Authors: Joy Connell
“Captain Juarez said he’d leave the passport in his desk. In the drawer.” Riley gestured to the side drawer where he had shoved her passport. She didn’t think it necessary to include the part where he had locked the drawer and kicked her out of the office. This clerical worker didn’t need to know that. “I understand you wouldn’t want to get in trouble for doing something he wouldn’t approve. But it is my passport, my name’s on it, I know where it is. I’ll make sure the Captain knows you were just doing your job.”
“Just doing my job?” The woman looked from Riley to Millie.
“Yes.” Riley was warming to the subject. “We”—she gestured toward Millie—“never want to see anyone get in trouble. Believe me, we’ve had some tough bosses in our time and we pull for the underdog.”
“You believe I am an underdog? That Captain Juarez is my boss? That I am afraid of getting in trouble?” The woman’s diction matched her appearance, elegant and clipped and regal.
Millie had moved closer to Riley and was digging an elbow into Riley’s side. She was muttering something under her breath but Riley ignored her. “I’m sure being a secretary to someone like Captain Juarez can’t be easy. He seems, shall we say, a bit volatile.” Millie groaned but Riley kept talking. “And unhinged.”
The woman laughed out loud and Millie covered her face with her hands. “What?” Riley demanded of them both. “I’ve met the man, he can be tough.”
The woman took a key ring from near the door, moved to the desk, opened the drawer, and removed the passport. Riley held her breath and her hand itched, ready to reach out and receive it, her ticket out of here. After studying her only way out of this country for a moment, the woman put it back in the drawer, slammed it hard, and relocked it with a resounding
click
. She folded her hands and raised her brows at Riley, waiting.
“That’s mine. Give it back.” Riley cringed. There she went again, sounding like a third-grader whose jump rope had been stolen on the playground.
“This whole matter is under investigation and, as such, the passport will remain where it is for the time being.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Yes, she can,” Millie cut in. “I tried to stop you. I recognized her after a few moments. This is Celone Juarez, the captain’s wife. And the magistrate here.”
“No, sir.”
Damn
. If her snappy comebacks got any more profound, she might be promoted to the fourth grade playground. Dumbfounded, Riley looked from one woman to the other. “So, you’re married to Captain Juarez?” Both women nodded. “And you’re the justice of the peace, the judge, whatever it is they have around here?” Both women nodded again.
“I need to sit down. It’s hot in here.” Feeling behind her for the chair, Riley plopped into it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked Millie.
“I tried. My elbow’s going to be black and blue from rubbing against your rib. I met Celone at Rosalee’s. But it took me a minute to place her.”
“So what happens now?” Riley addressed the question to Her Magistrate Celone or Her Royal Judgeship or whatever the title was here.
“Now you will continue to live your life here on the island, which, if I understand correctly, you came here to do anyway.” She looked like a magistrate now. Her gaze was direct and unafraid, her focus was clear. “We will continue to work on our side.” Celone folded her hands on the desktop. Put a robe on her, age her a few decades, and she could be Judge Judy. “You have accused one of our citizens of a very grave crime, of stealing your vessel. That is something that we cannot and will not resolve in a cavalier manner.”
“Any ideas how long this investigation and resolution might take?” Halfway through the sentence, Riley saw Millie pantomiming the sign for silence. When she looked at Celone, she understood why. The woman could be positively intimidating. She’d prepared herself to deal with Captain Juarez, expecting a challenge. But his wife was proving a lot tougher.
“Miss Santey.” She sighed as though speaking to a child. “Right now we are concentrating our efforts on the increasing thefts from cruise ships and tourists that are occurring. Those are threats to our general population, to our way of life. If tourism goes away, our people will be deeply hurt.” She drilled that gaze into Riley. “That is of a higher priority than whether you get a piece of paper saying you have title to a boat. You will not starve without it or go homeless or do without much. If the tourism business is harmed, there are people who will lose the ability to provide for themselves and their families.”
Chastised, Riley felt like slinking away. There was poverty here, she had seen it off the beaten path from the tourist traps. It was the ugly side of paradise, the side no one wanted to mention.
“If I need to leave because, well, because . . .” Riley said.
“Should that be the case, we will revisit the situation.” Celone rose, indicating the audience was over.
