A Quarter for a Kiss Read online

  I smiled, pleased with the excitement that clearly shone in Jodi’s eyes as she talked about the charity.

  “What?” she asked, noticing my smile.

  “You should see yourself,” I said. “We in the business of nonprofits call this the ‘fever.’ You’ve got the fever for this particular charity, Jodi. I think you should investigate it, and if it checks out, make your donation to them.”

  “I think you’re right,” she replied happily. “Thank you, Callie.”

  “You’re welcome. Now let’s talk about how you can get started.”

  Because Jodi already had a friend on the inside, I suggested she exploit that resource fully.

  “The single best way to find out if a nonprofit really has their act together is to talk one-on-one with the folks who work there. If they feel they can be honest with you, they will tell you things you might not find out any other way. Concentrate on spending, salaries, administration, planning—things like that. You want to know if this is a good group, if they are doing what they claim to be doing in a responsible, cost-efficient manner.”

  I wasn’t sure if Jodi would understand the nonprofit mindset, so I tried to explain how there were industry standards for things like salaries and benefits—and how they rarely matched the rates paid in the for-profit sector.

  “Working for a nonprofit can sometimes require a lot of sacrifice, monetarily speaking,” I said. “But what you lack in income you usually get back in job satisfaction. Imagine working where you know you’re making a difference in the world. For most people who do it, it’s well worth it.”

  I was just writing down the website where she could look up appropriate salary ranges for this type of charity when the captain announced our descent into Miami.

  “Thanks, Callie,” Jodi said, checking her seat belt. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  “You’re more than welcome,” I said with a smile.

  Because I was sitting on the aisle, I couldn’t see out of the window all that well, but the glimpses I caught of the turquoise blue water nearly took my breath away. Glancing at Tom, I saw him put away his laptop and then flash me a smile. My heart did a little flip-flop in return.

  We changed planes in Miami, and Tom and I sat together for the flight from there to St. Thomas. I was glued to the window this time, astounded at the beauty of the Caribbean as we flew overhead. There were a lot of islands down there, more than I would have thought, and they were all like tiny green emeralds sparkling from the sea.

  Once we had landed in St. Thomas, we claimed our bags and then listened as Jodi explained our choices for getting to the island of St. John.

  “We can pay fifty bucks apiece and catch a luxury boat right here,” she said, “or we can take a taxi to the harbor in town and catch the regular ferry for twelve dollars. Either way, the boat ride takes about forty-five minutes.”

  I thought Tom was going to opt for the luxury boat, but he surprised me by suggesting the ferry instead.

  “Let’s do it just like Stella and Eli did,” he said. “We need to get a feel for that ferry.”

  I agreed. The three of us easily found a taxi outside, a battered old van with a friendly driver and reggae music playing on the radio. We had to wait until most of the seats in the van were full before we could leave, but that didn’t take too long. The airport was a busy place, filled with incoming passengers.

  “Welcome to St. Thomas!” the driver said as he climbed in behind the wheel and started up. “Have you folks ever been to our island before?”

  “Never!” the woman behind me exclaimed.

  Her whole group was very chatty, saving us from having to make conversation. My eyes were focused out of the window, taking in the surroundings and trying to get used to a new perspective from driving on the left side of the road.

  The roads were surprisingly good, though my heart was in my throat a few times with the speed at which our driver took some of the hairpin curves. As we went I was amazed at how developed the island was, with houses and shops and schools and churches on every side. I had expected it to be a bit more deserted, but the lush vegetation seemed to be dotted with structures and people from one end to the other.

  As we came over the hill above Charlotte Amalie, I actually gasped, it was so beautiful. There below us was the quaint capital of St. Thomas, situated along a wide, curved harbor. Two magnificent cruise ships rested just offshore, their white hulls a marked contrast to the rich turquoise of the water. Other islands rose in the distance, hills of forest green among the blue.

