Island of Secrets

by Janni Nell

  After one last kiss on her mate’s mouth, Coral slipped back into the water beckoning us to follow. As I locked my arms around her waist, the currents beneath us stirred. Something brushed against my leg as it swam past. Please not a shark. The surface of the water rippled then fountained as a head emerged. One-Shell.

  Coral tensed at the sight of him and squeaked anxiously.

  One-Shell clicked back. His face was flushed with anger.

  I unlocked my arms from Coral’s waist and swam away. It’s best not to get involved in domestics.

  Queenie joined me on the ledge, where we sat while Coral and One-Shell argued. Queenie whispered a translation.

  Coral glared at One-Shell. “Did you follow us?”

  He answered with a question. “Why have you brought these humans here? This is a sacred place.”

  “Humans aren’t forbidden.” Coral’s tone was soothing. She pointed at me. “That human returned your father’s body to us. If not for her, he wouldn’t be here lying in state. She deserves our thanks.”

  One-Shell scowled. “She will betray us.”

  “No, my dear, she will help us.”

  “How?” One-Shell demanded. “Will she seek vengeance with us? Will she swim to war against the Tikini-kai? Look at her puny arms. She could not swim around this island, let alone to the land of our enemies.”

  “She will stop the war,’ said Coral gently.

  One-Shell smacked the water with his tail, showering us with drops. “I don’t want the war stopped. I will have vengeance for my father’s death.”

  “Vengeance won’t bring him back,” said Coral. “He wouldn’t want you to risk your life.”

  “You dishonor him,” said One-Shell, his voice filled with disgust. “The Tikini-kai will get what they deserve.”

  One-Shell turned to us and gave several shrill whistles. Queenie said, “He’s telling us to get out of here and don’t come back.”

  One-Shell threatened vengeance one last time and left the cave.

  Revenge is a dish best served cold. It’s an old saying, but very true. A hothead like One-Shell would get himself killed before he got within spitting distance of avenging his father’s death. Coral was right to be worried.

  Queenie slipped back into the water, making soft comforting whistles as she swam toward Coral. The mermaid started to sob. Queenie brought her to the ledge and we spent some time convincing her everything would be okay. I was shivering by the time she pulled it together and swam me out of the cave. After making sure we got back to the beach safely, she begged me once again to save her son then she headed out to sea.

  It was a relief to strip off my wet underwear and put on the dry clothes I’d left on the beach. The tropical night slowly warmed my skin, but my heart remained cold. One-Shell had the mark of death on him. He reminded me of that character, Dead Meat, in the movie Hot Shots. The guy who has everything to live for but is destined to end up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  “So,” I said to Queenie, “are you going to help me save One-Shell?”

  She kicked at the sand. “You really want to ’elp Coral, don’t you? This isn’t just about your job and your success.”

  “Are you kidding? Trust me, there are easier cases. If you won’t help, I might as well go home. Because without your help, I’m pretty sure we’re all fucked.”

  In the glow of my flashlight, Queenie’s eyes were full of secrets. “I s’pose I might ’ave something to tell you.” Her eyes narrowed, assessing me. “Give me your word, you’ll play me fair.”

  “I swear.”

  “You ’ave to swear on something. Something you hold dear.”

  What should I swear on? My professional standing? Nope, that wasn’t worth much at the moment. Casper’s life? Not possible, since he was already dead. Little Allegra? She meant the world to me, but Lily would kill me if I swore on her daughter’s life.

  Then I had it. “I swear on my father’s life.” Queenie searched my eyes. “Yeah, I reckon you’ll keep that vow. So I’ll tell you true. Dick stole the treasure. ’Course we didn’t know ’e was stealing a dowry or that our plundering would start a war. How could Dick know the big diamond he ripped off that goblin’s neck was a symbol of kingship? We didn’t even know they was goblins. Oh, we knew they was strange looking, but all the natives looked strange to us.”

