Read Online Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 01 - Wendy and the Lost Boys by Barbara Silkstone - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Silkstone
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passion, but he’d come at me again.
Roger lay on the window seat sofa, snoring softly. Kit shared my bed.
Space and darkness, light and time, present and past… I was dreaming. It was the early years when I struggled to build my real estate company. We specialized in luxury homes in and around Miami Beach. In my dream I fought with one of my wealthy clients. I detested most of them. Now I was a prisoner of just such a client.
“You awake?” Kit whispered. He lay next to me still smelling of coconut oil.
“What’s up?”
“How are we going to find out who murdered Marni? And how are we going to get off this boat?”
“Go to sleep. I’ll think of something by morning.”
Kit’s breathing was steady, just short of a snore. My obedient friend fell asleep before I finished speaking. I slipped out of bed.
“What’s going on?” Roger asked.
“Bathroom. Go back to sleep.” I felt like a Cub Scout den mother on a camping trip.
Sometime during the night my curiosity finally won. I got up again and took out the box Croc had thrown at me. I didn’t want anything from that jerk, but I had to know what it was. I shined a small flashlight on it and pried it open. Inside was an old but familiar locket. My first love, Peter Payne had given me the trinket on our last date. I’d worn it until Croc and I were married. And then the locket went missing. He must have had it all along. Why did he give it back to me now? He said it was to show his good intentions. Well, that backfired. All it did was make me more pissed at him, if that was possible. I slipped the thin chain around my neck and fastened the clasp.
Memories of time spent with Peter rushed over me. His kisses were as sweet as whipped cream and twice as tasty. We were sweethearts for one year and then he was gone. “I don’t want to grow up,” he said.
So many years had passed but now he was coming back into my life. Roger told me Peter’s in Nevisland, connected with Hook’s Nevis Island dealings. Croc returned my long-missing locket.
When I finally fell asleep, I dreamt of Marni. She tried to tell me the name of her killer but I couldn’t hear. Every time she spoke, Peter Payne blocked her out and said, “Wendy, come to me in Nevisland.”
Chapter Seventeen
My eyes popped open. No coconut oil scent. No snoring from the window seat. I was alone. Weak morning light grayed the room. By the time I brushed, showered, and pulled on shorts and a tank top, the gray had turned rosy yellow and my need for coffee became homicidal. I dragged my sonic and Marni-mourning hangover to the outdoor dining deck.
Kit and Roger sat across from each other at the far end of the long dining table, laughing about something. What the heck could they possibly find to laugh about? I struggled to the coffee urn, filled a mug to the brim, and scalded my tongue, possibly the only remaining part of my body that wasn’t hurting. I shuffled to the chair at the end of the table between Kit and Roger. I knocked Roger’s feet off it and sat down.
He looked at me and smiled. I knew he was going to say it and he did. “Good morning, sunshine.” The only reason I didn’t dump my hot coffee on him was I needed it too much, but really, could he be any more annoying.
Chef Roscoe served us a breakfast of mangoes and granola. The sea was gentle, as was the breeze. I finally noticed Dale was two seats away, his gun beside his plate. Roger got up and paced between the food-service table and my chair. Tinkerbelle chased a lone seagull. The dog went bonkers barking at anything with a beak and wings.
The Predator motored along at a brisk pace with Jaxbee at the helm.
Hook lumbered by the table in his UpUGo-to-thigh gait.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
He glared at me. “You’ll know when we get there, and stay off the bridge.” He grabbed a mug of coffee from the buffet table and made his way to back to the bridge.
My nerves were pretzeled. Jaxbee was first-in-command, but
Roger lay on the window seat sofa, snoring softly. Kit shared my bed.
Space and darkness, light and time, present and past… I was dreaming. It was the early years when I struggled to build my real estate company. We specialized in luxury homes in and around Miami Beach. In my dream I fought with one of my wealthy clients. I detested most of them. Now I was a prisoner of just such a client.
“You awake?” Kit whispered. He lay next to me still smelling of coconut oil.
“What’s up?”
“How are we going to find out who murdered Marni? And how are we going to get off this boat?”
“Go to sleep. I’ll think of something by morning.”
Kit’s breathing was steady, just short of a snore. My obedient friend fell asleep before I finished speaking. I slipped out of bed.
“What’s going on?” Roger asked.
“Bathroom. Go back to sleep.” I felt like a Cub Scout den mother on a camping trip.
Sometime during the night my curiosity finally won. I got up again and took out the box Croc had thrown at me. I didn’t want anything from that jerk, but I had to know what it was. I shined a small flashlight on it and pried it open. Inside was an old but familiar locket. My first love, Peter Payne had given me the trinket on our last date. I’d worn it until Croc and I were married. And then the locket went missing. He must have had it all along. Why did he give it back to me now? He said it was to show his good intentions. Well, that backfired. All it did was make me more pissed at him, if that was possible. I slipped the thin chain around my neck and fastened the clasp.
Memories of time spent with Peter rushed over me. His kisses were as sweet as whipped cream and twice as tasty. We were sweethearts for one year and then he was gone. “I don’t want to grow up,” he said.
So many years had passed but now he was coming back into my life. Roger told me Peter’s in Nevisland, connected with Hook’s Nevis Island dealings. Croc returned my long-missing locket.
When I finally fell asleep, I dreamt of Marni. She tried to tell me the name of her killer but I couldn’t hear. Every time she spoke, Peter Payne blocked her out and said, “Wendy, come to me in Nevisland.”
Chapter Seventeen
My eyes popped open. No coconut oil scent. No snoring from the window seat. I was alone. Weak morning light grayed the room. By the time I brushed, showered, and pulled on shorts and a tank top, the gray had turned rosy yellow and my need for coffee became homicidal. I dragged my sonic and Marni-mourning hangover to the outdoor dining deck.
Kit and Roger sat across from each other at the far end of the long dining table, laughing about something. What the heck could they possibly find to laugh about? I struggled to the coffee urn, filled a mug to the brim, and scalded my tongue, possibly the only remaining part of my body that wasn’t hurting. I shuffled to the chair at the end of the table between Kit and Roger. I knocked Roger’s feet off it and sat down.
He looked at me and smiled. I knew he was going to say it and he did. “Good morning, sunshine.” The only reason I didn’t dump my hot coffee on him was I needed it too much, but really, could he be any more annoying.
Chef Roscoe served us a breakfast of mangoes and granola. The sea was gentle, as was the breeze. I finally noticed Dale was two seats away, his gun beside his plate. Roger got up and paced between the food-service table and my chair. Tinkerbelle chased a lone seagull. The dog went bonkers barking at anything with a beak and wings.
The Predator motored along at a brisk pace with Jaxbee at the helm.
Hook lumbered by the table in his UpUGo-to-thigh gait.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
He glared at me. “You’ll know when we get there, and stay off the bridge.” He grabbed a mug of coffee from the buffet table and made his way to back to the bridge.
My nerves were pretzeled. Jaxbee was first-in-command, but
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