Murder in the Raw by C.S. Challinor Page B

management to open up.”
    “I don’t think we need worry that he topped himself,” David Weeks said. “When we passed his cabana on our way here, we heard Broadway hits playing at top volume.”
    “We should leave him be,” Toni advised. “Let him work it out of his system.”
    “Work what out of his system?” Elizabeth Winslow demanded. “We don’t know if he’s grieving or gloating.”
    “Really, Elizabeth,” her husband chided.
    “Don’t be a hypocrite,” she returned. “You know he did it.”
    Rex thought he should try to diffuse the situation. “I’ll go and see Vernon tomorrow.”
    “About time,” Duke Farley muttered. “He’s the one with all the answers.”
    “Why d’you say that?” Rex asked.
    “It’s obvious he knows more than he’s letting on,” the Texan responded belligerently. “That’s why he’s avoiding us.”
    “Brooklyn Chalmers isn’t around much either,” Rex pointed out. “And I don’t think he’s got anything to hide.”
    “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Dick Irving said, looking like Tarzan in his short wrap. “He and Sabine were tight.”
    “Pretty lady!” a voice chirped.
    Rex glanced up toward the rafters where a yellow-breasted macaw wrapped its claws around a second trapeze, trailing blue tail feathers.
    “This place is a veritable aviary,” Rex commented. “How many birds are there here?”
    Penny Irving threw it a cashew, which the macaw adroitly caught in its hooked beak. “Four, all in the parrot family. This is Long John. He was Sabine’s favorite.”
    “Pretty lady!”
    “He says that every time he hears her name.”
    “He misses her,” Winslow said. “O’Sullivan’s already in his cups, I see,” he murmured to Rex, with a sideways look down the bar. “What was he rambling on about?”
    “He seems to have a conspiracy theory regarding Ms. Durand’s disappearance.”
    “Don’t tell me. Monsieur Bijou is a sadistic serial rapist, but the police are too cowardly to do anything about it.”
    “In a nutshell.”
    “Poor old sod. His mind’s shot. He has the shakes, you know. Suffers from cirrhosis of the liver.”
    “Why is he still drinking?”
    “Can’t quit. Nora put him in rehab but he managed to sneak out to the local pub. He’s incorrigible.”
    Rex chuckled. “An incorrigible Irishman. Fancy that. So there’s no truth to this story of his?”
    “What do you think?”
    “It’s verra far-fetched,” Rex conceded. “All the same, I’ll have my colleague in London do a background check on Mr. Bijou—see what comes up. What can you tell me about him?”
    “He’s very respected on the island. He’s given the French side a certain caché it never had before. His private marina community is attracting big money. And he’s creating a night life to rival the Dutch side.”
    “Strip clubs?”
    “My dear man!” Winslow clapped him on the shoulder. “Nothing so sleazy. Tasteful nudity—artistic stuff. You really must meet him.”
    “I intend to. What’s his nationality?”
    Winslow looked puzzled. “I really can’t say. He speaks perfect English and French, but now you mention it, I don’t think he’s either. You’ll find him very cosmopolitan. Remind me to give you his number later. He’s not an easy man to pin down.”
    “The island’s not that big.”
    “Twenty-one square miles on the French side, sixteen on the Dutch,” Winslow informed him.
    “What’s your poison?” the Texan asked Rex.
    “Guinness—thanks.” One more only, just to be sociable.
    “A Guinness over here,” Duke Farley boomed across the bar. “Didn’t mean to sound off about Vernon earlier,” he told Rex. “I just want to put a lid on this business and get on with my vacation. If Vernon killed the gal, he needs to fess up and get it off his chest—give the rest of us a break.”
    “I appreciate your sentiments,” Rex said. “But he’s not the only suspect.”
    “Did you read my statement?”
    “Of course.”
    “I never