by Junie Coffey
“Unfortunately, I do know what you mean,” said Nina. “I’m just going to try to forget I heard that, and that I just saw that. I have less than zero interest in the Bassetts’ marital relations, although I can’t help hoping she gets her wish and they buzz off to Miami sooner rather than later.”
When they reached Nina’s cottage, she smeared on another layer of sunscreen and grabbed her new machete, which she took out into the front yard facing the street. The morning sun had moved across the sky and dropped behind the roofline, so part of the front yard was now in shadow. Danish went around the side of the house and came back with two plastic chairs. He sat in one and put his feet up on the other. He opened the knapsack he’d put on the ground within arm’s reach and pulled out a can of beer.
“Brew?” he asked.
“No, thanks,” said Nina as she started slashing away at the tall grass with her machete, trying to avoid slicing open her shins.
“So, I’ve got the scuttlebutt on who’s going to be at Kiki Savage’s party tomorrow night,” he said.
“Oh?” said Nina.
“Yeah. Jules and Kiki, Barry and Tiffany, you and me, the Minister of Cultural Heritage and Antiquities, and Alice. Plus, Blue Roker in his capacity as local big shot. The rest of the guests are members of the museum’s board of governors: Ted, Pansy, and Michel, my boss at the inn; the school principal and her husband; Reverend Anderson and his wife; Delmont Samuels and his glamorous wife, Lana. He’s a local boy who made good as a big-time music producer. They live next door to the Savages. Also, Derek and Cecilia Rathbone, artists and former hippies. Apparently it’s a candlelit dinner for twenty, in honor of Tiffany Bassett, who Kiki generally has no use for. The word is Mrs. Bassett wasn’t happy with the lack of fanfare accompanying her husband’s generous donation to the museum, so Kiki stepped in to smooth ruffled feathers in the interests of local harmony. Jules is roasting a pig in a pit he’s dug in his backyard. A new obsession.”
Nina had finished cutting about half the grass and had made a big heap of clippings in a corner by the fence. It was starting to look less abandoned. Danish drained his beer and threw the empty in his knapsack.
“It’s looking good,” he said. “Keep up the good work.” He stood up. “I think I’ll pass on the watching-the-paint-dry part of this afternoon’s entertainment and maybe head down to The Redoubt to scare up a game of darts. Come by for a drink later, if you feel like it. I’ll be there.” He gave her a little salute and struck off down the sidewalk.
Nina finished cutting the grass down to a height of three inches and then spent another hour pulling weeds from the overgrown flower beds on either side of the walkway and along the picket fence. She found a watering can under the kitchen sink and soaked the beds using the outside tap. Maybe some dormant flowers would come up now that they had some breathing space. As she stood with her hands on her hips, arching her aching back, Ted Matthews drove by in a khaki-colored Jeep with MATTHEWS BONEFISH LODGE on the side. There was a couple in the backseat dressed in fishing gear. He slowed the truck in front of her yard and stuck his head out the window.
“How are things, Nina?” he asked.
“Fine, no problems, thanks,” she replied.
“Glad to hear it,” he said. “See you later.” He touched his fingers to the brim of his hat and drove on toward his place on the point.
He’s a cowboy, she thought. It’s like having the lone ranger living next door. Not so bad.
Nina’s muscles were sore. She’d done way more manual labor than she did on an average day sitting at her computer. She decided to call it a day and cool off with a dip in the sea. She shed her sweaty clothes on the bedroom floor and slipped into her bikini. After months of wearing heavy sweaters, coats, socks, and boots, she felt practically naked padding down to the beach in her bare feet, but the water was exquisitely refreshing.
What a life, she thought, floating on her back looking back at her very own cottage on the beach. I should hang a hammock between those two palm trees.
Her eyes drifted up the beach to the point. A group of people sat on the covered deck at the very tip of the rocky point, all with drinks in hand.
Must be time for sundowners after a busy day in paradise. What a great idea.
She took a few more strokes through the silky water and then headed back up the sandy path to the veranda, drying herself off with a towel as she went. She put on her cozy sweater and mixed herself a drink using the rum-cocktail recipe book Louise had given her as a going-away present.
