20

Back in her hotel room Gina was too preoccupied to appreciate the beauty of the sunset. The bright orange ball had disappeared below the horizon. A yellow glow illuminated the puffy clouds before slowly fading into a peaceful twilight.

Her appointment with Inspector Werimus was at ten-thirty the next morning. It would be about a twenty-five-minute ride to police headquarters according to Google Maps.

Gina’s initial plan to investigate Cathy Ryan’s death included tracking down and speaking to each of the people who were on the Jet Ski tour with her the day of the accident. Their names were in the police report. Four were from the United States and one was from Canada. It wouldn’t be hard to find them.

But what was she hoping to learn from them that she didn’t already know from Klaus? Gina asked herself. If Cathy had any inkling that she was in danger, it was unlikely she would have shared it with anyone on the ski tour, or for that matter anyone at the hotel.

When she returned from meeting with Klaus, Gina spoke to the concierge. After confessing that he really shouldn’t be sharing guest information, he revealed that when Cathy had her accident she had two more days on her hotel reservation. He told Gina he had no idea how Cathy intended to spend the remaining time. The only activity she had booked through the hotel was the ski tour.

There was only one other person in Aruba that Gina thought might be helpful to her. The owner of Paradise Rentals. She was annoyed at herself for not asking Klaus what happened to the ski after the accident. Maybe he didn’t know. But the owner certainly would.

Gina considered but then passed on the idea of trying to talk to the owner tomorrow morning before her ten-thirty appointment. She might be in a better position to ask him questions after she met with the investigator.

For perhaps the tenth time that day she glanced at her phone hoping to see a voice mail or text from Meg Williamson. Undaunted, she opened her laptop and waited for her email to download. Scanning through it, she was disappointed to see no response from Meg. “It’s the squeaky wheel that gets the grease,” she said to herself as she phoned and left another message for Meg and then sent her another email.

Her mood brightened when she read the email from her father. He had been to the movies and also raved about a new restaurant that had just opened.

She felt relieved. In previous emails and phone conversations, he always wanted to talk about what she was doing, what story she was working on, how things were going with Ted. After telling him, she would ask, “Dad, enough about me. What have you been up to?” His answer was usually a vague “Don’t worry about me. I’m okay.” She whispered a prayer of thanks that he had so many friends in the community and that they were including him in their plans.