“Simon’s in San Gabriel. He hasn’t gone down—in the water—again yet. The weather’s not been conducive. Too much rain, too many currents stirring things around.”
“You shouldn’t let him—”
“Let him? May I remind you again that he’s an adult. What he chooses to do is his own business.”
There was obviously no point in arguing with the man. None at all. “I’d like to see him,” Peta said. “I think I’ll head out to San Gabriel for a day or two. I could use the rest.”
“What about McKendry?”
“Terris is a long way from full recovery, but he’s doing well. Barring unforeseen complications, the hospital can manage fine without me. When they think he’s ready, they’ll send him on to rehab. He won’t need me for that, either. If they have to reach me, they can call me in San Gabriel.”
Something in Frik’s expression told her that this was the last thing he wanted her to do. For whatever reason, Simon’s dive was of enormous importance to him. Well, that’s just too bad, she thought. It was not only a man who had to do what a man had to do.
Leaving Frik at McKendry’s bedside, she went outside for a smoke. It was the last American cigarette she had brought from New York. From now on, it was back to the local 555s, which were milder and cheaper anyway. I’ll give up again soon, she told herself, lighting up. After having given them up for three years, she had fallen into old habit the night Arthur was killed.
“Got another one?” Saaliim asked.
Peta jumped. “Didn’t know you were here, and no, this is my last one.”
She handed it to him and they shared it the way they would have shared a joint.
“I’d like to go to San Gabriel this afternoon.” She waved away the end of the smoke. “Think you can take me there?”
He drew on the butt, then crunched it underfoot. “I have to take Mr. Frik to theAssegai, ” he said. “After that we maybe go to the site. Mr. Frik say maybe Mr. Brousseau come dive today. Maybe not.” He looked up at the sky. “Maybe later it storm.”
“Could be.” Eighty-four degrees. Humid. Sultry. Not a cloud to be seen. A tourist would have laughed, she thought. “Is Manny on island?”
“I think so.”
“Good.” Peta glanced at the Hummer beyond them in the physician’s parking lot, unsurprised that Frik would feel it his right to park there. “I’ll get my things and make arrangements with the charge nurse. Don’t leave without me.”
When she was ready to leave the hospital, Saaliim was half asleep behind the wheel of the car. Frik paced impatiently back and forth next to it.
“One more minute and we’d have been out of here,” he said.
Peta didn’t answer; in fact, she said little en route to Frikkie’s dock, and only waved a passing good-bye as Saaliim turned the Hummer around.
To her delight, the first person Peta saw at the dock was Manny Sheppard, inevitable Carib in hand. He was clearly happy to see her.
“Hey, beautiful. What’s up?”
She hugged him. “You first, Manny. What’s up with you? Which way you headed?”
“Which way you want me to head?”
“I need to get to San Gabriel.”
He motioned toward his small steel-hulled freighter. “Come. I’ll take you there. I got a load of supplies headed for Grenada. San Gabby’s a quick stop on the way.”
She had known Manny since childhood, as well as anyone could ever know him. He was the sort of person with whom you could never quite tell what was real and what he was making up on the spot. He’d been running boats up and down the Caribbean since he left the OECS Security Forces. What was in the boats he sailed around was always an open question, though no customs officials had ever found any evidence to back up their suspicions.
“So what you want in San Gabby?”
“I’m looking for Simon Brousseau.” She felt a sudden stab of anxiety. “He hasn’t gone diving today, has he?”
“Not so far as I know. Simon be probably resting up in San Gabriel, making the lovely ladies happy,” he said.
Peta had no idea how many lovely ladies might be hiding in the small fishing village close to the drill site, nor did she care. If the choice was diving or diddling, sex was certainly the less life-threatening option for Simon.
They sailed through a seascape dotted with rock outcroppings and headed toward the Dragon’s Mouth—the narrow channel separating Trinidad from the Venezuelan mainland. San Gabriel was actually a small island off the coast of the Chaguara Peninsula, the northern spit of land pointing from Trinidad toward the body of South America. It was one of a half dozen towns that made most of their living from not-so-rich Americans and Europeans who wanted to experience diving and sport fishing, but couldn’t afford the big resorts and charters.
As many times as Peta had made the journey through the Dragon’s Mouth by sea before, she was still taken by its jagged beauty. Distracted, wanting some escape from the endless worries about Simon and Terris that ran through her mind, at first she only half listened to what Manny was saying.
“…So Paul Trujold, he…You listening to me, Peta?”
“I’m sorry, Manny. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “But you need to hear this.”
Manny repeated what he had been saying. When he had finished telling her about Paul Trujold, about the real purpose of Simon’s dive—to retrieve a piece of the artifact that was wedged in an underwater cave—she thought of the pendant that Arthur had given her and started to put the facts together. If there was any real basis for what Manny had told her, she could come to only one possible conclusion.
“My God, Manny. Are you sure? Because if you are, chances are Frik is responsible for Arthur’s death.”
“How so?”
“Arthur had a piece of the artifact. He always kept it on him. Frik could have seen it and put out a contract—”
“Yes, but you told me you saw the piece with Arthur’s body.”
“I did. It was covered with blood and—”
“So you say maybe the killer—”
“Missed it. Yes. It’s possible, what with the police and so many people.” She stopped. “God, Manny. If it’s true and I don’t get to Simon—”
Manny pointed at a speedboat. “That’s one of Frik’s boats, the one Simon’s been using.” He maneuvered between a small fishing boat and the powerboat tied up to the village’s makeshift pier. When he was up against the dock, he asked, “Want me to stay here with you?”
“I can handle things.”
Without arguing, Manny tossed her duffel and medical bag onto the wooden dock, helped her out of the boat, and blew her a kiss. She watched him reverse into the channel, and waved him onward. Turning to face whatever awaited her in the village of San Gabriel, she trekked to the top of a minor incline.
In the only bar in town, which was also its only hotel of sorts, Peta met the owner—a handsome, charming Venezuelan who introduced himself as Eduardo Blaine and kissed her hand with far too much enthusiasm and spittle for a rank stranger.
“I am a friend of your Mr. Van Alman. He called to tell me you were on your way and told me to take care of you.” He held on to her hand for more than a moment too long. “I am proud to welcome you to my establishment. Your room is ready for you. It has a spectacular view.”
“If I could have that back.” Peta withdrew her hand. She would like to have said that Frik was far from being her friend, but instead she asked after Simon.
“He is in his room,” Blaine said.
“Please tell him I wish to see him. I’ll wait at the bar.”
“He, um, he is—how shall I say it—not quite alone.” Blaine winked blatantly, as if at a co-conspirator. “He did not wish to be disturbed.”