“And Edward, would you wash the clothes in my bathroom. I’ll need them tomorrow.”
“Yes, I’ll do it now. And I’ll put this back in the fridge in case you want it later.”
Mr. Murrell didn’t reply. Edward started walking to the house.
Edward found Mr. Murrell’s clothes on the bathroom floor. They were wet as if he’d run through a rainstorm in them. Edward carried the underwear, shirt and trousers to the shed behind his house, and as he fed them to the washing machine, he reminded himself that he wasn’t Mr. Murrell’s friend or neighbor. Murrell was the boss, while he was the caretaker, the servant.
~~16~~
The next morning, he took Mr. Murrell’s clothes off the line and folded them. Mr. Murrell was still in his room when Edward put them on the living room coffee table. Edward returned to his house and started washing a load of his own clothes. He was on the back patio when he heard a boat. He could tell that the motor was too big to be the one on Mary’s boat. Holding a bed sheet in one hand, he leaned over the patio railing to see the large motorboat cutting across the bay, heading for the pier.
Edward assumed it was the police returning to resurvey the beach, look for more clues. Perhaps they’d rake the beach or run a metal detector over the sand. Before the boat had reached the pier, Mr. Murrell appeared, walking out of the house in the clothes Edward had washed. He had on his black sunglasses and a small bag slung over one shoulder, looking more like a college student than the rich CEO of a metals company. Mr. Murrell tracked out to the pier, and before a deckhand could tie up, Murrell stepped down into the back of the boat. He took a seat on the side, and waved up at someone inside the cabin, telling them that he was ready. The deckhand pulled in the line, the motor rumbled, and they were on their way as the boat made a sharp listing U-turn.
“Well, goodbye to you too.” Edward started to bring his hand up in a mock salute, but stopped himself, unable to tell if Murrell could see him or not.
When the boat had disappeared behind the dunes, he went back into the shed to continue his work. After he started the machine, he picked up a mop bucket and headed for the main house. He would clean the kitchen, and then wipe down the upstairs bathroom, knowing that any moisture allowed to sit would soon turn into something organic that he’d have to scrub away later. Twenty minutes into his cleaning, he heard a motor and paused, wiping the sweat off his forehead with his shirt.
“Forget your other beer?”
Edward walked into the front bedroom and looked out the window. It was Mary. She was idling toward the middle of the bay, pulling up one of her traps, wearing her floppy hat, tank top and cargo shorts cinched just below her knees. He ran down the stairs, crossed the beach and waved unnecessarily with both hands. After she had the trap inside the boat, she waved back, and turned for the pier.
“Hi! You won’t believe what happened to me.” Edward beamed. He squatted on the edge of the pier and watched her open up a trap. She pulled out the first of two lobsters inside and immediately tossed it over the side of the boat.
“What’s wrong with that one?”
“Too young.”
Edward described everything that had happened the previous day, finding the body, sitting in the police station, and talking with the police detective. As he spoke, Mary stopped her work and looked up at him, her brown eyes wide under her sunken brow.
“That’s awful.”
“Yeah, it was pretty disgusting.”
“I meant that the man died.”
“Well, yeah, I thought that too.”
She shook her head, looked down into the trap and pulled out the next lobster. She examined it before tossing it over the side of the boat.
“What about that one?” Edward watched the creature sink to the bottom near the pylon.
“Pregnant.”
“How do you know – they all look the same to me.” Edward tilted his head and took a seat on the edge of the pier.
Mary pulled out the one lobster that was in the second cage, and after a quick examination, placed it in her bucket. After this, she pulled out a whole fish from another smaller bucket and cut it into two with a knife. He watched her work for a few minutes before asking her the question he had wanted to ask for two weeks.
“You wanna show me how to cook one of those tonight?” He swung his legs around over the water, secretly holding his breath.
Mary looked down at her flip-flops. She had recently changed her toenails to maroon, and might have been evaluating the polish.
“I can’t tonight. I have to make a delivery for my mother.” Mary shrugged. “If you want, you can ride along—”
“No problem, next time—what?” Edward stood up, burying his hands into the pockets of his shorts. He bent his knees and swayed from side to side. “Yeah, sure I’ll go with you. That’d be great – I mean good. Fine. I got no plans.” He pulled one hand out and scratched an ear, watching her bait her cages. “When do you want to leave?”
~~~
They passed the southern skirt of Virgin Gorda and Spanish Town, a flat village of modern homes and hotels and docks crammed with sailboats. The skirt sloped up to end just over a blunted mountain peak on the north end that looked over the open Atlantic. Mary steered them around the northeast side to a pier half-hidden by mangroves and overhanging jungle in the still, semi-protected waters of a cove. She tied up and Edward followed her up the pier. They ducked under copperwood branches and followed a trail to a wood and brick house that lay mostly in the shade of trees. He followed her into an enclosed patio filled with yard tools and broken furniture. Mary pulled out a key and opened the back door, and they stepped into a modern interior, whitewashed walls, stone floors, flat-screen TV, and glazed dining room furniture.
“Mama, you, here? I got a friend with me, mama.” She turned back to Edward. “We’ll only stay a minute.”
“Mary, where you been?” A woman’s voice called out from someone inside before Mary turned back.
Mary’s mother came into the room, stopping at the doorway when she saw Edward. She wiped her hands into an apron and looked him over. She was a large woman with her weight evenly distributed from her trunk down. Her shoulders were square, making her body appear rectangular with a short neck and her head sat on this shape like the knob on a cookie jar cover.
“Who you bring-in here? You doin extra work? He want somethin to eat? I got chicken cooking. One plate only cost ten dollars—”
“Momma, he’s not a tourist.”
She stopped wiping her hands and looked at her daughter.
“Whatcha mean he’s not a tourist? He’s white—”
“Momma, he’s watching a house on Peter Island.”
“No house goin anywhere. You doonh need be watchin no house.”
“Caretaking, momma.” Mary looked down, shaking her head. “We’re going to take Aunt Nina her stuff now, OK?”
“No, you doonh need be runnin off like dat. Might as well eat some chicken since you here. What’s your boyfriend’s name?”
“He’s just a friend, momma. His name’s Edward.”
Mary glanced at him. Edward pushed his tongue into his lips to hide his growing smirk.
“Well, he’s a boy ain’t he,” her mother replied. “And he’s your friend—”
“Momma.”
“Oooohkaaay. OK. Well, Edward you like jerk chicken? I got some.”
“That would be great,” he said.