Our Island Inn (Quirky Tales from the Caribbean) (22 page)

I blinked my eyes, but the
action did little to clear my vision. The trees above me blurred with motion, a dizzying swirl of twisting bark.

At least
I’d escaped the inn before Pickering arrived to arrest me.

That
memory brought me up into a seated position. It was a dangerous time to have let my guard down. They would be combing the area, looking for me. I had to get out of these woods – and off this island – as quickly as possible.

Scrambling
to my feet, I tried to remember Elsie’s directions. What had she said? Take the trail to the beach. Past where we found the body, it would branch off toward the main road…

I scratched my head.
Was I above or beyond the beach? Had I reached the sand before I passed out? And where was the trail?

As I stared in confusion at the surrounding trees,
the leaves on the ground began to rustle, at first due to my movements – and then of their own accord.

They were like insects, swarming together
as they encircled my feet and began moving up my ankles.

With a yelp, I
leapt out of the leaf pile and took off through the forest. I found the trail, but the menacing greenery continued to give chase. Stick fingers clawed at my shirt. Trunk-like legs rose to block my way.

H
urdling past these impediments, I ran pell-mell down the path.

The eyes that had been
watching me for months had tracked me into these woods.

The
wife’s vengeful spirit was ready to take my soul.

~
~ ~

SHE
APPEARED IN front of me while I stood panting, trying to catch my breath. It was as if she’d stepped out of a tree. Her bony limbs were no more than branches.

She had white hair and rough
, wrinkled skin.

S
he looked like a much older version of – Elsie.

I spun around,
my last chance to escape, but her fingers wrapped around my throat, stealing my voice, even as she screeched in triumph.

Whug
.

My legs crumpled beneath me
, and I fell to the ground. There was nothing I could do. The hag was freakishly strong. She grabbed me by the ankles and dragged me off into the brush.

I had one last thought before I blacked out.

I’ve always had bad luck with women.

ELSIE SCAMPERED DOWN a side street, quickly distancing h
erself from the police station. A few blocks away, she reached the ferry dock. The passengers from the midday boat were dispersing, and she managed to hop onto the last safari truck headed for the big resort on the island’s west end.

It was an inefficient and roundabout journey to her intended destination
, but it was the best she could come up with on short notice. She hadn’t planned to spend the entire morning at the police station, much less trapped inside a holding cell.

The truck made several obligatory photo
-taking stops en route to the resort. Once there, Elsie sat through a lengthy delay while the tourists and their multiple pieces of luggage were unloaded.

Wh
en at last the main delivery had been completed, the driver agreed to transport Elsie along the north shore road to Parrot Ridge – but he balked at her request to be driven up to the inn.

“I’ll drop you off at the
turn,” he said with a shudder. “I like to keep all of my pieces and parts attached to my body.”

~
~ ~

ELSIE HOPP
ED OUT at the foot of the drive next to the hedge Romeo had clipped during his desperate attempt to escape his pursuer.

She climbed the steep hill up to the inn, pausing at the summit to survey the parking lot.

The police officers tasked with inspecting the restaurant’s kitchen pantry had left for the day, taking several hundred jars filled with dubious contents back to the station for processing.

Only two jeeps remained in the lot: the one that belonged to the innkeepers and a rental model.

She knew who had leased the second vehicle.

Crossing the asphalt, Elsie tread quietly down the steps into the pavilion. She circled the empty pool area, threading through the tables and chairs to the far northwest
corner.

Peer
ing down at the clearing below, she found the person her father had telephoned the night before.

A woman in a flowery skirt and a pink short-sleeved sweater
stood on the rough ground at the edge of the jungle. She shifted her stance to look up at the pool deck.

T
he gaps in her sandals revealed delicate pink toenails.

~
~ ~

OLIVIA
FROWNED AS she watched Elsie descend the pavilion’s exterior stairs.

“I was expecting the reverend.”

“He must have been delayed.” Elsie reached the bottom step but ventured no farther. “They’ve arrested Oliver.” She shook her head. “It was supposed to be Glenn.”

Olivia folded her arms over her chest. “
Things don’t always turn out the way we’ve planned.” Her lips pursed together. “What can you tell me about this Romeo fellow? The one you left rotting on the beach.”

Elsie didn’t trust the tiny woman from Texas. She decided to keep her response vague. “He had an accident. Someone ran him off the road.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. She’d heard the story from the reverend. She knew exactly what had happened to the unlucky vagrant. “Maya’s never been a very good driver.”

Elsie shrugged.
She felt no sympathy for the dead man. “She can’t abide a thief.”

Olivia’s
voice sharpened. “Look, I’ve got a lot at stake here. Everything was all wrapped up, fair and square. Now this other guest is missing.” She put her hands on her hips. “Did Millicent have an accident too?”

At
Elsie’s silence, Olivia stomped across the clearing to the foot of the stairs.

“
Where’s your aunt now?”

“Maya left
the inn last night after they found Romeo’s body. She’ll be off the island soon.” Gripping the railing, Elsie began to ease herself up the steps. “She just has a few loose ends to tie up.”

