Rum and Razors by Jessica Fletcher

Author:Jessica Fletcher
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.

Chapter 12

“Could you go a little faster?” I asked my driver, an older black man wearing a Chicago Cubs baseball cap backward, who sang along with calypso music that oozed from his radio. A dozen furry little figures dangling from the visors bobbed to the rhythms.

“No good to rush, ma’am,” he said, his head moving up and down as though conducting the furry dancers. “Not good for the blood pressure.”

“But I don’t want to lose that car,” I said. The Mercedes was leaving us in the dust, figuratively and literally.

“Not likely we’d lose him, ma’am,” he said. “He’s heading for Charlotte Amalie, that’s for certain. He can’t drive very fast over the mountains.”

I continued to lean on the back of his seat and attempted to catch a glimpse of Webb’s taillights. They came and went, suddenly flashing as red beacons at the top of a hill, then disappearing over the crest. Eventually, they were not to be seen again, and my heart pounded with frustration. But then, after coming down a final twisting, narrow mountain road, I saw the black Mercedes as it slowed to enter the crowded streets of Charlotte Amalie. My driver turned and grinned. “See, ma’am? Not to worry.”

Webb maneuvered the Mercedes onto Norre Gade, otherwise known as Main Street, and parked in front of a church. I instructed my driver to also park, leaving plenty of distance between us and the Mercedes. I watched as Jennifer stepped from the passenger side, stretched, yawned, and waited for Webb to join her. When he got out, he slowly walked around the car to ascertain whether he’d parked too far out into the street. He had, but evidently didn’t care.

“What is that church?” I asked my driver.

“Frederick Lutheran, ma’am. Second oldest Lutheran church in Western Hemisphere.”

“And that building?” I asked, pointing across the street at a building to which Webb and Jennifer were headed.

“Fort Christian. Our oldest building. Completed in 1687. A United States landmark, ma’am. Was once a jail, among other things. Our history museum is located in its dungeons.”

“Oh.” I felt a chill in the heavy, warm night air as I envisioned the dungeons, sans museum—dark and dank, with chains on the walls and the blood of prisoners on the dirt floors. I’ve never been fond of jails, and avoid them at all costs, although I’ve found myself visiting enough of them over the years.

Jennifer and Chris Webb paused in front of the old fort, glanced about, then disappeared around the side of the building.

“Is the museum open this late at night?” I asked my driver.

“Oh, no, ma’am. Closes each day at four-thirty, except for Saturday and Sunday when it closes at four.”

I couldn’t help but smile. He was a living, breathing St. Thomas guidebook. If I decided to take another tour of the island, I’d make a point of looking him up.

“Where to now, ma’am?”

“I’m—not quite sure. Can we just sit here for a few minutes? With the meter running, of course.”

“As you wish.” He increased

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