Rum and Razors (5 page)

And then the tenor of the table quickly turned. It happened when Walter questioned the competence of the public relations agency in Miami that handled the Lover’s Lagoon account.

“Just leave marketing to me,” Webb said. It was the first time he hadn’t smiled since arriving at the table.

“Nothing’s happening,” Walter said. “They’re ripping us off, giving us nothing for our money.”

“Are you saying that I’m ripping you off?” Webb asked.

“You picked ‘em,” Walter replied. “You pay’em. With
our
money.”

“I resent this,” said Webb, downing the remains of his drink.

“I don’t give a damn what you resent,” said Walter.

It went downhill from there. The atmosphere at the table had thickened to storm-cloud consistency, like the clouds that now hung precariously low over the lagoon. The daily afternoon rainstorm that normally cooled things off in the islands was behind schedule this day. But not at our table.

The conversation continued to heat up. Harsh words were exchanged between the two men as though I wasn’t there. A side of Walter emerged that I’d never seen before. He used profanities without regard for my female presence.

My discomfort level was reaching its stretching point.

Then, Walter slammed his fist on the table and said far too loudly for the romantic, peaceful setting of the dining room, “Excuse us, Jess. I’ll be back.” Other diners joined me as we watched the two partners brusquely stand, leave the table, exit through French doors to a patio, and walk in the direction of the lagoon. They stopped at the water’s edge, then disappeared into darkness.

I was slightly embarrassed sitting there alone, but occupied myself with my dinner. Laurie certainly had a way with food. The myriad dishes placed before me tasted like nothing I’d experienced before. I’d just finished my main course when Walter returned. “Sorry, Jess,” he said. “This mess we’re in gets the best of me sometimes.” He sat and wiped his brow with his cloth napkin. Chris was nowhere in sight.

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “Please don’t worry about me. You’ve got enough on your mind.” So much, in fact, he didn’t respond. I wasn’t even sure he’d heard me.

Walter escorted me back to my room after dinner. Although there had been no further mention of any business troubles in Walter’s life, the tick in his eye and constant shuffling of his feet said much.

As he was about to bestow upon my hand his customary kiss, a tall shadow moved between palm trees that had been planted to disguise unsightly garbage dumpsters and air-conditioning units necessary for the operation of the inn.

“Walter,” I whispered. “There’s someone behind that tree over there.”

He whipped his head around assuming the worst. Then he noticeably relaxed. “That’s Jacob,” he said. “An employee. He’ll be history by tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

“A surly young man with a chip on his shoulder. A big attitude. He’s a gardener, talked a good story when I hired him. He came across as a decent local kid.” Walter guffawed. “Kid? He’s got three kids of his own. He started off all right but that attitude of his got in the way. Can’t tell him anything. I told him more than once that unless he shaped up, he was gone. He just laughed at me, said that he’d file a grievance with the government’s labor department. Not easy for a foreigner to fire a native, Jess. Miles of red tape, hearings, proof of cause for dismissal. The government is always after foreign business owners to provide more benefits to local workers. Next thing I know, they’ll want us to provide health insurance, life insurance, even child care.”

I didn’t express my thought that workers should have such benefits.

“But I’ve had it with him,” Walter said. “I intend to fire him tomorrow, no matter what wrath it incurs with the government. He’s set some of the guests on edge, and I can’t risk alienating anybody.”

Because Jacob seemed to have been hiding behind the trees, I was startled when he stood erect and approached us. “Good evening,” he said.

I returned his greeting. Walter said nothing. Jacob sauntered past us in the direction of the main house.

“He seems nice enough,” I said, knowing immediately it was an inappropriate comment. I didn’t know the young man. Walter did.

“Good night, Jess.” He kissed my hand. “Sleep tight your first night in paradise.”

“I’m sure I will. Good night, Walter. And thank you. Will I see Laurie tomorrow?”

“Sure. At breakfast.”

My room was even more perfect than I had remembered it. Someone had turned down my bed and placed several hibiscus flowers on my pillow, alongside Godiva chocolate. An oversize basket brimming with fresh fruit, and a bottle of the same wine I’d enjoyed at dinner had been delivered. Fresh orange and purple hibiscus had been artfully arranged in a crystal vase on my night table.

