Volcano by Patricia Rice Page A

behind the counter and sauntered out to the street, striving for a casual demeanor. She wondered how long it was before the sun set. The idea of walking these streets after dark didn’t improve her sense of security. She was as big a coward as her ex-brother-in-law.
    Taking a deep breath, she pulled her gauzy cover-up around her in an attempt to conceal her vulnerability, and aimed for the shops. At least there were a few tourists wandering around there. She hadn’t expected an opportunity for shopping, but she didn’t object. Maybe she could find something to make Beth smile. And she needed to take her niece and nephew something.
    She passed up the volcanic beads and seashells and other tourist wares in the arts and crafts shops. She recognized some of the willow furniture from the cottage, and the fabric wall hangings with the bold designs. Settling on a textured sculpture of a native woman in knotted kerchief for Beth and some hand-carved wooden toys for the children, she breathed a sigh of relief that the prices were clearly stated in U.S. dollars and counted out her money.
    â€œThey rob you, miss,” a sibilant voice whispered from somewhere near her elbow.
    Glancing down, she saw a skeletally thin black man sitting in the shadows, polishing a bowl. Dark eyes glittered as he caught her gaze, then returned to his work.
    Penelope really didn’t care. She’d rather be robbed than argue. But something in the man’s warning gave her pause, and daringly, she put back one of the toys. “I don’t think I’ll take two,” she said tentatively.
    The clerk or artist or whoever it was behind the counter looked surprised, then smiled again. “I give two, special price, one for half price of first.”
    Startled at how easy it was, Penelope laid out the bills, and with a bravery she hadn’t known she possessed, offered half her savings to the man on the floor. He slipped the money hastily into his pocket without so much as looking up.
    Quite foolishly proud of her minor accomplishment, Penelope picked her way back through the shops to the street and glanced at her watch. Charlie’s hour was up.
    Deciding it would be much more relaxing if she thought she were returning to the cottage alone, Penelope sauntered toward the dock where the water taxi had left them. She didn’t know how one went about hiring a boat, but she’d figure it out. The water ride had been considerably more comfortable than the potholed road.
    Noting the evening sun settling into the banks of clouds over the ocean, she hurried a little faster through the dusty street.
    Before she reached the dock, a familiar hiss beckoned from beneath a wind-bent palm tree. Startled, she scanned the shadows, at last locating the man in a tattered shirt carrying his polished wooden bowls from strings around his neck. She suspected he was the same man from the shop, although how he had managed to get here before her, she couldn’t imagine.
    Just a little afraid, she hesitated, not going nearer but waiting to hear what he had to say.
    â€œYour man, he got big trouble. You follow me.”
    And with that ominous statement, he rattled off down the road, leaving Penelope to follow if she dared.

FIVE
    Slipping out the back of the restaurant, Charlie cut across the yard and down a side alley between two crumbling residences. He’d told Penelope an hour, but he suspected if he didn’t return at the appointed time, his lady friend wouldn’t mind in the least. She would probably hope that he’d fallen off a cliff and merrily go her own way. He’d been looking forward to the argument over that big double bed though. Even with his entire business collapsing around his ears, his mind was on sex.
    Focus, Charlie.
    He hurried past crumbling stone facades and weathered Creole-style buildings with wooden gingerbread and wrought-iron railings. Too many people knew him here. It had been ten years and he’d