Death by Marriage

by Jaden Skye

  When she walked in, people were speaking freely to each other, drinking, laughing. Cindy saw some guys at the bar look up at her admiringly. It would take about three minutes, Cindy figured, to get a date for dinner and beyond.

  Cindy thought about Mattheus for a moment and smiled. She wondered what he was doing in the casino, if he was getting useful tips. She also wondered how he would react seeing her here now. There was a kind of freedom she felt with him away, but he was also on her mind.

  Cindy went to the bar, took an empty seat, and ordered a rum and coke. The bartender was a local, in his mid-forties, with warm eyes and a welcoming smile. Probably a good person to start talking to, Cindy thought, especially as this was one of Paul’s regular haunts.

  “Did you happen to know Paul Robbins?” Cindy started lightly.

  The bartender stopped and frowned. “Of course. Who didn’t know Paul?” He stared at Cindy. “Why do you ask?”

  A woman sitting next to Cindy, with long, flowing chestnut brown hair, a low cut dress, and bright, red lipstick, overheard and broke in. “You looking for Paul Robbins?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Cindy.

  “Well, it’s too late, honey,” the woman went on.

  “That’s a hell of a way to talk about my friend,” the bartender interrupted, offended.

  The woman shrugged, “What did I say? Just that it’s too late.”

  “What would Paul do if he heard you?” the bartender’s eyes were flashing. “Is that how he deserves to be talked about?”

  “He can’t hear anything anymore,” she said and turned on her barstool to Cindy. “He’s gone.”

  “I realize,” said Cindy.

  “You realize?” The bartender looked really perturbed.

  “I came down to the island to help with the case,” Cindy said softly. She liked the bartender and wanted help anyway she could get it.

  “Who are you?” the woman asked. Apparently she’d taken a liking to Cindy.

  “Cindy Blaine,” Cindy said,

  “A cop?” the woman’s eyes opened wide.

  “Private detective,” said Cindy.

  “Working for who?” the bartender was riveted.

  “Kendra Robbins,” said Cindy.

  “Whew, that’s a new development,” the bartender seemed relieved. “Forget about paying for the drink. It’s on the house.”

  Cindy was surprised. “No need for it.”

  “Listen, anyone that’s helping out Paul is a friend of mine,” he said. “His wife needs a hand, too.”

  The woman besides Cindy didn’t seem to agree. “We women get what we deserve,” she said under her breath.

  “Kendra deserved this?” Cindy asked her, amazed.

  The woman grabbed her drink and poured what was left of it down her throat. “I’m not saying Kendra in particular, I’m just saying a woman gets what she’s willing to fight for.”

  Cindy was fascinated.

  “Don’t pay any attention to her,” said the bartender. “She’s had too much to drink – she rails against everything.”

  The woman next to Cindy put her glass down and asked for another. The bartender left to get it and she turned to Cindy.

  “I had to ask for another to get rid of him. He’s a terrific pain when he wants to be. Thinks he runs the island. Well he doesn’t, the only thing he runs is this bar. Paul was a big tipper, took good care of him. Paul’s wife never came here though. The bartender never met her once.”

  “You knew Paul’s wife well?” Cindy asked her.

  “Not at all,” said the woman, straightening out her skirt. “I knew Paul, though. He hung out here almost every night after work. Except when he was out of town.” She looked at Cindy knowingly.

  “Playing around?” said Cindy.

  “I didn’t say it, you did,” said the woman.

  “He came on to you?” Cindy wanted more.

  “Never me. Never anyone I knew, either. Whenever I saw him he was just chatting it up with the girls. Paul loved to chat up the ladies and the guys as well. He needed attention. Tons of it. If you asked me, I could see this coming. He was a slippery kind of guy.”

  “How?”

  “Honey, are you playing dumb or what? I thought you said you were a detective. Is this your act for getting me to spill the beans? Beautiful, sweet, innocent detective, looks like a lamb on the outside -- but is really a tiger underneath.”

