Page 80 of Beach Reads and Deadly Deeds

“Bertha from down the street said you’re looking for a private taxi. She saw you headed my way. She understands English, doesn’t speak much. So, I figure you come to me to ask.”

I showed her Diana’s photo on my phone. “Did you see this woman on Sunday?”

She didn’t answer my question. Instead she said, “Kids who want to make a quick buck off tourists aren’t going to work the docks. They’d be run off by the cops and charter companies.”

“Where are they? Another dock?”

The woman laughed. “They have don’t have a license. They move around.”

“I need to find who took this woman to St. Claire on Sunday.”

The stranger stared at me long enough to make me squeamish. Was she lying to me? Trying to con me? Get me to pay for the information? Hell, at this point I’d give her near anything.

“You see anything you like?” she asked, her hand spread to encompass her small, enclosed shop.

Yep, money.

I walked through the crowded shop. Mostly junk—odds and ends, no organization, prices triple what they should have been. I truly panicked when I overpaid for anything.

But money talks.

I saw a bright turquoise shirt with a mermaid lounging on a rock, wearing sunglasses.I swam with the mermaids, St. John, US Virgin Islands.

My Grams would love it and wear it. It wasn’t really wasting money on the tacky shirt if Grams got use out of it, right?

The woman smiled and pulled out a handheld card reader. I handed her my credit card. She rang up the purchase, put the shirt in a bag, and handed it back to me.

“Crusty over at Fish Bay sets up special trips,” she said.

“Where is Fish Bay?”

“Down the hill, turn left at the yield, walk a mile, then up the hill, it curves around, then—”

“Do you have Uber on the island?”

“Better.”

She whistled so loud my ears rang, then raised her arm straight in the air. She was leaning so far on the edge of the balcony, I thought she’d fall over the railing.

A tall, skinny kid on a bike with a rickety-looking seat attached rode up to the door. The seat didn’t have a seat belt. I pictured my body flying off a cliff because he’d lost control.

“My grandson, Jorge. Twenty dollars.”

I handed her back my card. She rang it up. I’d thought it would be safer not having cash on me; now I wasn’t so sure.

Certain I was going to plummet to my death on a narrow, winding road, I reluctantly climbed into the seat and held on tight as Jorge headed down the hill toward the main commercial area. I slumped down to avoid being seen by CeeCee, but when I looked back at the restaurant deck and the bright umbrella she’d been sitting under, she and her guest were gone.

I sat up and glanced around. “You know we’re going to Fish Bay, right?” I said, because this wasn’t the direction his grandmother had pointed out to me.

“Yes,” he said. “This is faster.”

Fastwas relative. We got stuck behind cars as they navigated through pedestrian, bike, and vehicle traffic in the main part of town. I’d made a huge circle, I realized, as the police station was to my left, and the dock where the ferry dropped me off was to my right. I pulled a visor out of my bag as the sun beat down on me; the only thing keeping me from heat stroke was the cool ocean breeze.

Jorge made a few quick turns that had my life flashing before my eyes, but then we were on a road with trees and bushes growing on both sides, interspersed with small houses, restaurants, and clearings where I could see the water.

It was pretty and more authentic than the ritzy St. Claire, but rougher around the edges.

We slowed down again as pedestrians crossed in front of us heading to the beach. The sun sparkled on the still bay, sailboats heading out or returning.