I let that one go so as not to spoil the pleasure of watching Boner crawl across the floor to his scraggy fainted wife. Frippery raised herself on one arm as he approached and wiped the back of a hand across her brow.
Boner's clothes seemed to be rather shredded, and on closer examination his exposed skin was covered in scratches. I took the coffin out of my bag and opened it.
"Oh dear! What a way to go!"
Jay peered into the box and shuddered.
"I'll tell the animal cruelty people! What a mess..."
The cockroach was well and truly stomped. Its carapace was fractured and bits of leg had gathered in the bottom of the box.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..." I intoned as I surreptitiously tipped the mortal remains of the insect into the evening bag of the aspiring authoress at the next table.
When I looked up Boner and Frip had disappeared. I gave the coffin a rattle for luck and replaced it in my bag. I hadn't finished with it yet – or Boner.
On second thoughts I took it out again and poured in half a glass of someone's sticky liqueur. With any luck he had just lain down on the bed.
On third thoughts I stuck an ice cube between the effigy's legs. That was enough thoughts for now.
"Behave yourself, Harry Neptune. Get back to detecting. Why Larry?"
"Now why should a female person be addressed by the name of a male person? Confusion engendered by the cross-dressing theme of the evening perhaps? No, none of the disguises are that good."
I puffed the imaginary pipe again.
"Larry is actually a girl's name in the Deep South or the Bronx or wherever la Swat really hails from? Not in my experience."
I made pipe-sucking noises to aid cerebration. Jay rolled her eyes.
"So once again we must eliminate the impossible to leave..."
"Swat's a guy. Or was a guy."
Miss Lawrence folded her arms with an air of finality.
"I think you may have hit the nail on the head. For sixty-four dollars – drum roll – who did the snipping and enhancing? Take your time..."
Jay screwed her visage up into an expression of pained introspection.
"Stop it, your face will stick like that."
An expression of amazed enlightenment spread across her features.
"Surely not – not Dr. Dunnett, scion of the floating medical profession. Oh, surely not!"
I blew a smoke ring.
"The very same. And quit hamming. You make Roger Moore look like Laurence Olivier."
Miss Lawrence tipped a glass of half melted ice down my cleavage. It felt rather refreshing.
"A snip here, a tuck there, and Bob's your auntie."
"Not forgetting the boob job. That must be what really set her – him – whatever – off. Sloppy silicon sliding suddenly southward."
I drained my Hermaphrodite in satisfaction. One part of the mystery was solved. Or was it? Was it part of the mystery at all? We had set out to discover who murdered Raoul, not that Dr. D was the knife behind disposing of Swat's excess wedding tackle and botching her chest job.
Jay read my thoughts.
"Perhaps there is a connection? There's plenty of scope for digging a motive out of this lot somewhere. We ain't finished yet."
"We ain't indeed, my dear Mrs. Neptune. A three pipe problem, methinks."
I tapped my pipe out and rose to my feet. The ballroom had emptied as we cogitated.
"Come, my love."
"Yes, please!!!"
Miss Lawrence took my arm and looked up eagerly. I steered a circuitous path toward the door, emptying glasses of the more interesting looking liquids as we wended our way.
My dress flowed in the breeze on the open deck. Mr(s) Neptune took my hand solicitously and smoothed her mustache.
Harry Neptune's musical recital would have to wait for another day. Quel dommage.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: MISSION IMPOSSIBLE
The tour guide was both Colombian and attractive, a wiry looking woman who wore heavy rimmed glasses and had an endearing habit of smiling at you over the top of them. Sensing a kindred spirit and a potential conquest, I decided to brush up my Spanish. Harry groaned as we began to climb the steep track that led from the beach into a dense forest of verdant green.
"Co'mo esta's tu, sweetie?"
My husband winced.
"Oh, very clever, I'm sure. It's my rotulas, if you must know. I might have to eschew this cultural interlude for a few cold ones on the beach."
I gave my partner a very hard stare.
"Your rotulas, eh? That's a new one. Got your ojo on someone, have we?"
Harry raised his eyes to the sky and shook his head disapprovingly.
