Desperate Measures (8 page)

“I know, Sis, when Dean and I graduated from college, he told us. Dean, you know him, surfer dude was like whatever, but my thoughts wandered and I became curious. Even though I didn’t know the whole story, from the fights and phone calls I remember, your probing got nowhere. I didn’t even bother to bring it up again.”

“Has Dad talked to Dean yet?” Caitlin inquired. “I tried him before I called you. Got voice mail, no surprise there.”

“Yeah, Dad left him a message to call ASAP, who knows when he’ll return the call. Dean’s a great guy and our brother but not the most reliable.”

“Tell me about it! It’s a miracle he has his surf shop running at a profit. If it weren’t for his bookkeeper, he’d be sleeping under a bridge in Huntington Beach. Caitlin, I have to hang up now and go to the studio for tonight’s late broadcast. It’s almost pre-season football and I have a lot of breaking updates to cover.”

“I won’t hold you up for work and disappoint the female audience that swoons over you during your broadcasts.”

“Very funny, Caitlin. I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Keep me posted on what’s happening down there, okay?”

“I will and it has been great talking to you, Daniel. Give my love to Amy and you better call when my niece or nephew is born.”

“You got it. Love you, Sis. Hang in there, everything will be fine.”

* * * *

Dean Spencer kissed his latest blond conquest goodbye with plans to meet later that night at the local beach bar called The Shipwreck. He walked across the beach to his apartment which overlooked the Pacific Ocean. Dean, the most attractive of the Spencer children, had shoulder length sun streaked golden hair, a toned body from surfing and exercise, and perfectly sculptured facial features. Dark haired Daniel and Caitlin, exuded a professional image. One would never guess the three were siblings, except for the distinctive blue eyes.

He unlocked his front door, stepped into the small foyer, and saw the red light blinking on his answering machine. Dean pressed the play button. The first message was from his father, the second his sister and both wanted him to call back as soon as possible. The girl he’d been dating for six months left the third message.

“Shit! I forgot about Rachel,” Dean shouted out loud.

He thought of the other girl with luminous blond hair and enormous boobs. “Screw it.” He had no intention of missing out on that.

He didn’t need to guess what his father and sister wanted. Caitlin and Jack made a habit of bombarding him with questions about money, settling down, and getting married. He wasn’t like his sister and never would be. Running his small surf shop made him happy.

Dean looked at his watch, seven at night in California made it three hours later in Florida and St. Kitts. He wasn’t in the mood for lectures. He showered and didn’t give a second thought to his family or Rachel.

* * * *

Caitlin walked into the suite to find everyone feasting on Tomas’s picnic of Arroz con Pollo as a late night snack. She prepared herself a plate. “Mmm this is good! Is everyone ready to do some sightseeing tomorrow?” Turning to Chad and Alexandra, she hugged them in a tight embrace. “We’ll go to the Black Rocks and all of the beaches. How does that sound?”

“Great!” Chad yelled. “I want to snorkel and go see Rita and Paul.”

“We will, honey.” Chad returned his attention to the television show. Caitlin whispered to her husband, “Scott, I haven’t had a chance to call Rita. She must be worried about us after what she found in our house.”

“Don’t worry. I talked to her earlier this afternoon.”

Tomas put his briefcase on the dining room table and pulled out a mountain of documents. Linda, Drew, and Mitch left. Scott and Caitlin called it a night after tucking the children into their beds.

At nine a.m. the next morning, Constance Spencer sipped her coffee and looked out over the Atlantic Ocean from the balcony of the penthouse. The phone rang and her husband picked it up. She heard him address his business partner.

Constance frowned and struggled with her conscience. She should have told Jack about the recent encounter with Nick. If she didn’t believe her brother’s claim to turn his life around and make amends, why would Jack? It was better to keep it to herself, better for everyone.

Constance picked up her cell-phone and dialed her son in California. She knew Dean would still be in bed but pressed send anyway.

“Jesus Christ!” Dean screamed into the phone. “Dad, I got your message when I got home last night. I didn’t think you’d want me to call you back at midnight your time.”

Constance flinched at her son’s greeting. “Dean, it’s Mom.”

