Without a Grave

ANY PERSON WHO PURCHASES, ACQUIRES OR HAS IN HIS POSSESSION, USES OR CARRIES A GUN WITHOUT A LICENCE THEREFOR SHALL BE LIABLE . . . TO IMPRISONMENT FOR A TERM OF TEN YEARS AND TO A FINE OF TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.

CONDITIONS AT FOX HILL PRISON, THE COUNTRY’S ONLY PRISON, REMAINED HARSH. THE PRISON REMAND AREA, BUILT TO HOLD 300 PRISONERS, WAS INSUFFICIENT TO HOLD THE 650 PRISONERS AWAITING TRIAL, LEAVING MANY PRE-TRIAL DETAINEES CONFINED IN CELLS WITH CONVICTED PRISONERS [WHERE THEY] WERE CROWDED INTO POORLY VENTILATED CELLS THAT GENERALLY LACKED REGULAR RUNNING WATER, TOILETS, AND LAUNDRY FACILITIES. MOST PRISONERS LACKED BEDS, SLEPT ON CONCRETE FLOORS, AND WERE LOCKED IN SMALL CELLS 23 HOURS PER DAY, OFTEN WITH HUMAN WASTE.

It wasn’t even eight o’clock, but I felt like I’d lived a whole lifetime since dawn. Leaving the ruined Zodiac behind us on the beach, Molly and I trudged over the dune and on to the Queen’s Highway. Wet, disheveled, my hair and clothing stiff with salt, I hoped we wouldn’t run into anyone we knew. On Hawksbill Cay, that simply wasn’t possible.

At the Pink Store, the generator was working overtime, keeping the lights and refrigeration running. Winnie had just opened her doors, so we bought bottled apple juice out of the cold case and had to explain to Winnie why we looked like objects the cat dragged in – ‘damn dinghy overturned’ – before being allowed to sit outside on the bench to drink it.

I was relieved to find Gator in his shack, getting his equipment ready for the day. ‘Morning, ladies.’ It took a moment for our appearance to register. ‘Jesus, what happened to you?’

I was in no mood to mince words. ‘We took Molly’s boat over to Poinciana Point this morning where one of Rudy Mueller’s goons pulled a gun and shot Molly’s Zodiac out from under us.’

From the look of astonishment on Gator’s face, I knew there were a lot of things about that statement that didn’t exactly fit with laid-back island life. ‘He pulled a gun?’

‘He wasn’t one of the college kids. He’s older, in his thirties maybe. Blond hair. Wears one of those ridiculous soul patches on his chin, so he’s either a sloppy shaver, or going for a retro Frank Zappa look. Poinciana Cove must be his beat because we’d run into him there before.’

I bit my thumbnail and tried to look demure. ‘We were collecting sand dollars. There are a lot of really nice ones over there.’

‘And today,’ I hastened to add, ‘we were on the water. On public property, so to speak. That’s what we want to talk to you about.’

Gator retrieved a couple of plastic lawn chairs from underneath a tarp, unfolded them, and placed them side by side on the concrete apron that surrounded his shack. He pulled up an empty barrel, turned it over and sat down facing us. ‘OK. Shoot.’

‘Last night after dinner, Molly and I were sitting on her porch and saw some unusual activity going on over at the Tamarind Tree Resort. Near the runway.’ I went on to explain about the lights, the plane, and the mysterious packages. ‘Molly tells me that she observed similar activity approximately a month ago, around the time that Frank and Sally Parker went missing.’

‘That’s why we went over there this morning,’ I went on. ‘The plane is still parked on the runway, at least it was about an hour ago, but it’s what we saw tied up at the end of the dock that was interesting.’ I stood and rooted in the pocket of my cargo shorts until I found my camera. ‘I took some pictures of it, but I’m afraid my camera got a good dunking.’

I pressed the ON/OFF switch on the camera but, as I had feared, nothing happened. ‘Damn! Must be the battery. I’ll dry it out, then see if it’ll hold a charge.’

I opened a compartment on the side of the camera and pulled out the tiny memory chip. ‘But there shouldn’t be anything wrong with this.’ I held it out. ‘Do you have something you can read it on?’

