The Deadly Ackee Page 8

  Theo nudged Bitsy and Mary Margaret to climb aboard before Biff could offer his opinion about relative sizes. Sandy followed them, as did Trey. Theo then stepped onto the deck and shook Count D’Orsini’s proffered hand. “This is indeed kind of you, sir,” he said. “We are all looking forward to the cruise back to Montego Bay.”

  “You are quite welcome. Before we cast off, may I offer you champagne or would you prefer Perrier with lime?”

  Dorrie had rediscovered her balance. “Perrier? Thank God. All we’ve been able to find the entire trip is some obscure local stuff. I told Bitsy I would rather die of dehydration than actually drink it.”

  “What a dreadful loss that would be,” Count D’Orsini murmured.

  Dorrie shot Biff a smile, but he had moved to the stern with Mary Margaret. As he made a low comment, the redhead’s laughter caused several of the nearby sailors to stare over the rims of their martini glasses. Dorrie’s jaw twitched, but the smile held steady in true Caldicott tradition. “Could I have just a sip of Perrier before we open the champagne, Count D’Orsini?” she said through an onslaught of eyelash flutters.

  Theo retreated to a deck chair. The others arranged themselves for maximum comfort and visual effect, then permitted a cabin attendant to serve them champagne and toast triangles piled high with caviar. As the crew began to back the yacht out of its slip, Theo gazed at the jostling crowd at the edge of the market area. In the shadow of a stall was a figure with binoculars trained on the Pis Aller. The sun bounced off the lenses as they tracked the movement of the yacht, sending back a glare that caused Theo to squint in discomfort.

  He waved at the figure, then settled back and accepted a glass of chilled Perrier and a triangle of toast. Sitermann. Sitermann showing an unnatural interest in Count D’Orsini’s boat. Or in the count—or in a member of the crew—or in one of the passengers. Sitermann, who had sworn on his hypothetical grandmother’s grave that he was on a mission completely unrelated to Theo and his sextet of preppies. Then again, Sitermann lied. Like a rug.

  Wondering if any of the others had noticed the spy skulking in the shadow, Theo studied the group. Mary Margaret and Biff were still in the stern, shoulders a centimeter apart, laughing at some private joke while they gobbled down caviar as if they anticipated the advent of an unseasonal Lent. Trey was asleep in a chaise lounge. Sandy was listening intently to the captain in the bridge above the deck. Bitsy lay on a mat, supine and oblivious to anything but the continually replenished crystal glass in one hand. And Dorrie was sitting next to Count D’Orsini, her face rapt with admiration and her hand serenely tucked in his. Every few seconds, however, her eyes darted to the stern with the stealth of a professional shoplifter.

  By this time they were too far out for Theo to ascertain if Sitermann was still observing them. He saw no glints of sun on lenses, nor did he see a flash of white hair in the surges of tourists among the stalls of the market. Not, of course, that it meant the spy had not taken a different post from which to follow the yacht as it moved across the water toward the edge of the bay and the sea beyond.

  “Oh, Sitermann,” Theo muttered softly.

  The following morning Theo sat on the terrace, coffee in hand. There were stirrings of life in the villa, but no one had yet appeared for breakfast. Which was fine with him. The previous evening had been spent beside the pool, and had passed pleasantly enough despite the verbal strafing, which was beginning to seem normal if not mandatory. Dorrie had been cool but polite; Biff had responded with more than one comment about her cozy chat with the count. Mary Margaret had announced that she absolutely had to have a boat just like the Pis Aller, that it was just the right size for fun little runs to Bermuda, et cetera. There had been a remark about the Bermuda Triangle and with luck—but Theo had exited.

  Emelda brought out a fresh pot of coffee. “Eli says you all came back on Count D’Orsini’s boat last evening. He’s something, isn’t he?”

  Theo did not think it prudent to mention that the count was possibly a gigolo, probably a fraud, and clearly adept at wooing pretty young things for his own purposes. “He was kind enough to offer us the ride on his boat. I fear I am not yet accustomed to driving on the left side of the road, and I find it most unnerving, to say the least. We did not have to deal with that on the water, for which I was grateful. How long has Count D’Orsini lived next door, Emelda?”

