by B R Snow
“Yeah, got it, Mom.”
“And Dr. Couch will be there. You remember him from the barbecue. And he’s bringing one of his business associates. Who am I forgetting?” She thought for a moment. “Oh, of course, Teresa. She got a sitter for the girls. And since Rocco will be working, we couldn’t let her eat dinner by herself.”
“You decided what you’re going to have yet?” Chef Claire said to Josie.
“I’m still going back and forth,” she said. “But it will definitely be something from the snapper family.”
“I’m going with a steak,” I said.
“Philistine,” my mother said.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, making a face at her. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Rocco told me that he’s thinking about moving here on a year-round basis.”
“Wow,” Josie said. “That was fast.”
“He’s been dropping some hints for a while,” Chef Claire said. “I don’t have any problem with it. We’re going to need a manager for the restaurant. Finn is great, but he hates dealing with anything outside of the kitchen.”
“And Rocco brings his considerable bartending skills with him,” Josie said, then grinned. “Not to mention crowd control.”
“Who have we got at home that could handle being bar manager at C’s?” I said.
“At the moment,” Chef Claire said. “I don’t think we have anybody.”
“We’ve got lots of time,” Josie said. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
“To us,” my mother said, raising her champagne flute in a toast.
We clinked glasses, wished each other Merry Christmas again, then cleaned up the mess we’d made opening presents. The three of us walked down the beach toward the house lugging our individual Christmas bounty with the dogs leading the way. We put everything away then sat around the pool doing our best to stay dry as the dogs climbed in and out of the pool. They took great pains to shake as close to us as possible, then we gave up all hope of remaining dry, changed into our swimsuits, and joined them for a late-night swim.
As days went, this one was pretty much off the charts. Apart from learning that Teresa’s ex-husband was back in the picture and might try to make life difficult for her, everything was going to plan and was right on schedule. And if I was able to track down the owner of the King Charles, tomorrow had the potential to be even better.
But a thought continued to nag at me as I did my best to swim a lap with four hovering dogs who were either trying to help me make it across the pool or drown me in the deep end.
Owen.
Who the heck is Owen?
Chapter 10
I ate breakfast with Chef Claire that, due to the crunch of the Granola she’d made, turned into a noisy affair that had the dogs on point and was probably loud enough to wake Josie from a sound sleep. The slices of fresh mango were quieter but just as delicious, and I pushed my plate away, full and ready to give my full attention to a second cup of coffee I’d poured into a traveler mug.
“It’s so easy to eat healthy down here,” I said, taking a careful sip.
“Concur,” Chef Claire said, slurping down a slice of mango. “Unless you’re counting the bite-sized.”
“I count most of them. And they’re so small,” I said, laughing. “This mango is fantastic.”
“We should plant some fruit trees in the yard.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said, sliding off my stool and grabbing my car keys. “I’ll see you tonight. I’d wish you good luck with the opening, but you’re not going to need it. It’s gonna be great.”
“Thanks. Be safe out there today,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Safe? Why wouldn’t I be safe?”
“Because you’re about to start snooping,” she said. “And we all know how that usually goes.”
“O ye of little faith,” I said, gently punching her on the arm and heading for the garage.
I drove down the driveway, made my way south on Seven Mile Road and wound my way onto South Sound Road. I slowed as I kept an eye out for the side street I was looking for. Then I made a left and soon found myself in front of a traditional Cayman house made of wood and painted pink and green. It was highlighted by a massive porch that stretched the width of the structure. I hopped out of the jeep and made my way through the landscaped path that led to a set of steps. A small sign reading Sylvia’s Guesthouse was attached to the railing.
I knocked and waited.
A large woman with gray hair tied back in a bun opened the door and smiled at me.
“Good morning,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, are you Sylvia?”
“I am,” she said, patiently waiting for me to continue.
“My name is Suzy Chandler. And I’m looking for someone.”
“Okay,” she said, shrugging. “Who are you looking for?”
“Well, you see, that’s the hard part. I don’t know her name.”
“That might make it a bit more difficult to find her,” she said, chuckling.
“Yeah, it’s kind of a strange situation,” I said.
I spent a few minutes explaining the water rescue on Christmas morning and how the hospital had given me her address. She listened carefully, occasionally nodding as I continued.
“Isn’t it a bit strange that the hospital had my address, but didn’t get her name?”
“I was thinking the same thing,” I said, nodding. “But she was basically unconscious when she was admitted, and before they were willing to discharge her, she had to prove she was able to answer some basic questions. You know name and address. How old are you? Stuff like that. And the only name the nurses could remember her giving was Bobbie. No last name. And one of the nurses said she might have been lying about her name.”
“That’s odd,” Sylvia said. “What does she look like?”
“Attractive, average height, long light brown hair turning blonde from the sun, somewhere in her thirties.”
