34. Caro

"The Black Pearl is a tattoo shop in Raystown," Knox's colleague said on screen. She was a small, elfin woman who wore her blonde hair in pigtails and favoured the natural look. "I mean, it's also a pirate ship, but I don't think that's what we're dealing with in this instance."

"Anything on M-O-N? Is that part of the address?" he asked.

"Nuh-uh. It's on Chapel Boulevard. Emailing the details now."

"How about Havana? The boat? Nine p.m.?"

"We're trying to get ahold of the shipping records, focusing on any vessel travelling to either Havana, Cuba, or Little Havana, Florida."

"How long would it take for a boat to get there?"

"The distance between San Gallicano and the Port of Miami is just over eighteen hundred nautical miles, to Puerto de La Habana is a little less. We don't know what type of vessel we're dealing with yet, but if we assume it's travelling at somewhere between ten and twenty knots, the journey would take between four and eight days, and it could have docked as soon as yesterday. Reuben from the Miami office is heading over to the port now. Cuba isn't quite so straightforward, but Nate has contacts there. Are you going to try the tattoo shop?"

"I'll head over there this morning."

Excuse me. "We'll head over there."

"Baby, it's safer for you to stay here."

"Stacey was my friend." We hadn't known each other for long, but I'd liked her. She'd been the kind of woman I'd have enjoyed spending time with.

"I understand, but there's no point in making yourself a target any more than you already are."

"If I'm a target, then the safest place for me is right behind you."

Knox's colleague snorted. "She isn't wrong."

Okay, yes, I liked her too.

He blew out a breath. "Agatha, we're supposed to be on the same team here."

"We are. If I was in San Gallicano, I'd want to be standing behind you as well."

"Fine. I can't argue with both of you."

Wow. A man who knew how to give in semi-gracefully. "If I come, I can help—Stacey said she spoke to a woman, and I might be able to build a rapport with her."

Agatha giggled. "Knox can be quite the charmer when he puts his mind to it."

And now I had to give in gracefully too. "Yes, he can."

"Sloane told me she'd found a courier to bring the drives to us in Virginia?"

Knox nodded. "That's right—the courier will be our first stop when we get to Ilha Grande, and you'll have the package this afternoon."

On the rare occasions that I needed to send something to the US—there were a couple of volunteers I kept in touch with, and we mailed each other birthday cards—I used the economy service at the general store, where the item got loaded onto a boat and arrived several weeks later. Not Blackwood Security. When the package was important enough, they hired a person to walk the item onto a plane and hand-deliver it to their offices. No delays other than a flight change at Miami International. The environmentalist in me was screaming, but I held my tongue—finding Stacey's killer was more important than everything else right now. I'd plant a tree when this was over.

Look on the bright side, Caro. At least they're not using a private jet.

* * *

The Black Pearl was more than a tattoo shop. Through a colourful beaded curtain, I saw a single empty chair, but the front of the establishment seemed to house a jewellery store-slash-art gallery. Chunky crystal necklaces fought for space among framed drawings of winged beasts and delicate angels. The artist could have used the girl behind the counter as a muse. She wore a filmy kaftan over tiny shorts and a tank top, and in the light streaming through the window behind her, she looked almost ethereal.

"May I help you?" she asked. "We have a pair of topaz earrings that would match your eyes perfectly."

"We were actually hoping for some information. A few days ago, a friend of mine came here asking about a particular tattoo. She was trying to find its owner."

"A friend?"

"Her name is Stacey." Was Stacey. I still struggled to believe she'd gone. Logically, I understood, but I still kept half expecting her to call again, asking for more facts and figures on the turtles. "Do you remember her?"

"Uh, not really? I mean, she was here, but we didn't speak much."

Knox squeezed my hand, and I wasn't sure whether that meant "You're doing good, keep going" or "Thank goodness we're in the right place." But a wave of relief washed over me because I had his support.

"She said you had a friend who dated the guy?"

