Chapter Nine
A light breeze ruffled the skirt of Quinn’s navy blue sundress the moment she stepped out of the rental car. Standing next to the water fountain at the center of the Honeycutt beachfront compound, she hooked the strap of her purse over her shoulder and glanced around to orient herself. She and James had already studied satellite images of the property situated on a promontory on the south side of Provo, so she already had its layout in her mind.
The massive main house stood before them. Smaller bungalows, presumably guesthouses and staff quarters, flanked the main house on either side. The tennis court was to their right. The turquoise ribbon of water that was the man-made marina where the Honeycutts moored their yacht shimmered on the far edge of the property.
Quinn’s research had informed them the entire estate was worth a cool twenty-five million dollars, chump change to a family like the Honeycutts.
James handed the keys to the valet and came to stand next to her. Quinn laced her fingers with his.
The live ripsaw music drifting on the breeze grew louder as they strolled past burning tiki torches toward the entrance of the house. James looked over at her and asked, “So, honey, when are you going to buy me a spread like this?”
Without missing a beat, she answered, “As soon as I figure out where ‘X marks the spot’ on my map of buried treasure.”
He barked a laugh. “Hot on the trail of some gold doubloons, huh? How’s that going?”
“Pretty good,” she said with an impish smile. “I’ve narrowed down the treasure being buried somewhere in the Caribbean, so I’m most of the way there.”
“Clearly.” They climbed the steps and entered the foyer. “Let me know when you find where to dig. I’ll bring the shovel.”
She grinned, rose up on her tiptoes, and kissed his lips. “Aw. Thanks, baby. I can always count on you.”
They turned their attention to the young woman with a clipboard blocking their path into the rest of the house. More specifically, the two very large men behind her were the impediments.
“You must be the Andersons,” the woman said in a lilting Bahamian accent. Her warm brown eyes were as dark as her onyx skin.
“We are,” James said. “What gave us away?”
“Mr. Townsend mentioned you are here on your honeymoon.” Her smile brightened. “We see many couples like you. You are easy to spot.”
“Guilty as charged,” Quinn said and returned the other woman’s smile.
“I’m Grace,” she said. She held the clipboard against her chest and offered a handshake. “We spoke on the phone.”
Not much taller than Quinn, Grace wore a crisp white top and a navy skirt. Her hair, a mass of thin braids, was pulled back and held by a thick band.
“Thank you for adding us at the last minute,” James said, shaking Grace’s hand after Quinn.
“You’re welcome. Thank you for supporting hurricane relief. Enjoy the party.” Grace stepped to one side.
“Thanks. I’m sure we will,” Quinn said.
As if she’d uttered the secret word, the two huge sentries stepped to either side like boulders rolling away from the entrance of a wizard’s cave.
The scene before them, however, was nothing like the inside of a cave. In fact, it was the exact opposite. As was often the case in a home in a tropical clime, everything was white, including the walls, floors, and furniture. Splashes of color came from pillows on the couch.
They walked farther into the room and stopped. “Wow. What a view,” Quinn said, completely awed. The entire back of the house was open to the ocean and sky. While waves crashed on the beach below, the setting sun painted the clouds above pink, violet, and orange.
The majority of the party was taking place at the back of the house, so James and Quinn stepped out onto the patio and walked along the lighted infinity pool. A bar was set up on one side of a large expanse of grass. The band, featuring a guitar, a hand accordion, drums, and a handsaw performed on a stage on the other side.
“Ripsaw music gets its name from the way the guy playing the handsaw scrapes the teeth of it with another implement, like a screwdriver, a nail, a fork, or a knife. It’s said it sounds like paper ripping,” Quinn said after watching him bend and scrape the saw for a few minutes.
James chuckled and slipped his arm around her waist. “Of course you know that.”
She smiled at him unabashedly.
At the end of the lively song, the crowd of about fifty applauded.
“You want a drink?” James asked.
“I’d love one.”
“Why don’t you get us some food from the table over there while I head to the bar?” He leaned down, kissed her cheek, and whispered in her ear, “Keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Mm-hmm.”
James moved off in the direction of the bar while Quinn sauntered toward the long table covered with food. As she went, her eyes darted from one beautiful face to the next. She even recognized a few. One was that of a well-known journalist who worked for a cable news channel. Another belonged to an actress who played a doctor on one of those weekly hospital TV dramas. The fact she seemed rather cozy with one of her costars—who wasn’t her basketball star husband—made Quinn sigh. She wondered how long it would be before news of their interlude would go viral on the Internet. Her guess was before the end of the party.
While observing firsthand the indiscretions of the glitterati, so far, she hadn’t detected anything that would indicate Gibson Honeycutt had any forced laborers on the premises. But then again, how would she even tell? It wasn’t as if they’d wear signs, and Honeycutt likely kept them tucked away where they couldn’t interact too much with visitors.
She picked up a plate and loaded it with a variety of fruits and some pieces of cracked conch, which was pounded, breaded, and fried gastropod. Just as she popped a piece into her mouth, she heard her name called from behind.
