Death by Seduction (Book #13 in the Caribbean Murder series)

The next morning, as Cindy settled in her room down the hall from Loretta, she felt how strange it was to be here alone. The place in the closet usually reserved for Mattheus’s jackets and slacks was empty. The drawers in the bureau where he put his shirts, ties and underwear had nothing in them. Cindy looked at the empty drawers and had a sudden sinking feeling. Could she really take this case on alone? But she dare not indulge it doubt for a second. Her friends life could be at stake.

Cindy walked out onto the patio and scanned the beautiful vista and sky. The magnificent mountainous island stretched out before her, hills which rose up as part of the terrain which surrounded the island on all sides. There were lush greens wherever her eyes rested and a sweet smell in the air. It was the wet season down here though, and the mist in the air was heavy. Cindy felt droplets of perspiration forming on her forehead. Even though she would have enjoyed staying out here, she knew she had to get going. There was a great deal to do, lots of information to gather, and she had to do it fast.

As Cindy walked back into the room to wash and change, the house phone rang and she quickly picked up.

“Do you have everything you need, is everything all right?” Loretta was on the other end.

“Yes, thank you, it’s a beautiful room,” replied Cindy.

Loretta sighed, relieved. “Good. And, you’re not going into this completely alone, my father will be arriving soon. He’ll help.”

Cindy was glad that Loretta’s father was coming to support his daughter through her ordeal. Cindy personally didn’t know him, though, and had no plans to count on him for anything. For a second Cindy wondered where Loretta’s mother was, but then suddenly remembered that she had died in a car accident during Loretta’s senior year in college.

“My dad’s wonderful,” Loretta went on. He’s been both a father and mother to me all these years.”

“You’re lucky to have him,” Cindy replied.

“I definitely am,” murmured Loretta. “There’s no way I could go through this without him at my side.”

Cindy swallowed hard, remembering how she’d felt the same way about Mattheus when her sister Ann had died. Mattheus had come racing to her side then, was an incredible support in every possible way. Cindy would be eternally grateful to him for that.

“Well, I have to get going now,” Cindy quickly changed the topic of conversation, not wanting to spend too much time on the phone.

“Where are you going, what are you going to do?” Loretta sounded concerned.

“My first step is to check out the crime scene,” Cindy reported.

“Not the whorehouse?” Loretta’s voice rose in horror. ”You’re not going there?”

“It’s routine to visit the scene of the crime,” replied Cindy. “I have to go. That’s where Pete’s body was found.”

“Was dumped!” Loretta reminded Cindy curtly. “And nothing about this investigation is routine,” she quickly added. “I can give you all the information you ask for. And, even if I do, nothing will be what it seems.”

Nothing was what it seemed in any investigation, thought Cindy. “Thanks so much for the offer,” Cindy answered, “but I’ve got to go and dig up things on my own. There’s information out there you have no idea of.”

“What?” asked Loretta, her voice dimming.

“I don’t know yet,” replied Cindy, “but believe me, I’ll find out.”

“Go look, if you have to,” Loretta said, tentatively. “But remember, whatever you find, you’ve got to let me know.”

“Of course,” said Cindy softly, “you’ll be the first to find out.”

*

The brothel where Pete’s body was found was located in a residential section of the city, on a regular block in an ordinary house. Anyone could have been inside, living an absolutely

ordinary life. Prostitution was legal in the Dominican Republic and houses like this were scattered all over the place, out in plain view, for all to frequent.

Cindy walked up the front path of the stucco house tentatively, and ran the bell.

“Just come in,” a raspy voice yelled from inside.

Cindy pushed the door open and waked into a large, messy foyer. Then she took a few steps further into the parlor. The room was strewn with clothes, shoes and pictures of beautiful girls in seductive poses hanging half crookedly on the walls. As Cindy looked around she was startled to see some girls actually there, lounging on the sofas, half dressed, half asleep. A couple of the girls looked up at Cindy slowly as she walked in. The windows were closed and it was sweltering. The place smelt of smoke, coffee and sour wine.

One of the girls pulled herself off the coach and roamed over to Cindy. She was in her early twenties, slim, with long tangled hair and lots of make-up covering a naturally, lovely face.

“What’s up, honey?” she giggled, “what are you looking for here so early in the day?”

“Cindy Blaine, detective,” Cindy announced. “I’m here to investigate the murder of Peter Twain.”

“You’re a cop?” the girl’s eyes widened. “I’d never guess it in a hundred years.”

Just then a sweet, lanky, Caribbean policeman walked into the room.

“Hey, this dame here is a cop,” the girl rolled her eyes at him.