by Junie Coffey
“Duh. Got that,” said Danish. “What I’m referring to is the absence of any other prints, i.e., the kidnappers. Unless they wiped off theirs but left the Samuelses’, which is impossible, they weren’t in there. But if they weren’t there, where were they while they waited for the right moment to nab Tiffany, and where were they before they took the boat sometime, which must have been between Saturday night and last night? It had to be somewhere nearby.”
“OK, tell me what the two of you were up to last night. Blue was a little bit stern with both of you,” interjected Pansy.
“Oh, Pansy, you don’t want to hear this,” said Nina, but Danish told her anyway.
“Oh, my!” said Pansy. “Well, no surprise Lana Samuels wasn’t happy. I sold them that house, and when I was showing it to them, she said she needed a room big enough for a dance studio because she gets up every morning at five o’clock and does two hours of ballet practice, followed by a soak in an outdoor hot tub and an herbal massage. She said it was ‘essential.’ So, you’re trying to find Tiffany’s kidnappers?”
“No!” said Nina.
“You bet!” said Danish at the same time.
“Danish,” said Nina, “we’re monumentally unqualified to be amateur sleuths. Even in mystery novels, the person solving the case is usually an ex-cop or ex-soldier with some useful crime-solving skills, as well as a friend who owes him one in the police department. We, on the other hand, just got told off by the police for vandalizing the hot tub of a nice-ish man who has nothing to do with the recent kidnapping. You’re a certified yoga instructor-bartender-mail carrier, and I teach sociology and write travel articles!”
“What about old Miss Marple? I’m not as dumb as you think I am. I have a library card and watch PBS when there’s nothing else on. I’m also a certified massage therapist and a nutrition counselor. And I took a course in hypnotism in Boulder. For smoking-cessation therapy, but it’s a transferable skill. That could come in handy. And a semester of tai chi,” said Danish.
“Tai chi. Isn’t that what old people do in the park that looks like they’re running in slow motion?” asked Nina.
“It is an ancient martial art. Same as karate,” said Danish.
“When did you get a library card?” asked Nina.
“That is insulting!” said Danish. “I went there with Alice last week when she got hers, and I checked out a big stack of books.”
Pansy’s two children had come back and were standing at the edge of the towels, watching Nina and Danish silently.
Uh-oh, thought Nina.
“I apologize, Danish,” she said in a calm voice, smiling at the kids. “Yes, reading is a wonderful pastime. Once you learn to read, the whole world opens up to you. Hours of adventure await. I’m just commenting on the fact that we’ve been . . . conducting surveillance. We have stumbled upon two . . . romantic encounters, an argument, and a missing boat, and I still don’t have a clue what’s going on. Tiffany Bassett could be on the moon or floating down the Yangtze River on a raft, for all we know.”
The kids lost interest and wandered away to build a sand castle.
Pansy tapped her finger on her lips. “Hmm. It does seem strange that Barry should be trying to build a fried-chicken restaurant, taking people out to dinner, and then going to see his mistress, all just the day after he gets a threatening ransom note from his wife’s kidnappers. Even if he doesn’t care who took her, or if he did do it, you’d think he’d at least try to look innocent.”
“What really puzzles me is Lance,” said Nina. “He and Tiffany seemed really . . . enamored of each other. Could a person really behave like that and then act like he doesn’t care when she’s kidnapped? Or even kidnap and kill her himself, just for the money? And what were he and Barry arguing about? Maybe Lance killed her for Barry, and they’re fighting over money. Or maybe he found out that Barry killed her—or Barry found out Lance took her.”
“OK. What’ve we got?” said Danish, springing to his feet and pacing back and forth in front of Nina and Pansy.
“There’s Barry, Lance, and Tiffany. Each of whom could have organized the whole thing themselves with hired help or by working together in some combo. Then there’s the rival salvager and the Russian mob, both with access to boats to land undetected on the beach at the Savages’. Motive for all the above: money. Anyone else?”
