by Diane Rapp
Steven wrapped his arms around Kayla. “I guess this solves one problem,” he murmured in her ear.
“What?” She rolled onto her side and stroked the downy hair covering his chest.
“You won’t need a separate room on the Andromeda. You’ll stay in my cabin. It was tiresome trying to convince a single officer to give you his room and share my cabin. I was hitting a block wall.”
“A brick wall, darling.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Brick?”
She outlined his eyebrow with the tip of her finger. “Speaking of brick walls, how do we find out the identity of the man in the white jacket?” Kayla asked.
“The negatives from both ships in Barbados were sent to our lab for printing. Still, it might be the wrong man. White jackets are hardly unique.”
Kayla pushed her finger into his chest. “You were wearing a white jacket today, which gave me a powerful fright.”
He grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Sorry, darling.”
She climbed out of bed and slipped into a silk robe. “The pictures could be helpful if we spot one of our suspects. Did you get any information about Chadwick’s or Ludlow’s movements?”
Steven leaned on his elbow and watched as she brushed her silky hair. “It’s early days just yet, and we can talk to people on the Andromeda.”
She sprayed a mist of perfume over her hair. “Tomorrow will tell.”
“Not as much as tonight,” he said beckoning her. “Come back to bed.”
Kayla crawled across the bed like a lioness stalking her prey. Steven grabbed her, and trapped her in his arms.
He murmured, “You’ve no idea how happy you’ve made me.”
“I may know, considering how happy you’ve made me,” she said, giving his lips a lingering kiss. “Too bad you wasted that other cottage.”
“Not wasted, invested. George will be altogether smug, playing Cupid at his age.”
Kayla laughed. “I can’t see George in a loincloth, shooting arrows at would-be lovers.”
Steven ran his fingers through her hair. “He’s a bit too cumbersome for a loincloth, eh? Well, that image will sustain me in good humor when I dress him down.”
Kayla frowned. “You can’t seriously be angry with him, not now!”
“No. I guess not.” Steven pushed back her hair and nibbled her earlobe. “Perhaps we should set him up in a new matchmaking business. He’s pretty good, isn’t he?”
He continued nibbling down her arched neck. “Mmm, I like that. So what do we do tomorrow?” she asked.
He nudged the silk robe aside and kept nibbling her bare shoulder. “We’ll eat a late breakfast, join the ship, do some investigating, and call it an early evening in our cabin.”
“Don’t you have to perform your magic show?” She giggled.
He grinned. “It may be the fastest show I’ve ever done. The magician will disappear in a puff of smoke and reappear in a solo cabin performance.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“I hope we can get somewhere with the investigation. I feel like we’re running a race but getting nowhere.”
“Between the two of us we’ll ferret out the real killer but stay close to me.” He looked earnest with eyebrows scrunched together and mouth curved into a worried frown. “I don’t want anyone pushing you into a stream of traffic. I love you too much to lose you.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck.
That night Kayla’s mental newsreel was short. She quickly reviewed the attack on Grenada, trying to remember who had worn the Bay Rum aftershave, and then her mind filled with pleasant images of Steven.
Chapter 9 ~ Monday — St. Kitts
The morning was bright and cheery with a cloudless view of Nevis Peak. Kayla emerged from the shower and joined Steven, who sat on the porch wearing a fluffy white robe, sipping tea.
“I ordered both tea and coffee, not knowing which you prefer.” He gestured at the breakfast tray full of rolls and steaming beverages.
“George is a wonder!” She bit into a gooey roll.
“Yes. No one rivals George when it comes to food, but he’s enjoying his role as Cupid a bit too much. He flashed a self-satisfied grin at me, and I nearly decked him on the spot.”
“He’s happy for us. I need to watch out for my waistline around here,” Kayla said as she wiped her mouth.
“Let me watch it for you.” Steven grinned.
She licked a bit of jam from the corner of his mouth and sat on his lap. “And I’ll watch yours at the same time.”
Steven kissed her eagerly until she pushed him away and moved to her own chair.
“If you had fun in mind, you should’ve awakened me earlier. Don’t we have a killer to catch?”