“Yes, I think I know who you’re talking about. But she told me her name was Vera. No last name,” she said, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind her. She gestured at two chairs sitting nearby. “Let’s enjoy this beautiful morning before it gets too hot, shall we?”
“What was she like?” I said, sitting down in a chair next to her.
“She was a pleasant young woman. Very respectful and quiet as a mouse. For someone in my business, the perfect house guest. But she seemed…troubled.”
“How so?” I said as my Snoopmeter turned itself on.
“It was like she was always on guard. You know, on the lookout for somebody who might be watching her.”
“Afraid?”
“No, I wouldn’t say afraid,” she said, frowning. “It was more like cautious. Almost like she was a spy or something. But I’m sure that’s just me reading too much into it. I watch way too many spy movies.”
“Sure, sure,” I said, nodding. “I’m the same way with cop shows. How long was she here?”
“She stayed for about a week,” Sylvia said. “Then one morning she paid her bill in cash and left.”
“When did she leave?”
“It was two days before Christmas. I remember because I always make a big Christmas dinner for all my guests, and I asked her if she’d be coming. Can I ask why you’re looking for her?”
“I have her dog,” I said, shrugging. “And I’d like to give him back to her.”
“You have Earl?”
“That’s his name? Earl?”
“Yes, she told me the name was a playful reference to the King Charles. You know, Earl, as in the royal title.”
“Cool name,” I said. “Now we know what to call him. Thanks. That helps.”
She noticed the deep frown on my face.
“What’s wrong?”
“When she was discharged from the hospital she didn’t try to find the dog,” I said, shaking my head. “She wouldn’t have known who to talk to, but she could have asked all t
he people who live near the beach where she was rescued. There aren’t that many of us.”
“You live on Seven Mile Beach?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Nice,” she said, staring off into the distance with a smile on her face. “I used to be a housekeeper over there. But only until I’d saved enough money to open this place.” Then she stared at me, confused. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“The fact that she didn’t try to find Earl is really bothering me,” I said.
“Well, she adored that dog and never went anywhere without him. And she did say she was planning to go somewhere far away. Now, I’m worried that something bad might have happened to her.”
“But you don’t know of anyone who might have been looking for her?”
“No,” Sylvia said. “Apart from a few conversations she had with some of the other guests over dinner, I never saw her talk to anyone. Except for Earl. She chatted with him all the time.”
“He’s a cute dog,” I said.
“And he was also rescued by your dog?”
“He was. Actually, Captain belongs to my best friend,” I said. “But on most days, I think we pretty much belong to them.”
“He sounds like a very special animal.”
“He is,” I said, nodding. “Did she ever mention anyone by the name of Owen?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “That doesn’t ring a bell at all. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” I said, getting up. “I need to run. But thanks so much for your help.”
“You’re very welcome,” she said, also standing and extending her hand. “It was nice meeting you. Good luck. And I hope she’s okay. But if you don’t find her and need a place for the dog, just let me know. I’d be delighted to look after him.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, shaking her hand.
Over my mother’s dead body, I thought, hiding a smile.
I made my way down the path and hopped into the jeep and headed for home.
Now that it had been confirmed that the mysterious Vera-Bobbie was officially a dog lover, my neurons started churning. I had to agree with Sylvia’s concern that something bad might have happened to the woman. But I was at a complete loss about what to do next. I couldn’t go to the police and file a missing person report on an unnamed woman just because she’d left her dog behind.
On the surface, there was nothing particularly special about the mysterious woman’s situation. Travelers of all types and ages come and go through the islands of the Caribbean on a constant basis: Tourists and trekkers, con artists and schemers, retirees and ex-pats, and a host of other people looking to escape the brutal northern winters, or just looking to escape. Then she’d gotten into trouble on the water and had to be rescued. It happened all the time.
And she may have had a very good reason for leaving her King Charles behind. But that idea nagged and cut deep into my thoughts. Sylvia’s comment about how cautious the woman was, and how it appeared she was constantly on the lookout for someone who might be watching her wouldn’t go away.
Then some neurons collided and a lightbulb popped in my head.
I pulled the jeep over, made a U-turn and headed back to Sylvia’s. She was surprised to see me when she opened the door.
“Did you forget something?” she said.
“I’m sorry to bother you. But you mentioned that the only conversations Vera had were with some of your other guests.”
“Yes, that’s right,” she said, confused. “What about it?”
“Was one of the guests a man called Gavin?”
“Why, yes. As a matter of fact, it was. A good-looking man, dark hair, around forty? Rather ill-tempered?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “I’ve never met him.”
“Okay,” she said, now baffled.
“Is he still staying here?”
“No, he checked out yesterday.”
“Did he happen to mention where he was going?” I said.
“No, he didn’t. All he said was that he had some business to attend to that would take him out of town for a while.”
“Thanks, Sylvia,” I said, staring off into the distance.
She must have gotten concerned because I only came back to the present when I felt her gentle hand on my arm.
“Are you okay, Suzy?”