She spun around and saw a grinning Rhys Townsend closing in on her. “Quinn, it’s great to see you. I was so pleased when Grace told me you’d accepted my invitation after all.”
She held her finger up as she chewed as rapidly as possible. Once she swallowed, she said, “I’m a librarian. We rarely rub elbows with the rich and famous. And attending a swanky party at an island estate makes for a great honeymoon story.”
“I’m sure it does.” Rhys’s gaze shifted to something over her shoulder. “Good evening, James. Good to see you again.”
Since both hands held drinks, James raised one of the glasses in salute. “You too.”
The three chatted for a few minutes. When Rhys left them to greet other guests, Quinn held a piece of watermelon up in front of James’s mouth and asked in a hushed tone, “You see anything?”
“Not really. Gibson’s already hammered. If he falls into the pool, someone’s gonna have to fish him out before he drowns.” He took the cube of fruit from her fingers with his teeth. “We’re not going to get anything from him.”
Quinn nodded. “This whole thing is like the setup of a murder mystery. Before the evening’s over, someone will stumble across a dead body facedown on the beach and we’ll all be suspects.”
“Brick Cobalt novel? Or is it Chance Stryker?”
“Cat Rios, private detective.”
“Of course,” he said and shot her a wink. “How about you?”
“Other than Hollywood marital infidelity gossip fodder, not much.” She lifted her drink from his hand and sipped. “All the workers I’ve seen circulating around the party appear to be members of the catering staff.”
“Might not hurt to double-check,” James said impassively. His gaze swept the area before returning to Quinn’s face. “What do you say we take a tour of the house? Maybe the kitchen first?” Now that one of his hands was free, he picked up a bit of conch, dipped it in the sauce, and tossed it in his mouth. “Mmmmm. After we finish this plate of food, of course.”
“Agreed.”
Once their food and drinks had been consumed, they offloaded their plate and glasses and sauntered into the house. Quinn noticed a constant stream of servers coming in and out of one area to their right. “Based on the noise and commotion, my guess is the kitchen’s that way,” she said, pointing.
James’s eyes darted in that direction and he nodded.
They wandered into the impressively large kitchen with a massive marble-topped island at the center. Above it, copper pots and pans hung from a rectangular black wrought-iron frame attached to the ceiling. At one end of the island, a man poured champagne into glasses lined up on a giant silver serving tray. One woman stood at a fryer and lowered a basket of battered conch into a vat of bubbling oil. Another efficiently moved cut cubes of papaya, melons, and pineapple from storage containers to trays.
The man loading the divine spring rolls Quinn had munched on earlier onto a huge serving platter looked up and asked, “Can we help you?”
“Yes, I’m hoping you can answer a quick question for us. We’re here on vacation and thinking of having a get-together for a few of our friends. We’d like to hire you to cater it for us, but my husband wants to know if we can save money if we bring some of our own workers to take the place of some of your staff. Serving the food, for instance.”
“Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know, sweetheart,” James said without missing a beat.
“I’m sorry, madam, but that wouldn’t be possible.”
“What if we didn’t cut down on your number of staff but still had extra helpers brought in?” James asked.
Spring Roll Man smiled politely and said, in a long-suffering tone, “That would not be possible either. It’s imperative that our company vouch for the quality of all staff, in order to ensure your satisfaction.”
Quinn bumped James with her hip. “See? Told you.”
“Fine. You were right. It still doesn’t hurt to ask.”
“Unless they refuse to cater for us now.” Quinn said to Spring Roll Man, “We’ll get out of your hair. Be in touch.”
“That answers that,” James said as they left the kitchen.
“About the caterers, yeah. But it doesn’t clear Gibson yet.”
James steered them toward a hallway and pressed his ear to the first closed door they encountered. After a few seconds, he turned the knob and opened it partway. Quinn peeked through the gap and peered into a bedroom. The view through the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean took her breath away. “What an amazing sight to wake up to every morning.”
“It’s not so great.”
“What?” she said, incredulous. “Are you kidding?”
“I get to wake up and see you first thing every morning.”
The sincerity in his eyes melted her heart. “Seeing you every morning is pretty great, too.” She hooked her hand around the back of his neck, pulled his head down, and gave him a warm kiss.
He caught her up and kissed her deeper, leaving Quinn quivering and weak-kneed. “This gives me an idea in case someone spots us snooping around,” James said. He pecked her nose and released her.
“Yeah?” Quinn followed him on wobbly legs to the next closed door. “What’s that?”
He repeated his actions from outside the previous room. After he poked his head through the door, he shut it. “Everyone on Provo seems to know we’re on our honeymoon. So nobody’s gonna think it’s weird for us to sneak off and look for a place where we can”—he looked at her with a twinkle in his eye—“know each other carnally.”
Her hand flew up and clamped over her mouth to silence the giggle.
James stole down the corridor and approached yet another door.
She dropped her hand and followed him. “Hang on a minute. Are you saying we can’t use it as an excuse once we’re not on our honeymoon anymore?”
