The Coconut Killings by Patricia Moyes

Author:Patricia Moyes [Moyes, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General, Police Procedural, Traditional
ISBN: 9781631941801
Google: 0d0DugEACAAJ
Publisher: Felony & Mayhem Press
Published: 2019-03-14T13:00:00+00:00

9

If Derek Reynolds had not been a highly trained and alert policeman, it is probable that he could have felt nothing but relief at the departure of Candy Stevenson from St. Matthew’s Golf Club. A note pushed under the door of his cottage at seven o’clock on Saturday morning informed him, in a childishly rounded hand, that “the old bitch” had been “so rude” that she, Candy, had decided to pack up and leave on the first launch to St. Boniface. “Darling Derek” had been a “cutie angel pie,” and she hoped they would meet again someday.

The note was delivered as silently as possible, and most people would not have been woken by the tiny, dry sound of the paper under the door. Reynolds, however, was up and out of bed in an instant–just in time to see a black, masculine back view slipping away into the shelter of a hedge of pink oleanders. This fact was not in itself particularly sinister, but it was enough to send Derek Reynolds struggling sleepily into his pants and shirt and out into the early-morning quiet of the gardens.

Although the whole compound seemed to be asleep, Derek Reynolds took care to remain unobtrusive as he made his way toward the jetty, and, as he approached it, he was glad he had taken this elementary precaution, because—unlike the rest of the club—the jetty was not deserted.

The harbor master’s office was empty, and the club launches and small Boston whalers rode quietly at the quayside, jostling each other gently on the sparkling water. In another twenty minutes or so, the first of the staff would arrive to check, refuel, scrub, and swab down the boats for a new day. Meanwhile, two black men—one of whom Reynolds recognized as Addison Drake—were loading the last of a pile of luggage onto the Island Eagle. Derek Reynolds ran down the jetty, waving his arms.

“Candy! Miss Stevenson!”

He found himself confronted by the bulk and muscle of Addison, who smiled and said, “Hi, Mr. Reynolds. Looking for something?”

“For Miss Stevenson. She left a note—”

“She ain’t here, man. Best go back look in her cottage. We’re just loading her luggage. She’s off at half-past eight.”

“If I could just go on board—”

“Sorry, sir.” Addison had been joined by the second black man, who was every bit as formidable as his companion. “Are you traveling to St. Boniface on this launch?”

“Yes,” said Reynolds.

“Then I’ll have to see your pass from the reception desk, sir.”

“I haven’t got a pass. I’ve only just decided.”

“Well, sir, I’m afraid I can’t let you on board without a pass. But we don’t sail till eight-thirty. Plenty of time to go up to the desk and get your pass and—”

“Plenty of time to go back to Miss Candy’s cottage,” added Addison, helpfully.

The two of them presented a solid front, and Derek Reynolds had the sense to realize that he could not penetrate it single-handedly. At the same time, he was reasonably certain that he could glimpse, in the dark recesses of the boat’s cabin, a slim golden-skinned leg protruding from beneath a blanket.

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