by B R Snow
By the time I finished kicking around the shooter-was-in-the-restaurant theory, I was getting close to home, and the dogs picked up their pace. I was also beginning to feel what I thought was chafing on my upper legs with every step. Then I realized that instead of chafing, what I was actually feeling was a sunburn. Apparently, even a sunscreen with an SPF high enough to block the gamma rays from a nuclear explosion wasn’t enough to handle the intensity of the Caribbean sun, and I hoped I’d gotten out of the sun before I’d done any real damage.
I flinched with every step as the rain intensified, and what had started out as a leisurely stroll down an isolated stretch of sand had now turned into the last mile of a marathon. At least, I imagined it was what the last mile of a marathon would feel like: I didn’t even like to drive twenty-six miles. But I trudged forward and noticed the dogs waiting for me about a hundred feet away with expectant looks on their faces.
“Yeah, I’m coming.”
My neurons had performed well, but without any firm theories to hold onto, at the end of my stroll, I wasn’t much further along than I’d been when I started. But I did come up with one trail that might be worth exploring. Since I was in Cayman, a place where high-finance and development deals seemed to rule, I decided that I might have a chat with Gerald, the Finance Minister. If there was a project going on in the islands that might have provoked someone to murder a hanger-on like Gavin, Gerald would know about it. And while he might have no inclination to tell me about it, I figured my Snoopmeter along with its built-in lie detector might be enough to get me on the right track.
And if Gavin’s murder and the disappearance of the mystery woman were somehow connected, I might be able to work backwards from whatever development deal was in the works, uncover who parked two, twenty-twos in the back of Gavin’s head, and, from there, possibly track down the woman and give her back her dog. That is if I could pry Earl from my mother’s lap, the place where the King Charles appeared to have taken up permanent residence.
It certainly wasn’t an elegant strategy, and I knew that I’d probably end up annoying countless people in the process. But I’d learned that situations like these were more of an art form than science, and I was pretty sure this one wasn’t laid out like an Escher; mathematically-inspired works of art, multi-medium enigmas that, despite their amazing ability to surprise and delight and make you wonder if your eyes were playing tricks on you, eventually wound back on themselves in perfect symmetry.
No, by the time this one was over, I was pretty sure it would resemble something from the abstract expressionist catalog.
Move over, Mr. Pollock. Here I come again.
I left the water’s edge and slowly slogged through the deeper sand that was now wet and tugging at my calves. I groaned and grimaced with every step, and the dogs continued to trot in small circles impatiently urging me to get it into gear. Apparently tired of waiting, Captain woofed his displeasure.
“I said, I’m coming.”
I left the beach and took several gulps of cool air then trudged up the small incline that led to the gate. At the top of the incline, I paused to catch my breath and turned around to watch the raindrops relentlessly pound the ocean surface. It would be a bad time to be out on the ocean, particularly in something as small and vulnerable as a kayak.
What the heck was she doing out there at night?
Where on earth had she gone?
And who the heck is Owen?
I opened the gate, and the dogs raced toward Chef Claire and Josie who were sitting under the patio awning, completely dry. At least they were until the dogs arrived. I slowly made my way across the lawn and headed for a recliner next to them. I sat down gingerly and winced. Josie stared at me, then shook her head and tossed me a towel.
“Let me guess, that look is from your early sea otter period, right?”
“Funny. Actually, the rain felt great.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Chef Claire said, doing her best to fend off Al and Dente who seemed to think it had been a month since they’d seen their mama. “Yuk. Which one of you smells like dead fish?”
“I think it’s Al,” I said, “I’m sorry about that. But he started rolling around in something way down the beach before I could stop him.”
“Then he’s just going to have to stay outside until he gets a bath, aren’t you?”
Al didn’t like the sound of that and made it a point to rub himself all over her.
“I couldn’t help but notice you’ve got a little hitch in your giddy-up there, Hopalong,” Josie said, raising an eyebrow. “Did you pull something?”
“No. Butt burn,” I said, shifting uncomfortably.
“Ouch,” Josie said, frowning. “I guess we’ll just have dinner at the bar, and you can eat standing up.”
“Good plan.”
“Did you make any progress?”
“No, I thought I’d just start by asking Gerald a bunch of questions about what sort of projects are in the works at the moment and see if that leads me anywhere.”
“Ah, the annoyance factor. An oldie but a goodie.”
“You gotta play to your strengths, right?”
“Maybe he’ll feel sorry for you and open up,” Josie deadpanned.
“What?”
“Show him your sunburn. That should do the trick.”
Chapter 16
The Government Administration Building, home to the majority of departments responsible for keeping things running smoothly, is a six-story office building in downtown Georgetown that reminds me of a high-school or a hospital. I was escorted to the fifth floor and then into a large, plush office that definitely delivered when it came to sending the intended message: The person who works here is important and has some serious juice.