“We can be late.” He leaned forward and kissed her again.
“What kind of talk is that from an Interpol agent?” she chided.
He rolled his eyes and slouched back in his chair. “All right! But don’t be such a flirt if you don’t want to suffer the consequences!” He dabbed a napkin at the corner of his mouth. “Can I at least watch you dress?”
“Watch but no touching!” She ran into the bedroom, barely escaping his grasp.
Taking longer than necessary to dress, they emerged from the cottage and appeared respectable. Kayla wore white shorts and a purple batik top, while Steven wore tan shorts and a navy shirt with tan trim. Kayla climbed into the car, slipped on a pair of dark glasses and covered her head with a white baseball cap. She threaded her ponytail through the hole in the back of the hat.
“Why do you do that?” Steven asked, donning his own pair of sunglasses.
“Do what?”
“Americans all wear baseball caps. Is it some kind of national dress code?”
“Do we?” Kayla grinned. “We like baseball and the caps are comfortable. My baseball cap keeps the rain off. It’s practical.”
“Yeah, but it labels you as an American.”
“I suppose you prefer an umbrella to ward off the rain?”
“What rain?” Steven held out his hand. “It’s a beautiful day!”
“We’re headed for the rain forest, so it’s guaranteed to rain.” Kayla slouched into the seat and stretched her legs. “When it doesn’t rain, my cap keeps the sun off. You should try it.”
“I’ll stick with my brelly, thanks.” He pulled out an umbrella from the back seat. “It doubles as a sword.” He swung the umbrella in a mock sword thrust.
Kayla lowered her sunglasses to inspect the umbrella and smirked. As they drove away, she blew a kiss to George.
“This could be a very trying relationship,” Steven mumbled.
Pulling onto the main road, he gunned the engine to full speed and Kayla tilted her head to enjoy the wind against her hot skin. The drive into Basseterre, the capital city, was a picture postcard day with bright sunlight, a dazzling blue sky, and a balmy ocean breeze.
The car’s engine whined as they crested a hill to a breath-taking vista. Kayla reached for her camera. Rolling green pastures and fields of sugarcane spread across the lowlands, framed by the glittering sapphire blue ocean in the east and the west. Looking north the light green fields merged with the emerald green rain forest at the foot of a majestic volcano that thrust its peak into fleecy white clouds.
From this distance the sugarcane fields looked like yellow-green grass broken by an occasional crumbling windmill tower or deserted plantation ruin. As they drove closer, the sugarcane became tall densely packed stalks that resembled a cross between bamboo and corn. The highway wove through a tunnel of plants that blocked the view.
Emerging from the corridor of sugarcane, a pastoral scene tempted Kayla’s camera again. Sicilian donkeys, rangy goats, and sheep grazed between enormous cogwheels, turntables, and iron buckets scattered among the stone blocks of a crumbling plantation mill. Years of rain and wind eroded hand-chiseled blocks of sooty limestone into rounded lumps of moss-covered rock.
Approaching town, Steven and Kayla passed through Independence
Square where a Calypso band played to a jubilant crowd dancing in a carnival atmosphere.
“Is it a holiday?” Kayla asked.
“Any excuse for a holiday will do. I heard that a local band would be playing today just for fun,” he replied.
Although Basseterre was a French name, the town looked strictly British. All the incoming roads passed through the Circus, a miniature version of London’s Piccadilly Circus with a tall Victorian clock standing at its center. The four-sided clock tower rose in ornate tiers of green outlined in gold with a cross at the apex. The bottom tier acted as a gossip bench for taxi drivers waiting for customers.
Driving into the Circus, Kayla recognized Pelican Mall, a cheerful two-story building. The ground floor was constructed of dark native stone while the second story featured white wood siding, paned windows, and shutters. A new cruise ship dock stretched out on reclaimed land into the water on the ocean side of Pelican Mall.
“Isn’t that Jefferson Chadwick?” Kayla asked. She pointed at a small car surging through the traffic on the opposite side of the Circus.
