“I don’t know what you’re referring to.” His voice was firm and unwavering.
Olivia waited for more, but it was clear he had nothing else to say to her. She wondered if what he hadn’t said spoke volumes more than what he had. She held eye contact with him but then reluctantly turned and walked slowly back to her car. She climbed in and laid her camera on the passenger seat. Disappointed and unsure where to turn to next, she inserted the key in the ignition and fired up the engine. As she backed slowly out of the parking spot, the sunburned face of the white-haired man suddenly appeared in the rearview mirror. Gasping, she jammed on the brakes, jerking the vehicle to a halt, stirring up gravel and dust in the unpaved lot. Shifting back into park, Olivia nervously waited for him to walk around to the open driver’s side window.
Slamming a hand on the roof of her car, the intimidating man leaned in toward her. “Look, shit happens all the time.” A pale pudgy finger on his other hand wagged in her face. His breath was hot and sour.
Olivia pushed her back into the seat, trying to put as much distance as she could between them. She could hear a dog barking like before, but louder.
Leaning in closer, he continued. “People do stupid things out on the water. People think they know how to handle a boat, but they really don’t. They go out farther than they should or find themselves in places where they shouldn’t be. When weather turns or if there is alcohol involved, things go wrong. Accidents happen.” He looked as though he wasn’t finished. “But you might want to be careful where you’re sticking your nose and asking questions like that.” He turned and walked away, leaving her to wonder if there was something specific he was referring to and what else he might know.
Olivia sat for a moment as his words hung in the air. Finally she shifted the Jeep into drive. Glancing into her rearview mirror again, she was relieved to see the man with the wild white hair had disappeared.
Weaving through the silent nautical giants looming above her, she retraced her route through the dry dock toward the entrance to the marina, disappointed her visit hadn’t been more productive. A non-descript white van pulled into the marina parking lot as she pulled out. The driver sized her up on his way by.
“Stay to the left. Stay to the left,” she reminded herself and turned left to head back toward Izzies.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Olivia maneuvered the Jeep along Route 32, back the way she had come, navigating the narrow winding road for the short distance before it met Route 30 and then turned left. Relieved to leave the marina behind, she cringed, thinking about the mess she could have gotten tangled in, and reprimanded herself for being careless. Before long she came upon the sign for Izzies and turned left into the bumpy entrance leading to the dirt parking lot. There were quite a few cars already there. Colton would be pleased with the turnout. She drove up one row and down another, finally deciding on a spot at the end, next to a Humvee. She imagined it belonged to a tourist who had splurged on a fun set of wheels to explore the island. Grabbing the camera from the seat beside her, she returned it to its natural position around her neck and headed down the walkway toward the bar. An annoying nervous twinge returned to her stomach, in anticipation of the unexpected, and a bit of guilt that she was heading out for an evening of fun. Olivia did her best to look confident.
Rounding the curve in the path, Olivia’s eyes caught sight of the beach and beyond to the beautiful blue water that made her pause for a moment. Small waves crashed onto the beach, more turbulent than the calm waters of Magens Bay, yet she was drawn to it. There was a gentle murmur as the waves rolled toward the beach, cresting in white foam, before spilling onto the sand. The sights and sounds were soothing.
The din from Izzies quickly called her away from the ocean, and she redirected her steps toward the bar, passing a water sports rental shop on the way. Izzies was a restaurant and bar “en plein air,” like most other eating establishments on the islands, with only a roof for protection from the elements.
Members of the band were running through mic tests and making minor adjustments to their setup. Their backs were to the beach and the beautiful aqua ocean beyond. Olivia quickly looked around to see what her options were for seating. Besides the stools at the bar, there were raised round tables on large barrels that fit four to six patrons and several were taken by couples who were finishing their meals and probably had no intention of budging since live music would be starting soon. Many of them may have walked over from the hotel just down the beach.