“He’ll be right with you,” my escort said, then she pointed at two leather chairs framing a coffee table. “Please, have a seat.”
“Maybe in a minute,” I said, not relishing the thought.
I still couldn’t believe how bad a sunburn I’d gotten yesterday. Three hours in the mid-morning sun and my backside had turned a shade of pink that reminded me of a medium-rare steak, minus the grill marks. This morning, I’d taken a cold shower then slathered myself in a pineapple-scented Aloe Vera lotion that definitely helped. But I was now exuding a scent that had Chef Claire and Josie, in the manner of a Pavlovian-dog conditioned to respond to various stimuli, reaching into the fridge for the fruit salad. I’d opted for the loosest fitting pair of shorts and blouse I could find to minimize the amount of contact the soft cotton would have with my skin, then gingerly settled in behind the wheel of the jeep and made the drive without tearing up once.
In short, I was pretty sure my sunburn was now bearable.
That is, as long as I didn’t move or breathe too hard.
Like other executives with big offices and a lot of wall space to cover, Gerald was fond of pictures of himself posing with a wide variety of people. I recognized several celebrities, a couple of athletes, and some U.S. government officials who looked vaguely familiar. Gerald looked pretty much the same in all the photos; an enormous smile, arm around the shoulder, or the lower back when posing with women, and a twinkle in his eyes that left no doubt he was most definitely living and enjoying the good life.
I half-turned when he entered the office through a different door and beamed at me. He was wearing a soft-gray suit with a white shirt and lavender tie and looked fantastic. It was the first time I’d ever seen him wearing anything other than shorts and a colorful short-sleeved shirt, and it caught me by surprise. He’d suddenly transitioned into someone who was a lot more than just my mother’s good friend. Now, he was a guy who worked in the inner circle of the power structure and was a major player in pretty much everything that happened down here.
My neurons had been correct. He was definitely the right guy to start my search with. But I suddenly felt tentative. Either it was the trappings of the office or the way he was dressed, but I heard my subco
nscious telling me to tread carefully. This wasn’t a casual barbecue sitting around my mom’s pool sipping Mudslides. This place was all business, and I knew instinctively how I needed to conduct myself. Professional. Prim and proper. A woman of substance who demonstrated the requisite amount of respect for the office and the man, but someone still worthy of being treated as an equal.
Pleased with my planned approach, I nodded to myself then felt my sunburn begin to itch. Knowing that scratching my butt in the middle of the Finance Minister’s office probably wouldn’t help me convey the image I was trying to project, I tried to ignore the itch. Then I realized Gerald was talking to me.
“What?” I said, fighting the urge to imitate Chloe and rub myself vigorously against the wall.
“I said, are you all right?” he said, laughing. “You seemed to be off in another world.”
“Oh, that,” I said. “Don’t worry about that. It happens all the time. I was just looking at all your photos and got carried away. You know a lot of very important people.”
“Ah,” he said, waving it off. “Occupational hazard. How are you?”
“Apart from dealing with a rather nasty sunburn, I’m good. Thanks for taking the time to see me.”
“My pleasure,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, I heard about your burn. That’s too bad. They can be most unpleasant.”
“You heard?” I said, frowning. “You talked to my mother, didn’t you?”
“Sure. I talk with her pretty much every day,” he said, then sniffed the air. “I smell pineapple.”
“Yeah, that’s me. Sorry. I think I used a bit too much lotion.”
“That’s understandable,” he said, sympathetically. “I used to try all sorts of things whenever I got a bad sunburn.”
“You don’t get burned anymore?” I said, surprised.
“Not really,” he said, shaking his head.
“Because you’re dark-skinned, right?”
“No,” he said, staring at me like I’d lost my mind. “I don’t burn because I try to stay out of the sun.”
“Sure, sure,” I said, my face turning as red as my bottom. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, laughing. “But trust me, people with my skin color sunburn just like everyone else.”
Way to go, Suzy. So much for staying professional. And we were already looking at prim and proper in the rearview mirror. I smelled like a Hawaiian fruit plantation, had made an unintentional reference to his skin color that he could have easily categorized as racist, and I was doing everything I could not to rub myself against the furniture to ease the itch my neurons were screaming at me to scratch.
Smooth.
“Would you care to sit down?” he said, still beaming at me.
“If I have to,” I said, inching my way toward one of the leather chairs and gingerly sitting down. The chair provided enough relief from the itch to outweigh the pain, and I gently wiggled back and forth on the soft leather. “Okay, that’s not too bad.”
“I have to say, Suzy, that you are truly a unique individual,” he said, sitting down across from me and grinning at my attempt to get comfortable.
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” I said, sighing with pleasure as the itch finally subsided.
“You mentioned over the phone that you’d like to discuss a development deal of some sort?” he said, draping a leg over his knee, suddenly all business.
“Yes, I would.”