  “What did Dick do with the treasure?” Queenie hiccupped and started to cough. I pounded her back.

  “Leave off,” she spluttered, elbowing me away.

  I gave her room until the coughing fit passed. “You okay?” I asked as she spat phlegm.

  “Well, I ain’t going to die, that’s for sure.”

  I smiled at her grim humor then guided her back to the purpose of our conversation. “What did Dick do with the things he stole?”

  “He put the big diamond in the box with the dowry.”

  “And?”

  “Well, it’s like this, you see. He buried the treasure, expecting to return later and dig it up. But then ’e got the fever.” She gave a sniffle as though the pain of his death was still fresh. I dug in my pocket for a tissue and handed it to her. She blew her nose loudly.

  “Where did he bury it?”

  “I don’t know.” She started to cry. “He didn’t trust me. After all I’d given up for ’im. Leaving London and coming ’ere. Performing in a third-rate pub in Papeete until he asked me to give that up too. I went to the ends of the earth with Dick and in the end he didn’t trust me. It was a cruel blow.”

  “Men,” I snorted, putting my arm around her.

  “I loved ’im so.” She dashed the tears off her cheeks. “I wish I could find the treasure and give it back to the Tikini-kai. I want to move on and see me man again. Even if he was a bastard to me at the end, I forgive ’im. I’ve spent too long without Dick.”

  I knew just how she felt. I’d been a long time without dick myself.

  Queenie sighed. “Since I’ve started, I might as well tell you everything. Dick liked playing games and, my word, he played a great one with me. I’ve kept this bottled up for too long. I’ll be glad to tell the story at last. It begins when Dick got the fever. He knew he was dying and he called us to ’is bedside—me and ’is first mate, Bertie the Butcher.”

  “Tough guy, huh?”

  “Nah, Bertie was a butcher by trade. Gentlest guy you’d ever meet. Dick and ’im were like brothers. They ran away to sea together. Anyways, Dick wanted to leave us both something to remember ’im by. He could’ve easily split the treasure between us, but it had always pained ’im that Bertie and me didn’t get along. Dick had a plan to change that. He had already buried the treasure and he wanted us to share it. He’d drawn a map showing the exact location, but instead of giving it to us in one piece, he cut it down the middle. He give ’alf to me and ’alf to Bertie. He ’ad this mad idea that we’d become best mates if we ’ad to work together to find the treasure. But Bertie and me couldn’t put aside our differences. Not even for a treasure. You see, we was both in love with Dick. Speaking for meself, I felt sorry for Bertie. It’s not easy to lose the love of your life to another, but Bertie lost to an entire sex. Even if I’d turned up me toes, Dick would never have taken Bertie as a lover. Not even if he put on a gown and rouge. So Bertie and me, we never did get together. Not even for a treasure. It’s still out there somewhere.”

  “Is Bertie on Lu’arna?”

  “Seems like he should be, but he ain’t,” she murmured “If I’m stuck ’ere until the treasure is returned to the Tikini-kai, why isn’t Bertie stuck ’ere too?”

  “I think I can explain that. Before his death, Bertie must’ve passed his half of the map to someone else. It would then become their responsibility to find and return the treasure.”

  “Clever old Bertie. Wish I’d thought of that.”<
br />
  I was glad she hadn’t. “Do you still have your half of the map?”

  “Much good it does me, since I can’t read it.” She dug into her cleavage and pulled out a rolled-up parchment.

  The map showed half of Lu’arna Island. There were no place names and only a few words below the map. The end of each line had been ripped off and there were words missing. I read aloud for Queenie’s benefit.

  “North is South…X marks the spot…”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know what it says. I can read English, and music for that matter, but not maps, know what I mean?”

  I’m one of those annoying women who can read maps, but I couldn’t have deciphered this one unless I’d seen Lu’arna from above. Putting that together with the words North is South, I turned the map upside down. Too easy.

