Our Island Inn (Quirky Tales from the Caribbean) by Rebecca M. Hale
Authors: Rebecca M. Hale
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the reception building’s front window, I could see Oliver manning his regular afternoon post on a chair behind the counter.
His head was bent toward the computer screen, so he hadn’t noticed my arrival. Likely, he was reviewing our online interface for upcoming reservations and guest feedback.
Leaving Maya’s produce and dry goods in the jeep, I slid from the driver’s seat and quietly shut the metal door. A quick trot took me around the back of the reception building, where I could access the stairs built into the retaining wall. Sprinting up the steps, I reached the landing outside our apartment entrance.
As m y hand wrapped around the door handle, I braced myself for what I might find inside – unsure of what I would do if I discovered evidence to confirm my suspicions.
~ ~ ~
TWO SLEEPY POODLES glanced up from their cushioned dog beds, only marginally interested in my presence. They preferred to sleep through the island’s afternoon heat. Sprawled beneath the ceiling fan, they occupied the coolest spot in the apartment and were unwilling – absent the enticement of treats – to move an inch from their coveted location.
Oliver hadn’t mentioned which dog had accidentally scratched his face, but neither one looked to be fraught with pent up energy.
With a troubled sigh, I began my search.
At first glance, I saw nothing out of order. My partner was scrupulously neat. The maid service that cleaned the guest rooms stopped at our apartment each day to change the bed sheets and empty the trash bins, but the light dusting they performed on the other units was rarely needed here. Even with the poodles occupying the space, there were few occasions when the rugs needed to be vacuumed or the counters wiped down.
I left the dogs to their lounging and crossed to the master suite. Unlike the apartment’s open living area, it was a cramped, claustrophobic space. The spare bedroom was even worse.
I had abandoned most of my extraneous possessions to a yard sale and a storage unit up in the States, but Oliver had been unable to part with many of his belongings. He was just too sentimentally attached.
The shipping had cost a fortune. Once the stuff arrived, there had been no place to put it.
I turned a tight pivot in the two feet of open space next to the bed and shook my head. Several decorative storage units had been crammed into the room. Bookcases and bureaus lined the walls.
Oliver had spent hours trying to organize the layout so that the room would look less cluttered, but not even his designer skills could achieve that impossible feat.
A s I scanned the packed space, I noticed a single spot of sloppiness in the otherwise tidy arrangement.
One of the drawers in the jewelry box sitting on the main dresser had been left slightly ajar.
Frowning, I stepped around the foot of the bed.
It was the only drawer in the unit set aside for my valuables. It held my nice watch (a gold piece inscribed with my name that Oli had given me), a tie clip, a handful of cufflinks, and my college football ring.
Afraid that something had been stolen, I popped open the drawer and peered inside .
Nothing was missing.
But what had been added to the drawer nearly caused my heart to stop beating.
Tucked inside the small cache was a flashy gold chain, the kind sold at the shops down by the pier where the cruise ships docked.
Resting n ext to the chain lay a red hoop earring – its round metal loop being of far sturdier construction than the string bikini with which it had last been paired.
Chapter 29
On the Case
MILLICENT’S FIXATION WITH both the missing sous-chef and Glenn’s possible involvement in the man’s disappearance continued into dinner.
T he Golden Girls entered the pavilion and were ushered to their reserved table, the coveted spot on the deck’s northwest corner.
“The best s unset view,” Oliver promised. He’d lowered his voice to a whisper so that the other guests wouldn’t feel slighted.
The comment was
His head was bent toward the computer screen, so he hadn’t noticed my arrival. Likely, he was reviewing our online interface for upcoming reservations and guest feedback.
Leaving Maya’s produce and dry goods in the jeep, I slid from the driver’s seat and quietly shut the metal door. A quick trot took me around the back of the reception building, where I could access the stairs built into the retaining wall. Sprinting up the steps, I reached the landing outside our apartment entrance.
As m y hand wrapped around the door handle, I braced myself for what I might find inside – unsure of what I would do if I discovered evidence to confirm my suspicions.
~ ~ ~
TWO SLEEPY POODLES glanced up from their cushioned dog beds, only marginally interested in my presence. They preferred to sleep through the island’s afternoon heat. Sprawled beneath the ceiling fan, they occupied the coolest spot in the apartment and were unwilling – absent the enticement of treats – to move an inch from their coveted location.
Oliver hadn’t mentioned which dog had accidentally scratched his face, but neither one looked to be fraught with pent up energy.
With a troubled sigh, I began my search.
At first glance, I saw nothing out of order. My partner was scrupulously neat. The maid service that cleaned the guest rooms stopped at our apartment each day to change the bed sheets and empty the trash bins, but the light dusting they performed on the other units was rarely needed here. Even with the poodles occupying the space, there were few occasions when the rugs needed to be vacuumed or the counters wiped down.
I left the dogs to their lounging and crossed to the master suite. Unlike the apartment’s open living area, it was a cramped, claustrophobic space. The spare bedroom was even worse.
I had abandoned most of my extraneous possessions to a yard sale and a storage unit up in the States, but Oliver had been unable to part with many of his belongings. He was just too sentimentally attached.
The shipping had cost a fortune. Once the stuff arrived, there had been no place to put it.
I turned a tight pivot in the two feet of open space next to the bed and shook my head. Several decorative storage units had been crammed into the room. Bookcases and bureaus lined the walls.
Oliver had spent hours trying to organize the layout so that the room would look less cluttered, but not even his designer skills could achieve that impossible feat.
A s I scanned the packed space, I noticed a single spot of sloppiness in the otherwise tidy arrangement.
One of the drawers in the jewelry box sitting on the main dresser had been left slightly ajar.
Frowning, I stepped around the foot of the bed.
It was the only drawer in the unit set aside for my valuables. It held my nice watch (a gold piece inscribed with my name that Oli had given me), a tie clip, a handful of cufflinks, and my college football ring.
Afraid that something had been stolen, I popped open the drawer and peered inside .
Nothing was missing.
But what had been added to the drawer nearly caused my heart to stop beating.
Tucked inside the small cache was a flashy gold chain, the kind sold at the shops down by the pier where the cruise ships docked.
Resting n ext to the chain lay a red hoop earring – its round metal loop being of far sturdier construction than the string bikini with which it had last been paired.
Chapter 29
On the Case
MILLICENT’S FIXATION WITH both the missing sous-chef and Glenn’s possible involvement in the man’s disappearance continued into dinner.
T he Golden Girls entered the pavilion and were ushered to their reserved table, the coveted spot on the deck’s northwest corner.
“The best s unset view,” Oliver promised. He’d lowered his voice to a whisper so that the other guests wouldn’t feel slighted.
The comment was
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