Page 34 of Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds

to go riding on a bike to the other side of a foreign island with a stranger, following taxis to the isolated areas where

she had no business being.

I was a financial planner who read too many mysteries. I was reading way too much into Diana’s disappearance. It could have

been an accident.

Sure, she was “accidentally” strangled with her own scarf.

Maybe her notes had nothing to do with blackmail.

But someone stole the book.

It was too late to back down now. I wanted to know what Sherry was doing.

And, to be honest, I was having fun.

The nice thing about St. John—at least from my perspective on the back of a foot-powered bike following a gas-powered vehicle—was

that the roads were narrow and crowded, and no one drove fast because of the sharp turns. Jorge lost sight of the taxi a few

times, but he wasn’t deterred from our pursuit, and always caught up with it—usually because the taxi was stuck in traffic.

Then we were in the open near the top of one of the hills, where three roads came together. All around were lush green trees

and bushes, and I couldn’t see the ocean.

The taxi had parked near a food truck, but Sherry wasn’t inside. Dammit! What could she be doing here? There weren’t any businesses

in walking distance except for the food truck.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Jorge. “I shouldn’t have had you come all the way here.”

“It’s fine,” he said, though he sounded tired.

“It’s probably too far to go to Fish Bay now,” I said.

“No, that road—” he pointed “—all downhill to Fish Bay. You ready?”

“Yeah—oh, wait!”

Sherry walked out from behind the food truck. With her was a wiry-looking man with dark hair, sunglasses, and a moustache.

He looked rough and edgy, or was that my imagination filling in blanks?

Sherry held out an envelope, which he took and immediately pocketed. No, not suspicious at all, handing an envelope to a strange

man in the middle of St. John. She yelled at him, her face firm, angry, determined. He stood there and took it, his expression

unchanged. He nodded as she went on a rant, then he said something to her. I couldn’t read lips. That would have been a very

useful skill.

Sherry strode back to the taxi, and the driver left.

“We done?” Jorge said.

“Yeah,” I said. As discreetly as possible, I took a photo of the strange man. He retrieved the envelope from his pocket and

pulled out a thick wad of cash. He counted it, nodded to himself, and pocketed the money. He tossed the envelope in the trash

can outside the food truck, then went inside the truck, closed down the sides, and a minute later drove off.

“Do you know him?” I asked Jorge as he started pedaling in the opposite direction.

He shrugged. “No, miz. The truck? Sí. It’s a, um, business with many food trucks.”

I leaned back and wondered what Sherry Morrison was up to... and if it was going to hurt Brie.

Fifteen minutes later, Jorge emerged from a winding but downhill road to a flat area with a view of a small, narrow bay. Jorge

pulled over under a large tree in front of a business that looked like a house with a sign that read “Fish Bay Fish Tacos.”

“Crusty’s here,” he said. “Best food, cheap.”

“Um, can you wait for me? I can pay you when I get back to your grandmother.”

“ATM,” he said, and pointed to a sign in the window that blinked ATM in red.

“Okay, I’ll get cash. Can you wait?”

He smiled, put his feet up on his handlebars, and leaned back on his seat.

I entered the restaurant. No AC. A long counter separated the kitchen from the dining area, which was dotted with small, mismatched

tables. Several people were eating, and no one looked like a tourist.

“What’dya haven?” The young girl spoke quickly, stringing her words together and pronouncing having as haven .

I looked at the handwritten menu on a chalkboard. Two items had already been erased for the day.

“Four special tacos? And um, two water bottles?”

I didn’t know what was in the tacos, but the place, though too hot, smelled delicious.

The girl called out the order and rang me up, placed two small water bottles on the counter. The water cost more than the

tacos.

“I need to talk to Crusty.”

I was really hoping that Crusty wasn’t the scary-looking man behind the counter who was currently making my tacos.

“Yep.”

That was all she said.

“And is he here?”

“Nope.”

“Where can I find him? Jorge’s grandma—” I said when I realized I hadn’t gotten her name “—told me I could find him here.”

“Yep.” She handed me back my credit card.

“When?” I asked, getting exasperated.

She shrugged. “He’s on de boat now, twenty minutes? You want me call ’em?”

“That would be great,” I said.

The cook hit a bell, and the girl reached back for my basket of tacos without looking. I took them to the ATM and withdrew

two hundred dollars—Crusty might want money for information. Then I went outside, which was decidedly cooler than indoors.

I climbed onto the seat of the bike cart and handed Jorge one of the water bottles, two of the tacos, and two twenty-dollar

bills. He’d earned every dime.

“Gracias,” he said.

I ate my tacos. They were fresh and delicious.

We were parked on the uneven base under a huge mampoo tree, its trunk thick and roots breaking through the ground in multiple

places between us and the inlet. It was quite nice, I thought as I watched the boats. Jorge drained his water and leaned back,

closed his eyes, his hat partially covering his face.

I didn’t know what to do other than wait and reflect on what I’d learned—which was not much, to be honest. I’d come here to retrace Diana Harden’s steps.

.. and only learned that CeeCee was having lunch with a girlfriend, and Sherry Morrison had given a shady-looking man cash.

I still didn’t know why Diana had come to St. John or what she did while she was here.

I hoped I could get back to St. Claire with enough time to shower and change for the sunset cruise.

Put all this unproductive sleuthing on the back burner and enjoy the evening with Jason.

A thrill went down my spine remembering how he made me feel.

.. I deserved him, didn’t I? I deserved a night to let go and not overthink everything.

“There,” Jorge said, interrupting my daydream. He motioned toward the inlet. A kid was scrambling up the rocks from the shore

below. A fishing rod protruded out of his backpack, and he struggled to carry a large ice chest.

“That Crusty,” Jorge said.

Crusty went into the restaurant. A minute later, the kid came out without the ice chest and climbed next to me on the cart,

getting into my personal space. He couldn’t have been more than twelve.

“I’m Crusty,” he said. “You?”

“Mia,” I said automatically.

“You need a ride?”

I pulled out my phone and showed him the photo I had of Diana Harden. “Do you know if someone took her to St. Claire on Sunday?”

He looked at the picture, and I couldn’t read his expression.

Then he said, “Fifty.”

“Fifty what?”

“Fifty bucks.”

“For?”

“I’ll tell you who took her back.”

He could be scamming me, and it would be my fault if I lost my money, but I had a feeling...

I only had twenties. I handed him two and said, “Forty. No bullshitting, okay?”

He pocketed the bills and said, “I took her.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you lying to me?”

“Nope. She paid me two hundred to take her, and fifty to not tell anyone. I kept my mouth shut. But I heard she got dead.”

“You should have told the police.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t kill her.”

“And you took her to St. Claire.”

“Yep.”

“What time?”

He shrugged again. “Don’t know. Sunset? My ma was pissed ’cause I got in after dark. I ain’t supposed to be on the water at

night. But two hundred fifty bucks? Sheee-it. It was worth the whoppin’ I got.”

“And you took her to the dock?”

He hesitated.

“Crusty, this is important. Did you take her to the main dock, or did you leave her somewhere else? Maybe meet up with another

boat?”

He was looking at my small purse slung crossways over my body.

“No more money,” I snapped. “Do you want me to tell the police about a kid named Crusty who scams tourists?”

He frowned, but Jorge laughed. “She’s cool, Crusty.”

“Please tell me,” I said firmly.

Crusty sighed. “She wanted to go to Ethan Valentine’s private dock on the south side of the island.”

I wasn’t expecting that answer. “Seriously?”

“Yep, not lying to ya. I left her right there on his dock. Swear to God, it’s the truth.” He made the sign of the cross.

I believed him. He had no reason to lie.