Randy White - Black Widow

“I wasted an entire day walking around this nuthouse with people in robes. Now you tell me a woman who grows orchids and markets face cream is the one who took the video. Do you really think Isabelle sent those sick e-mails? That she gets her rocks off by filming people screwing? Please.”

“You haven’t done the research, Beryl. I have.”

“Research? My God-you really are just a biologist, aren’t you? The rumors about you being a dangerous character-a drug smuggler, a government agent, whatever-what a laugh. Shay was feeding us a bunch of bullshit. How could I… how could anyone’ve believed that a guy who looks like a science teacher is dangerous?”

“I never asked anyone to believe anything.”

“Really? I’m not so sure. Your secret trips, the mysterious men who come to the lab-did you invent those stories? Or did Shay? She’s good at making up stories, I know.”

I had just checked my watch but now, instead of replying, I looked at it again. 12:18 a.m. Once again, I’d missed the radio appointment with Sir James. Outside, thunder rumbled through the forest canopy. There was a whistle of gusting wind. I listened until I’d confirmed it was the sound of a squall approaching, not the distant howling of dogs.

I said, “We can talk about your best friend, Shay, another time. Let’s concentrate on you. You can’t spend another night here. It’s too dangerous. I know a man who owns an estate on Saint Lucia. You can stay there until you catch a flight out.”

Beryl groaned-Here we go again. “I am not leaving this island. If I go anywhere, it’ll be to the beach house where we were filmed.”

“What are you talking about? It’s a rental. You can’t just show up.”

“You’re so full of wisdom, Doc. You’re also full of something else. I called and gave the realtor a credit card Sunday after I found out about Corey. I rented the place through Saturday. I’ll bet anything those jerks are still hanging out at the resort, like the night they showed up. They’re stalkers. I know the type. Pretty girls all alone, they can’t resist. It’s what they do.”

I said, “Pretty girls?”

“Shay’s as mad as I am. I told you the wedding was postponed for three weeks. The Italian guy from the marina, Eddie, may fly her down to join me.”

“Eddie?”

“You’re the one who told me he’s a pilot.”

“First you said the wedding was postponed for two weeks. Now you say three weeks. Which is it?”

“I told you three weeks. Your hearing must be going, too.”

I was sure she’d said two weeks, but there was no point in arguing. I asked, “What will the pretty girls do if the men who assaulted you show up?”

“That’s something I’ve had a lot of time to think about,” Beryl replied in an aloof, impatient way that was becoming familiar. “Make them pay for what they’ve done-isn’t that justice? We’ll deal with them. Don’t worry.”

Eerie, the way she said that. Like it was something she’d been thinking about for years.

The sound track I’d heard in the spa was now being piped into Beryl’s room. The lulling percussion of ocean waves… the faint yip and moan of seabirds in the background.

Somewhere, someone had hit a switch. I wondered if there were speakers in all the rooms. Speakers can also be microphones.

I waited in the closet while Beryl peeked outside to see if anyone was watching, then she moved around the room and blew out all but one candle. Her white nightgown became translucent when she picked up the candle. As she walked toward me, I wanted to look away but couldn’t.

“Hey… are you okay? Why don’t you answer me?” Beryl stood at the closet entrance, whispering, holding the candle at breast level, a glass of something in her other hand.

I said, “What…? Sorry… my mind was on something else.”

“I was talking about the white noise from those speakers. I asked if they played it in the spa when you went through that purification business. Beach sounds, crashing waves. Same thing last night, all night long. It was irritating at first… but then it got so I liked it. I went to sleep, finally, but I had weird dreams.” She sipped from the glass. “Want some? Herbal tea.”

“No. How were they weird?”

“The dreams? Don’t ask. It’s personal. I’ll just say they were.. . unusual.”

I said, “Oh,” with no idea what she meant. At least she was less combative. I looked at the smoke alarm wired next to the ceiling fan. “I’ve got to go.”

She put the glass on a table and touched her fingers to my chest. “Doc?”

“Beryl?”

“I shouldn’t have been so hard on you. I’ve been furious for the last three days, and I was venting. Sorry. I don’t really believe you invented stories. And I don’t think you’re a coward. It’s just that. .. well, I think maybe I expected too much from you.”

“Not unusual. I do it all the time-to myself.”

She laid a light hand on my arm and patted me the way people do when they are trying to comfort themselves. “You’re an intelligent guy, I should respect that. If you think it’s not safe, I’ll leave. But first, I’ll arrange a meeting, and ask Isabelle a few questions. I won’t mention we know each other. Maybe start out like I’m asking for advice. ‘My girlfriends and I did something foolish, do you have any influence with the local police?’ Like that. If she gets tricky, if she lies to me, I’ll know.”

“Don’t do that. Please.”

“How else are we going to find out?”

“I told you: I’m convinced. I don’t need to find out.” There was something about the familiar way she said Isabelle that set off an internal alarm, so I asked, “Did you get my e-mail? I sent one to Shay, too.”

Beryl shook her head. “Something important?”

“Maybe. Shay’s fiance told me his family had been doing business in the Caribbean for years. He mentioned a marina and resort on Saint Lucia. In the e-mail, I asked if his family had any other holdings in the area.”

“I can answer that-yes, they do. Sort of. The reason I know is because my father’s involved. You know what he does-buys hotels in trouble, and we turn them into high-end spas. He just locked up a deal on Saint Vincent. Michael’s mother and some of his aunts are investors.”

I said, “Does Shay know that?”

“There’s no reason why she should. I’m not even sure Michael knows. Have you ever met his mother, Ida? Ida doesn’t share information, she collects it like ammunition. She’ll be the mother-in-law from hell.”

“Any chance that Isabelle Toussaint is an investor, too?”

“I doubt that. My father may have consulted her as a sort of courtesy thing. He’s a thorough man, and it’s a tight little industry. How do you think I got into the Orchid without a reservation?”

I was thinking, incredible. Unlike Tomlinson, I believe in coincidence. Life is a series of random intersections that conform to a statistical pattern, so coincidence is inevitable. But when multiple coincidences create their own pattern, I become wary.

“When Shay was researching places to rent, who told her about the beach house?”

“I thought she found it on the Internet. But I guess-” Beryl put a hand to her mouth and yawned. “-I guess it’s possible she asked around for advice. Maybe my father, I don’t know. She didn’t ask me, because it was a surprise.”

I was looking over the woman’s shoulder. On the far wall, near the meditation corner, was a familiar painting. A child’s crib. White, like the painting I’d seen in Toussaint’s chateau. Strange.

Beryl yawned again, dozy enough to smile, and said, “You enjoy this, don’t you?” sounding more like the woman who’d stood in my lab, wearing a towel. “Helping friends, I mean-Shay told me that about you. Putting together all the little pieces when someone’s life gets broken. True?”