Bluewater Rendezvous: The Eighth Novel in the Caribbean Mystery and Adventure Series (Bluewater Thrillers Book 8) Read online

  "Thanks for checking," Dani said.

  "No problem. Nice to visit wit' somebody. Usually the morning drags by, but today, I had the two of you come in showin' me pictures and askin' for people that aren't here. Some coincidence, huh?"

  "The two of us?" Dani asked, puzzled. "Someone else was looking for him?"

  "No, not him," the woman said. "He was lookin' for a girl. Pretty girl, too, from the picture."

  "Black hair, dark eyes, olive skin?" Dani asked.

  "Yes," the woman agreed. "Named Angela. How do you know?"

  "I just guessed. She was supposed to meet John Welsh here on the island."

  "Mm. They'd make a nice lookin' couple. I remember her name, 'cause my sister, she named Angela, too. The las' name, it was Italian, I t'ink."

  "Cappelletti," Dani said.

  "Yes!" the woman said. "That's it. So you know the fella lookin' for her?"

  "I don't know," Dani said. "What did he look like? Can you describe him?"

  "Better than that. Come on back here." The woman motioned to the gate in the counter. While Dani opened it and joined her behind the check-in counter, the woman tapped on her keyboard again. "Security cameras," she said, as a picture of a slim man with a narrow face popped onto her screen. She giggled as Dani studied the picture.

  "Was he funny?" Dani asked.

  "He not your frien', is he?"

  "No, I don't know him. Why?"

  "I laugh 'cause he funny lookin'. Jus' like the mongoose that run around in the bushes. He twitch his face like that too. Jus' like a weasel, some people call 'em."

  Dani laughed, just to be agreeable. "Can you print me a copy of that? I'd like to see if my friend knows him."

  "No problem." The woman clicked a few keys, and the laser printer behind them whirred. "You might catch up wit' him if you want to. I gave him the names of all the other hotels around here. He's makin' the rounds, showin' the picture."

  "Thanks," Dani said. "Maybe I'll do that. I appreciate your help."

  "No problem. You on a charter yacht?"

  "Yes," Dani said. "Why?"

  "You jus' had the look. The clothes, the tan, the short hair. You got a card? Sometimes the guests ask about charter yachts."

  "Not with me," Dani said, feeling cautious. "I'll drop some by later, though. We come through Jolly Harbour all the time."

  "You do that," the woman said. "When you come back, I'll give you some coupons for your guests to get a discount here. If they use them, I get a commission, 'cause they got a sort of code on them. Management can tell who brought the business in. I'm Sally Smithson, by the way. Mos' folks call me Sal."

  "I'll do that, Sal. I'm Dani." Dani was no longer alarmed, now that the woman had explained her curiosity. "Thanks again, and I'll be back. Probably not for a few days, but I'll ask for you."

  "Blessings," Sal said, smiling, as Dani turned and walked out the door.

  ****

  "That little shit!" Angela said, looking at the picture that Sal had given Dani.

  "I take it that you know him," Dani said, exchanging glances with Liz.

  "Oh, yeah, I know him all right. His name is Willy Napolitano. The little weasel's one of Papa's flunkies. Why are you laughing?"

  "Because the desk clerk who gave me the picture said he looked like a mongoose. She said his face even twitched like a weasel's," Dani said.

  "It does! She's right. And he doesn't just look like a weasel; he is a weasel. Little bastard."

  "She said he was making the rounds of the hotels in the area, looking for you. She thought I could catch up with him. It sounded like I just missed him by not too long."

  "Lucky you," Angela said, her teeth clenched.

  "I'm surprised you didn't follow him," Liz said, "but I'm glad you didn't."

  Dani looked at Liz for a moment. "That was my first thought. I figured I could see who was with him. Or if he was alone, maybe get the drop on him."

  "He's dangerous," Angela said.

  "So's she," Liz interjected. "Why did you hold back, Dani?"

  "Well, all I could have gotten out of him was that he was looking for Angela, and that he works for her father. The thing that made me want to jump him was that he might know where John is."

  "He wouldn't tell you," Angela said.

