"I say!"
I twisted in my seat and stuck my head out of the window to look back the way we had come. I pulled my head back in.
"It's them! Coming out of a bank! What are they doing there? A bit out of the way to be cashing traveler's checks!"
"What? Who?" Miss Lawrence kept her eyes fixed ahead but managed a contribution to the conversation.
"Dunnett and Swat, that's who. Coming out of the Greater Antilles National Bank. Sniggering."
"Sniggering?"
"Yes, sniggering. Arm in arm. What the hell are they up to?"
"Robbery. Rehearsing a pantomime. Smoking ganja. Who the hell cares!"
Jay looked as though the rum might repeat itself on her as we negotiated a roundabout the wrong way and won a battle of wills with a lorry load of cement.
"We care, that's who! Detectives, remember? We are sworn to discover who put poor Raoul in a body bag, and the way to do that is to track down mysteries. Here is a mystery. Let us track."
It seemed simple enough to me, but from the word Miss Lawrence used, it was apparent she had other priorities. Never mind, she would feel more like it when her feet were on terra firma again. I patted her hand and got another rude word in reward.
"Da Lobster Pot!"
Our driver seemed very pleased with himself to not only have found our declared destination but also to have delivered us alive. So he should be.
I paid in U.S. dollars with a moderately generous tip – we were after all indubitably alive – and handed my wife down onto the road. Sidewalks are a luxury largely unknown in this part of the old town of Sint Maarten.
Mrs. Neptune took a deep breath, forwent kissing the ground in gratitude, and rapidly resumed her normal demeanor. It would take more than a first Caribbean taxi ride to faze her for very long. She would be ready for the next one.
We stepped over the storm drain and into a shady, comfortably furnished restaurant and bar. A ceiling fan wafted cooling air. A couple of tall cold cocktails were called for.
"Coo-ee!!"
CHAPTER EIGHT: THE PLOT THICKENS
Mrs. Goldfinkel was elegantly ensconced on a rattan sofa, several glossy shopping bags propped against its turquoise cushions. Nearby, French doors revealed a charming, sun-dappled courtyard, bright with dazzling flamboyant hibiscus. Finches chattered in the little oasis and the silvery jets of a small fountain danced against the vivid green of the lush shrubs. The restaurant's clientele were all rather smartly dressed and I looked around for the ladies room, painfully aware of my somewhat disheveled appearance. Harry plonked himself down in a peacock-back chair and wiped his glistening forehead with a large white handkerchief.
"Phew! Now, that's what I call a liquid lunch!"
The Black Widow looked me up and down with thinly disguised disapproval. I had received such a look before, from a straight-laced bed and breakfast proprietress in rural Spain, when I turned up fresh from a dip in the Mediterranean. It was the "you're a mess!" look.
"Jay, honey. You really should take more care with your complexion! And what have you done to that pretty dress? I knew I shouldn't have left you alone, you bad girl! Never mind – Gigi has been shopping! I have a little surprise for you both."
Harry and I exchanged a slightly worried glance. I suspected the B.W. had more money than sense or good taste, as is often the case. With childish glee, our benefactress rummaged in the packages by her side, swiftly retrieving two smartly wrapped boxes. I wondered at how she had managed to pick up so many items in such a limited span of time, but it looked as if she had plenty of practice.
"Here we are! Just a little belated nuptial gift for the new Mr. and Mrs. Neptune. Oh, I do hope you like them, they're a matching pair. Quite rare too, apparently."
"Why, thank you, Gigi. I'm quite overwhelmed."
Gingerly, I untied the ribbon and opened the box. There, carefully protected by a large quantity of tissue paper, was what appeared to be a big black shiny phallus. It looked very familiar. Harry sniggered and I shot him a warning look. After all, it's the thought that counts, even if sometimes one wonders just what that thought was…
"Why, it's, um, very unusual…"
Mrs. Goldfinkel clapped her hands.
"It's a fetish! Eighteenth century, Pokipoki tribe. The dealer who sold it to me suggested that it (here Mrs. G blushed slightly and coughed modestly) is rumored to bring greater satisfaction to the fortunate owner."
"Oh, I say!"
Harry had almost slithered to the floor with suppressed hilarity. I continued to ignore him. Bravely, I picked up the fetish and examined its polished ebony shaft. Actually, it was rather beautiful in a very rustic, visceral way. This wedding gift had potential. Much more fun than a pair of monogrammed bath robes. I gave the Black Widow a peck on the cheek.
"Thank you, Gigi! I shall treasure it. Come on, darling – open yours!"
With a Herculean effort, my dearly beloved ripped the ribbon off his matching package and pulled out a wad of tissue paper. I watched a sly smile curve his lips. Triumphantly, he pulled out another native artifact, carved from the same dense, dark wood.
"Well, I'll be blowed – it's a…"
At that point, Mrs. Goldfinkel rather swiftly and surprisingly clamped her hand over my husband's mouth.
"It's a matching fetish," she stated, rather pointedly. Harry peeled the woman's fingers from his chin and examined his gift.
"It looks just like Elvira to me!"
The Black Widow tittered.
"Well, so long as dear Jay doesn't mind, I'm sure you can call it whatever you like! It is, um, supposed to have the same therapeutic effect as its matching piece."
"I'll bet!"
I took the other fetish from Harry and admired the set together. No wonder he was reminded of Elvira. His part of the pair was essentially a beautifully carved and burnished black vulva, with fat swollen lips and a prominent clit. The piece was cylindrical, smoothly hollowed out as if to accept a thrusting cock. Of course!
I just couldn't resist. Reverently, I slid the penis into the vagina. Needless to say, it was a perfect fit. Then the oddest thing happened. A strange tingling sensation seemed to course through my body, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, almost as if I had received a mild electric shock. Just for a moment, I felt quite peculiar. When I came to, Harry had ordered some drinks and a late lunch. Come to think of it, I was famished – perhaps that rum on an empty stomach had made me go a little queer. Not to forget the taxi ride.
"Biggin and Elvira. Well, thanks again, Mrs. G – this is certainly a gift to remember. I know I can speak for my dear wife when I say that we cherish our fetishes. Buck up, Lawrence, the crab cakes are coming."
Another wave of electricity coursed through me and I swore I could feel my hair standing on end. The Black Widow stared at me as if I'd gone completely crazy.
"Mrs. Harry Neptune! It's time you got yourself some effective conditioner! Just look at what the sun is doing to your hair. I bet you took your hat off, didn't you? Naughty girl!"
There was a mirror on the wall beside our table. Reluctantly, I appraised the flushed apparition that met my worried gaze. It was true. My hair really was literally standing on end! I looked like a reject from that hippie musical, "Hair." Harry let out a guffaw and I promptly laid the copulating bookends down. The moment the objects left my grasp, my coiffure headed south. My husband roared and slapped his thigh in delight.
"How the hell did you do that?"
"I'm not sure, darling. I do feel rather odd."
At that moment, I looked out into the sunny courtyard. Two familiar figures sat on a bench beside the gurgling fountain. I lifted my ring finger to point at Dunnett and Swat, who were deeply involved in what looked like a rather intense conversation. Harry's rather bloodshot (not to mention blackened) eyes followed my gesture then sharply returned to the fake knuckle-duster. It never fails to amaze me how unobservant men can be.