"I don't know, Mrs. Neptune. Anyone would think you didn't trust me. My kneecaps are giving me serious gyp. It's the heat and the lie of the land. I think I'll really have to sit this one out. I'm sure you'll survive without me."
Clara, the tour guide, looked amused.
"It's not the heat, it's the humidity."
I blew Harry a kiss and turned to watch him limp off down the track. He'd most likely be heavily medicated by my return, the old reprobate. There was a large shelter on the beach, artfully crafted from coconut palms, where a barbecue was planned for the latter part of the day. Various less adventurous souls had passed on the hike to the ruined mission, in favor of lounging in the silvery sand. They might have a point. It was getting very hot.
"What a stunning view!"
The old road emerged from the lush vegetation and there was a sudden and magnificent vista of the turquoise bay below. The Caribbean Conch looked like a toy ship anchored in the distance. White clouds scudded across a bright blue sky and a fresh breeze cooled my burning face. I took a long, deep drink from my water bottle, deliciously aware of Clara's eyes upon my swallowing throat. She had my numero, all right. The party toiled onwards and upwards, and I lagged behind a little to admire our leader's pert behind. The Boner-Drippits were present, naturally, although, no doubt, more for reasons of exertion than cultural interest. Will sported a pith helmet and Frippery a straw sun-hat as big as a sombrero. I wondered whether they had discovered that their closet black magic had taken a hike. Apparently, Inspector Parrott had Ms. Larry Swat under house arrest and it also seemed that Dr. Dunnett was lying low. Well, who could blame him? The chap was as popular as defective ventilation at a chili-eating convention. Gigi Goldfinkel had decided to opt for a relaxing day on the beach and was last seen wearing a neon pink swimsuit and trying to inveigle a handsome young man to play volleyball. The woman seemed indefatigable.
On and on we climbed, finally emerging at the cliff-top, where the crumbling remains of a dazzling white building rose against the cerulean sky. Clara paused to recount the mission's history, then, leaving the group to mill about the sun-baked ruins, she wandered off down a steeply sloping bank. Certain of her intent, I followed after a modest pause. Once, twice, I slipped and fell onto my bottom, finally rounding a vine encrusted stone buttress to discover the tour guide leaning against the shaded foundations of the mission. Almost brusquely, she removed the large silver hoops from her ears and thrust them into the pocket of her shirt. She looked at me with frank challenge.
"Kiss me."
Her black hair was thick and wiry between my burning fingers. I took her head between my hands and slid the tip of my tongue between her lips. Clara murmured into my mouth.
"Don't tease, Jay. You want me, you take me. All of me..."
I kissed her hard and felt her sensuous spirit collide with mine, just as strong, every bit as hungry. Aggressively, she pulled at my thin cotton shirt and a button gave way, skittering off down the precipitous bank. Her hands sought my breasts, wresting them from my sweat-soaked bra. I gasped as her hot wet mouth surrounded one nipple with velvety heat. Clara burned with the kind of visceral, powerful, forceful energy I seldom find in a man, never mind a woman. Closing my eyes, I had the oddest sensation that we were both male and female, conqueror and vanquish
ed rolled into one. Where she began and I ended was unclear. I longed for her to penetrate me like a man and, as if reading my mind, she thrust one hand down my trousers and roughly pushed two fingers into my cunt. I moaned softly and she laughed:
"Don't tell me you want me to be gentle. I don't believe that."
"No ... Oh god..."
It was my turn to be pressed up against the warm stone surface and I parted my legs to accommodate Clara's hungry mouth as she knelt before me, her wild hair escaping from its loose ponytail. My trousers were about my ankles, my breasts bared to the midday sun, as I looked up to see the Boner-Drippits glaring down at me from a vantage-point above. Unable to resist the temptation to tease them both, I ground my pussy against my Latin lover's face and threw back my head in ecstasy. I heard two exclamations of disgust and a muttered "bloody unhygienic" before my first orgasm swept through me like a veritable electric shock. It was all I could do not to scream at the top of my lungs. Will and Frippery disappeared from view and Clara stood up, deftly pulling my trousers to my waist. Swiftly, she replaced her earrings and combed her tousled hair with her fingers.
