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“Done.” Clara sighs with relief. “ You don’t have to tell me twice.”
I nod, satisfied. I’m going to have an easier time focusing on my investigation if I don’t have to constantly worry about her trying to make a run for it. “If you need anything inside the house or on the island, Fetuani is the head housekeeper and she’ll help you out.”
Clara frowns. “Are you leaving?”
Somehow, that question and the way she asks it, holding Willow to her, both of them looking at me with increasing disappointment…
I give myself a little shake.Not my family. I don’t do family.
“Yeah. I have a lot of work to do here and not much time to work with. But I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
We landed in the early hours of dawn; the sun is barely rising over the horizon as we speak. So essentially, I’m ditching themhere and running off to hunt down the medical examiner for the rest of the day.
At least Clara seems to understand this. She’s the one who discovered the lead, after all. She nods and strokes Willow’s hair. “Be safe.”
I nod. Then duck outside before I do anything stupid…
Like kiss her goodbye.
The shopkeeper shakes his head again. “Listen, man, I don’t know anyone who goes by Helen Cooper. Tourists, maybe, yeah, but no one permanent.”
I want to bash my face onto his counter. Fish guts and all. This is the fifth dead end in the past hour.
“But if she’s here, and she’s hiding,” he adds, “maybe let her stay hidden.” The man raises a brow and shrugs before he returns to fileting a mahi mahi.
“This is a matter of life and death.” I’m not usually so open about my reasoning, but I’m itching forsomething. Crumbs. Threads. Something that gets me closer sooner rather than later. “I don’t have the luxury of letting her ‘stay hidden.’”
“What she do?”
“She’s got information that could?—”
“No, I mean, what does she do for a living?”
I sigh. “Medical examiner.” Although, now that the question has been asked, I don’t actually know what she does right now. Is shestill in anything medical-related? Or did she leave that all behind to become something different? Like a surf instructor?
Fuck.I’m fucked. We’re fucked. This whole plan is fucked.
The shopkeeper hefts another huge fish onto his counter and then waves his cleaver at me. “Like I said, I don’t know anyone by that name. And we get lots of American tourists around here. Same with Australians. But we don’t get too many who stay for good.”
I straighten up as something occurs to me. “Where’s your immigration office?”
He leans against the counter and gives me a look. “Do I look like Google Maps?”
I lay the equivalent of two hundred American dollars on the clean part of the counter. “No, but you do look a bit wealthier.”
He shrugs and only glances at the money. “Go down this way for three blocks, then take a right and follow to Rodwell Street. You can’t miss it.”
I thank the man for his help and add another bill to the pile. He grunts and manages a smile before pocketing the cash.
At least one thing is universal: cash is king.
That same unease itches beneath my skin as I make my way down the street. No one from the villa has texted me or called to report anything, and the silence is grating on me. I’d almost rather there be something to report so I’m still in the loop of what Clara and Willow are up to.
I do have the camera feeds. I can check those.
I pull up the app on my phone and do exactly that, logging into the feeds so I can take a peek at my girls. Most of the cameras show empty rooms or household staff going about their business.
No sign of Clara or Willow.
