A Quarter for a Kiss

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “As far as you know, has she been implicated in this whole art ring?”

  He looked at me sideways.

  “Jodi? No, not that I know of. Why?”

  I exhaled slowly.

  “Ever since we got here, she’s been hanging around with a particular group of friends. There’s Sandy, an archaeologist working on a local dig, Sandy’s younger sister, Fawn, and these two guys, Larry and Zach. Today I saw Zach driving the Enigma, and then I learned that Larry is Dianne’s son. I’m sorry, but it just seems too coincidental the way everything connects.”

  From his pocket, Abraham produced his signature toothpick, not looking the least bit surprised.

  “Maybe I can tell you a bit more,” he said. “It might help.”

  Grateful to have a connection on the inside, I sat back and waited for what he might say.

  “We know all about the two men, though I don’t think the women are involved. According to Interpol, Zach is just a grunt, a drifter who happened upon a good gig. He drives their boat and lends some muscle sometimes. Otherwise he’s just along for the ride.”

  “What about the fact that he’s a masseuse? Don’t you think that makes him the obvious candidate as the go-between at the fancy resorts?”

  Abraham was silent for a moment.

  “I wasn’t aware that was his job,” he said. “Yes, I would imagine that changes everything. He might be the elusive contact we’ve been looking for.”

  “What about Larry?

  Abraham shook his head, his lips pursed.

  “Larry Streep works in insurance—primarily in insuring works of art, antiquities, and artifacts. Interpol thinks he is the main source for his mother’s illegitimate art business.”

  “You mean it’s a family affair—he insures ’em, she steals ’em?”

  “Not exactly. Larry has only a slightly higher percentage of payouts than your average insurance salesman in that particular field. My theory is that he doesn’t insure everything he sees. Often, I believe, when he is called to give an estimate on insuring a piece of art, he will price it high so the buyer will go with some other company. The piece ends up stolen, but since Larry has no official connection with it, no one suspects that he was the ‘eye’ who zeroed in on it in the first place.”

  “Amazing.”

  “On this island, we have a word for one who betrays a trust: a mingo. Larry Streep is a mingo.”

  “Sure seems like it.”

  “A few weeks ago,” Abraham continued, “he started spending almost all of his time down at the archaeological dig. I keep a fairly close watch on him, and it’s been bothering me. I have started to suspect that the collection may have some artifacts of significant value.”

  “So what do you think he’s doing there?”

  “Keeping a close eye on what’s coming out of the ground, for one thing. Trying to get access to the collection as a whole, for another. From what I understand, SPICE’s collection is massive and in many ways priceless.”

  “Is it kept here on the island?”

  “No, I don’t know where the collection is being stored. That seems to be very privileged information. Even Interpol isn’t sure.”

  I shifted in my seat, wondering if it was located on Virgin Gorda, near the Baths, the place where Dianne would be having her clandestine meeting in the morning.

  “Is the collection in danger of being stolen?” I asked.

  “Perhaps the most valuable parts of it, at least. Especially now that we have heard the tape.”

  “You played the tape for Interpol?”

  “We faxed them your transcription. They had no trouble identifying the person named Merveaux. He is Yves Merveaux, and he lives in Martinique. He is a multimillionaire, a collector of many fine things. Several times before, it has been suspected that he received stolen goods, but nothing has ever been proven.”

  “Dianne and her husband are meeting with Merveaux in the morning, in Virgin Gorda.”

  Abraham looked at me, his eyes wide.

  “How do you know that?”

  As best as I could, I told about how Nadine used to put easily decoded messages in the Sunday paper to arrange secret meetings. I explained that Tom and I had gone around today hunting down newspapers and that we had found one of her secret messages in Sunday’s New York Times for a meeting at 8:00 Friday morning at the Baths.

  Abraham slammed his hand down on the steering wheel, surprising me.

  “That is out of my jurisdiction,” he said. “I have to stand and watch the Enigma sail away from here, and I can’t do a thing about it.”

  “Tom and I could try and follow. We have an amazing long-range mike. Maybe we could listen to some of the conversation.”

  He shook his head.

  “There is no warrant for that. We can put electronic surveillance in the home only. Going over to the BVI cancels everything.”

  “Surely Interpol has jurisdiction there.”

  “Jurisdiction, yes, but there’s no way they can get someone here that fast.”

  I thought about Tom and his NSA connections.

  “Maybe there can be some cooperation between agencies,” I said. “I know a person who might be able to help, if you can give me the number of your Interpol connection.”

  He hesitated and then finally nodded, pulling a pen from his pocket and scribbling the information on the back of an old envelope.

  “I just don’t want this happening on my watch,” he said. “I’ve worked too hard to see things fall apart now.”

  Thirty-Seven

  The house was silent when I got home. Flipping lights on as I went, I worked my way down to Tom’s bedroom, knocked lightly, and stepped inside. He was there on the bed in the same position I had left him in, breathing the deep, even breaths of a sound sleeper. I had a feeling he wouldn’t wake until morning.

  It was just as well. He’d been through a lot in the last few days, and I needed him to be sharp and clear tomorrow.