  “Oh very clever, ducks. Now find the X.”

  There was no X on the map.

  “Looks like we need the other half.”

  She snorted. “Nothing like stating the bleeding obvious.”

  “Do you mind if I keep this?” I asked, rolling up the parchment.

  “Ain’t no use to me, ducks. Not without the other ’alf. Do you really think you can find it?”

  If I didn’t, this case would end up in my unsolved file. “What was Bertie’s full name?” I asked, thinking of Noreen’s interest in genealogy. The chance of Bertie having any direct descendants was remote, since he’d been gay, but he must have passed his half of the map onto someone. Otherwise he’d be stuck here like Queenie. I crossed my fingers that Bertie’s name was unusual enough to stand out in a crowd, and what do you know, I got lucky.

  Albert Jonathan Forresttia.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Was it a coincidence that Bertie’s surname was almost the same as Oak’s? Could Oak be the descendant with the missing half of the map? Was he really interested in stopping the war? Or did he want the treasure for himself? Did that even make sense when Oak was richer than Croesus?

  Those questions were uppermost in my mind when I spoke to him the following morning. For once he wasn’t at his computer. I found him on the terrace with a pot of coffee, which I gratefully shared.

  He leaned forward eagerly as I told him what I’d learned about the buried treasure and the map that had been cut in half. Then I asked bluntly, “Do you have the other half?”

  “Why would I?” Was Oak playing dumb, or was he just having an absentminded computer nerd moment?

  Patiently, I explained, “Your name is Forrest. The original owner of the missing half of the map was Albert Forresttia. Notice any similarities?”

  Oak’s expression cleared. “Hey, I see what you’re getting at. Interesting coincidence. What are the chances?”

  “Just what I thought. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  He blinked rapidly behind his red-framed glasses. “There’s no hidden agenda, if that’s what you mean. I hired you because I want the war stopped. So my island can be the paradise it was meant to be. I’m not related to Albert Forrest—”

  “Forresttia.”

  “Whatever. The reason I know I’m not related to him is because Noreen did my family tree. The similarity of our names is just a coincidence. It has as much significance as the fact that your name and his have the same first and last initials.”

  “Right. Well in that case, do you mind if Noreen helps me trace Forresttia’s descendants?”

  “Sure, so long as she’s cool with it.”

  I found her enjoying a swim in the staff pool. Her eyes lit up when I explained the research I wanted her to do. She actually rubbed her hands together at the prospect of indulging her passion and promised to begin work as soon as she was dried and dressed.

  By lunchtime she had discover that Albert Jonathan Forresttia had a total of twenty-five nieces and nephews. I muttered a curse to large Victorian families, but Noreen was obviously having a ball tracing his extensive family tree.

  She was forced to temporarily abandon the search while she attended to her housekeeping duties, but by late afternoon she’d returned to Bertie and his descendants. When I stopped by to see how she was going, she showed me the results of her research, which were disappointing. Among Bertie’s descendants, I’d hoped to see either an Oak Forrest, a Vincent or Therese Girad, a Quinn Callum or even a Polly Fisher. But none of these names featured on Noreen’s list so far.

  For a while I peered at the screen over her shoulder. She might be in her element, but I was bored. Just give me the information, the research I could do without. I stood up and stretched, jogged on the spot, asked Noreen if she wanted a snack.

  “Sultanas would be nice.”

  I trotted off the kitchen where Polly had a pantry filled with all kinds of goodies. After grabbing a pack of sultanas and another of salted peanuts for me, I returned to Noreen’s office.

  She offered me her little box of sultanas and I took one.

  “Want some peanuts?” I asked, offering my own pack.

  “Can’t,” she said. “I’m allergic.”

  I was munching away when my phone rang. Sophie. Why was she calling me? Curious, I picked up immediately.

  “We need to talk,” Sophie said.

  “We do?” I moved away so I wouldn’t disturb Noreen.

