Front Page Affair

by Jennifer Morey

  “Is she still there?” Arizona asked.

  “Julian is afraid of his father?” Braden asked.

  “I didn’t know she was ever there,” she said to Arizona. “I just heard him talking, that’s all.” Then she turned to Braden. “Julian seemed as though he was afraid his father would find out...about your sister, and...whatever he’s done with her.”

  Braden lowered his head as a wave of dread sank him down. If he’d killed her...

  He’d donated her things. Didn’t she need them anymore?

  Arizona reached over and rubbed his back.

  “I’m so sorry,” the maid said.

  Julian had given all her possessions away. They’d be dispersed among the homeless or poor and no one would ever be able to trace them back to Tatum. The police wouldn’t be able to prove they’d come from Julian’s villa.

  Except for the maid. She could prove Tatum was there.

  “We’ll take you to the police now.” Arizona looked at Braden. “We have to tell Crawford. He should question her.”

  He agreed wholeheartedly and was happy her thinking was right in line with his.

  “No!” The woman stood abruptly, waving her hands in negation. “I cannot go to the police.”

  “Why not?” Arizona stood with her. “A woman may have been kidnapped. Possibly killed. You know something.”

  “And I’ve told you. Please do not tell the police I came to you. I don’t know what Julian will do if he ever finds out I talked to you. I returned what isn’t mine. That’s all.” The woman turned to go.

  “Wait.” Braden rose and Arizona followed the woman onto the sidewalk.

  Braden gently took hold of her arm and stopped her. “Please.”

  “I’ve told you all I can. Probably more than I should have.” She tugged to be free, round eyes frantically searching around her for anyone who might see.

  “You said Julian invites many women to his villa.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you tell us who they are?”

  She shook her head. “I never learned their names. He takes them to his suite and they’re gone by morning.”

  Gone by morning. What the hell was going on?

  “What about his father? What can you tell us about him?” Braden asked. He was desperate for information.

  “Carlos Ramirez isn’t Julian’s real father. He raised him from a child. I don’t know what happened to Julian’s mother. One of the cooks said she left him. Carlos is not very fond of Julian but he’s never turned him away.”

  Did Carlos know what Julian was doing while he was away? “Neither am I.”

  “What does Carlos do for a living?” Arizona asked.

  “He inherited money from his mother. From what I have heard, he travels a lot and is rarely home.”

  “And Julian?”

  “He is supposedly a retired insurance underwriter, but there are many suspicious meetings that take place at the villa.”

  “What kind of meetings?” Braden asked.

  The maid searched around again, agitated. “Please. I must be going. If I am seen here...”

  “What kind of meetings?” he demanded.

  “I—I do not know. Men come to the villa and they meet in the basement behind closed doors. There is a meeting room down there. None of the staff knows what goes on in there.”

  Braden didn’t remember seeing a meeting room when they’d gone to the villa.

  “Some say his meetings are with friends, doing favors for money, that kind of thing,” the maid continued.

  “Black-market favors?” Arizona asked.

  “Carlos does not support Julian other than to tolerate him living in the villa.” She looked both ways on the street. “Please...”

  Braden stepped back from her. “Thank you for coming. And for returning Tatum’s necklace. It means a lot.”

  The woman smiled tentatively. “Take care. I wish you the best in finding your sister.”

  She crossed the street and walked down the sidewalk to the corner, where she disappeared.

  “What now?” Arizona asked.

  “Crawford.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  * * *

  Arizona sat beside Braden in Detective Crawford’s office. Yellow walls and blue chairs added cheer to the doom and gloom of everyday police work.

  “This definitely confirms Tatum was there.” Crawford looked up from examining the necklace. “I suppose I should thank you.” He held up the emerald. “This is the best lead we’ve had so far. I’ll get my men on it.”

  Arizona relaxed against the chair. Instead of allowing his ego to rule the day, he’d set it aside and accepted the help. Maybe he’d get somewhere in the investigation now.

  “And I’ll go question the maid myself. Discreetly, of course. It would probably be best if the two of you stayed away.”

  Braden nodded once.

  Arizona agreed they shouldn’t be the ones questioning the maid. “What about all the other women he brought to his house?” If they could find one or two of them, maybe they could shed some light.

  “There’ve been no other open missing person reports. Tatum and Courtney Andrews are the only two.”

  And both were connected to Julian Blake. How long had he been getting away with this? The injustice of it ate away at her composure. She’d love to see him caught.

  “What about murders?” Braden asked. “Do you have anything unsolved?”

  Arizona was impressed with his thinking.

  Crawford took affront. “Tortola isn’t a hub for crime. We pride ourselves at maintaining a safe, tranquil island where travelers can find pristine beaches.”

  In other words, no? The detective’s patience was wearing thin. He had two tourists doing his job for him. He appeared to appreciate the lead of the necklace, but he should have been the one to find it.