“Sure, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
“You just seemed to drift off for a while,” she said, chuckling.
“Oh, that,” I said, waving it off. “Don’t worry about that. It happens all the time.”
“Don’t you think you’re a bit young to be having a senior moment?” she said, laughing.
“Actually, I think it’s more of an occupational hazard,” I said, smiling at her.
“Are you a cop?”
“No, I run an inn for dogs,” I said, again staring off.
“Not to sound alarming, dear, but you might want to stay out of the sun for a few days.”
I grinned at her and waved goodbye then hopped back into the jeep. Teresa’s ex-husband, the stalker, knew the mysterious Vera-Bobbie who had disappeared from sight. It wasn’t much to go on, but it was certainly more than I’d started the day with. As I headed for home, I mulled over my options about how to track down the driver of the silver Mercedes with an apparent fondness for binoculars and have a little chat with him under the guise of reuniting the woman with her beloved dog, Earl.
Earl.
Cool name for a cool little dog.
Chapter 11
I was halfway through my dinner, doing my best to feign interest in the conversations about asset-turnover ratio, cash reserve ratio, and capital adequacy ratio that were dominating the table. I didn’t have a clue what my mother and her dinner guests were talking about, but I did manage to glean that ratios must be important when it comes to the world of high finance. Fortunately, Dr. Couch, who was an avid collector of antiques, started talking about a set of 18th century chairs he’d just bought at auction. Normally, talking about chairs is about as interesting as watching paint dry, but after my forced finance lesson, I found the conversation about the beauty and durability of Cuban mahogany a most welcome change.
I was about to take another bite of my steak when I saw a man enter the restaurant by himself and take a seat at the bar. Rocco glanced up from the conversation he was having with a couple sitting at the bar and immediately went on point. But he remained calm, walked over to the man, and placed a menu in front of him. Rocco turned around briefly to pour the man a beer, then took his order, and walked back down the bar to resume his conversation. But he kept glancing over and keeping a very close eye on the man who had his back to the dining room and was sipping his beer.
I caught Rocco’s eye, and he gave me a small nod. Teresa was sitting next to me, and I nudged her and nodded in Rocco’s direction. Teresa beamed at him and waved, then flinched when she saw the man sitting by himself at the bar. On cue, the man swiveled around in his seat and made eye contact with Teresa and stared hard.
“That’s your ex-husband, isn’t it?” I whispered.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes still locked on her ex. “What on earth is he doing here?”
“Probably trying to ruin your night,” I said. “So, let’s not give him the satisfaction.”
“What’s going on?” Josie said, glancing up from her plate.
“Teresa’s ex is sitting at the bar.”
Josie casually glanced over in the general direction then went back to her snapper. My mother, as she always did, picked up on the atmospheric change at the table and gave me a quizzical look. I shook my head, and she let it go. But Dr. Couch sitting on the other side of Teresa leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.
“Is everything okay?”
“I think so,” Teresa whispered. “My ex-husband is here.”
Dr. Couch followed her eyes to the bar then frowned.
“Gavin is your ex-husband?” he said, surp
rised.
“Yes. You know him?” Teresa said.
“Yes, unfortunately, I do,” Dr. Couch said, setting his knife and fork down. “A few years ago, he was involved in a few real estate projects I was participating in. And he’s recently come back to the islands. How close are you to your ex-husband?”
“Not at all,” Teresa said. “To be honest, I consider him a blight on society. Why do you ask?”
“Because I don’t have anything good to say about him. If the two of you were close, I would just keep my mouth shut.”
“Nothing good to say, huh?” Teresa said, sneaking a quick glance at the bar.
“Uh, no,” Dr. Couch said.
“You mentioned he was involved in a couple of development deals,” I said, leaning forward.
“Actually, Gavin’s involvement was pretty much relegated to the sidelines. He’s a bit of a…”
“Sycophantic weasel?” Teresa said.
“That works,” Dr. Couch said as he picked up his knife and fork and nudged the man sitting next to him.
The man who’d been introduced as Mr. Smith and had barely spoken a word all throughout dinner paused long enough to look up and glance across the room at Teresa’s ex-husband. He seemed to frown briefly when the face registered, then went back to his dinner. I assumed he was familiar with Gavin as well, and, like Dr. Couch, wasn’t impressed by what he’d seen. My mother gave me another quizzical look, and I shook my head again. She frowned at me, obviously annoyed that she was missing something, but said nothing.
Then Teresa froze in her seat. I glanced at her before turning around to see her ex-husband making his way toward our table.
“Here comes the floor show,” I said to Josie.
“What?” she said with a frown when I broke her mealtime focus. She glanced over her shoulder then put her utensils down and wiped her mouth. “If this guy ruins dessert, he’s a dead man.”
“Hello, Teresa,” the man said, coming to a stop right behind my chair.
“Gavin,” Teresa said in a controlled tone.
“I was wondering if I could speak with you,” he said, nodding at some of the other people around the table.