“Don’t tell me that you’d like to invest some of your considerable resources in a project? Perhaps, some commercial real estate. Or maybe you’d like to get a piece of a planned community. I have several possibilities I’ve been trying to get your mother interested in.”
“No, I’m not looking to invest,” I said, allowing myself another wiggle. “I’m trying to reunite a dog with his owner.”
He blinked but did his best not to reveal what he was thinking. Which I’m sure was who is this crazy woman sitting in my office.
“I see,” he said eventually with a frown. “I’m not sure I can make the connection.”
“Yeah, me either,” I said, making the mistake of leaning forward in my chair. I flinched, took a few moments to wait out the pain, then continued. “At the moment, I only have a working theory.”
“Your mother calls them wild-eyed guesses,” he said, laughing.
“Tomato, tomahto,” I said, shrugging. “My theory is that Gavin, the guy who got shot at the restaurant, and the woman I’m trying to track down might have been working together.”
“The woman you’re trying to find so you can return her dog?” he said.
“Yes. And I don’t have a clue where or how to find her. But since Gavin worked in real estate development, I thought if I could identify some of the current projects that are going on down here, I might be able to work backward from there and track the woman down.”
“And figure out who shot Gavin in the process, right?” he said, grinning at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, yeah, there is that,” I said, grinning back.
“The police seem to think that your friend Rocco killed him.”
“No,” I said, firmly shaking my head. “Rocco didn’t do it.”
“Based on what I’ve seen of his prior record, a rather colorful history I’m sure you’d agree, he seems to be a likely suspect.”
“No, he’s moved way past his former life,” I said, then stopped and stared at him. “Based on what you’ve seen?”
“Yes, I reviewed his file just this morning,” he said, nodding.
“Why would you do that?” I said, frowning.
“Suzy, I’m the Finance Minister, and all of us in the government take murder very seriously. It tends to make the tourists nervous. Besides, like you, I can be a bit nosy.”
“Okay, I get that,” I said. “But if you were reading the case file you would have also seen that he wasn’t anywhere near the parking lot behind the restaurant. He was working behind the bar. And you were there the whole time.”
“Yes, I was,” he said. “And I saw him use Gavin’s head to open the front door. By his own admission, Rocco was the one who drove the car and parked it behind the restaurant.”
“But that was earlier,” I said, shaking my head.
“The approximate time of death fits into the timeframe when he was in the car with Gavin,” he said softly.
“No, Rocco didn’t do it,” I said. “It didn’t happen.”
“Let’s just let the police do their thing and let it play out, okay?”
“Is that your way of telling me to mind my own business, Gerald?”
“Let’s call it a suggestion, shall we?”
“Sure, sure,” I said, nodding. “But two in the back of the head wouldn’t be the way Rocco would have done it.”
“Tenacious, aren’t we?” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Given Rocco’s former employer, I would think that might be exactly the way he would have done it.”
“No, his time working for the mob is ancient history. And Rocco’s problems with Gavin were more of a personal nature. If Rocco was going to take him out, he wouldn’t have passed up the chance to see the look on Gavin’s face when he did it.”
“Personal, you say. Do tell.”
I’d walked right into that one.
I wiggled in my chair and felt the leather brushing against my bare skin. Confused, but determined to get out of the hole I might have just dug for Rocco, I ignored the fact that my blouse must be riding up my back and continued.
“Yes, Gavin had been stalking his ex-wife. Teresa, remember?”
“The woman who is running your new animal shelter,” he said.
“Yes. And she and Rocco are in love,” I said. “Rocco didn’t want her feeling threatened or afraid.”
“You’re really not helping his case, Suzy,” Gerald said, shaking his head.
“Rocco didn’t do it, Gerald,” I said firmly. “But since you raise the possibil
ity of organized crime, are they active down here?”
“Given our banking system, any group like theirs with that much money is most definitely active,” he said, shrugging. “But they most certainly are not involved with any government-sponsored or approved development projects. And from what I’ve seen of their operation, I think organized might be a bit of an overstatement.”
“But there must be lots of other projects going on that the government isn’t involved with, right?”
“Of course,” he said, “But we do our best to keep a close eye on everything that’s going on around the islands.”
“So it’s possible they might be involved in a deal that might not, shall we say, pass the government smell test?”
“If I’ve learned anything in my career, it’s that anything is possible,” he said, shrugging. “Especially when large sums of money are involved.”
“Have you heard about any suspicious projects?” I said, leaning forward and again feeling the touch of soft leather against my back. I tugged my blouse down and wiggled gently. Flash of pain, nagging itch. “You know, any projects that seem a bit off-key?”
“Off-key?” he said, laughing. “Like a community musical theatre group?”
“Funny.”
“Sure, I hear rumors all the time.”
“And?”
“And if I spent time trying to track them all down, I would never do anything else. You might find it hard to believe, but I have a pretty big job.”
He sat back in his chair and studied me closely.