  “Oh, he don’t live there. He’s watching the house for the Bradfords, who are visiting their grandbabies in California for two months. The count watches houses for all sorts of folks. I don’t know for sure if he has a real house on the island.”

  “I hadn’t realized that,” Theo said.

  Emelda wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Ain’t his boat, either. It belongs to this writer man who had to go home to England for surgery. The count’s been using the boat for nearly a year, taking rich widow women out to deep-sea fish and get drunk on champagne. One of my nephews cleans the boat every week, and he says the number of empty bottles is a scandal, not to mention the ganja and cocaine they does in the cabin. Why, if—”

  “Emelda!” Amelia snapped, coming onto the terrace with a tray of coffee cups. “Why are you here gossiping with Mr. Bloomer? Don’t you know you have to polish the furniture today?”

  “I do know,” Emelda said in a dignified voice. “I was merely answering some questions that were asked of me.”

  “So you say.” Amelia gave Theo a frosty look as she went into the dining room. Emelda followed slowly, making it clear she was not intimidated by the cook’s criticism.

  Theo held in a smile until the kitchen door slammed shut. The chat had been enlightening, in some ill-defined way. The resulting information, which served to confirm the gigolo theory, was analyzed, then stored away until such time that it might be deemed of value, although Theo could not have predicted when that might be. He was musing in serene solitude when Gerry’s station wagon honked at the bottom of the driveway.

  When Eli failed to appear, she parked along the curb and opened the gate, which had been left unsecured and slightly ajar. She stopped halfway up the driveway and vanished from Theo’s view, presumably to speak to Eli in his quarters below the pool. When she subsequently reappeared and came up the steps to the terrace, her expression was grim.

  “I must do something about him,” she said as she sat down. “He seems to spend more time running around than he does attending to his duties, and he should have locked the gate when he left. But that’s my problem, not yours. Have you made plans for today?”

  “There was some discussion about a train trip into the interior,” Theo said. “I myself was interested, since it might provide an opportunity to see some of the indigenous vegetation. A four-hour trip, I was told, with a visit to a native market and a rum distillery.”

  “The Governor’s Coach.” Gerry took out a brochure from her large handbag and placed it on the table. “It may be better if I make reservations for you. Are all of you going?”

  “The others have not yet come down for breakfast, but I think there was general agreement that all six of them would come. The girls were intrigued by the promise of further shopping, and the boys by the idea of unlimited sampling at the distillery. No one mentioned bromeliads or wild orchids.” Theo shook his head, then gave himself a terse mental lecture about self-indulgence. “If you think we need reservations, you may count on seven of us.”

  Gerry went inside to telephone, and returned a few minutes later with a faint frown. “Amelia is quite distressed this morning. I do hope I can keep the villa fully staffed the rest of the week.”

  “I must apologize,” Theo said. “I am guilty of keeping Emelda from her duties by engaging her in conversation. If you think it will help to alleviate tension, I shall apologize to either or both of them.”

  “Amelia isn’t upset at Emelda. She found several unripened ackees on the windowsill in the kitchen, and was concerned that one of your group might eat one for some inane reason. If that should happen, no
thing can be done. It is fatal.”

  “So’s my hangover,” Sandy said, coming out to the terrace with a glass of water in his hand. “I’m going to stay away from rum for the rest of my life, or until this afternoon—whichever comes first. Did we really decide to go on a noisy, bumpy, jarring train into some primeval forest so the girls could stalk one-hundred-percent cotton skirts?”

  “There was unanimous consensus late last evening, and Gerry was kind enough to make reservations for us,” Theo said.

  “You’ll need to have Eli drive you to the train station in MoBay immediately after lunch,” Gerry said. “This brochure has information about the time and route. I must run along to the office now; I have two groups coming in this afternoon, and I need to finalize the details. Have a pleasant trip, Theo.”

  “Thank you. Before you leave, may I ask you one small question concerning the security arrangements here?” When she nodded, he told her about the lens cap found on the balcony the previous morning and the implication that someone had gained access to the villa.

