A Quarter for a Kiss (36 page)

Conversation flowed as the night went on, but the more we talked, the more I decided I wasn’t picking up all that much new information. Larry was absorbed with his date, Zach was as stoic and silent as ever, Jodi and Fawn were giggling and infantile, and Sandy, the archaeologist, sat at the far end of the table, looking just a little detached from the whole group. At one point everyone went to dance but her, and I seized the opportunity to move closer and ask how things were going. Tom, in the meantime, had gone back inside to see if he could get seconds. A tad more culinarily adventurous than I, he was really enjoying the food.

“I’m sorry,” Sandy said. “I’ve been a bit rude tonight.”

“Rude?” I replied. “How so?”

“I’m angry at Jodi,” she said. “It hasn’t exactly put me in a party mood.”

“What’s going on?”

She exhaled loudly, and I noticed that her hands were clenched into fists.

“Jodi took Fawn into St. Thomas today and bought her a fake ID.”

I tried to look surprised.

“Why?”

“They said Fawn doesn’t want it so she can drink, she just wants to be able to go where everyone else goes, to the bars or whatever.”

“That bothers you.”

“Of course it bothers me! I didn’t want my sister here so she could party. I wanted her here to share the dig, to hang out with me. Why does she need to get into bars?”

I nodded, agreeing on all counts.

“I’m sorry,” Sandy said, “because I know Jodi’s your friend and all, but it’s time for her to grow up. Do you realize she just turned twenty-five and has more in common with my seventeen-year-old sister than she does with me?”

We both turned to watch them on the dance floor. Jodi was dancing with Zach, sliding her half-naked body against him seductively. For the first time all week, he actually seemed interested in return. Fawn danced by herself nearby, but I had no doubt she was watching the two of them and taking mental notes for future use.

“Maybe I could have a talk with her,” I offered.

“And say what?” Sandy asked. “Act your age? I’ve been telling her that for years.”

The song ended, but when our group returned to the table, they didn’t sit down.

“You guys ready?” Jodi asked, picking up her purse and wrap from her chair.

“Ready for what?” Sandy asked.

“We thought we’d head into town. See what’s happening.”

“I don’t think so,” Sandy replied. “Come on, Fawn. We’ve got an early morning.”

Fawn started to object, but a sharp look from Sandy cut her right off.

“Sorry, Jodi,” Fawn said. “Looks like I gotta go.”

The two sisters gathered their things and left.

“Okay, then,” Jodi said. “That just leaves the six of us.”

“Count us out,” said Tom, returning with a plate of dessert. “We’re not really into the bar thing, and we’re enjoying the music here.”

Jodi looked up at Zach.

“Zach?” she asked beguilingly, and after a slight hesitation, he looked at Larry and nodded. They said goodbye to us, and then, like a flock of birds, Zach, Jodi, Larry, and Sunshine turned simultaneously and moved toward the parking lot. Tom and I watched the two couples go, not even having to wonder how the rest of their night would play out.

Thirty-Eight

Once they were gone, there really was no reason to stick around. Still, Tom and I were both reluctant to leave. He had been swept into the same peaceful easiness I was feeling. We decided to linger just a bit longer and take in the music and the starlight.

“Are we set for the morning?” I asked, dreading his answer. If he hadn’t somehow obtained permission for us to listen in on Dianne’s conversation with Merveaux at the Baths, then we would either have to give up or do it illegally. I didn’t like either choice.

“I think you’ll be a bit surprised at the turn things have taken,” he said. “By tomorrow morning there should be a few more people on hand.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s take a walk.”

We stood and went down to the water’s edge, away from anyone who might be able to hear us. The moon was so bright that the sand under our feet practically glowed. I took off my sandals and hooked one finger through the straps.

“Here’s the thing,” he said. “The matter has been turned over to the FBI office in Miami. Right now they’re in communication with Interpol and the Legat.”

“The Legat?”

“The legal attaché for Great Britain. Because the meeting will supposedly take place in the British Virgin Islands, we can’t do anything there without the express permission of the British legal attaché.”

“Do you foresee any problems in that area?”

“Not really. Interpol can be very persuasive, and that transcript is pretty damning evidence. I think she’ll authorize whatever needs to be done.”

“So what will happen in the morning?”

“We convene at four. We’ll know more then.”

“Four o’clock in the morning?” I asked, glancing at my watch.

“Things are moving quickly. From here on in, you, Abraham, and I are merely observers. We’re still needed on the team, but now the FBI is leading the way.”

Feeling somehow enormously comforted, I didn’t resist when Tom asked me if I would like to dance before leaving. I started to walk toward the dance floor, but he pulled me back, slipping his arms around my waist.

“Right here,” he said softly. “We can dance right here.”

With his hands bandaged, I could feel his two fists gently pressing against my back, pulling me close to him. I tossed my shoes to the side, wrapped my arms around him and rested my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes and losing myself in the warmth and strength of his body.

As we danced, I realized our time here on the island was likely drawing to a close. Everything would come to a head in the morning, Dianne and her art-theft ring would be taken down, and then Tom and I would have our answers—and justice—for Eli.

“Callie,” Tom said when the song ended, pulling back a bit so that he could see my face. “I have something for you.”

