The Empty Chair ~ Murder in the Caribbean Read online

  “Sure. No worries.”

  Olivia quickly wrapped the muffin and took the last sip of coffee, wincing uncontrollably, and then retreated into the house. Coffee really wasn’t her thing.

  Colton waited for her to come back out and then the two set off for Charlotte Amalie.

  The blazing sun beat down on them in his open-air vehicle and she embraced the warmth, but the breeze was surprisingly strong as they descended the hill. It quickly became obvious why Colton had pulled his hair back, and she wished she had done the same. And while Olivia tried to catch glimpses of the breathtaking view down to the harbor, she also kept her eye on the winding road and oncoming cars. Giving her shoulder strap a tug, she wondered how much good it was going to do her if they went over the edge. The backseat driver in her decided to put her faith in Colton’s ability to get them down the mountain safely.

  Before long, they were near the end of the road looking across the harbor. Colton deftly slipped his Jeep into a parking spot along the curb, just up the block from the three-story Farrelly Justice Center. An uneasy twinge rippled through her stomach as they entered the open wrought iron gates and ascended a few steps, pausing in the center of the complex. She turned toward Colton.

  “Look, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than play taxi driver for me. Thanks for the ride down. I’ll take it from here.”

  “Don’t be silly. I don’t mind. Let’s get some answers for you.” He walked like he had a purpose over to the double doors with the V.I. Police Department shields displayed on them, pulled open the door to the left, and stood back waiting for her to enter.

  Although Olivia wasn’t sure she wanted him to be involved in such a personal matter, she chose not to argue. She would find another logical point where she would dismiss his involvement once and for all.

  Stopping at the front counter, Olivia resolved she was going to be the one to do the talking. The policewoman behind the counter spoke with a young man in front of them. She was short, yet stocky, with very dark skin and wore a name tag that read “Ofc. Gladys Barnes.” The medium blue shirt of her uniform was pressed to perfection, with creases running along the sides of the short sleeves. A shiny gold V.I. Police Department badge was pinned prominently on her left chest pocket. She spoke with a thick island accent that Olivia strained to understand, and she sounded quick tempered and impatient with the matter she was discussing. Olivia’s stomach clenched tighter than it already was. Finally the boy was sent away and the policewoman turned her attention to Olivia. Obviously sizing her up and down, she asked what she could help with.

  Olivia gave her name and then told the story of how she had received a phone call breaking the news of her mother’s death. When she had finished with the pertinent details, Olivia asked the officer if she could give her more information.

  The policewoman turned her head to the side, still looking at Olivia, and then turned to look at Colton, clearly drawing some conclusions of her own, and then back to her again. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

  “No, I’m from Boston, but my mother lived here. I got a—”

  “And someone called you and told you your mother passed away?” Her tone gathered attitude with each sentence. “Someone from here?” The overbearing woman leaned forward, closer to Olivia’s face than she cared for.

  Stepping back to create more space between them, Olivia answered in as even a tone as she could manage. “Yes, I think so.”

  “So you don’t know for sure?” A hand found its way to one hip.

  Olivia felt herself squirming from the questioning. “No, but I thought—”

  “Well, I don’t know why it would have been someone from here.”

  Olivia’s mouth dropped open slightly. Feeling as though she was losing control of the conversation, she held her gaze firmly and waited.

  Finally the policewoman broke the awkward silence. “Well, hold on. Let me see what I can find out.” She turned to walk away and then turned back. “What did you say her name was?”

  “Liv Benning. It was less than two weeks ago. They said it was a boating accident.”

  Walking away from them with a commanding strut, the officer mumbled something about the fact she would have been the first to hear about something like that. The bright yellow stripe on her navy blue pants bent oddly at her knees as she walked. It crossed Olivia’s mind to wonder why they didn’t wear Bermuda shorts. After all, the daytime temps were in the eighties year round.

  Turning to look at Colton for support, she realized he wasn’t standing next to her anymore. He had wandered over to a bulletin board and was scanning wanted posters. Shaking her head in amusement, Olivia turned back to the deserted counter. She could see the policewoman talking with someone seated at a desk a few yards away in a grouping of half a dozen desks, each one a banged up standard-issue grey metal with an uncomfortable looking, ergonomically incorrect, wooden ladder-back chair pushed up underneath. Papers and files were stacked on top of the desks in varying states of disarray.

  Finally Officer Barnes returned to the front counter. “We have no record of anyone from here calling you about a boating accident within the last couple of weeks. I’m sorry.” Her tone of voice didn’t sound like she was sorry. She was just stating the facts.

  Olivia’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak and nothing came out. It didn’t make sense. Finally she found her voice, quietly pleading, “How can that be?”

  “Well, I don’t know what else to tell you.” The officer’s tone turned defensive. “How do we even know that call was made?”

  Stunned, she couldn’t find the words to convince the woman to investigate further. Tilting her head and squinting slightly, she fluttered her eyelashes in rapid succession, a trademark Olivia response in a particularly annoying or stressful situation. A voice from behind came to her rescue. It was Colton.

  “Can you at least tell us if there was a coroner’s report?”

