Aground on St. Thomas

Praise for
New York Times
bestselling author Rebecca M. Hale’s Mystery in the Islands Mysteries

Afoot on St. Croix

“Hale’s novels are elaborate puzzle pieces where plots at first seem scattered and unrelated, but ultimately weave together into one surprisingly unified storyline. Complex, funny, and with darker tones that share more elements with the black-comedy mysteries written by Tim Dorsey than any cozy,
Afoot on St. Croix
entertains with its many self-centered characters that are flawed, but all too human.”

—Kings River Life Magazine

“Readers will be enchanted by the setting, intrigued by the characters, and amazed by the writing in this island cozy . . . [A] wonderful blend of the Caribbean in every chapter.”

—Debbie’s Book Bag

Adrift on St. John

“Intriguing . . . fans who want something different will enjoy being
Adrift on St. John
.”

—Genre Go Round Reviews

“A perfect story to escape into . . . Just when you think you have everything figured out, you don’t! Enjoy!!”

—Escape with Dollycas into a Good Book

“This was an easy-flowing, narrative tale that took a different path in its storytelling . . . An intriguing and adventurous jaunt on a tropical island.”

—The Cozy Chicks

Praise for the
New York Times
bestselling Cats and Curios Mysteries

“Written with verve and panache . . . Will delight mystery readers and elicit a purr from those who obey cats.”

—Carolyn Hart,
New York Times
bestselling author of
Death Comes Silently

“Quirky characters, an enjoyable mystery with plenty of twists, and cats, too! A fun read.”

—Linda O. Johnston, author of the Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter Mysteries

“[A] wild refreshing over-the-top-of-Nob-Hill thriller.”

—The Best Reviews

“An adorable new mystery.”

—Fresh Fiction

“[A] merry escapade! It was an interesting trip where nothing was as it seemed . . . If you enjoy mysteries that are a little off the beaten path, ones that challenge you to think outside of the box, this one is for you.”

—The Romance Readers Connection

Titles by Rebecca M. Hale

Cats and Curios Mysteries

HOW TO WASH A CAT

NINE LIVES LAST FOREVER

HOW TO MOON A CAT

HOW TO TAIL A CAT

HOW TO PAINT A CAT

Mysteries in the Islands

ADRIFT ON ST. JOHN

AFOOT ON ST. CROIX

AGROUND ON ST. THOMAS

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

USA • Canada • UK • Ireland • Australia • New Zealand • India • South Africa • China

penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

AGROUND ON ST. THOMAS

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2014 by Rebecca M. Hale.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-13944-2

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / December 2014

Cover art: Shutterstock.

Cover design by George Long.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To the Mojito Man from the Miami Airport, my seatmate on the flight to St. Thomas.

We knew the job was dangerous when we took it.

—Motto of the blog page “Crucians in Focus”

Charlotte Amalie

St. Thomas, US Virgin Islands

The Invasion

THE GOVERNOR STOOD
on the balcony outside his office, surveying the city spread across the hillside below. A breeze brushed against his cheeks, the up-flow of the trade winds kissing off the sea.

This was his frequent perch. The three-story neoclassical building that housed the territory’s executive branch provided an expansive view of Charlotte Amalie and the island’s busy south shore.

For centuries, the rulers of St. Thomas had monitored their realm from this elevated location. The Government House balconies offered vantage points of ships sailing in and out of the harbor—and of citizens scheming on land.

The Governor rubbed his round chin, pondering the view.

At first glance, the town presented a typical Caribbean setting, a colorful mix of wood, brick, and mortar, overlaid with the humid layer of grit that accumulated between rainstorms. Tropical greenery laced its leafy fingers around doorways and windows, an insidious landscaping that without constant pruning rapidly engulfed entire buildings.

Down along the waterfront, street vendors plied the sidewalks, hawking T-shirts and kitschy trinkets to a few meandering tourists. Inside the air-conditioned alley shops, jewelers and watchmakers waited for the surge of day-trippers from the cruise ship docked at the nearby deepwater port. Drawn like sharks to fresh chum, gangs of pickpockets circled both areas with ease.

On the east end of the shopping district, old men set up backgammon boards on shaded picnic tables inside Emancipation Park. Dice began to warm in shaking cups as checkers were lined up across their proper points. With the first sips of coffee, grayed heads bent to discuss the latest news.

Beyond the regular bustle of gossip, commerce, and graft, however, historic events were about to unfold.

The scene that morning was anything but ordinary.

The Governor shifted his gaze to a flagpole whose mast trimmings waved a few feet above his balcony.

Over the ages, the posted symbols had reflected various shifts in control over this region of the West Indies, the change of colors an age-old measure of which country’s influence was in ascendancy and which was on the wane.

With a grimace at the Stars and Stripes fluttering near his head, the Governor let out a rueful grunt.

Considering the size of the US Navy vessel that had pulled into the cruise ship terminal, the odds were stacked against his regime’s future longevity.

•

THE GOVERNOR PLACED
a hand over his brow, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun as he once more focused his attention on the city streets below.

A number of black-clad federal agents skulked along the harbor’s curving edge, rapidly closing in on the Legislature Building. Armed with arrest warrants for all fifteen of the US Virgin Islands’ sitting senators, the team aimed to sweep through the meeting chambers and apprehend as many of the indicted suspects as possible. It was a deft plan of attack, one designed to shut down the government in a single blow, without casualty or bloodshed.

Despite their attempted stealth, the invaders were easy to pick out. Their dark uniforms made a stark contrast against the harbor’s sunny water and the sidewalk’s flowering bougainvillea.