  “I’m glad you told me,” she said. “The office copy of the key is kept in a locked box, and no one could have used it. I was at the office most of the evening; I did have reason to check on another key, and I am quite sure the Harmony spare was in place.”

  Sandy cleared his throat. “I stayed in that night, and I didn’t see anybody. But Eli’s the logical suspect, isn’t he?” He frowned at Theo. “What do you think, sir? I really don’t like the idea of someone in the girls’ bedroom. We could go down to Eli’s room and confront him, but he’s gone to the hotels to see if he can find me a Wall Street Journal. I play the market in a very small way.”

  Gerry looked at the balcony, then at the fence that shielded Count D’Orsini’s villa. Her eyes narrowed appraisingly, but when she turned to Theo, her voice was light. “Did you ask the girls if they were doing a bit of surveillance?”

  “We were all at the hotel that night, except for Sandy. Besides, Biff is the only one who brought a camera, and he certainly wouldn’t have been using it in the dark to photograph our neighbor. I’m afraid there is a bit of jealousy involved. The count and my niece had a long, intimate conversation yesterday afternoon, and it did not sit well with young Mr. Hartley, whose nose was bent quite far out of shape as a result.”

  Gerry laughed. “Oh, I don’t think the boy has anything to worry about, Theo. Hal is strictly superficial charm and wit; he wouldn’t know what to do if he found a girl in his boudoir.”

  Sandy banged his glass down on the table. “Maybe Eli sneaked back here with a girlfriend for a little parallel parking.” His face turned red as he noticed Gerry’s mystified expression. “You know, ma’am, horizontal rumbling … or, ah, well …” He gave Theo a look of deep panic.

  “Hanky-panky,” Theo interpreted obligingly. “Sex.”

  “I am shocked, Ensign Pulver,” Trey said as he came through the door from the dining room. “You’d better watch out if you don’t want your lance to fall off, old boy. Animal life, diseases, petrification from lack of use. You never know, do you?” As he waggled a finger, the girls came onto the terrace.

  “You are disgusting,” Bitsy said.

  “No argument from moi,” Mary Margaret added.

  “And I am forced to agree, for once,” Dorrie said.

  “Make it twice,” Biff said.

  “Good-bye, Theo,” Gerry said with the deeply sympathetic look the lions might have given the Christians before dinnertime. “Have a good day.”

  Theo smiled faintly.

  “I cannot believe I’ve survived this ordeal,” Dorrie said as they stumbled up the dark driveway. “I mean, really—the idea of a four-hour train ride turning into a nightmare of such magnitude. An entire generation of mayflies could have been born and died in those so-called four hours. And the audacity of those people to call it the Governor’s Coach! No one of any breeding or stature has ever set foot in that dingy car, much less allowed his name to be used in conjunction with it. Someone ought to report this scam to the American embassy.”

  Theo patted her on the shoulder. “There’s no point in upsetting yourself any further, my dear. Trains do break down, even in the Washington-New York corridor, and—”

  “For six hours, and in a place that could have provided the set for Village of the Damned? Even Baltimore’s more civilized than that place. You know how I feel about poverty, Uncle Theo, and the locals acted as if they’d been invaded by minute green aliens in stainless steel quiche pans. It was hardly our fault that a hundred tourists were forced to sit around their so-called park for six hours!”

  Biff patted the other shoulder. “But it wasn’t that bad, honey. We had music and rum punch, and we didn’t actually go into any of the little stores or have conversations with the natives. I rather enjoyed the dancing.”

  “I’m amazed that you remember anything, considering the quantity of that vile drink you poured down your throat. Hawaiian Punch and hundred-proof rum is not my idea of fun. Nor is having Mary Margaret sit in my lap, although you seemed to enjoy it. Sandy certainly enjoyed having her in his lap all the way back, although I was worried it might leave him permanently disabled.” She ducked from under his hand. “I presume you will have Eli fired, if not executed, Uncle Theo. His failure to pick us up at the station was the last straw. If you hadn’t been able to unlock the gate somehow, we’d still be standing in the gutter like …” Her voice broke as she struggled to maintain her composure. “God only knows what it’s done to my hair,” she added in a ragged whisper.

