The Track of the Sea Turtle

By Mike Pedersen

On a small Caribbean island nation a disgruntled faction plots to overthrow the government. When the government learns of the plot it must do two things, thwart the takeover attempt and push forward its own plans for reform.

After a chance meeting, an unlikely pair of Americans is drawn into this complex situation. In a tropical setting that is both sensual and sinister, rising young American author Angela Lundgren and engaging and enigmatic ex-army Ranger Vince Lassiter are quickly and inexorably drawn into a world of adventure, political intrigue, danger and death. They forge a sometimes contentious relationship that soon deepens beyond friendship. Along the way, each begins to question the goals and the courses of their lives.

When events come to a climax on one tumultuous night, the forces of man and nature combine to find Vince putting his life in Angelas hands. Reacting almost instinctively, Angela discovers unexpected things about herself as she must risk her own life and the lives of newfound friends to save the things that have become most important to her. As they struggle to survive the events they have been swept into, Angela and Vince also struggle to make decisions that will affect their lives forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 2, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456756086

Mike Pedersen

MIKE PEDERSEN has extensive experience writing and editing technical documents. He is now retired and this is his premiere endeavor in creating a full-length work of fiction. When he is not writing, his pastimes include reading, model railroading and gardening. He and his wife live in a 125-year-old house in southern Maine. Their two grown sons live nearby.

Book preview

Chapter 1

From the high-flying jet airliners passing over the Lesser Antilles, the island of Santa Elena looked like a gourd. Its nearly circular bulk surrounded the chimney of a long-dead volcano and its neck gradually curved up and away, first to the northeast, then around toward the northwest. The small fishing village of Georgesport was located along the inside of the neck on the edge of a bay facing the calm Caribbean. The sharp ridge formed by a tumbling line of ancient volcanic flows shaded the village from the early morning sun. A few miles to the west though, the bright morning sunshine already illuminated several small islands surrounded by sugar sand beaches. Tropic breezes gently wafted through the tall palms. The gentle lap of the surf, the heady scent of hibiscus and the sounds of laughing children lent an air of sensuous serenity to the scene. Smiling vendors made their way down the narrow, cobbled roads of the old village hawking their wares – fresh fruit and fish, handmade baskets and jewelry of native coral.

On the flagstone veranda abutting the road in front of the colonial stone building that was the village’s only hotel, a young woman sat sipping tea and idly tracing patterns in the warm, aged carved wood of her table. Thirty-something, slim and attractive, she seemed to be in no hurry as she watched colorful birds flitting among the blossom-laden shrubbery. Although she had been on Santa Elena for a little more than a week, she had been in the Caribbean for more than a month, and this was merely the latest of the islands she had visited. This time of year was considered the ‘off season’ and even though it was a little hotter and more humid than the peak tourist months, she was grateful for the reduced rates that allowed her to stay longer, even though she could write off a good portion of her trip as business expenses.

The plates containing the remains of her breakfast had already been cleared by one of the attentive staff. Across the bay, the vegetation-covered island peaks with their tops in scudding white clouds formed a dark green backdrop to the colorful native sailboats and a couple of visiting yachts. Her rattan armchair creaked as she turned and looked up the road. She noticed a man approaching, purposely striding up the road’s center. Obviously not a native, his dress seemed a bit old-fashioned with the Panama hat and the tailored linen jacket, but he carried himself with an air of purpose and authority. Curious, she kept watching as he made his way up the road. He seemed to be known by the natives, as he acknowledged greetings from several as he passed by. As he neared, she noted he was deeply tanned and seemed very trim and fit. He glanced her way. Their eyes briefly met and she quickly averted her gaze. Her pulse increased as she tried to furtively track his progress and noticed that he was keeping his eyes on her. When he got closer, she became a little more nervous as he lightly took the single step up from the road to the veranda and approached her table. Is this seat taken? he inquired, his hand on the back of the chair across the table from hers. She looked around. There were no other patrons. Every other table was empty.

She was uneasy – by herself in a foreign country – anything could happen. She looked up at him, staring into his penetrating blue eyes. She also noted his easy smile. His voice told her that he was American and she felt a bit more secure. Something in her mind told her that he would abide by whatever she said, so she made a decision. Suit yourself, she said with a tight-lipped smile, keeping her eyes locked with his as she purposely picked up her teacup and took a sip.

With a fluid motion, he swiveled the empty chair and lowered himself into it. He looked around, saw the women watching from just inside the arched doorway to the small restaurant on the first floor of the hotel and made a brief motion. One of the ladies quickly came up to the table. She was smiling and seemed eager to greet him and present a menu, but before she could say anything he said, Coffee, black, please, and two slices of buttered toast and a fruit plate, then, turning, Would you like more tea, Miss…? He indicated the small ceramic pot on the table next to her cup.

Angela, she replied, feeling her face flush. Yes, I would, thank you.

Anything else?

No… no, thank you. I’ve just finished my breakfast.

As the woman hurried away, he took off his Panama hat and set it on the edge of the table. His hair was sun-bleached straw blond and he had a slightly receding hairline. His face was creased and deeply tanned, obviously someone who spent a great deal of time outdoors. He could have been anywhere from his mid thirties to mid fifties. It was hard to tell with people who kept themselves that fit and active and outdoors. Before she could speak again, he said: I think a good meal always deserves a follow-up cup of coffee or tea, don’t you? Helps it digest and gives you time to plan your next moves.

Next moves? she blurted, not expecting this line of conversation, What do you mean, ‘next moves’?

The day is young. You don’t plan on just sitting here drinking tea all day, do you?

Well, no, of course not. But I just don’t consider what I’m going to do next a ‘move’.

I guess in my line of work I’m just used to trying to stay one jump ahead of the competition.