I opened the doors to my terrace and stepped outside. What a shame, I thought, that man was capable of destroying such beauty. Not that Walter had been ecologically irresponsible in creating Lover’s Lagoon Inn. It was just that the blatant ill feelings and politics surrounding it tainted its beauty. Like a lover’s triangle—two men fighting over the same goddess.

I intended to do exactly what Walter had suggested—sleep tight my first night in paradise. But I was wide-awake, and suspected that the waiter at dinner might not have poured me decaffeinated cappuccino with dessert. I knew that the way my heart was racing, my eyes weren’t due to close for at least several hours. Caffeine before bed always makes me a candidate for a pacemaker.

A walk was in order. My digestive system would be forever grateful. I knew I could stroll the property but it wasn’t very large, and was so quiet except for the gentle lapping of water on the beach. It was too much like a library for a nocturnal stroll.

And then the familiar beat and lilting melodies of calypso music wafted on to the terrace from the Diamond Reef next door. I smiled, felt like a child responding to the pied piper. If spies were plying their trade between the two properties, it wouldn’t hurt for me to do a little spying of my own. Nothing wrong with that—not when you needed a walk, and with the music so inviting.

I have always been good at rationalizing my actions.

D
iamond Reef was as different from Lover’s Lagoon Inn as New York City is from Cabot Cove. It was huge. The main hotel rose above the palms (didn’t they have laws prohibiting the height of buildings exceeding the trees?) The new villas Walter had mentioned stretched in a lazy curve from the main building down to a long, pretty beach.

It was on the expansive terrace that the difference between the two properties was most evident. There were people everywhere, most of them young and, I assumed, single. They were a good-looking lot, tanned and fit, the men posturing to display their muscles, the young women sashaying in their bikinis. A mating ritual in full bloom.

Despite the many people mingling about, fruity drinks in hand, the terrace was large enough to not appear crowded. Most people gathered near the bandstand where a native band in colorful costumes played spirited island rhythms. I chose a rattan chair at an empty table on the perimeter of the dance floor. A pretty young woman in short shorts and a halter top, and carrying a tray, suddenly appeared and asked for my order. “Mineral water and lime,” I said. I sat back, closed my eyes, and drew a deep breath. A cool, refreshing breeze tickled my face. While I preferred the quiet calm of Walter’s inn, this was satisfying, too. Just being away was pleasurable.

The waitress returned with my drink. “Put this on your room?” she asked.

“No, thank you. I’m not staying here.” As I reached into my purse, a male voice from behind said, “On the house, Mrs. Fletcher.”

I turned to look up at a very tall young man on crutches and wearing a cast on his right foot. He smiled. “You are Jessica Fletcher?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Hope I’m not intruding,” he said in a deep radio announcer’s voice. “I’ve read all your books and recognized you from the book jackets and television. My name is Mark Dobson. I’m the general manager of Diamond Reef.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said. “And thank you for the drink. It wasn’t necessary.”

“My pleasure. If I’d known you were going to be here, I would have instructed the staff to comp you. You’re staying next door, at Marschalk’s place.”

“That’s right. How did you know?”

“Small island, Mrs. Fletcher. Word gets around.”

“Like my hometown of Cabot Cove.”

“Mind if I sit down?”

“Of course not.”

He lowered himself with difficulty into the chair next to me and placed his crutches on the ground. I asked what had happened to him.

“Oh, this?” he replied, raising the foot with the cast. “It comes off next week.” He laughed. “The cast, hopefully not the foot. Had a waterskiing accident. My leg got twisted, and I took a bad fall.”

He seemed too large a person to be on water skis, but I didn’t express my thought. The waitress brought him what I assumed was his usual drink, amaretto over ice. He raised his glass to me. “Welcome to St. Thomas, Mrs. Fletcher, although you might have chosen a better place to stay.”

I said, “I’m quite happy staying at Lover’s Lagoon. The Marschalks are wonderful hosts—good friends actually—and I’m very impressed with the accommodations, food, and service.”