Life is an occasion, she reminded herself as she garnished the glass with a little paper umbrella from her own personal stash she’d bought that morning. She sat on the veranda and watched the sunset, then went inside and made herself a salad and grilled cheese and climbed into bed with a new murder mystery. Life could be pretty good.
4
Nina was up early the next morning and had her coffee on the veranda while watching the fishing boats head out at first light. Before getting to work, she composed a quick e-mail to Louise and one to her parents in Maine, describing the sunny little house on the beach, her unusual mailman, and her upcoming dinner at the home of Jules Savage. She did not mention Barry Bassett.
She spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon scraping, priming, and painting the outside of her tiny house. By four o’clock, it had a fresh coat of cheery butter-yellow paint and was looking great. Nina stood on the sidewalk for a couple of minutes, admiring her handiwork and making a plan to tackle the white trim and shutters tomorrow. Then she took a quick dip in the sea and showered, scrubbing drops of paint off her arms and legs.
Pansy and Danish were coming by at five o’clock to pick her up for the Savages’ party. Nina stepped into her black silk party dress and zipped it up the back. It had a close-fitting boatneck top with long sleeves and a full, flared knee-length skirt. She slipped on the strappy black heels, swiped on some lipstick, and brushed her long, dark hair. She pinned it up in a smooth chignon and put the mohair shawl over her shoulders. Just as she was finishing, she heard Pansy’s cart out front and then her knock at the door. Danish arrived just behind her.
“You ladies look lovely this evening,” he said as they came into the house. He cleaned up shockingly well himself. He was wearing a white dinner jacket and black tie. “From my cruise-ship period,” he said. They piled into Pansy’s cart, Pansy and Nina in front and Danish reclining across the backseat. Pansy headed north past the point and on up the coastal road. A few minutes later, they came to a big concrete sign with THE ENCLAVE chiseled into it. Pansy turned off and followed a much smoother paved road past a string of widely spaced, outsize multistory villas, each with a pool beside it overlooking the ocean. As they drove, the lots became larger, the houses behind high stucco walls with wrought iron gates across their driveways. Only the rooftops were visible behind the walls, gates, and shrubbery.
The road ended at a narrow point of land where the west coast of the island met the east coast—Caribbean Sea on one side and the Atlantic Ocean on the other. The point itself was enclosed behind a stone wall complete with a gatehouse. The property comprised several acres of landscaped gardens dotted with coconut palms, gently sloping down to a perfect crescent of white-sand beach on one side, rocky cliffs overlooking the Atlantic on the other. A modern, streamlined beach house in putty-gray stucco with red cedar trim around its many windows sat high in the middle of the property, well back from the road.
“Here we are,” said Pansy. “Kiki and Jules’s place.” As they drove up to the gate, it swung open, and a man in a uniform stepped out of the gatehouse and waved them through. After a short distance, they came to a pea-graveled parking area where a dozen carts and cars were already lined up. They parked and made their way up a winding stone staircase lit at ground-level by golden pools of light. Artfully planted shrubs, exotic-looking cacti, and boulders were interspersed with tall, leafy tropical trees strung with white fairy lights on either side of the steps. When they re
ached the top of the staircase, the parking area was no long visible. They were standing in a flagstone courtyard surrounded by broad-canopied mango trees looming over the long, low facade of the house. In the center of the courtyard was a square koi pond with five or six flat stepping-stones spanning it, just above the level of the water. Bright-orange fish swam lazily around the pond. On the other side of the pond was the front door of the house, standing open.
Pansy, Nina, and Danish skirted the pond rather than attempt the stepping-stones in their party shoes. As they reached the front door, a young woman in a crisp black linen dress stepped forward to meet them.
“Good evening. Mrs. Savage is on the terrace. Right this way, please.” They followed her down a long corridor and out onto an expansive stone terrace. It was like standing on the prow of a ship, with a view of the ocean all around. On the far edge of the patio was a curved infinity pool. Scattered about the terrace were palm trees in huge clay pots, strung with white lights winking in the fading light. There were thickly cushioned wicker club chairs and sofas set under the trees and facing the view, as well as a long table set for dinner under the stars. It appeared that most of the other guests had arrived, and they stood chatting in small groups. Kiki Savage saw them and made her way over.