And what is your line of work?

There was the briefest hesitation before he answered: Import – export mostly… and some other things to fill in the gaps.

One of the ladies approached with a pot of fresh tea that she set next to the woman called Angela, then went back to the kitchen and returned and set a cup and saucer in front of the man, filled the cup with steaming coffee and placed the carafe on the table. As she backed off, the woman who had originally taken his order returned, set a folded linen napkin down and arranged a knife, fork and spoon on it with one hand while expertly balancing the plates with his breakfast on her other forearm. She set the fruit plate down, then the smaller plate with the toast. She asked if there was anything else either of them needed, but they, mostly he, assured her they were all set. She, smiled, and backed off, leaving them with the admonition to just signal if they needed anything.

So what’s an import-export person doing in this backwater place? I thought they hung out in New York or San Fran or Hamburg or places like that.

Well, the big boys do. I work on a smaller scale, mostly around the islands and along the coast of the mainland. I work on the ‘buy low – sell high’ principle. I keep my eye out for things that they have a lot of in one place and not so much of in another place, and then I try to equalize the supply and the demand and take my cut for doing it.

It sounds like a lot of running around. Is it profitable?

It keeps me in pin money. How about you? he said, changing the subject, This isn’t exactly a big tourist destination, is it?

I write. I like my solitude, and I like to experience what I’m writing about.

So what do you write about? Looking at her with her apparent youth and freshness, he was thinking of those flaccid, feel-good short stories in women’s magazines or those titillating summer novels most women seemed to find so engrossing.

I don’t write ‘about’ anything in particular. I mostly write mysteries.

Well, Angela, what kind of mysteries could there be in an out of the way place like this?

Well, she said back, number one is you know my name but I don’t know yours.

The trim and fit stranger chuckled. Yeah, I tend to forget that part. It’s Vince.

For Vincent?

Yep, that’s it. But the rest isn’t van Gogh, if you’re interested.

By now she was, but not enough to ask. Not just yet, at least. She was curious about something else, though. Have you been here long? I haven’t seen you here before.

I just got here last night.

Last night? I didn’t hear any planes, and the ferry and the first bus don’t come until later in the morning.

Very good, he nodded, you’ve been here long enough to learn the local transportation schedules. But I don’t use the commercial stuff if I don’t have to. I have my own boat.

Must be nice. It must be a big one if you use it for importing and exporting.

It’s big enough to get me around the Caribbean by myself.

By yourself? Doesn’t that get a little scary?

It could – if I was dumb enough to go out in a storm or something, or if I was sailing straight across the Caribbean.

Straight across?

Yeah, like from here to Jamaica or from PR to Costa Rica or something like that.

Don’t you go to those places?

Occasionally, but not in one hop. It’s usually from one of the adjacent islands or something like that.

But still, if your boat is small enough that you can sail it by yourself, you can’t carry much cargo, can you?

It carries enough to make it pay. I tend to find small cargos that have a lot of value.

Her mind began churning as she mulled the possibilities. Was he a drug runner or a smuggler or something? This was not one of the bigger islands, and this wasn’t one of the biggest towns on the island, either. So why are you here? This doesn’t seem to be a town that does a lot of importing or exporting.

"Actually, I’ve got a few days until my next job. I like it here because it is out of the way. Isn’t that right, Julie?"

Angela looked up. One of the women had returned; a woman about her own age or maybe a little older; dressed in a peasant blouse with embroidered edging and a flowing batik-print skirt and with her black hair in braids coiled on top of her head. She was quietly waiting to be acknowledged to see if they needed anything else. The lady smiled broadly and nodded vigorously in agreement. "Oh, yes, Mister Vincent. We are very much out of de way! No t’ing ever happens here. Nobody come here unless dey sure dey want to!"

Well, this lady here wanted to. She thinks there are mysteries here, do you know that? Are you treating her nice?

Oh, yes, Mister Vincent. Best room in de house, t’ird floor, front right, as you know.

Yeah, that’s a good one. But have you fixed that leak in the doors?

Yessir. Andy, he fixed it de very nex’ day. No problem since.

Angela listened to this in silence. It was obvious that Vince was known here, but she was still uncomfortable with him. And even more so now that he knew where she was staying. And she still didn’t know his last name.

Well, you take good care of this lady. She’s a very important writer, you know. Needs her peace and quiet. And, Julie, put her breakfast on my tab, would you?

The woman assured him that she would as she smiled, nodded to Angela, backed away and left.

You didn’t have to do that, Angela said. I already have a tab here, with my room.

Don’t worry about it. Consider it a token of thanks for my not having to eat alone.

So, what was leaking up there? I didn’t see any sign of a leak.

It was the French doors going out onto the balcony. I was here during a hurricane and water was coming in around them. Got the rugs wet. So, what kind of mysteries have you uncovered here? he asked, changing the subject.

Angela paused a bit before she answered. Oh, I didn’t uncover any mysteries. I’m just trying to get a feel for the place so I can create a mystery here.

Well, what have you seen so far? Aren’t too many mysteries on this road. He swept his hand to encompass the scene before them.

