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It pained me—physically hurt me—to see a book in such distress. I picked it up, and though the lower right corner was completely missing, the cover was still intriguing—clearly a romantic thriller with a man and woman on a speedboat flying through the water while being pursued by men in black on a bigger, badder yacht.
Intriguing.
I read the back cover, noted the book was written by a debut author. In addition to the partly torn cover, the pages were gritty and slightly expanded, as if someone had left the book in the bathroom while taking a long, hot shower. Normally, I’d never read a book in such a sorry state, but it was the only story that spoke to me, and I neededsomethingto read.
“Excuse me,” a female voice said.
I glanced up, but the woman wasn’t speaking to me. She hailed the clerk, who was straightening a display.
The clerk went to help her, and the guest complained that she couldn’t purchase something without charging it to the room.
“We’re not set up to take cash or credit,” the clerk said.
“That’s ridiculous,” the woman snapped.
I tried to ignore the rude woman. I took a selfie with the book I’d read on the ferry for my review, then left it on the table.
“Look,” the woman said. “I need to buy something and my boyfriend can’t know about it, because it’s asurprise, understand?”
She spoke so nasty to the clerk that I wanted to intervene. As I was about to lend the clerk moral support, a man of averageheight, dressed in an impeccable summer suit, entered the shop and immediately said, “Ms. Morrison, follow me, and we’ll get this taken care of to your complete satisfaction.” He motioned for her to join him, and Ms. Morrison said, “Thank you, Tristan. I should have come to you first.”
I grabbed postcards for Grams, Amanda and Jane, Mr. Cohn, and my neighbor who was caring for Nick and Nora, my cats. I brought them to the counter and said, “Are you okay—” I glanced at her shirt “—Trina?”
She smiled. “Yes. How may I help you?” I figured she must deal with difficult guests all the time.
I showed her the postcards, and she provided stamps, all of which would be charged to my room. “There’s a box in the lobby where you can leave them—the mail goes out to St. John every afternoon—or bring them to me and I’ll see to it.”
“I saw a newspaper on St. John.” Slight fib. I saw it on the boat. It was now in my purse. “There was an article about a missing woman, Diana Harden. Did you know her?”
Trina didn’t say anything for a beat, and I had this sense that she was going to lie. “I don’t think she came in here while I was working. But I’m sure she’ll turn up.” Then she smiled her Stepford Smile and rushed over to an older man who walked into the shop.
Okay, I supposed it wasn’t professional for staff to chat about missing guests with current guests, but that was weird.
I stepped out of the gift store half hoping the super-hot demigod was standing there waiting for me.
How may I serve you today, Ms. Crawford? Shall I bring chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne to your room? Would you like a private massage? Lavender lotion or vanilla?
I sighed, envisioning his hands working my sore muscles into complete bliss... but he wasn’t standing there pining away for me. Such was my life. I pushed him to the back of my mind (not too far back) and checked in. I declined the escort but accepted the resort map. The clerk—Henry—had helpfully circledmy room, a separate cabin north of the main lodge, down a trail that led to other private cabins.
“Have a lovely week with us, Ms. Crawford.” Henry was as cheerful as Trina and the boat captain and everyone else who worked here. Pleasant on the surface, but with a hint of... of what? Like they all had a secret.
I thanked him and headed down the path that led to my cabin.
The resort was built at the eastern base of a steeply sloping mountain. Hiking trails marked with names like “Tiki Walk” and “Siempre Viva Vista” meandered away from the main area. A carved arrow pointed toward an eerie path darkened by a canopy of huge fanlike leaves dripping with sea grapes. The dark serenity drew me toward the forked path. The left headed up the mountain with a wooden sign that read “Hot Springs.” To the right, a flatter, narrower path framed with vine-covered trees was labeled “Luz Luna Bahia.” Both looked inviting.
The resort was a maze, and the main path curved around to the beach on the opposite side of the lodge. As my cabin came into view, voices broke the silence. A loud female voice said something indiscernible. Then a male said, “Keep quiet.” They came from above one of the many paths that cut through the mountains.
Shielded only by the palm trees and flowering bushes that marked the stone path, I froze. One step forward and they might see me. Which wouldn’t mean anything, right? Just walking to my room, don’t mind me, continue with your argument...
I looked up. Partially obscured by the palm leaves, Amber Jones’s bright yellow hat stood out among all the green.
So shehadbeen meeting someone here. One point for Mia, the amateur sleuth.
Enola Holmes, eat your heart out.
I couldn’t move. If I continued to my cottage, they’d see me and think I was eavesdropping.
Amber was arguing with a man who was probably her boyfriend. Or husband. Or maybe a married man she was having an affair with. Or a serial killer...