  “Wow,” I whispered, and Tom took my hand in his.

  “Really something, huh?” he said. “I had forgotten.”

  The ride down through town was chaotic, with honking horns and friendly shouts and a thousand different smells. We passed bars and restaurants overflowing with tourists, underdressed teenagers clutching handfuls of shopping bags, and island natives serenely ignoring it all.

  By the time we arrived at the ferry, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed.

  “After all of this,” Jodi said as Tom paid the taxi driver, “you’ll welcome the peace and quiet of St. John.”

  Certainly the ferry was peaceful. We had a choice of sitting inside in the shade or on the top deck out in the sun. We chose the shade because it was after 1:00 P.M. and the day had become rather hot. Also, in Eli’s notes, he referred to sitting in the back, to the left, so that’s where we went too. The ferry was big enough and crowded enough to understand why Nadine hadn’t spotted him sitting there and watching her. He would have been easy to miss.

  As the ferry neared St. John, I went outside to stand at the railing, soaking up the sun and the amazing view. We were headed into another, smaller harbor, on an island that seemed completely different from the one we had just left. The downtown area was much smaller, for one thing. There also seemed to be a lot less congestion of people and traffic. We glided past a number of anchored sailboats, and I couldn’t help thinking that the beautiful scene in front of me—the blue water, the white sand, the coral-colored roofs on the tan buildings—looked just like something out of a watercolor.

  The large ferry glided smoothly up to the cement dock, and as the workers began to land it, I went back inside to find Tom and Jodi. We grabbed our bags and stood in line to file off the ship. Then the three of us followed the cement walkway toward a semicircular drive filled with parked taxicabs.

  A man was waiting for us next to a car with a big sign that said “C and C Rentals.”

  “C and C?” I asked.

  “Bennett?” he replied.

  We nodded and he sprang to life, first taking our luggage and then helping Jodi and me into the tiny back seat. Much to my surprise, once we were seated, he piled the suitcases in on top of us.

  “I’m sorry dis is all we had,” he said in a lilting island accent, gesturing for Tom to take the passenger seat. “When you rent at the last minute, you have to take what you can get.”

  Without waiting for a reply, we were off. Our driver zipped through the adorable town of Cruz Bay, up one street and down another until he made a sharp right turn and pulled to a stop in front of a tiny shack.

  “Come on in here to do de paperwork, and den she’s all yours,” he said.

  Smiling, Tom did as the man said while Jodi and I extricated ourselves from the pile of suitcases and reorganized things. The first order of business was unzipping the convertible top from the small Jeep and then piling our bags on one side of the backseat. I sat in the space that was left, insisting that Jodi take the front passenger seat so she could navigate.

  “This is nuts,” she said. “Maybe we should run by the house and unload our bags first.”

  “Good idea,” I said, a suitcase handle digging into my thigh.

  Tom came out of the little building, tucking his credit card into his wallet. He climbed behind the wheel, adjusted the rearview mirror, and then turned to give me a smile.

  “You trust me to drive on the left side
of the road?” he asked.

  “I trust you to do anything,” I replied, smiling back at him.

  He seemed to get the hang of it quickly enough. As Jodi directed him out of town, I took in the sights, thinking that this island was even more beautiful than St. Thomas. It seemed a little wealthier, for one thing, which meant cleaner streets and nicer homes. And it wasn’t nearly so crowded. As we drove, Jodi explained that most of this island was protected by the U.S. National Parks system. In some places, the boundaries of the park even extended out into the water, and one beach featured the park system’s only underwater snorkeling trail.

  Fortunately, Stella’s home wasn’t very far away. We were less than a mile from the downtown area when Jodi directed Tom to take a right on a steep and winding one-lane road. We passed several driveways shooting off of that, each one steeper than the one before. Finally, Jodi pointed to the one that was ours, and my heart leapt into my throat as Tom made the turn that dropped us a good twenty feet sharply downward. At the bottom of the drop, the driveway widened, and Tom pulled to one side, leaving room for Jodi to get her mother’s car out of the garage.

