Reluctant Witness (37 page)

Meals were takeout from area restaurants.
Usually one of the men would go fetch them, and by the time they
arrived, most were unappealingly soggy or cold. I asked Davis and
Mifkin if they had any objection to letting me cook once in a
while. They did not. Véronique agreed to a trip into Christiansted
early the next morning. We shopped for fresh fish, vegetables, and
fruits, along with some sundries, like flour, sugar and butter, at
a local market.

I was in the kitchen as the clock struck
eleven, chopping mangos for a cream pie, when I heard an unusual
noise, a dull thud. I crossed the tiled floor and peered out onto
the patio. There I saw a wicker chair overturned. Davis was on his
back, a large red stain spreading across his chest; for a brief
moment, he struggled to rise, but then he slumped down in defeat.
As I started through the doorway, an enormous man stepped into my
path. His wicked grin terrified me.

“Well, well, well,” he laughed. “Look who’s
alive! If it isn’t Miss Nora!”

A chill struck my heart with such force I
gasped, trying to breathe. Here before me was one of Alain’s
henchmen, Pierre LeFort. The burly man lunged at me, trying to grab
me by the throat. As I fought him off, I managed to utter a
guttural gurgle that was my best attempt at a scream. Véronique
came running.

“Let her go!” she hollered as she charged
toward us. I could hear shouting in the background as the men came
running. Pierre’s hands were now squeezing the life out of me, even
as Véronique fought desperately to stop him. That’s when another
man stepped into view. He had something in his hand and he sprayed
it in my direction. I recognized him. It was Arno Foch, the man
once introduced to me as Alain’s silent partner. He grabbed my
nurse, tossing her to the side. I watched helplessly as she
scrambled to extract herself from the bougainvillea. The harder I
worked to free myself, the more difficult it became. My head grew
dizzy and everything became blurry. My legs gave out beneath me, my
muscles unable to support my body weight. I found myself dropping
to the ground like a burlap sack of potatoes.

I lay there for some time. My eyes were open
and I could see people moving around me. I thought I saw flashes of
light hovering just above me, tiny pops of blinding white that made
me want to scream, but I was unable to move. I felt paralyzed, not
with fear, but by design. There were loud bangs that sounded like
firecrackers that seemed to go on for a minute or two. And then I
recognized conversation between Pierre and Arno.

“Come on! We’ve got to get out of here!”
said Alain’s silent partner.

“My head!” moaned the big man as he knelt
beside me. “What happened?”

“One of the CIA bastards clubbed you. Don’t
worry, mon ami. I took care of him. He won’t be a problem any more.
But hurry. We must get out of here before the cops show up.”

“Alain wants proof that she’s dead this
time.”

“Don’t worry. I got photos of the bodies.
And I took her wedding ring. Easy does it. Let me help you.”

“But I need to see her! I promised the boss
I would make sure she was dead this time!” Pierre argued groggily.
Were they talking about me?

“You’re a mess, man! We don’t have time for
this. You’re in no condition to be calling the shots! If we’re
caught here, we’ll be charged with all these murders! Now, let’s
go!”

I listened to them stumble away, down the
path to the front yard. As the minutes ticked on, my head began to
clear, even as a siren wailed in the distance. I could hear sounds
of people moving about. I even thought I heard Davis issuing
commands. It must be my imagination, I finally decided. Maybe I’m
really dead, like Arno said, and I just haven’t left my body
yet.

“It’s okay, Nora. You’re going to be fine.
Can you sit up?” That was Véronique. Her fingers were on my wrist,
checking my pulse. Mifkin and Davis were leaning over her shoulder,
their eyes grave with concern.

“Maybe he gave her too much. You know how
the incapacitating agent can drop the blood pressure,” Mifkin
said.

“Her eyes are still unfocused. I don’t know
how much of this she comprehends.”

People suddenly crowded onto the veranda. I
was lifted up, as a black bag was placed under me. Panic welled up
in me as I heard the zipper make its way up to my face. I longed to
scream, to tell them I was still alive, but my limbs wouldn’t move.
As darkness replaced light, I found myself entombed in a body bag,
a casualty of Alain’s horrible scheme, save for a three-inch
opening at the top of the zippered sack.

“Don’t worry, Nora,” I thought I heard
Mifkin say. “It will soon be over. Okay, Davis. Your turn to
die.”

