The Judge's Wife: the second Jacinta Joseph Caribbean adventure: The Jacinta Joseph Caribbean Adventures, #2

By Ron Frazer

Don't Make Her Mad!

Cecily Bercier, the judge's wife, is fed up with her husband's criminal activities. She enlists our detective, JJ, to help bring him to justice—in a creative and devastating way that will inspire wives all over. But Cecily and JJ don't stop there. Together with seven other grandmothers, they decide to take on, not just the judge, but his whole criminal organization and the corrupt Caribbean government that supports their activities.

The crime families react just as you would expect; they try to kill JJ and her family. As if dodging assassins weren't enough to keep her busy, JJ, her son and her sister are all pursuing romances. Through all this, JJ is guided by Oni, the Carib psychic we met in the first novel of the trilogy, The Carib's Smile.

Join JJ for this second novel in the trilogy, and look for The Wife's Turn, the final novel that wraps up the chaos.

This is Ron Frazer's third novel. He is the author of Time Branches and Millennium 3, and Beyond a Veil all of which feature women taking control of their lives, often to the dismay of others.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ron Frazer
• Release date: Apr 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533700421

Ron Frazer

Ron Frazer's novels are written for women who have lived long enough to have a few regrets, He has studied religion and psychology for the last forty years, so his books always have an intimate, spiritual element that is always positive, often involving women taking control of their lives, even entire countries. Every book celebrates women as a positive force in their culture.Ron has traveled widely in 29 countries, lived in four of them and in several US states. He doesn't consider himself an expert on women, but, having been married three times with three adult daughters, probably has learned more about their concerns than have most men. He has been an engineer, a yoga teacher, a financial planner, a photographer, and a computer security researcher. Along the way, he accumulated four college degrees, but could never figure out what he wanted to be when he grew up.Follow Ron on Twitter at https://twitter.com/RonFrazerAuthor, or read first chapters of each novel at www.ronfrazer.com.

Book preview

1: Tuesday, 31 July, 9 a.m., Industrie, St. Theresa

Ralston Price stood in the gravel parking lot of The Playhouse, his nightclub, gazing at the front steps. More specifically, he was staring in disbelief at the nude body of one of his men, crumpled on the steps with three bullet holes in his chest.

* * *

Warrington P.D., Rendell speaking.

Detective, this is Sergeant Woodward in Industrie. We've got a body over here. It's Geoff Jardine, a young man from Eau Profonde, one of the regulars at The Playhouse. They found him this morning on the front steps. You better come right over.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, in a white Mercedes SUV borrowed from their police chief, detectives Bill Rendell and Lionel Phillips pulled into the gravel parking lot at The Playhouse, a one-story, wooden building that had been modeled after saloons in American western movies. The detectives saw Ralston Price and Sergeant Woodward leaning against the front of Price's Toyota RAV-4 while Woodward made notes.

What do we know so far? Bill asked as they walked up.

The dead man is Geoff Jardine from Eau Profonde. He worked for Mr. Price. Must have been killed somewhere else and dumped here, said the sergeant. There's no pool of blood and no clothing anywhere on the property.

Mr. Price, do you have any idea what this is about? asked Bill.

Price slowly shook his head. This boy just twenty-eight, man. We make a little party for he birthday last month. He good worker, don't make trouble for nobody.

Lionel grabbed the back of Price's neck, and then walked him away from the other two cops, out of hearing distance. After a brief conversation with some exaggerated facial expressions, they returned.

Look, said Price to the three cops, you know me business and you let me run de business. I appreciate that. If I knew why someone offed Geoff, I tell you. Someone sending me a message, but I don't understand it. God damn it! I not bothering anybody. My girls? They hurting anyone? My men? Who send me this message?

The three cops walked over to look at the body, which lay slightly on its side with one leg twisted underneath.

There are no exit wounds, said Lionel. We can recover the slugs and hopefully match them with the murder weapon, if we can find it.

Let's get JJ over here, said Bill. She's dealt with this kind of thing before.

Price covered the body with a clean tablecloth, then they waited.

* * *

An hour earlier on the other side of the island, Jacinta Joseph, who everyone called JJ, had slid into a pool of volcanic mud. Oni, a Carib grandmother she called Auntie, was already in the center of the pool, scooping handfuls of the hot silt, and pouring it over her arms and shoulders. Boiling water, deep within the volcano, fed the pool, bubbling up the dissolved minerals, forming a pool of gray, eggnog-like mud about twenty feet in diameter.

