Death by Honeymoon (Book #1 in the Caribbean Murder Series) Read online



  DEATH BY HONEYMOON

  Book #1 in the

  Caribbean Murder Series

  Jaden Skye

  Copyright © 2011 by Jaden Skye

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  Finally, there was nothing to fear. The wedding was over, he was hers, and their honeymoon so far was all she’d ever dreamt of. Lying beside him on a blanket on the white Caribbean sands, surrounded by the beauty of the turquoise waters, she exhaled.

  Nothing could have prepared her for the unbelievable beauty of this place. The beach was surrounded by palm trees, winding roads and hidden birds. Some of them sang intermittently as the waves rolled up onto the shore. It had power to heal the upset she’d gone through. No one had been able to stop their wedding from happening, although his family had tried.

  Clint moved closer. She could smell his suntan lotion, mixed with salt from the ocean. He took her slender hand and his rugged strength rose up through her, as she turned to him and smiled. It was a smile of contentment. Of Victory. Cindy had won. She’d fought hard for this marriage, and nothing could take it away.

  As if reading her thoughts, Clint whispered in her ear, “We did it. We’re together now, forever. Everything else is in the past.”

  Cindy took a deep breath. She’d always been afraid to believe in forever, but now she could. Her relationship with Clint was soothing her mind. Her own father had died when she was a little girl and it had been a long time before she’d been willing to trust life again. With Clint beside her, she could.

  Cindy watched the sun glistening on the waves, rising faster and faster. High tide was coming in. The surf here was fed by swirling currents from the Atlantic Ocean, pouring into the cove. The sound of the waves, crashing on the rocks, startled her for a moment. This place was perfect for Clint. He was an avid surfer, craved the ocean, and required challenge. This beach was off the beaten course, wild, untamed, not the usual destination for travelers. It was famous for its wild surf.

  “It will make our honeymoon even more thrilling,” he’d said, when he suggested this spot. There were milder turfs nearby, where she could surf as well. But Cindy wanted it to be the honeymoon of his dreams. It didn’t matter to her that most couples went to the comfortable West Side of Barbados, while they headed East to the rugged shore.

  “Where did you say you were going?” the driver that picked them up from the airport had asked twice .

  “El Barado Hotel,” Clint had repeated.

  The driver had looked at them, skeptical. “You know where you’re going? You’re going to the real Barbados. You’re sure?”

  “Very sure,” Clint grinned.

  “Ok.” Then the car had sped away from the airport, turning off the main road.

  Cindy was proud of Clint. He was so sure of everything. He wasn’t one to take old, tired familiar pathways. Cindy loved that about him. He reminded her of what was possible. She used to be strong and confident like that. His words brought her back to herself.

  As their car had wound its way further and further, Cindy realized they were heading somewhere out of the ordinary. They wound through country lanes, past sugar cane farms and quaint villages made up of small single-story houses. There were food shacks along the roads and simple clapboard churches. It was clearly where the locals lived and worked.

  Their car had driven quickly through the villages, and right up to the hotel. It seemed to be rushing, as if there weren’t a minute to lose.

  “There it is,” the driver had pointed.

  The hotel came into view, sprawled behind rocks, at the edge of the beach, looking out at the ocean. “Not too many people know about this place.”

  The outside of the hotel was trimmed with wraparound plantation shutters, brass hanging lamps and hurricane lights. Clint had found out about it from some executives at his company, who were also rabid surfers, like him. They loved Clint. As a wedding present, the company offered to pay part of the expenses.

  He was thrilled. Cindy and Clint had tipped the driver generously, as he’d brought their bags up to the front door.

  Alex, a grinning local, hefty man in his fifties, greeted them.

  “Welcome to the Island,” he’d said in a lilting tone. “We are happy to have you here. Our honeymoon guests are our favorites. Congratulations.”

  Cindy felt warm inside as she’d entered. She’d looked through the large windows in the lobby, overlooking the ocean, and saw miles of rolling waves. She knew Clint would see that and have an overwhelming urge to surf.

  Alex had patted Clint on the shoulder. “You a strong swimmer?” he’d asked.

  Clint had grinned. A lifeguard when he was younger, that was his last concern. “It’s what I came here for. Don’t worry: I’m right where I belong.” He always said that when he came to the ocean.

  There was a lot to do. Scuba diving, snorkeling, visiting the island’s indigenous turtles, photographing this incredible place.

  They got a key and went right up to their room. It was open, airy, with salty breezes wafting in. There was a patio and a low-plank coffee table filled with seashells and sea urchins. Best of all, you could hear the waves, constantly crashing on the sand and rocks outside. They’d dropped their luggage, changed quickly and headed right down to the beach.

  *

  Day after day had been fantastic. They’d been snorkeling, swimming, dancing, having delicious dinners, and making love all night long. Laying here now on the sand with her new husband, Cindy felt as if she had been welcomed into a new phase of life. She put her head on Clint’s shoulder.