  Sophie said firmly, “I think so.”

  “Okay, talk.”

  “Non, this must be tête-à-tête.”

  “Is this about the mers?” I asked hopefully, knowing in my gut that it wasn’t.

  Behind me I heard Noreen say, “Now this is interesting.”

  Sophie went on, “We must speak about a personal matter.” Probably she wanted to warn me away from Casper. As far as I was concerned, that could wait. Until next century.

  “I’ll call you next time I’m in Papeete.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I don’t know. I’m pretty involved in the case right now.”

  She sighed softly. “You would do me the big favor if you would meet with me soon.”

  “Sure, sure, soon,” I said. “I’ll call you.” I hung up and moved to the computer screen to see what Noreen had found so interesting. A knock on the open door interrupted us.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Therese to Noreen. “I didn’t realize you had someone with you. I can come back later.”

  “No, no, come in,” said Noreen. “Allegra and I can finish our discussion later.” She closed down the website and said to me, “I’ll pop down to your cottage after dinner.”

  Frustrated that my curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied for a few hours, I strode back to my cottage. Apparently Noreen thought her information was interesting rather than urgent. I hoped she was right.

  I had promised to have dinner with the aunts, but that wasn’t for a couple of hours. I showered and washed my hair and put on clean clothes. Then I went onto the balcony to watch the stars come out. I was heading up to the terrace for dinner when I heard the scream.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It came from the big house.

  As I ran in that direction, I heard shouting and another scream. The sounds came from the side of the building that housed the kitchen and staff dining room. Putting on a burst of speed, I shoved open the door, ran down a short hall and into the chaos of an interrupted meal.

  Chairs had been knocked over. A bowl of Thai salad had fallen, spilling bean sprouts, chillies and peanuts onto the floor. Noreen lay in the middle of it. Her face and lips were badly swollen.

  Polly shrieked, “She’s having some kind of fit. What should do we do? Quinn? You’ll have to take her to the hospital.”

  “It’s not a fit,” said Quinn, who was on his knees beside Noreen. “Looks more like an allergic reaction.”

  “But that’s im
possible,” said Polly. “I knew she was allergic. I prepared her salad without peanuts. Unless—” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no, she must’ve got the wrong bowl.”

  Vincent said helpfully, “My salad did not have peanuts.”

  “The bowls must’ve got mixed up,” Polly wailed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

  On the floor, Quinn searched through Noreen’s pockets. “Has anyone seen her EpiPen? She needs a shot of epinephrine.”

  “She always carried it with her,” said Therese.

  “Well, it’s not here now,” snapped Quinn.

  Polly squeaked, “She’s stopped breathing.”

  Quinn pulled a ballpoint pen from his pocket and yanked off the cap. He continued to dismantle the pen until only the outer tube remained. “Get your sharpest knife from the kitchen,” he barked at Polly.

  “What are you going to do?” she wailed. “Cut her? You can’t, you’re not a doctor.”

  “If I don’t help her to breathe,” said Quinn, “she’ll die. Hurry.”

  “No,” said Polly, starting to shake. “I won’t do it.”

  “I’ll get the knife,” I said, dashing to the kitchen. All the chef’s knives were razor sharp, but I figured a small one would be best for what Quinn had in mind. As well as the knife, I grabbed a bottle of brandy.

  Back in the dining room, Quinn tipped the alcohol over the knife and swabbed some more on Noreen’s neck. He got to work so quickly and confidently I knew he’d done this before. Or maybe, like me, he’d watched that episode of M*A*S*H where Hawkeye talked Father Mulcahy through performing a tracheotomy. Don’t try that at home, kids.

  A few deft moves later, Quinn was inserting the tube of the pen into Noreen’s neck, when Oak appeared. He’d been in his office, so absorbed in what he’d been doing he hadn’t even heard her scream. I quickly explained what had happened. Oak swore.