Smaller, square tables were situated around pillars, with two to three chairs pushed up next to them. Older-model, tarnished-wire oscillating fans lending a retro touch were mounted at the ceiling along the outside walls at each support post and ran full blast. A string of white lights sprung to life under the banister along the perimeter. Two lengths of thick nautical ropes, fashioned into a railing of sorts, ran parallel underneath.
The bar had a quaint island feel to it. Fashioned into three sides of a rectangle, bamboo lined the base of it like tin solders, and a thatched roof overhang looked like it was made from hula skirts. A smaller, matching roof hung on the inside of the bar over a pass-through window. The door to the kitchen was located to the left of the bar and rich Caribbean spices caught Olivia’s nose, making her mouth salivate. She found an unoccupied stool on the corner of the bar nearest the band next to a middle-aged woman with shoulder length, brown hair on her right and a balding guy with an unnaturally dark tan on the other side. He had his back to her and was engrossed in a conversation with a young woman next to him.
Olivia shifted the seat out and turned it to the right to give her a better view of the band. Climbing up onto it, she glanced over and caught Colton’s eye. His face lit up and he gave her a nod, visibly pleased she had arrived. Feeling herself blushing, she turned away and focused on getting the bartender’s attention. It didn’t take long before a large man with cornrows down to his shoulders and a dark scruff of hair on his chin stopped to see what he could get for her. He wore no name tag but sported a vibrantly colored t-shirt tie-dyed in a spiral pattern with the Izzies logo on the back. In keeping with the spirit of the islands, Olivia ordered a piña colada with a glass of water. Stealing another glance over to the band, she could tell Colton was clearly the one in charge, giving some last-minute instructions to the rest of the guys. Olivia was amused to see he was wearing the same brown flip-flops.
The drinks arrived quickly along with a bowl of popcorn placed between her and the woman sitting next to her, who looked up from her cell and reached for the fluffy, white kernels. In doing so, she knocked a few pieces out of the bowl, and as they tumbled onto the bar, she noticed Olivia.
“I just can’t resist the popcorn,” she confessed and chuckled at herself, her friendly eyes smiling as much as her mouth. She didn’t seem to be with the young couple sitting next to her. Olivia guessed they might be on their honeymoon, in their own little world and very attentive to each other. Bright gold wedding bands stood out on their left hands.
Olivia smiled. “It’s one of my weaknesses, too.” As she grabbed a generous handful, a few kernels escaped her grasp and danced across the surface of the bar. She left them where they came to rest.
“You plan on taking some photographs?” The woman glanced at the camera around Olivia’s neck.
“. . . Oh, yeah.” She had almost forgotten it was still hanging there. “I promised one of the guys in the band I would try to get some publicity shots for them.”
“Oh, you know the band?”
“Well, not exactly. I just met—” They were interrupted by Colton’s voice through the microphone.
“Good evening, everyone. Good to see all of you here tonight! Thank you for coming. We have a great show planned, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the music. If you feel like dancing, feel free to get up and move around. The place is yours to enjoy. We’re The Rum Runners.” With that, the band led off with an eighties hit with a reggae twist to it. The crowd responded with heads bobbing.<
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Olivia listened to the familiar melody for a while but was eager to engage the woman next to her in conversation. “So where are you from?”
“From right here on the island, at least now I am. I used to live in New England, but the winters got longer every year to the point where I’d had enough of the cold and headed south. Don’t miss it for a minute. The pace of life is incredibly different down here. I love it.”
“Yeah, I know about those winters. I’m from Boston.”
The woman acknowledged her comment with a nod as she sipped from her tall brown beer bottle. “Ah, yes. So you are familiar. Yeah, I’m originally from Connecticut.”
“How did you pick St. Thomas?” Olivia had to speak loudly to be heard over the band.
“I had vacationed here a few times and got to know the Virgin Islands including the BVI but felt at home here. Besides, I knew since it’s a U.S. territory, I could continue to sell real estate fairly easily. It made sense.”
