When the Cat's Away

by Molly Fitz

  “We’re guests in one of your villas, and it was Audrey who discovered your surfing instructor this morning,” Galloway replied, pulling me forward.

  “Ah, oui.” Her eyes narrowed on me. “Did we not ask you to wait in the dining room?”

  Before I could answer, Galloway cut in. “Have you called the police?”

  “Oui. Who are you, precisely?” She looked Galloway up and down, sizing him up, mentally determining if he was an unsavory character. I mean, he had to be if he was with me, right? Because clearly, they considered me a suspect.

  “Detective Kade Galloway.”

  Her demeanor did a one-eighty. “A detective! How fortuitous. Excusez-Moi, I have not introduced myself properly. I am the manager of the Wild Haven Lagoon Resort, Reneé Crevier.”

  Reneé waved a hand toward the entourage gather around her. “You have met Nicole, Oui?”

  Galloway and I nodded at Nicole Gibson, the woman who’d met us at the dock the previous day.

  “And this,” Renee waved a hand toward a red-haired woman and the first pale-skinned person I’d seen on the island, “is Yasmin Rees. This is her boutique.”

  I eyeballed Yasmin’s creamy white skin. How did she not burn? Her red hair was pulled up in a tight, immaculate bun. She had winged eyeliner and red lippy. Her sundress was white, simple, and elegant. I just knew she was one of those people who could pull together an outfit out of a hessian sack and ball of twine and still look fabulous.

  Reneé continued with the introductions. “Neve Willis is one of our cleaning crew.” Neve was dressed in a black polo shirt with the requisite logo, knee-length black shorts, and bloodshot eyes.

  “And then we have our guests, Daisy Hawkins and Lauren and David Walsh.” Reneé continued. I nodded to Lauren and David again. They stood with their elbows linked. I glanced at Daisy, a lady with ample curves and curly brown hair.

  “And you're all here because…?” Galloway asked, curious why this crowd was gathered in the foyer.

  “We were all in the dining room this morning having breakfast,” David Walsh said. “With Rory.”

  “I can’t believe he’s dead.” Neve sniffed, wiping away a tear.

  “Is it true you found him?” Daisy asked me. I vaguely recalled seeing Daisy in the dining room this morning. Only a handful of us were up and about so early. I remembered Lauren and David liked to walk the length of the beach before it got too hot and crowded. And Galloway and I had booked our respective beach activities, me to go surfing, Galloway to go scuba diving. Daisy had merely said she was an early riser, although I remembered thinking she’d looked like she hadn’t slept at all. I judged her to be in her thirties, and she was apparently vacationing alone.

  “Sadly, yes.” I nodded.

  “Did you have an argument with him?” Yasmin demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down her nose at me.

  “What, this?” I pointed to my chin. “Nah, that was the surfboard. I found Rory when I came back to the surf hut in search of a first-aid kit.”

  “Too bad there aren’t any witnesses to substantiate your story.” Yasmin sniffed, voice dripping with innuendo. I bristled, but Galloway squeezed my fingers.

  “Are the police here yet?” Galloway asked.

  “Yes. They are at the beach,” Reneé said, pointing needlessly toward the beach.

  “Thank you.” Galloway inclined his head. To me, he said, “Come on, let’s go meet them.”

  I allowed him to lead me out of the hotel and down onto the beach.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked, kicking up sand as we walked.

  “I’m not having them hold you like that,” Galloway growled. “That was totally uncalled for, and the hotel was overstepping.”

  “I didn’t mind.” I honestly didn’t. Sitting quietly on my own had given me time to think. Plus, they’d given me free coffee. Although admittedly, it would have been nice to shower and wash the dry, itchy, saltwater from my skin. And the blood.

  He squeezed my hand. “None of this is your fault. Although if Rory were alive, I’d be having words with him about how he allowed you to hurt yourself during a surfing lesson.”

  “It wasn’t his fault.” I quickly jumped to Rory’s defense. “I got cocky. I’d caught a couple of waves and then totally misjudged things when a bigger wave came along. I panicked and tried to get off my board. The board got caught up in the current and smacked me in the face. If I hadn’t panicked, if I’d just stayed on it, I probably could have ridden into shore.”

