“Are you ready to see how falernum is made?” the man behind the wheel wanted to know.
“We sure are. Any chance you know why they call it that?”
“Some say it was named after Alger Falernus wines in Italy. Others say it was invented on Barbados and the name is nonsensical. We don’t really care what it’s called, as long as we get to drink it,” he explained. “My cousin is a bartender at the big hotel down the road. Every two weeks or so, he mixes a batch of falernum in his kitchen and seals each bottle. Does it matter what color your wax is?”
“I hardly think so,” I decided. “What matters is that the bottle goes into the ocean and someone finds it.”
We spent the time it took to drive to Niles’ home discussing alternative names for the essential liquid used in so many Caribbean cocktails. I voted for “wowie zowie juice”, Kenny favored “swizzle syrup”, and Thaddeus thought “loose-y goosey lime juice” was best.
“But it’s more than just a lime-based sweet syrup,” Laurel pointed out. “And it goes into more than just a rum swizzle. The name has to reflect its many uses.”
“And now you know why we call it falernum,” our tour guide replied, laughing as he watched us in the rear view mirror. “Unless someone comes up with a catchy name, it will stay that way for at least another generation.”
“How about yum yum juice?” I suggested.
“But we already have a yum yum cocktail here in Bermuda. It’s made with white rum and coconut rum mixed with mango and peach juices,” Cedric told us.
“Oh, I’m going to have to have one of those,” I decided. “It sounds delicious.”
“It is, my dear.” He beeped his horn at a man straddling a moped by the roadside. A rod and reel were strapped to a holder on the back of it. “That’s my mate, Rodney. He’s shore fishing for snapper.”
Another half mile down the road, Cedric flicked on his blinker and pulled his minivan into an unpaved driveway that led to a small, but well-kept pink cottage, with bright red roses growing by the front door. He tapped his horn, giving two short beeps, and a moment later, the door opened. “There’s my cousin now.”
Niles was a tall, thin man with a winning smile, a clean white apron, and an immaculate kitchen. On the stove sat a big pot. The spicy steam that escaped from under its lid perfumed the air with an exotic island fragrance. He pulled a chair away from the large kitchen table to make room for Laurel’s wheelchair. As she rolled into the space, she sniffed the air and let out a happy sigh.
“Oh, how heavenly! I take it this is your falernum. What do you have in there?”
“Cloves, allspice, star anise, ginger, sugar, lime zest, lime juice, and blanched almonds in water,” Niles told her, listing the ingredients. “First I make my simple syrup and then, just before I bottle it, I add some rum for flavoring. When I pour it over ice and add even more rum, it makes the perfect swizzle.”
“Oh-la-la, I’ll just bet it does,” my mother laughed. Niles gave her a wink.
“It’s nectar of the gods,” he smiled. “Where is the bottle you want sealed?”
“Actually, we were wondering if you could part with four empty bottles,” I told him. “You see, there was a murder on our cruise ship, before we docked in Bermuda.”
“That’s terrible. What happened?”
After hearing about the tragic end of George Delaney’s life and our plan to honor the dead man, Niles came up with eight of them.
“You might as well stack the odds in a situation like this,” he told us. “We don’t want your friend to fret about this.”
“No, we don’t,” my mother nodded. “You’re very kind, Niles.”
“It’s my pleasure to be able to help in some small way. That’s a horrible way to die.”
He went to a handsome mahogany writing desk in the next room and opened a drawer, returning a moment later with some stationary for us to use. We all joined Laurel at the large kitchen table to write our messages out.
“If you find this bottle, please contact Kathleen Delaney,” I wrote in my note. I included the address of the Caulkins Cove Yacht Club. “Tell her we keep her in our hearts after the tragic loss of her husband and treasure the friendship that was formed on the islands of Bermuda.”
Taking another sheet of stationary, I copied my note word for word. With both messages complete, I rolled each one up tightly and popped it into the mouth of its respective bottle, thinking about what a senseless thing George’s death was. Had it really only been three days since we boarded the ship in New Jersey? So much had happened -- those events had forever changed the lives of all who knew George Delaney. His children must be devastated. His friends must be stunned. From what Kathleen had told us, George was an active member of the community, someone involved in a lot of local activities. The people of Caulkins Cove must be in shock.