"Well, I thought so, maybe, but I was probably wrong. We have some lovely necklaces, if you'd like to take a look?" She slid a tray out from beneath the glass counter. "This pink agate would definitely suit you."

"Did you speak with your friend?"

"Uh, I… I shouldn't get involved."

"We need to get in touch with her. Stacey disappeared the day after she came here, and your friend might be the last person who spoke with her."

The girl had been pale to start with, but as soon as I mentioned the word "disappeared," she turned the colour of sun-bleached bone.

"D-d-disappeared?"

"We're not sure whether the two things are connected, but if your friend didn't call her, it would help if we could rule that out."

"Sh-sh-shouldn't the police be looking into this?"

"We filed a report, but the guy on the missing persons desk basically said that they were all busy with the royal visit, so they couldn't do much in the short term." I rolled my eyes on purpose, trying to lighten the mood. "I have no idea why we even pay taxes."

Knox had told me not to mention Stacey's death for the moment. If the girl realised this was a murder investigation, she might clam up completely.

"Please, will you help us?" I pushed.

"I think… I think…" Her eyes began to glisten. "I think Monique might have vanished too."

Monique? M-O-N. Oh, shit. The tres bocados I'd eaten for breakfast turned leaden in my stomach.

"What makes you think that?"

"She said she was going to call Stacey, and we were meant to meet for dinner that night—the Laughing Crab does an all-you-can-eat special on Thursdays—but then she texted to ask if we could get breakfast the next morning instead. This place doesn't open until ten, and the Bluebird Bakery has TFI Fridays. Two pastries and two drinks for the price of one."

"And she didn't show up?"

"I tried to call her, but she didn't answer, and I figured she'd just forgotten. She can be flaky like that, you know? But when she didn't call back by the end of the day, I went to her apartment, and only Cheeto was there."

"Cheeto?"

"Her cat. Usually, Monique asks me to feed him if she goes away, but she has a new neighbour who loves cats, so I figured that she was helping out. But then I spoke with her yesterday, and she said Monique never told her she was going anywhere, and it's been more than three days now. What should I do? Should I tell the police? I guess maybe I should, but Monique didn't trust them."

"Why not?"

"Because a couple of years ago, she went on a date with this guy—one date—and he totally wasn't her type. But he wouldn't take the hint. He used to sit outside her place in his car all night, and it really creeped her out. So she reported him, but the police said they couldn't do anything because he wasn't trespassing on private property. Isn't that crazy?"

"Whether the cops act generally depends on the colour of the stalker's skin and how nice their car is," Knox said. "At least, that's my experience in the United States."

"Oh, he drove a BMW. A nice one. So when the police shrugged their shoulders, Monique got a plank of wood and hammered a bunch of nails into it—she's a carpenter, so she's good with tools—and then she buried it in the dirt outside her place. And you know what? When the asshole got four flat tyres, she was the one who got charged."

"Did she get convicted?" Knox asked.

"Thankfully, Judge Morgan was in court, and he just laughed and threw out the case." The girl beamed. "Do you know Judge Morgan? We love him here. Last month, he sent that dumb singer who dressed up a turtle to work at the turtle sanctuary."

"I'm familiar with Judge Morgan. He has a unique approach to the job."

"We definitely need more judges like him. I mean, the creep with the BMW still kept coming back. That's when Monique started dating Tomas."

"Tomas?" I asked. "Who's Tomas?"

"He's friendly with Barry."

"And who is Barry?"

"The guy your friend was asking about? With the tattoo? When she came here, I couldn't remember the name, only that it was something fishy, but I asked Monique when I spoke with her."

A spark ran through me. I'd never wanted to be a private detective—I was good at investigating finances, not murder—but this was weirdly exciting. Awful because Stacey was dead, but at least I was helping to find out who killed her.

"The man with the anchor on his hand? His name is Barry? How is that fishy?"

"It's short for Barracuda."

Ah.

"And Monique was dating his friend, not him?"

