Free Rum and Razors by Jessica Fletcher Page A

up on the terrace where I ate to the accompaniment of steel drums from Diamond Reef, with vocals provided by my resident tree frogs.
    I thought the food and hot tea might relax me sufficiently to induce a sound sleep. It didn’t happen. My body was tired from all the walking that day in Charlotte Amalie, but my mind was racing. I reread the article about Walter and the charges he’d bribed island Senator Bobby Jensen to acquire Lover’s Lagoon. I didn’t want to believe it. Walter was a good friend, and I counted Laurie among my favorite people. Still, otherwise nice people sometimes do not do very nice things, especially when driven in pursuit of a goal, in this case the splendiferous lagoon that was only a hundred yards from where I sat.
    And I hadn’t been to it yet. I went to the edge of the terrace and looked down to where it shimmered in the moonlight like black plastic. I checked my watch. It was a few minutes before midnight. A long day. Maybe it would be better to visit the lagoon in the morning, in the daylight, take my coffee there and enjoy a relaxing hour on the beach. But I couldn’t resist.
    I slipped into my sandals, draped a light sweater over my shoulders, and stepped outside, inhaling the lush scent of pink oleanders, whose hedges defined the small plot of grass in front of my villa. I found the beginning of a narrow dirt path lined with coconut palms and started down. It wasn’t lighted very well but didn’t have to be. The moon provided ample illumination.
    I looked back. Everything was quiet at the main house, and in the villas; the only sign that I was not alone outside was a couple holding hands as they crossed the restaurant terrace and entered the inn.
    I continued down the gentle slope in the direction of the lagoon, pausing at a point where the dirt path became an equally narrow brick walkway. It was so quiet and peaceful that I could have suffered sensory deprivation. The feeling of isolation was delicious. We all have a need to be alone at times, but find so few opportunities. Most times, we think we’re alone but aren’t. People may be absent, but the world is always there to intrude.
    This was different. I was alone. And I reveled in it.
    I reached the slender strip of beach and looked out over the glassy black water. A bird screeched and flew from a tree, its graceful form a fluid silhouette against a sky graced with millions of stars. It had startled me, and I let out an involuntary whoosh of air. I smiled. You never are really alone.
    I took off my shoes and wiggled my toes in the talcum powder sand. The water looked inviting, but I wouldn’t have ventured in for a dip even if I had worn my bathing suit. Who knew what lurked below? I’ve always had a reputation for being adventurous, but I pick my adventures carefully. Swimming in strange water, and without a companion, was not one for which I would opt.
    I went to the water’s edge and stepped in far enough to cover my bare feet. It was considerably warmer than I’d expected. Still it was refreshing. I slowly meandered the length of the beach, keeping my feet in the water. I felt childlike. And then lonely. What a perfect spot to share with someone. With a lover. Lover’s Lagoon. “Kiss in it, and you’ll enjoy a long and happy life together.” A lovely thought. My thoughts went to George Sutherland, my friend with Scotland Yard in London. We hadn’t had the time in London to get to know each other well. But he had expressed, with awkward charm, warm feelings for me before I left England for home, and our correspondence had been relatively frequent and personal.
    As I continued my aimless stroll, I also thought of my deceased husband. We’d shared many loving moments together in beautiful, exotic places like Lover’s Lagoon. I missed him as strongly at that moment as I did the day he died. I guess that’s what happens when you spend so many happy years with a man. You never stop missing. And hurting, although the hurt