Dying for a Diamond

by Cindy Sample

  “I thought you were taking the boat tour,” Evelyn said to Jimmy. “Good thing I found out you switched to this one. Did you forget to tell me?”

  “Something like that,” Jimmy replied.

  “Trade seats with me,” she ordered Gran.

  “Not a chance, sister.” Gran pointed to the rear of the bus. “Lots of empty seats back there.”

  Evelyn grumbled but with a line of people waiting behind her, she forged on. Her sister followed, apologizing in Mrs. Peabody’s wake as she moved down the aisle whacking people right and left with her large Louis Vuitton tote.

  I checked my watch. Five more minutes before take-off. I leaned across Tom to peek out the window and saw Sierra collecting a few tickets from the late stragglers. Sharon and Deborah climbed aboard, followed by Rick and Claire. We exchanged hellos as they made their way to the few remaining seats in the rear of the bus.

  Sierra was the last to board. She stood next to the driver and greeted everyone with a Bonjour.

  “Thank you all for joining us today. In case you don’t know, I’m Sierra Sullivan, the cruise director. I’m filling in for Claude, the regular tour guide. We’re going to have a fantastic time today. Or as they say in St. Martin, “Trés formidable.”

  “That means terrific in English,” I translated for Tom.

  Suddenly a voice boomed. “Just keep your wallets zipped up and your eyes open,” said Mrs. Peabody. “There’s some thieving scum on this bus.”

  The passengers began to babble, swiveling their heads left and right, wondering what and who she was talking about.

  Sierra grasped the mike, but for some reason decided to remain silent, only murmuring to the driver. He started the engine, and she dropped into the single tour guide seat.

  Now why did I get a feeling this tour wouldn’t be as formidable as promised?

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Although the tour got off to a rough start, Sierra quickly turned it around by demonstrating her impressive knowledge of the unique dual-citizenship island. As we drove past the colonial-style buildings in Phillipsburg, Sint Maarten, she pointed out cultural as well as popular attractions. The Dutch side drew visitors from all over the world to their numerous casinos.

  Once out of town, we encountered a unique species of lizard. According to Sierra, legend had it that a male and a female orange iguana each escaped from a ship that docked on the island. And you know how those lizards are. Within a very short time, the original Adam and Eve managed to create a population numbering in the thousands. I snapped photos of groves of trees teeming with the orange reptiles.

  Simultaneously captivating and creepy.

  Gleaming white stucco villas surrounded by fuchsia bougainvillea perched on green hills overlooking the turquoise sea. We drove past the Simpson Bay marina where huge luxury yachts docked, including a three-hundred-foot yacht owned by an internet billionaire. What was that saying? The bigger the boat the smaller the––

  We also passed by a couple of ramshackle boats and houses devastated over twenty years earlier when Luis, a category four hurricane hit the Caribbean. With winds of 132 miles per hour, it destroyed more than sixty percent of the island. In the Caribbean, there is always the possibility of another storm just around the corner.

  Sort of like my life.

  Our first restaurant, a French bistro in Marigot, would be serving a variety of hors d’oeuvres. The restaurant offered intimate tables for two and banquet-size tables for bigger groups. We quickly commandeered a large table for the six of us, leaving room for two more. Since Rick and Claire had been seated in the back of the bus, they were one of the last couples to enter the restaurant. Claire looked somewhat lost, so I waved them over to our table. Unfortunately, Mrs. Peabody and her sister arrived first.

  “These seats are taken,” I said to her.

  “Yes, they are.” She plunked her hefty posterior in the empty seat by Jimmy. Her sister thanked us as she sat down.

  I mouthed an embarrassed “sorry” to Rick and Claire. They smiled and headed off to an empty table in the rear of the restaurant.

  “So what’s new with your investigation?” Evelyn grabbed a slice of French bread and slathered it with half the butter sitting on a silver dish. “You find my watch yet?” She turned to Jimmy and informed him that she’d hired me to find out who stole her Patek Philippe.

  Hired? Did that mean I was getting paid to be bossed around?