  "I wouldn't bet on that," Liz said. "She can be persuasive when she wants something. Do you think he might have John stashed somewhere nearby, Dani?"

  "I don't know. My guess is it's possible, but not likely. Just my gut instinct, but I don't think John got this far. He would have called somebody, or sent an email, or something. I think he's somewhere else. Maybe he got some clue they were after him and holed up somewhere."

  "He doesn't think like that," Angela said. "I think they kidnapped him."

  "Well, just in case, I stopped by the marina office and left a copy of that picture and John's picture in an envelope for Samuel," Dani said. "I called him; he was working in the yard. He's probably picked up the pictures by now."

  "Who is Samuel?" Angela asked.

  "He's a friend of ours who works on boats," Liz said, "but he's nosy by nature, and he's related to at least half of the people on the island. Within an hour or two of Samuel getting those pictures, Willy will be under constant observation. We'll know everywhere he goes and everything he does."

  Chapter 14

  "So," Liz asked, "what did Samuel have to say so early in the morning?"

  Dani had taken the call while Liz was fixing breakfast.

  "Willy was staying at a guest house out near the airport; the place that has the big rental car fleet. There was another guy with him, on crutches." She extracted a cellphone from her pocket and touched the screen, passing the phone to Angela.

  "That's Joe Bones," Angela said. "I wonder why he's on crutches?"

  Dani shrugged. "Don't know, but they left last night on a small plane. Chartered. The flight plan was for St. Thomas."

  "That's a regular cellphone," Angela said.

  "Right. It's unlocked. We have a bunch of SIM cards that give us local numbers on all the islands we visit. I figured it was safe enough, and Samuel couldn't send pictures to the satellite phone."

  "What do you think it means, their leaving?" Liz asked.

  "Well," Dani offered, "it probably means that John's not here, for one thing."

  "But they were looking for me," Angela said.

  "They either decided you aren't here, or they think they have a better way to find you. Or maybe they picked up that false trail you mentioned," Dani said. "The other thing is, Samuel said they had some local guy working with them; he's kind of a slimeball. Small-time crook. Samuel thinks he smuggles dope sometimes."

  "That figures," Angela said. "Papa's got people all over the place who pay off the authorities and do odd jobs for him. What do you think we should do now?"

  "Get out of here before somebody spots you," Dani said.

  "But they're gone," Angela said.

  "Yes, but your picture may be all over the island, just like Willy's. Antigua's like a small town. Odds are good that if you set foot ashore, your father will know about it in no time."

  "So where can we go?"

  "The Mafia's all over most of the islands down here; it goes back almost a hundred years, to the prohibition era. But the French islands are an exception of sorts."

  "Why would that be?" Angela asked. "Better law enforcement?"

  "Maybe a little better," Dani said, "but the real reason is that there's a competing criminal organization. Ever hear of the Unione Corse?"

  Angela shook her head.

  "It's kind of like the French flavor of the Mafia, with roots that go back to Corsica and Marseille. They've got a lock on organized crime in Guadeloupe and Martinique, especially."

  "Won't they co-operate with my father?"

  "It's doubtful. He's a nobody as far as they're concerned. Besides, I have some family connections in Martinique that can help us," Dani said.

  "In the Unione Cor
se?" Angela looked surprised.

  "No. Some of my father's business associates."

  "You haven't told me about your father. Just your mother," Angela said.

  "Because she's being a pain right now. He's the parent I'm close to."

  "What kind of business is he in?"

  "Oh, international trade," Dani said, with a vague hand gesture.

  "What kind of trade?"

  "Heavy equipment, industrial and manufacturing supplies, chemicals, you name it."

  "And he's active down here?"

  "He was born in Martinique. He's got lots of family all through the islands, so yes, he's active down here."

  "Will we meet him? He sounds interesting."

  "I don't think so. He lives in Paris — but we can draw on his local contacts if we need any help."

  "Besides," Liz said, to take the focus off Dani's father, "Martinique's a great place to hang out. Beautiful island, beautiful people." She didn't think Angela was ready to hear the details of J.-P. Berger's dealings.

  "And you don't think Papa's guys will find us? You said the islands are like small towns."

