Afoot on St. Croix (Mystery in the Islands)

by Hale, Rebecca M.

  Standing from his chair, Umberto reached for a carafe and poured out a steaming cup of coffee.

  “Sorry, I’m fresh out of sugar,” he said as he stepped across the boat and handed over the drink.

  Charlie slurped down a sip of the hot liquid and skewed his face into a rough grin. His head was still pounding, but the coffee did wonders to deaden the pain.

  He nodded at the clipping on the wall. “You’re the guy in the newspaper story?”

  Umberto nodded confirmation, bending his torso in a small bow.

  “Well, then we’re both out of costume,” Charlie mused bitterly, looking down at the green dress still wrapped around his sturdy frame. The matching high-heeled shoes were laid out neatly on the floor beside his bunk. “Let me guess,” he said crassly. “You found me in the old Danish fort.”

  “Mm-hmm,” his host replied, arching his eyebrows inquisitively.

  Charlie bent to pick up the nearest shoe and held it up to the light streaming through the row of portals.

  There were few things that could add to the humiliation of being knocked out, dressed in women’s clothes, and dropped off in the basement of the Danish fort, but his face soured as he studied the adhesive used to bind the heel to the shoe’s sole.

  “Hmph,” he muttered, drawing on the fashion expertise he’d gleaned ten years earlier. “Just like the others.”

  Umberto took a puzzled sip of coffee as Charlie offered a cryptic explanation.

  “It’s a knockoff.”

  ~ 35 ~

  A Blended Family

  ABOUT TWELVE MILES away from the Christiansted boardwalk, inside a gated community located near the center of the island, the occupants of a secluded villa started their day.

  Four children crawled out of their beds and stumbled sleepily down the hallway to the kitchen. The mother looked up from the stove as the pajama-clad figures slid into their seats at the table.

  The two oldest siblings slumped in their chairs, their faces drowsily drooping toward their place settings. Their growing teenage bodies had reached the stage where sleep was a treasured commodity, one not easily shaken loose by an alarm clock. A knowing smile on her face, the mother set a basket of hot pita bread on the table between them. The reviving scent worked its magic, and eager arms reached in from either side to pull out steaming pieces of the folded flatbread.

  The younger set was much quicker with the transition from dream world to reality. The pair chattered back and forth with each other as they reached for a turn style loaded with honey and a selection of jams.

  “Hassan,” Elena said with a head-tossing flip of her wild curls. “You kept me up all night with your carrying-on.”

  Her brother’s mumbled response was lost in a mouthful of honey-drizzled cheese.

  Elena leaned forward in her chair, testily tapping her fork against her plate.

  “That’s the last time I tell you anything about the Goat Foot Woman . . .”

  The comment was cut short by the mother, who set down a glass of cold milk, diverting her daughter’s attention.

  “Oh, thanks, Mamma,” Elena said between gulps of the drink.

  •

  ON THE SURFACE, the household was a typical example of many within the island’s growing Middle Eastern community.

  While Muslim groups had been present throughout the Caribbean for centuries, their influx into St. Croix’s middle inland hills was a relatively recent immigration trend.

  The members kept mostly to themselves, rarely venturing outside the confines of their close-knit society, and they generally went unseen by the island’s non-Muslim residents. The families took their prayers at the local community mosque; the women shopped in community-owned grocery stores; and the children attended private community-run schools, often with the help of scholarships from the community-supported bank. Most group gatherings were held on restricted private land, well out of the sight of casual passersby.

  St. Croix’s landmass spanned over eighty-two square miles. It was a big enough island to afford even a sizeable sect the cherished privilege of privacy.

  •

  DESPITE THE APPARENT normalcy of that morning’s breakfast scene, there were a few subtle indications that this particular blended family deviated somewhat from the rest of the quiet Muslim community’s norm.

  The regular Middle Eastern breakfast spread had been supplemented by a few distinctly American dishes, including Elena’s favorite, blueberry pancakes. Numerous decorating and design touches throughout the house conveyed a Western flair, and the children’s rooms, particularly the teenagers’, were indistinguishable from those of youngsters up in the States.

  In addition, the predominant language spoken around the table that morning—despite years of tutoring in Arabic—and the only language ever used by the mother and her two older children, was English.

  •

  THE MOTHER WAS the one responsible for the family’s Western influences. A delicate woman with pale skin and long honey-brown hair, she was an American, originally from the upper Midwest.

  She had entered the Muslim community almost ten years earlier, upon her engagement to her current husband, Kareem. She’d brought with her two children, now teenagers, from her previous marriage.

  While shielded inside the family’s luxurious villa, the woman typically wore casual slacks and a short-sleeved blouse. Her hair, she kept tied in a loose ponytail, the end of which dropped to the small of her back. For special occasions, an extensive collection of high-end clothes filled the home’s numerous walk-in closets.

  She looked for all the world like the Minnesota housewife she had once been—until she prepared to leave the cloistered protection of her home.

  Hanging from a hook on a coatrack by the front door was the black cloak she would put on over her clothes when she left to take the children to school or, in the case of her youngest, the kindergarten at the nearby mosque. A matching headscarf was carefully folded in a nearby drawer. She would secure that cloth over her head before exiting the villa.