  “Laurel, I didn’t realize you were also a detective.” Jimmy’s lips quivered as he tried not to laugh. “How lucky that Mrs. Peabody found you.”

  The piece of bread I’d swallowed stuck in my throat as I gagged a response. “Yep, lucky me.”

  “Her husband is a detective, too,” Gran added. “Same as me and Mabel here. Although we don’t have an official badge like him.” She turned to her friend. “We got to get those business cards printed up. You never know when someone will want to hire us.”

  “So you’re a family of detectives?” asked Mrs. Peabody’s sister.

  Tom quirked an eyebrow at me. “Evidently.”

  “My husband is the only official detective,” I explained to the two women. “He was formerly a homicide detective and now he’s with Homeland Security, so he’s helping with the investigation into Sanjay’s mur…, I mean passing.”

  Evelyn Peabody made a sound somewhere between a snort and a harrumph. “Whatever. Just find out whose sticky hands took my watch.” She motioned with her own sticky hands to get the waiter’s attention. “Garcon, over here. We can use a bread refill.”

  Our garcon tilted his Gallic nose in disapproval, but he brought another basket of crusty rolls and bread for our table. Maybe he thought Mrs. Peabody would be less disruptive if she stuffed her mouth with an endless supply of gluten.

  Mrs. Peabody’s sister, whose name I finally learned was Vera, chatted quietly with my mother. As an accomplished real estate agent, my mother could draw the shyest person out of their self-imposed shell.

  Evelyn Peabody tried to be helpful by giving me a list of possible thieves. She kindly excluded my grandmother and Mabel, now that she knew they were detectives. She seemed particularly interested in my husband’s career.

  “So that security guy who croaked, you working on that case?” she asked Tom.

  He blinked. “I’m helping somewhat.”

  “Well, maybe you can lend your wife a hand. We only have two more days until this ship docks. I want my watch back.”

  “A watch as valuable as that must be insured. Isn’t it?” Mother asked.

  Evelyn chomped on her escargot before reaching in, removing it from her mouth and dropping it on her dish.

  Ick. Escargot doesn’t look all that appealing even before someone masticates it to death. Mrs. Peabody could use a few table manner tips from Emily Post.

  “It’s insured, but that’s not the issue.” Her eyes suddenly teared up, surprising me. “That watch was the last gift my husband gave to me. It’s very special.”

  Jimmy patted her hand. “I’m sure the lovely Laurel will track it down for you.”

  I shot Jimmy a look. Lovely Laurel was beginning to wish she and her hubby had skipped their honeymoon. Tom’s cell suddenly rang, causing conversation in the bistro to come to a halt. With international roaming calls running five dollars per minute, most passengers used their phones only for snapping photos.

  Tom answered the phone, replied “yes” three times then hung up.

  “Who was that?” I asked him.

  “Bradford,” he replied.

  “Is anything wrong?” Mother half rose in her chair.

  “He’s fine but something came up he wants to show me as soon as possible.”

  “I bet it’s a big clue,” Gran said, gleefully rubbing her hands together. “Tell us what he discovered. Inquiring minds want to know.”

  “Sorry, no can do.” Tom looked at the original James Bond before uttering, “As the saying goes, it’s for my eyes only.”

  CHAPT
ER FORTY-TWO

  One would think that if you’re sharing a marital bed, there would be no secrets between you and your husband. Including details of a murder investigation he’s involved in. But when Tom said “for his eyes only” he meant it.

  Although the captain had requested my husband’s immediate presence, Tom still asked for my consent before hiring a taxi to take him back to the pier. I agreed that finding a murderer always trumped sightseeing. I offered to accompany him, but he insisted I stay on the tour and stick close to Sierra. Whether he was being considerate or just trying to keep me out of his hair, I agreed to his request.

  Before he left, he shared one tidbit of information. Bradford had unearthed something while reviewing the video footage. And it might be the killer.

  We boarded the bus and I sat next to my mother, confiding that her husband had discovered an important clue.