She had to admit, this place seemed like most everyone’s ideal of the old colonial tropical village off the beaten path, where someone could live in peace and quietude. The hotel side of the road was lined with mismatched ancient stone buildings. Some were private residences, but most had a small shop of some sort on the ground floor with the owner’s quarters above or behind. Across from the hotel, the weathered, wooden home of a fisherman stood between the cobbled road and the bay. To the south, the road angled toward the bay until there was no more room for buildings and it was separated from the gravelly shore only by a swath of grass and patches of low shrubs. The commercial pier was down that way, where the inter-island ferry landed and where the fishermen unloaded their catches. A few small boats of varied age and condition were moored to floats on either side of the pier. The one small government building, necessary to process the inter-island travelers, stood at the foot of the pier. The road continued around the bay to the south, buildings gradually petering out, until it became a mere footpath winding tenuously around the craggy slopes that descended to the water’s edge. Beyond the hotel to the north the road continued to curve inland until it lost the shoreline and began to climb the close hills where small flocks of goats could be seen grazing. Angela knew that in the hills behind the hotel were other roads and paths and other buildings, but up to this point she had felt too timid to venture far off the main road alone. Vince seemed to be reading her mind when he continued without waiting for her to answer: I bet I can show you stuff that you could use in your stories.

What do you mean?

Well, I think it’s safe to say that you haven’t done much exploring off the main drag, have you?

No, not really. Is it safe?

It is if you’re with me.

She took a long sip of her tea as she analyzed what he had said. Did he mean it wasn’t safe if she was NOT with him? Was he talking about robbers or, she shuddered, rapists? Wild animals? Rough terrain?

He let the silence linger a while. Finally she spoke. So, are you volunteering to be some kind of tour guide or something?

Yeah, you could call it that, if you want me to.

But why?

Why not? What would you be doing if I hadn’t come along? Wandering down to the ends of the paved places and wondering what was beyond them? Poking your head into the shops and backing out when one of the ladies asked you a question? Watching the fishermen on the shore and turning away when they looked at you?

She felt her cheeks flush as she began to formulate an angry reply to his comments. But then she stopped herself. She realized that, in essence, that is what she had been doing since she had been here. The realization of how she must appear to others came as a shock to her. And, with the shock came the resolution that this was not her and would not be her. She was not a neophyte. She had traveled a lot, and most of it had been alone. Until Vince’s blunt assertions, she had felt that she knew her way around. She steeled herself as she deliberately placed her teacup down in the center of its saucer and locked her eyes with his. Okay, Mister Vincent, show me what you can do.

A brief flicker of surprise crossed Vince’s face, but he kept his eyes locked with hers as a smirk of a smile curled his lips. He quickly regained his calm demeanor as he slowly poured the last of the coffee from the carafe into his cup. He took a sip and set the cup down. Then he broke eye contact and reached for his Panama hat. The tension of the moment seemed to dissipate as he unceremoniously plopped it on his head. We’d better get going then, before it gets too hot.

Angela nodded and, reaching into the empty chair next to her, picked up her big, floppy sun hat and equally unceremoniously placed it on her head. She pushed her chair back, picked up her woven purse and looped the long strap over her shoulder. Vince smiled at her as they stepped away from the table and he took her arm in his and ‘helped’ her down the step to the road with exaggerated politeness. They shared a smile and silent chuckles as he waved to the ladies hovering around the bar in the covered part of the restaurant and started up the road. They didn’t look back, as they knew the women would be animatedly chattering over what they had just witnessed.

I’m assuming you’ve seen everything between here and the pier already, he said as the road steepened and they began to climb.

Yes. There are some interesting little shops there, actually. I’ve picked up several neat little things to take back with me.

So when will that be?

Angela acted as if she were concentrating on her footing for a moment while she considered how to answer his question. He had an engaging way about him, but she was still a little uneasy about the way he had approached her and sort of commandeered her attention. "Why do you want to know? she finally responded.

Well, if you’re leaving tomorrow I can’t show you nearly as much as if you are leaving next week or so.

How long do you plan on staying? I thought you said you had another job in a few days.

Yeah, but it’s a small thing. I just need to take something from here a couple islands to the north. If you had time, you could possibly come with me. You might even be able to learn a bit about sailing. I was thinking that has to be good to know for any mystery about the Caribbean.

Oh, so now I see your game – you latch onto lonely women in far-off ports and try to get them onto your boat and out to sea so they will be at your mercy, right? There was a hint of iciness in her voice, but also a mocking lilt that belied the seriousness of her words.

No, no… nothing like that, he said as it was his turn to figure out an answer. I just saw the way you were looking things over there at the restaurant and I thought you would like a little company.

How did you know I wasn’t with somebody?

Because you didn’t look like you were looking for anyone; you were just looking.

Still holding her arm, he gently guided her toward a rougher side road that branched off to the right up an even steeper part of the hillside. She looked up the new road, looked back the way they had come, then looked at him for further direction. He nodded, indicating the way ahead of him. The rougher footing took more of their concentration, and they could feel the temperature climbing as the morning sun topped the ridge and fell directly on them. The combination cut down on their conversation, but Angela did tell Vince that her stay was open-ended. She actually found the idea of a couple days’ sail to another island intriguing. By the time the slope lessened a bit, she had explained to him her usual routine: She usually did her background-gathering, as she called it, in the mornings when it was cooler and spent the afternoons writing on her laptop, either in the covered part of the restaurant or in her air-conditioned room, depending on the day’s temperature.

And in the evening? he asked.

Usually I have dinner in the hotel restaurant, a walk down to the pier, have a nightcap at the bar and then go to bed.

Sounds a little lonely, if you ask me, Vince noted.

Well, I’ve gotten to know the hotel staff pretty well, and even some of the shopkeepers and one or two of the fishermen. And there have been other patrons at the hotel, too.

Yeah, but most of the day you’re by yourself – not talking to anyone or anything.

Can’t be any worse than you being out on your boat alone. At least I can talk to someone if I want to.

So can I. All I have to do is pick up the radio.

It’s not the same.