  Shifting her eyes to Colton and back again, Officer Barnes seemed annoyed at his intrusion and made it obvious she didn’t want to discuss the matter with him. “How long have you been on island?”

  Olivia wasn’t sure where this question was leading but answered anyway. “I got here yesterday afternoon.”

  “And your mother wasn’t at her house?”

  Infuriated with the ridiculous line of questioning, Olivia glared at the officer but tried to humor her.

  “Well, the best advice I can give you is to come back tomorrow afternoon, when you’ve been here forty-eight hours, and file a missing persons report.”

  Olivia looked deep into her eyes. “Why would I need to do that?” She was losing her patience but trying to keep her cool on the outside.

  “Because until the person has been missing for a full forty-eight hours, you cannot file that report. Until you arrived yesterday, you had no way of knowing she was missing.”

  “What? I got a phone call—”

  “But you can’t tell me who it came from,” she demanded, smacking her right hand on the edge of the counter. “I have nothing to go on.” The officer was not backing down.

  Colton stepped in again and gently put his arm around Olivia’s shoulder while looking at the policewoman. “All right, no problem. We’ll come back tomorrow. Thank you very much for your time.” His strong hands slowly turned Olivia’s stubborn shoulders, and he guided her back out the front door.

  Neither one noticed the male officer standing in the doorway of a side office who watched them walk away, and then approached Officer Barnes to inquire about their discussion. Once they were back out onto the sidewalk, Olivia pulled away from Colton and demanded answers.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Her voice felt louder than she had intended, but she needed to make a point.

  A couple of uniformed officers exited the building and walked past them.

  Grimacing, Colton put an index finger to his lips. He kept his voice discreet. “Look, you were not going to get anywhere w
ith her. There was no point in escalating the situation when you’ll probably have to face her tomorrow.”

  “But she wasn’t making any sense!” Her arms flailed to exaggerate her point. “Why would I have to file a—”

  “I know, I know. But there wasn’t anything either one of us was going to say to convince her otherwise. You’re going to get a lot further if you can refrain from screaming and stomping your feet. Trust me on this one.”

  “I didn’t scream or stomp or—”

  Olivia turned away, exasperated the encounter turned out differently than she had envisioned and annoyed with Colton’s condescending tone. However, reluctantly, she began to see his point.

  They walked in silence down the steps leading out of the complex onto the sidewalk in front.

  “All right, but I haven’t gotten anywhere yet and this is my second day here. Now what am I going to do?” This was her dilemma to solve. She just didn’t expect it to be so difficult to get information about what happened to her mother. This island was part of the United States, not a foreign country. But at that moment, she felt a long way from home.

  Colton seemed intent on keeping her moving, or at least busy. “Listen, I have to run over to Red Hook to talk to a guy about some dates my band is going to perform. You want to take a ride with me?”

  She turned back to face him. “Colton, ordinarily I would love to take a ride over to Red Hook. But not right now, not today. I think I’m going to go walk around the shops and try to clear my head.”

  “You sure? It’s a beautiful day for a ride to the east end.”

  “I know and it’s kind of you to ask, but I think I’ll stay downtown and see what trouble I can get into.” She winked, turned, and dashed across the street before he could think of another angle to try and persuade her. “Thanks anyway!” She waved over her head.

  “You’ll need a ride back,” he yelled from across the street.

  Olivia stopped on the other side and turned around with a somewhat mischievous smirk on her face. “I’ll figure something out.” She turned back and resumed walking away, feeling uncomfortable having Colton so involved. It was time to take the matter into her hands. After all, she had met him less than twenty-four hours earlier. She really didn’t know him and wasn’t ready to trust him entirely. Not yet anyway.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The main shopping district in downtown Charlotte Amalie was predominantly located within three parallel streets—Waterfront Highway which, as its name implied, ran along the harbor, Dronningen’s Gade also known as Main Street and Back Street. Several smaller perpendicular streets and even smaller pedestrian alleyways connected these three streets to each other. Old, historic warehouses used to store goods like sugar and molasses during the commercial shipping era hundreds of years earlier now housed a large assortment of shops. Built from the ballast used to weigh down ships on their journeys from Europe so long ago, the present-day alleyway walls still displayed a beautiful patchwork of muted colors that were rough to the touch. Constructed so well, they had stood the test of time and endured an untold number of hurricanes. Tall, brightly painted wooden shutters framed many of the shop doors and were closed at night, each secured with a dark metal chain and an old-fashioned padlock.

  Out on Waterfront Highway, Olivia passed a t-shirt shop, a sunglasses boutique, and a handful of jewelry stores. As she moseyed along, she was amused by people who passed by. Some were clearly tourists with their pale, or worse yet, sunburned skin, who brushed past her without making eye contact. Others were locals trying to get to and from their places of work or taking care of errands. Most looked her in the eye and greeted her with “morning.” She surmised they regarded her as a tourist even though she didn’t feel that way at all. But she forgave them, understanding their assumption.