  “I’m glad it was worth Robert staying behind then,” she said before sighing. “My husband has yet to get the hang of retirement. I hoped a cruise would entertain him, but I think he’s been having more fun since they found that dead body.”

  “I know Robert loves you very much,” I replied, “but you have to remember that he’s still an active man.”

  “He certainly is,” replied my mother with a wide smile and a wink.

  Oh boy, we were so not going there.

  “I just think he needs additional mental stimulation. Besides your wonderful companionship,” I added.

  “I suppose,” she conceded. “If it takes a murder to make my husband a happy cruiser, so be it. But you’re on your honeymoon, Laurel. You shouldn’t have to share your husband with the captain.”

  “Not a problem. I have you and Gran to entertain me.” A cackle followed by a bray could be heard from across the aisle. “And Mabel.”

  Our bus made a sharp ninety-degree right turn onto a gravel-strewn lane. My teeth clanged together as we bounced in and out of a pothole bigger than my bathtub. Our destination proved to be a smallish pale blue stucco building with a large veranda stretched across the front. Empty white wrought-iron tables and chairs awaited our arrival. What yummy delicacies were we about to sample?

  A half hour later, I dropped my fork onto my plate, satiated from multiple dessert and port tastings.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I announced to my family, “But I couldn’t eat one more bite of chocolate. Even if you paid me.”

  “Hah,” said Gran. “That leaves more for us.” She speared another light-as-a-feather bite-sized treat from the colorful petits fours stacked on a three-tier silver tray. Sierra, who had been chatting with the restaurant owner, joined us.

  “Did you enjoy your dessert tasting?” she asked.

  “Scrumptious,” I replied. “Did you get a chance to taste his goodies?”

  “I sampled a couple of them. He normally makes a delicious chocolate peanut butter cheesecake, but Mrs. Peabody and Darren Abernathy both have peanut allergies. We didn’t want to take any chances in the kitchen today.”

  Gran nodded. “Yep, cause if Peabody died, she woulda’ found a way to blame you for it.”

  Well, technically, that was impossible, but knowing Evelyn Peabody’s quarrelsome personality, she might have managed it. I was just glad that I didn’t have a peanut allergy. PB&J sandwiches were a staple in our family cuisine.

  Sierra began rounding up everyone for our last stop back on the Dutch side of the island. We lined up behind Sharon and Deborah and Rick and Claire.

  “I swear I’ve died and gone to chocolate heaven,” Deborah said.

  Sharon laughed. “Deborah thinks chocolate should be its own food group.”

  Claire smiled in agreement. “It’s certainly my favorite antioxidant.”

  “I understand they normally offer a chocolate peanut butter cheesecake, but several people on the tour have a peanut allergy, including your husband,” I said to Deborah. “I haven’t seen him yet today.”

  “He decided to skip this tour,” Deborah explained.

  “Where did Tom go?” asked Rick. “I could have sworn I saw him with you a little earlier.”

  “He’s hot on the trail of the killer,” Gran announced.

  Claire’s face paled. “The killer followed us to this island?”

  “There’s nothing for us to worry about,” I said, shooting Gran a dirty look. “The captain just needed to chat with him.”

  “I’m glad your husband is involved,” Claire said. “These days, you never know when someone will take a pot shot at you just driving down the freeway. We have all sorts of crazies in Southern California.”

  “That’s why I always wear protective gear,” Mabel said. She unbuttoned her madras plaid shirt to reveal a bulletproof vest. “Ya gotta be prepared in case there’s a crackpot out there.”

  As far as I was concerned, there were way too many crackpots capering through my life lately.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Our tour group arrived back at the dock forty-five minutes before the ship would set sail. Once we passed through security, Sierra raced off to track down Zac and find out how the rehearsal went. Mother and I returned to our respective staterooms. I walked in and found Tom seated on the sofa, scrolling through his laptop.

  I plopped down and waited for a sizzling kiss that never arrived. I waved my hand in front of his preoccupied face.