Riley wanted to argue, wanted to plead, wanted to threaten. But what would she say? That she needed off this island because she couldn’t stand to be here with Joe anymore? That she wanted to leave him before he ditched her for Greenland? Something she hadn’t quite brought herself to tell anyone else, including Millie, yet. That they needed to stop worrying about the pirates and whether it hurt their economy because in less than two weeks, the story would break on nationwide news? The old Riley would have done it. But the Riley who’d spent time on the island putting things into perspective knew her problems could wait.
Instead, she thanked Celone and they made as dignified an exit as they could with her still limping slightly from the cramps in her legs and Millie nearly skipping she was so pleased with herself for getting them there in the first place.
For the ride down the hill, Riley kept her eyes shut and hummed to herself. She had seriously considered walking back but the jungle closed in on the road and she was more afraid of what might be living in that jungle than she was of Millie’s driving. If they wrecked, someone would see and come. If something slithered or pranced out of the jungle and got her, there would be no trace.
She was doing pretty well, she thought smugly, until Millie sped up even more. Where her hands were wrapped tight around Millie, Riley could feel her friend tense.
Behind them, two motorcycles came roaring down the road, honking their horns.
Millie said something but it was lost in the breeze and the engine noise. Millie went faster but the motorcycles were gaining on them. She took a turn that almost laid the bike on its side and Riley whimpered.
On the straight part of the road where the jungle trees and vines reached across to each other, blotting out the tropical sun, the motorcycles pulled up to either side of them. When Riley saw them she wanted to cry or to scream.
Scully rode to their left, wearing only a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt, his greasy hair flowing out behind him. On the second bike, Mikah wore an old WWII German helmet and no shirt, his numerous chest tattoos dancing as though they were alive. On the back of Mikah’s bike, Candy was bumping up and down, his eyes wild, his mouth open, probably screaming, the sound drowned out by the three motors.
Riley couldn’t swallow. Between the wind and her terror she felt her heart was in her throat blocking her airway. They were going fast, way too fast, and Millie was too new and too bad of a driver to handle this. It seemed hours, miles they went on that way, the men on either side laughing and goading, Millie intent on driving, Riley intent on not throwing up, when they came out of the jungle and into the open air.
Ahead of them lay a scenic picnic area where islanders and tourists came to soak up the sun and the view. Riley began to hope. Surely they wouldn’t try to run them off the road with witnesses all around?
The cruise ships had paid for a paved turnaround so they could run their tour buses up to this point and let their passengers take pictures of the boat in the harbor. Millie hit the pavement going too fast and when she put on the brakes, the bike shuddered and the front wheel rose. Riley could feel her breath stop, her muscles brace. Miraculously, Millie let off the brake and the bike settled, rounding the pavement until they came to a stop. A screeching stop. A whiplash-inducing stop. But a stop where they were still upright and in one piece.
At the entrance to the paved area, the other two cycles paused, their big engines still roaring. People had started to turn, to point, noticing the scene. Scully and his comrades must have seen it, too, because they made no attempt to come any further. Instead a jittering Candy heaved himself up from the seat and threw a rock toward them. It was too far to reach but it rolled down the sloped pavement and stopped a few feet from the two women. Then the three men roared off.
The tourists gaped and pointed. Some even applauded, probably thinking it was just part of the nonstop entertainment they were used to. Two young men in shirts with cruise line emblems came up and asked them if they were OK and helped Riley off the bike. Riley was able to unbend her knees and straighten up enough to remain in a hunched position.
The tourists returned to their picture-taking and their packed lunches, sneaking glances at the two wild women on the bike.
“Wow, did you see that?” Millie said. “That was really, truly scary. Wait until Henri hears how I handled the bike. I can’t believe I pulled that off. I really can drive.” She appeared positively exhilarated.
If Riley could have worked her hands, she would have hit her.
One of the young men retrieved the rock, which had a tattered piece of paper rubber-banded around it. With shaking hands, Riley accepted it and unfolded the rumpled sheet. In crayoned letters it said:
BEWARE. WE DON’T TAKE TO NO SQUEELERS. THEY END UP LIKE THE PIGS THEY ALWAYS IS.