“Oh, you’re a Realtor.” Olivia hated what was about to come out of her mouth. “I actually could use your help.”
They were fighting the volume of the music behind them but pushed on.
“Really? Are you looking to buy something? Step into my office.” She grinned broadly, gesturing her outstretched arm over the bar with a flourish.
“Actually, I need to sell my mother’s place.” Olivia choked on her words, suddenly grateful for the background noise.
“Okay, sure. Do you mind my asking why you’re selling?”
It was a legitimate question, but Olivia hesitated because she wanted to steer clear of specifics. “It’s a long story.” The setting wasn’t exactly conducive to a heart-to-heart conversation. “We can no longer afford to keep the place. It’s a shame, but there isn’t much of a choice in it.” It was hard to grasp she was uttering the words. “We’ve had it for a while, but it doesn’t make sense to hang onto it.”
The Realtor examined her face and seemed to be able to tell Olivia was holding back and pained by the situation. Pulling out her card, she quickly assumed the role of real estate agent and placed it on the bar in front of Olivia.
Glancing down to pick it up, her eyes brimmed and a lone tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. Olivia wiped it away and blinked hard a couple of times, struggling to regain her composure.
“If you’d like, and it’s convenient, I can stop by tomorrow afternoon to take a look at the property. We can talk about your options. We’ll figure it out together. Okay? It will be all right.” She reached over and squeezed Olivia’s shoulder. “I’m Sarah.” She extended her other hand and they shook.
“Olivia.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Olivia appreciated her kindness. She liked her and had a feeling she could work with her on her unbearable task. “Thanks, Sarah. Tomorrow afternoon is great. I should be around.”
Charmed by the fact no specific time was mentioned, Olivia gave her the address and then the two became silent, listening to the sounds of Colton’s band. The eighties remake was followed by a couple of Bob Marley songs, one by Tribal Seeds, and an original piece by The Rum Runners. The audience was enjoying the music and the members of the band seemed to love entertaining. The dance floor was full of sun-kissed bodies moving to the music. Breaks were few and brief.
The bartender returned to see if Olivia wanted to order anything to eat. Even though she had grabbed a bite before she left, she glanced up at the handwritten menu on the chalkboard behind the bar and quickly decided on the grilled fish sandwich with pineapple salsa and pasta salad for her side. Sarah piped up she’d have the same but changed the side to sweet potato fries. The two engaged in more small talk while they waited for their dinners. In a lull in the conversation, Olivia pivoted in her chair to survey the crowd that had filled in since she had arrived. She was always looking for interesting characters to photograph, and there was rarely a shortage in tourist areas. As she inspected the crowd, Olivia strained to keep a straight face and refrain from chuckling out loud.
The table closest to her was occupied by a family of four with parents and two teenagers. The father was wearing a bright turquoise-and-white, horizontally-striped polo shirt stretched over his protruding belly and tucked neatly into his belted khaki shorts. His wife was wearing a solid light blue polo shirt untucked over her white Bermuda shorts. The teens looked fairly close in age and were completely engrossed with their phones, using both thumbs to type frantically. The parents, whose fair skin looked painfully sunburned, appeared uninterested and distant, as if they had given up long ago on trying to get through to their kids. Sadly, there was not even a resemblance of conversation between the adults. Perhaps they were nearing the end of their vacation and ready to return home, back to their lives that were physically close, yet emotionally removed from one another.
The table next to the dysfunctional family was filled to capacity with three animated couples in their fifties who probably had arrived for happy hour and were staying right through for the entertainment. The men, with their brown beer bottles in front of them, were dominating the conversation and seemed to be competing with each other for air time. They were all wearing Tommy Bahama-style island shirts they probably picked up in the gift shop of their hotel for their night out. The largest of the three waved a fat, unlit cigar as he gestured during his narration, his voice bellowing over the other two men. The wives appeared unengaged, looking almost bored with their husbands. Two of the ladies were dressed in white sun dresses in different styles. The third had on a royal blue, black-and-white-paisley-print, halter-style maxi dress. The white dress ladies exchanged a few words from time to time, leaving the third out of the loop. In the awkwardness of the moment, she feigned interest in the music.
