Murder Caribbean-Style (High Seas Mystery Series Book 1)

by Diane Rapp

  “I’m surprised you’ve been able to collect so many examples.” Kayla wandered from exhibit to exhibit, enchanted with the beautiful but lethal creatures.

  “It may become more difficult to obtain new specimens. An accident in Barbados terminated my most reliable source.” Franklin shook his head sadly.

  “What kind of accident?” Kayla asked, thinking of the news headline she’d seen.

  “A janitor died when exposed to frog toxin. Would you care to read the news clipping?” Riegert asked.

  “Yes.” Kayla followed Riegert back inside. He opened the drawer of an antique desk and handed her a newspaper. Kayla read aloud:

  “The recent death of Hubert Brown, a member of the Port Authority’s custodial staff, caused an upheaval in the Customs Office. Officials announced the death was caused by a Poison Dart Frog, which escaped from a shipment meant for the National Aquarium in Baltimore.

  “The government secretly allowed shipments of hazardous biologic specimens to pass through the Port Authority on a regular basis. Public uproar about the shipments caused a Member of Parliament to resign and customs officials to wage protest strikes. Shipments of this type have been halted pending further investigation.

  “May I keep this article?” Kayla asked.

  “Certainly, and call upon me if I can be of further assistance,” Riegert said with a brisk nod.

  “Has anyone else on the ship visited your collection?” Kayla asked.

  Before he could answer, the doorbell chimed and Riegert excused himself. Kayla heard a familiar voice at the door, Steven Young. He and Riegert spoke in hushed tones as Kayla approached.

  “Steven!” Kayla said.

  Eyes widening with surprise, Steven grinned and walked toward her with his arms extended.

  “Kayla! What luck! I looked for you on the Aurora and by sheer providence you appear.” He hugged her and turned back to Riegert. “Kayla and I both think the same way, I see. If someone dies from a Poison Dart Frog, seek out the nearest expert.”

  Riegert’s eyes narrowed. “Someone died?” He frowned and glanced at Elena.

  “An officer from our crew died yesterday in Dominica. We’d like to learn as much as we can about the nature of the death,” Kayla explained.

  Riegert paced. “The police will suspect collectors of conspiracy in the death. This is ominous after the poisoning in Barbados.” He contemplated Steven’s face. “Are the two deaths connected?”

  “It’s a suspicious coincidence.” Steven answered.

  Franklin stepped to the mahogany phone table and thumbed through an address book. “A friend of mine works in security at the Port Authority in Barbados. Let me write down his name and number.” Franklin scribbled a note and handed it to Steven.

  “Thanks. We’ll let you know if we find out anything,” Steven said. Kayla and Elena followed Steven through the door. “May I offer you both a ride?” Steven gestured at his sports car.

  Elena shook her head. “I’m on duty soon, so I’ll take the taxi. Why don’t you ride with Steven? Why spend money on a taxi when you have another vehicle available?”

  Kayla started to object until she noticed Steven’s grin. Elena crossed the drawbridge accompanied by Riegert, who rushed to open the taxi door.

  Steven said, “You trust me to show you the sights, don’t you? I promise to get you back before sailing.” He opened the door of the sports car and she climbed into the bucket seat.

  “I think romance is blossoming,” Kayla said as they drove through the foothills toward the rain forest.

  “Romance?”

  Kayla nodded. “You saw how Elena and Riegert looked at each other.”

  “I was too busy looking at you.” Steven grinned.

  She frowned. His charm might distract other girls but she’d been warned. “How do you manage to be on Guadeloupe?” Kayla asked. “I thought you left the Aurora on Sint Maarten.”

  Steven pulled out a well-worn ship schedule and handed it to Kayla.

  “After leaving Tuesday, I sailed with the Andromeda to St. Thomas. On Wednesday I flew to Grenada and sailed with the Orion, which docked here in Guadeloupe this morning. Tonight I transfer back to the Aurora to perform.”

  Kayla handed the schedule back to him with a curt nod. “Hopping from ship to ship, I guess you’ve got a girlfriend on each vessel.”

  Steven arched a dark eyebrow. “Do I detect jealousy? Who’s been telling stories about me?”