“Hi, Pansy, darling,” she said, giving Pansy a kiss on the cheek. “You must be Nina,” she said, smiling and holding out her hand to Nina. She gave Nina’s hand a little squeeze. “I’m so glad you could make it. We’ll have to make some time to talk this week to make sure you get what you need to write your article. Welcome to Pineapple Cay. We’ll show you a good time, don’t worry. Danish, what a pleasant surprise. Skinny-dipping is not on the program this evening, all right? The Reverend and Mrs. Anderson are here.”
Kiki Savage looked just like she did in the numerous photographs Nina had seen over the years. She was tall and slender, with long light-brown hair and a warm smile, a youthful spring in her step, and an easy manner. She was in her midfifties, with attractive laugh lines in the corners of her eyes.
“Jules is down there cooking his pig,” she said, gesturing over the side of the terrace. “He’ll be up in a bit. Tara, could you please get these folks a drink? Thank you very much. Let me go see to a few things, and I’ll see you in a bit.” She stepped away with a smile, and the crisp young woman reappeared at their side to take their order, then melted away again.
They walked over to the edge of the terrace and looked down the slope to a flat patch of grass where their host, a man who had spent the 1980s trashing hotel rooms, playing his guitar in sold-out soccer stadiums, and saying naughty words in live radio interviews, was heaping hot coals around a large pig on a spit. His cream linen trousers were tucked into big black rubber boots. A couple of teenage boys in kitchen uniforms were standing by, presumably to help him lift it out.
Their freshly delivered drinks in hand, Nina, Danish, and Pansy inched closer to the group of guests.
“Is Alice here yet?” Danish asked, although Nina had no idea what she looked like. Danish spotted Alice chatting with a white-haired couple across the patio just as Tara reappeared on the terrace with a tall man in a uniform in tow. He took off his cap and tucked it under his arm as Kiki Savage approached him with her arms outstretched. He bent down and kissed her on both cheeks.
“There is he is. Deputy Superintendent John ‘Blue’ Roker,” said Danish. “‘The Black Paul Newman.’ Whatever. ‘Mr. Charisma.’ I am saying that ironically, in case you didn’t catch it. The guy never cracks a smile. Now he’s making a beeline for my woman.”
They watched as the police chief parted with Kiki Savage and walked toward the young woman Danish had indicated was Alice. Nina could see why she had caught Danish’s eye. She was petite and elegant in a floor-length black lace dress with a mock turtleneck and short sleeves. Her long, curly black hair was pulled back tightly into a neat ponytail at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were outlined in black kohl, and her lips and nails were painted a dramatic dark plum. The severity of her makeup was offset by her wide, bright smile and shining eyes as she turned to greet John “Blue” Roker.
Pansy turned away for a minute to speak to someone near her, and Nina and Danish stood watching Alice and Roker across the terrace. Roker placed his hand on Alice’s shoulder and left it there as he said something to the older white-haired gentleman, and then he looked down again into Alice’s smiling face.
“Physical contact! Physical contact! Not cool.” Danish took an agitated step forward and then back again.
“Gee, Danish. Are you sure they’re an item?” Nina said. “I think he’s just being friendly. And he must be close to twenty years older than she is.”
Danish swung his head around to look at her. “And your point is?”
Pansy rejoined them. Roker had turned away from Alice and was now walking directly toward them across the patio. He moved with the slow, stately gait perfected in the islands. The sun was low on the horizon, and as he walked, he took off his shades and tucked them in the pocket of his shirt. In an instant, Nina saw where he got his nickname. His eyes were an intense icy blue, a startling contrast against his rich brown skin. She had never seen Paul Newman in the flesh, but she thought Blue Roker might out-blue even him.
“Good evening, ladies. Danish.”
Pansy jumped in to make the introductions. “Blue, this is Nina Spark. She just bought Miss Rose’s place. Nina, may I introduce John Roker, Pineapple Cay’s chief of police. We all call him Blue.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nina. Are you settling in all right?” He reached out his hand, and she took it. His grasp was firm and warm. She struggled to find her voice as he looked directly into her eyes. His gaze was blinding, like staring into the sun.
