The Empty Chair ~ Murder in the Caribbean

by Penny Goetjen

  The two women kept walking. Sarah’s arm had slid down and found a place around Olivia’s waist. Since her Jeep was closer to the walkway than Sarah’s car, they made a beeline there. Olivia eased behind the wheel and allowed her body to melt into the seat. The evening had not turned out the way she had expected.

  Sarah established her position as protector, next to the open driver’s side door, one hand resting loosely on the top of the frame.

  “Are you going to be all right?” She looked closer at Olivia’s cheek in the glare from the parking lot flood lights. “That could be a nice bruise by morning.”

  Olivia laughed. “Yeah, just what I came to the island for.”

  Colton came jogging back with a clear plastic bag filled with ice. Pushing past the Realtor, he pressed it to Olivia’s cheek.

  Flinching, she reached up to take hold of the bag of chilly cubes with one hand and pushed his hand off with the other. “Easy.” The three maintained silence as if reflecting on what had just transpired. Olivia spoke first, manners intact. “Sarah, this is Colton. Colton, Sarah.”

  They exchanged pleasantries, mentioned something about meeting a time or two before, and turned back to Olivia.

  The two stood alongside Olivia like two doting parents. The solemnity of the evening’s events was not lost on any of them.

  “All right, look. I’m fine. Really. I’ll be fine. I’d like to get out of here.” Olivia tossed the dripping bag on the seat beside her, shoved the key in the ignition and fired up the engine, then closed the driver’s side door and lowered the window. “Sarah, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. Colton, thanks for the ice. It’s been . . . well, your band sounded great. I enjoyed listening. I think I got some good shots, as long as my camera didn’t get damaged. Thanks for the invite tonight. I’ll see you again soon.”

  Putting the car in reverse, she eased it out of the parking spot, waving to her acquaintances in her rearview mirror. Turning back out onto Route 30, she reminded herself to stay to the left. She grabbed the bag of ice and blinked as she reapplied it to her face. Recognizing the winding, twisting roads were more challenging at night, she repressed the urgency to get back to familiar surroundings. Carefully she retraced her steps to Serenity Villa, her camera still hanging from her neck.

  The thirty-minute drive from Izzies seemed to take forever. Olivia was worn out from the long day, and the throbbing lump on her cheek made her feel as though her whole head was swollen and was going to split open. After negotiating the hairpin turns back up the mountain and making her way through the tricky intersection, she was finally heading down the narrow road to her mother’s house. Slowing the Jeep as she got close, she carefully turned into the driveway and zigzagged down the hill. The dark shape of the little bungalow lay quietly at the bottom. She wished she had put on a light or two before she left earlier in the evening. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about guiding the key into the lock in the dark.

  Leaving the Jeep at the end of the driveway, she plodded toward the front door, the dripping ice bag in one hand. Even though it was a beautiful summer evening and the stars were shining brightly, shadows predominated the yard around her mother’s house. Across the bay, only a few lights were on in homes scattered along Peterborg Peninsula. A breeze off the bay caressed her face.

  The front door knob turned easily, and she gave the door a shove with her body as she had done many times before. This time, however, the door didn’t open all the way. It got stuck on something just inside the door.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Peering inside the shadowy little house, it was hard for her to see anything beyond the window in the door. She pushed the door harder, anxious to get inside. A strange foreboding came over her. Giving the door another push, more firmly than before, she created just enough room to poke her face inside, but she still couldn’t see in the dark. Using her body to push the door enough to squeeze through, she flipped the switch on the table lamp by the door then tossed the ice bag toward the coffee table. There was an odd sound when it hit the floor instead of the table. Pulling her camera up over her head, she gently laid it on the couch under the window.

  At first it was difficult to make sense of what she was looking at. The small throw rug usually lying by the front door was bunched up and wedged partway under it. The coffee table was overturned and things were strewn across the floor from the living area to her mother’s studio. Papers. Photographs. Immediately she was concerned for the studio and broke into a run, straight for it.