I felt my anxiety level shooting up as I read
those words. I understood the horror of being confined against my
will. It brought back the memory of being in the trunk of that
Corolla, alone in the dark. How could Nora ever survive, under the
circumstances? Between Le Scorpion’s vast network of thugs and the
CIA officers who seemed determined not to let anyone get in the way
of their mission, not to mention the missing Interpol policeman
with his duty to stop Guillaume Chartier from gaining a foothold in
Guadeloupe, I was certain that Nora was a lost cause.

When I came to, I was in a van, lying on a
stretcher. A bright overhead fixture illuminated the interior with
a stark, fluorescent glow that made the faces surrounding me seem
that much more ghoulish.

“How are you feeling?” Véronique asked. My
throat hurt where Pierre’s massive hands had attempted to choke me
to death. I opened my mouth, but no sound emerged. “You’re on your
way home, Nora.”

Terror filled me at the thought of returning
to Guadeloupe, to Alain. They couldn’t be serious about returning
me to my tormentor. I wriggled on the stretcher, unexpectedly
finding my limbs restrained by thick, nylon webbing.

“Don’t struggle, dear. You’ll only hurt
yourself,” she told me kindly, her face compassionate. How could I
make her understand? Did she not understand what Alain would do to
me if he got his hands on me once more?

“How long before we get there?” Mifkin sat
back on the bench on the opposite wall on the van.

“Ten minutes. Noiret is already in place,
waiting for us. The plane is fueled up and ready for takeoff and we
have a recovery team standing by.”

“Beautiful.”

“Is it time?” Véronique asked. I saw a
hypodermic needle in her right hand and a tiny vial in her
left.

“Do it,” Mifkin told her. He watched as she
inserted the needle into the bottle and extracted a small amount of
a clear liquid. “Don’t worry, Nora. This won’t hurt a bit.”

That was the last thing I heard before the
world collapsed on me and I became a corpse.

A corpse. How much longer could the author
torment poor Nora? It seemed a cruel game to play on a woman who
had only ever tried to do right by the people of Guadeloupe. She
and her parents had worked hard to create their organic coffee
cooperative, to encourage ethical agricultural practices and bring
jobs that paid a decent enough wage to the island. With only
tourism to feed and clothe many of the residents, there was little
economic diversity. Those jobs at Le Papillon brought opportunity
to a population often marginalized by exploitation. I found myself
feeling angry that Nora would soon be yet another victim of a world
gone mad. Didn’t anyone care any more about what was right, decent,
and good? Why did Le Scorpion have to go and spoil everything by
using the company as a front for his drug smuggling? Life just
wasn’t fair, I decided. She deserved so much better. Turning the
page, I continued on, despite my disappointment in the terrible
turn Nora’s wild trajectory had taken yet again.

When I came to, I was in a bright, cheerful
room. Outside, I could hear birds singing. I also heard the roar of
the ocean waves as they rushed into shore. Gazing around at the
calm blue walls and the tropical print drapes that graced the
floor-to-ceiling windows, I felt peaceful, serene, almost content.
If I had to be dead, this was not a bad way to go. I was
comfortable. My pain was gone. Nothing remained of my physical
distress. The only thing that might have made me happier was to lie
beside Jean-Claude as I passed into the next world. That was my one
regret, that he and I never had a future together. Our hearts had
come together in fleeting moments of hope-laden excitement that
rose and fell like the graceful fluttering of a silver-spotted
flambeau in flight, but what we shared were just butterfly dreams.
We were bound by Le Papillon in so many ways, but it was a
relationship that turned out to be as fragile as those insect
wings, unable to bear the weight of our burden.

“You are awake at last,” I heard a voice say
to me. It was my nurse, my bodyguard. I felt my anger rise, choking
my reply to her. How dare she act as if all was well? It wasn’t.
“Jean-Claude! Vite!”

A moment later, a figure filled the doorway.
There he was, handsome as ever. His hair fell over his brow in a
couple of curls that made him seem incredibly boyish. His eyes lit
on me as I lay in bed and I watched the relief transform his face
like sunshine on a shadow.

“Oh, chérie! I have been so worried. You
slept so long!”

He started toward the bed and I suddenly
recalled that evening when he appeared in my bedroom, so determined
to take me away from Le Scorpion. It seemed like an eternity since
then. Lost in my delight at being reunited with my love, I didn’t
notice the trouble he was having until I saw the crutches.

“What has happened to you?” I cried, trying
to sit up, desperate to examine his injury.

“It is not important. What matters is we are
together again, Nora, just as I promised you we would be.”