It was JJ's spa day. She lay at the edge of the pool with her head on one of the rounded rocks that Oni had placed around the perimeter to give the pool more depth. JJ looked up at the jungle canopy a hundred feet overhead while listening to the song of the living island: the bass tones of the trade winds stirring the treetops, and the treble of ten thousand tree frogs whose individual chirps blended into a constant soprano. She closed her eyes.

How you feeling, girl? asked Oni. You go be grandmother soon.

Well, it's happening a little sooner than I expected, but I'm not surprised. Dez is a good-looking boy and Stella is a beautiful girl. There's not much on a tiny island like Petite Roche to distract them from each other.

Oni moved to the edge of the pool, then rested her head on another rock a few feet from JJ. She flipped her long gray ponytail out behind her so it would stay relatively dry. They lay without speaking for a full half-hour.

You wondering if Desmond go be OK, said Oni. It wasn't a question; Oni was a psychic who JJ trusted completely.

Yes, I was just thinking about him.

It go be good for he to be with Stella and Marla. He go struggle, but he go be fine man. Don't worry.

I still don't know if I did the right thing by coming home to St.T. I've really screwed up Momma's life—my sister's too. Maybe I should have stayed in the US and moved to another state.

Oni closed her eyes for five minutes. JJ thought she had fallen asleep.

There go be many changes in St.T, JJ. You go be in de center of it. De women on de island go make de changes. You go help they do it.

What kind of changes?

We go see. We go see. De four murders in April—we go put an end to that foolishness. De future go be much brighter. You must stay on St.T.

All these murders, Auntie—why have the women on St.T tolerated their sons being killed like this? Why aren't they raising hell?

It like de black women in de US during slavery. De people too powerless. If they cause trouble, it go make de problem worse.

JJ's cell phone dinged. She wiped the silt from her hands, and then glanced at a secure text from Bill Rendell, Meet @ Playhouse now. She and Bill used secure communications apps because their phones were probably being monitored by the ruling families who controlled the island.

JJ went to a nearby stream, rinsed off, dressed, then texted Bill that she'd be there in 30 minutes.

* * *

JJ's tired Ford Escort followed the coroner's pickup into the parking lot. She walked over to Bill who gave her the facts so far.

After photographing the body from all angles, she and the coroner made a preliminary inspection of the body. There were some facial bruises that might indicate a struggle. Blood, and what looked like scraps of skin, under the fingernails of the right hand might match scratches on the murderer. The coroner would extract the material at the morgue. Powder burns around the bullet holes suggested the gun was inches away when fired, so the murderer probably had blood splatter on his clothes.

JJ walked over to Bill and Lionel. If this was in New Jersey, I'd say some other gang was sending a message to Price's gang, something like, 'That thing you did—don't do it again!'

Our guess too. But Price doesn't know what he did to piss someone off, said Lionel.

This wasn't a professional hit; professionals don't get that close to their targets. For now, we need every cop on the island looking for blood splatter, scratches on faces or arms, a pool of blood, and this poor guy's clothes, said JJ. We need to get the word out to the public; call the radio station. Someone saw the vehicle that brought the body here. Someone heard the gunshots. Offer a small reward for information that proves helpful.

They helped the coroner load the body into his pickup, and then watched him pull away.

This is going to be interesting, said Bill. This is the first time I can remember finding a body, much less any clues.

He went to the chief's Mercedes to call the eight other police stations on the island to request a search of each village for blood, clothing and witnesses.

* * *

2: Thursday, 2 August, 6:30 a.m., Point de Lance

JJ woke to the metallic ZING of a machete being sharpened by a file outside her bedroom window. If it had been a single pass of the file over the two-foot length, she would have rolled over and gone back to sleep, but Sebastian, her young gardener, was perfecting the edge with dozens of zings, some small, some large, all loud.

The curtains were billowing in and out of the open windows as the trade winds caressed the island. A thin film of moisture cooled her face as it evaporated into the great gusts that were passing through the house.

She was nude and sweating beneath a single sheet, which she used to deter mosquitoes rather than for warmth. She lay listening to the file scraping, trying to gauge how close Sebastian was to the window. Satisfied that he wasn't about to poke his head in to say good morning, she kicked off the sheet to let the wind evaporate some of the sweat.

Once her skin was as dry as skin gets on a Caribbean island, she slipped on a robe and flip-flops. In the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator, sighed at the nearly empty shelves, then set a kettle to boil on the gas stove. She opened the upper section of the Dutch door.

Good morning, Sebastian.

Ah! Miss Jocelyne. Did you sleep well?

JJ used a cover name, Jocelyne Dominique, with the local people at Point de Lance where she was renting a house while hiding from the assassins. Because the ruling families wanted to kill her, she and Bill Rendell had arranged for the immigration paperwork to show that she had left the island and returned to the US.