  “It was unconscionable,” Sandy said, his arm around Bitsy’s shoulder to encourage her to keep moving. “Eli should have found out the change in arrival time and been there. The girls are exhausted.”

  “My creases are simply spent,” Trey said in a hollow voice, earning a dark look from Bitsy. “Sorry, darling, but it’s the bitter truth. I hate to think what might happen if I even attempted to wear these trousers to the club on a Saturday night. Your mother would have a stroke.”

  “At least we’d notice. As for your mother—”

  “I shall speak to Eli,” Theo interrupted. “The car is here, and Eli is most likely in his room. If he cannot give me an adequate explanation of his failure to pick us up, I shall report the incident to Gerry.”

  Dorrie produced a cold smile. “The only adequate explanation is death—and it had better be his. If Amelia did not leave lobster salad for us, she can join Eli in the morgue. It is nearly midnight. I have had nothing to eat in the last ten hours except greasy potato chips, red liquefied sugar, and unsalted peanuts from the first century. My complexion is screaming in protest. I honestly think there will be a blemish by tomorrow if I don’t take decisive action immediately.”

  “I’ll look in the refrigerator while you shower,” Theo murmured, hoping Amelia had done as directed. Dorrie was irritated enough to engage the firing squad and give the commands in person. The rest were grumbling, too, and clearly exhausted from the excursion. Theo, on the contrary, had rather enjoyed the forced delay in the small village while a second engine (reputedly equipped with functional brakes) was dispatched from Kingston, on the other side of the island. He had wandered into the forest, where he had happened to spot not only black and silver tree ferns (Cyathea medullaris and Cyathea dealbata, respectively), but also several epiphytes on a tree, including an orchid of the Oncidium family. The discovery had left him breathless for several minutes.

  He had also struck up a conversation with a Jamaican boy, who, upon receipt of a few American coins, led Theo to an ackee tree so he might admire the upswept branches and dark green foliage that contrasted nicely with the reddish oval fruit. They had also chanced upon a streamer-tailed hummingbird and a flock of daffodil-colored parrots. All of which had been carefully noted in a small notebook for future reference. A satisfactory outing, although it had taken a great deal of fortitude to retain the edenic scene during the subsequent and incessant complaining during the remainder of the t
rip.

  Eli’s room was dark, and Theo’s knock went unanswered. Theo went on to the kitchen, where he discovered a large bowl of lobster salad, several other salads, a bowl of fruit, and plates and silverware on the counter. He had transferred the meal to the terrace and was setting places when the others came back down from their rooms.

  “What did Eli have to say, Uncle Theo?” Dorrie demanded.

  “He was not in his room. He may have walked to a nearby villa to visit friends, and anticipated returning in only a minute or two to let us in.”

  Dorrie looked at Bitsy. “Did you check our room to see if anyone might have been prowling again? The very idea gives me a rash.”

  “My jewelry was where I left it,” Bitsy said, wrinkling her forehead as she considered the possibility. “I couldn’t tell if your things were undisturbed, since you’ve literally strewn them all over the place. While we’re on the subject, have you seen my lime green polo shirt under your clothes? I wanted to wear it this morning with the matching shorts and visor, but I couldn’t begin to find it.”

  Dorrie looked away. “I haven’t seen your shirt, dear, but you ought to allow it to stay lost. Although it absolutely strickens me to say so, the green gives your skin a dreadfully sallow tint, as if you’d lost a battle to chlorophyll.”

  “Do you think so?” Bitsy flashed her teeth.

  “Shall we open a bottle of champagne?” Theo suggested. “It would go nicely with the lobster, don’t you think? And we’ve certainly earned a bit of pampering after today’s unscheduled delay.”

  “Right on,” Trey muttered. The others nodded.

  They were eating when headlights flashed in the driveway next door. “I think we ought to invite Count D’Orsini over for a glass of champagne,” Mary Margaret said. “I’ll go ask him.”

  Dorrie nodded. “He was so kind yesterday, and we really must reciprocate as best we can, despite the limitations of the local help. Biff, why don’t you pop over the fence and see if he’s busy?”