“But....”

“Don’t fret, ma belle. I will heal. I am
just glad you survived your ordeal.”

“Where are we?” I asked, all too aware of
the heat of his hands on my skin as he held me close and brushed
his lips against my cheek. I wanted to lose myself in his embrace.
I hungered for the taste of his lips on mine.

“Paradise,” he whispered.

“But they said I was going home,” I told
him. “This is not the farm.”

“Not the farm, not Guadeloupe. You are back
in the United States, Nora.”

I gazed over his shoulder at the scene
beyond the open window. Palm trees swayed in the shore breeze. I
saw azure water beyond the black volcanic beach. I knew it wasn’t
St. Croix.

“I don’t understand.”

“Welcome to your new farm.” He grinned at
me, those eyes twinkling. “Twelve prime acre of land on the Big
Island.”

“I’m in Hawaii?”

“Indeed.”

I took heart from Nora’s journey to the South
Pacific and her romantic reunion with the handsome hero. A part of
me knew it was all fiction, but I still wanted to believe in happy
endings. And yet, what kind of life could Nora expect to have,
always looking over her shoulder? What if the Scorpion did find
her? A man like that would have a need to punish her, to make her
pay for humiliating him. His revenge would be cruel.

There was a brief knock on the door just
before I heard Terry call my name. “Marigold?”

“Out here, on the balcony!”

“I just wanted to give you a heads up. Rocky
is flying in to give us a briefing on your situation. He’ll be here
tomorrow.”

“Is this a good thing or a bad?” I wanted to
know, nervous about the answer.

“Well, I’m guessing it’s good, because if it
was bad, we’d be closing up shop and moving out of here.”

A few hours later, Nancy, Terry and I went to
the Sunset Grille for clam chowder, jerk shrimp, and mai tais,
sitting on the upper deck as the sun dipped below the horizon, and
then we went for a walk on the beach. On the way back to World Golf
Village, we stopped at Tedi’s Old Tyme Ice Cream for cones. By the
time we returned to the hotel, it was just after ten.

I got ready for bed, knowing
I had just a few pages left of
Vanilla
Orchid Magic
. I turned on the TV, watched
an old movie for a while, and then, when I was ready to say goodbye
to Nora and Jean-Claude, I read the last few pages.

The moonlight kissed the waves as they
rolled into shore. I stood under its glow, surveying the ocean
before me from my cliff-top perch. After a long day of walking
through the spice groves with my bodyguard, Paulie, and taking note
of progress, I was beginning to feel more like my old self.

Jean-Claude was still in France, meeting
with his bosses. They had to make a decision as to whether or not
he would continue to be a policeman. Given the fact that he had
appeared to die twice in the Caribbean, I hoped they would not send
him back there. I knew that Le Scorpion was still actively pursuing
his illegal business interests in Guadeloupe. Should he discover
that Jean-Claude was alive, the man I knew as Alain would never
stop trying to murder him until he found success. In my heart, I
knew the risks were foolish. Let someone else, someone without a
past history with him, chase the illusive criminal.

It had been nearly a month since my arrival
here, and I was still getting to know the island that would become
my home. In choosing the Big Island, with its fertile soil and
tropical climate, Jean-Claude had made a wise decision. Never again
would I live a public life, involved in my community. The chance of
discovery was too great. But in this beautiful place, surrounded by
mountains and ocean, I knew I could find my bliss.

Before he left, Jean-Claude asked me what I
wanted to name my new farm. I had no ready answer for him. I needed
time to get to know this new land, to find the inspiration in its
rich soil and sunny days.

My plan was to do what had been done in
Guadeloupe, but on a much smaller scale. I thought we would grow
Blue Mountain and Guadeloupe Bonifieur, those Bourbon Pointu coffee
bean varieties, for the export market, rather than Kona. I knew the
product would sell well in places like Japan. But then I changed my
mind. Why shouldn’t we grow estate coffee, unblended and pricey?
Cacao would be another gourmet offering, balanced by the ever-loved
vanilla beans, but we would also diversify with cardamom, cinnamon,
cloves, and even eventually, nutmeg. I decided that we would
process and package all of the products on the Big Island and ship
them ourselves, rather than rely on a cooperative. That would just
attract the attention of a man like Guillaume Chartier. I reminded
myself over and over again to “keep it small and simple”. It wasn’t
a matter of supporting agricultural workers or building an
international corporation. Even if we only sold our products to
local restaurants and tourists, that would be okay with me.