Chapter 10
Later that week, the island positively bloomed with color in honor of Henri and Millie’s wedding. The flowers that had been pretty before were now brilliant, big, and fragrant, thrusting their blooms into the tropic sun. Even the greenery in the untamed jungles was outdoing itself, bursting with all the shades of green there seemed to be in the universe. The palm trees were framing it all, standing tall, their leaves bending in the breeze that carried the promise and smell of the sea.
Inside Rosalee’s, the spectacle continued. The restaurant had been dressed in orchids and roses. Palm fronds outlined the doorways. The tables were covered in white linen set with silver, china, and glassware that sparkled in the sunlight. The French doors to the patio were thrown open and the decorations continued out onto the patio where chairs were lined up facing the sea. Millie and Henri would stand at the edge of the patio, gazing down at the beautiful landscape and pledge their love and their fidelity to each other for the rest of their lives.
“Millie waits for you upstairs.” Rosa came up behind Riley, who was standing where her best friend would stand in two hours. She had been looking out to sea, trying to see if the waves or the breeze would carry some answer to the questions she had been asking for a week. In that time she had done her best to avoid Joe and she had been very successful. She had begged off the latest cruise, with a noisy family reunion of Midwesterners from grandma down to the toddlers. Millie needed her, she had told Joe. There would be many more cruises but her best friend’s wedding would only happen once. If he were aware of the iciness in her voice, of the fact that she looked everywhere but at him, that she’d moved off the boat and into her old room in the hotel within an hour, he didn’t comment.
The cruise had ended yesterday and he had come looking for her, as she knew he would. But she arranged to be gone on wedding errands. When she got back, she sent word to
Reprieve
that it was too late and she was needed here, that she would see him at the wedding today.
“It is quite normal to feel a sense of loss when a good friend marries, to wonder if the relationship will change. You would not be human if you didn’t feel a twinge of jealousy, too,” Rosa said, wrapping a large arm around Riley and holding her close. “Believe it or not, I, too, am feeling some of those things.” She brushed a hair from Riley’s forehead as Riley laid her head on Rosa’s shoulder. “Do not misinterpret. I consider myself very lucky. My son has found a wife who wants to stay on the island Stanley and I love so much. We are so grateful for that. But”—she sighed deeply—“he will be someone’s husband now. That will, as it should, come first. On his wedding day my heart is full of joy but also aches for the little boy I held in my arms and rocked to sleep.”
“Oh, Rosa, why does life have to be so flipping hard? Why can’t it ever turn out the way it does in story books?”
“Would you really want to know the ending? Be assured that everything would turn out exactly as you plotted? I would find that immensely boring.” Rosa paused for a moment. “This is not all about Millie, is it?”
“You must think I’m the most selfish pig in the world to be worrying about my problems on their wedding day.” Riley buried her head further into Rosa’s shoulder.
“I think, as I said, you are human. A momentous event such as this calls us all to take a look at where we are and where we think we are going.” For a moment they stood and slowly let the sea air fill their lungs and their minds.
“Think maybe I’m seeing something in this relationship with Joe that he doesn’t see. Maybe I’m making a big fool of myself.”
“I have known him a very long time and I think—”
“There you are. Mama, I need help with this tie. Dad tried but he couldn’t get it.”
As they turned toward the sound of Henri’s voice, Riley heard Rosa’s breath catch and the sob that escaped her, almost a low moan. As though the sunlight had been cued, its beams fell directly on Henri, who glowed like an angel in his white linen suit. He had never looked more handsome, his tan features set off perfectly by the white cloth. From his fingers dangled a bow tie, white tipped in silver.
Rosa took his face in her hands and kissed his cheeks. “You are so handsome,” she whispered.
“Mama, don’t start now. We’ve still got two hours. If you start crying now, you’ll never make it.”
“Stanley, do you hear this?” Behind Henri, Stanley, also in a white suit, couldn’t take his eyes off his son. “He’s not even married yet and already he’s telling his mother what to do.” She began to tie the tie around his neck. “As it should be,” she said. “You are a man now soon to have a wife and if God is willing, children someday. That is your priority, your mission, just as it has been with your father all these years.”