“Well, there’s Michel . . . His feud with Barry about the runway could be motivation, and he definitely hates Tiffany, but how could abducting her really help his cause other than to keep Tiffany out of the inn?” said Nina.
“I can’t see it,” said Danish. “The whole thing is way too undignified for Michel. I say we take him off the list.”
Pansy nodded. “OK, well where does that leave us?”
“The conclusion is . . . people do some crazy, messed-up stuff,” said Danish.
“Yeah,” said Nina. “Well, as a wise woman once said, the sun is shining and the birds are singing, so let’s enjoy it! Anyone want an ice cream cone?” she called to the kids. They jumped up and down enthusiastically and they all walked over to the snack bar.
The next day, Nina woke up early, had her coffee on the veranda, as had become her morning routine, and then spent a couple of hours painting her living room walls a nice bright white. It was very satisfying. She scrubbed the floors, thinking she might paint them white, blue, or a nice soft green rather than sand and varnish them. She’d have to think about it. She was thinking about tackling the cupboards when, for the first time since she’d moved in, her phone rang. It took her a moment to find it, following the old-fashioned ring to a vintage black rotary telephone on the floor beside the bed. She picked up the heavy handset and said hello.
“Hello, Nina? It’s Pansy. I’ve found a clue!” Pansy squealed.
“What do you mean? Where are you?” asked Nina.
“I’m in The Enclave. I was showing rentals to a client who’s looking for a long-term lease beginning in May. We were in that big pink villa that’s being rented by Lance Redmond and his friends. I’d arranged with one of the girls to come by this morning while they were all out. There are three bedrooms upstairs, which are being used by the three couples—the closets and en suite bathrooms are filled with men’s and women’s clothing and toiletries. But the bedroom on the bottom floor is just Lance’s. All that was in there were tennis rackets, a pile of sweaty athletic wear, and . . . and a pink satin bra, cup size 85F, on the bathroom floor! That’s a French size. I’d bet money that it belongs to Tiffany. I know for a fact that Loretta the cleaning lady does Lance’s house on Saturday afternoons. She’s very thorough. She would never have left dirty laundry in the middle of the bathroom floor. That means Tiffany must have been there sometime after five o’clock on Saturday! And since we saw her at the Savages’ at five o’clock on Saturday, it had to have been after that! After she was abducted! Lance must be involved! She must have spent Saturday night in his room! I’m almost at your place. Hold on.”
Nina heard Pansy’s cart outside and a knock on the door. She went to let her in. Pansy was breathless, her eyes shining. She was clutching her large purse in front of her.
“I’ve got it in my purse!” she said.
“Pansy, if you’re right, that’s evidence!” said Nina.
“I know,” said Pansy. “That’s why I picked it up with the end of a pencil and put it in a plastic bag. I always carry one in my purse—a habit from when the kids were being toilet trained. I waited until my client went into the next room and grabbed it.” She opened her purse and pulled out a resealable bag with a bundle of pink satin in it. She held it up, and they both looked at it like it might have more to tell them.
“Yo! Anybody home?” It was Danish. He knocked once and then walked right into the kitchen where they were standing.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Tiffany’s bra, we think,” said Pansy. She excitedly recounted her morning’s activities.
“This could be proof that Lance ab
ducted her!” said Pansy. “He took her from the Savages’ house to his place, which is only three houses away, and kept her there overnight. Maybe he let her have a shower. When he hustled her off to a more secure location on Sunday using Delmont Samuels’s boat, her bra was left behind in the rush.”
“I can tell you one thing,” said Danish. “Tiffany Bassett was not wearing a bra on Saturday night.”
“How do you know she wasn’t wearing a bra?” asked Pansy. Danish just looked at her.
“You know, he’s right,” said Nina. “She was wearing that low-cut, halter-neck dress. If she’d been wearing this bra, the straps would have shown. So, how did it get on Lance’s floor? Maybe he decided not to wallow in his grief and has moved on, like Barry did. It could belong to someone else.”