No amount of subterfuge could mask the swiftness of their movements. Not even the arrival of a mega cruise ship loaded with cash-bloated tourists inspired such energetic activity among the island’s long-term residents.

The Governor squinted at a second group of agents advancing toward Emancipation Park, about five hundred yards south of his balcony.

These were the men who had been charged with infiltrating Government House—the men who were coming to arrest him and several members of his cabinet.

He had sent the other targets home to their families. The dispersal of the administration officials would delay their incarceration by a few hours and, he hoped, spare them the humiliation of a public capture.

He had afforded himself no such luxury.

Sucking in his breath, the Governor straightened his posture, bracing for the coming raid.

Inside Government House’s white-painted brick-and-wood structure, the remaining staff had been briefed on what to expect next. The First Lady, ensconced in the Governor’s Mansion on an adjacent hill, was prepared for the worst.

Any minute now, all transport on or off the island would temporarily halt. Air traffic control would be ordered to close the runways. Navy personnel would board the ferryboats that connected St. Thomas to its neighboring islands and prohibit the vessels from completing their routes.

Cell phone communications would be interrupted, landlines would fall silent, and traffic would grind to a halt.

The cruise ship passengers would be blocked from disembarking their ship, much to the dismay of the diamond dealers, the watch salesmen, and the sharp-eyed pickpockets.

If needed, the initial swarm of federal agents would be followed by a squadron of National Guard troops. Before long, the main government structures in downtown Charlotte Amalie would be seized by the US authorities.

The Governor had anticipated the operation’s basic structure. The only question had been when the invasion would occur—and now the timing had been revealed.

He had done everything in his power to prevent today’s action. He’d spent hours with the head of the local US attorney general’s office. He’d granted interviews with the federal investigators assigned to the case. He’d flown to Washington to speak in person with the justice department officials overseeing the matter. He’d tried desperately to convince them to drop their meritless claims, to no avail.

The heady wheels of opportunism and advancement had gained too much momentum. An unseen force had pushed the judicial process past the point of no return. No one within the president’s administration had the will or the political clout to stop it.

In recent days, a grand jury sitting in the district court for the US Virgin Islands had received the results of the attorney general’s bribery investigation. The jury’s decision to indict had triggered a court order granting the US federal government direct control over the Caribbean territory until the charges could be adjudicated, the alleged corruption flushed out of the islands’ local institutions, and new elections held.

The Governor released the pent-up air from his lungs. His shoulders curved forward, bowed by the magnitude of the occasion.

It was a takeover of epic proportions, and he was helpless to stop it.

WHILE THE GOVERNOR
remained on the balcony, solemnly tracking the developments in the harbor, his closest aide paced back and forth inside the office.

The typically unflappable young man had worked himself into an agitated state. Muttering under his breath, he scanned the top sheet of a clipboard, as if searching for some tidbit of new information or a pending task with which to busy himself, but he had already read every piece of writing at least a dozen times. He had only one duty to complete that morning—the interminable wait.

He glanced down at his watch, cursing the second hand’s slow movement.

A ringer sang out, and the aide pounced on the desk phone. A colored button on the handset indicated the call emanated from a secure line in Washington, DC.

Fresh beads of sweat broke out across his forehead as he spoke into the receiver.

“This is Cedric.”

He listened to the voice on the opposite end. Then he pressed the mute button and turned toward the balcony.

“Sir,” he called out tensely. “It’s the attorney general for you.”

Silently, the Governor shook his head, declining the call. The communication was a false courtesy, a last-minute request that he voluntarily relinquish his leadership position before it was forcefully taken away.

He would not give Washington that satisfaction.

The Governor’s sturdy hand gripped the balcony railing. Despite the dire situation, he remained calm. He was ready.

With a gulp, Cedric set the receiver on the cradle, terminating the connection.

Almost immediately, there was a sharp knock at the door. The sound ricocheted through the office, causing the aide to jump like a nervous rabbit.

The Governor looked over his shoulder and nodded.

“Let them in.”

Ashen-faced, Cedric straightened his tie. He tugged on his suit jacket lapels, smoothing the tailored seams. Then he grabbed the handle, turned it, and swung open the door.

The lone individual standing in the hallway bore no resemblance to the federal agents storming the city from the harbor.

He was a thin man in a golf shirt and khakis. His clothing hung loosely from his frame, as if the garments were two or three sizes too big for his body. His narrow face was flushed pink from exertion, and circular wet marks soaked the armpits of his shirt.

A visitor’s pass hanging from his neck identified him by a single name: FOWLER.

It took Cedric a moment to recognize the unexpected visitor. The last time they’d met, the man had been about two hundred pounds heavier—and his name certainly hadn’t been Fowler.

Throughout the Caribbean, when powerful figures ran into trouble, be it financial, criminal, governmental, or otherwise, they called on a nebulous figure known only by the service he provided: the Fixer.

Today’s mission had required a less obvious pseudonym.

Cedric frowned, puzzling over the man’s presence. He had been with the Governor practically every waking minute for the past two weeks as they strategized, fruitlessly, on how to avoid the looming crisis. There was no way his boss could have contacted the Fixer—or Fowler, as the case may be—without Cedric’s knowledge.

The Fixer was a recourse of last resort, one that the aide had argued strenuously against on the grounds that his involvement would negate the Governor’s asserted claims of innocence.

Not waiting to be invited in, Fowler pushed his way through the entrance and crossed to the balcony.

“Let’s go, Governor. There’s not much time.”