He pulled a face. “Not at all. It’ll always be our go-to plan. And who says we can’t sneak off looking for a dark corner for real? I plan on using it as a constant source of embarrassment for our grandkids.” He affected a nasally whine. “‘Ah, geez. Grandma and Grandpa are at it again.’”
If he kept that up, she really was going to be looking for a dark place to know him carnally. And soon. “Sounds like we’ll need to set up a fund to pay for their therapy bills.”
“Totally worth it.” He opened up the last door. “This looks interesting.” They stole into the small office and closed the door.
Quinn headed straight to the wall of windows and pulled the curtains closed.
James went to the desk, slid open a drawer, and rummaged through it. He pushed it closed and opened the next one down. “There’s some official-looking Senator Gibson Honeycutt the Third stationery.” James nudged the drawer shut with his knee and sat down in the chair. “A few pens. No files, no computer. Nothing,” he said of the center drawer. He ran his hands along the underside of it. “I bet Gibson number four has never even stepped foot in here.”
While James searched the desk, Quinn scanned the books on in the bookcase. “These books are nothing but decorations. This is an ancient encyclopedia set. And the volumes aren’t even alphabetized.” She stepped over one section and skimmed the books with blocks of black, tan, and red on the spines. “And these are a bunch of random case law books. Supreme Court Reporter number 121 is right next to Federal Supplement number 752. That’s completely bogus. And then there’s this old Martindale-Hubbell.” She turned away and groused, “And those brass duck head bookends are worthless.”
“I love it when you talk library,” James said and stood. “There’s nothing here. Let’s go.”
Quinn went to the window and waited while James peeked through a crack in the door. “Clear,” he said. Quinn flung open the curtains and sprinted across room. They were out the door and sauntering down the hallway again in seconds flat. If anyone noticed them, James and Quinn Anderson appeared to be leisurely touring the house.
Outside and part of the party again, Quinn asked, “Now where to?”
“That bungalow,” he said with a dip of his head. He offered her his elbow. “Shall we?”
She hooked her hand into the crook of his arm and walked toward the smaller house to the east of the main one. A wall of heavy metal music blasting through the open front door greeted them. Quinn gritted her teeth and crossed the threshold.
At the center of the room was a pool table, around which Gibson and some of his dude-bro friends were clustered. The three women who had been at the restaurant with Gibson and Rhys now stood together at a bar and drank from red Solo cups. An unappetizing sludge of spilled alcohol and soggy tortilla chips coated the top of the counter. That explained the smell. Two guys spun the handles of their foosball players while the Ping-Pong and air hockey tables remained unused. With a baseball game playing on one huge TV and a basketball game on the other, it was like they’d entered Gibson’s private sports bar.
Pool cue in hand, Gibson leaned over the green felt table and lined up his shot. He sent the cue ball smashing into the nine ball with a sharp clack. It missed the pocket by a mile, which didn’t surprise Quinn, considering Gibson’s drunken haze. The ball bounced off the bumper, hit two others, and came to a rest next to a third.
“Looks like we’ve stumbled onto a frat party,” Quinn said into James’s ear.
He shook his head. “Not enough puke on the floor.”
Quinn stuck her tongue out between her teeth in disgust. “Gross.”
As they watched the game, Quinn felt the stares of most of the men in the room fall on her. While it made her slightly uncomfortable, she wasn’t about to cower. She’d already worked out in her mind how she’d use a pool cue like a kendo stick and lay out every last one of them if she needed to.
Gibson acknowledged Quinn and James’s presence by jutting his chin in a silent “S’up.”
James likewise responded.
“And thus the male greeting ritual is concluded,” Quinn said in a sonorous, documentarian tone.
His side-eyed stare drilled into her, attempting to appear aggrieved. The tiny smile quirking on his lips told her he was anything but. He relented and took her hand. “Come on,” he said, tugging her down the hall.
During their further exploration of the bungalow, they encountered a fully equipped fitness room and a small movie theater.
“What, no bowling alley?” Quinn asked as they left.
“Maybe the bowling pins are on back order.”
Outside again, Quinn rested her hands on her hips and glanced around. A small, glowing orange dot in the distance caught her eye. She watched for a moment and noted when a second identical light arced up, brightened for a few seconds, and then lowered to its original position. The burning tips of lit cigarettes. “Remember the satellite photos? You can’t see it very well, but there’s a cottage on the other side of this big lawn.” She indicated the general direction with the tip of her head.
James’s eyes cut that way. “Maybe it’s the servants’ quarters.”
“There are a couple of guys hanging out outside it. And all the lights are off.”
“Maybe it’s the valets having a smoke.”
“No. That’s them over there by the fountain,” she said, squinting at the darkness. “Is it worth checking out?”
“I think so. We need to check out everything while we have the chance.”
“Do we go up and start talking to them?”
“No.” James took out his phone and turned it on. It cast a blue glow on his face as he pulled up the satellite image of the property. “Since it appears to be off-limits, we need to be stealthier in our approach.” He swiped his thumb and finger across the screen and zoomed in on the cottage. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”