“You’re right. I’d better follow him.” Steven stopped the car at the edge of the Circus roundabout. “Get out here and I’ll meet you back on the ship.”
“Not on your life! If you’re going after him, so am I!”
He started to object, but Kayla folded her arms and scowled. “You’re losing him! Get going!” she said.
“All right, but from here on out you follow my lead. I don’t want you in the line of fire!” he said.
“You think he’ll shoot at us?” Kayla crouched down in her seat.
“It’s an expression, but you never know in these situations.” Gunning the engine he darted into traffic, circled the clock tower and raced after Chadwick.
“I’d better call in for help. Can you reach my valise?” he asked as they reached the straightaway.
Kayla leaned into the back seat and found his cell phone.
“Thanks ever so much,” he said. Pushing a speed-dial button, he waited with the phone to his ear. “Captain Greene please . . . Well, this is important. Can you contact him by radio? Okay. When he calls tell him Steven Young is on the tail of our suspect. I’m in pursuit traveling on the main road north. I’ll call back with a precise location. Ta.” He hung up the phone in disgust. “Blast! He’s on a stakeout, so we can’t reach him. Wouldn’t you know at a time like this?”
“Where do you think Chadwick’s heading?” Kayla asked, beginning to wish she’d stayed behind as Steven pushed the car to its top speed. The tires squealed as he rounded a curve.
“I hope he’s meeting his new drug contact now Patrick’s gone. Chadwick’s not as clever as Patrick, so he might lead us to the supplier.”
Kayla clutched the handle above the passenger’s door. “Do you think drugs are involved with Patrick’s death?”
“We’ve strong suspicions but no proof.” The car tires squealed again and Kayla grimaced as the car swayed on the winding roads. She realized that they followed the route outlined in her book as they sped past the road to Bloody Point and the road to Romney Manor, the home of Caribelle Batik.
Their speed increased on the flat but Kayla cringed, anticipating the treacherous road north where black volcanic rocks stood like craggy statues against crashing waves. The forbidding coastline made settlement of the northern end of the island difficult, but it also made defense of the island feasible.
“Thank God! Chadwick’s turning toward Brimstone Hill Fortress rather than continuing along the coast,” Steven said. He slowed the car as they drove up the narrow winding road lined with cannons turned on end as balustrades. Steven grinned. “He can’t escape us on this road. There’s no other way out.”
Known as the Gibraltar of the West Indies, Brimstone Hill Fortress was a massive fortification built from black volcanic stone, covering over thirty-seven acres with the massive citadel of Fort George at its crown. The highest manmade structure on the island, Brimstone Hill lived up to its name perched high atop a grassy volcanic hill.
How long could a drug czar defend against attack if he were cornered in this spot? If Chadwick murdered his business partner, he’d kill again if they got in his way. Kayla shivered although the wind felt hot against her skin.
“You okay?” Steven asked.
She nodded. “I’ll feel better when Chadwick’s locked up in jail.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. He fooled us before. Maybe he’s on a sightseeing tour, following the itinerary in your book, no doubt.”
They parked their car on a grassy spot near the souvenir shop. They saw Chadwick walking up the ramp leading to the citadel and followed at a distance. Kayla groaned at the steep climb to the top.
“Pussy willow,” Steven chided. “This climb is easy.”
“Sure. Piece of cake,” Kayla said, tugging on the brim of her cap and trudging up the ramp with determination.
Spaced far apart to break the steep incline of the rough cobblestone ramp, the steps were hardly designed for human comfort. Climbing in the hot sun, they soon dripped with sweat.
When the rain shower started, Kayla cast a smug glance at Steven. “So where’s your brelly?” she asked as raindrops dripped down the bill of her cap without landing in her face.
“Very clever. I left it in the car.” He squinted to see the next step through speckles on his sunglasses. Giving up, he stuck the glasses in his pocket. “The English have better hats than baseball caps.”
“What, brown derbies?” Steven frowned and she said, “You’d look quite handsome in an Aussie-style cattleman’s hat. How about wearing a deer stalker hat like Sherlock Holmes?”
Steven shook his head.