I did, man. Until someone began sharpening a machete beneath my bedroom window!

Oh! Sorry. Sorry.

It's OK. Next time, perhaps you could sharpen that thing at your house before you come over. The sound of you cutting the grass would be a softer sound to wake up to.

Yes, ma'am. Not a problem.

Could you use a cup of tea?

Yes, ma'am. Thank you.

While waiting for the water to boil, JJ stood at the lower door, watching the young man cut the weeds in the far corner of her small yard. She admired the rippling of his muscles as he crouched to swing the machete inches from the ground. His back, arms and legs were those of an athlete, perhaps a gymnast, but she knew the muscles came from hard work on his father's farm next door.

She turned off the boiling water and dropped two bags of white tea into the pot. She had been weaning herself from coffee after reading that it weakened female hormones. She knew the age was approaching when she would need all her hormones to be pulling their weight.

She noticed a flashing light on her cell phone. On the screen was a secure text message from Bill, Meet @ Internet Cafe 9am. The café was in Warrington, the capitol of the island nation of St. Theresa, or St.T (SAHN-tee) as the locals called it.

She poured out two cups of tea, put three heaping teaspoons of sugar into Sebastian's but none in her own. She stood at the Dutch door, taking her first sip of tea while rapturously remembering the aroma of a Starbuck's Latte. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the tea, which reminded her of sweaty feet.

Sebastian! Come get your tea. Have you had breakfast?

Yes, ma'am. We eat already.

Sebastian sat on the rear stoop to drink his tea while she went to sit on the front veranda. Her house on the rocky southern tip of the island faced south, across the strait to a cluster of islets that poked out of the sea near the horizon. The Atlantic currents swept the strait from the left into the Caribbean Sea on her right. The trade winds blew constantly from east to west. More than once she had found several yards of toilet paper flapping down her hallway like a slender white streamer.

She settled into one of the two Adirondack chairs on the veranda, then stretched out her long legs on a wooden stool. She thought of the rapid changes that had taken her from being a busy homicide detective with the Newark police force to a retired ... what? What do I call myself now?

Four months ago, my life was stable. My son was doing well in school. I was expecting a promotion to lieutenant, which was damn well deserved, in my opinion. I'd still be there if my kid didn't have a gang trying to kill him because he managed to dis one of their members, and those bastards in Newark hadn't promoted one of their cracker buddies instead of me!

So, here I sit, lonely, undercover, living in a tiny rented house on the south tip of the island and pretending to be the niece of my landlady because the families that control St.T want me dead.

This move was supposed to bring me closer to my mother and sister. Now they're hiding with my son on a nearby island so they don't get killed in the crossfire. Some family reunion!

She sipped her tea while watching the white caps in the strait. Sebastian, her human lawnmower, came into view from the left, now cutting the front yard. She became a bit hypnotized by the graceful, repetitive motion and the swish-swish sound of the blade. She admired the morning sun glistening on his back and shoulders, the colors of orange and brown where the sun glistened on the moist young skin and the deep blue-blacks of the shadows.

With a sigh, she pulled her eyes away from the young man, to admire the milk chocolate skin of her legs. Not bad for an old broad. They look better than when I was his age—certainly a lot stronger. She flexed her leg muscles, lifting her right leg slightly, pointing the toe and rotating the ankle.

After fantasizing that her morals might be low enough for her to make a plaything of this beautiful young man, she drained her mug of tea, then went inside to shower and dress.

* * *

3: Thursday, 2 August, 9 a.m., Warrington

JJ parked in a backstreet in Warrington. She pulled a burlap shopping bag from the trunk so she would look like all the other village women who had come to the capitol for a bit of shopping. As she locked the car, she sighed at the red Ford Escort, which was a decade old with rust blossoming everywhere, even through the gray primer on the driver's door.

Bill and Lionel were already sitting at a table in the café when she arrived. She bought a twenty-ounce coffee, and then sat next to Bill. He was a nice-looking, athletic man, about her age, forty-five, who always dressed in a dark blue uniform with a starched white shirt and tie. For the last few months, JJ and Bill had been toying with the idea of an affair. Lionel, dressed as an undercover narcotics detective, looked like someone Bill might have arrested.

I thought you were giving up coffee, Bill said.

Only at home. What's new with Geoff Jardine?

We're still looking. I'm hoping they'll find something today. We've been lucky that the rain has held off.

So, why was I summoned?

A few days ago, Cecily Bercier, Judge Bercier's wife, dropped by, handed me her card and asked me to contact you. She wants you to get in touch with her, said Bill. He pushed the business card across the table.

I smell a trap, said JJ. It hasn't been that long since her family tried to kill me.