“Hello. I haven’t done much settling so far, but your island is beautiful.” Very lame, Nina. Very lame. Despite Danish’s declaration that he never did so, Blue Roker smiled.
“Glad to hear you’ve decided to call it home.” There was a brief, awkward silence while Danish glared at Blue, and Nina, momentarily incapacitated, could not speak. Pansy jumped in again.
“So, are you working tonight, Blue?”
“Yes, there’s some valuable property on display tonight, so I thought it would be a good idea to keep an eye on things. I’ve got a corporal in the Jeep down by the gate.” He glanced over his shoulder at Tiffany Bassett, who was holding court on a sofa at the far corner of the patio. The emerald necklace was prominently displayed above the plunging neckline of her clinging green silk dress.
“Valuable property. Do you mean Tiffany’s new boobs or the necklace?” Danish asked, laughing at his own little joke. Pansy winced. Blue glared at him.
The chief of police turned slightly toward Nina and Pansy. “Well, nice to see you as usual, Pansy, and nice to meet you, Nina. I’ll see you ladies at dinner.” He shifted his gaze back to Danish. As he took a few backward steps away from them, Blue put two fingers to his beautiful eyes, swiveled his hand, and pointed at Danish. Then he turned away to greet a man in a charcoal-gray suit and tie. Pansy broke the silence again.
“Well, Danish, that was an unfortunate remark to make to your beloved’s uncle, who also happens to be the chief of police. Particularly given your reputation with the ladies, of which I’m sure he is aware.”
“Her uncle!” exclaimed Danish.
Pansy shrugged. “I thought it was common knowledge. Blue’s oldest sister is Alice’s mother. She left Pineapple Cay to go to college thirty years ago, married a guy from Nassau, and settled there. Alice has lots of family here. She’s staying with her Aunt Agatha, who lives next door to Blue.”
“Fantastic!” Danish said. “Let’s go say hi to her.” He was already making a beeline across the patio toward an unsuspecting Alice, who was still chatting with the elderly couple.
Pansy sighed. “We’d better go give her a buffer from his scorched-earth approach to courting.”
“And maybe save him from himself,” Nina added. Th
ey followed Danish across the patio. They were halfway there when Kiki Savage clapped her hands above her head.
“Hi, everyone,” said Kiki. “I’m so glad you’re all here to celebrate this occasion. Let’s make our way to the table so we can try Jules’s pig, and toast the Bassetts.”
The speech went over well with Tiffany, who beamed benevolent smiles at everyone as she minced her way to the head of the table in her tight dress, with Kiki on her right and her husband on her left. Jules Savage stood behind the chair at the opposite end of the table. Alice was to his right, and the Minister of Cultural Heritage and Antiquities was on his left. The other guests filled in the seats between, according to place cards on the table. A forlorn Danish found himself next to Barry Bassett, reduced to sending meaningful looks to Alice down the length of the table. Blue Roker was posted across from him.
As Nina was making her way to the table, Tiffany Bassett caught sight of her out of the corner of her eye and changed directions. She tottered over.
“What are you doing here?” she asked loudly, sloshing some white wine on Nina’s dress as she leaned in closer, holding her wineglass aloft.
“This a party in my honor, and I don’t even know you, except that you cheated my husband out of his land.” Nina felt an angry Pansy step up beside her, hands clenched, but before either could say anything, Jules Savage swept in front of Nina and took her elbow, turning his back to Tiffany as he guided Nina to the table.
“Nina, baby! We finally meet! Thank you for making time to attend our little event. I am looking forward to chewing over the old eighteenth century with you one of these days over a few pints. Come sit down. It’s a pleasure to have you in our home.”
He accompanied her to her seat in the middle of the table. Several guests had been standing by their chairs watching, frozen in awkward silence. Blue Roker and Danish had both taken a couple of steps toward the confrontation. Barry Bassett was leaning back against the terrace rail with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. He seemed content to let things unfold as they might.