  Leaning back against his chair, elbow on the arm, he rubbed his chin beneath a poker face, not answering Braden’s question.

  “Do you?” she pressed.

  “I’ll look into it.”

  It was all they’d get. Why? Had his ego overpowered the day after all? Or was he stalling for other reasons?

  “We’ll try to stay out of your way from now on,” Braden said. Then he stood. “Let’s go.”

  Arizona followed him out the door. When they were outside, she couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself anymore. “There are murders, aren’t there?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

  She was glad he had the same intentions as her. Crawford hadn’t thought to check into the unsolved murders. He hadn’t thought to check into a possible connection to Julian. Was it island life that made him so lax or something else?

  A short walk down the street brought them to the local library. A white stone building with colorful flowers blooming in the landscaped front, it was old and beautiful. Opening one of two heavy, worn wooden doors, they entered.

  A reception area branched off into rooms of books. Beneath florescent lighting, Arizona followed Braden into the reference section. There were two dated computers and shelves of nonfiction books.

  She took one computer and he took the other. After navigating her way through the library’s archives, she found files of old newspapers.

  “Here.” She showed Braden where to go.

  She began searching through newspapers. A murder would make headlines on this island. They were sporadic and not in sequential order.

  “I still don’t see why Tatum would have come here,” she commented as she skimmed headlines. “It obviously wasn’t for vacation. She had a reason.” And that reason involved Julian. “That woman’s missing computer, the break-in at your house. You’re an engineer for Hami
lton, and your sister worked for a freight forwarder caught doing unauthorized exports.”

  “Keep looking,” Braden answered.

  He took it sorely whenever she brought that up.

  “What if this is all a result of arms dealing?”

  He said nothing. Probably because she only voiced what he didn’t want to believe, that his sister had been involved in something illegal even though she’d denied it.

  “Julian is a high-risk insurance underwriter and supposedly retired. He’d have connections to companies like Hamilton. Maybe even exporters like the company that fired Tatum.” If Julian discovered Tatum had a brother and where he worked and what he did there, he may have targeted Braden next.

  “Tatum wouldn’t have done business with anyone like Julian.”

  “What if she didn’t have a choice?” Julian targeted women. That contradicted her theory that he’d gone after Braden.

  Braden looked at her, pausing what he was doing. He’d already considered the possibility. But what could have happened to make her claim she was being blamed for something she didn’t do?

  A few minutes passed before Braden went still again, this time an article capturing his attention.

  “A woman’s body was found on a beach,” he said.

  She got up and went over to him, leaning over to read the article with him.

  Mina Paoli was strangled before she was left on the beach in Lower Belmond Bay. She had on a swimsuit.

  “She was a local,” Arizona said, staring at a photo of a young woman, dark skin and beaded hair. She was pretty.

  “And worked in a pub serving drinks,” Braden added. “Kind of blows your technology angle.”

  “So it would appear.” She went back to reading the article. Mina’s parents owned the pub where she worked. Maybe they could go there when they finished.

  Something disturbed her about the article. “She was missing for several weeks before she was murdered.” And she was murdered six months ago.

  Arizona resumed searching through the files. An hour later she came across another article. “This woman was from South America.”

  Braden leaned around the desk wall that separated the computers and read some of the article. “Roselda Alvarado. Client manager for an information-technology company.”

  No arms there. How odd. Where was the link between these women and whatever had made that man come after Braden? Or was there even a link?

  “Missing for three weeks before she was found dead a year ago,” Arizona pointed out. If these murders were linked, the killer waited to kill his victims. And the women were from all over the world. America, South America and local.

  “We’re closing in five minutes.”

  She turned with Braden to the librarian who’d come to stand at the opposite end of their table.

  “We’re just about finished.” Arizona quickly skimmed the rest of the articles dating back to coincide the length of time Julian had lived on Frenchman’s Cay.

  “Time to go.” Braden waited for her to get up from her chair and then followed her outside.

  It was dark now.

  “The Long Beach Pub is just up the street,” Arizona said.

  “I was thinking the same thing.”

  The pub was a short walk down Waterfront Drive. Wood buildings lined the road with diagonal parking that butted up to the structures, leaving little room for walking. She and Braden walked in the street and came upon the pub, painted turquoise with bright yellow trim around the windows and a single white door. A patio overhung above the entry, boasting only three or four tables.

  Braden held the door and Arizona entered. Two casement windows in the front and a patio door on the side would do a fair job of allowing in light during the day. Wood tables filled the open room, three of them occupied among muted conversation and the occasional clank of dishes from the kitchen. Island music played through ceiling speakers, a subtle crackling adding to the laid-back charm of the place.

  A young woman appeared from an open doorway in the back, giving enough of a glimpse of the kitchen to reveal its cramped space. “Would there be two now?”

  “We’re looking for Ingrid and Carlin. Is this their restaurant?” Braden said.