I don't know, said Bill. I assume she thinks you're in New Jersey. You could call her on your US cell phone to ask what she needs. You still have it?

Yeah. I've still got it. ... Shall I call her now?

Sure. I'd like to hear what she has to say, said Bill. Let's go somewhere quiet.

Where the hell are we going to find quiet? asked Lionel, almost yelling over the Reggae music and traffic noise.

And someplace we're sure isn't bugged, said JJ. The two cops looked at each other.

Well, it'll have to be my place, said JJ. Everywhere else on the island will either have Reggae music or tree frogs.

I'll buy lunch at Miss Edith's shop if you'll drive us to your house and back to the office afterwards, said Bill.

A half-hour later, JJ and the two cops were sitting around her kitchen table. JJ switched to speakerphone and dialed Cecily's number.

Hello. Bercier residence.

My name is Jacinta Joseph. I'm calling from the US. I'd like to speak to Mrs. Cecily Bercier.

One moment ...

Then, after several moments, This is Cecily Bercier. Miss Joseph?

Yes, this is Jacinta Joseph. I understand you wanted to speak to me.

I can't speak now, Miss Joseph. Could I call you back in five minutes on this same number?

Yes, I'll wait for your call.

Thank you. I'll call you right back.

JJ closed the phone.

So, we wait, JJ said.

A few minutes later, JJ's cell rang.

Hello.

Miss Joseph, this is Cecily. I had to go out by the pool to talk.

Yes, Mrs. Bercier. How can I help?

Please call me Cecily. I think it's time to divorce my scumbag husband and I need your help. There's no one on the island I can trust. Even if there were, I don't think there's anyone capable of helping.

Well, Mrs. ... Cecily. Call me JJ, by the way. I wasn't planning to return to St.T for some time.

I'll make it worth your while. I can pay you five thousand now and another five thousand plus expenses after you've helped me gather some evidence that will enable me to get out of this marriage with some dignity.

I assume we're talking about infidelity?

Yes, and shady business deals. I'm sick of him.

Can I have a day to think about this?

Of course.

JJ said, Call me at this same number. I'll have an answer for you.

I will. Thank you, JJ.

"Thank you, Cecily."

JJ closed the phone.

What do you guys think? Does this sound legit? Or a trap?

She passed around the sandwiches.

Ten grand sounds like it might be legit, said Bill.

We suspected that Judge Bercier was a crook, said Lionel. He almost certainly tipped off Stephen Gourges about the phone tap we placed on his phone a few months back. And that was just before Talbot and Porter disappeared. Bercier was possibly behind their murders, or at least complicit.

So, you both think it sounds legit?

Maybe, said Bill.

Lionel shrugged as if to say, It's possible.

I could tell her to meet me somewhere safe next week. That would give me time to get here from the US. Can I ask her to meet me at your office?

It's probably bugged, remember? said Bill. The safest place would be in her car somewhere that it wouldn't attract attention.

If I meet her with you guys as witnesses, it would be hard for the families to dump me at sea.

Lionel smiled. At least it would be harder for them to get away with it.

OK. I'll call you, Bill, after I've arranged the meeting. JJ said while licking some of Miss Edith's special sauce from her index finger.

Right.

Bill's cell phone rang. The police in Laborie had received a tip about a pool of blood.

After Bill made some quick phone calls to get more police to Laborie, JJ drove the detectives to the scene. When they arrived in the small village, a noisy crowd was gathered where a dirt footpath left the East Coast Road and led inside, away from the sea. Sergeant Leonard was trying to keep them back to avoid further contamination of the evidence. As Bill and Lionel approached, they helped Leonard disperse the crowd.

At the edge of the footpath was a dark patch in the dirt, about a foot in diameter. On the lower edges of surrounding leaves hung drops of dried blood. They collected a few leaves and photographed the area. The local people had been walking on the path for two days, so there was no point is collecting any of the many footprints. There were no spent shells.

They began interviewing the locals who lived in the wooden shacks near the blood. No one had heard actual gunshots on Monday night, but a woman described hearing three unusual sounds that, based on the phfft sounds she made, could have been a pistol with a silencer. The men at the rum shop in the center of the village reported seeing a man from Industrie, Simon Thomas, late Monday night. They saw him twice, riding in a strange car, first heading south past the rum shop, then later, heading north toward Industrie. Bill called the sergeant in Industrie to ask him to check on Simon Thomas.

JJ asked the men why they considered the car strange. At that time of night, they said, there are no cars on the road. Also, none of them were familiar with the car. They assumed it was someone from Industrie. They didn't see the number plates.

JJ, Bill and Lionel were about to start searching for more evidence when Sergeant Lamont