The expression in his eyes was almost sad, and I realized he must’ve been thinking the same thing I had, that soon we would be going our separate ways. Now, here in the moonlight, dancing on the sand under the stars, he seemed to want to hold on to me as much as I wanted to hold on to him.

I watched as he reached into his pocket, clumsily extracting a black velvet box—the same box I had glimpsed before, the day he almost gave it to me at the restaurant. Unable to get it open, he finally smiled and just held it out to me. Holding my breath, I took it from him and opened the box, surprised to find inside not an engagement ring, as I had expected, but a simple gold chain.

“It’s lovely,” I said, though I knew there was a tinge of disappointment and confusion in my voice. “Thank you.”

“Put it on,” he instructed, and so I did, handing him back the box as I slipped the chain around my neck and hooked the clasp.

“Do you want to know what it’s for?” he asked.

I looked at him and nodded, my eyes wide.

“Eventually,” he said softly, reaching out to take my hand, “I hope, anyway, there will come a point when you’re ready to make this finger open and available for something else.”

I looked down, realizing he was holding onto the ring finger of my left hand. Tears filled my eyes as I understood that he was talking about my gold band, the ring Bryan had put on my finger the day of our wedding.

“I would never presume to ask that you remove Bryan from your life,” he continued. “But if you should see fit one day to remove his ring from your finger, then maybe you can wear it on this chain around your neck. And then there will be a empty place—an open place—for the ring I want to give you.”

I was stunned. Stunned and touched and so overcome with emotion that all I could do was wrap my arms around him. How difficult it must be for him, I realized, to be the
second
great love of my life. I didn’t know what I was thinking—what I was feeling—other than the overwhelming knowledge that what Tom had just done was utterly right. There were things I needed to work through before that ring could come off, but somehow the necklace would make it easier for me—for it would free my hands to reach out toward the future while still holding the ring in a place close to my heart.

Another song started, and Tom and I moved naturally into a dance. As we swayed to the music, I listened to the words…

The moon winked bright
Like a coin fresh tossed
In a blue pool too spacious to miss.
I wished and then
Threw my caution to the wind
And paid a quarter for a kiss

“Do you know this song?” I asked. “It’s perfect for right now. The moon, the blue water…”

“Sounds like a good idea, actually,” he replied, grinning. He paused our dance to reach into his pocket. This time, he pulled out a few coins, clumsily spreading them on his bandaged palm until he found a quarter. He tucked the rest away, and then handed the quarter to me.

“A quarter for a kiss?” he asked softly.

I obliged, knowing that with that kiss we were sealing a promise, a hope for our future together.

When the kiss was finished, we held on to each other and resumed our dance. And though across the dark lawn someone else sang the words, Tom joined along, singing softly into my ear:

How could I best convey the feeling
After all that time of longing from afar?
How could I say my heart was reeling
Without revealing
I’d let it come this far?
Your lips met mine
And I knew that coin divine
was an investment in our future bliss;
Let the Rockefellers try
To find something they could buy
That would equal the value of this
—
For we found our love
Like a dividend from above,
With a quarter for a kiss

Thirty-Nine

“Coffee?”

I looked up at the bleary eyes of the FBI agent who held out a fresh pot toward my empty cup.

“Please,” I said, holding it up for a refill. After only two hours’ sleep, I needed all the help I could get.

Tom wasn’t looking much better, though at least, he said, his hands weren’t in much pain. We had changed the dressings before coming, and I had been encouraged at the sight of them. The injuries were still deep, but the skin around them didn’t look quite as red and raw as before. According to him, the worst pain he was having now was from the site of the tetanus shot they had given him in his arm.

We had convened in Virgin Gorda, in the fellowship hall of a Moravian Church, which was being used as the local FBI command post. There were about ten agents there, led by a burly, no-nonsense man who introduced himself as Agent Holt, plus Tom, Abraham, and me. Our little trio hung back and watched the men and one woman at work. They were planning out a careful operation of surveillance—with possible seizure—of the art-theft ring and the
Enigma
.

I was quite impressed with the group of agents, and I appreciated the way they kept us in the loop, even though we had been asked to remain in the command center until the operation was completed.

That was fine with me. I didn’t need to be in on this action—though I did want to know what was going on. To that end they had already set up a row of monitors and recorders. The two agents manning the machines here would be privy to everything that happened—and, by extension, so would we.

Before we knew it, everyone was rolling into place. I hadn’t really had time to see what the Baths were, exactly, but Abraham explained it to me as we watched the monitors from the hidden cameras of the agents who were getting into place.

“The Baths are really something,” Abraham told me. “But probably not what you think.”

I had been picturing some sort of natural hot springs, with bubbling, mineral-filled waters, so I was surprised to hear him explain that the name was simply a shortening of the word “batholith,” which had something to do with great masses of igneous rock. The Baths were an oddity of nature, a place where granite rocks—some the size of houses—had been strewn haphazardly along a beach, as if spewed up by some powerful volcano hundreds of years before. From what I could tell on the small monitors, the rocks leaned against each other at odd and amazing angles to form an intricate series of hidden pools, caves, and grottos. Beautiful.