Murder on the Riviera (8 page)

Herculea spoke each word firmly, and from their years of close acquaintance, Kent knew that she could not be dissuaded.  She was massively stubborn when she got an idea in her head, and there was nothing he could say.

“Very well, Herculea.  I can’t say I’m happy about this decision.” His brain was reeling with the news she had just broken, but his tone remained calm.  Still, he couldn’t resist one further question: “Would you at least let me accompany you?  We’re flying into Rio together, so we might as well go on this expedition as two.  It would be a lot safer for you.”

Herculea was taken aback.  She had never had a man to protect her, and she wasn’t going to start now.  She lived for adventures like this, and she did not want to be coddled by an overly concerned friend.  As politely as she could, Herculea refused his offer.

“I appreciate your concern for me.  But I can handle this situation.  I have to get going now.  I need to go home and relax.”

Nothing had ever been truer.  She was mentally exhausted from puzzling over the case of the Silver Goddess, and she needed to get away from the office and back to her apartment to begin preparations for her upcoming trip.  She made a mental note to email Dean Walker and evasively inform him that there had been a change of plans.  She did not want to tell anyone else about her prospective project, and she already regretted telling Kent.  With her tenured status at the university, not to mention a long list of successful travels behind her, she felt confident that her boss would approve of her independent research, vague though it may be right now.

Half an hour later, inside her apartment, Herculea heaved an enormous sigh of relief.  But the relief to be home was fleeting.  Troubling questions climbed into her mind.  What had she just done?  She had cancelled a business trip that had been planned for months with a colleague she had known for years.  Even though Kent was too polite to ever admit it, Herculea was certain she had offended him.  Had she gone
loca
all of a sudden?  One tango and a dinner with Pedro and she was ready to fly clear across the world to chase a preposterous legend!

Herculea sat down on the sofa and took out her cell phone from her purse. It was Friday at 7:00 PM.  Exactly twenty four hours ago, her date with Pedro was just beginning.  The apartment had vibrated with an unidentifiable energy magnified by the haunting Spanish guitar recording.  Tonight, there was nothing but a disquieting stillness, leaving Herculea feeling very alone.  She mentally scolded herself, knowing she couldn’t expect to hear from Pedro so quickly after the date.  For a split second, she was tempted to call Pedro.  But Herculea’s natural warrior spirit rose up and demanded that she put the phone down and start to make serious preparations for this trip.  This would be no ordinary business trip; it would be an expedition.

Sprinting to her bedroom, Herculea retrieved floral luggage from the walk-in closet.  She smirked as she looked at the lavender and rose print painted over the entire duffel bag. 
Who says women can’t be tough and feminine?
  Yanking open her dresser drawers, Herculea selected some basic cotton tee-shirts in a rainbow of shades, as well as jeans to protect her legs from insect bites.  The ritual of packing took the surreal aspect out of her upcoming trip and filled her with anticipation.  Soon, the bag was full and could not hold one more item if it was going to fit overhead as a carry-on.

Satisfied that she had packed all the essentials, Herculea set the luggage aside and went to the kitchen to fix herself a hot cup of orange ginger tea.  With a buttered raisin scone on the side.  Of course.

Chapter 4

Fidgeting impatiently in her shoebox of a seat, Herculea tried to compose herself.  The plane had been grounded for nearly an hour at San Francisco International Airport.  As the pilot tried to appease the passengers with promises of a momentary takeoff, Herculea groaned, thinking of how her journey had not even begun.  First, she had to make a connecting flight at New York’s JFK Airport.  Assuming that transition went smoothly, it would be another ten hours of flying before she finally landed in Brazil.  Herculea glanced over at the passenger next to her, a lanky older gentleman in a business suit.  Poor man.  She bit her lower lip to keep from laughing as she observed the tall man’s knees pressed uncomfortably into his chest.  It was times like these that Herculea really appreciated her petite stature.

As the plane finally began to taxi towards the runway, Herculea lifted up the flap on her window seat and watched the perpetual Northern California rain pour down.  She wondered how Kent was doing.  The university’s travel department had not been able to purchase side by side seats for the colleagues, and for that she was grateful.  She had endured a curt encounter with Kent at the gate before he boarded the plane to sit in the next to last row.  Kent had appeared perturbed with her.  Herculea felt a twinge of regret for having bailed out on their assignment, but it was not because she doubted her purpose.  No, it was because the long standing friendship between her and Kent seemed to be threatened now, and she did not want to lose him.