"I got confused. And Barry might not be his real name," the girl continued, "but it's all Monique ever called him. And she only dated Tomas for a few months. Long enough for him to punch the creep in the face and tell him that if he ever came near Monique again, he'd be eating through a straw, but not long enough for her to introduce him to her family."

Great. So one of our key suspects was a poacher named Barracuda, who was acquainted with a thug who thought nothing of smashing a man's teeth. Oh, that wasn't freaking me out. I realised I was breathing hard and tried to relax, tried to tamp down the rising sense of panic. Two missing women? Stacey was dead, but where was Monique? Had she met the same fate with her body yet to be found? Or was she still alive somewhere?

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

Would we find her in time?

"Does Monique have family close by?" Knox asked.

"Her parents live on Malavilla. That's where she grew up. They're always nagging her to find a nice man and settle down, but she keeps saying she's not ready for that, and Tomas sure wasn't a guy you'd take home to meet Mom and Dad. To be honest, I think she was just using him for the sex, and—" The girl clapped both hands over her mouth. "I shouldn't be talking about her private business like this."

Using him for sex? That sounded familiar, or at least it should have. Last night, Knox had held me until I fell into a fitful sleep, and it had felt like so much more.

"If Monique is in trouble, I think she'll appreciate you doing all you can to help, but we don't need to know the intimate details of her relationship. We only need to find Tomas, and hopefully he'll be able to tell us more about Barry. Did she tell you why they broke up?"

"Not really? She just said he wasn't the man she thought he was, and that she'd decided to take a break from men altogether. And she did. She deleted her dating apps and bought a Pleasure Master 3000."

Hmm. "Are those good?"

"A-ma-zing. The gold standard of vibrators."

"I've seen them online, but I didn't think they were available in San Gallicano?"

Knox cut me a sideways glare. Yes, his equipment was platinum standard, but he wouldn't be around all the time, and women had needs.

"We picked them up when we took a trip to New York, and then I nearly died in the airport when the TSA guy made me unpack my carry-on bag, but thankfully, the pitcher of margaritas we shared for breakfast limited my capacity for embarrassment. Monique couldn't stop giggling."

"Sounds like a great trip."

"It was awesome, at least, the parts that I can remember. We need to find her. We need to find Monique."

Knox took over again. "Do you know how she met Tomas?"

"Through work, I think?"

"Was he a colleague? A client?"

"I'm almost sure she was doing a job for his boss. He brought her a drink, and they ended up talking. That was either Tomas or hums-when-he-comes guy, but I think hums-when-he-comes asked for her number when he fixed her truck."

Hums when he comes? Yikes. My mind wandered to my own guy. I got a groan and kisses from Knox, or sometimes curses if the moment was particularly intense. And afterward, I'd fall asleep in his arms, wrapped up in the scent of sandalwood and a layer of protection so strong that it kept my nightmares at bay. I was going to miss him like crazy when he wasn't there.

Would the dreams of Aiden return?

The sleepless, sweat-soaked nights?

Knox, of course, stayed focused on the task at hand.

"You said Monique was a carpenter—did she work with somebody, or was she a one-woman band?"

"Oh, it was just her. She used to work with her grandfather, but then he retired, and they sort of…swapped places. She took over his workshop, and he moved to Malavilla to stay with her parents. Poor guy has dementia now—it's so sad."

"Where's the workshop? If we could look through her records, we might be able to track down Tomas."

"You really think Barry is connected to her disappearance?"

"Yeah, I do. Stacey was looking for the guy with the anchor tattoo, Monique knew him, and suddenly they're both gone? At the very least, we need to find him and eliminate him."

I understood that Knox meant "eliminate him from the investigation," but the determination in his voice sent a chill spider-walking up my spine. Knox carried a gun, and he'd worked a job where death was commonplace.

The girl turned things over in her mind and came to a decision. "I have a key to her place. To let the cat out, you know? We can go there on my lunch break, and I'll show you where she keeps past invoices. My name is Angel, by the way."

Angel? It suited her.

"We appreciate your help, and so will Monique."