“I know how we can establish if it’s hers!” squealed Pansy. Then she looked at Nina with a suddenly somber expression. “I’m sorry, Nina. I’m afraid I’m going to have to expose you to another seedy aspect of Pineapple Cay. There’s a waterfront bar down island a few miles. The Pirate’s Wake. They have a rather tacky tradition of decorating the walls with women’s underwear. I heard Tiffany in the coffee shop one day, telling how she had gone there on a wild night out with some friends visiting from Miami and nailed one of her bras to the wall. Pure silk from France, she said. We need to compare sizes. Let’s go.”
She headed for the door.
“Pansy!” said Nina. “If any of that is true, we need to hand it over to the police!”
“I know, I know,” said Pansy. “We’ll drop it off on the way. I just wanted to show you. We’ll just need to look for a French size 85F in silk on the wall.”
They piled into Pansy’s cart.
“Nina, you drive. I’m too nervous,” said Pansy. Nina got behind the wheel of the miniature car and turned the key, which Pansy had left in the ignition. She pressed the accelerator and twisted the steering wheel. The cart lurched out onto the road. It was like driving a fancy go-cart. Fun. She decided to look into getting one.
She rolled to a stop in front of the police station. Pansy hopped out, clutching her purse in front of her. She hurried up the walk and into the police station, glancing over her shoulder as she slipped inside. She was back out in three minutes, walking quickly to the cart and jumping in.
“Go, Nina! Let’s get out of here,” she said breathlessly.
Nina obeyed her, stepping on the accelerator and speeding down the main street while a couple of people on the sidewalk stopped and turned to watch them whizzing out of town in the golf cart.
“Was Blue angry?” asked Nina, glancing over.
“I don’t know,” said Pansy. “I didn’t stay long. I just put the bag on his desk and told him where I got it and what I told you about Loretta. He just stood there leaning against the front of his desk with his arms crossed, looking at me. He didn’t say anything. Then I left.”
“So, why are we running away?” asked Nina.
“The bank is right across the street from the police station. I didn’t want Andrew to look out and see me coming out of there. He’d ask me what I was doing,” said Pansy.
“Take your next right,” said Danish from the backseat. Nina turned onto a one-lane paved road and followed it past a few concrete block buildings to the waterfront. There was a blue cement building straight ahead, with a covered patio overlooking the water and a flimsy-looking wooden pier with a boat tied to it. A giant beer sign stood on the roof. Danish pushed open the door, and Nina and Pansy followed him inside.
The interior was cool and dark, a sharp contrast to the brilliant hot sunshine outside. The footing seemed uneven. Nina looked down and realized that the floor was sand. The front of the bar was open to the covered patio. A couple of men were playing a slow-moving game of pool with the turquoise sea behind them. A bar counter ran along the back wall, and a man stood behind it, looking at them. Another man, who sat on a stool at the bar, was also looking at them. There was no one else in the bar. Sure enough, almost every square inch of space on the walls was covered with women’s undergarments in various colors and fabrics. They hung from the low ceiling as well. Nina could smell burned vegetable oil in a deep fryer somewhere out back.
“Danish,” said Nina, “why don’t you go order a drink and talk to those guys while Pansy and I look for the goods. We don’t need an audience.” As soon as Danish had engaged the men at the bar, Nina and Pansy looked around, wondering where to start. There were hundreds.
“I’ll look on that side, and why don’t you do this side,” said Nina. “Hopefully it’s not on the ceiling. She crossed the room and started systematically reviewing the items on the far wall. She was about halfway along it when she heard Pansy squeal.
“I found it! Nina, Danish!”
Nina and Danish hotfooted it over to where she stood pointing at a raspberry silk brassiere that was surely custom-made to fit a figure that nature did not produce. Pansy flipped over the label with the eraser end of a pencil. 85F, La Belle France.
“Bingo,” said Danish, taking a drink from his beer. “Exhibit B.” He took out his cell phone and snapped a picture of it.
“OK. So now we know that much,” said Nina. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Hey, what’re you all doing over there?” called the bartender.
Nina and Pansy froze. Danish walked back to the bar.
“That red . . . undergarment over there on the wall. That belongs to the woman who was kidnapped last Saturday,” Danish said.