  "Martinique and Guadeloupe are exceptions," Liz said. "They're big — around a half-million people each. It's much easier for a stranger to disappear there than on the smaller islands."

  "Okay, but I want to find John."

  "Don't worry. I don't want to lose any time getting out of Antigua, but once we're underway, I'll start making some calls," Dani said. "I'll start with my godfather in Miami. He's got an in with law enforcement."

  "Won't we leave a trail with customs when we clear out of here, though, like we talked about?"

  "I'm planning on it," Dani said. "I'm thinking a lady with a good Spanish name like Solanó might want to go to Puerto Rico."

  "I don't understand."

  "Sorry," Dani said. "I was trying for levity. I'll clear us out for Fajardo, Puerto Rico, just in case they manage to connect your fake identity to Vengeance."

  "Why there? I've never heard of it."

  "It's a major yachting center. There're thousands of boats; if they go looking for us there, it'll take them forever. Especially if we're in Martinique."

  "But how can we clear into Martinique if we clear out to go to Puerto Rico?"

  "We'll just change our minds once we get out to sea. Happens all the time; it won't be a problem."

  ****

  Guido sipped his coffee, waiting for the cook to bring his breakfast as Franco Andretti filled him in on the news from São Paulo. They were sitting on the veranda in the cool morning air, enjoying the view of the Miami skyline across the bay.

  "I'm surprised he hasn't called again," Franco said. "Last we heard, he was leaving the airport headed for that hotel she checked into."

  "Hotel? She actually went to São Paulo?" Guido asked.

  "Yeah. Left a good trail, too. Carmen found where she cleared immigration going into the country. The passport number matched and everything."

  "Carmen?"

  "That geeky broad we keep on the string for stuff like this."

  "Oh. What kind of trail?"

  "Checked into a hotel; paid with her Visa card. Carmen got the address, and when Juju got off the plane and called in, we sent him straight there. Carmen had called the room pretending to be Welsh's secretary to be sure Angela was there."

  "And you haven't heard from this Juju in how long?" Guido asked.

  "About twelve hours, now. We tried to call him, but the calls went to voicemail."

  "Somethin's not right about all that," Guido said.

  "Maybe she was out, and he's — "

  A long, drawn out scream from inside the house interrupted Franco. Both men got to their feet and ran into the house. Franco held a pistol down by his leg, ready for anything.

  "The cook," Guido said. "That came from the kitchen."

  Franco led the way through the swinging double doors into the kitchen. They found the cook, collapsed in front of the open Sub-Zero commercial refrigerator.

  "Jesus," Guido said, having stepped around the unconscious woman. He was peering into the cavernous refrigerator. He made the sign of the cross and mumbled a quick prayer as Franco made sure they were alone.

  "What the fuck?" Franco said, joining Guido in front of the refrigerator. He looked in and saw a battered, bloody head sitting on a plate. The eyelids were open, giving the impression that the disembodied head was staring at them. Stapled to the left ear was a business-sized envelope with "Dear Father" typed across the front. "How the hell ... "

  "Know him?" Guido asked, after Franco's voice trailed off.

  "Yeah. It's Juju, but — "

  "Grab the envelope and get that out of the damn refrigerator," Guido said. He turned his attention to the cook, who was beginning to moan.

  "Jorge!" he yelled.

  The houseman came in at a run and stopped in front of Guido. "Sorry, boss. I had to — "

  "Never mind, Jorge. Take care of Lupe and get our fuckin' breakfast."

  "Sí, señor."

  "Franco?"

  "Yeah, Don Guido?" Franco held the envelope in his left hand. His right arm clutched a bundle wrapped in bloody dishtowels.

  "Bring all that back to the table and call one of your guys to take his head out in the 'Glades. Feed it to the gators, like they did with that dipshit Welsh."

  Guido strode from the kitchen, Franco in his wake.

  ****

  Twenty minutes later, they were finishing breakfast. The head had been spirited away during their meal. The envelope lay unopened on the table beside Guido's plate. Guido watched Franco staring at the envelope. His minion was eager to know what it contained. Guido was curious as well, but he needed to show that he, the capo di tutti capi, was not impressed by cheap theatrics.

  "You want anything else?" Guido asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee from the thermal carafe that sat on the table among their dirty dishes.