  Closing his door, I walked down to my bedroom at the other end of the house and went through my clothes, trying to find something appropriate to wear to Miss Lucy’s Full Moon Buffet. I could go without Tom because my intention was merely to get to know Jodi and her “gang” a little better.

  I was about to climb into the shower when I glimpsed the empty shampoo bottle in the trash can. That reminded me that I was all out, so I wrapped a big towel around myself and went down the hall to Jodi’s bathroom, where I retrieved a bottle of expensive salon-type shampoo.

  It wasn’t until I was back under the showerhead and lathering up my hair that it struck me.

  Why was my empty shampoo bottle at the top of the trash can?

  Pulse surging, I pushed aside the shower curtain and looked out at the small white wastebasket. It was filled with the papers and receipts I had dumped there when cleaning out my purse and briefcase two days before. But I had thrown out my empty shampoo the day before that. It should be at the bottom of the pile, not the top.

  Chills running down my spine, I finished my shower as quickly as I could, dried off, and dressed in the nearest thing I could find.

  Someone had been here. Someone had searched my room.

  Determined to find proof, I set out on a methodical, room-by-room inspection to see if I could detect any other signs of the house having been disturbed. It wasn’t easy because I hadn’t spent all that much time here. But I felt as though there were some things just a bit “off”: pictures that didn’t hang quite straight, drawers that weren’t quite closed.

  In the kitchen, I opened the pantry and then accessed Eli’s hidden closet. I had already taken almost everything from it for our own purposes, but it didn’t look as though the few things left there had been disturbed. Terrified of what I might find, I ran my hand along the top shelf; I breathed a sigh of relief to find Jodi’s bearer bonds still there. I slid the closet shut, closed the pantry, and then returned to my room.

  I wasn’t concerned about anything that might have been
recovered from my own trash. I always kept a “to be shredded” manila envelope locked in my briefcase for sensitive trash. The things I had tossed out here were harmless—brochures from North Carolina, info on the Climb for KFK. But I still didn’t know what to make of this, other than to wonder if it had been done during Jodi’s impromptu barbecue. If not then, perhaps Zach had taken Jodi off to St. Thomas today on purpose so that Larry would be free to come here and rifle through the house alone. In my conversation with Jodi earlier, I had asked about doctors, which may have indicated to them that Tom and I would be spending a few hours in the doctor’s waiting room. Chances were the coast seemed clear, so while everyone was away, somebody let themselves in and started digging.

  But what were they looking for? This hadn’t been the same crazed, frantic search that had been done in Stella’s condo in Florida. Did that mean it had been done by a different person this time, or that it was the same person using a different method, not wanting to tip their hand that they had been here? I just wasn’t sure, though at the very least I thought I should take some fingerprints. Maybe Abraham could run them for me.

  For now, however, I needed to get over to that restaurant. This would be my only opportunity to sit and chat with Larry and Zach, knowing what I knew. The biggest question on my mind was, what did the two of them know about me in return? If Jodi was in cahoots with them, then they knew everything. If she wasn’t, then hopefully they still assumed that Tom and I were here on vacation, friends of Jodi’s who were simply enjoying her hospitality.

  I quickly put on some makeup and did my hair, and then I changed into a lightweight tan cotton dress, belting it with the rope-and-shell belt I had bought this afternoon. I slipped sandals on my feet, and then I stepped back and checked my reflection in the mirror. I looked like an innocent vacationer, ready for a nice night out.

  Before I left, I took another peek at Tom. To my surprise, he was awake and just sitting up in bed.

  “Hi,” I said softly. “How are you feeling?”

  He ran a bandaged hand over his face.

  “Like I’ve been to the moon and back,” he replied. “I’ve never taken pain pills before, but my hands hurt so badly. You know, if you work for the NSA and you have to have surgery with anesthesia, they send an agent into the operating room with you.”

  “They do?”

  “Yeah. People say some mighty dumb things when they’re out of their head. I hope I wasn’t…too stupid.”

  “No, not at all.”

  He sat all the way up, leaning back against the headboard.

  “You look pretty,” he said. “Where’ve you been?”

  “It’s where I’m going,” I said. “The Full Moon Buffet with Jodi and the gang. I figured I would just go without you. You have a phone call you need to make, but otherwise, you should probably spend the evening convalescing.”

  “Convalescing? What am I, an old man? We’ve got work to do.”

  I glanced at my watch. I was already running late.

  “Then let’s move fast,” I said. “I’m not sure how long they’ll be there.”

  I gave Tom a quick recap of the things I had learned—the meeting for tomorrow morning, the fact that Zach was the captain of the Enigma, the shocker that Larry was Dianne and Earl’s son. For the sake of time, I didn’t tell him exactly how I had learned all of this.

  “One more bit of news,” I said, “somebody has searched the house in the last two days. Did you have anything sensitive here that shouldn’t have been seen?”

  He let out a low whistle.

  “Anything like that I carry with me at all times.”

  “Good.”

  “Things don’t look tossed in here,” he added, “at least not like the condo in Cocoa Beach.”

  “No, it was a more subtle job than that,” I replied. “This time, they didn’t want to be detected. But I know it when I see it.”