Riley slipped off the patio and circled around to enter the hotel through the lobby. The three of them needed and deserved some time alone before Henri married. Millie turned from the old-fashioned stand-alone mirror in the VIP suite where she had been staying since the wedding announcement.
“Well. Don’t just stand there looking pretty. Talk. Tell me a story.” It was what the other Mildred, the tough Chicago producer, had whispered in Riley’s earpiece hundreds of times. On every remote, whether from the zoo covering the birth of a baby Panda or the penitentiary, covering the execution of a serial killer, producer Mildred had always said the same thing. A lump formed in Riley’s throat. She had been too angry to deal with her feelings of loss but they hadn’t gone away. Millie would not be around to say those words anymore. If and when she went back to work, she would no longer have the best producer in the business and her best friend covering her back.
“You look amazing,” Riley finally said. And she meant it. The dress Millie wore was simple. Strapless with long, elegant lines. The material was a light, airy cotton and linen blend, perfect for an island wedding. Heavy silk would have looked so out of place here. Millie’s hair was caught up in a chignon, the sides smooth and shiny. Behind one ear, she had tucked a huge flower of pink and gold and purple. Her facial bones bordered on perfection, so delicate and symmetrical. They had been hidden behind those oversized glasses for too long. Her skin was flawless with the touches of sun highlighting the creamy white tones.
Riley stopped in front of her. Two women with pins in their mouths and hairbrushes in their hands smiled in acknowledgement of the compliment to their work. Then they melted away, leaving her and Millie alone in the suite.
“Big time city reporter and that’s all you can come up with?” Millie put one hand on her hip and leaned her head sideways. “I know interns fresh out of school who could do a better job of description.”
“You’ve never looked more beautiful.” Tears clouded Riley’s vision. They embarrassed her. The last thing anyone in news wanted to see was a sappy, sentimental reporter, especially a female reporter. They used to make fun of that type all the time and here she was becoming what she ridiculed.
“You don’t look so bad yourself.” Millie scanned her up and down. Her dress, too, was simple. Also strapless, also in a light blend. It was apricot colored. Her hair, the Chicago dye nearly gone now, was nearly as white as Millie’s dress. She had it pulled back on the top of her head into a colorful flower band and then it flowed in waves to the top of her shoulders. The cut of the dress flattered her figure, making her waist look tiny and her breasts just right. She had the best tan of her life but with her milk white skin it was barely noticeable. For the first time since she had arrived, she was wearing makeup, some shadow and mascara, which accented her eyes and had a hint of pink on her lips.
“Mitchell can pull a style together like no one I’ve ever seen,” Riley said. He had been thrilled when Millie asked him to help coordinate the wedding colors, clothes, and flowers. The food and liquor had been left to the groom’s parents, of course.
“Come here.” Millie took her by the hand and led Riley to the wicker table and chair set in front of the open French doors. A small balcony gave way to the spectacular view of the hills leading down to the beach, the marina, and the sea. Gingerly, Millie sat, gathering her dress so it didn’t wrinkle. She leaned forward and took both Riley’s hands once again.
“I wish my mother and my sister could have been here but I do understand. This happened so quickly my sister couldn’t make the arrangements in time and my mother hasn’t been feeling well.” She paused and looked out to sea. “I am happy and at peace,” she said. “I have found something I had no idea I was looking for.” Millie reached up and wiped Riley’s tears with a tissue. “You’ve always been a good friend, my best friend, and I want the same for you.” She paused again and gazed out the doors. “Joe loves you. If you’d give it a chance, I think you could find something wonderful.”
Riley jerked her hands back and rose so quickly she almost tipped the chair over. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She was pacing, forming her hands into fists and letting them go.
“That man melts when he looks at you. It’s obvious to everyone but you. And you’re so caught up in the career thing you’re willing to throw away the best thing that ever happened to you. And for what? So you can chase down story after story and spend night after night wondering if RK is really coming home?” Millie sat erect, preserving her dress.
“If Joe’s so damn in love with me, then why is he running away to Greenland?”
“Greenland?” Millie tilted her head to the side.
“He wasn’t even going to tell me. Just disappear.”
“Greenland? Are you sure?”
“I’ve got the e-mails to prove it.”
“Maybe there’s some mistake. You read the wrong thing.”