  Both garments were made of a lightweight Caribbean-optimized fabric, expertly tailored to flow when she walked, providing an unexpected venting of air.

  Of course, even the most technologically advanced abaya could feel oppressive in the island’s humid heat, but Mira had found the liberation provided by the clothing’s concealment often far outweighed the downside of its physical confinement.

  •

  MIRA GLANCED ACROSS the table to her husband, whose head was buried behind the morning newspaper.

  Kareem was a taciturn man, reserved in both speech and emotion. Even so, he had been unusually quiet after her late return home the previous evening. She had apologized for her absence, telling him that she had been delayed while visiting a female friend from the mosque. She’d been relieved when he’d accepted her excuse without further questioning.

  If he had concerns about her whereabouts, he hadn’t voiced them out loud. Still, there was a noticeable tension between them.

  Placidly fulfilling her domestic role, Mira placed a bowl of boiled eggs next to his plate. Returning to the kitchen, she fetched the canister from the coffeemaker and topped off his mug.

  Her husband would be heading to work in less than an hour’s time. She just had to get him on his way without incident.

  She smiled to herself, contemplating the future. After today, she would no longer have to worry about placating him.

  His usefulness had run its course. Her second marriage was rapidly nearing its end.

  ~ 36 ~

  The Second Husband

  KAREEM CHUCKLED AS his daughter ran through the house, a wild tempest of swinging pigtails.

  “I’m not going to school,” Elena sang out, her ritual morning rebellion. “I’m going to play all day long.”

  Far more serious and subdued, Hassan
climbed onto his father’s knee to help him review the newspaper. The boy was precocious for his age, and, with a little assistance, he could read most of the headlines.

  Everyone remarked on the striking similarities between Kareem and his son. They were mirror human images reflecting different ages, the same physical features at four and forty-five.

  It was a point in which Kareem took great pride. Despite the trials and tribulations of his marriage and the Muslim community’s frequently expressed disapproval of his wife, he regretted none of the choices that had led to his blended family and the gift of Hassan.

  •

  THE SEVENTH SON of a wealthy Riyadh merchant, Kareem immigrated to St. Croix from his native Saudi Arabia just over ten years earlier. With the hefty financial support of his father, he quickly built up a thriving grocery business on the far-flung Caribbean outpost. A network of five established shops now spread across the island, and a new venture had just opened in downtown Frederiksted. Bimonthly transport of duty-free goods on commercial airline crates from the Middle East had, in large part, facilitated his success.

  Educated in English boarding schools and universities, Kareem was in many ways as Western-leaning as his wife. Proficient in several languages, he was equally comfortable in both religious and secular settings—which didn’t mean he wasn’t still intimidated by Mira’s winsome beauty.

  Unlike a number of the men within St. Croix’s Muslim community, Kareem rarely wore the traditional garb of his homeland. He typically went to work in a starched cotton shirt and a sharp double-breasted suit.

  Even in those instances when he took up a robe and headdress, he managed to convey a sense of affluent panache. The casual but overt sparkle of his jeweled watch and the hand-stitched shine of his leather shoes were intentionally designed to draw attention. He drove a fleet of expensive cars, and his family lived in one of St. Croix’s most elegant villas.

  Kareem’s brash, flashy manner was off-putting to many in the community, and the showy way in which he flaunted his wealth caused much consternation among his brethren, although no one would dare voice such negative opinions out loud. Kareem was one of the principal benefactors to the community’s school and mosque, and his financial support propped up the community bank.

  Regardless, whatever discomfort might have been caused by Kareem’s flamboyant personality paled in comparison to the ire generated by another aspect of his life.

  Particularly among the staunchly conservative members of the community, no topic caused more rancor and suspicion than that of Kareem’s spouse.

  •

  THE CONTROVERSIAL PAIR met not long after they both moved to St. Croix.

  Kareem had been staying in a guesthouse connected to a villa owned by a family friend. The temporary lodging was serving as his home office while he perused the real estate listings and worked through the myriad details and regulatory hurdles surrounding the opening of his first grocery store. It had taken far longer than anticipated to get his business up and running, and the tedious process was sorely testing his patience.

  He was inside the guesthouse, halfway through his fourth meeting of the day, this time with a potential vendor for the industrial-sized air-conditioning units that would be needed to cool the grocery’s commercial space, when the fateful moment occurred.

  Somewhere within the numbing discussion of BTUs and circuit loading, Kareem’s eyes glazed over. Just as he tried to suppress a wide yawn, the sound of footsteps drew his attention to the front window. He looked out to see a woman walking up to the main house carrying several large packages in her arms.

  The sight immediately wakened his senses.

  During the weeks Kareem had spent holed up within the community’s gated enclosure, he’d seen only cloaked female figures. This newcomer was distinctly different.

  Her graceful figure was dressed in Western clothing, a tasteful but tight-fitting dress that put her slender curves on full display. Even as she struggled with the load of packages, her balanced stride conveyed a certain classic elegance.

  The air-conditioning salesman noticed his client’s distraction.