  Turning down one of the narrow alleyways, Olivia planned to get lost in some of the smaller, boutique-style shops she found intriguing. Meandering through the small passage, she admired the bricks and stones beneath her feet that added to the allure and historic charm of the area. Stopping in front of a small art gallery tucked between a diamond shop and a clothing store, Olivia felt herself drawn in. Artfully displayed in the window were striking watercolors and acrylics of local flora in addition to beautiful photographs that captured the island in all its splendor. Stepping inside, she noticed an attractive, light-skinned woman who looked to be about her mother’s age seated behind a small carved wooden desk toward the back. The woman rose and approached Olivia as she entered. Her ivory-colored, gauze-like top was trimmed with small abalone buttons down the front and an open weave lace along the bottom that undulated as she walked. Her short brown hair was styled in a perky bob that framed her face. As the woman got closer, Olivia could see she had beautiful hazel eyes that exuded warmth.

  “Afternoon.” She extended her hand. “I’m Stacie.”

  “Afternoon.” They shook and Olivia felt a subtle, yet very real, connection with her.

  “Is there anything in particular you are looking for?”

  Olivia chuckled to herself. “No, I just love to look at beautiful things, and your gallery drew me in.”

  Stacie was visibly pleased by her response. “Well, take your time. Let me know if you have any questions. I would be happy to tell you about any of our local artists.”

  Her last comment struck a chord. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” She grew curious about the shop owner. “So how long have you been on the island? Did you grow up here?”

  Stacie laughed and shook her head. “Oh, no. I only figured out four or five years ago what a beautiful place this is. My brother had been here for several years before that, and I finally got a chance to visit him and absolutely fell in love with the rock. I wished I had visited sooner. But I’m sure you know how that all works out sometimes. We get so busy with our lives we don’t always make the time to do what we were meant to do all along.”

  As Olivia listened to her words, they sounded a bit too familiar. She could only nod in response.

  “Well, I’m glad I finally got around to it. Once I realized this would be an ideal place for an art gallery, I left my business partner to run our Phoenix gallery and opened this one here.”

  Olivia grinned in acknowledgement. “I see. Good for you.”

  “I’ll let you enjoy the art. Let me know if I can assist you in any way.”

  Olivia turned away to peruse the vivid art on display. From pottery to jewelry, watercolors to oils, she took her time to examine each original piece, wanting to appreciate the effort and talent of every artist. She felt herself connecting with the art and with her surroundings. Then she turned a corner and laid eyes on framed photography. She gasped when she recognized the artist’s work. It was her mother’s, without a doubt. The photos were vibrant and captured what made the island an unforgettable place to visit—the serene turquoise water at sunrise, midday and sunset, bays and inlets only frequented by locals, the twinkling lights of Charlotte Amalie at night, parrots, iguanas, pelicans, and the ever elusive mongoose. Olivia stepped closer to get a better look. The photos had her trademark “LB” scrawled in the lower right corners, along with the year. Olivia felt goose bumps emerge all over her body. She was immensely proud she was looking at her mother’s work. She was proud of her.

  “Beautiful works of art, aren’t they?” The gallery owner startled her.

  Olivia turned toward her. “Yes, absolutely gorgeous. Probably out of my price range, though.”

  “Oh well, I’m sure we could find something that would fit.”

  “That’s okay. I’m just looking around at this point.”

  “I’m happy to answer any questions you may have. Here, let me give you my card.” She reached into the pocket of her shirt and pulled out a stack of cards, peeled off the top one, and handed it to her.

  Olivia took it, glanced at it superficially, and then looked up into the woman’s hopeful face.

  “Can you tell me anything about the photographer?”
>
  “Absolutely. Ms. Benning is a relatively new artist for this gallery. I think she has been on the island for several years, but we’ve only been fortunate to be able to represent her over the last couple. She is from the States—New England, I believe. She’s worked on several promotional brochures for the islands and contributed to tourism websites as well. I’ve heard major companies have consulted with her before doing photo shoots for magazine spreads and entire catalogs to determine the best locations to bring their models and the best time of day for light.”

  “Wow, she’s been busy.” Olivia pretended it was all news to her because she enjoyed hearing her mother’s accolades.

  “Yes, she is very good at what she does, and from what I understand, she is persistent and will stop at nothing to get what she’s after. The perfect photo, that is.”

  Olivia knew all too well about her mother’s determination. Sometimes she was persistent to a fault. “Good for her. She’s certainly talented.”

  “And in high demand. I haven’t been able to get her to update any of the work she has here for quite a while. I think I heard something about another big project that was going to take her away from her photography pursuits for a while.”

  “Oh, what is she doing?” She was counting on Stacie to give her more info.

  “I’m not exactly sure. I honestly haven’t spoken to her in over a month, and I don’t think she was able to give me many details at the time. I keep hoping she’s going to pop in the gallery at any moment.”

  Olivia did her best to keep the expression on her face steady. She knew exactly how the woman felt.

  Thanking Stacie, she made her way to the door, biting her lip and fighting the conflicting emotions within her—pride and pain. After she got back onto the sidewalk, it hit her she had been talking as if her mother were still alive. If only it were true. A feral mother hen with a brood of chicks scattered at Olivia’s feet.