  These days of happiness had wiped away the pressures and worries they’d grown so accustomed to the past several months. His family’s agitation and schemes drifted like smoke into the crystal blue sky. It hadn’t been easy. There had been one obstacle after another.

  Now the time was passing quickly. They had only two days left. Cindy’s heart dropped at the thought of leaving.

  “I don’t want this to ever end,” she’d said when they woke up that morning, before they got out of bed.

  “It won’t end,” he’d answered softly. “We’ll remember this forever.”

  “Do you promise?”

  He’d laughed. “Of course.”

  “Don’t promise something you can’t keep,” Cindy joked. She knew he was always good for his word.

  “I promise,” he repeated.

  For no reason at all, her heart dropped. “But everything ends--”

  “Not necessarily,” he stroked her long, auburn hair, and kissed the freckles on her forehead. “We take our memories with us wherever we go.”

  It never occurred to Cindy that there was any possibility that they wouldn’t actually leave the island in two days’ time.

  Or that, four days later, she would still be on the island—and cradling her husband’s dead body in her arms.

  Chapter 2

  The day it happened was perfect. They woke up early to a cloudless day, nestled in each other’s arms. They showered together and went downstairs for breakfast, laughing. It seemed that the whole world was at peace that day. As the
y ate breakfast out on the Veranda, they were serenaded by a throng of birds, flying in and out of the branches of the trees that surrounded the hotel.

  “It must be the amazing weather,” Clint had said, gazing at the water and sky. “Sky’s so blue, air’s so still, doesn’t even seem as if there could be a ripple in the ocean.” It was unusual weather for the island.

  Over breakfast they talked about the souvenirs they were bringing home: huge, crusty sea shells, driftwood, throw cushions covered with tropical prints, photographs of whistling turtles, porpoises and flying fish . There was something for everyone.

  As they lingered over coffee, Cindy knew the honeymoon was coming to an end. She began to think about going home, of the quaint, small starter home they’d bought back on Long Island, New York. It was in a cove, near the end of a long, private road. They both loved the house the minute they saw it and were ecstatic when their offer was accepted.

  “Soon, we’ll be in our new home,” Cindy had said. “Only two more days.”

  “There’s a lot we can still cram in today,” he said.

  Clint planned their activities down to the minute, not wanting to waste a second. They were planning to go surfing together in the afternoon, and she’d made reservations for dinner at the hotel’s main restaurant, under the palm trees, for eight o’clock. It would be a special dinner, the anniversary of the night they’d met.

  As they ate, other guests came down, milled around and sat at tables near them. They all smiled at each other casually, giving each other the privacy they wanted . Pedro, their favorite waiter, hummed a local song as he brought them a platter of croissants, eggs, fruits, coffee and mimosas. He took special care that Cindy had just what she wanted. In fact, he’d made a special desert for her, a torte. Just the kind she loved and had ordered every day. “But today’s is better,” he’d said. Cindy had smiled. These were good people.

  Cindy had looked at Clint and felt how grateful and fortunate she was. From very soon after she met him, she’d known he was the man she wanted to live her life with. Tall, rugged, handsome and determined, he was the most honest and caring man she’d ever met.

  After breakfast, they’d had a tranquil, long morning walk on the beach, he looking out at the horizon and trying to memorize the view, and she gathering the occasional seashell. They’d then headed back to the room to change for surfing.

  And as they went upstairs, that’s when it hit her.

  Cindy had suddenly began to feel woozy.

  Probably from the sun, she’d thought, especially after those mimosas.

  Then she had cramps.

  They’ll probably pass, she’d told herself, and had gone into the bathroom, where it was cooler. But the cramps got worse.

  Clint was changing into his surfing gear, and another wave of dizziness overcame her as she’d held her stomach in pain. She lay down on the bed, hoping for it to pass.

  Clint came over, surprised to see her laying there.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, concerned.

  “I don’t know…just cramps, I think. I feel like I need to take a nap.”

  “Now? In the middle of the afternoon?” he was surprised.

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t feel like I can go. I probably just need to rest. But don’t let me stop you. I’ll nap for an hour and then meet you down at the beach. I promise.”

  That seemed to cheer him. “Okay, but just for an hour,” he said. “I don’t want to be away from you for too long.”

  Cindy wanted to reach up and hug him, but a wave of exhaustion overcame her. Helpless against it, she closed her eyes, and the next thing she knew, she was asleep.

  *

  Cindy woke with a start. She knew it was late.

  With a shock, she sat straight up in bed. The clock read 5 o’clock. She had slept for three hours.

  She jumped out of bed, went to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. She’d told Clint she’d be down on the beach in an hour. She was two hours late. He was probably down on the sand, waiting for her.

  Feeling badly, she threw on her new shorts and a shirt, grabbed her key, and then flew down the wooden staircase to the lobby.