“Oh! Hi, Mom. Sorry I yelled but I saw caller ID and thought it was Dad calling to get on my case again. Is everything all right?”

Her heart ached for Dean. Family and friends showed no respect for him, they laughed behind his back at his lack of achievements and stereotyped him as an immature beach bum. No one understood Dean like Constance did. She viewed him differently and thrived on each opportunity to guide and nurture him. Dean still needed her, Caitlin and Daniel didn’t.

“No, Dean, everything’s not all right. Your sister’s been receiving threats and the Bucklin tie is about to become exposed.”

“The Bucklins! Not that shit again. Mom, you’ve got to be kidding me? Years ago Caitlin told me how much she pissed Dad off after she tried to get more information. How the hell could Lukas Bucklin be Dad’s father?”

“Dean, listen to me. Your sister received notes and magazine clippings about Lukas and James. What do you think that means?”

Constance heard her son speaking to someone. When she heard a female voice in the background she asked, “Was that Rachel? You’ve been seeing her for a while, is it serious?”

“No, Mom, it wasn’t Rachel, get back to what you were telling me. Who would send Caitlin notes about the Bucklins? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I know none if this makes sense but I had a thought. I haven’t seen you in over six months. If you can get away from your shop for a few weeks, I’ll pay for your trip to Florida and you can go with us to St. Kitts.”

With no hesitation, Dean agreed to the plan. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll clear everything up at the shop and put my bookkeeper Emily in charge. With her running the show, I’ll be in better shape financially than if I were here.”

“Dean, don’t put yourself down. If you’d focus more, you could be very successful.” Constance attempted to build her son’s self-esteem.

“Yeah, yeah, this sounds like a Dad and Caitlin lecture. Let me know when you have my flight booked, love you, Mom, and can’t wait to see you!”

Constance frowned at the silent phone.

* * * *

Dean’s morning didn’t start off well. He rubbed his forehead and attempted to ease the throbbing in his skull. He stayed out way too late last night, drank too much, and now had a hangover.

He wasn’t up to dealing with family drama and he certainly wasn’t up to the task of getting rid of the bimbo one-night-stand whose name he couldn’t remember. Last night was over. He made no promises of a future. Her words and gestures indicated she anticipated to see him again; possibly develop a meaningful relationship. Didn’t they always? Wasn’t going to happen. Not with him. For Dean, six months of dating equated to marriage; minus the ring and commitment.

“Get up,” Dean said as he tapped the ass of the blonde in his bed. “I have to leave town for a few weeks. I’ll call you when I get back,” Dean lied.

The girl picked up her clothes, dressed quickly, and cast an angry look over her shoulder. In an abrupt departure, she slammed the door behind her, and the thud sent another shock wave of pain through Dean’s head.

Dean headed for the bathroom. Despite the lack of a full night’s sleep, the steamy spray of hot water managed to rouse him. His head cleared and he fully comprehended what his mother had told him. He shook off the uneasy feeling about his sister and the threats. Family drama might not be so bad after all. He stepped out of the shower with thoughts of surfing in the Atlantic at his parent’s house and then a trip to the Caribbean.

* * * *

The Martels and Tomas left the hotel early and had breakfast in downtown St. Kitts. When they were done it was sightseeing time. Tomas sat in the back seat with the two children, grateful he’d been relieved of driving duties, especially after Scott pointed out their destination; Brimstone Hill Fortress loomed in the distance.

Tomas recalled what he’d read about the historical location. He remembered that Brimstone, also referred to as the Gibraltar of the West Indies, is one of the most remarkable landmarks in all of the Caribbean. Taking over nine decades to build, the citadel’s an impressive historical site on the English settled island.

Pleased that his memory had retained most of the highlights of Brimstone, his mind switched gears. The paperwork, he reviewed last night, became the focal point of his attention, specifically the list from the customs office. No one stood out from the records yet. The three or four lone travelers had relatives in St. Kitts. The rest were families traveling with small children and raised no suspicions. Tomas decided it wasn’t worth having Caitlin review them at this point, she needed this day without any drama. He decided to enjoy the scenery, be a tourist and a passenger. He didn’t see much of the sugar cane rich island yesterday.