  She blushed. “I don’t have a claim on your affections. After all we’ve only shared one lunch and a pleasant afternoon together.” He cocked his head and she continued, “Okay. I heard you were Vickie Sheppard’s boyfriend.”

  Steven rolled his eyes. “The gossip hotline must be sizzling. Vickie and I are chums, but we’re not involved romantically. Believe me, I’m not a playboy juggling relationships. I prefer one woman at a time and you’re the woman I’m interested in seeing right now.”

  Kayla leaned back and crossed her arms. “I’ve heard that one before.”

  Steven nodded. “Patrick hurt you badly, didn’t he?”

  Kayla’s eyes misted. “It’s hard to talk about him now. I was prepared to hate him before but now he’s dead…”

  “Dead or alive, Patrick was a wanker who involved himself in every dodgy scheme that could earn him more dosh. Don’t waste sympathy on the likes of him!”

  The hostility in Steven’s voice sounded too intense. Kayla stared out the window. The car raced along a black ribbon of pavement that snaked through a canopy of hundred-foot trees. Dense forest blocked the sun but pinpricks of light pierced the shadows like a strobe that flickered across a dark green floor.

  As the car climbed a steep grade, Kayla was unable to concentrate on the scenery and asked, “Why are you so angry? Did Patrick do something to someone you cared about?”

  The muscle in Steven’s jaw bulged. “Let’s say I don’t appreciate scum! I know! We shouldn’t speak ill of the dead…”

  Kayla stiffened. “Someone murdered the man! The police will think you had a motive.”

  Pulling off the road, Steven turned off the engine. Kayla caught her breath when she saw the car was perched on a ledge inches from a sheer drop.

  Steven huffed. “I don’t make a habit of killing people who make my skin crawl! Besides, I didn’t have a chance to kill Patrick; I was on the Orion setting up my equipment at the time he died.”

  Kayla chewed on her thumbnail. “Patrick’s knife was in your possession during Natalia’s show, remember?”

  He shrugged. “So? Riegert says the poison works quickly. Patrick used the knife’s toothpick several times after I handled it.”

  “He had two knives. What if Patrick used the untainted knife all day and then used the knife you handled just before he died?”

  Angry, he brushed at a dangling curl of chestnut hair, his eyes narrowing. “Got me convicted, haven’t you?”

  She swallowed a curt reply. “Personally I don’t believe you killed him. Look at the situation objectively. You had the opportunity to plant the poisoned toothpick in his knife, so stop sounding like you had a motive to kill him.”

  He climbed out of the car and Kayla followed. They stood on the ledge overlooking a lush valley. Steven rubbed the back of his neck and rotated his head. Kayla gazed in silence at wispy plumes of steam rising from the tallest of the distant peaks, thinking that the volcano and Steven both looked ready to blow.

  Steven stepped back, leaned against the car, and folded muscular arms over his chest. “You’re right! There were two knives. The police found one knife near the body, so the second knife’s gone missing. They didn’t find it in his cabin, so where do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the killer took it,” Kayla answered.

  His deep blue eyes searched her face and he smiled. “I see a flaw in your scenario. The killer needed to be Johnny-on-the-spot to retrieve the second knife.”

  Kayla nodded. “So that lets you out!” She released the
hair she’d coiled around her finger.

  Steven continued, “There’s another possibility. Two other people handled Patrick’s knife during the show.”

  “Yes. Natalia and I both touched it.” She frowned. “Of the two, I’m the most plausible suspect. I was on the scene and I hated Patrick. It’s important that I find out who committed this crime to clear myself.”

  Kayla started to coil hair from her ponytail again but Steven caught her hand. “Maybe I can help,” he said.

  “After I practically accused you of killing Patrick?”

  He waved away the comment. “In murder cases, everyone’s a suspect until absolutely ruled out.”

  Kayla nodded. “If you’re serious, I’d appreciate your help. Could you check on the people who knew about the mutiny on other ships? See if anyone else had a motive.”

  “The mutiny?” he asked.

  “Don’t try to fool me!” She held up her hands and shook her head. “I know you were involved in the plan, helping set up video equipment for Vickie Sheppard.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, I’ll do a bit of snooping on my own. Let’s get going.” He climbed back into the car.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, buckling her seat belt.

  He revved the engine and said, “To Pigeon Island, about an hour’s drive through the National Park so you can get information to update your book. This is a working vacation, right?”