  "No thanks, Don Guido."

  "You sure? Maybe a little fresh fruit?"

  "No, thanks."

  "So," Guido said, picking up the envelope, "let's see what your boy Juju brought us."

  He ripped the end from the envelope and extracted a sheet of folded paper.

  "Dear Papa," he read aloud. "Keep having me followed and I'll staple my next note to your own ear. Love, Angela." He passed the note to Franco without comment.

  "All typed," Franco said. "Why wouldn't she have signed it if she wrote it?"

  "Come on, Franco. You know she didn't write it. Was this Juju such a gutless fool that Angela could have done this to him?"

  "No, boss. But somebody — "

  "Yeah, exactly. Somebody is right. Somebody's helpin' Angela. We just gotta find out who."

  "But what's the point?"

  "I think maybe somebody don't want to work for Joe Bones. What do you think, Franco?"

  "I don't know, Don Guido."

  "You got a problem with that?"

  "With Joe Bones?"

  "Yeah. You got a problem with him?"

  "He's the future."

  "You sound like a goddamn politician. Gimme a fuckin' straight answer. You got a problem workin' for Joe Bones?"

  "No, Don Guido."

  "I want to hear you say it."

  "I ain't got a problem workin' for Joe Bones."

  "That's good. Now get your ass out of here and find out who does."

  "Okay, Don Guido."

  "And don't send no more candy asses like that Juju to do the work of a man, capisce?"

  "Yes, Don Guido."

  "The hell kinda name is that, anyway? Juju?" Guido shook his head. "Go on. Get to work."

  ****

  Franco sat in the back seat of his black Lincoln Town Car, willing his blood pressure back into the safe range. They were on the MacArthur Causeway, almost to Miami Beach, when they stopped in the traffic for a moment. His driver put a heavy arm across the back of the front seat and turned, looking over his shoulder at Franco.

 
; "You okay, boss?"

  "Yeah, Jimmy. Why?"

  "Well, I don't mean to pry, but I know you're pretty tight with Juju's mother. If I can help, somehow ... "

  "Thanks Jimmy. I appreciate the thought. I ain't lookin' forward to tellin' her."

  The traffic started to creep forward, and Jimmy turned to face the front. "Where we goin', boss?" he asked.

  Franco looked at his watch. "It's early, still. No point in goin' to the club. May as well take me to her place. She's there. I'll tell her and — "

  The ringing of his cellphone interrupted him. He glanced at the caller i.d. before he answered it.

  "Yeah, Carmen. Whatcha got?"

  "Remember that phone number from the other day?"

  "The anonymous one?"

  "Anomalous," she corrected him. "Yeah, that one."

  "Yeah. You got somethin' on it?"

  "Maybe. It's a satellite phone with a Puerto Rican area code. And I — "

  "Puerto Rico?"

  "Yeah, but that kinda covers the whole Caribbean, for satellite phones."

  "Oh. You get anything else on it?"

  "Yeah. I'm still working on it, but it's billed to a Ms. Liesbet Chirac at an address in Fort Lauderdale, care of Ms. Elaine Moore."

  "You got the address?"

  "Kind of. It's a private p.o. box in an office complex. There's about a hundred businesses there. Can't tell which one it is."

  "Any way to narrow it down?"

  "I'm working on it. I should have something soon. I'm running a bunch of linked sequential queries with all the information. It's iterative, so it's kinda slow, but I should have something soon. Maybe late this afternoon, but probably more like by tomorrow morning, early. I just wanted you to know there's progress."

  Franco rolled his eyes at the jargon. He thought about asking for clarification and then decided it didn't matter. "Thanks, Carmen."

  "I'll call you later, Mr. Andretti."

  Jimmy, watching Andretti in the rearview mirror, saw him put the cellphone in his pocket.

  "You still want I should take you to Lola's, boss?"

  "Yeah, Jimmy. I might as well get this over with."

  ****

  Franco's resolve to give Lola Gonzales the bad news about Juju melted when she greeted him at the door in a filmy negligee. The short robe was open in front to display her toned, dancer's body. Her pinprick pupils danced over him as she pulled at his clothes.