with a grubby handprint and a glued-on photo of a young boy with dark eyes too big for his thin face. And you’re the best teacher ever, love me , read the inside. He sat on the bed and read a sample of the dozen cards, all in a similar vein.
The photographs showed children with the stamp of physical fragility, one with braces on his feet, another devoid of hair, this one in a wheelchair. The last card he picked up broke his heart.
Heaven , read the outside above a colorful rainbow. On the inside, Jake scrutinized the drawings of three stick people and a bulb-like creature. Arrows labeled each image. The word me next to the smallest figure; Mama , next to a female with a red heart at its center; Tee , next to a female with a solid mass of hair; and Cherry , next to the animal.
He set the card back into place and stared at the array for long seconds. Somewhere a bell rang, and the sound jolted him back to reality. Unbidden, his gaze swept to the other table, no cards, a digital alarm clock instead.
But, as he neared the doorway, an 8x11 metal-framed shot of Tony and Tee smiling in their wedding finery on the mantel drew his attention. Jake cursed, strode over to the blasted photograph, and clenched his fists, resisting the urge to send it flying into the fireplace below. Soured, he settled for tucking it into a dresser drawer.
Four hours later, having sat through a tedious, taxing seven-course meal which Tee failed to attend, he swore like a marine on the return to the guest abode. He couldn’t recall a more tortuous evening. Tricia sat two proper matrons on either side of him, and they conducted a Spanish inquisition dissecting his background with centuries of aristocratic disdain. Drained, defensive, and angry, sleep proved elusive.
Daybreak came early in the Caribbean , especially on an island near the equator, Jake mused as he dressed. The painful hammering in his head slowed every movement, and he regretted downing so much wine the night before.
It was a full thirty minutes later before he sat down to breakfast on the porch off the Main House. A dwarf lime plant decorated the center of a circular wrought iron table; its petite, porcelain-like white flowers perfumed the air with a sweet, pungent aroma.
“Jake.”
Tricia Inglefield didn’t meet his gaze.
A humming bird whirred around a potted plant behind her. The tiny creature hovered over a salmon hibiscus flower at the top of a branch, its wings a blur of motion.
“Tricia.”
In no mood to exchange barbed banter, Jake pulled his napkin out of an ornate pewter ring.
“Will Henry be joining us?”
“Yes. He should be here at any moment. Orange juice?”
“Thanks.” Jake held out his glass.
Green, yellow-chested parrots darted about the trees lining the porch, arguing loudly. Tricia poured pulp-thick liquid from a pink crystal jug into his glass.
“Where is Tee?”
The royal glower she shot him could’ve shattered granite.
“Not that it’s any of your concern, my daughter decided to visit a friend in Barbados .”
She dabbed a pink napkin at the left corner of her mouth.
Metal groaned as one side of a double door opened and Henry strode onto the patio.
“Morning, m’boy,” he said. “Just ended a call from the police inspector. The chauffeur-cum-messenger Tony employed confessed that the cocaine was his. The office is no longer off-limits.”
“Good news,” Jake replied, his mind centered on locating Tee. He remembered her best friend from the wedding, a cynical, Playboy -boobed blonde bombshell, Desdemona Bloom, who lived in Barbados . “I understand Tee flew to Barbados ?”
Henry grimaced. “She’s visiting Dee . Got a call from her while we were in the study yesterday, the attorney general’s fallen ill, and Dee ’s filling in for him.”
And what the blasted hell that had to do with Tee’s abrupt disappearance, Jake couldn’t decipher. He tugged his earlobe and strung the moment out, hoping for inspiration.
“I
The photographs showed children with the stamp of physical fragility, one with braces on his feet, another devoid of hair, this one in a wheelchair. The last card he picked up broke his heart.
Heaven , read the outside above a colorful rainbow. On the inside, Jake scrutinized the drawings of three stick people and a bulb-like creature. Arrows labeled each image. The word me next to the smallest figure; Mama , next to a female with a red heart at its center; Tee , next to a female with a solid mass of hair; and Cherry , next to the animal.
He set the card back into place and stared at the array for long seconds. Somewhere a bell rang, and the sound jolted him back to reality. Unbidden, his gaze swept to the other table, no cards, a digital alarm clock instead.
But, as he neared the doorway, an 8x11 metal-framed shot of Tony and Tee smiling in their wedding finery on the mantel drew his attention. Jake cursed, strode over to the blasted photograph, and clenched his fists, resisting the urge to send it flying into the fireplace below. Soured, he settled for tucking it into a dresser drawer.
Four hours later, having sat through a tedious, taxing seven-course meal which Tee failed to attend, he swore like a marine on the return to the guest abode. He couldn’t recall a more tortuous evening. Tricia sat two proper matrons on either side of him, and they conducted a Spanish inquisition dissecting his background with centuries of aristocratic disdain. Drained, defensive, and angry, sleep proved elusive.
Daybreak came early in the Caribbean , especially on an island near the equator, Jake mused as he dressed. The painful hammering in his head slowed every movement, and he regretted downing so much wine the night before.
It was a full thirty minutes later before he sat down to breakfast on the porch off the Main House. A dwarf lime plant decorated the center of a circular wrought iron table; its petite, porcelain-like white flowers perfumed the air with a sweet, pungent aroma.
“Jake.”
Tricia Inglefield didn’t meet his gaze.
A humming bird whirred around a potted plant behind her. The tiny creature hovered over a salmon hibiscus flower at the top of a branch, its wings a blur of motion.
“Tricia.”
In no mood to exchange barbed banter, Jake pulled his napkin out of an ornate pewter ring.
“Will Henry be joining us?”
“Yes. He should be here at any moment. Orange juice?”
“Thanks.” Jake held out his glass.
Green, yellow-chested parrots darted about the trees lining the porch, arguing loudly. Tricia poured pulp-thick liquid from a pink crystal jug into his glass.
“Where is Tee?”
The royal glower she shot him could’ve shattered granite.
“Not that it’s any of your concern, my daughter decided to visit a friend in Barbados .”
She dabbed a pink napkin at the left corner of her mouth.
Metal groaned as one side of a double door opened and Henry strode onto the patio.
“Morning, m’boy,” he said. “Just ended a call from the police inspector. The chauffeur-cum-messenger Tony employed confessed that the cocaine was his. The office is no longer off-limits.”
“Good news,” Jake replied, his mind centered on locating Tee. He remembered her best friend from the wedding, a cynical, Playboy -boobed blonde bombshell, Desdemona Bloom, who lived in Barbados . “I understand Tee flew to Barbados ?”
Henry grimaced. “She’s visiting Dee . Got a call from her while we were in the study yesterday, the attorney general’s fallen ill, and Dee ’s filling in for him.”
And what the blasted hell that had to do with Tee’s abrupt disappearance, Jake couldn’t decipher. He tugged his earlobe and strung the moment out, hoping for inspiration.
“I
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