Before the conversation got any further, Vince stopped her and indicated what seemed to be a small repair shop beside the road. The ramshackle building, open at the front like a lean-to, didn’t look as if it could stand up to a strong breeze, never mind a hurricane. An open work area in the front was shaded by a rough corrugated iron roof supported by mismatched posts made from tree limbs. The three walls were rough lumber of whatever size seemed to almost fit. Dusty, greasy parts from anything from lawnmowers to automobiles were everywhere. A sagging workbench held a collection of partially-disassembled small engines, tools and buckets of paints and solvents. The odors of smoke and hot metal emanated from a small forge behind a partition in back of the work bench. Everything was dingy and dark except the brightly-blossoming spread of bougainvillea that overhung the low shop. With his back to the newly-arrived visitors, a man crouched at a small anvil on a section of tree stump, attempting to straighten the rim of a bicycle wheel with a wooden mallet.

"Nicodemus, como esta?" Vince called as he strode over to the crouching man.

The man paused, turned and stood up. He was an older man, thin and wiry. His skin was the color of polished teak and he had close-cropped hair the color of ashes and a white stubble of two days’ growth of beard on his face. Shifting the mallet, he extended his free hand and smiled. Vince! You know I don’t comprende dat Latino gesprach!

Vince took the proffered hand and shook it warmly while patting the man heartily on the shoulder. Sure, Nic – I know there’s damn little gesprach you don’t comprende! So how ya been?

As the two men chuckled and proceeded to catch up on each other’s news, Angela walked to the other side of the road and looked around. She was surprised to see how high they had climbed. She almost couldn’t find the village until she looked straight down the hillside and saw the tops of some buildings among the trees. Once she recognized one as the roof of her hotel, she could follow the route they had taken to get up here. There were a few other buildings scattered along this rutted dirt road. Several were little more than shacks surrounded by board and barbed wire fences that encompassed bare dirt yards and small gardens. Chickens and thin, half wild dogs roamed about. She saw a couple of men in worn clothes come out of one of the shacks and head slowly up the road. They were both carrying machetes which even from this distance she could see were cared for better than anything else in sight. The men carried them easily, held by the blades between their thumbs and fingers, and the sun glinted from the polished metal.

The roar of a laboring engine caused her to turn suddenly. Coming up the road they had just ascended was an ancient Japanese mini pickup truck with three men jammed in the small cab and a dozen more seated in the open bed. As it chugged and rumbled up the road past her, the men eyed her – some quizzically and some smiling broadly and waving. On impulse, she smiled and waved back. This brought hoots and back slaps from some of the younger men. The laboring truck continued a couple hundred feet further and stopped at a wide spot in the road. The men piled out, greeted the ones who had been walking up the road, and dispersed into the cane field that stretched from the road to the top of the hill.

Angela, c’mere a minute! I want you to meet someone.

She looked and saw Vince, his arm across the smaller man’s shoulder, motioning to her. She forgot about the truck full of field hands and crossed the road toward the two men.

Angela, Vince said with what seemed to be genuine pride and affection in his voice, I’d like you to meet Nicodemus, a man who knows everything about everything. Nic, this is Angela, a mystery writer.

As they shook hands, Angela noted the sparkle in the man’s eyes as he said, Hmm… ‘mystery writer.’ Does dat mean you are a writer who is mysterious, or someone who is a writer of mysteries?

Angela laughed at the man’s warmth and sense of humor. Vince is right about one thing at least – you certainly know about words! Actually, the second sense is correct. I write mysteries.

Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Mystery Writer. Tell me, what have you written?

Oh, probably nothing you would know about. I’m not a famous mystery writer; not yet, at least.

Is dat so? Dat may surprise you. So what are de titles of some of your books?

Blushing a bit, Angela saw that the little man seriously wanted an answer. "I’ve just gotten a couple published so far and I doubt you would know of them. My first was Death in the Prairie, and then there was Death in the Outback, and then there was Death in the Sierras."

Really? You’re dat Angela? You have promise. As surprise registered on Angela’s face, Nic continued. "To tell you de trut’, I liked Death in the Outback de least. Maybe it was because dere were so few characters at de station. By de sixt’ chapter I had figured out dat young Mackenzie had done it."

Angela was amazed. This little man in this rundown fix-it shop in this tiny village on this backwater island had actually read her books! There was hope for her yet! Well, Mister Nicodemus, Vince seems to value your opinion, so tell me, how can I improve my stories?

Number one, I’m no Mister anyt’ing. If you want to talk, I am Nic.

Okay, Nic, do you have any suggestions?

Miss, I don’t offer suggestions, only opinions.

Then I have one for you too, Nic. No one has called me ‘Miss’ since I was a little girl. If you are ‘Nic,’ then I am ‘Angela,’ okay?

They laughed as Nic turned to Vince and said in a stage aside, Looks like you latched onto a fireball if you ask me, Vince. And turning back to her he said, De only opinion I have is dis: you take an ordinary situation and turn it into an extraordinary situation and people will read it.

Angela thanked him for his advice but inwardly she was puzzled. What did he mean by that? How could she take something ordinary and make it extraordinary? She would have to think about that.

Vince interrupted her train of thought by commandeering Nic’s attention again. Is the Big Man here, Nic?

Oh, yes, I almost forgot. He’s out back. He’s been expectin’ you.

Vince motioned Angela to follow him as he turned and headed toward the dim interior of the shop. Nic stood aside as they passed then went back to straightening his wheel rim. Angela was puzzled again. Who was the ‘Big Man,’ and how could he have been expecting Vince? What had she gotten herself into?

Holding her loose summer dress closely to herself Angela sidestepped carefully past the grease-covered workbench and followed Vince through the open doorway into the dim interior room. The first thing she noticed was the heat. She thought it had been getting hot out in the sun, but the heat from the forge instantly brought beads of sweat to her forehead. The slim, muscular young man working the forge stopped in mid-swing to look at them. Barefoot and stripped to the waist his body, even in this dim light, glistened with sweat. He had a sullen look about him as he silently glanced at Vince and stared at Angela. If her back had not quickly turned to him, she probably would have shivered under his gaze despite the heat. But her back was turned. As soon as they had entered, a voice from the very back of the room had called out to Vince and he had strode directly across the room toward it.

