Mysteries In We Islands

By Ed Teja

Tropical islands, clear, clean water, white sand beaches — images of tranquility. Yet, even there, bad things happen — even murder. But investigations require a different touch in the islands and aren’t handled much like the way they are in bigger, louder, confusing places.

Includes: Death of a Sandman, Sweet Death, and The Missing Skillet

~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~

The sand was packed down harder where the gentle waves of the Caribbean Sea rose up and relentlessly pounded it, compacting it. It was cooler to walk on, soothing on the feet after the blistering white sand down to the water.

Johnny Cliff stared out to sea, at the unusual heavy fog that lingered for the second day.

"It's enough to make you think it's an omen," the tall man next to him said.

"So England must be a place of constant omens," Johnny laughed. "You certainly get fog there all the time."

"Not the fog, just the combination of things today. You tell me the morning fog is unusual, yet there it is, and here we also have a dead body. A man is found lying dead on the beach and appears to have been murdered. You told me that murder is uncommon here on the beautiful isle of Kayakoo. That's quite a coincidence."

"First you say it's an omen, now it's a coincidence. All that Scotland Yard attitude of hurrying from one idea to the next doesn't let a man digest any possibility completely. You gonna tire my brain out before lunch, Ralph."

Ralph chuckled. "Well, since I'm on vacation and you are the investigating officer that's the way things ought to be, you being the one getting worn out."

Johnny nodded at the spot up the beach where a small crowd had gathered to watch Doctor Mitchell examine the body. A constable stood with his hands behind his back looking official. "Well let's go see if maybe the doctor can tell us something about this Sweet death."

"Sweet death?"

"The dead man's name is Sweet. I imagine he has a first name, but I'll be damned if I recall anyone using it. He's a boat builder. Or was. I can't see him building any more. And now I gotta get to work, find out if he got done in by an omen or a coincidence."

"You might want to focus on who did him in, rather than what."

"If it was a someone." Ralph's puzzled look made Johnny smile. "I telling you, when there is a murder on the island it's usually pretty plain what happened."

"The view I had of the body seemed plain enough. Let's go see if the doctor has an opinion."

"You just wanting to chat with our fine-looking doctor again."

Ralph looked embarrassed. Johnny loved digging into his British reserve. It offered him scant protection. "I won't say that I'd object to talking with her more."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boruma Publishing LLC
• Release date: Apr 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463167311

Book preview

MYSTERIES IN WE ISLANDS

ED TEJA

Three gentle Caribbean mysteries

Death of a Sandman

Sweet Death

The Missing Skillet

Float Street Press

Copyright © 2020 Float Street Press

All rights reserved

DEATH OF A SANDMAN

Johnny Cliff looked out over the white beach, taking in the crystal-clear water. It was a shame, really. The view had been ruined. Now the dead man lay on the sand where the waves broke, his body jerking with each incoming wave. The corpse did not belong on this idyllic beach.

Johnny let out a long breath, forcing the muscles in his neck and shoulders to relax. Then he turned his attention to the doctor standing barefoot on the beach. She bent over to examine the body, going over it pretty thoroughly. He was grateful. She didn’t like doing police work. She thought her job was to keep folks alive, not figure out how they died; but she was the only doctor they had, and it reassured him to see her being so professional.

When the tiny woman stood up, Johnny went over to her. He died from drowning, Mr. Cliff, she said. I want his body in my clinic and I need to run some other tests. I’ll send blood samples to Barbados for toxicology tests, but I’m guessing he died from drowning.

Johnny stared down at the body; the skin was all wrinkled and bloated. He’d never seen a drowning victim before and it wasn’t pretty. So, he drowned… he mused.

The doctor clucked at him. Now I didn’t say that at all, Mr. Cliff and you won’t be putting your words in my mouth.

You said he drowned.

I said I think he died from drowning. If I am right, he might have drowned, or he might have been drowned. I'm thinking that a policeman should be the one what knows the difference.

Johnny Cliff raised an eyebrow. Murder wasn’t common on the island. Violent crime reared its head once in a while, but it was mostly domestic disputes and it was hard to remember the last time they got anyone killed. More people died from accidents. He hoped this was one.

It’s hard to tell for certain, Doc Vantage said. The statistics say that men are four times more likely to drown than women. This man been floating in the surf for a time, crashing into rocks in deep water before washing back on the sand. He’s bruised up pretty good.

But you are suspicious?

She nodded. I’ve seen some fishermen who drowned, accidental-like and washed up on shore. But they had a different look to them. Plus, I’m seeing some marks on his throat that don't quite fit in with him just getting caught in the undertow. They make me think someone might have held him underwater long enough to make the drowning happen.

They couldn’t be from someone dragging him up on the beach?

The doctor snorted. So, you think a person sees a body floating in the shallows and they go grabbing him by the neck? She shook her head.

Having no answer, Johnny turned away. The body would go to the clinic and he wasn’t going to find anything on the beach. The tourists were all over it already. And if the man had been tossed in the water around rocks, then any clues would be wherever that was, not on the hotel beach.

He walked back to his office letting his mind play with the few facts; see if he could figure a place to start looking.

Wylami, his secretary looked up as he came in. Mister Henderson was in early. Someone killed his dog the other night—chopped it with a cutlass. He is hopping mad.

Everybody hate that dog, Johnny said. "Mean old thing. Shouldn’t have been killed though.

Somebody chopped it good.

Did he file a report?

She scowled at him and he remembered that Henderson couldn’t read or write. I filled one out and made him put his mark on it, she said. It’s on your desk.

Johnny nodded. He took off his glasses and grabbed a tissue from the box on Wylami’s desk. As he started cleaning the lenses, she glared at him.

There’s a Mister Sprately from the hotel in your office, Mr. Cliff, Wylami said. He been waiting nice and patient for a time. He seems like a pleasant man. She smiled as she spoke of him. Johnny thought she had the nicest smile he’d ever seen. She didn’t let him see it often though. When it faded, he smiled at Wylami, straightened his tie, and went in the office to meet Sprately.

Sprately was a detective, a Dutchman the hotel chain had sent over to solve a rash of petty crime that was pissing off the tourists. He hadn’t met the man yet, and this seemed like a good time. As the head (and only) police officer, he’d be expected to keep Sprately advised on a murder that took place on the hotel’s beach.

Sprately turned out to be friendly and about Johnny’s age, which surprised him—he’d expected an older man.

They don’t send the seasoned pros to small resorts like this, Sprately laughed. They work the posh places in Europe and Asia. The beach resorts get the new kids who are sent out to earn their bones chasing down maids with sticky fingers and bartenders who are running whores.

And what brings you to my office?

He gave a sheepish grin. To discuss a possibly missing person and a reported robbery.

Possibly missing?

Sprately smiled. "You have to take such reports with a grain of salt when you are dealing with people on holiday. What