  “Sweetie, your wonderful wife has returned.” I placed my hand on his muscular thigh. A surefire way to get his attention.

  He looked up, his dark eyes perplexed and concerned.

  “What’s going on?” I asked him. “Are you researching something?”

  “I’m going through some video footage again. We downloaded an extra copy onto my laptop.”

  I peered at the tiny screen of his compact laptop. “That’s convenient although it could prove disruptive to our honeymoon.”

  He sent me a weak smile. “What we discovered is beyond disruptive. It’s damaging evidence about the person who might have killed Sanjay.”

  I squinted as I tried to identify the person whose fuzzy image had been captured on Tom’s laptop.

  My eyes opened wide, and I leaned forward, my nose almost touching the computer screen.

  “That’s not who I think it is, is it?” I asked Tom.

  “It’s your cousin. In living color.”

  “Where was this taken?”

  “On the staircase leading from the tenth floor deck to the eleventh.”

  “Sierra’s job duties take her all over this ship,” I said. “Why do you think her movements are a problem?”

  Tom adjusted the magnification on his screen. It didn’t help the fuzziness factor, but Sierra’s frame increased thirty percent in size. Tom pointed directly at the back of Sierra’s head.

  “See those two chopsticks stuck in her hair?”

  I nodded. “I was with her in her stateroom when she was styling it that way.”

  “Well, there’s additional footage in this same stairwell showing her coming back down about ten minutes later.”

  “Okay…” I said, waiting for him to get to his point.

  “The additional footage shows Sierra walking back downstairs minus one of the chopsticks.”

  Ouch. I got his point––sharp and clear.

  “I’m sure there’s an innocent explanation.” My mind raced as I tried to come up with some possible scenarios. “It could have fallen out of her hair somewhere along the way. You don’t know where the chopstick that killed Sanjay came from. His girlfriend might have taken one from the restaurant.”

  “The FBI took that particular chopstick into evidence. We could send them a DNA sample from Sierra to see if it matches up to the weapon.”

  I slumped into the cushions of the sofa. It was bad enough when Mrs. Peabody called Sierra a thief. But to think that my cousin could be a murderer?

  No way.

  “Even if Sierra’s chopstick was the one used to kill Sanjay, it doesn’t necessarily make her his m
urderer.”

  “True. But I wish she had mentioned she was in the vicinity shortly before Sanjay was killed. The captain and I find that omission highly suspicious. We need to have a chat with her.”

  “Chat with her or interrogate her?” I said. “I’m coming along.”

  Tom put his arm around me and finally delivered that long-awaited sizzling kiss. Then he murmured in my ear. “No, you’re not.”

  I placed my palms against his chest and pushed him away. “Sierra is entitled to legal counsel.”

  “Legal counsel?”

  “Hey, I watch The Good Wife. I’ve picked up a few things.”

  “Laurel, this is a murder investigation. I don’t want you interfering with my case.”

  “Technically, this isn’t your case. You’re just assisting the captain since he asked for your help.”

  Tom sighed. “U.S. cruise law mandates that cruise ships handle crimes based on the laws of the country where the ships are registered. Since Sanjay isn’t a U.S. citizen, and the boat is registered in Liberia, and the murder took place in international waters, the FBI has assigned the case a very low priority. In fact, no priority. Especially with that recent nightclub shooting in Miami that enlisted most of the agents in the southeast. So the cruise line is begging for my assistance. In exchange, the captain offered us a free cruise anywhere we want.”

  He reached for my hand. “How does a free cruise sound to you?”

  At the rate this vacation was going, I’d rather have someone stick a chopstick in MY ear than take another cruise. But I appreciated Tom’s efforts to help the cruise line, as well as our limited travel budget.

  If only one of my relatives hadn’t become his top murder suspect.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Tom left to meet with the captain. As soon as the door shut behind him, I called my mother.

  “Mother, we have a crisis,” I said, my voice breaking.

  “Laurel, you always seem to have a crisis lately. Do you need help figuring out what to wear this evening? Why don’t you give your cousin a call? She has excellent taste.”