  Pausing in the doorway, she flipped on the switch and gasped. It took her a moment to survey the scene. Cupboard doors hung open, exposing bare shelves. Drawers stripped from their rollers lay haphazardly on the floor, their contents spilled and scattered. The framed photos had been ripped from the walls and shattered across the worktable. Shards of glass, sparkling in the overhead light, littered every surface in her mother’s studio. Olivia reached down and collected photographs, picked up pens and pencils in an unrealistic attempt to return the room to its former condition. Before long, she stopped, completely overwhelmed by the extent of the mess.

  “Mom, I’m so sorry.” As her knees gave way, she grabbed onto the edge of the worktable while her back slid along the lower cupboard behind her, ending in a folded heap on the floor. “How could someone do this?” she whispered under her breath. “Why would . . . I don’t get it.” She was at a loss. Her mother’s beautiful work, destroyed by someone. A thug. This was not a careless, random act.

  Her melancholy turning to anger, she sprang to her feet. Her hand slowly curled into a fist, and she swung at an open cupboard door. It slammed shut with a loud bang and then popped back open again. Olivia let out a scream. She pounded the door again. This time a stabbing pain shot through her hand. She didn’t care. Someone had awakened anger inside her she had never felt before.

  Unable to stomach the mess any longer, she headed for the bedroom and continued to vent her feelings. “What the hell were you looking for?” Her voice was loud and resounding, yelling at someone who was invisible, yet becoming very real to her. She grabbed onto one of the posts of the bed for support. “Stay out of our house! You don’t belong here. If you found what you were looking for, then stay away!”

  Pausing her rant, she sensed someone behind her. Her heart was racing, her adrenalin pumping. She spun around, feeling like her back was against a wall and there was no way out, but she was ready to take on anyone to defend her mother’s house.

  Colton was standing just inside the front door. Slowly she stepped out into the living area.

  “What the hell do you want?” she shrieked.

  He looked as if he was unsure how to approach her and kept his distance. “Someone broke in?”

  “No! They didn’t have to break in because the door was not locked, but they sure made one hell of a mess.” Her voice was still loud and full of anger. Her arms flailed. “I have no idea if they took anything. I don’t know if they were looking for something in particular, but they’ve ruined my mother’s studio. All of her beautiful photos. All of her work. They’ve destroyed it! Who does that?” Her heart pounded inside her chest and her mind raced.

  “Want me to call the police?”

  “Are you serious?” she yelled at him. “What good would that do? They can’t even figure out my mother is missing. Forget it! They’re not going to be any help.” Pausing, she examined his face, her tone of voice turning accusatory. “But maybe you know something about all this.” Something in her gut suddenly warned her not to trust him. He seemed to show up at just the right moment.

  He tilted his head and searched her face with a puzzled look on his. It appeared the tides had turned and the waters had come crashing in on him unexpectedly, even for a seasoned boat captain.

  “Oh yeah. Play innocent. I think you know more about what’s going on around here than you’re letting on. I don’t know what your deal is, but I don’t want you here anymore. Just get out!”

  Colton leaned backw
ard with his hand raised in defeat. “Olivia, you’re obviously upset right now, and you have every right to be. I’d like to help.”

  “Help! I don’t think so. You’ve done enough. Get out!” She walked closer and pointed an accusatory finger at him, the volume of her voice escalating.

  He took a step back. She held her glare.

  “All right. I’m out of here. I really do want to help you, Olivia. If you can get this figured out on your own, fine. But when you calm down, give me a call. I’ll be happy to give you a hand. And I don’t feel comfortable with you staying here by yourself tonight.” His eyes were pleading with her.

  “Just go!” Her voice was firm and unequivocal, her teeth clenched. He looked hurt, but she didn’t care. She didn’t trust anyone at the moment . . . especially him.

  He stared into her eyes long and hard as if searching for something he hoped was still there and then turned to leave. Olivia was right behind him. As soon as he was through the doorway, she closed the front door and turned the latch on the deadbolt, for the first time, ever.