And as for poor Kathleen, her world had been turned upside down by some twisted turn of fate. She hadn’t even buried her husband yet. Who would be there for her? Her stepson, Greg, worked with his father at the funeral home. Her stepdaughter, Kayla, was a nurse. But George and Kathleen hadn’t been married all that long, and I knew from personal experience that it’s not always easy to get to know a spouse’s adult children. Kenny had a daughter and son, and as kind as they had been to me on the few occasions we’d gotten together, there was just never enough time for us to forge a real relationship. Maybe it was because they didn’t really need me to be in their lives. Was it any different for Kathleen and her stepchildren?
Who else did she have to look after her? It wasn’t as if Kathleen’s parents or her only sibling, Donna, were going to be there to support her in her grief. They were all deceased. Kathleen had told me that her sister’s kids were out on the other coast. What kind of effort would they make to comfort their aunt?
When I thought of how alone she was, I was moved to make a declaration. “We should go to George’s funeral. We should be there for Kathleen.”
“Oh, Scarlet,” my mother exclaimed, glancing up from her writing, “we should. This is such a difficult time for her.”
“It’s a wonderful idea. You’re all welcome to stay with me if you come up to Maine,” Thaddeus replied. “I’m about forty minutes from Caulkins Cove. Besides, it will give me a chance to return the hospitality you’ve shown me.”
“Then it’s settled,” I said, feeling a little wave of relief wash over me. As good as it had been to help solve George’s murder and save Velma Sue from a similar fate, I didn’t want to lose sight of the fact that Kathleen had to go on living in a world that no longer included her beloved George. A mystery is only really over when the severed threads of those lives are rewoven into a new story, one that will go on.
Once all nine bottles were ready, Niles showed us how to make sure the corks were inserted properly. Then and only then was it time to coat them with the paraffin that would protect the contents inside.
“Into the pot of melted wax the necks go, and when you pull them out, you give each one a little swirl. You want to be sure you have enough on there to form a complete seal.”
When we were done, it was time to sample some falernum. Given the fact that it was early in the day, Niles went easy on the alcohol when he mixed us a batch of light Royal Bermuda Yacht Club cocktails with rum, lime juice, falernum, sugar, and some Cointreau. He poured this mixture into cordial glasses.
“Whew!” Laurel exclaimed. “Now that’s a drink to remember! Lacey would adore this.”
My mother’s usual cohort during the Four Acorns Inn cocktail hour was the other half of the team known as the Googins Girls. Cousin Lacey looked forward to her evening libation with the eager anticipation of a dedicated foodie, and the two of them made a point of pairing appetizers with aperitifs, much to the delight of the inn’s guests.
“Is there any chance you’d be willing to part with the recipe?” I queried Niles. This one definitely was a keeper. I was looking forward to seeing my brother’s take on falernum-based drinks. Wit
h his trusty shaker, crushed ice, and fruit garnishes, I was sure Bur could work miracles with this amazing elixir.
“It would be my pleasure,” he replied cordially. I waited as he jotted down the instructions on a small piece of paper.
“I really appreciate this,” I told him as I carefully tucked it into the zippered compartment of my purse.
“Just be sure to always use the best quality rum you can find. Never stint on the good stuff,” Nigel warned me.
“I promise,” I laughed, holding up my hand as I took the vow.
“What Mr. Big Shot Bartender, the connoisseur of the liquor cabinet, is saying is that you need to use Gosling’s rum.”
“I never heard of it,” I admitted sheepishly.
“What?” Cedric did a mischievous double take. “You never heard of Bermuda’s biggest and best export?”
“Now, now, let us be honest, Cousin. We’ve been hoarding that for ourselves for two centuries. We only tell people we like about our rum.” Niles gave me a wink. “Our philosophy is formed of the belief that we should not waste our time trying to change minds that believe that the best rums come from Cuba, Jamaica, and Puerto Rico. Let those heathens drink swill.”
Ten minutes later, after much good-natured ribbing between cousins to decide who made the best homemade banana liqueur, we were back on the road, headed for the zoo and aquarium in Flatts Village.