  “Where’s Rory now?”

  “Perving on girls at the resort. He really is an incorrigible flirt.”

  “Maybe he flirted with the wrong person,” Galloway suggested.

  “You think someone killed him because he flirted with them?” I asked in surprise.

  “His death could be the result of a jealous boyfriend. Or husband. We won’t know until we find out how he died.”

  We lapsed into silence as we approached the diving hut and surfing racks. I’d expected there to be crime scene tape roping the area off, but there was nothing. Rounding the corner of the building, we came across two police officers dressed in khaki uniforms and peaked caps. They looked remarkably similar, from their tanned islander skin to their big brown eyes. I wondered if they were brothers.

  “You shouldn’t be back here,” one of them said.

  “Ey, this isn’t no sight for tourists,” the other added.

  “I’m Detective Kade Galloway. This is my partner, Audrey. She’s the one who found the body.” Galloway produced his ID, holding his wallet out so they could see his badge. “I appreciate I don’t have jurisdiction here, but I’d like to offer my assistance.”

  Both men straightened, looked at each other, then beamed at Galloway.

  “Sergeant Jared Lackie, at your service. And this is my cousin, Constable Deon Robinson.”

  Ahh. That explained the similarity. Cousins, not brothers.

  “No detective on the case?” Galloway asked.

  “Oh, the inspector is back at the station. He doesn’t like to leave the office. We report everything back to him.”

  Galloway and I looked at each other. An inspector who doesn’t like fieldwork? Or maybe it was the heat, I thought, fanning myself. It was almost midday, and the temperature was rising.

  “Why’s that then?” Galloway asked.

  Jared and Deon looked at each other then shrugged. “Dunno, chief. Probably the heat.” Jared confirmed my suspicions.

  “Speaking of the heat, is anyone coming to pick up the body?” Rory was still face down in the sand, and Galloway crouched by his side, eyes running the length of him.

  “Aye, transportation is on the way. We don’t have morgue facilities on the island, chief. He’ll be taken to the hospital on Maryvonne.” Maryvonne was the main island, much bigger than Emilienne, with a population of nearly two hundred thousand. We’d flown into Maryvonne and then caught the ferry across to Emilienne, a two-and-a-half-hour journey.

  “I assume the inspector will order an autopsy?”

  “Oh, yes, chief,” Deon said. Then, to Jared in a stage whisper, “He will, won’t he?”

  “I expect so, Deon. I expect so.”

  Galloway and I glanced at each other. I had little confidence this pair knew what they were doing. Or the absent inspector either, for that matter.

  “Don’t suppose you have many murders on the island,” I said.

  “Murder?” they echoed in unison.

  “Yes. Murder.” I pointed at Rory. “You don’t think he just dropped dead of natural causes, do you?”

  “Oh, well now, Mrs. Chief. I couldn’t say.”

  I almost laughed at the Mrs. Chief part.

  “Have you taken photographs of the scene?” Galloway asked.

  “Yes, chief.” Jared pulled out his phone and showed Galloway the pictures he’d taken.

  “Good work.” Galloway nodded. “Okay, let's roll him.”

  “You want us to m
ove the body, chief?” Jared’s brows shot up.

  Galloway nodded. “Yes. I do. Cause of death may not be evident, but what if he has a wound that we can’t see?”

  “Oh.” Deon nodded. “Like he was stabbed in the chest?”

  “We’d probably see blood in the sand if that were the case,” Galloway replied. “But yes. It won’t hurt to roll him. He could be lying on evidence.”

  I stood back while the three men got in position and rolled Rory onto his back. No blood. No wounds. He looked perfectly fine except for a dried smear of what appeared to be vomit at the corner of his mouth. We all crouched next to him for a closer look while Jared took more photos.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked Galloway. “Poison?”

  He cocked his head, first one way then the other. “Could be. We definitely need a tox screen.”