  Flopping down onto the sofa under the front window, Olivia listened as Colton started his Jeep, turned it around, and sped back up the driveway, churning up gravel as he went. The silence that spilled into the little bungalow rang in her ears. She had never felt so alone. There was no one she could trust. Unsure where to turn, she got up and walked over and locked the door that led out to the gallery and then stood there scanning the perimeter of the house through her mind to see if there were any other locks that needed turning. A sinking feeling crept into her gut when she remembered there was no key to lock the door from the outside. At least Olivia could feel safer while she was inside.

  Her phone vibrated in her pocket, jolting her body. It was her father, the last person she wanted to talk to at the moment. Rubbing the tension out of her forehead, she decided there wasn’t much of a choice.

  “Hey, Dad.” Olivia tried to keep her voice calm and as upbeat as she could muster.

  “Hey, Ollie, how’s it going down there?”

  She knew she had to be careful what she revealed to him. If it had been a usual evening for him then he undoubtedly had been drinking. It wouldn’t take much for him to go over the edge. Determined to handle the situation on her own, she maintained a calm, positive tone. “It’s going okay.”

  “Why, what’s going on?”

  “Oh, it’s not a big deal. There’s some paperwork I need to take care of at the police station. It wasn’t ready when I stopped in today. I’m going back in the morning. It will be all right. I’ll take care of everything,” she assured him, sounding too matter-of-fact and casual. She was uncomfortable lying to her father but needed to keep the conversation straightforward, with few details he could latch onto.

  “All right, Ol. I know you can handle it. I’m sorry you have to go through this. I’m at O’Hare waiting to get on my next plane to L.A. I’ll be away longer than expected. Is your friend, Laurie, bringing in the mail and looking in on Chloe?”

  “Yeah, I talked to her earlier today and she’s taking care of everything—”

  “Okay, great. I appreciate that. Look, I’ve got to go. I think they’re calling my flight now. Keep in touch. Love you.” He seemed anxious to break away.

  “Love you, too, Dad. I’ll call you soon.” There was a click on his end before she had finished her sentence.

  Olivia wished she could feel as optimistic as she sounded. Unsure what she was in the middle of, her heart was heavy and she felt incredibly alone. She had just blown off the only person she had made a real connection with since she arrived on the island. But as often as Colton appeared, it seemed like more than a coincidence. She could go it alone. She had to.

  Stumbling into her mother’s bedroom to crash for the night, Olivia flopped onto the edge of the bed, and taking a deep breath, let it out again. Her hands brushed back and forth on the smooth cool surface of the bedding as she contemplated what the next day might bring. Her toes tapped the wood floor while she reviewed recent events. The break-in moved to the forefront. Was it a random robbery? If not, what could they have been looking for? Did they find it? The damage was almost exclusively contained within her mother’s studio. Did she interrupt them when she returned from Izzies? Would they return to continue their search? Where else might they want to look in the house? Then she glanced down to where she was sitting.

  The bed had been untouched. Had her mother hidden something there? Intrigued by the possibility, Olivia felt compelled to take a look. Leaping off the bed, she spun around toward it, immediately shoving her hand deep between the mattress and box spring. Nothing. Running her hand down to the end of the bed, she frowned. Nothing. Not willing to give up, she continued along the bottom and then around to the other side, running her hand the length of it. Nothing. Had she reached all the way to the middle? Pushing her arm as far into the mattress as she could, the tips of her fingers hit something hard. A tingling sensation ripped through her body. She leaned deeper into the mattress and pushed her arm toward her target. Her fingers wrapped around something cold to the touch and slowly she pulled it out.

  CHAPTER NINE

  For a moment, Olivia sat there staring at the heap of black metal in the palm of her hand. A small pistol. Apparently, her mother’s pistol. It didn’t make any sense to her. Why would she feel the need to own one? It was all new to her. The tingling sensation in her stomach returned, nervous to be holding a gun for the first time. What did this mean? It was more than Olivia could comprehend so late in the evening. She shoved it back under the mattress and turned to the task of getting ready for bed.

  Tomorrow would be another day.