  Because of all the greenery, we couldn’t tell much about the house from there, but Jodi dug the keys from her purse and led us up the walkway to the door. Once inside, my breath caught. The opposite wall was a floor-to-ceiling bank of windows looking out over the beauty of the island.

  Though it had been modernized, the place was obviously quite old, a treasure from St. John’s historic past. It was oddly laid out, almost as if the builders had added one big room at a time, with each sort of flowing into the next. There were a total of five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a really nice kitchen, an expansive family room, and an incredible hot tub on a deck that spanned the length of the entire house. I was in awe.

  “This is really something,” Tom said, looking out at the view. “How long has your mom had this place?”

  “It was a wedding present,” Jodi replied. “To my mom from my dad.”

  We carried in our suitcases and set them in the entranceway. Jodi opened a few windows to let in some fresh air, and then she gave us each a set of keys for the house.

  “Callie, if you need a second car while you’re here,” she said, leading us to the garage, “you can take the Explorer. I like the Sidekick.”

  She showed me where the keys hung on the wall, and then she opened the garage.

  “So what’s the agenda?” she asked, all business, as we piled into the SUV.

  “Just get us oriented,” Tom said.

  He and I looked at each other, and I thought of how far we had come just to get a glimpse of Nadine’s driveway.

  “We’re particularly interested in the East End of the island,” I added. “So we can get a good look, just drive us around.”

  Jodi surprised me by laughing.

  “Well, there really is no ‘around’ on St. John. It’s more like up and down and twist and turn. I hope you’re not prone to car sickness!”

  “Not usually,” I said.

  “Then hold on to your hat,” she replied, “and I’ll introduce you to paradise.”

  Eighteen

  Our island tour took about two hours. Jodi began back in Cruz Bay, where we had gotten off the ferry and rented the car. She drove around the streets of the town to show us the Island Foods grocery store, the National Park Visitor’s Center, and a big shopping area known as Mongoose Junction. From Cruz Bay, she said, there were two ways to get to Coral Bay, which was St. John’s smaller town at the other end of the island.

  “We’ll take Northshore Road going,” she said, “and Centerline Road coming back.”

  What proceeded was one of the most incredibly beautiful drives of my life. The Northshore Road hugged the coastline, and around every curve was another sweeping vista, another pristine white beach. I saw road signs for beaches, bays, hiking trails, camp grounds—even ruins—and as we went I decided that Tom and I would absolutely have to come back here as tourists. At one point the road took us uphill, away from the coast, where it joined with Centerline Road.

  “So when you’re coming from the opposite direction,” Jodi said as she pointed out the landmark ice cream stand that sat at one side of the intersection, “you can fork either right or left. Either way will get you back to Cruz Bay.”

  Centerline Road carried us to the top of the mountain, where a heart-stopping curve revealed an astounding view: the rest of the island, the Caribbean sea, and other islands in the distance. From there the road plummeted downward and around toward the smaller, scruffier town of Coral Bay.

  “The road splits here too,” Jodi said once we reached sea level, veering to the left. “This takes you down to East End. There’s not much out here but hiking trails and houses. When we come back out, I’ll go the other way and show you Coral Bay and Salt Pond and all of that.”

  I watched for Nadine’s address, which came up quickly. Just as Eli’s notes described, it was a simple driveway with a “No Trespassing” sign, across the street and down just a bit from a public beach.

  Jodi kept going, telling us some of the history of the island as we went. She listed the different Indian tribes that had lived here—including the Arawaks, the Caribs, and the Tainos. Then she described several centuries of slave labor for the sugarcane industry, including a slave revolt in the 1700s that ended with a mass suicide of over 300 slaves jumping from the cliffs rather than being brought back into captivity and torture.