"Time to go. Next time, you take me, not the other way round. You weren't quick enough."
"You make it sound like a game!"
The tour guide only laughed and began to climb the crumbling slope back to the ruined mission and her flock of restless charges. I tried to follow at a discreet distance but my legs appeared to have turned to jelly. Perhaps it was the intense heat of the day or the after-effects of a powerful orgasm but I suddenly felt rather odd. Trembling slightly, I slowly clambered up the bank. It didn't really matter if the group went on without me, as there was but one road up to the mission and we would simply be retracing our steps back down to the beach. Realizing that my problem might be caused by dehydration, I sat down within the cooling shade of a tree and unscrewed the top of my water bottle. At that moment, I overheard the Boner-Drippits having what sounded remarkably like a minor marital tiff. It seemed that the group had begun the descent to the bay, but Frippery and Will lingered on in the sun-drenched ruins. For some inexplicable reason I began to feel almost afraid. Frippery's voice sounded high and self-righteous, magnified by the remains of the mission walls.
"No, I don't know what happened to it, Will. Perhaps that nathty thpider ate it. Don't be tho suthpithush! What would I do with your voodoo doll?"
"Well, if you haven't touched it, who did? There were no signs of a break in."
Frippery laughed, a callous, mocking crow:
"Maybe Raoul came back from the dead and thtole it. I don't know, Will. But thith much I will say. I'd like to make a model of that Jay to match the one of my wretched ex-huthband. Filthy little thlut."
A surge of indignation rallied my weary body as I heard Will murmur in assent. I remembered the hurt of his violent rejection of my womanly juices, my feminine essence. The man had actually recoiled in unconcealed disgust. Then and there, I vowed to dunk him in a veritable bath of girlie love juice. Retribution would be mine. Gritting my teeth in determination, I resumed my scramble up the bank. I didn't care if they saw me. I was angry enough to give them both a swift right hook on the chin. Rounding a crumbling wall, I stopped dead in my tracks. The Boner-Drippits were stark naked in the midday heat.
Good heavens!
It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. Silently, I drew back behind the mission wall and tiptoed to a narrow, vine-draped window, which formed a perfect vantage-point. Peering through a small gap in the greenery, I watched Boner and Frip lay out what appeared to be some form of voodoo shrine. It seemed that Will had brought Yorrick along in his backpack and he reverently placed the skull in the center of a circle of black candles.
"I hope you remembered the matches."
I hope you applied lots of sunscreen!
Frippery rummaged in the backpack, then looked up at Boner in dismay.
"Oh dear!"
My former partner glared at his hapless wife and I stifled a giggle. This was getting better and better! I wondered if he'd resort to the Boy Scout trick of rubbing a couple of sticks together. Will was furious, his face rather red above the pallor of his body. Of course, he would be very careful about exposing himself to the sun and was doubtlessly slathered in Factor 45. Suddenly, he stomped over to a nearby tree and broke off a long limber twig.
"That's it, Frip. I've had about enough of your disorganization. Bend over. I'm going to switch your bare bottom."
Frippery snorted and drew herself up to her full height, which was basically the same as her husband's.
"Over my dead body, you will! If I've told you onthce, Will, I've told you a thouthand times, I'm jutht not that type of female. In fact, if there's any thwitching going to happen, it'll be your backthide, not mine."
Boner bristled and brandished the twig like a riding crop. So, there was a bit of a power imbalance at work in the Boner-Drippit marriage. Actually, it looked as if "imbalance" was the understatement of the century. Frippery's apparent public compliance with her husband's many edicts seemed to be merely window dressing. I watched, enthralled, as Harry's ex marched over to the same tree and selected her own green twig. Twigs at noon in the old mission ruin.
"Bend over, Will! I know you like it. After all, it'th not ath if it'th the firtht time!"
A steady spray of spittle issued from Frippery's mouth. She was getting quite put out. Boner stood his ground, slowly tapping his twig against the palm of one hand. They both looked very thin and very white, like a pair of dueling tapeworms. I listened intently as my ex went through a familiar speech.