  “Here come the boys now.” Deon stood and pointed. I looked up to see two men carrying a stretcher heading toward us. We moved to the front of the dive hut and surfing stand, keeping out of the way while Rory’s body was removed. Deon joined us, picking up the clipboard that hung on the side of the surfing stand.

  “Mrs. Chief?” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re name’s Audrey, right? Audrey Fitzgerald?”

  “Correct. How’d you know?”

  “Because it has your name here as the only lesson this morning.” Deon held the clipboard up.

  Shoot. I’d forgotten my name would have been recorded somewhere.

  “That’s right. I did sign up for a lesson. But, um…” How could I explain that I’d met a ghost here this morning and had no idea Rory had been lying dead behind the hut the entire time?

  “Rory wasn’t around, and I didn’t want to lose the waves. So, I grabbed a board and went out on my own. I didn’t find him till I came back in. I had a little accident with my board, you see, and needed a first-aid kit. I was looking for it when I found him.” I pointed at the dressing on my chin.

  “Ah.” Deon nodded. “So, the blood drops we found would belong to you?”

  “Yes, most likely.” It seemed the logical conclusion. “My prints will be on the plastic tub and the first-aid kit,” I added.

  “We’ll need to take a set of your prints to eliminate you from our inquiries,” Deon said with an apologetic smile. At least he seemed to believe me, unlike the staff up at the hotel.

  I held up my hand, wriggling my fingers. “Happy to oblige.”

  “We’ll be taking all of this back to the station as evidence, chief.” Jared indicated the big plastic tub and the clipboard. He glanced at the surfboard laying on the sand. “Is that the board you used, Mrs. Chief?”

  I nodded. “Sorry, I guess I should rinse it off and put it away.”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Chief. It, too, is evidence.”

  “It is?” I failed to see how the surfboard I’d been using was evidence in a murder investigation, but I wasn’t going to argue about it. If they wanted to lug it all the way back to the station, they could have at it.

  “We need to confirm that is your blood.” Jared pointed to two dried brown smears. “And that the board wasn’t used to kill Rory.”

  “He’s not showing any external signs of trauma,” Galloway said, rocking back on his heels. “Doubtful the surfboard was used as a weapon.”

  “Inspector will want us to be thorough, chief.”

  I held up my hands in a supplication gesture. “That’s fine. Take the board. It’s not mine. I just used it. Look, I really need to get cleaned up,” I indicated the bloodstain on my surf shirt. “Unless my shirt is evidence too?”

  Jared and Deon exchanged an unsure look. Galloway decided for them. “It’s clearly her own blood on her shirt, from the injury on her chin,” he pointed out.

  I took their silence as consent. “We’ll give you time to get the evidence bagged and back to the station and then come down to give you my statement and fingerprints,” I offered.

  “Okay, Mrs. Chief.” Jared smiled, teeth white against his brown skin.

  Galloway and I left them to it. Arms around each other's waists, we walked the rest of the way to our villa, each lost in our own thoughts. Mine was mostly about coffee and how hard it would be to get dried blood out of spandex. I feared my surf shirt was ruined.

  Chapter Five

  Sliding open the door to the villa, I stood on the threshold and laughed at the sight before me. Thor, reclining with his head on one pillow, Bandit, same pose, head on the other pillow on our king-sized bed.

  “Comfy, you two?” I drawled.

  Galloway pushed the sliding door all the way open, letting the sea breeze into the hut.

  Thor yawned, blinked, then stood, arching his back in a long stretch that felt good just watching. Then he saw my face.

  “Blimey! What happened to you?”

  I gingerly touched my chin. It kinda hurt and felt numb at the same time. “A disagreement with a surfboard.” I sat on the end of the bed, accepting a head bump from him, idly running my fingers through his fur.

  “Mom, you’re hurt?” Bandit scurried up to my other side, stood on her hind legs, and placed her paws on my shoulder, her nose an inch from my chin as she sniffed at the dressing.

  “I’m fine,” I reassured her as she made chirpy, fussy noises. “It’s just a scratch.” I unzipped my surf shirt and shrugged out of it, examining the stain with a despondent sigh. “I’m going to take a shower, see if I can get this out.”

