Chapter 37
Poison. Murder. Vampires. It was all swirling around in Sheila’s mind as she led a group of forty people off the ship to where a bus waited for them. Her legs felt strange and wobbly as she adjusted to ground after being on the sea for several days.
Paige’s skin still had a slight green tinge to it and even with a few days of sun, her long legs were white and looked unstable. “Jesus, it’s hot,” she said.
Randy fanned her for a few minutes with his guidebook.
Eric’s arm slipped around Vera, who was looking over the crowd. She appeared nervous. Sheila knew she was wondering if the killer was around.
Once again, Sheila found herself wondering how many of the passengers knew that the untimely deaths were actually murders and not accidents. The ship had never called them such in any of the announcements. But Sheila and her friends knew—only because she had tripped over Allie’s body and then had the misfortune of witnessing Harold in the hallway.
Sheila looked right and left before she spotted the bus across the street. The port city of George Town was awash in color, noise, and scent, which was jarring after being on the sleek cruise ship for days, mostly colored in whites and shades of blue. Their bus was waiting for them right where it was supposed to be.
“Sheila Rogers?” The bus driver met her with an extended arm and a lush Caribbean accent.
She nodded. “Nice to meet you,” she said, and extended her own hand.
Their schedule had changed again. The plans originally included three days here, but since they’d lost some time because of the storm, their stay was shortened to a day. And Sheila’s prior research had all been done for a Mexican photo shoot, not Grand Caymen, so she was winging it. But she was able to sneak a bit of research in on the botanical gardens they’d be visiting during their photo excursion. It would make for fabulous scrapbooking material.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” a tour guide said to them after they were all settled on the bus. “Welcome to Grand Caymen.”
“Thank God it’s air conditioned in here,” Paige said in a low voice.
“Our beautiful island is seventy-six square miles and is home to fifty thousand residents,” the guide said after everybody had settled and the bus began to move around the edge of the city.
It was even more beautiful as they left the city behind and drove along the coast. Sheila sat back and took in the view of white sandy beaches giving way to lush trees and rolling green hills.
A sudden image of Cumberland Creek came to her mind—she wondered if it was still snowing there. It was December, close to Christmas, and it felt unnatural to be here in the heat and the tropical weather.
“I love the heat,” Randy said, as if reading her mind. “Doesn’t bother me a bit. I could live in the tropics.”
Paige sighed.
“I love the seasons,” Vera said from across the aisle. “I couldn’t live someplace where it was warm all year long.”
“We’ll be at the Queen Elizabeth Two Botanic Park in about fifteen minutes,” the guide said. “This heritage attraction was officially opened on the twenty-seventh of February, 1994, by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the second and named in her honor.”
“This should be gorgeous,” Randy said. “I’m so excited about this.”
“One of the things the park is known for is our blue iguanas, a rare species. You should be able to get a view of them this morning. They like to sun themselves in midmorning,” said the guide.
“They are in cages, right?” Vera suddenly asked.
“We have an enclosed habitat that provides a natural home for an adult male blue iguana, which can be seen by visitors.”
Vera sat up taller and her eyes widened. But it wasn’t because of the tour guide’s statement. Sheila followed her eyes. It was hard to see because of the bus seat, but Sheila observed what Vera saw: the man who had been staring at Sheila throughout the trip. And he was with Theresa Graves, which was interesting, as he seemed a lot younger than her. Oh well, to his or her own.
But was he her husband? Sheila tried to remember if they had talked about her husband. A sourness formed in her as she remembered how discouraging Theresa had been and how David himself of David’s Designs had no kind words about her. Sheila was fascinated by the competitive nature of these huge scrapbooking business owners. Couldn’t everybody get along?
Vera’s eyes met Sheila’s and she tilted her head in the couple’s direction. Sheila nodded.
When they disembarked from the bus, Sheila took over and led the group to the visitor center. They all had real cameras draped around their necks. She was happy that nobody was there with cell phone cameras. The guide from the center gave them a quick orientation and they were off.
First stop: the “color gardens.”
The pink garden’s collection consisted of rose and green caladiums, Anderson Crepe hibiscus, Cordyline morado, and exotic large bromeliads including Aech-mea Victoria.
“Keep the sun in mind when you are shooting these flowers,” Sheila said. “Make sure it’s at your back.”
“Like we don’t know that,” came a voice from the back, and a group of people giggled.
Sheila ignored the jab.
“We have about ten minutes here and then we move on through the rest of the colors,” Sheila said.
Vera eyed her and then leaned in. “Did you hear that?”
Sheila nodded. “Who was it?”
“Theresa,” Paige said, interrupting. “She’s got a group of some of the most negative people I’ve ever heard. They are all laughing and joking, but I don’t see them taking pictures.”
Sheila shrugged. ‘You get all kinds,” she said.
As they moved through to the red gardens, a young woman asked her if she had ever made a garden scrapbook.
“I haven’t,” Sheila said. “I’m not much of a gardener. But I have customers who have made garden scrapbooks. Really lovely.”
“I’ve made a few myself,” the woman said. “I inherited this old rose garden with our house and I’m fascinated by the shapes and colors of the roses. The way at different times of the day the light makes the pink roses look almost orange, sometimes yellow.”
“What an interesting observation,” Sheila said.
“Not really,” came that same voice, and then more laughter.
A shot of anger tore through Sheila. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” she said in her most polite voice to the woman, who had reddened.
Sheila made her way easily to the back of the crowd where Theresa stood with her gaggle of friends.
“Are you having a good time?” Sheila asked, concentrating still on trying to be polite, but allowing her eyes to shoot daggers.
Theresa’s posture changed a bit—she wasn’t expecting Sheila to seek her out, to face her. She didn’t answer, but simply looked at the man standing next to her, the man who had been freaking Sheila out the entire trip.
The others looked in Theresa’s direction, expecting an answer.
“Yes, of course,” Theresa said.
“Good,” Sheila replied as sweet as she could muster.
Theresa shot her a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.
What the hell had Sheila ever done to the woman?
An uncomfortable hush came over the group.
“Well now, Ms. Fancy Pants scrapbooking diva bitch, I think you should either shut your mouth or find another tour group who will put up with your nonsense. We’re here to learn from Sheila Rogers,” a voice said from behind Sheila.
It was the woman who had been discussing her roses. A stunned silence came from the group as Theresa reddened and huffed off in anger. Vera and the others applauded.
Sheila took the rose lady’s arm. “Thanks so much,” she said. “Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”