The jet became louder as it rapidly picked up speed before ascending into the murky sky.  The voices of her fellow passengers were drowned out by the raucous propulsion of the plane, and Herculea found herself alone with her thoughts.  Pedro had not contacted her at all since their date.  She had tried not to be too dejected, but it had seemed so clear that they were mutually attracted to each other.  Their bodies had fit so well together when they danced, and that kiss…oh, that kiss.

Herculea tingled deliciously at the memory, but the grin on her face quickly turned to a sulk as she reminded herself that five days had passed without a word from him.  In man language, that meant that he most likely would not call at all.  Still, Herculea clung to a thread of hope that there could be a message from him when she turned her phone on again at JFK Airport.  This thought carried her across the country as she closed her eyes.

*****

Herculea felt like a zombie as she sleepily made her way through the frenetic JFK Airport.  She calculated that she had just enough time to stop at one of the concessions and buy a much needed chocolate bar and bottle of spring water.  Moving swiftly, Herculea reached for her phone and took a deep breath as she switched it on.  The welcome screen lit up, and she rushed to check both voicemail and text messages.  There were no messages at all.  Herculea resisted the compulsion to buy two candy bars to ease her disappointment.  Instead, she made a healthier choice, foregoing the chocolate altogether in favor of a packet of dried pineapples and apricots.  She munched her way through the airport, pausing as she heard a breathless voice calling behind her.

“Herculea, wait up!” Kent exclaimed.

She whirled around to face him.  He was wheeling his suitcase towards her and giving her a sheepish smile.

“Damn, I must have been the last person to get off that flight!  The school should pay me extra for having to sit in the worst seat on that bloody aircraft.” He sounded mildly angry, mainly humorous.

“I know!  I felt so bad that you were stuck back there.  Welcome to the land of the living,” she joked.

“What a horrid flight it was.” He commented, shaking his head.  “I need to talk to you before we catch our layover.  I want you to know that my offer as a chaperone still stands.  I won’t get in the way of your research, just stand by you.”

Herculea’s heart swelled, and she felt a strange tightness in her throat.  It had occurred so infrequently in her life that a man offered to take care of her.

“Kent, you are so sweet.  And such a gentleman.  I’m so sorry for turning our research plans upside down at the last minute.  But I do feel that I can handle this on my own.  But thank you so much, and I mean that.” She looked directly into his sparkling turquoise eyes as she spoke to him.

“Again, you don’t surprise me, Herculea.  But the offer still stands.  We both have our cell phones, and if you need me at all during this trip, just call me, and I’ll be there.”

Kent reached over and gave her hand a firm squeeze.  His hands felt warm, and for a moment she caught herself staring at his arms.  His shirt sleeves were pulled up to his elbows, and the forearms revealed looked strong and comforting, covered in dark golden hair.  Herculea squeezed his hand back and thought how it had been far too long since she had been with a man.  A kiss from Pedro and a brief touch from Kent?  Was that all it took to make her heart flutter these days?

“I will definitely take you up on that offer if the need arises,” Herculea assured him.

And it was true.  Admittedly stubborn, Herculea was not foolish. She would not let her pride prevent her from reaching out to a trustworthy friend if the situation were truly dire.  In a comfortable silence, the friends walked towards the gate of their next departure.

The delay in San Francisco made for a close call, and by the time they reached the gate, final boarding had just begun.  Herculea found her aisle seat near the wing of the plane.  Over the din, she asked Kent where he was seated.

“Would you believe it?  They’ve put me in the horse’s ass of the plane again.” Kent rolled his eyes.

“You must be kidding.” Herculea giggled in disbelief.

“Wish I were.  Have a good flight.” Kent winked and retreated to the plane’s tail, dragging his suitcase behind him.

He’s so good natured
, she thought as she sat down, nodding politely at the passenger next to her, stuck in the much maligned middle seat.  Chewing the last of her fruit snack, Herculea settled into the seat, inhaling a deep, yoga-style breath, mentally preparing herself for another long flight.

Hours later, the lights were out on the plane, encouraging the passengers to sleep.  Usually unable to fall asleep on a flight, Herculea had managed to drift into unconsciousness.  As she slumbered, a vivid dream played in her mind.

A colossal wind blustered mercilessly onto the shore, causing a blinding sandstorm to erupt.  Furiously wiping grains of sand from her eyes, Herculea struggled to see in front of her.  Even with the angry wind, the sand still felt wet and heavy, and she plodded over it in worn sandals, not knowing where she was going.  It was night, and the sky was an unrelenting shade of onyx.  No light shone anywhere.  Even the moon was the faintest sliver of alabaster and did nothing to illuminate the sky.