The voice belonged to a large man sitting on an old metal folding chair. Angela quickly guessed this was the Big Man Vince had come to see. Vince reached out and took her arm and moved her forward. Angela, this is Endymion Platt. Some call him ‘Eddie,’ but most just call him ‘Big Man.’

The man stood and extended a massive hand to shake hers. He towered over her and even overshadowed Vince by several inches. And he was not just tall, but big. As she shook the surprisingly soft hand, all she could picture was him somewhat younger as a tackle in the National Football League. His deep voice matched his size as he greeted her. Why don’ we step outside to talk? My boy here is easily distracted. Besides, you look like you could use a little cool drink by now, right, Miss?

This was one person Angela wasn’t going to argue with about his calling her ‘Miss.’ As he opened a door that she had failed to notice before and held it for her, she looked over her shoulder and saw the young man at the forge drop his gaze, pick up his hammer and begin to work the foot pump to build his fire up again. A cool draft of air hit her as she stepped out of the hot, dark workshop into the sunlight.

Eddie led Vince and her to a small but neat cement block house a short distance behind the shop. The walls were whitewashed and the trim was painted several bright colors. Even the low cement block wall around the small yard was neatly painted and in good repair, in sharp contrast to the workshop they had just left. They entered directly into the main room of the house, a combination living room, dining room, kitchen, and Eddie motioned them to a blanket-covered couch while he headed to the kitchen area. He returned quickly with three tall glasses on a tray and passed glasses to them before he took the remaining one, set the tray on the coffee table and sat down opposite them in a large easy chair. He took a large drink from his glass and smacked his lips with gusto. Drink up, he said, dere’s plenty more where dat came from!

Angela looked at her drink, sniffed and took a tentative sip. It was definitely not water or tea or anything else she would have expected. She looked around and saw the two men watching her expression, smiles on their faces. Something wrong, Miss? Eddie asked, You don’t like my Planter’s Punch?

Shocked, she replied, Oh! That’s what it is! No, it’s very good, thank you. It’s just not what I was expecting at this time of the morning!

T’ings are differen’ down here, Miss. Seems like you Americans are de only ones who worry about what time o’ day it is before dey have somet’ing to drink. Besides, wit’ us, rum is a major business, and we have to support de local economy, you know! He chuckled and inclined his head toward Vince, who was nodding knowingly in agreement. Angela also nodded and took another drink and set her glass on the table. She had to admit, it was a good.

Vince and Eddie caught up on their recent happenings while Angela sat there sipping on her drink and looking around. It was a tidy little home – bright and clean. Although she certainly didn’t know anything about Eddie, she felt sure there was a woman’s touch here. She was surprised to notice that her glass was empty. Hearing the hollow clink as she set it on the low table, Eddie broke off his conversation with Vince, rose and went to the kitchen and came back with an iced pitcher from the refrigerator and refilled everyone’s glasses. After returning the pitcher, he motioned for Angela to bring her drink and come with him. She rose and followed him down a short hallway and out the back door. There in the back of the fenced yard was a woman working in a tidy garden. She stood as they approached; wiping her hands on the faded print apron she wore.

Jenny, Eddie said as they neared, Dis is Angela, a friend o’ Vince’s. She might like to have some fresh air while Vince and I talk a little. With that, and no chance for Angela to protest, he turned and went back into the house.

As she shook hands and exchanged greetings with the lady, Angela realized that she was being shuttled out of earshot of the men. She wondered what they had to talk about that they didn’t want her to hear. She thought about her books. So far, they had been murder mysteries. Maybe she needed to expand her range a bit. She had a momentary uneasy feeling that if they didn’t want her to hear what they were talking about, it might be illegal.

So, Angela began, Does he do that often – dump uninvited guests on you?

Jenny laughed. Oh, no, usually de people he does most o’ his business wit’ don’t bring dere frien’s wit’ dem – unless dey are part of it, dat is.

But what is this business? I can’t believe that the repair shop work is so secret!

Dat? No, no! Actually, he likes to spend his time discussing de politics. He lets Nicodemus and Jonathan take care of most of de repair stuff now. Unless dere is some big engine part or somet’ing dat needs to be moved or somet’ing, he would rather talk politics and socialize with de customers. And of course he is still training Jonathan. He’s a good boy, but he still has two years to go on his apprenticeship.

Apprenticeship? Angela voiced her surprise. It didn’t seem to me that the shop was big enough to have an apprentice! As she voiced this, she was now wondering why a discussion of politics needed to be kept secret. In her experience, people generally liked an audience when they were espousing their political views.

Well, t’ings are diff’rent here, Angela. Everyt’ing is small. Even de fisherman in an open boat has an apprentice. ‘Course dey might not call ‘em dat, but dat’s what dey are.

Angela paused the budding conversation to take a swallow of her drink. Then she looked at her drink and looked at Jenny standing in front of her. I’m sorry! I shouldn’t be drinking in front of you! I didn’t think!

Dat’s okay, Angela. Eddie passes out drinks before people get seated mos’ times. He says it’s a sign o’ bein’ sociable. ‘Course it also makes a five minute visit turn into a half hour, but he don’ mind. Besides makin’ de Planter’s Punch, one t’ing he likes to do is talk. Dat mon can sure talk! Jenny smiled broadly and shook her head in a manner to show that it was not something you tried to correct – it was just something you lived with.

Angela tried as delicately as she knew how to ask the question that had been in her mind since her introduction to Jenny. So… do you work for Eddie too?

