Authors: Lance Zarimba
Three seals dove off the rock and swam in synchronized movements. Deeper and deeper they dove, fanning out underneath me. I followed their movements, deeper into the surf. Suddenly, I realized they were directly underneath me. Forgetting the picture I was trying to take, I covered my groin protectively, dunking my head completely underneath the water's surface.
Water rushed down the snorkel tube, flooding my mouth.
Coughing and choking, I struggled to right myself at the surface. Spitting seawater out, I tried to catch my breath from all the excitement. A minute later, I had regained my composure and looked around to see if any of the other snorkelers had noticed.
No one had. They were all too busy enjoying the underwater sights.
Smiling, I swam forward, my face in the water, watching the texture of the ocean bottom change.
Three hours later, the boat was heading back to the resort. In all of the excitement of the trip, not one of the staff members seemed too concerned about leaving anyone behind. I did a quick head count. Thirty-one. Shouldn't there have been thirty-two? Everything on this trip seemed to be so pair oriented, so why would the resort have sent out an odd number of swimmers? Weren't we supposed to be using the buddy system or was I the only one?
Tom and Logan were pointing at the pelicans circling overhead. At least I thought they were pelicans. Sergio was still clutching his stomach with one hand and hanging onto my camera with the other. The three I came with were here. So who was missing?
I scanned the water's surface. What was I looking for? Was I hoping to see a floating body? But if someone had drowned, the body wouldn't float right away. It would sink for a while, until decomposition gas formed and caused it to float, days, maybe weeks later.
"Shouldn't someone do a head count?” I asked, to no one in particular.
Mike and John were reaching into a red cooler and brought out several bottles of tequila and 7-Up. Mike held up the Cuervo and shouted, “Tequila Slammers!"
"Great,” I said, “just what we need, alcohol.” At least they were using it after the snorkeling, and not before.
I stopped myself. I didn't want to be a prude, especially on vacation, but I had seen the effects of booze on way too many people's lives at the hospital.
But these people would drink wisely. They were on vacation.
Yeah right. I sat down next to Sergio. He tipped his head to the side and looked at me. “Why so serious?"
"Just thinking."
"Well, stop that. You're on vacation.” And with that, he put his head back down on his lap.
So, after such a wonderful adventure, what was really bothering me? The alcohol or the odd head count?
All the way back to the resort, I stewed. What kind of place was this? Didn't these guys take
any
responsibility for their guests’ safety? Didn't they care?
Mike and John should've been more aware of the risks they were putting their vacationers in. One of them should've been paying attention to the guests while they were drinking, instead of encouraging them to drink more tequila.
Well, I'd had enough of this. If these guys weren't going to do their jobs, then I wasn't sticking around. I was getting out before something bad happened. I couldn't stand by and watch people being put into harm's way. And nothing was being done about finding the killer at the resort. So, that was it. I was going home.
I peered around the boat. The waves appeared to have increased, and the sky had gained a haze. The cloud masses were building, but the strange thing was the colors, green, pink, and lavender in the once blue sky. At home, the only time the sky turned that color was when conditions were right for a tornado.
A cool breeze blew across the side of the boat. Goosebumps rose across my arms.
"Ahh. A cool breeze. Finally,” Sergio sighed.
A little too cool for my liking. Looking off into the horizon, I tried to remember what my dad said, red sky at night... “The ocean does seem to be more turbulent, but high tide must be coming in."
The crests of the waves turned white, sharp-edged, and moving faster toward the shore. Good thing we had the tail wind to hasten our trip. The resort was rapidly approaching. Rubbing my hands together, I smiled. I was going home. Now I only had to convince Sergio to go with me.
Mike sat with his feet up on his desk, both arms crossed and lying on his chest. “I can't give you a refund if you go home now."
Shaking my head, I said, “I don't want a refund. I just want to leave the resort and go home. When is the next plane leaving?"
Mike's arms reached forward. He straightened and picked up the clipboard on the desk and rifled through a few pages. “It looks like the next flight leaves tomorrow morning at ten o'clock."