  “Watch the dressing on your chin,” Galloway reminded me.

  “I know!” I didn’t mean to snap, but it came out that way regardless. I may be clumsy, but I wasn’t stupid. He opened his mouth to say something, but I stormed into the bathroom and shut the door before he could utter a word. And then I felt like a heel. Cracking the door open, I said, “Sorry!” then shut it again.

  I saw my own reflection for the first time since getting hit in the face with a surfboard. And it was bad. Besides the saltwater-styled hair that was sticking out in crusty waves in every direction, my face was pale. Way paler than usual, testimony to the trauma I’d subjected it to. Seth had cleaned away the blood on my face and neck. The dressing ran the length of my chin just beneath my bottom lip but didn’t cover the dark bruise forming along the left side of my jaw.

  Then there was the blood-stained surf shirt. I guess because the fabric had been wet at the time of the accident, the blood had traveled. One side of the shirt, from collar to hem, was covered in blood. No wonder I was getting strange looks. I did, in fact, look like I’d been involved in a crime scene.

  The shower did wonders for my mood. I managed to keep the dressing from getting wet and still wash my hair. My skin no longer felt dry and tight, and the blood had rinsed right out of my surf shirt and the bikini I’d worn underneath. While I’d been under the spray, I’d heard the door open and caught a glimpse of Galloway placing something on the dresser. Then the door closed again.

  Now, wrapped in a towel, I could see he’d left me a clean set of underwear and a floral sundress, and my heart melted. He really was a keeper. After dressing, slathering on sunscreen, and combing my hair, I followed my nose, the aroma of coffee beans calling me.

  “Here.” Galloway grinned when I opened the bathroom door and presented me with a cup of coffee. “I think you need this.”

  “Thank you. And sorry for snapping. It’s been quite the day, and it's not even lunchtime yet.”

  “You’re looking better.” He kissed my forehead then fiddled with the shoestring strap of my dress, smoothing it into place. “Much more color in your face.”

  “I just can’t believe we’ve stumbled upon a murder. On our vacation!” I wailed. “This was meant to be drama-free. And ghost-free.”

  Galloway glanced around the room. “Is he here?”

  “Rory? Nah, last I saw, he was up at the resort, perving on the women.”

  “As long as he’s not bothering you,” Galloway growled, and again, my insides warmed at the
protectiveness in his voice. “Finish your coffee, and then we’ll borrow one of the resort's golf carts and head into town. I thought we could report in at the station, so you can give your statement, then maybe we can have lunch in the village?”

  “I like lunch,” Bandit piped up from the front deck, where she was sitting, watching the waves. Thor was in the doorway, not sure yet about the big wide world outside our villa.

  “You’ll have to stay here, sorry,” I told her. “But I’ll bring you back something. And this afternoon? We’ll play on the beach together, just us.” Despite napping being their favorite activity, I still felt guilty that I’d dragged them all this way and then left them cooped up in the villa. An afternoon doing nothing much but lying on my towel in the sand sounded like heaven after the excitement of the morning.

  Suitably revived, Galloway and I headed back up to the resort. Nik, our own personal concierge, arranged a golf cart for us to use and provided a map of Emilienne. The island of Emilienne was approximately seventy square miles with a population of ten thousand, give or take. And it was perfect. The roads were narrow and twisty, passing through sugar and—joy of all joys—coffee plantations before we got to the island's hub. There was a fishing harbor, a small airport, multiple shops, and businesses. There, in the middle of it all, stood the police station. A wooden structure on stilts painted a bright yellow with blue trim and looking way too cute to be a police station.

  Galloway parked at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Ready?”

  “Absolutely. Let’s do this.”

  After climbing the wooden steps, we were greeted with two shutter doors that stood open. Galloway rapped on one as he stepped inside. I followed behind, blinking to adjust my eyes from the bright sunshine outside to the station's dim lighting. It was one big room and all wood. The shuttered windows were pinned back, allowing the breeze to flow through the building.