Jenny laughed again; even heartier than before. Dat’s a good one, Angela! Oh, yes, I work for Eddie. Day an’ night for more ‘n twenty years! Ever since I married that mon I been workin’ for him!

Now it was Angela’s turn to laugh. I guess that answers that question! I’m sorry if I was prying but, as you said, things are different down here and I just didn’t know.

Dat’s okay, dear. So you tell me now, are you married? Before Angela could speak, Jenny held up a hand and continued, No, you can’t be, ot’erwise, why would you be runnin’ ‘round wit’ Vince, you know?

Actually, I’ve just met Vince this morning.

Dat so? Hangin’ out by de fishin’ pier, were you?

No, I was just having breakfast on the veranda of the hotel and he came up to me.

Jenny stroked her chin as she pondered this. Dat’s like Vince. He keeps pretty much unattached. I t’ink he likes his freedom. He seems to come and go at all kinds of differen’ times, day an’ night. But when he decides he wants some comp’ny he goes and looks for it. Oh, he’s nice enough, though, don’ get me wrong. I don’ t’ink he’s a mean mon or anyt’ing. When he’s bringin’ his little tours around, he’s really nice. And he takes care of ev’ry one, not just the ladies, you know.

He does tours? Angela asked, a little surprised at this revelation. Even the short time since she had met Vince she would never have pictured him as a tour guide.

Oh, yes. Not regular, though. I t’ink dey are mostly on referral or somet’ing like dat. He can only hold six, eight people on his boat.

Have you seen his boat?

Sure, an’ I’ve actually been on it a couple times. Nice one, an’ he keeps de bar well stocked.

What’s it look like? He says he can sail it by himself. I can’t picture a big sailboat anyone can sail alone.

You come wit’ me, den, Jenny motioned as she began walking toward the front of the fenced yard. If he is in his usual spot you can see it from here.

Angela downed the rest of her drink and hurried to catch up with Jenny. They made sure the gate in the wall was closed behind them (Keeps de goats out o’ the garden! Jenny had pointed out.) and re-crossed the road. Standing on the edge of the steep hillside, they could see most of the bay spread out before them. Again, Angela was a bit disoriented until Jenny took her elbow and pointed off to the pier on their left. See dat two-masted boat de other side o’ de pier? Dat’s his.

Angela looked where Jenny was pointing and found the boat. From this distance it didn’t seem to be all that big. It looked classy, she thought. With its dark green hull and beige top works it stood out from all the white-hulled boats around it. Can he really take eight people plus himself on a tour on that?

Yes. I t’ink when he has a full boat of eight though, he has to give up his cabin and sleep on de deck. Good t’ing it never gets cold here!

What about when it rains, though? You get lots of rain, right?

He’s got dose deck awnings den. Besides, de rain here is warm, too. An’ if it gets really bad he’s not goin’ out in it anyhow.

Oh, so dere you are! A booming voice from close behind startled them. They turned to see Eddie and Vince coming toward them. We t’ought you mighta taken off to town for a shoppin’ spree or somet’ing! Eddie continued. I’m t’inkin’ Angela might need some more Planter’s Punch by now, eh?

Angela looked at the empty glass in her hand. Hmm… she thought, Two Planter’s Punches and it’s not even ten o’clock yet. What a day this is going to be! Unfortunately, those two drinks had already begun to affect her as she grinned and held out her glass.

They all, including Jenny, went back across the road and into the house. Eddie re-filled Angela’s glass and topped off his and Vince’s. Jenny waved him off but opened the refrigerator and came back with a bottle of fruit juice. They sat and exchanged pleasantries. Angela told them about her Caribbean research so far. She had been island hopping for about three months, trying to see as many places as possible and gathering ideas. Eddie expressed just enough interest in her talking about her writing to seem the proper host, but Jenny actually seemed interested. She thought it must be interesting to travel to strange places and meet so many different people. She had never been farther away from this town she had been born in than the islands they could see on the horizon.

Before they realized it, the morning had passed. Jenny, after Vince had looked at his watch and commented on the time, had jumped up and insisted they all stay for lunch. Vince, however, thanked her and begged off, saying he needed to get to work. They rose and said their good-byes. On the way out, Angela noticed that Vince was now carrying a wooden box about the size of a loaf of bread. It didn’t seem to weigh much as he tucked it under one arm and cradled it there with his elbow. In the road, he and Angela waved to Nicodemus and Eddie and Jenny and headed back down the road. Further up, the field hands, gathered in the shade of their truck for lunch, watched them go.

Angela found the way down easier than the way up, but the Planter’s Punch still made her footing a little unsteady. Between the drinks and the temperature, she was unabashedly sweating by the time they got to the better road. As a concession to the heat, Vince had taken off his blazer and tucked that under his arm with the package. Just as the road turned back toward the village, he stopped her. Pointing, he indicated a foot path that went downhill in the opposite direction. Angela looked a little puzzled but nodded as he helped her through the ditch at the side of the road and led the way down the narrow path. The path wound between blossoming shrubbery and saw grass and they were soon cut off from any views or sounds of the village. Vince led the way carefully down the winding path for about five minutes until it came out on a small cove. Most of it was ringed by a narrow sandy beach. Palms shaded the portion they were standing on, but the foliage devolved to shrubs and grasses toward the rocky outcrops that protected the cove from the open Caribbean.

Angela was taken in by the beauty of the place, but she was also confused. Now what? she asked as Vince began to head toward the water’s edge.

It’s hot. I thought you might like a swim.

But I don’t have my suit with me! Angela stammered. It was probably good for her that the alcohol had fogged her thinking to the point that she didn’t consider the position she could be in.