  Olivia was up early. Rest hadn’t come easily. Too many unsettling, at times frightening, thoughts. She tried to wipe the sleep from her eyes, being careful not to touch her cheek, still sore from her brush with violence the night before. Her head still harbored a dull ache. And even though intuition cautioned her not to take a look, her curiosity got the best of her. Stepping into the small bathroom next to her mother’s bedroom, she flipped the switch on the wall. Turning to the right to get a better look, she leaned closer and examined her face carefully. It didn’t look as bad as she had expected. Some moderate bruising under her left eye, although she knew it would look worse as the healing progressed.

  Her walk from the bedroom to the kitchen reminded her that her mother’s little house had been violated. Papers strewn about. Furniture askew. Olivia veered toward the living area to set the coffee table upright. The night before seemed like a distant nightmare. She needed to make a fresh start, find a new direction, preferably without putting herself in danger. Then it hit her she had unceremoniously dismissed Colton in the heat of the moment, suddenly feeling unable to trust him. Why did he seem to walk in at the wrong time?

  Pulling together a small breakfast of toast and tea, Olivia remembered the carton of milk she would need for her tea was still in the freezer. Laughing to herself, she pulled it out and reached for a spoon. She chiseled out enough of the icy milk to add to her tea and then tossed the carton back in the freezer, vowing to get around to cleaning out the refrigerated section.

  Out on the gallery, it was a bright, pleasant, summer day in the Caribbean with a light breeze. The water on the bay sparkled in the sunlight and the long sandy beach called to her. It had been a while since she’d touched the white sand. Anxious to leave behind the mess in her mother’s house, she decided Magens would be where she would start the day.

  After making a peanut butter sandwich for later, she filled a thermos bottle with tap water and ice. Looking forward to seeing where the day would take her, she let the screen door shut behind her. First stop, Magens Bay. A five-minute drive away.

  The resident sticker on her mother’s car got her waved through the gate. She easily found a parking spot since it was early enough in the day that the tourists hadn’t arrived yet. Only a few locals.

  Practically skipping on her way to the beach, Ol
ivia felt like she was miles away from all the turmoil she had found herself in, and it couldn’t catch up to her there. Kicking off her sandals, she snatched them up with a couple of fingers and kept walking toward the water. Soft white sand yielded under her feet and wedged between her toes, not yet scorching from the sun as it would be by midday. The sparkling water was a gradation of beautiful shades of turquoise and aqua. Stunning.

  Shaking her head, she realized the camera was still on the little couch by the front door where she had dropped it the night before. Disappointing. The incomparable beauty of the bay would have to wait to be captured another day. Scanning the mountainside, looking for her mother’s little cottage up on the hill, she thought it was aptly named. Serenity Villa. The view out to Magens Bay was certainly a source of serenity, and she yearned to become part of what she was gazing at.

  A couple walked leisurely along the water. A few swimmers swam along the shore, and a young boy threw something into the water for what looked like a black lab mix. It was early enough for the dog to be on the beach before the lifeguards showed up and the rules kicked in. The dog tore after the toy and retrieved it with such exuberance Olivia stood and watched them for a moment. The boy and his furry companion seemed to have a special relationship. Something not always seen on the islands. Not everyone viewed dogs as companions, but instead as possessions and, on occasion, were discarded at will. When times were tough, it was the dogs that suffered, often abandoned on the streets, referred to as throwaway dogs. Olivia was pleased to see this happy dog. He was one of the lucky ones. She pictured the local shelter brimming with not-so-happy animals rescued from deplorable conditions, waiting to be adopted and loved.

  Olivia squirmed from an uncomfortable pang in her gut. She had wanted a dog as long as she could recall. Her father detested the idea of having a pet. After enduring much cajoling, he finally agreed to a kitten years earlier, figuring a cat would be easier to care for than a dog. Olivia had to agree to take full responsibility for the four-legged critter and, while she had embraced the responsibility and loved her beautiful Siamese with all her heart, she held a deep yearning for the companionship of a dog.