Her tone was sharp, impatient. “I’m a reporter. I dig up facts. I’m damn good at it. Remember?”
Riley stopped pacing, put her hands on the wall, leaned in, closed her eyes, and took some deep breaths. It was a calming technique she sometimes used before a tense remote. It worked enough to help her refocus on what was important here and now.
Millie’s face had changed. There was a furrow in her forehead, her eyes looked far away, and she was tapping on her chin with two fingers. It was the Chicago producer’s face, the one her staff saw when it was 15 minutes to airtime and they had a major hole in the lead story. “That’s why you wanted the passport so badly. Leave him before he leaves you.”
Softly, Riley pulled the fingers from her friend’s face, touched her brow where the frown lines had cut a deep gully. “You are the closest thing I have to a sister and I refuse to ruin this day with my problems.” When Millie started to speak, Riley held up a hand to stop her. “There’s plenty of time to figure out my life. Today I want to cry at your wedding, dance at your reception. I want to drink too much and slobber all over the bride about how much I’ll miss her. I want to eat too much and say to hell with it, I’ll worry about a diet tomorrow.” Riley helped Millie to her feet, fluffed her dress, smoothed her hair, and stood back to admire the bride. “In other words, I want to have one helluva good time at my best friend’s wedding.”
“Good,” Millie said, rising. “Let’s do this.”
Riley held on to that plan right up until she walked up the soft grass aisle between the rows of white chairs toward the flower canopy where Henri and Joe waited for the wedding party. All Riley could see was Joe. He stood next to Henri, green hills and the blue water framing their white dinner jackets. The colorful island shirts were open at the collar, except for Henri’s bow tie, and gave the wedding the right mix of formality and laid-back island chic. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Mitchell, who was beaming. He had done a great job with the wedding, giving an opinion on the fit of the dresses, the way the flowers should be arranged, setting up food service, and he’d loved every minute of it.
He should be proud
, Riley thought, for it had come together beautifully.
All through the ceremony, Riley felt Joe’s eyes on her. There were about 60 people at the wedding but it was Joe’s presence that resounded in her soul.
As they began, the minister, a wide, short, smiling woman with skin the color of acorns and a braid woven with graying strands, had asked them to pray. Riley prayed for Millie and Henri and for herself, that she could forget her own miseries and enjoy this union of love and hope.
Much of the ceremony was viewed through her tears. Behind her, she could feel Rosa and Stanley’s emotion. Millie and Henri pledged their love and even though they had known each other only a very short time, the power of their commitment spread across the congregation and there were more teary eyes than there were dry ones.
Afterward, they were on the patio, everyone hugging and kissing and crying some more. Candles had been lit on the tables and torches framed the perimeter. Sparkling glassware and delicate china sat atop snow-white tablecloths. Along the edges of the patio, hugging the candles on the tables and overflowing from hanging baskets, were big, beautiful flowers whose colors caught the flicker of the three-quarter moon, which was rising on one side and the last of the blazing tropic sun which was sinking on the other. Below them the sea lapped gently, a reassuring calming background noise.
“Oh, baby, you look terrific. I just knew that color was for you the moment I first saw it.” Mitchell caught her up and hugged her. “And the polish.” They both looked down at her toenails, where a tiny fake diamond was glued to the middle of each nail set off by a pale white polished background.
“This is one of my best jobs ever,” Riley admitted, studying her toes, which jutted out of the low-heeled sandals. Millie refused to wear high heels and had insisted Riley find some shoes that were pretty and practical. “Mitchell, you did an incredible job. You should think about a career change.”
“I just might do that.” A champagne cork popped near the patio bar and people laughed. “Oh, got to go. Don’t want to miss the bubbly. Promise me a get-down, all-out bogeying dance. None of this slow crap.”
Before she could promise, Mitchell was gone and Joe was standing in front of her. Mad and hurt as she was, this man could still take her breath away. His long hair was combed straight back and although he had shaved, a rough shadow outlined his jaw. The cut of the suit combined with the contrast of the island shirt showed off his trim waist and his muscular shoulders. In the soft light of the torches, his eyes gleamed with something she didn’t want to define—longing, anger, confusion.
“Dance with me.” It was more a command than a question.