"Fine. I'll take it. Can you call and see if there is a seat available for me?” When he didn't respond, I continued, “And I'll need a taxi to take me to the airport. I doubt the hotel shuttle will make it that far."
"The resort has a shuttle?” Mike looked up at me, puzzled. Then his eyes focused on me, and he grinned. “Oh, you mean the plantation truck. It does look like it has seen better days."
"I don't want to be rude, but can you set this up for me?” I pressed, trying to push Mike into action.
"I will, but besides the two deaths, is there any other reason why you want to leave?"
Why did I have to explain this to him? All I wanted was to go home. And why was I starting to feel so defensive? I didn't need to explain this to him at all. I unclenched my fists and began carefully, trying hard not to complain or accuse. “I'm just tired of how lax the safety has been around here, especially on today's excursion. No one did a head count before we headed back to the resort."
"So?"
"So. There was an odd number on the boat. Is someone missing?"
"What do you mean by that? Did we leave someone behind?"
Now was a fine time to ask. “Isn't that something you should know?” Pausing for a moment of therapeutic silence, I continued. “So, how many people were supposed to be on this morning's trip?"
Mike flipped a few more pages. “Thirty-two were signed up..."
"But I only counted thirty-one on the return."
He ran his finger down the row of names. Each one had a check by it. A frown worried his brow. He counted again and scratched his head. “Why do you think we're missing someone? Were there thirty-two guys on the boat when it left?"
"Isn't that something you should know?” wanted to come out of my mouth, but I took a deep breath. “Sergio didn't go into the water. He got seasick, so there must have been a lone swimmer."
My mind flashed back to the snorkeling trip, and my breath caught in my throat. They don't care about anyone. All Mike wanted is to make money and have a good time. Safety wasn't a concern. I stood up from my chair. “I really should go and pack."
"Taylor, sit down for a second. You're not making any sense,” Mike soothed. “Who do you think we left behind?"
"I don't know who. I just know that we only had thirty-one people on board for the trip back to the resort, when we should've had thirty-two."
"Did you count thirty-two when you got on board?"
I looked at him. His eyes seemed genuinely concerned. “Well, no...” I began.
"So, how can you say for sure that we left someone behind? Did you see a body floating? Or do you know of anyone who is missing?"
"I don't know.” I exhaled hard and tried expressing myself in a different way. “Everything that goes on at this place is so pair-oriented, that I thought there shouldn't have been a single person swimming. We were supposed to use the buddy system when we went snorkeling..."
"So, who lost his partner?"
"Sergio did,” I said simply.
"And who was his partner? I thought you signed up with him. Oh, that's right. You've been off flirting with Tom.” He tossed his head back, dramatically. “I thought he signed up with that writer guy. Whatever his name is.” Mike's finger ran up and down the list of names.
"Logan."
"Yeah, that's it."So, Logan and Tom were both on the boat coming back, right?"
"Yes."
"And Sergio didn't go into the water?"
"No."
"So, there must have been an odd number on the boat when it left."
"But are you sure?” My voice sounded whiny, even to my ears.
Mike's finger stopped on a name in the list. “Gary was supposed to help on the excursion, and his name has been checked off. He wasn't on board, now was he?” Mike cocked his head to the side and waited for my answer.
"Well, no."
"So there's your missing person, Gary. He was signed up to go, but he died last night. That explains why there were only thirty-one on the tour."
"But...” I started.
"But nothing. Are you trying to start a panic? Someone has been starting all kinds of rumors. There's even one about a hurricane moving in our direction.” Mike slammed down the clipboard. “And I want them to stop."
"There's a hurricane coming?” I asked.
"No. The locals are saying that since there are so many homosexuals here, we've angered the gods or something, and this is their punishment on us.” Mike took a deep breath and started again, slowly and calmer this time. “There isn't a hurricane coming. The weather is going to be beautiful all week long. There. Is. No. Hurricane. Coming,” he said, each word like a bullet piercing my eardrum. “Okay?"
I rolled my eyes. “What about Gary?"
"What about him? He died. That's it."
"He was murdered, wasn't he? And no one is doing anything to find out who killed him."
