Marcia Talley - Without a Grave

I’d asked Molly what she wanted to do about repairing her dinghy. Pleading exhaustion, she went down for a nap. She’d call the insurance company when she woke up.

I reset all the clocks, stunned to discover that it was not yet noon.

When I finally plugged my iPhone in to its cradle, there were three voice messages from Paul, each increasingly more frantic. He’d heard about the Parkers on the news and was home in Annapolis, awaiting my call.

But he wasn’t. When I called, I got the machine. He wasn’t at Emily’s either, but I had a nice chat with my daughter and her family – skipping all the scary bits – then called Paul back, leaving a message that I was fine, and not to worry.

Then I brewed myself a cup of hot tea, and thought about what I would do next.

If it hadn’t been for Molly’s ruined boat, I could half convince myself that the previous night had been a dream. As I sipped my tea, a phantom Paul perched on my shoulder asking for a rational explanation, so I tried to give him one.

First, the airplane. Could be Rudy Mueller, running late, returning to his resort.

How about the packages we’d seen? Nothing more than luggage. Or supplies in bulk.

I still didn’t know what to make of the mini-sub. It looked old, decrepit. I knew they sank old ships to make artificial reefs. Maybe that’s what Mueller had planned for the sub.

There was one way to find out, though. Ask.

I changed into white jeans and a flowered top, found my boat shoes under the bed, and drove Pro Bono over to the settlement. I had to eat lunch somewhere, I reasoned, and it might as well be at the Tamarind Tree. Even though I didn’t own a golf cart, it was an easy, half-mile stroll down a paved path to the entrance of the resort where Lou was on duty at the gate. Amazingly, he recognized me. Maybe my picture was posted inside the gatehouse: BOLO, Hannah Ives, Troublemaker.

‘Good to see you again, Mrs Ives.’

‘You, too, Lou. Are they serving lunch today?’

‘They are. Go on in.’

I skirted the gate and ambled up the path.

At the Tamarind Tree restaurant, I stood at the wooden podium. My fingers traced the intricately carved decorations – geckos chasing each other’s tails – while I waited for the hostess to seat me. To my surprise, the woman who crossed the room to greet me like her best friend from college was Gabriele Mueller.

‘How lovely to see you, Hannah. I was wondering when we’d have the pleasure of entertaining you and your husband.’ Her eyes flicked right and left, checking the empty air behind me. ‘Is Paul with you today?’

Mind like a steel trap, our Gabriele. Met us only once and had our names down pat. My brain, on the other hand, remained largely untrained in spite of taking Kevin Trudeau’s Mega Memory course. If I remembered a name for more than five minutes, it was a miracle.

‘Sadly, he’s gone back to Baltimore on business. So it’s just me!’ I chirped.

I was starving, and the aroma of fresh seafood wafting my way from the direction of the outdoor grill was making me swoon. But I knew I’d not enjoy a single bite if some questions weren’t answered to my satisfaction. ‘Is your father here, Gabriele?’

‘He is. He came in late last night. I absolutely hate it when he flies in after dark. One day he’s going to kill himself, and then where will we be?’

Answer to question number one. Onward and upward. ‘Is he here now? I’d like to talk to him.’

‘Sorry, no. He took the launch to Marsh Harbour on business. Is there something I can help you with?’

‘Do you expect him soon?’

‘Later this afternoon, perhaps. It’s always hard to say with Papa.’

‘Perhaps you can help me, then, Gabriele. I hate to interrupt you while you’re working, but is there someplace private we can talk?’

‘Oh, that’s not a problem! I just play at being hostess from time to time, remind everyone who’s boss.’ She waved her arm to attract the attention of a lovely young Bahamian dressed in the ladies’ version of the TTR uniform: a polo shirt identical to the men, but with a khaki skirt instead of pants.

‘Thanks, Lucy.’ Gabriele handed the girl the stack of menus she was carrying, then motioned for me to follow her.

‘We can use my father’s office. I’m sure he won’t mind.’

Gabriele led me down a long hallway, open to the outside world at both ends. Grass cloth covered the walls above a dark wooden chair rail, and small parsons tables had been placed here and there along the way. On each table, an oriental vase held arrangements of tropical flowers. I touched one of the hibiscus as I went by. It was real.

Rudy Mueller’s desk was huge, a block of walnut the size of a Volkswagen, with carvings of pineapples and palm leaves snaking along its sides. Gabriele showed me to one of two chintz-covered armchairs that flanked a gas fireplace, then sat down in the one opposite.

‘Can I get you anything, Mrs Ives. Coffee, tea? It’s no trouble, really.’

‘No thank you. I’m here to lodge a serious complaint, actually, one that you’ll probably hear about in due course as I had no alternative but to report the incident to the police.’

Cool as a cucumber, Gabriele sat at attention, hands folded, eyes locked on mine as if every word that fell from my mouth was a tiny, polished diamond. When she didn’t respond, I went on. ‘This morning, my neighbor and I, an elderly woman who lives on Bonefish Cay, Molly Weston, perhaps you know her?’

Gabriele shook her head.

‘Molly and I had heard that Poinciana Point was a fabulous place for collecting sand dollars,’ I continued, ‘so we came over in Molly’s Zodiac and…’

Gabriele’s hand shot out across the fireplace screen and grabbed mine. ‘ You were on that Zodiac? Oh, Mrs Ives, I’m so incredibly sorry. I had no idea. When Kyle reported what had happened, I sent someone after you. When we found the boat… well, we knew you’d made it safely to shore. Since then, I’ve been trying to find the Zodiac’s owner. That’s one of the things Papa’s looking into right now.

‘I don’t know what got into Kyle!’ she babbled on. ‘He’s only worked for us a couple of months, but we’d never had any reason to question his reliability.’ Gabriele blinked, massaged her temples with her fingers. ‘The man was drunk, I’m afraid. I could smell the booze on him. A gun !’ She pressed a perfectly manicured hand to her chest. ‘We don’t permit our people to carry weapons. How he even got it into the country, what with Nine-Eleven and all the airline restrictions, I’ll never know.’

‘He tried to kill us, Gabriele.’

‘Kyle claims he was simply trying to scare you off. Papa’s instructions were to keep people off that beach. Kyle was a bit over-zealous, I’m afraid.’ She crossed one beautifully tanned leg over the other and rested a wrist on her knee. ‘But he won’t trouble you any more. The man’s been sacked. Papa took care of that.

‘And please ,’ she rushed on, ‘tell Mrs Weston we will replace her Zodiac with a brand-new boat of exactly the same model. It will take a few days to get here – Papa will have to order it from Florida. In the meantime, we’ll arrange a rental from Water Ways in Man-O-War, so hopefully Mrs Weston won’t be inconvenienced any further.’

I didn’t know what to say.

We’d been shot at, but nobody died.

Molly’s dinghy was totaled, but it was being replaced.

The man responsible had been fired.

Gabriele Mueller had clearly aced her course in Hospitality Management 101.

I’d filed a complaint with the Bahamian authorities, so I’d just have to let them worry about nailing Kyle’s ass to the wall for possession and use of a handgun. I personally wanted to tie him to a plank and set him adrift off Antarctica, but he could get ten years in a Bahamian prison. From what I’d read about Fox Hill, he’d probably prefer the Antarctic.