  Cindy respected how forthright she could be. “I’m new at this,” she said, “I need to hear whatever you can tell me.” The place was starting to get crowded and it was hard to hear over the din.

  “I already told you” the woman said, “Paul was crafty, knew how to work the crowd, a few laughs here, a few smiles there. What for? I didn’t buy it. I could see his mind ticking off all kinds of things. I mean if there’s a wife waiting at home, what the hell was he doing hanging here?”

  “Ever ask him that?”

  “Come on. I know better. I come down here for the same thing he did. Company. Name is Andrea Bell, by the way. I own the spa two blocks down.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” said Cindy.

  The bartender returned. “She filling you in on the dirt in town?” He asked as he placed her drink in front of her.

  “Come on Perry,” she said, “lighten up. You’re a different guy since Paul died. Don’t be so defensive.”

  “Nothing to do with being defensive,” the bartender said, “just making sure that my friend gets his due respect.”

  “You get respect if you deserve it,” said Andrea. “And it’s as simple as that.”

  The bartender leaned in. “You think Paul didn’t deserve it?”

  “Who knows?” said Andrea.

  The bartender turned to Cindy then. “This is a woman,” he said, “who doesn’t trust anyone. It comes from working in that spa for too many years. Hearing too many stories, from too many losers in town.”

  Cindy wondered if that would happen to her as well. Would she turn into another Andrea, doubting the motives of everyone?

  “I’m a busy man,” the bartender said then, “I can’t stay here all night. You want to know more, come back and see me later.” And he left.

  “That’s a hell of an invitation,” Andrea said and kicked Cindy’s foot under the bar. “You come back and you’ll get more than conversation. You here alone?” she said.

  “For tonight,” said Cindy.

  “My partner Mattheus is out of town right now. Why?”

  “Look, you got to know the lay of the land here. It’s not so smart to prowl around on your own. Especially in a dress like that. Looks like you’re out for a hot evening. But maybe you are? How do I know?”

  “I’m not,” Cindy said. “I’m out tonight to find out more about Paul and what happened to him.”

  “What do you want to know?” Andrea asked point blank.

  “Did he have a mistress? Was there someone he met here, or somewhere else?”

  “I already told you,” Andrea went on, “he chatted up lots of people.”

  “But was there one in particular?” Cindy sensed that Andrea knew more than she let on.

  “And if there was,” Andrea whispered, “what’s in it for me?”

  “You’d be helping out his wife, Kendra. The police are zeroed in on her.”

  “I couldn’t care less about helping out Kendra.”

  Cindy was shocked. “You’ve something against her?”

  “Not in particular, but I’m not the kind to help out wives in distress.” She smiled broadly then. “Honest is honest. What else could be in it for me?”

  “How much do you want?” asked Cindy.

  Andrea smiled again. She had a tough charm. “Okay, you win. Buy the drinks I had tonight and the next one I’ll order and we’ll call it a deal.”

  Cindy took some cash out of her bag, as Andrea wrote something down on a paper cocktail napkin. She wrote it in a sprawling, slightly shaky handwriting. Cindy looked at the letters carefully.
It was the name of a woman, Heather May. The writing was similar to the note she’d found -- similar, but not a match.

  “Who is she?” Cindy asked.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” she said, tossed her hair back and got up to leave. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

  “The pleasure’s all mind,” Cindy said.

  Cindy folded the napkin and put it in her pocket book. She wanted to get going. It was hot in here, the place was packed and the noise of the band was too loud by now. Then, just as she was about to stand up, Cindy turned towards the doorway. Nojo, was standing there, staring, blocking the door. Cindy stopped cold.

  Then she walked towards the door, squeezing through the crowd. A few guys smiled at her as she wound her way through. When she got to the entrance, Nojo was blocking it.

  “Hot out on the town?” he muttered under his breath, as Cindy stood in front of him.

  Cindy pretended not to hear.

  “Too bad your friend isn’t here to watch over you now,” Nojo spoke louder, chewing gum loudly.