  Kayla shifted in the bucket seat. “Good thinking. I let Patrick’s death absorb my attention and forgot my livelihood. Thanks for keeping me on track.”

  “So, what did Franklin Riegert tell you?” Steven asked.

  “He gave us a tour of his frog collection. Did you know frog toxin weakens when a frog stays in captivity?” Kayla asked.

  Steven’s eyebrows twitched. “So the killer needed a fresh specimen. The accident in Barbados is obviously connected with Patrick’s death. I’ll talk with Riegert’s friend at the Port Authority straight away.”

  “Good.” Relaxing, Kayla enjoyed the scenery.

  They drove through a primeval world. Thick tree trunks twisted like demonic sculptures while branches stretched toward life-giving light above a quivering green rooftop. Ferns and philodendrons the size of trees carpeted the shadowy forest floor. When the road widened into a parking lot, Steven stopped. “You need to see this place and we’ve got extra time.”

  They followed a path hacked through the jungle. The trail, broken by gnarled roots that refused to remain confined, meandered to the base of a charming waterfall that dropped only twenty-five feet into an emerald pool. Mossy boulders were visible through a crystalline curtain of shimmering water. Wild orchids attached to living trees stretched waxy leaves and lacy flowers to capture the billowing cloud of cool mist. The spray felt refreshing against Kayla’s skin as she carefully navigated over slippery rocks at the water’s edge into a shallow cavity behind the falls.

  Steven led her to a cave behind the falls, hollowed out by years of erosion, and they stood on a slippery shelf holding hands. Droplets clung to Kayla’s eyelashes and fingers. She giggled and flicked her hands at Steven. He grabbed her shoulders and kissed her. His hot hands warmed her skin and the rumble of the water masked the thud of her heart. She responded by taking the kiss deeper, leaning against his hard body. An uncontrollable hunger surged through her and she shivered.

  Gently pushing her away, Steven checked his watch. “We’d better go,” he shouted over the noise of the waterfall. “We’ll be late.” He clambered across the rocks leading from the cave.

  Tingling with the pleasure of his kiss, she followed him, unsure of her footing and the sensations surging through her body. She felt grateful for the walk back to the car.

  She asked, “Late for what?”

  “I have a friend who runs a dive boat.” Steven hopped into the car and Kayla joined him.

  “We’re going diving?”

  Steven nodded. “Jacques Cousteau established an underwater preserve off Pigeon Island. Do you have a suit, or do you plan to swim in the buff?” He arched an eyebrow and grinned.

  “No self-respecting guidebook author ventures out without a bikini under her clothes.” She grinned. “So, where’s the boat?”

  “Just down the road. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  As they emerged from the shadows, a bright vista of aqua-blue water sparkled in the midday sun. Steven geared down to take the steep hairpin turns at a breakneck pace, descending to the shoreline. He headed south on the coastal highway a short distance, then swerved into a beach parking lot. Locking the car, Steven escorted Kayla to the pier where a boat filled with dive tanks bobbed on the water.

  Steven waved at a rotund man dressed in a red and white T-shirt and tight trunks that did little to hide his potbelly. “That’s Phillip. I’ll make sure he’s got room for us.” Steven hopped onto the boat and spoke with Phillip while a group of French divers checked their equipment. Steven motioned for Kayla to join him.

  “Phillip this is Kayla,” Steven said.

  Phillip shook her hand. “Enchanted, mademoiselle, we have equipment you can use. Do you have a ‘C’ card?”

  “Sure,” she said, opening her wallet. She handed Phillip the diver’s certification card. He filled out paperwork and she signed the standard release form.

  During the ride to Pigeon Island Kayla undressed, revealing a blue bikini. She attached her buoyancy compensator vest and regulator hoses to a dive tank, experiencing a familiar queasy sensation—first dive jitters. Turning on the valves, she checked the gauges and sucked air through the regulator. The airflow seemed fine.

  Waving her hands to reduce tension, she glanced at Steven. He appeared cool, relaxed, and confident. She admired his tanned chest under curly brown chest hair, and the way his muscles rippled as his elegant fingers manipulated tank valves. His angular shoulders tapered down a lean body to a flat belly and tight buttocks.