Neither do I. Is that a problem? Vince said as he set his package on the sand and carefully folded his linen blazer and placed it on top of it. He carefully set his Panama hat on top of the pile and then bent to untie his deck shoes.

Angela watched him, unsure and confused. As he tucked his socks into his shoes and began to unbutton his shirt she spoke up, You turn your back now, okay? I’ll tell you when you can turn around.

Vince obediently turned his back to her and the water and continued to unbutton his shirt. He folded it and stood there until he heard splashing, then he carefully placed it on the ground and finished undressing. As he made his way to the water he saw that she was swimming toward the entrance to the cove. He chuckled inwardly and felt sure that she hadn’t always been facing away from him. Wading in until the warm water was above his knees, he made a shallow dive. He kicked his feet and took several strong strokes before he came back to the surface. He had covered about half the distance between him and Angela. He saw her looking around, then waving when she spotted him. He had to admit, the water was refreshing compared to the mid-day heat and humidity. He rolled on his back and lazily backstroked to one side of the cove then rolled and turned and did the crawl to the other side. He saw Angela treading water, watching him, then turning and starting to swim further out between the protective rocky outcrops. He stopped and called to her, Be careful out there. It drops off pretty quickly – plus, there’s a swell running that can get a little disorienting if you’re not used to it.

Angela was swimming out into the water beyond the protecting outcrops encircling the cove. She was doing a slow crawl, enjoying the exquisite sense of freedom, feeling the mobility she had and the caressing touch of the water on her naked body. As she heard Vince voice his warning, she suddenly felt herself falling between two swells. They caught her by surprise. From the shore, everything had seemed calm. Now she swirled in the water trying to find the land she knew had to be close by. She could see nothing but water and sky! She ducked under the water and could not see the bottom any more. Suddenly, the water seemed not only darker, but colder. Panic began to set in and she started to thrash in a circle trying to find some point of reference. Then, just as quickly as she had been borne into the between-swell trough, she felt herself being lifted and the land came back into view. She quickly got her bearings and turned to swim back into the cove. Her panic abated as she passed between the close promontories and the water flattened out again. Safely back into the calmer waters, she waved at Vince, dove and angled to the opposite side of the cove. As she swam, her panic went away and she again became attuned to the sensations of the water on her bare skin. She swam, dove and floated for almost half an hour, enjoying the exhilaration and serenity the water provided. As she did so, her comfort zone expanded and the invisible line that had separated her from Vince disappeared. As he languidly swam or floated in the cove he let her be the one to approach. When at last she did, they began to swim and dive together, exploring the underwater formations and pointing out to each other the different types of fish that came into view. Finally, too soon it seemed, Vince pointed to the waterproof watch on his wrist. They reluctantly left the water; together, walking unconcernedly across the warm sand to their piles of clothes. Angela stopped there and stooped to gather her things, but stood up again as Vince kept going, heading toward one of the ridges of bare rock. Where are you going? she asked.

You don’t want to put your things on while you’re still wet, do you? I’m going over on those rocks for a few minutes until I’m dry.

She could see the logic in that. She followed him to one side of the cove and began climbing the rocks behind him. It was only fifteen or twenty feet to the top and the way was easy enough, even in bare feet. Vince stood on the highest rock, letting the warm breeze dry his body. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to give it some semblance of order. He reached down and took her hand and helped her onto the rock beside him. She also stood there, arms akimbo, shaking her head so her long, brown hair would catch the little bit of breeze. From where they stood they could see most of the bay and the other islands. A small headland separated them from the village itself, ensuring their seclusion. To the north, the coast diminished in the distance as it curved toward the end of the island. After several minutes of silently watching the circling sea birds and the far-off fishing boats, they felt dry and refreshed. Vince suggested it was time to go. She voiced agreement and took his proffered hand to step down from her perch. They easily made their way back to the warm sand and over to their clothing. When they got there Vince said, I see you’ve been to the French Islands.

Angela looked around, confused, wondering how he could have known that. Then she looked down. Except for the pale triangle low between her hips, the rest of her body, including her breasts, was an even, mellow tan. She felt a brief flush cross her cheeks as she almost involuntarily looked at his naked body. He, too, was deeply tanned except for a brief band around his hips. Unlike her, though, even there he had some tan, showing that this was not the first time he had been out in the sun without a bathing suit. He looked even more trim and fit than he had when clothed. She admired his broad shoulders and washboard abs. She was relieved to see that he apparently was not thinking about sex, but then she blushed as she realized that she was. To cover her brief embarrassment, she responded petulantly, Well, I see you are no stranger to them, too!

I’ve been there, he replied evenly as he picked up his pants and shook the sand out to step into them. A lot of the places I sail to don’t have any ‘dress code’ at all. Many of them are uninhabited.

Angela nodded and grunted at his answer. She noticed that he had put his pants on commando and had surreptitiously tucked his briefs into his pants pocket. She felt a tingling thrill as she decided to followed suit, throwing her sundress over her head and quickly tucking her underwear into her shoulder bag. She stepped into her sandals and picked up her sun hat, smiling and feeling a bit naughty. When they were both dressed again, Vince picked up his package and said, C’mon, if we don’t get back soon they’ll close the restaurant on us.

They were soon back on the main road and headed down toward the hotel. As they walked, they talked about the islands they had been to. Angela had been to several, mostly the more popular ones. This one was the furthest afield she had been. She was more interested in hearing about the places Vince had been. He had been sailing among the islands for several years and in that time had been to most of them. He had been to the Bahamas, the Dutch islands, Trinidad and Tobago, even Cuba. There are ways, he had explained. As long as you are not coming directly from the States it’s actually not that difficult.