  Cindy tried to maneuver by.

  “If there’s one thing I hate,” Nojo mumbled loudly, his voice louder, “it’s snooty ladies who won’t give you the time of day.”

  Cindy stopped in her tracks and stared him right in the eyes. “You’re blocking my way,” she said her voice edgy and rough, a fierce anger suddenly rising in her.

  Nojo wiped the grin off his face fast and moved to the side.

  “See you later, doll,” he drawled ominously, as Cindy slid past him out onto into the turbulent night.

  CHAPTER 7

  Mattheus wasn’t due back until later that evening and Cindy was eager for him to return. She enjoyed going over plans for the day with him and filling him in on what had happened. Of course she could have called him in St. Croix, but something stopped her. This was a new chapter for both of them and it had barely started. She didn’t want to muddy the waters. She knew they needed distance between them that it would give them both room to breathe. They also needed time to get to know each other. They’d jumped into an intense situation far too quickly, and above all, Cindy dreaded being suffocated or suffocating him.

  When she woke up in the morning, she showered, dressed in a lime green, linen dress and sat out on the patio of her hotel room. She’d have breakfast brought up, read the paper, and decide how to spend the day. Cindy put her legs up on a chair near the table and threw her head back, looking up at the sky. This work was certainly fascinating, if not tricky at times. She loved hunting down clues, meeting new people, following her gut instincts. So far, she’d put everything she’d gathered into a carved wooden box she’d found on the bureau of her room. Now she stuck Andrea’s card in it and the napkin with the name of the woman she was to meet next. She also wanted to return to Kendra’s and meet her daughter Nell. Like separate pieces of a broken puzzle, they would all come together when the time was right.

  There was a knock on her door and breakfast was carried in on a tray. Cindy signed for it and thanked the waiter. Then she took her plate with her out onto the patio and ate slowly, enjoying the clear, salty morning air. The heat didn’t start to come into until a little later, thick, muggy, humid weather at this time of year. It was lovely to take a few moments to enjoy the early morning breezes. She didn’t have much time though. Clearly, her next move was to find the woman Andrea told her about, Heather May.

  Cindy finished breakfast, picked up the phone and asked for information. It could be just as simple as that. Heather May could be listed.

  She wasn’t.

  Next Cindy called the police station and asked for Fred Brayton. After a few minutes he picked up the phone.

  “Hi, this is Cindy Blaine.”

  There was silence for a second on the other side. “Oh yeah,” he said finally. “I remember, sure. What’s going on?” He sounded busy and official.

  “I’m trying to find the address of a woman I want to talk to,” Cindy said. “Can you give me a hand?”

  “Who?” his interest perked up.

  “Heather May,” said Cindy.

  He laughed.

  Cindy was taken aback. “You know her?”

  “Everybody knows her. We talked to her already, sweetheart. Who gave you her name?”

  “The owner of Salon B,” said Cindy, “Andrea.”

  He laughed harder. “Boy you sure get around town quick. Andrea’s a character, all right. You been to the Salon already?”

  Cindy didn’t like the tone in his voice. He spoke to her as if she were a child. “Not yet,” she said, offended.

  “That dame’s a hoot. Where’d you meet her?” Brayton went on.

  Enough was enough. Cindy wasn’t going to join in bad mouthing women. “I’d like Heather May’s address and phone number if you have it,” she said officially.

  “That’s a wild goose chase,” Brayton answered. “She lives way at the edge of town, frizzy hair, always out on her porch, smoking dope. Fancies herself some kind of artist. She’s not. Had a questionable connection with Paul too, if you asked me. Very peculiar. You can’t believe a thing she says.”

  “Great,” said Cindy, “I’d like to see her anyway.”

  “You’re damn persistent for a woman, “Brayton said then.

  Cindy shuddered and decided to have as little contact with the police as possible from now on. She didn’t need them. She’d let Mattheus handle that.

  “I’ll run by her place for a little while,” said Cindy. “Never know what I can pick up.”