  Alex, behind the main desk, smiled and waved at her as she appeared. During these days he seemed to have taken a special liking to Cindy and Clint. He’d brought them coffee in the morning and kept asking if there was anything they needed to make everything perfect.

  “You need anything, miss?” he called out to her again.

  “No, thank you, thank you,” Cindy said and rushed out of the hotel, down to the beach.

  She hurried down the beach to the spot where she and Clint were supposed to meet, expecting to see him there, waiting for her. The sun was setting, and the temperature had dropped, and she realized that he must have been waiting for her for hours. He was probably disappointed. They’d only had two days left on the honeymoon, and she had promised to surf with him. She could already picture his expression of frustration.

  She doubled her pace, taking off her sandals and carrying them, and as she turned the bend, she was surprised.

  The beach was empty.

  She stopped and looked around, in every direction. He had to be somewhere. Had he laid down on the sand, under a palm tree, maybe?

  But she surveyed the trees closely, and there was no one. All of the hammocks were empty. Of course they were: it was getting dark and cold, and the wind was blowing them wildly.

  Maybe Clint had taken a walk along the shore? She ran to the water’s edge, and looked up and down.

  But there was no one in sight.

  She took out her cell and checked it again. No new messages.

  Her heart started to pound, as panic overcame her. She walked quickly down the shoreline, looking every which way.

  She looked out at the ocean and noticed there was a strong sideways current. Maybe it had taken him along the beach, like it sometimes did, and he hadn’t even realized. That must be it.

  She followed the current sideways, along the beach, increasing her pace with every step.

  But still, nothing. The beach was oddly empty. Not one person was there.

  A wave of fear suddenly washed over her, and she started to run, to sprint mindlessly down the beach, staring out at the water.

  Out of breath, she finally stopped running, and took a deep, wet, salty breath. In the last few minutes the sky had suddenly darkened, and the wind had picked up, becoming much stronger, nearly knocking her off balance. The wind whipped her hair into her face and eyes. She struggled to pull it away.

  “Clint!” she screamed, her voice quickly drowned out by the thunderous waves. “Where are you!?”

  And then, as she looked up, she saw it. In the distance, something in the water.

  She ran towards it, and as she got closer, she saw what it was.

  Clint’s blue surfboard. Floating in the waves.

  And Clint nowhere in sight.

  Her hands got clammy and her heart pounded, as a wave of horror engulfed her. There was no way, there was absolutely no way, that Clint would have ever left his board.

  The ferocious waves, rougher than usual, smashed into each other mercilessly, tossing his surfboard every which way.

  A strange bird flew overhead, screeching.

  And at that moment, Cindy knew in every bone of her body that her husband was dead .

  Chapter 3

  One week later

  The days were a blur. Cindy had no idea how she’d managed to get back home. A thick fog descended over her, and she moved about as if in a dream. She moved slowly, her limbs frozen and numb. Everything seemed surreal. She was frozen in time, in a nightmare she couldn’t get out of.

  From time to time the fog lifted and she heard herself sobbing.

  This can’t be happening. It’s a dream. I’ll wake up and he’ll be here with me. Clint, you promised.

  Then the fog returned and it was hard to remember anything.

  During the first week
at home, she mostly slept. She could hear the phone ringing off the hook—not just her cellphone, which she ignored, and finally shut off—but also the landline that Clint had installed in the house. It never seemed to stop. Her sister Ann had flown in from Wisconsin and was staying with her, and thankfully, she answered it for her.

  In those first few days, Ann was her lifeline. An endless stream of visitors kept stopping by, and when Cindy refused to see them, Ann met them at the door and gently asked them to return another time.

  Cindy’s mother had called the first day, to say how sorry she was, and to say that she couldn’t make it, that she had to keep running her art gallery, back home in Wisconsin. How typical of her, Cindy thought.

  She tried to offer Cindy advice over the phone. “This will take time,” she murmured. “Be patient. Little by little, you’ll feel better.”

  Her words did not comfort Cindy at all. Would she ever feel better? Cindy doubted it. How dare she feel better when Clint was dead?

  Clint’s family, while they lived only a mile away, still hadn’t come to visit. Cindy hoped they never would.

  Ann kept insisting that she come out of the bedroom and greet people, and on the one day that Cindy finally relented, Ann helped her get out of bed. Then she gently guided her down the stairs, into the living room, and onto the marine-blue suede couch in the living room that she and Clint had just purchased. Clint had loved it because it reminded him of the ocean. Now it reminded her of the waves that had beaten him so brutally. She would have to get rid of it, she thought in passing, as she sat on it and shivered.

  The guests who came to offer condolences didn’t stay long. They seemed to be at a loss what to say. Many of them were the same guests who had been to their wedding a little over a week ago. Most were pale and ashen. They shook their heads in disbelief.

  “He was so young,” Moira mentioned, tears in their eyes. She was an old college friend of Clint’s. “I can’t believe this happened.”

  “He had everything ahead of him,” one of Clint’s mother’s friends kept repeating.