They were now coming into the village itself. Angela felt a lightness in her step as she avidly listened to Vince tell of his Caribbean exploits. She looked around and saw several villagers pursuing their daily tasks. Some stopped and looked at them as they walked by. Part of Angela secretly hoped that her thin, summer dress was not thin enough that anyone could actually see anything, but then another part hoped they could. It was well past the usual lunch time when they stepped up onto the hotel’s veranda. No one was sitting directly in the sun, but there were a few couples at tables under the awning that covered part of the veranda and a few more in the dining room that adjoined it. Vince led Angela to a table for two in the dining room. It was next to a low stone wall surmounted by a stone arch. As Angela took off her sun hat and set it on the wall next to her, she wondered how she must look – her hair still somewhat damp and stringy. The salt water hadn’t helped, either. She didn’t see the ladies of the restaurant staff share whispered, knowing comments before one of them hurried over with menus. Vince scanned the offerings and quickly ordered the grilled drum and pasta salad for both of them. You want some of the hair of the dog? he asked.

Huh? Angela reacted in surprise. Oh, you mean another drink? On, no, that’d be the death of me! Can I just have an iced tea?

The waitress assured her she could and when Vince seconded Angela’s choice, she hurried off to place their orders. Whenever drum is on the menu, I order it, Vince said by way of explanation. I’ve never had a bad piece, no matter how they cook it.

That almost seems to be a staple down here. Everywhere I’ve been it’s been on at least one of the menus. I’ve had more things here that I never would even have thought of ordering back home.

Where is home? Vince asked, adding sugar to the iced tea that had already appeared in front of him.

Angela also added sugar to her tea and stirred before answering. Here he is, she thought, asking those personal questions again and I still don’t know jack about him. I grew up in Wisconsin, she replied after taking a sip of her tea, but I went off to college in New York State and really haven’t been back since.

Oh, got seduced by the bright lights and the big city, did ya?

Oh, no, I wasn’t in New York City. I did get there a couple of times, but it wasn’t for me. Heck, Milwaukee was almost too much for me! I’m not a farm girl, but I had friends who were.

So why didn’t you go back?

By the time I went to college it was just my mom and me. Dad had passed away when I was young and I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. I got a job in Boston after I graduated, but the next year mom died and that was it.

I’m sorry to hear that, Vince said, reaching across the table and gently squeezing her hand. Angela flinched at first, but then relaxed as his hand lingered on hers and then withdrew. She felt that he had really meant what he said, almost as if being left alone to face the world was a shared experience. That gave her the impetus to continue:

Thanks, I – I guess I was fortunate that rural Midwesterners are a frugal lot. My mom had money in the bank and that, with the sale of the house, gave me enough of a cushion that I decided to try my hand at writing. I guess I lucked out, because I worked part-time until I got my first book published about two years later and then the second one the year after that. Then I figured I had enough coming in that I could just write fulltime and do the traveling and research stuff I needed to do to make my writing better. I do have another book coming out in a couple of months, so this trip is getting me the background material for the next one.

Vince was doing some mental arithmetic while she had been talking. So you must be about thirty, right?

I’ve been thirty, Angela answered, smiling. I cut some of the boring stuff out of the timeline, but yeah, that’s a reasonable working figure. How about you, Vince? Don’t take me wrong, but just with what you’ve told me so far I figure you can’t be anywhere near thirty!

Vince leaned back and laughed; the first time Angela felt he had dropped his façade. That’s a good one! Nope, I haven’t been thirty for a number of years. But you’ve got to remember, sun and salt air can age you prematurely.

I didn’t say you were old! I just know you’re older than me, that’s all!

Well, you’re right. If it’ll help you, I turned thirty when Clinton was president.

So, that narrows it to a decade! You’re not going to tell me?

Nope, not now.

Just then, they looked up to see their waitress approach with their lunches. She set the plates in front of them and asked if they needed anything else. Angela looked into Vince’s eyes and spoke. Remember that hair of the dog thing? He nodded. They have a pretty good Chardonnay here that they keep chilled for me. I’m thinkin’ it’ll go good with the fish. When Vince nodded his assent she asked the waitress for two glasses of her ‘special’ wine. The waitress chuckled and said she’d be right back. Angela finished her tea and set the empty glass aside. She looked again at Vince before she began to eat.

You know, Vince, you’re a helluva mystery yourself, but I think I could grow to like you! His mouth full of food, Vince didn’t answer, but raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. Angela realized that was probably as much of a response as she could expect and shifted her concentration to her lunch.

The broiled drum was, of course, delicious. The dollop of mango salsa with it was an excellent counterpoint to the mild flavor of the fish. They agreed that the pasta salad was also excellent. There were some vegetables in it that Angela didn’t recognize, and she also realized that Vince wasn’t used to commenting on his food. He was one of those people who just ate it.

They begged off on dessert and sipped the remainder of their wine after the table had been cleared. Looking over the harbor, Vince pointed to a darkening of the southern sky. We’re gonna get some rain this afternoon, it looks like. Not surprising, as hot as it’s been today.

Angela looked at the band of dark gray clouds rapidly approaching. She could see that the fishermen and others in the village had also noticed and were heading toward shelter. You know, she said, That reminds me – I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower to get the salt off me. Want to come up to my room?

She hadn’t considered the abruptness of her request until she noticed Vince’s momentary look of surprise. He recovered quickly, though. Yeah, that’s a good idea. I’d have to put this stuff back on, but it’ll be better than walking around all crusty-feeling.

"What makes you think I was inviting you to take a shower?’

A look of surprise and puzzlement came to Vince’s face. Angela thought she had actually embarrassed him, but before he could compose an answer, she reached out and officiously patted his hand and chided, "I was only kidding, Vince. You know what I meant. Are you finished?’

He nodded and downed his