  “Ingrid is always here. She runs the place more than Carlin.” The woman beamed. “Who’s asking for her?”

  “We’re here to talk to her about Mina.”

  Her big, toothy smile vanished. “Wait here.” She made her way back to the kitchen.

  A moment later, a heavy black woman with beaded hair held in a net appeared. Her skin was light brown and her eyes a magnificent green. Her daughter’s beauty was reflected in her.

  “Are you police?” The woman asked, eyeing them up and down skeptically.

  “No,” Braden said. “My sister is missing and we think your daughter’s murder may be related somehow.”

  The woman stopped before them, pain still fresh in her eyes. “What do you know about my daughter?” She finished wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Only that she was murdered and her killer is still free,” Braden said. “My sister’s last known whereabouts was Julian Blake’s villa.”

  Arizona saw how he waited for the woman’s reaction. There was only confusion.

  “I do not know a Julian Blake.”

  “Can you tell us about your daughter?” Arizona asked as gently as she could. “People she knew? Places she went?”

  Tears glistened in her eyes. But she nodded and gestured toward a table along the wall, far enough away from the three occupied tables.

  Arizona sat beside Braden, the woman taking up half of the seat across from them. Putting her purse beside her, Arizona took out her notepad and a pen, aware of Braden’s glance. This wasn’t just for her story, if she ever wrote one. She’d have everything written down so they could piece together what happened to his sister and find her.

  The woman had difficulty finding her voice. Grief ravaged her. “I was having a hard time with her,” she began. “She was going off with a bad crowd. Staying out late.” She shook her head. “We close at eleven here and she’d go out after that.”

  “Did she wait tables?” Arizona asked.

  The woman nodded.

  “Where did she go the night she went missing?” Braden asked.

  “She never told me where she was going. She’d just come home when the sun was rising.”

  “Who was she with?”

  “I already told the police. The boy she was seeing was on a trip to the United States. My daughter was with other friends until about midnight. She had a bicycle and her friends told police she left the house where they were partying on it. Her bike was found on the side of the road with a flat tire.”

  She’d stopped in the middle of the night to fix her tire and had been kidnapped before she’d finished. Arizona hid her shudder as she imagined the girl’s terror.

  “We couldn’t find her.” The woman began to sob.

  Arizona reached across the table and covered the woman’s hand with hers. It hadn’t been very long since her daughter’s body was found. And her kidnapping appeared random. It lent a note of credibility to Crawford. Random acts of violence were difficult to solve. Whoever had taken Mina may not have known her. Which made sense if the other kidnappings were related. All were from different countries. Random.

  * * *

  Outside, Braden walked close to Arizona, encouraged and also worried. Encouraged because if Tatum had been abducted by the same man who’d taken Mina, the chances were good that she was still alive. The murders occurred weeks after the abductions. He refrained from letting too much hope buoy his mood, however. What if he couldn’t find her in time? And what if the murders weren’t related?

  A parked car caught his eye. It was running and he could m
ake out the shape of a person inside. No, two. Men. Too bulky to be women.

  Sliding his hand around Arizona’s waist, he pulled her in the opposite direction as he watched the car pull out into the street behind two other cars. The street was fairly busy with activity, but he couldn’t rule out a drive-by shooting.

  He searched for somewhere to go. Back to the pub?

  The car neared, moving slow and holding up traffic. Next to them, it pulled off to the side of the road.

  “Keep walking.”

  Cars streamed past the car even as it inched along, drawing up beside them. The tinted window began to roll down, revealing a dark-skinned man he’d never seen before.

  Spotting a taxi, Braden lifted his hand to flag it to the side. It pulled over behind the car and stopped for them.

  Steering Arizona, he went to the taxi and opened the back door for her.

  “Frenchman’s Point Hotel,” he told the driver, seeing the outline of two men in the car ahead looking back through the tinted glass.

  “Who is that?” Arizona asked as the taxi drove out into the street. The window was down and let in cooling, seaside air.

  “No one I want to meet.”

  “How did they know we were here?” The breeze ruffled Arizona’s thick, blond hair.

  That was a great question. Had they been followed to the police station? He hadn’t noticed. He’d looked, though. Maybe Julian had someone watching them all the time. Or were the men in the car on the side of the law? Had Crawford sent some detectives to follow them? This should be his investigation. Maybe he was trying to make it so.

  The car didn’t follow them.

  Facing forward again, he realized his arm was along the back of the taxi and Arizona was sitting close. So close that her hips and breasts were in contact with him. They’d been in such a hurry to escape the other car that they’d paid no attention to bumping body parts.

  She looked up and he was locked in the instant blaze of their confounding attraction. What was it about her? Even lousy sex didn’t douse the energy.

  It hadn’t been lousy for him. And part of him was tempted to take on the challenge and obliterate her fiancé from her head, right along with her stigma of engineers.