  “What are you waiting for?” the man asked with a grin. He nodded toward the window. “Get out there and introduce yourself.”

  •

  KAREEM JOGGED ACROSS the connecting lawn to the sidewalk, knowing that the women inside the main house were likely watching his approach.

  Self-consciously aware of the audience and awed by the unaccustomed physicality of the female form, he found himself completely tongue-tied. It was an awkward, unfamiliar sensation for the typically confident Kareem. To make matters worse, he tripped on the edge of the concrete path, and it took him several seconds to regain his footing. Even after he’d righted himself, he could think of nothing suitable to say.

  Bashfully smiling, he motioned his offer of assistance. By the time they reached the front stoop, he had managed, through mime, to relieve Mira of all but one of her packages. Dutifully, he set them on the front porch, where he could hear the raucous giggles of the women on the other side of the door.

  He retreated, red-faced and embarrassed, to the guesthouse.

  Back inside the office, he confided in the salesman.

  “I don’t know what came over me,” he said apologetically. He pointed to his left hand and shrugged his disappointment. “She’s wearing a wedding ring. She’s a married woman.”

  The salesman let out a loud guffaw. Then he patted Kareem on the shoulder and winked encouragingly.

  “I wouldn’t let that dissuade you, my friend.”

  •

  KAREEM WAITED UNTIL later that evening before venturing to the main house to inquire about the woman he’d escorted down the sidewalk. After a few discreetly placed questions that fooled no one, he learned that she had visited the main house in her capacity as a personal shopper.

  While many of the community’s female members preferred nice clothes and accessories to wear beneath their traditional garb, they often felt uncomfortable browsing in Christiansted’s boutique shopping district. The inventory was limited, and the dressing rooms quite small. Moreover, the West Indian shop staff tended to treat the cloaked women with suspicion.

  Mira had stepped in to fill the void. Newly arrived on St. Croix herself, she had started a personal shopping service to help out with her family’s finances. The women in the Muslim community had been a perfect target group. The first initial meetings had only had two or three participants, but the clothing club had rapidly expanded. On average, twenty or more shoppers were now showing up to peruse and discuss the merchandise Mira had collected.

  Once or twice a week, Mira would meet with the women inside one of the community’s private homes. After taking note of their sizes and style preferences, she would obtain a variety of items on credit and bring them to the next meeting.

  The operation had quickly become a wild success. Mira had doubled the number of items she’d sold at the last meeting, and she’d left with a long wish list for the next get-together.

  •

  KAREEM WAS BESOTTED. He was intrigued by Mira’s entrepreneurial spirit and enamored by her beauty. He tried desperately to dismiss her from his thoughts, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Even as he tried to concentrate on the pending opening of his first grocery store, the obsession consumed his thoughts.

  The morning of the women’s next get-together, Kareem was once again meeting with the air-conditioner salesman. They had reached the last step of the negotiation process. The units needed for the store had been selected, and the contract terms had been agreed upon. Kareem’s signature was the only piece missing.

  The two men were seated at the office table sipping on cups of coffee, working through the obligatory chitchat before finalizing their business arrangement. The conversation inevitably turned to Kareem’s romantic quandary.

 
“If only I could buy her a present,” he said dreamily. “Something to let her know how I feel.”

  The salesman tapped the side of his cup as he considered Kareem’s options. After several seconds, he snapped his fingers. “Get her a pair of shoes,” he suggested with a wise pump of his eyebrows. “All women like shoes.”

  Kareem’s face lit up, as if pleased by the idea. Then he frowned.

  “But how would I know which ones to get?” Kareem asked worriedly. “How would I choose the right size?”

  “Leave it to me,” the salesman replied, a gleam in his eyes. “I was taking a stroll through the Christiansted shops the other day, and I saw just the pair.” He cleared his throat. “Now about that contract . . .”

  •

  THAT AFTERNOON, KAREEM waited nervously for the women’s shopping session to wind down. He paced back and forth inside the guesthouse, rehearsing the lines he’d devised to go with the gift.

  When Mira finally emerged from the main residence with the day’s unsold goods, he rushed out to the sidewalk to greet her.

  Once more, words failed him.

  He held out the ribbon-tied shoe box and mouthed silently, “For you.”

  The shoes, it seemed, spoke for themselves.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t,” she said, but her hands had already wrapped around the corners of the box.

  Kareem at last found his voice.

  “I insist,” he managed to croak hoarsely.

  With a serene smile, she graciously accepted the present. Giddily, she sat down on the front porch, pulled off her old shoes, and eagerly slid on the new ones.

  •

  KAREEM RETURNED TO the guesthouse, his triumphant glee soon deflating to despair. He had no chance with the beautiful brunette, he thought ruefully, and he chided himself for making such an impertinent gesture to a married woman.

  But a few days later, he received a tearful phone call. After a marriage-ending argument with her husband, Mira had packed her bags and fled to Miami with her two children.

  Kareem caught the next flight out. He found Mira in the airport’s departure lounge, her lovely face wan and tearstained. She’d been unable to get seats on the connecting flight to Minneapolis, so she and the kids were stranded in the waiting area until a row for the three of them opened up.