She got her wish. Independence Day festivities, just over, had increased her patient load. The newly arrived medical students, unruly as the ones before them, demanded far more than their fair share of attention. Not only did she have to help them in the classroom, but she was constantly needed to reassure angry landlords who wanted to kill the kids or sue their parents, whichever turned out to be simplest.
Her life developed a tedious rhythm. She worked. She slept. She ate. Now and then she had dinner with an old friend, but knowing she was not good company, she soon gave up on that. She had heard nothing from Manny and assumed that he was off-island on one of the mysterious trips which often kept him away for months at a time.
Now, suddenly, somehow, it was nearing the end of May.
Carnival wasn’t until August, the students had settled down, and fewer tourists than usual demanded her time. She even found herself with a whole weekend to spend sitting on her balcony. The postcard perfection of St. George’s and the Carenage provided her with a backdrop for a too-long-delayed replay of the happenings in her life since December.
Mostly, her mind was not so much filled with questions, but rather with answers she was loath to accept. For one thing, she was sure now that Frikkie—who had not so much as called with a trumped-up apology for the events at San Gabriel—didn’t care if the rest of the Daredevils were killed. In fact, though she had no proof, she suspected that he had been instrumental in killing Arthur.
Worse yet, thinking back to that night in New York almost five months ago, she remembered that Ray had gone to the restrooms a little while before Arthur. Ray was a demolitions expert. It would have been easy for him to rig a bomb in the toilet, wait for Arthur to enter, and then detonate it by remote control.
That would place Ray Arno squarely in cahoots with Frik.
But why?
What she needed was someone to talk to about all of this, someone she could trust completely.
With Arthur dead, that left only Manny. She would have called his home to see if he was back in town, but he eschewed telephones and refused to have one in his house. His message center was Aboo’s, a bar owned by his father.
Since she was tired of her own company and her circular thoughts, around sundown on Sunday she left her house to find him.
Accompanied by the sound of church bells, she walked past the Parliament building and through the marketplace, abandoned this late in the day to island dogs and stray humans picking through the wilted leftovers of Saturday’s traffic. Rather than struggle over the hill on Young Street, she cut through Sendall Tunnel to the Carenage. Grenadian drivers weren’t known for their caution, and the narrow hundred-year-old passage under the large hill provided little room for error. She walked at a brisk pace, hugging the stone wall. Then, safely through, she slowed to stroll along the Carenage, enjoying the sounds and smells of the compact waterfront.
When she passed the new Cable and Wireless building, she crossed the street to Aboo’s Bar.
The small, run-down blue shack doubled as St. George’s Grand Central Station for a certain class of people. Though Peta had chosen never to ask Manny about it or to explore it herself, rumor had it that there was a dark room behind the bar which had served—still served—as the meeting place for everyone from murderers and ministers to government officials and their underage mistresses.
The bar itself was small and utilitarian. Manny was behind the counter, relieving his father of Sunday-evening duty. He grinned broadly when she entered and instantly pulled out two cold bottles of Carib from the ice chest, one for each of them.
“Looking good.” He kissed her on one cheek, then the other, and handed her a bottle.
Peta smiled. “I’m glad to see you too.”
“You come all this way for a beer or—”
“I need to talk to you.” Peta drank deeply, hot after her long trek.
“So talk.” Manny waved at the empty bar. “Crowd won’t hit till after church.”
Peta settled herself on a worn barstool and lit a cigarette. Manny took it from her. “You gotta stop,” he said, inhaling deeply. Peta nodded and lit another.
“You’re hopeless,” Manny said.
“Probably.” She flicked into a piece of misshapen aluminum that passed as an ashtray. “There’s so much…I’m not sure where to begin.”
“The last time I saw you, you were headed up the hill in San Gabriel,” Manny said.
“Right. I was off to save Simon.”
“Did you?”
Peta shook her head. Like someone who had lost her place in a good novel and found it again, Peta was off and running. She told him about finding Simon and about the attempt on her life. “Blaine got the artifact. If the sharks didn’t get him, I assume he made it to the exploration platform and, eventually, back to Frik,” she said.
“So you think Frikkie has it now?” Manny asked.
“Absolutely.” She crushed her cigarette, reached for another, and thought better of it. Twirling the pack around like a top, she filled in Manny on her convictions about Frik and her suspicions about Ray.
Manny put his hand over hers to stop the nervous mannerism. “I can’t believe Ray would do anything to hurt Arthur, so let’s talk about Frik,” he said. “Correct me if I’m wrong here. You’re saying Frikkie has two pieces of the artifact, one that he had in the first place and the one Simon died to retrieve. The same one Blaine took from you. And you’re saying that you think Arthur died because of the piecehe had—which the police took to their evidence lockup. Have you tried to retrieve that one?”
“Yes. I’ve called NYPD countless times. They’re not ready to let go of it. The good part is that they’ve assured me they won’t release it to anyone else.”
In San Gabriel, Peta had told Manny that she had a piece of the artifact, yet neither one of them added the obvious: if Frik knew she had it—and if her theories were correct—he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her for it when he was good and ready to do so. Now, Manny verbalized his fears for her safety. “We know he’s unscrupulous,” he added, after a short pause.
“Believe me, I’ve thought about that a lot,” Peta said. “I think that I’m safe, for the moment.”
“Why?”
“Because it suits his purposes. We talked before about the possibility that Frik was the person who had Arthur killed to get at the artifact. We know for a fact that the killer didn’t get it. My guess is that Frik called NYPD, said he was Arthur’s closest friend, and asked them if they had it.”
“In which case,” Manny said, “they would have told him that they had guaranteed to hand it over to you when they’re done with the case.”
“Yes, so his best bet is to make nice to me and try to regain my confidence so that he can talk me into giving him both my stone and Arthur’s.”
“I have to think about this.” Manny stared through the open doorway, as if simply looking at the sea would provide answers. “Oh shi-yit,” he said. “Trouble approaches from all sides.”
Peta followed his line of vision. Out on the horizon, she saw the masts of theAssegai .
“Maybe he’s come to apologize.” Manny’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“Apologize for what?” Ray asked, filling the doorway with his muscular form.
“Here’s the other trouble I saw,” Manny said.
“I got here yesterday. Didn’t your father tell you?” Ray shook Manny’s hand and hugged Peta. She froze, not knowing whether to shrink from his touch or hug him back, the way she had always done. He looked at her strangely, but said nothing.
“My father didn’t say a word.” Manny handed Ray a beer and Peta a second. “Better get a refund on your bribe. How much was it?”