Kayla grinned as they climbed in the cooling mist. “We’re almost there.” She pointed ahead.
“Careful. These steps are slippery, and we don’t want him to spot us,” Steven warned.
Kayla reached the top of the ramp and surveyed the open expanse. “We’re not exactly invisible.”
An open terrace flanked by a low parapet wall was empty except for black cannons pointing out to sea. At the center of the terrace a wooden bridge spanned an empty trough that might have been a moat if it were filled with water.
She whispered, “I don’t see him.”
“Perhaps he’s in the museum,” Steven said heading over the bridge and through the open portal. Two ramps branched off the portal, one winding down to the museum in the keep, and the other climbing to an upper gallery where cannons stood vigil along the highest parapet.
Inside the doorway Kayla gripped Steven’s arm and chewed her lower lip. “If we go charging down there, he’s sure to see us. The end of this ramp opens into a central courtyard.”
Steven’s eyes narrowed. “Take your book out and pretend you’re gathering information for your travel guide. Ask the clerk on duty some pertinent questions while I scope out what Chadwick’s doing.”
Kayla dug into her bag for her book. “Glad you have me along now, Sherlock?”
Steven scowled. “Don’t call me Sherlock! We have other detectives in English literature.”
“Name two,” she said inching her way down the ramp.
“Hercules Poirot and Miss Jane Marple,” he said.
“A Belgian and an old woman, so which one do you want to be?” Kayla laughed at his scowl.
He held his finger up to his lips. “Pipe down or he’ll hear you.”
Kayla turned the corner and nearly collided with Chadwick, who was leaving the museum carrying a heavy backpack.
Steven stopped. The entire courtyard was filled with workmen. Steven’s eyes flicked to the face of a black workman and whispered, “Jerry,” into Kayla’s ear. She stared at the tall black man and recognized Jeremy Greene, the distinguished man who helped her after the attack on Grenada.
Chadwick followed Kayla’s gaze.
“Stop, police!” shouted Jerry. He pulled a gun and held up a shiny badge. “There’s no avenue for escape.”
/> “Like hell!” Chadwick grabbed Kayla and swung her around, using her as a shield. Chadwick gripped her with his arm around her neck in a stranglehold. “Back off or I’ll break her neck!”
Steven held up empty hands and stepped into the courtyard. Jerry stood with his gun trained on Chadwick, who inched back up the ramp.
“Great timing, mate!” Jerry edged past Steven, hugging the wall next to the ramp.
“Spot on, Jerry.” Steven pulled his own weapon and followed. “I’ve been trying to ring you. Why didn’t your people tell me this was the case you’re working?”
“Brilliant idea. Some strange bloke calls into headquarters and they’re supposed to tell him where the stakeout is and who we plan to arrest?”
As Chadwick dragged Kayla up the ramp, Jerry jumped into the open doorway, holding his gun outstretched. A moment later Steven appeared in the opening and rolled to his right. At the top Chadwick yanked Kayla through the portal and crossed the bridge. When Steven and Jerry reached the portal, Chadwick slammed Kayla against the parapet wall opposite the bridge.
“Chadwick!” Steve shouted. “You can’t run. We’ve got men everywhere.”
Kayla prayed he was right.
Chadwick glanced over the parapet and jerked back, a wild expression in his eyes. A stray bullet zinged off the stone spattering pieces of rock.
“Bloody hell!” Chadwick shouted. “You dirty buggers. First you kill Patrick and now you’re here to kill me! I won’t let you! You hear?”
What did Chadwick mean? Visions of bad cop movies flickered through Kayla’s mind. She thought, Did the police murder Patrick?
Jerry jumped into the dry moat and edged along the shadows. He motioned Steven to go the other direction, and Kayla hoped Chadwick hadn’t seen them.
Dragging Kayla along the parapet, Chadwick leaned over to look down. Struggling to get free from the suffocating grip, Kayla flung her arm back and knocked her baseball cap off. Caught in a gust of wind, the cap flipped into Chadwick’s face. He batted the offending cap away and released his grip on Kayla. She whirled and smacked the side of Chadwick’s head with her bag.