  “There’s a lot of ruins around,” she said, “like old windmills and sugarcane plantations. You can tour some of them. There’s some petroglyphs, too, you can hike to. You know, cave drawings. They’re cool.”

  Eventually, she turned around in a steep driveway to head back the way we had come. We passed Nadine’s peninsula once again as we went.

  “Nowadays, about two-thirds of the island is owned by the U.S. National Park Service,” Jodi said, reaching the fork in the road and turning left. “That’s why it’s not as crowded. It’s mostly national park.”

  We drove slowly through the tiny town of Coral Bay, stopping to let three little goats cross the road. Jodi said goats, chickens, and even donkeys freely roamed the island.

  There were a few shops and restaurants and bars sprinkled along the way, but otherwise there didn’t seem to be much going on at all.

  “Didn’t Rockefeller donate a bunch of land here?” Tom asked.

  “Yes,” Jodi replied. “Back in the fifties. He bought up a lot of it and then gave it over to be permanently preserved as a national park.”

  Beyond the town of Coral Bay, the island seemed to grow more arid. We drove for half a mile or so, and the farther we went, the more it felt as though we were driving into a desert.

  “This road ends a few miles ahead. Do you want me to take it all the way?”

  “I think we’ve seen enough,” Tom replied. “You can head back now.”

  Jodi turned around again in someone’s driveway, narrowly missing a giant cactus at the corner.

  “Well, that’s it, then,” she said. “That’s the island.”

  “It’s beautiful,” I told her.

  The drive back to the house seemed a lot quicker, probably because we took a more direct route, following Centerline Road, which literally hugged the centerline of the island’s mountains. Jodi talked almost nonstop as we went, but I tuned her out and focused on the amazing scenery surrounding us. We were almost back at Stella’s place when I realized I was humming “How Great Thou Art” under my breath.

  Back at the house, Jodi made a few phone calls while Tom and I “got settled.” Really, we were just killing time until she left, as we were both eager to get to Eli’s hidden compartment and see what tools we had to work with.

  Luckily, Jodi was able to locate her friend Sandy, and they made plans to meet up with each other right away. Before Jodi left, she gave me her cell phone number, assuring us that our phones should work fine throughout the island, thanks to two new cellular towers
that had recently been built.

  “Oh, I’ll pick up some groceries for us while I’m in town,” she added.

  “Great.”

  “If you need me, you call,” she said. “Otherwise, I’m going to stay out of your way. Okay?”

  “Thanks, Jodi,” I said. “For everything.”

  “No problem!” she cried. Then she hugged me, grabbed the keys to the Sidekick, and headed out the door.

  “She sort of grows on you, doesn’t she?” Tom asked after she was gone.

  “Very much so,” I replied, crossing the room to stand in front of him.

  “Hey, you sort of grow on me too,” he whispered, closing his eyes and leaning down for a kiss.

  A few moments later I suggested we focus back on our investigation and get a look at Eli’s stash of “spy tools.” We found the pantry, and as it turned out, the shelves were actually built into the door. Opening that door exposed the back wall, and when I twisted the large cuphook, it sounded as though I had undone some sort of latch. I had expected the door to magically slide open after that. Instead, it just sat there, so I reached out and pushed it. It rolled away into the wall easily enough, revealing Eli’s hidden stash inside.

  We gasped.

  When Stella had called it a spice cabinet, I was picturing something small, but this thing was floor to ceiling, with about eight shelves, each one a good ten inches deep. Much to our shock, the cabinet was almost completely filled with…well, with spy tools. There was nothing else to call them.

  “This is incredible,” Tom whispered, stepping closer.

  “Eli was always big on the tools of the trade,” I said. “The more high tech his subject, the more high tech his arsenal. Man, he went all out for this one.”

  “Where did he get all of this stuff?”

  “Didn’t the file say something about getting tips from the local PI about where to purchase ‘certain items’?”

  “Yeah, but come on! Some of these things…”