"I admit I enjoy the occasional bottom warming. And why not? A man can still be manly when he lies across a woman's knees."
Frippery snorted derisively and, for once, I had to agree with her. I couldn't imagine Harry going for a ride over my lap. Not in a million years.
"Maybe I thould hath married Raoul. He knew his plaith!"
Boner threw his head back and guffawed.
"Hah! Six feet under. That's his place, all right. That boy could never satisfy you. He was a mere prop to aid your writing process. You might be Domina Dark when you write your little fem-dom ditties but I know you're really looking for a dominant male. You just don't know it yet, you poor misguided fool. The mere fact that Raoul laughed his head off when you tried to whip his little brown bottom should tell you something. Shouldn't it, my sweet?"
Frippery looked as if she might explode with fury. Suddenly, she cracked Boner over the head with her twig.
"He wath a no-good thlave! And you are a no-good huthband! Jutht like my exth!"
His jaw set in determination, Will wrestled the branch out of his wife's wildly flailing arm and bent her forwards over a low wall. I began to almost get aroused, even if it was the Boner-Drippits. Frantically, Boner began to whip Frippery's bony little bottom as she howled in anger.
"Take that! And that! I'll teach you to misbehave. I've had to resort to spanking Heidi from the gym, you know, to assuage my needs! I didn't like being unfaithful but you left me no choice. I just can't lead a spank-free existence. I've had to spank the Avon lady and that fat little girl at the corner store. Not to mention a couple of bank tellers and…"
"Enough! I don't want to hear any more! You utter bathtard!"
It was Frippery's turn to retaliate. With a sudden Herculean effort, she threw Will off her back and picked up her fallen switch.
"Pig! Monthter!"
"Stuck-up Pollyanna!"
I decided that enough was enough. A little marriage guidance was obviously the order of the day and I began to muse upon a devious plan. Leaving the terrible pair to thwack at one another in frustrated frenzy, I sidled around the perimeter wall of the mission until I reached the front entrance, then nonchalantly strode off down the track to the beach.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE JOYS OF PARENTHOOD
The capital of St Kitts is Basseterre, and the centre of Basseterre is The Circus. It is supposed to be styled after P
iccadilly Circus in London but I have never been able to see the resemblance. Instead of the statue of Eros there is a clock tower, a memorial to an illustrious former politician. The clock often shows the right time twice a day.
The Circus more closely resembles a French town square than the London meeting of thoroughfares, and given the French colonial history of St Kitts that is hardly surprising. Here four or five streets meet and so does everyone on the island. The Circus is the centre of Carnival (immediately after Christmas, just to be awkward), and it is where taxis breed. A yellow telephone attached to a telephone pole is the hotline to the taxi rank. It sometimes rings but is seldom answered.
The bars and restaurants of The Circus are conveniently arranged on the second floors of the buildings. I sat at a balcony table in Ballahoo to watch the world pass by while refreshing myself with a cold Carib. Carib is a Trinidad beer, but the best Carib is brewed in St Kitts. It has something to do with the softness of the water. The Circus Grill across the way was packed with refugees from the cruise ship being serenaded by a soft reggae duo.
Below me taxi drivers played warriwarri and dominoes. A smart young lady in an official looking t-shirt swept litter into a wheelbarrow. A dog slept in the middle of the road where the shadow of the clock tower lay. I took a long pull at my beer and leaned back. Harry Neptune was at peace with the world.
Now, did I really expect that to last?
"Daddy!"
I looked round hastily but the ecstatic cry had come from the square below, not from my shaded eyrie. All the same, I pulled my Panama down over my face before peering over the paint-peeled wooden rail.
Captain Ahab stood in full uniform at the entrance to Ballahoo. I could not see his face beneath his cap, but the set of his shoulders looked distinctly defensive. He appeared to be looking around as if for a route of escape.
"Daddy!"
Surely the first cry had been from a girl? This sounded more like a boy? And the first had been from below, while this one was from across the square. The intrigue factor was rising. I waved for another beer and settled down to watch the fun.
MASTER AND BABY : A Tale of Erotic Submission Page 29
