Shadow of a Doubt: Butterfly Island Mysteries, #3

By Cheri Baker

"Welcome to Butterfly Island! Enjoy our sandy beaches, sapphire blue waters, and achingly beautiful sunsets. We can't wait to welcome you to the safest and most relaxing destination in the Caribbean…"
 
Kameron Achebe has always valued her strength and independence. As a teenager, she dreamed of competing with her country's Olympic tae kwon do team. And when her hopes were crushed by those closest to her, she ran, determined to find happiness on her own terms.

A decade later, Kameron and her boyfriend Paul are settling down on Butterfly Island to prepare for the arrival of their first child. After a shocking revelation about Paul leaves Kameron hurt and angry, matters go from bad to worse when she's accused of using her martial arts skills to murder a local bully. For her future, and for the future of her family, only one thing matters now. Can she prove her innocence beyond a shadow of a doubt?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Adventurous Ink LLC
• Release date: Mar 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781952200212

Cheri Baker

Cheri spent her formative years hiding under the blankets with a flashlight, reading everything she could get her hands on, but especially books by Stephen King, Judy Blume, Agatha Christie, and Mercedes Lackey. Her experiences in management inspired her first novel, Involuntary Turnover, about an HR manager turned private investigator. Cheri lives in Seattle with her husband of 18 years. She's working on her fourth novel.

Book preview

Chapter One

KAMERON ACHEBE CARRIED HER COFFEE into the living room to await the sunrise. Across the street, above the brightly colored bungalows that housed her sleeping neighbors, palm trees formed a dark fringe against the slow-brightening sky. She sipped slowly to avoid burning her tongue and watched as the dusky blue backdrop lightened. Stars faded away. Clouds that had been only a dim smear in the darkness became a peaches and cream swirl, signaling the arrival of a new day.

Kameron loved mornings, especially the hour before sunrise when the rest of the world lay sleeping. During her years working security aboard the Adventurous Spirit, she’d volunteered for the dawn watch as often as possible. Her morning rounds had taken her down the cruise ship’s narrow, blue-carpeted hallways, up the stairs, forward and aft, and around the outer decks, one at a time. Solitude was difficult to come by working on a cruise ship where more than a thousand people worked shoulder-to-shoulder. Yet there was always quiet to be found in the early morning. The bungalow she shared with her partner Paul Gumbs was a half-mile from the sea, but watching the sky was similarly soothing. Some days, the sky was as clear and smooth as a sheet of glass. Other days, thunderstorms gathered. Yet every day there was a job to do. And wasn’t that life?

Kameron hadn’t always been an early riser. When she was ten years old, living with her parents in Nigeria, and studying tae kwon do under her mentor, Master Obasi, he’d suggested she begin each day with twenty pushups at sunrise. When she’d asked him why the hour mattered, he’d favored her with his secret smile, the one that said she was asking good questions.

Every morning we decide who we want to be, he’d said. And in doing difficult things on purpose we find our strength. We’ll need that strength when life becomes difficult.

Master Obasi had been right, and that’s why she rarely neglected the habit. Even now, in the final weeks of her pregnancy, she began her day with stretches and a bit of yoga.

Before long, her coffee cup was empty, and her bladder was screaming bloody murder. She tried to stand up. Only this time, like a rocket with insufficient thrust, she hovered at the height of her arc before falling backward onto the couch cushions with a squeak of protest.

She felt ridiculous.

For Kameron’s entire life, movement had come as naturally to her as breathing. When she wanted to stand, she stood. When she wanted to kick, her leg snapped out as fast as a cobra strike! She’d honed her physical form into a natural extension of her will. Now, though?

She was tired. Exhausted. Short-tempered! Not at all her normal self.

She hurried toward the bathroom with her spine erect, resolving not to waddle. Kameron Achebe did not waddle. Nor would she complain, at least not out loud. Incubating a human took energy, and she was determined to be a good sport about it. Still, she was struggling more than she’d expected. Once upon a time she’d disarmed a violent felon after an open-water swim in the ocean, hardly breaking a sweat in the process. Now she felt winded standing on tiptoe to reach the popcorn maker!