“When are we going to launch the bottles?” Laurel wanted to know.
“Do you want to do it now?” Cedric watched us in his rear view mirror, waiting for our reaction to his offer.
“It would be nice to check that off our ‘to-do’ list,” I admitted. “It’s one less thing to worry about on our last day here.”
“Why not?” Kenny agreed. “But we need to send the bottles off on the outgoing tide.”
“I know the perfect spot,” our driver told us. “We can throw them off of Flatts Bridge. The current runs swift there.”
It turned out that Cedric was right. We saw the long, winding stream of churning salt water as we passed over the bridge.
“Whoa, I’d hate to fall in!” Thaddeus exclaimed, sucking in a breath. “There’s no mistaking which way that current runs! You’d be in the Bahamas before anyone knew you were missing!”
“You’re quite right, Dr. Van Zandt. It’s not a journey for the amateur sailor. It takes an experienced hand on the tiller to get through that water safely.” Cedric turned on his blinker, getting ready to turn.
“Ugh!” Laurel shivered. “It’s enough to give one nightmares.”
That whirling vortex of water is like a miniature Bermuda Triangle, ready to suck those bottles into some netherworld, never to be seen again. Do we really want to do this?
Our trusty tour guide parked in a little spot just off the road as the hectic caravan of cars, mopeds, and even a pink bus or two buzzed past us. I looked back at the bridge, some fifty yards away. The idea of traversing the narrow strip of pavement at the side of the road was daunting to say the least, the equivalent of crossing the track in the middle of the Indy 500.
“Here we are, ladies and gentlemen.” He turned and looked at us from the front seat, his expectations clear.
“You’re sure this is the best spot, Cedric?” I inquired, thinking he was more than a little balmy. Maybe it was the rum swizzle that clouded his good judgment.
“It definitely is. We’ve had many a near-drowning here. The wicked current sweeps everything from Harrington Sound out to sea. So, who’s going to do the honors?”
“Well, it won’t be me,” Laurel admitted, anxiously watching the cars zip past. “I’m afraid I can’t keep up with those drivers with my own trusty set of wheels.”
“I’m out,” I announced. “After my run-in with the hood of that car last night on Front Street, I just don’t have it in me to play dodge’ems with the oncoming traffic. I’m fairly certain I’d come out on the losing end of things. I can see the headline now. ‘Insane woman, struck by car while standing on busy bridge, disappears into Harrington Sound.’ They’ll recover the bottles before they ever find my body!”
“Naw,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Not to worry, Scarlet. I will make sure no one is killed today.”
“Maybe you could drive slowly over the bridge and we could just chuck the bottles out the window as we go by.”
“I think not, miss. With my luck, one of you will miss your mark and hit the bridge. I could get into serious trouble if another driver got a flat tire riding over broken glass.”
“I’ll launch the bottles,” said Kenny, volunteering. “You’re looking at a guy who played varsity baseball in high school. My aim is still pretty good, if I do say so myself.”
“I’m a champion cricket bowler myself,” our tour guide revealed. “Shall I join you?”
“I’d be honored.” Kenny gave a brief bow and then scooped up five of the glass vessels. His partner for the bottle toss picked up the other four.
“You two go ahead. I’ll stay with the ladies,” Thaddeus informed Kenny and Cedric. I was about to suggest Dr. Van Zandt was taking this gallantry thing a little too far and we’d be fine if he joined the other two men, but the look on Thaddeus’s face changed my mind. He’s afraid that something bad might happen to us.
Ever since I left the Liberty of the Seas this morning and climbed into that minivan, I’d felt like the terror was over and my vacation had finally kicked into high gear. Cedric and Niles made us feel welcome. They made it easy to let go of the fear as they showed us how Bermudians lived. Here and now, in the back seat of our tour guide’s minivan in Flatts Village, all that seemed so long ago and so far away. And yet, I could tell Thaddeus was still worried. He hadn’t let down his guard. What was stopping him?