‘All right, then. I’ll take it back to the house, dry everything out, and see what we have.’ I tucked the chip back into the camera for safekeeping. ‘I can email it to you as an attachment.’

Gator raised both hands, palms out. ‘So, let’s cut to the chase. Tell me what you think you have on that chip.’

‘Frankly, Gator, I’m not sure. It looks like a World War II torpedo, except it’s painted blue. Rusty in spots, pretty banged up. It’s got this propeller thing on the tail.’ I demonstrated by rotating my finger rapidly in the air.

‘Kind of small for a submarine,’ Molly interjected. ‘You could squeeze a couple of people into it, but there wouldn’t be room enough to swing a cat.’

Gator stood up, tugged at the waistband of his shorts. ‘I think I’d better have a look. Have you called the police to report the shooting?’

For the first time since we set off on our morning adventure, Molly smiled. ‘Thanks. I’d forgotten for a moment that my boat is out of commission.’

Gator dropped me at my dock, then ferried Molly to hers. I dragged myself along the planking, the vision of a long, hot soapy shower shimmering like a mirage at the end of the sidewalk. I’d actually taken my clothes off and climbed into the shower enclosure before I remembered – no power, no water pump, no water. Stark naked, I leaned back against the wall and bawled.

I was taking a shower at Molly’s when the power came back on. After Molly cut off her generator, I did a little happy dance around her garden.

Once we were sure it wasn’t a fluke, I removed my meat from Molly’s freezer and carried it back to Windswept where my refrigerator was humming away. Never came so close to hugging a major appliance.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?’

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

‘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.

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.

‘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?’

‘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.’

‘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’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.

‘Thank you, that’s very generous,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell Molly to get in touch with you, then?’

‘Now that we know the boat’s owner, and where she lives, I’m sure my father will be calling on her personally.’

Gabriele rose from her chair. Crisis averted. Things to do. People to see. ‘Now, may I treat you to lunch?’

Side by side, we walked down the hall. At the entrance to the dining room, I paused. ‘I have a question, Gabriele. While Molly and I were hunting for sand dollars, we noticed this big blue object tied up at the end of the pier. What on earth is it?’

‘That? It’s a little submarine. Another one of Papa’s projects. He bought it from a salvage dealer in Florida. Thought he’d install a glass window in the side so the children could ride around and look at fish. Can you imagine? My stepmother put a stop to that, I can tell you.’

Gabriele giggled, making it seem sultry rather than feather-brained. She picked up a menu from the podium and escorted me to a table. ‘Here by the window is nice, don’t you agree?’

‘The grilled grouper is especially good today,’ she recommended as I sat down. ‘And Benicio is a magician with crème brulée.’ She raised her arm and snapped her fingers to attract the attention of one of the young servers. ‘Ice water please for Mrs Ives!’ Still holding the menu, she bent at the waist and whispered, as if she were divulging a secret recipe, ‘Today’s special is crème brulée à l’orange. He uses heavy cream and Grand Marnier.’

I accepted the menu from Gabriele and opened it to the first page. While pretending to read the specials of the day I asked, ‘Is your brother here today, Gabriele?’

‘Jaime’s on the island somewhere, Hannah, but I really don’t have the time to keep up with him. He has his own projects. I’m too busy to get involved.’

I’ll bet. Gabriele was a smart cookie. If Jaime was up to what I think he was up to, she’d keep as much distance between herself and her brother as possible.

‘How about Alice?’ I glanced up from the menu to judge Gabriele’s reaction. ‘We had a chance to chat at the art show. She’s lovely.’

A cloud passed over her face. Was that a smirk? ‘Alice and Jaime share one of the cottages on Poinciana Point. She’s been a bit under the weather lately, sticking close to home. If I see her, I’ll tell her you asked.’

I closed the menu and handed it back to her with a smile that didn’t go beyond my face. ‘The grilled grouper will be fine.’

While I waited for my entrée I played with my banana bread, tearing off bite-size pieces with my fingers, putting them in my mouth and chewing thoughtfully. Gabriele had given me plausible answers to all my questions, except one.

No matter how you cut it, Jaime Mueller had lied about where he’d found Wanderer. Wanderer had never left Hawksbill Cay. And sadly, neither had Frank and Sally Parker.