  Brayton paused, grumbled and acquiesced. “Do it your way, what do I care? Use your time however you like. I’m not the one paying for it.” Then he gave her Heather May’s address - 42 Ravine Road. “It’s down past the junction that leads to the Pier on the left side of the island. Turn left there and keep going, until you can’t go another minute. The house is there. A ramshackle place. I don’t have her phone, don’t know if she even has one.”

  Cindy hung up the phone. What was wrong with these guys? They lived in a time warp where women were treated like imbeciles. She could see clearly why women in trouble down here wanted a woman detective. At least Cindy had gotten Heather May’s address. She decided to rent a car and drive down there herself to talk to her.

  *

  The trip down was tricky. The roads curved and wound up and down, along narrow edges, and through hills lined with trees, wild bushes, sprawling vines. Lizards, frogs and other little animals were everywhere, popping out at the most unexpected moments. The sun shone in Cindy’s eyes most of the time as she drove.

  This was probably a good trip to have taken with Mattheus, Cindy thought for a moment, and then quickly brushed the thought aside. She had to remember that Mattheus needed plenty of space. She’d felt a little pang when she thought about it, but brushed it away. This wasn’t a relationship, it was a business partnership. They’d fill each other in when he got back into town. She’d chosen this job and had better grow strong enough to be able to handle it, learn to stand firmly on her own two feet. From the moment she’d met Clint years ago, she’d always felt taken care of. It had meant a lot to her then. Now things were different. Clint had been dead for a bunch of months, and she was in an equal partnership now.

  She drove down a bumpy, unpaved road to the address she’d gotten for Heather May. This part of town was untouched, hidden and wild. Trees, brush and wild life of all kinds, were tangled up in each other. Shafts of bright light shone through the trees and then disappeared suddenly in heavy shadows that lined the roads.

  Cindy came to a small, wooden house with an open porch that wound around it. Beyond that, there was no road. Cindy got out of the car. A thick smell of leaves, pines, and moist soil wafted up. This had to be Heather May’s place. She walked closer, feeling like an intruder, trying not to make a sound.

  To Cindy’s surprise a sound of chimes rang out as she got closer to the entrance. They were hanging along the edge of the porch, ready to warn whoever wa
s inside that someone was approaching. Just as Cindy expected, the front door opened then, and a woman, in her mid-forties came out. She had on a long cotton skirt and skimpy T shirt. Her long, golden, frizzy hair framed a pretty face. She stared at Cindy, uncomprehending.

  “I’m Cindy Blaine,” Cindy announced, before she took another step. The last thing she wanted to do in the world was frighten this woman, who already seemed startled and alone.

  “Who?” the woman asked softly, confused.

  “Andrea gave me your name,” Cindy said then.

  The woman curled her forehead, thinking. “From Salon B?” she asked finally.

  Cindy nodded.

  “Okay,” she said then, smiling slightly, “come on up.”

  Cindy took small steps carefully as she approached her, aware that Heather May was examining her from head to toe.

  “I’m Heather May,” the woman said finally, in a soft tone.

  Cindy was relieved that she’d passed inspection and Heather was talking to her.

  “Sit down out here on the porch,” said Heather. “I’ll go in and get you some lemonade.”

  “There’s no need for lemonade,” said Cindy, not wanting to put her to any trouble.

  “Of course there is,” said Heather. “It’s refreshing in the afternoon, especially before the heavy clouds come. And they come more often these days, just before the hurricane season.” Then she wiped her hands along the sides of her skirt, turned and walked back in.

  The porch had a few wicker chairs and an old, red, leather glider that was ripped, here and there. Cindy wanted to sit on the glider, but she chose a wicker chair with plump tropical cushions on it.

  In a few minutes, Heather came out, carrying lemonade glasses with a slice of lime and cherry in them. She offered one to Cindy, staring straight into her eyes. Then she laughed.

  “Two days ago, Marshmallow told me someone unexpected would be arriving. I didn’t really believe what he said. I never do. And he’s almost never wrong.”