“Tomas,” Scott said as he drove along the narrow main road, “wait until you see this fortress. The construction started in 1690. It’s amazing how they got supplies and cannons up the mountain.”

“Oh, Dad,” Chad whined, “do we have to go there again? How many times are you going to make me and Alexandra climb all of those steps to see some dumb cannons and look at the other islands?”

Scott turned onto the steep zigzagging single car lane which led to the fortress. “Chad, I know it’s been a rough few days since we’ve been here but we’re going to be tourists for a little while today. Tomas isn’t as lucky as you. He hasn’t been here before. It only takes about an hour for us to see the highlights of Brimstone, so I’d appreciate a little patience.”

A small truck sped down the mountain, Tomas gripped Alexandra’s hand. “Watch out that car’s going to hit us!”

“No it’s not. He honked his horn. Dad knows to pull over and let him go by. There are all kinds of U-turns to get to the top and you have to toot to let the cars know we’re coming. Geez, at least you aren’t driving, Tomas,” Chad snipped.

“Chad, that’s enough, you’re being rude. By the way, the correct term is hairpin turn not U-turn,” Caitlin reprimanded her son.

Scott pulled into the parking area, the rain forest loomed before them. They were at such a high altitude, it seemed as if he could reach out and touch the billowing white clouds.

Tomas said to Scott, “I think Chad’s right. Those were U-turns. It’s beautiful up here. How high are we?”

“About eight hundred feet. Wait until we get to the top of the fortress.”

The five of them climbed the steep stairs that Chad complained about and came upon an open area that had been used as a lookout. Ancient cannons stood facing all directions. Scott pointed out the islands in the distance. “Straight ahead is St. Barts and St. Eustasia, and you can also see St. Martin and Antigua.”

A tour guide passed, informing the group of some historical facts. “Black volcanic stone, called Brimstone in the seventeenth and eighteenth century, was used to build this entire structure. The fortress served in defense when the French attacked in 1782. Can I take you down below and show you the soldiers’ barracks, living, and cooking areas?”

“No, but thank you,” Scott responded. “We’ve been here before, and we’re just taking a quick tour.”

After Scott and Caitlin made sure Tomas saw most of Brimstone, they loaded into the van and drove back down the mountain, honking the horn at every curve. They turned onto the main road in the direction of the next stop, The Black Rocks, which were formed from the once active volcano on Mount Liamuiga. Scott turned down a small dirt road and stopped in the parking lot.

“Wow, this is something!” Tomas exclaimed.

The Atlantic Ocean crashed into imposing natural formations forty feet below. Some of the rocks looked like tall slender monuments, rising twenty feet in height. Tomas took pictures of the breathtaking view and scenery.

Caitlin gripped Alexandra’s hand firmly. There were no guardrails, dangerous in his opinion. With a potential killer on the loose, it could be deadly. Enough sightseeing. His FBI observation skills kicked into high gear. He stepped to the edge of the cliff and glanced down; one bump, push, or shove off the ledge would result in death.

Scott leaned against the van. His head darted about, as if looking for threats. Tomas assumed they shared the same apprehension.

Scott stepped away from the van. “All right, everyone! You’ve seen enough of the rocks. Let’s go back to the other side of the island and go snorkeling and swimming!”

Drew sat in his office at the police station and perused the results of the evidence collected from the Martel house. Some of the FBI’s findings had started coming through and Drew received a copy of the reports sent to Tomas.

He saw nothing conclusive in the reports; no finger prints, no hair, or other clues. The blood turned out to be pig’s blood. A lone set of footprints were found by the side door which led into the garage. Drew focused his attention on this report. Several footprints were found at the front door, not unexpected since the cleaners were in and out of the house over the last two weeks.

According to the report, a running shoe, men’s size nine, had left the print, but this information didn’t narrow down the field. The side door footprint could be a long shot but was a piece of the puzzle.

“Mitch!” Drew yelled to the outer office, “I need to see you for a minute.”

“Yeah, boss, what is it? Are the Martels all right?”