Go easy on yourself, Paul had counseled. Pregnancy is temporary. That was fine advice in theory, but what he didn’t understand was that without being able to train, her anxieties built up like lime scale in a coffee pot. How could she relax if she couldn’t move?

I wish I could go for a nice, long run.

She did the necessary and washed her hands in the bathroom sink. Thankfully, her reflection in the mirror revealed nothing of the turmoil she felt. Paul had enough going on without her whining in his ear about what couldn’t be changed.

By day, he was busy training the police department’s new officers along with managing his own caseload. At home, he’d been nesting like a fussy magpie, selecting only the finest fluff and sticks for the baby’s nursery. He’d painted the walls twice after declaring the first shade of green ‘too noisy’ for a developing infant. The night before, he’d spent an hour arranging stuffed animals on the shelves he’d installed above the crib.

She smiled at the memory. They were both nervous in their own way. Excited too. Until the baby arrived, they were like runners on the starting line, bristling with eagerness, waiting for a starting gun that refused to go off.

Six more weeks! As far as preparations went, all that remained was the baby shower everyone insisted she have. Raquel was handling all the details, thank goodness. Already, she was dreading it. Everyone would ask questions she didn’t have the answers to, and they’d want to touch her belly. They’d expect her to be clever and smart and full of motherly patience, right from the get-go.

It was too much pressure.

Sadly, Paul’s mother Tianna wasn’t coming to the shower. No matter. In a few months, they’d fly to Jamaica to see her and Paul’s brother. Babies were extremely portable. It would be a mistake to let parenthood slow them down. If they wanted to travel, they’d travel. And if she wanted to work…

Kameron bit her lip as she headed into the kitchen. The cost of childcare would easily eclipse what she could earn in Butterfly Island’s tourist economy. She’d known that, on some level, but after six months without a job, her ‘time off’ was starting to feel like an endurance trial.

Once I have the baby, those mommy instincts will kick right in. Maybe then I won’t miss work so much.

She fished her athletic shoes from beneath the dining table and laced them up, tying the knots by feel. So many women floated through their pregnancies on a cloud of euphoria. Many even claimed that they loved being pregnant.

Were they lying? Were they high? As hard as she’d tried, she didn’t get it.

Guilt splashed her like frigid water. Quickly, she ran her hand down her belly, sending a surge of love at the baby like a blown kiss. It wasn’t the kid’s fault she was so anxious. Could he sense her frustration?

You’re not even born yet, kiddo, and I’m already messing up.

After breakfast and yet another trip to the bathroom, she looped her blue canvas shopping tote over one shoulder, pocketed her keys, and headed into town on foot.

A walk will do me good.

Outside, cool morning air brushed past her bare shoulders, and she breathed deep, enjoying the salt-scent of the wind as it rushed islandward from the Caribbean Sea.

Underpants flapped on a line in Mr. Appleton’s backyard, big and white like flags signaling surrender. He was a widower who mostly kept to himself, but he’d come over a time or two to offer them eggs when his girls had been extra busy as he put it. His plump brown hens ignored her as she strolled by. They were busy pecking the deep green grass in search of bugs to tide them over until breakfast arrived.

Their new neighborhood had a healthy mix of retirees, families with kids, and married couples. Slowly, they were getting to know the people on their street.

A dog barked eagerly in the distance. Paul was desperate for a puppy, but she wasn’t quite ready for that. His enthusiasm was melting her resolve, though. Possibly for Christmas?

She headed for the sun-dappled path that began just outside the neighborhood’s entrance. According to Marnie Bliss, the farmer who delivered their weekly produce box, locals had carved these trails simply by walking them. Gradually, volunteers had added signage and wooden benches for comfort and to keep the tourists from wandering into the jungle.