Olivia
moved to within arm’s reach.

“As have I.”

Elsie looked down at Olivia’s fierce expression – and then glanced over the woman’s shoulder to a movement at the edge of the forest.

“
You’ve had a long trip,” she said politely. “Can I make you a cup of coffee?”

The
overture caught Olivia off guard, but she quickly recovered. “Some tea would be nice, thank you.”

Smiling to herself, Elsie turned
and trotted up the stairs to the kitchen.

THE REVEREND
PLOPPED his weight onto the far side of the couch inside the parsonage and stared up at the ceiling.

Inspector Pickering resisted the urge to pull his notepad from his pocket.
“Tell me about your wife.” He glanced across the couch at the reverend. “And the cursed in-laws.”

“I met
Simmee over on the big island. That’s where I attended seminary.” The reverend stroked his chin, cherishing the memory. “She was a parishioner in my first church. We got married a few months after we met. Those were happy times for us.

“
When Elsie came along, I decided to move the family back here and start a new branch. My father donated this land and the parcel around the corner for the chapel. Nothing made him prouder than seeing me standing behind the pulpit. He was in my chapel every Sunday until the day he died.”

Pickering nodded.
He remembered the elderly gentleman from the weekly services.

The reverend
’s shoulders hunched forward, and his face grew somber. The happy memories had clouded over.

“
When I was young, in my early teens, I told my father about my sickness…for other men. I’ll never forget the way he looked at me, like I was a foul, disgusting creature. Then he grabbed his cane and beat me. Nearly broke my jaw. When I came to, he leaned over me and said, ‘This is what people will do to you if you become one of those. If you give in to your sin.’ That’s the only time we ever discussed the matter.”

The reverend was silent
for a moment.

“
My whole life, I’ve tried to eradicate it from my being – with only limited success.”

~
~ ~

PICKERING GRIPPED HIS k
neecaps and then released them.

Even though
his mentor had revealed the reverend’s sexual struggles in his packet of private notes, it was a different experience to hear the confession directly. With a grunt, the inspector steered the conversation back toward the reverend’s wife and in-laws.

“
Maya and Jesús. Your family connection to them isn’t widely known.”

“They’re not the kind of relatives you brag about.”

The reverend drew in his breath and then slowly released it, fortifying himself for the next narrative.

“
I met Maya and Jesús when they came to work at Parrot Ridge – fifteen years ago. Simmee liked seeing her sister, and we started going up there a couple of times a week for dinner. It was a glamorous place. They had live music to go with the view. And Maya’s always been a fantastic cook.”

The reverend glanced
over at his listener. “I didn’t know about the jars back then.”

Pickering
grunted queasily. “That stuff has killed my appetite.”

The revere
nd strummed his thick stomach. “Nothing puts a dent in mine.”

He
paused for several seconds as if struggling with the next sentence. “That’s when I fell into temptation. At the restaurant.”

“
With Jesús?” This too had been in his mentor’s notes, but Pickering wanted the reverend to confirm it.

“
Yes. With Jesús.”

~
~ ~

“
HE KNEW WHAT I was. Somehow, he saw through my defenses. For a month, I resisted, but he had this way about him. He was charming, and he sensed I was weak. One day, I succumbed. I fell into the abyss.”

The seat cushions creaked as
Pickering shifted his weight, crossing one leg over the other.

“
It happened in the pantry.”

Pickering
nearly fell off the couch. “The pantry?”

“
The devil’s pantry. I told you, I had no idea what they were storing in those jars.” The reverend scowled. “Jesús always had a strange sense of humor.”

Pickering
rubbed his head. He was beginning to understand why his predecessor had retired after the original Parrot Ridge case.

T
he man sitting next to him still had much to share.

“
It usually occurred late in the evening after most of the dinner crowd had gone home. I would step away from the table, saying I was headed for the restrooms, but Simmee knew that was a lie.

“
Maya never seemed to mind about her husband. She and Jesús had some sort of understanding.”

The reverend
pressed his thick lips together.

“
My wife, she minded.”

ORLANDO PICKERING
WISHED he could obliterate from his memory all references to Parrot Ridge and its many sordid secrets. He had no choice now but to press through to the end.

“Tell me about the night of the stabbing.”

The reverend resumed his tale.

“
Simmee was no fool. She suffered through it for weeks, but finally, she’d had enough. That night, when I slipped off to be with Jesús – she followed me to the pantry. She took one look at the two of us and grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter.”

Pickering’s brow furrowed
. “So Simmee attacked you with the knife?”

The
reverend shook his head. “Not me. She was aiming for Jesús.” He paused for a short chuckle. “I don’t think that was the first time Jesús had been chased by an angry spouse. He ran around those kitchen counters faster than a rabbit…”

The laughter died in his voice.

“But Simmee cornered him. She stood there, holding that knife, while Jesús cowered on the floor in front of her. She didn’t intend to cut him. She just wanted to put a scare in him – to make him stop. Make me stop.”

He sigh
ed.

“
If it had ended there, we could have just gone home.”