  “I bet you do.”

  I pulled from my purse the contact info that Abraham had given me and handed it to Tom.

  “We need to go to that meeting tomorrow,” I said, “and do some more electronic surveillance with the directional microphone if we can. Abraham said his warrant doesn’t apply in the British Virgin Islands, so it’s not a move we could make legally. Interpol could do it, but they can’t get someone here by then. That leaves you, Tom. I told Abraham I knew someone in a government agency who might be able to help out.”

  “Meaning me.”

  “Meaning you. Here’s the person you would contact at Interpol to work it out.”

  He looked at the name and number and nodded.

  “Can’t hurt to try,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Because he had to use a landline for the call, we decided to split up for the time being. I would go ahead to the restaurant. He would grab a quick shower and then find a pay phone to work out the details. If there was still time, he’d meet me later at the restaurant.

  I copied Jodi’s directions for him, gave him a quick kiss, and said goodbye. As I drove away from the house, I prayed for his protection and mine.

  On the way to the restaurant, I called Abraham once again. I hated bothering him so much at home, but time was of the essence and I didn’t think this could wait.

  His wife answered, sounding none too pleased when I asked for her husband. Abraham came on the line, but when I apologized, he insisted I had nothing to be sorry for.

  “This is the nature of my business,” he said.

  “I have a quick question,” I told him, “but I’m on my cell, if you know what I mean.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “The two men we spoke of earlier,” I said, meaning Larry and Zach. “You told me you’ve been keeping an eye on things with them?”

  “Yes. Somewhat.”

  “Could there have been a gap in time—say, two or three days, maybe—where one of them wasn’t around to keep an eye on?”

  Abraham was silent for a long moment.

  “You are speaking of last week?” he asked finally. “Like near the end of the week?”

  Fortunately, he understood what I was implying—that either Larry or Zach could have gone to the States and shot Eli.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s possible. Yes, it’s very possible. You might check with U.S. Customs, if you know what I mean.”

  As we concluded our call, I felt a surge of hope. If they had flown to Miami, there would be a record—and the dates would coincide with the stolen sniper rifle and the attempt taken on Eli’s life.

  I kept driving, and when I reached the town of Coral Bay, I had to slow way down—first for a donkey that was in the road and then for a group of people coming out of a roadside bar. After I passed all of that, I picked up some speed, enjoying the way my vehicle hugged the road as I took the ups and downs and twists and turns of St. John.

  I could hear the music coming from the restaurant before I could even see the place. I put on my left blinker and then turned into a parking lot filled to overflowing with cars. I went up and down several rows before finding a spot I could squeeze in at the very end.

  Walking toward the restaurant, I could see that it was a rambling building not far from the water. Most of the people were spread out at tables across the lawn, and at one end of the patio a band was playing next to a wide slate dance floor.

  I stood under a big tree at the entrance, taking in the sight of all of these folks dining and laughing under the stars and the full, bright moon. I didn’t see Jodi and her group, however, so I went ahead and paid and followed the delicious aroma of the food into the restaurant.

  There was a long, slow-moving line for the buffet, and I spotted the people I was looking for near the front. I took my place at the back and observed them and how they interacted.

  This time, the three women—Jodi, Sandy, and Fawn—clustered together chatting animatedly. Behind them were the two men—Zach and Larry—and though they weren’t saying m
uch, they didn’t seem to be having a very good time. Their expressions, at least, were rather dour. They were probably preoccupied with the meeting taking place in the morning. Judging by the fact that Dianne had bought a passport for Larry, I could only assume that when they fled, he would flee as well. I didn’t know what Zach might have in mind.

  As I watched, Larry turned and spoke to the woman behind him, and I wondered if perhaps she was his date. At least she was closer to his age than the kids he’d been hanging out with all week. Actually, when she turned my way, I realized she was even older than him, by at least ten years. Looking harsh and weathered with sunstreaked hair and a too-deep tan, I had a feeling she’d been around the block a few times.

  Jodi finally spotted me as she came past, her plate loaded with food. She looked stunning, if overdone, with elaborate makeup, an intricate “island” hairstyle and a top and skirt set that left her stomach quite bare. A large diamond sparkled from her navel.

  “Hey!” she cried, looking genuinely glad to see me. “What are you doing back here? You shoulda come up with us.”

  “I didn’t want to butt in line.”

  “Well, when you have your food, come on outside. We’re at the far corner that way.” She paused for a moment. “Where’s Tom?”

  “He’s coming. He had to make a phone call.”

  “Okay. See you outside.”

  She left, with the rest of her friends soon to follow.

  Once they were all gone, I concentrated on the food I was waiting in line for, surprised to realize I didn’t recognize a single dish on the buffet. Fortunately, the woman in front of me asked one of the servers what everything was, and I listened as he pointed out items like “fungi” and “wahoo.”

  Outside, I located the group, glad to see they had saved two chairs for me and Tom. The tanned woman was, indeed, Larry’s date, and he introduced her as Sunshine.

  “Sunshine?” I asked.

  “It’s that or Freebird,” she replied. “Which do you like better?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m choosing a new name for the new me. Which do you like better—Sunshine or Freebird?”