an odd place to meet a pirate.

  “We was neighbors when we was little ’uns. Dickie ran away to sea, but he promised to come back for me. After ten years, I’d almost given up ’ope, but he turned up one night at Tyler Tucker’s and I was glad I’d waited. Blimey, he was ’andsome. I left Tyler Tucker’s that very night. It was a great life on the high seas with Dickie. Until the fever took ’im.”

  “Did he steal Princess Melani’s dowry?”

  She struggled into a sitting position, wiping the drool from her chin on the back of her hand. “He stole a lot of treasure. They called ’im the Terror of the Tropics. But most of the loot got spent. We lived the high life, Dick and me.”

  She started searching for something, looking behind rocks and patting the sand around her until she found the gin bottle beneath the hem of her skirt. “Aaah,” she sighed, unscrewing the cap. She tilted the bottle and licked out the few remaining drops. Her eyes rolled back in her head. The bottle slid from her fingers and she fell backward spread-eagled on the sand.

  I knelt beside her and patted her cheek. Okay, it was more like a slap than a pat, but she was too wasted to feel much. “Talk to me. Tell me about Princess Melani’s dowry.”

  “Don’t know nuffin’,” she mumbled.

  “I don’t believe you. Pirates stole the dowry. There must’ve been talk in the—um—pirating industry. Someone boasting that they were responsible.”

  “It wasn’t Dickie.”

  “Who then?”

  “I need more gin. I can’t talk when I’m thirsty.”

  Producing the full bottle I’d had the foresight to bring, I waved it in front of her. “Give me the information and I’ll give you the gin.”

  Queenie looked at me through narrowed eyes. “You promise?”

  “If the information’s good.”

  “Give me a taste to wet me whistle.”

  “Not until you give me the information.”

  She sighed heavily. “Very well, then. I ’eard it was Black Fergus wot stole the dowry and that light star thing. ’E was an evil sod, if ever there was one.” She held out her hand for the gin.

  “Not so fast. Assuming Black Fergus stole the dowry, what do you think he did with it?”

  “Spent it, I s’pose.” She looked at me like I was a few mers short of a pod.

  “You sure about that?” I held the gin just out of her reach. “You sure he didn’t hide it?”

  “Lot of good that’d be. Pirates only bury treasure in stories. In real life they sp
end it. Now gimme my gin.”

  She swiped at it, but I held it out of her reach. “There’s a condition.”

  “Wot, another one?”

  “Don’t steal any more gin from my cottage.”

  “I never stole no gin.” She blinked, confused, and waved the empty bottle she still clutched in her hand. “This was a gift.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” I pulled her garter from my pocket and tossed it to her. “I found this in my cottage.”

  She looked even more confused. “I’ve never been to your cottage, but thanks for returning me garter. I wondered where I’d lost it.” She hoisted her skirts and pulled it up her plump leg.

  If she hadn’t taken the gin, who had?

  When I posed the question, she started to say something that sounded like a name, stopped and muttered, “I s’pose I must’ve taken it.”

  “Did you or didn’t you?”

  She shrugged and burped. “Does it matter? You know I was a pirate’s woman. Would it surprise you if I stole some gin?”

  “What surprises me is that you denied taking it then suddenly changed your story. Are you protecting someone?”

  “’Course not, ducks. It’s just me memory’s not wot it used to be.”

  She was lying, but not necessarily about the gin. Like all the best liars, she was mingling fact and fiction so that it was impossible to tell which was which. I made a mental note to do an internet search for Black Fergus.

  As I started back to Oak’s place, intent on my new line of research, Queenie called, “Hey, what about my gin?”

  “Oh right.” I handed it over.

  She hugged the bottle to her impressive chest, but passed out again before she could unscrew the cap. I left her snoring and jogged back to Oak’s place. He was in his office working on some secret project, which suited me just fine. The less I saw of him, the less chance he’d have to fire me again.

  I searched for Black Fergus, who merited his own page on Wikipedia. There was lots of information about dastardly deeds and derring-do, but no mention of buried treasure. In fact Black Fergus had died penniless in an Argentine hospital in 1910. Not very useful information, but I kept reading. Just as well, because the description of his ship, or more specifically, his flag, was very interesting indeed. Unlike other pirates, Black Fergus didn’t fly the skull and crossbones. Instead, his flag featured a black dagger dripping blood onto a white background.