It’s because we don’t really know why the killer tripped me last night on Front Street. Or why his accomplice tried to carry out that heinous plot to kill the lead singer of Vicky and the Vixens by drugging her and cutting her wrists. Until Velma Sue can tell us what happened, we’re all fumbling in the dark.
“Just be careful,” I called out to Kenny and Cedric as they turned to go. We watched them scurry across the road, accompanied by the musical tinkling of glass bottles bouncing against one another.
The wait for their return was agony, pure unadulterated agony. Each time a car went whizzing by them, I held my breath, hoping not to hear a thud or see a body fly through the air.
It seemed to take the two men forever to drop each bottle into the swirling current below the bridge. They paused to watch the water carry the glass vessels away, one by one. It was only when they stepped off the main road and headed back to the minivan that I dared to take a breath. By that time, I was shivering.
“Goodness, that took a long time,” I remarked, trying to control the tiny gasp of relief that escaped my lips.
“Did you miss me, Miz Scarlet?” Kenny grinned before leaning over and kissing me.
“You could have been killed!” I blurted that out before I could stop myself.
“Were you worried?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
I’m so cold. It must be a delayed reaction to all the stress. Am I suddenly falling apart because nothing bad happened or because I’m too aware of the fact that we dodged a bullet?
“Yes!” I was still shaking.
“Well, it’s over now. We’re ready for the next adventure.”
“Are we?” My teeth were chattering.
“We are.” He pulled me close, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “Is that better?”
“I’ll let you know when the temperature in here warms up by about ten degrees.”
“Oh, my apologies,” said the man in the front seat, looking sheepish. “I knew your mother was going to stay in the van, so I cranked up the rear air conditioning in anticipation of that. I should have warned you.”
Chapter Twenty Two --
“That explains why I’m so bloody cold!” I groaned, shaking my head. “For a minute there, I really
thought I was losing my marbles, Cedric.”
“Actually, the jury’s still out on that,” Kenny teased as the minivan made a sharp turn and I fell against him.
“Very funny, mister,” I retorted, giving him a poke in the ribs.
“The zoo and aquarium are right across the street. Just give me a moment to ease my way into traffic and I’ll get you there.” With the skill of a seasoned driver, Cedric pulled out between a moped and a small pickup truck, drove about twenty five yards, and then suddenly dropped out of the motorcade, not even bothering to use his indicator. Trolling through the parking lot, he found a space for his minivan. “We’re here.”
“So, what’s what?” Kenny wanted to know. “Where do we begin?”
“You’ll buy your tickets just inside the front entrance. If you start with the outdoor animal exhibits first, you can tour the aquarium later,” Cedric announced cheerfully. “It’s a nice escape from the heat of the noon day sun.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Thaddeus decided, slipping his bucket hat onto his head. He helped Laurel settle in her wheelchair, and once she was comfortable, retrieved her purse. “There you go.”
“Thank you, dear.” Laurel tucked the leather clutch into a side pocket. I wish I’d thought of that. My purse is so big and bulky, but I wasn’t expecting to wind up in a wheelchair when I packed it.
Kenny retrieved my borrowed wheelchair from the back of the minivan and brought it around to the open door. With great care, he set the brakes and then offered me his hand, helping me down to the ground and into the chair in one smooth move. I keep forgetting he’s a pro. He took care of his late wife when her multiple sclerosis gave her trouble. No wonder he’s so good to me in my time of need.
We made plans to meet Cedric back at the front entrance in an hour and a half. I glanced at my watch, noting the time. “Ready, set, roll!”
“Have fun!” he called to us as we headed inside the main building. “I’ll be here, doing my crossword puzzle, if you need me.”
There were only a handful of people waiting ahead of us, so we were quickly processed at the ticket desk. With a map of the grounds in hand, we started our tour at the harbor seals enclosure. Five curious creatures were sunning themselves on the rocks as we stood by the fence. Their heads popped up, wondering if we were going to toss in a fish or two. One of them slid into the water and did a lap around the pool, trying to impress us with her antics, but when the desired reward of a fish or two never materialized, she joined the rest of her group as they resumed the nap position over by the rocks, ignoring us.
[Scarlet Wilson 05] - Miz Scarlet and the Perplexed Passenger Page 19