“Just what impresses you, Jessica?” I didn’t mind his sudden familiarity, although he was a little quick to put us on a first-name basis.

“Lover’s Lagoon is—well, it’s simply beautiful. How’s that for a writer’s descriptive powers?”

“I’m impressed,” he said with a gentle laugh. “Actually, it is beautiful. The lagoon, that is. Lover’s Lagoon is a cherished spot in this part of the world. I feel bad for the Marschalks.”

“Why?”

“I suppose you aren’t aware of the problems they’ve been having. When they first opened up, they did pretty well. But I understand things have gotten bad lately. I hate to see anybody fail.”

“And you think they will fail?”

He nodded solemnly. “They bought the land and lagoon under false pretenses. It’s all breaking now. You’ll hear about it.”

I said nothing.

“You said you were personal friends of the Marschalks. I hope I haven’t offended you with what I’ve said.”

The fact was he had offended me, and I wanted the conversation to end. “Thank you for the drink,” I said. “I really should be getting back.”

“Of course. Oh, by the way, I’d be honored to have you as my guest at dinner while you’re a guest on the island. There’s a large contingent of travel writers staying with us for a conference on the island’s future, sponsored by the U.S. Virgin Islands’ Office of Tourism.”

“I’m sure Walter Marschalk will know many of them,” I said. “He was one of the best travel writers in the world before he bought Lover’s Lagoon.”

“Yes, I know. He stayed at Diamond Reef many times, and wrote a lot about us.” I judged from his tone that everything Walter had written about Diamond Reef hadn’t been favorable.

“Will you join us, Jessica? We’ll be having cocktails each night at seven right here on the patio. Dinner at eight.”

“Thank you for the invitation, but I’ll be having dinner at Lover’s Lagoon tomorrow.”

“Well, the invitation is an open one. It doesn’t have to involve the travel writers. They’ll be with us for five days. I know they’d be delighted to meet you. But if you prefer to stay to yourself, that’s fine, too. Just give me a call any night, and you’ll have a prime table.” He handed me his business card.

“Thank you, Mr. Dobson. Good night.”

“One other thing,” he said.

“Yes?”

“If you become unhappy where you’re staying, you’ll always have a room at Diamond Reef.” His smile was as smug as his voice. “You wouldn’t be the first person to seek asylum with us.”

I doubted what he’d said, didn’t believe for a moment that guests actually left Lover’s Lagoon Inn for Diamond Reef. Maybe the conversation had unduly soured me, but comparing Diamond Reef to Walter and Laurie’s inn was like comparing the Bombay Holiday Inn to the Taj Mahal.

I sat on my terrace and contemplated my conversation with Mark Dobson. As much as I wanted to dismiss what he’d said, I couldn’t help but wonder whether Walter and Laurie were in far deeper trouble than they’d been willing to admit to me. I hoped not. There was too much trouble in the world for yet another war over territory. I fell asleep to the sound of tree frogs outside my window and the cooling breeze from the ceiling fan. I felt like I’d arrived in Paradise. Or Paradise Lost?

T
he shouts came suddenly and grew louder. What in heaven’s name? I sat straight up in bed and looked at my small traveling alarm clock. 6:25 A.M.

“I demand a better explanation,” said a defiant male voice. “No one has ever complained about me. Tell me who. Name just one person.”

“I’m not going to get into it any further, Jacob.” This was Walter talking. “I’ve tried to explain to you as nicely as I can why I’m dismissing you. Now, goddamn it, gather your things and leave my property at once. I’ll call the police if you don’t.”

“You’ll be sorry you’re doing this, Mr. Marschalk. You’ll be sorry’s all I can say.”

If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought I’d been awakened in New York City where such wake-up calls can be the rule rather than the exception. Why did Walter choose to fire the young man in front of my villa? Surely it wasn’t the most convenient place. My villa was the greatest distance from the main inn in which Walter’s office was located. Did he choose to do it outside my door for my benefit? If so, the larger question was why? And who else had he awakened? Not an especially thoughtful way to run an inn, I thought.

So much for sleeping late. I hadn’t set the alarm because I’d intended to have the birds wake me with a good-morning song.