Heather Graham - The Island

To Rhonda Saperstein,

with lots of love and thanks.

And to Coral Reef Yacht Club and

its members, with deepest thanks,

especially Fred and Marian Davant,

Teresa and Stu Davant,

Dr. Michael and Kelly Johnson,

Jock and Linda Fink, and the Commodore

and his wife: Eric and Elisa Thyree.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

“YOU’RE GOING TO FEED them again?”

Molly Monoco looked up at the sound of her husband’s voice. She had been busy in the galley, putting together a goodie bag filled with substantial meals. Ted, speaking with a growl in his voice, had been at his workstation. Apparently he had just noticed how industriously she had been preparing food.

Her husband appeared both aggravated and disgusted.

He knew what she was up to.

She couldn’t really blame him for his feelings. Ted had worked hard all his life, and had earned every bit of the income they were now enjoying after his retirement. They both came from Cuban families who had made the move to Florida long before the refugees had begun fleeing the little island. While Molly’s maiden name had been Rodriguez, her first name had always been Molly, just as Ted had been Theodore from the start. Their parents had brought them to the States, believing in the American dream, and teaching them a work ethic that would allow them to achieve that dream.

Ted had started out playing the drums at nightclubs in Miami, not unlike a man who had become a lot more famous, Desi Arnaz.

He had worked as a busboy, as well, then a waiter, a host and a dancer. From his playing, he had fallen in love with salsa. So he had kept playing the drums, kept dancing, kept bussing tables and being a waiter and bartender until he had made enough money to buy his first studio, totally dedicated to the art of salsa. Eventually he had owned several studios, then sold them for a nice fat profit.

Work. Ted had known how to do it well. He had little patience with those who would not or could not help themselves.

And she did understand.

But she had her goals, too, trying to look after others who perhaps didn’t deserve help, but then again, who might turn their lives around with a little assistance.

Now, as a retired man of means, he also had his hobbies, like all the sonar gadgets and other equipment on the boat. After all, he would have noticed what she was up to earlier, if he hadn’t been playing around so intently with one of his computers!

She smiled. Even miffed, as he was right now, he was still as attractive to her as the young man with whom she had fallen in love forty-odd years ago. Tall, but not too tall, still fit. The hair on his chest was now gray—like the thinning strands on top of his head, but she didn’t care. After all those years of marriage, the ups and the downs, she loved him now just as much as she always had—even if he had decided to name the yacht Retired!, despite the fact that she could have thought of a dozen more charming names.

His current displeasure with her wouldn’t last. It never did. Just as she loved the fact that he was always tinkering with some new kind of technology, he was secretly pleased that his wife was concerned for the welfare of others.

“Ted, what else can I do?” she asked softly.

“Quench the maternal instincts,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We may well be talking criminals here. Hell, we’re definitely talking criminals.”

“Or misdirected young people who just need a helping hand,” she said firmly. All her life, Molly had been involved. Blessed with Ted, her high-school sweetheart, she’d worked alongside him at many a club. Then—when she hadn’t been able to produce the family she would have loved—she’d tried to help out where she could, at the church, with the homeless, and for various good causes, raising funds, even working soup kitchens. She could afford to, once Ted began making good money.

And she remained blessed. At sixty-five, she was no spring chick. But she was in good health, good shape, and pleased, mainly for Ted’s sake, that people would say what an attractive woman she was.

“It’s food, Ted. Nothing but a little food,” she assured him. “And the last handout we’re giving, since we’re setting off on our own excursion.”

He sighed, and a small smile crept over his face. Coming to her, he wrapped his arms around her. “How did I get so lucky?” he asked.

“Chance?” she teased, smiling.

He gave her a swat on the bottom. She giggled. Flirting was fun. They were older now, so a pat on the behind didn’t lead to an afternoon in the handsome master cabin. Forget Viagra. He had a heart condition; she wouldn’t let him take it. When there was this kind of amazing affection and closeness after so many years, nothing needed to be pushed.

In his arms, she thought with wonder what a great life they’d had together, and how wonderful it was that they still had each other—and the Retired! They could go anywhere, live out their dreams, explore—wherever the whim took them—and do it all in luxury.

“Okay, woman, we’re moving on, so go and be lady bountiful, and then we’ll get cracking,” he said firmly.

“Right.”

Molly headed for the ladder that would take her to the deck, her bag of goodies in her arms. She hummed softly as she emerged topside.

For a moment she just stared, confused. She even started to smile.

Then the tune she had been humming abruptly halted, broken on the air.

Her mouth began to work.

No sound came.

TED HEARD, OR THOUGHT HE HEARD, a slight sound from topside.

“Molly?”

No answer.

“Molly?” he called, a little louder this time.

He felt a little thud against his heart. Maybe she had fallen, taking the dinghy, getting on or off the main boat. Hurt herself. Worse. They were neither of them young. What if she’d suffered some kind of attack? Fallen—maybe unconscious—into the water?

He leaped up, some instinct suddenly warning him of danger.

He ran up the steps to the deck.

And froze.

Two thoughts occurred to him.

What an ass he had been!

And then…

Molly, oh, Molly, Molly…

“Time to talk, Ted,” snapped an angry voice.

“I can’t tell you what you want to know,” he protested, tears in his eyes.

“I think you can.”

“I can’t! I swear, before God, I would if I could.”

“Start thinking, Ted. Because trust me, you will tell me what you’ve found.”

IT WAS A SKULL.

That much Beth Anderson knew after two seconds of dusting off bits of dirt and grass and fallen palm debris.

“Well?” Amber demanded.

“What is it?” Kimberly asked, standing right behind Amber, anxiously trying to look over her shoulder.

Beth glanced up briefly at her fourteen-year-old niece and her niece’s best friend. Until just seconds ago, the two had been talking a mile a minute, as they always did, agreeing that their friend Tammy was a bitch, being far too cruel to her best friend, Aubrey, who in turn came to Amber and Kimberly for friendship every time she was being dissed by Tammy. They weren’t dissing anyone themselves, they had assured Beth, because they weren’t saying anything they wouldn’t say straight to Tammy’s face.

Beth loved the girls, loved being with them, and was touched to be the next best thing to a mother for Amber, who had lost her own as an infant. She was accustomed to listening to endless discussions on the hottest music, the hottest new shows and the hottest new movies—and who did and didn’t deserve to be in them, since the girls were both students at a magnet school for drama.