“Yeah, that’s right,” said the man at the bar. “She wanted to put it up there herself. Came here with a bunch of crazy drunk women a while back. Started asking me for a pair of my tighty-whities to hang up, too. Nobody wants to look at men’s shorts. That’s unappetizing.”
They were all quiet for a moment, wondering where the conversation could possibly go from there.
“Actually, she was here on Friday night, the day before she was kidnapped. With a young fella. Hands all over each other, sitting here at the bar. He came by boat. She was driving that big Mercedes of hers. She had a little pink suitcase with her. When they finished their smoochy smoochy in the parking lot, he left with it in the boat. I didn’t ask. People do some strange things. It’s generally best not to get involved. But I do know it wasn’t her husband. He’s the angry rich fella who threw a perfectly good club into a water hazard ahead of me on the golf course one day. She was there then, too.”
“What did the young guy look like?” asked Pansy.
“A slick city boy. Living large on Daddy’s dime. Bit taller than him, styled hair,” said the bartender, pointing at Danish with his chin.
“Sounds like Lance,” said Danish.
“Have you seen any of them since Saturday?” asked Nina.
“Nope,” said the man. “Good thing, too. We don’t need trash like that lowering the tone around here. This is a respectable establishment.”
They walked out to the cart.
“We need to tell Blue Roker what he just told us,” said Nina. “It sounds like Tiffany and Lance were planning to go away together and didn’t want anyone—including Barry—to know about it.”
Pansy looked worried. Danish crossed his arms and looked away.
“I’ll do it,” said Nina. “Just drop me in front of the station.” Nothing good could come from putting Danish in front of Blue. Pansy rolled to a stop a half block from the station. Danish and Nina hopped out.
“I’m going to The Redoubt to regroup,” said Danish. “I’ll be there if you want to debrief after the mission.”
“Thanks, Nina,” said Pansy. “You’re right. The police should know about this. Let me know if you need help. I’ll see you later—I’ve got to go to the grocery store, then pick up my kids from school. If they only knew what Mommy has been up to today! Solving crimes!”
Nina walked up the path and through the arched doorway into the station. She found herself in a small reception area. She approached the long counter, and a young mal
e officer in a crisp khaki uniform got up from his desk and came over to her.
“May I help you?” he asked Nina.
“Um, I was wondering if I might speak to Deputy Superintendent Roker for a moment,” she replied.
“May I ask what it concerns?” he asked.
“Thanks, Jackson. I’ll take it from here.” Roker’s deep voice came from directly behind Nina. She turned around to face him. He had just come in the front door. He removed his cap and wiped his brow. He was dressed in navy-blue pants and a navy-blue T-shirt with POLICE written in white capital letters on the back.
“Good day to you, Nina. What can I do for you?” he asked. Polite but no smile.
“Well . . .” She hesitated, uncertain of how to begin. He pursed his lips slightly, then opened a metal door in the wall beside the counter and gestured for her to go through it.
“Let’s go to my office,” he said, leading her through the open office behind the counter, where a couple of officers, including Jackson, sat at metal desks, to the back of the room. Like Ted, he looked slightly out of place indoors—a tall, well-muscled man in a flimsy cage. He opened a door to a cluttered office with a large window that overlooked the water and the police dock. He left the door ajar and gestured for her to sit down in the chair facing his desk. He sat in his chair behind the desk and looked at her patiently, waiting for her to speak.
Nina quickly scanned his office. A neat desk, but ragged piles of papers, file folders, and coil-bound reports on every other flat surface. Dusty stacks of loose paper, edges curled by the sunlight. A couple of vinyl chairs, a low, sagging bookcase under the window. A nautical chart of Pineapple Cay on the wall behind his desk. Two framed diplomas next to it. One from the police academy, the other a bachelor of science degree from the University of the West Indies. No family photos.
“OK, Deputy Superintendent Roker . . . Blue,” she began. “I think Pansy was here to see you earlier today and dropped off . . . a piece of evidence she found in the course of her work as a real estate agent.”