Three sharp honks sounded behind her.

Kameron. Hey! Kameron! Come back!

She turned. An older-model red pickup truck sent belches of exhaust into the air. Alan Wick was behind the wheel. He peered at her from beneath his tattered black ball cap. His freckled nose was peeling, and his teasing grin matched the amused glint in his eye.

Why in the heck is that husband of yours letting you walk around town in this heat? Get in, love! I’ll give you a ride.

Kameron bit back her first response. What she wanted to say was that the weather wasn’t hot by her standards and that Paul wasn’t her husband. Mostly, she wanted to retort that Paul didn’t ‘let’ her do anything.

She forced a smile. Thanks. But I’d rather walk.

Are you sure? I have air conditioning. He slapped his dashboard with a meaty hand. The plastic hula girl dangling from his rearview mirror shimmied wildly.

I’m positive.

Alan’s forehead furrowed, and his gaze drifted down to her belly. Of course it did! The further along she was into her pregnancy, the more people treated her like she was incapable. You know if you ever need anything, you can call me, right? I’m just a few minutes away.

She shaded her eyes with her hand. Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.

Silence hung in the air like a fart that wouldn’t dissipate. Why wouldn’t Alan leave? Did he expect her to change her mind? She wanted to turn toward the blessedly cool wooded path, but if she did, would he think she was being rude?

People already think I’m antisocial. They don’t say so to my face, but I can tell. They get a bug up their butt any time I decline an invitation. Like it’s personal. Which it isn’t!

I guess I’ll let you go then, he said reluctantly.

Have a good one. Thanks, Alan! She waved, turning away with relief. Gravel crunched beneath the truck’s tires as he pulled onto the road.

Beneath the trees, shade flowed over her body like a spotted cloak. Birds twittered and shouted at one another overhead, lobbing greetings or insults across the canopy.

She smiled up at them.

Stringy vines climbed a tree trunk nearby, their flower buds closed tightly in the morning shade. She took her time, placing her feet carefully on the path, enjoying the scent of dirt and growing things. She paused at a pair of initials carved into the smooth bark of a particularly fat trunk.

MB + JO Forever

Her finger skimmed across the old wound, tracing the shallow letters. Were those two still together? It might sound cheesy, she thought, but now that she had a family and a home, she couldn’t help but want everyone else to have one too.

She snorted. Yes, even tree-defacing punks.

The shaded paths were full of tiny discoveries. One morning, she’d seen a family of rabbits watching her cautiously from the entrance to their warren. Another time she’d bumped into a family of tourists who’d managed to get lost on their way to the laundromat. They’d carried their baskets of dirty clothes right into the woods!

She hadn’t mentioned these walks to anyone. Perhaps that was wrong, but everyone needed privacy. Time to think and to be. She liked to imagine that this little scrap of nature was hers and hers alone. If she told people about her daily walks, they might want to come along. If they came along, they’d fill the air with their talking and drown out the birds.

Paul worried she didn’t have enough friends on the island, but she didn’t need a big group of friends to be content. So many of the locals seemed eager for any scrap of gossip about her and Paul. New arrivals provided a form of entertainment, she supposed, but sometimes the questions felt intrusive. It wasn’t too difficult to imagine her answers being passed around like hot stock tips, her personal thoughts and feelings turned into someone else’s entertainment.

No thank you.

Her calf muscles stretched happily as she picked up speed. The trail crested, wove through a cluster of shaggy palm trees, and descended steeply toward the town center, ending abruptly behind the parking lot that served the general store.

She checked her watch. Thirty-four minutes. Not bad! Already, her grouchy morning thoughts were receding into the depths of her mind like a bad dream, ready to be forgotten.

At the store, she grabbed a basket and headed to the produce section in search of cherimoyas, the sweet, strange looking fruit that Paul loved. Covered in green scallops like dragon scales and full of poisonous black seeds, the flesh of the cherimoya tasted like a cross between a pineapple and a banana. She’d just tucked two ripe fruits into her basket when an abrasive female voice snagged her ear like a fishhook.