  Her body quivered just looking at him.

  The debonair image burst when he waddled to the back of the boat to join her wearing floppy swim fins. She relaxed. Even James Bond couldn’t look suave walking duck-footed along a slippery deck.

  The French divers rolled backward into the water and sank out of sight. Kayla held her tank with one hand and her mask with the other and stepped off the back of the boat platform. Bubbles pounded her ears as she bobbed back to the surface with her vest fully inflated.

  She cleared her mask and waited for Steven. They deflated their vests and descended slowly together, squeezing noses every few feet to relieve ear pressure. The French group took off, following a dive master outfitted in bright orange skins.

  Kayla and Steven waited for Phillip.

  Floating at forty feet, Kayla sucked air, trying to keep her breathing slow and measured as she drifted in the gentle current. A sensation of tranquility spread through her chest as she controlled buoyancy by shooting short bursts of air into her BC vest. This is great! She thought.

  Phillip approached Kayla and peered into her mask. He formed an “okay” signal, his forefinger and thumb in a circle. Kayla returned the same hand sign. Phillip repeated the process with Steven. He pointed to his watch, flashed all ten fingers twice, and motioned a circle. Kayla understood. They would swim in one direction for twenty minutes, and then swim back.

  Kicking with long even strokes Kayla’s fins propelled her body through the water with minimum effort. The warm water felt silky against bare skin. Floating weightless in a mysterious realm filled with weird-shaped plants and animals, Kayla imagined diving was like visiting outer space. Skimming a few inches over a clump of coral, she followed a blue and gold queen angel fish and delighted in the sensation of weightlessness.

  Phillip stopped at an outcropping of sea grass and motioned them to come close. He cupped his hands under a delicate seahorse and brought it close. Tiny wings fluttered and the two-inch creature curled its tail around Phillip’s finger. Kayla admired the equine profile until Phillip gently transferre
d the seahorse to a tendril of grass.

  A school of florescent juveniles created a corona of color over a clump of brain coral, while a silvery school of yellow jacks flowed past in unison parting down the middle to avoid collision. Kayla felt vibrations from their flicking tails as they passed.

  Tap, tap, tap. Phillip rapped a signal on his air tank. He pointed at his eyes, pointed down, and made a hand motion that resembled jaws opening and closing. Kayla peered into the coral. A moray eel floated inside a crevice, its mouth opening and closing as it swayed with the current. Suspended at a safe distance above the eel, she admired the delicate stripes of orange against the creature’s dark green skin.

  Suddenly something grabbed her ankle. Screaming, she twisted her torso and kicked, hitting Steven in the chest. Her regulator popped out of her mouth and her mask filled with water. Salt stung her eyes, long hair wrapped around her face like seaweed, and bubbles pounded past her ears. The free-flowing regulator floated out of reach. Terrified, she swam toward the surface. Steven appeared beside her and gripped her right shoulder to pull her back down.

  Steven killed Patrick and now he’s coming after me, she thought. Struggling against his vice-like grip, Kayla kicked his thigh. Desperately needing to breathe, needing to get away, she struggled toward the surface again.

  Steven caught up, grabbed her arm, and shoved his own regulator into her mouth. She gulped. A mixture of air and sea water burned her throat. Choking, she remembered to blow out, clearing the regulator. She inhaled two deep drags of air before Steven pulled the mouthpiece away.

  He reached across her body and reeled in Kayla’s air hose. She grabbed the regulator and clamped down on the rubber with her teeth. This time she remembered to blow before inhaling. A welcome hissing sound accompanied the flow of air as bubbles boiled past her ears with each breath. Steven retained a firm grip on her arm as she cleared her mask.

  Kayla heard an insistent tapping. Wide-eyed, Phillip’s bushy brows knit in a frown behind his facemask as he stared into her dripping faceplate. She blinked, her jaws clamped tight over the regulator. Phillip’s hand formed the okay sign and she returned a shaky response. He looked at her air gauge, frowned, and motioned a circle back toward the boat. She nodded and followed him. Forcing herself to remain calm, she inhaled slowly and kicked a steady rhythm. She remembered from diving lessons that a panicky diver consumed air fast. She felt guilty. The free-flowing regulator and her rapid breathing wasted half a tank in a matter of minutes, cutting their dive short.