Arriving behind Olivia, the bartender delivered her sandwich. She spun around on her stool to the most tantalizing aroma. If she had ever been able to taste a smell, that was it. Surprisingly hungry, she couldn’t wait to dig in. Sarah had already taken a bite and was enjoying it. Olivia jumped in as well. The unusual combination of ingredients was a contrast of sweet and spicy. Her taste buds wished it didn’t have to end.
Without turning to look, Olivia could sense the man to her left was no longer conversing with the young girl. Perhaps she was no longer there. The man became quiet, but he seemed the type to need to hear his own voice. She knew he would be looking for another victim. To her relief, she could hear him engage the bartender. He tried to sound like he was more than somewhat knowledgeable about a sports figure who had just flashed on the big screen TV.
Chancing a glance down his end of the bar, she observed a few men seated and standing nearby who appeared to be locals. Izzies was definitely in full swing. All of the tall tables were full. Everyone was clearly enjoying the infectious music of The Rum Runners. Her body was moving to the beat. She continued to scan the venue, people watching while she finished her meal.
Remembering she had brought her camera for a reason, Olivia spoke to her new acquaintance, excusing herself before sliding off her stool. Grasping her camera with both hands, she quickly went to work taking multiple shots of the band at different angles, close-ups and wide angles, the camera clicking quickly. She made several adjustments as she worked, trying to adapt to the waning natural light and the artificial lighting in the bar. She thoroughly enjoyed using her camera. Behind the lens, her focus was only on her subject, an escape for her. She had left the sad scenario she brought with her to the island back at the bar with Sarah. Even though it would be there when she returned, she was fully immersed in her task and enjoying it thoroughly.
Olivia circled the perimeter of Izzies and then backed up to the bar, taking photos in rapid succession. A commotion stirred behind her. Impassioned voices could be heard over the music and what sounded like breaking glass. A beer bottle? Just as Olivia turned toward the disturbance, someone’s elbow or fist found its way to her cheek. A flash of light and the left side of her face exploded in pain. The blow was e
nough to shift her balance and knock her off her feet. Letting go of her camera, she got her hands out in front of her in time to brace her fall. As she lay dazed on the ground, she could sense feet shuffling around her and more voices yelling. Her throat felt constricted and she realized someone was pulling at her camera. Defense mode kicked in. Grabbing the straps with one hand, she swung at anything within reach with the other. The shouting suddenly grew more pronounced because the band had stopped playing. Someone pulled her attacker away from her, but he disappeared in the crowd. As strong hands from behind pulled her upright, she struggled to stay on her feet. Her head was spinning. Grabbing for a stool that was no longer there, her hand made contact with the edge of the bar. An arm slipped around her. Sarah’s voice boomed in her ear.
“Let’s get out of here. This isn’t over yet. It could get even uglier.”
Olivia wasn’t going to argue. The crowd of people was animated and in a nasty mood. One man was restrained by another but wiggled vigorously to break free. Sarah quickly led her out with an arm wrapped tightly around her, dashing down the path to the parking lot. They got as far as the dive shop when Olivia heard a familiar voice.
“Olivia!” Colton jogged to catch up to them. He touched her upper arm and looked into her face. “Are you all right? I’m sorry you got hurt. You—”
“I’ll be fine. I’d just like to get out of here.” Her hands grasped for the camera straps, confirming it was still hanging around her neck.
He examined the red swollen splotch on her face. “You need some ice. Let me get you some before you leave.”
“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll get some back at my place.” Did she call it hers? No matter. She was eager to leave Izzies behind.
“Hang on a second. I’ll grab some from the bar.” He turned and jogged back.
“We’re going to head out to the parking lot.” Sarah called after him.
The Empty Chair ~ Murder in the Caribbean Page 9