Did I tell you what Hannah did to me yesterday? Ugh! That woman has serious emotional problems. Honestly, I’m worried about her.

Chapter Two

KAMERON GLARED DOWN AT HER basket. Stupid cherimoyas! They’d lured her into the tightest corner of the produce section, and now there was no escape. She was pinned between a massive display of ripe bananas and Zelda Price, the nastiest, cattiest woman on the island.

Someone had left a push broom propped up nearby. Kameron eyed it, then considered the height of the fruit tables. They weren’t tall so much as they were deep. What were the odds she could successfully pole vault over the bananas?

The mental image of Paul shaking his head ‘no’ brought her back to reality. Pregnant women shouldn’t drink alcohol or eat shellfish, and they probably shouldn’t perform acrobatic leaps in the grocery store.

She’d sneak past instead.

Kameron kept her back to the two women. Taking tiny side steps, she began to edge past them.

Zelda kept on blathering. So, I was sitting there on the park bench, minding my own business, when Hannah came flying at me like a rabid cat.

As Kameron cleared the bananas, her elbow hit something soft. An orange bounced up into the air like a tennis ball! She snatched the rogue fruit out of the air and lowered it slowly into her basket.

Fine. I’ll buy you. Just be still.

The coast was almost clear! The women’s strollers were in the aisle, but there was a narrow opening, a dusty linoleum path that led directly to freedom and the cash registers.

My Trina was on the swing, Zelda said, and she’d caught her skirt on a chain. So, she was crying, you know, because that’s what toddlers do.

Sure, Zelda’s friend replied.

Kameron stepped into the small gap.

"But high and mighty Hannah decides that I’m neglecting my child. So, she screams at me, demanding that I get off my phone and unhook Trina’s skirt before it tore! And she was furious. Totally unhinged."

Yikes! What was wrong with her?

Kameron rolled her eyes. Most of the young moms on the island seemed to fit a certain profile, one she didn’t much care for. She’d met Zelda at the community health clinic a few months prior. Zelda was there for a well-baby visit. She’d been there to attend a birthing class. At first, Zelda had been very sweet. She’d been full of questions about the baby, their move to Butterfly Island, and she’d asked a lot of questions about Paul.

The next time she saw Zelda, what she overheard shocked her to her core.

"Kameron’s situation is just sad," Zelda was saying to her companions. "I hate seeing a woman go through motherhood alone. Of course, not every guy is as responsible as my Matthew."

What a load of crap that was! Zelda knew full well Paul was a police officer. She knew he’d been upset about missing birthing class that day, but he was helping the victim of a crime, and he was needed at the office.

That’s when Kameron had learned the truth.

Zelda Price was a nasty little troll, and it seemed most of the other new moms on the island were content to take part in her trash talk.

The worst part had been how Zelda reacted when she’d been caught. Did she look embarrassed? Did she apologize? Of course not. She’d shrugged. She’d shrugged!

Kameron’s hand tightened on her basket. Even now, the memory stung like lemon juice on a fresh paper cut. She’d been proud of herself for going to those classes on her own, for being strong when Paul wasn’t able to be there. Nasty Zelda Price had knocked her legs out from under her. Now she was holding court in the produce aisle, spreading lies about someone else.

I guess Hannah’s the kind of mom who freaks out every time her kid scrapes a knee, Zelda said, "but she had no business telling me how to raise my kid."

The other woman spoke. Did I ever tell you what she said at the flea market? Her husband is a real piece of work, and anyway–

Kameron felt a wave of relief as she stepped past. Freedom was within reach. Past the mounds of fresh vegetables, and through the delectable dangers of the potato chip aisle, sunlight shone through the grocery store’s front window.

Zelda screeched like a vulture who’d just spotted a dead raccoon on the highway. Kameron! Is that you?

With a heavy sigh, she turned, bracing herself for hurricane Zelda.