"Geoff has been...” Mike began.
"Geoff has been what? Drinking? Partying? What has he done so far? It sure hasn't been his job, now has it?"
"Gary had an unfortunate accident."
"An accident. His head was bashed in. Do you call that an accident? I suppose Duane was trimming his beard, when his hand slipped on Sergio's scissors and plunged them into his neck?"
"See! There's another rumor,” he shouted. Pushing himself up, he flew around the desk and towered over me. “Are you the one starting them?” He poked his index finger into my chest. “Maybe you're trying to sabotage my business."
"Mike, all I want is to go home, and as soon as possible. Today."
"Well, you can't. You've missed the last plane out of here today. You'll have to wait until tomorrow."
"Fine. Then set things up, and I won't cause any more problems.” I walked to the office door and turned around. “I'll be ready and waiting in the lobby at seven o'clock tomorrow morning."
"Fine. I'll call and have a taxi ready and waiting for you.” He reached across his desk and picked up the phone. “Just stop spreading the rumors around here.” His fingers pounded out the numbers. “Club Fred isn't bankrupt. I'm not losing my job. A hurricane isn't coming. A murderer isn't loose..."
I turned and walked out of his office, shaking my head. All I knew was that I was going home tomorrow.
After supper that night, everywhere I turned, I heard the same conversation over and over again. Sergio even put several guys up to it. “CNN Storm Report says there's a hurricane heading straight for our resort. Go ask Mike if it's coming.” He'd elbow me in the side as he sent the next unsuspecting person off with an innocent grin.
"Is there a hurricane coming?” The guest would ask Mike.
"There's no hurricane coming.” Mike would snap.
"But CNN's Storm Report said..."
He would then interrupt them. “Wouldn't
I
know if there was a hurricane coming?"
Well, he should have.
My alarm went off, and I swung my legs over the side of the bed. I was going home and nothing was going to stop me. Nothing.
Looking over at Sergio's sleeping form, I felt guilty, because I still hadn't asked him to leave with me. Would he even consider it? Or would he try to convince me to stay and see the week out, or worse, make me feel guilty about leaving before these murders were solved? Ever since he and Molly teamed up in Sioux Falls, they both seemed to have the same skill for dragging me into their problems.
My bare feet shuffled across the cool tile floor and picked up a coating of sandy grit. Didn't the maids mop in here? As I neared the bathroom, I saw a red sheet of paper on the floor. Mike must have gotten my early checkout receipt ready and slipped it under our door. As I bent over to pick up the sheet, I squinted hard, trying to read the print, but I knew without my contacts I wouldn't be able to read it.
"Whaawho! Now, that's a sight I like to wake up to...” Sergio said from under his covers.
Resisting the urge to flip him off, which would only encourage him, I stood up quickly, ignoring the impulse to cover my boxer-clad butt. I brought the paper to my face.
"Warning! Hurricane Alert!” stood out in giant black letters on the top of the page. My eyes struggled to focus and read the rest of the print as it got smaller: “A hurricane is rapidly approaching our resort. Please Do Not Panic!"
"What are you reading?” Sergio asked.
I pulled the paper away from my face and turned to his bed. “According to this piece of paper, a hurricane is heading straight for the resort."
"But last night Mike said..."
"I know. He lied.” I handed the sheet to Sergio and went into the bathroom to put in my contact lenses and brush my teeth.
A few minutes later, Sergio sat crossed-legged in his bed. “Did you read this? Number twenty-four. Do not drink alcohol during the hurricane. It may impair your judgment. Number twenty-five. Do not have sexual intercourse.” He put the paper down in his lap. “What can we do? Sit around in the bathroom with our heads between our knees?"
"I think that's about it.” I opened the dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of shorts and a white T-shirt. The rest of my clothes were already packed in my suitcase, waiting for me in the closet.
"Well, that's boring. I want to see what a
real
hurricane looks like.” Sergio jumped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He paused at the door and turned to me, “I wonder if it's like what you see on television. You know, all the rain blowing sideways and people getting sucked out to sea."