In the distance, she discerned the high-pitched, musical sound of a woman’s laughter.  Herculea held her breath, listening intently to discover the laughter’s origin.  She veered to the left, and the laughter grew louder.  Thirsty and cold, Herculea began to run towards the only human sounds she had heard since starting to walk over the inhospitable sand.  Close behind her, violent waves crashed onto the shore, spraying her back with gritty salt water.  She convulsed from head to toe, feeling the most primitive chill of her life course through her. Shivering, she continued to rush towards the laughter.

Suddenly, she sensed a human presence.  The laughter had ceased, replaced by shallow breathing.  Still unable to see in front of her, Herculea’s other senses kicked into overdrive, and she knew that there was a woman standing just feet away from her.

“Hello.” Herculea spoke nervously, licking her dry, salt-stained lips.

The wind replied with a venomous howl, sweeping more sand into her burning eyes.  She sputtered as some of the granules of sand flew into her mouth, parching her throat even more.

“Hello.” She tried again.  “I’m lost.”

“Lost?  You are on my island.” Declared the feminine voice mere steps away.

“What island?” Herculea asked, disturbed by the hollow sound of the woman’s voice.

“You do not make any inquiries on my property.  I interrogate you.  What brought you here?”

“I—I don’t know.” Herculea stammered, beginning to panic.

The strange woman sounded deceptively calm, as anger clearly bubbled beneath the surface.

“You are trespassing.” She said in a warning tone.

“I’m s-sorry.  Really, I don’t know how I got here.  I d-don’t even remember where I was before I was here.”

Herculea made one final effort to see the woman, but all she could distinguish was a curvaceous hourglass shadow.  She squinted and, for a moment, a flicker of silver lit up just above her head.  Herculea could not be sure, but it looked like a lock of hair.  Suddenly, it dawned on her.  This was the Silver Goddess, and she was on the Island of Vinova.  This had been Herculea’s destination, and she had her potential research subject live in the flesh.  But the woman was so unfriendly, more witch than goddess.

“Are you the Silver Goddess?” Herculea inquired in a low whisper.

“You don’t ask the questions.  I already told you that.  Can you see me in this black night?  It’s always darker than a cave here after sunset.  You really did choose the wrong time to trespass.”

“I can’t see you.  I just saw a flash of silver…I guess that was your hair.”

“So you cannot see me.  I didn’t think a mere mortal like you would have my night vision abilities.”  The Goddess said disdainfully.

“I should never have come here.  I’m sorry.  Maybe you could just help me get off your island.  I promise that I won’t bother you again.” Herculea pleaded, desperate to be somewhere, anywhere, where the glow of natural light would warm her surroundings, not to mention her chilled body.

The laugher Herculea had heard in the distance harshly resumed.  “Off my island?”  The Silver Goddess mocked.  “Off my island? There is no way off my island once you dare to trespass.  Now you shall become like me.  Won’t you join me?”

“May I offer you a beverage?  Some wine or spirits?”

An unfamiliar voice snatched Herculea from her nightmare, and she sat bolt upright, peering around her.  In an instant, she realized that the voice had come from one of the flight attendants, pushing around the beverage cart.

“Perhaps a soft drink?” The uniformed attendant offered gently.

“Just water, please,” Herculea managed, swallowing and feeling her throat as desert-like as it had been in the dream.

The flight attendant handed her a room temperature bottle of water accompanied by a clear plastic cup with ice.

“Thank you,” Herculea said, as her head started to throb.

She searched through her purse for some aspirin and took a deep swig of the water, washing down two pills with it.  The nightmare had been almost three dimensional in its alternate reality.  As her temples pulsed uncomfortably, she could still smell the seaweed and brine in the air, still hear the cackling echoes of the Silver Goddess.

Herculea was not a superstitious person, but that nightmare had hurled her more than a little off kilter.  Usually, she adopted a psychological approach to dream interpretation, believing like Freud that our nightmares are the result of deeply held fears. 
That must be the explanation for this dream
, she reasoned.

But what if it were a premonition of some sort?  No, Herculea knew better.  Educated and reasonable, she could not entertain the idea that her nightmare had contained a vision of the future.  Still, her mind would not be peaceful.  As Herculea poured the last of the water into her cup, all she could think of was how pitch black the island had appeared in her dream. 
Darkness everywhere
, she thought with a shudder.

*****

It was night when the plane landed in Rio de Janeiro.  The pilot cheerfully announced in English and Portuguese that they had safely reached their final destination.  His wishes for a “pleasant stay in Brazil” rang in Herculea’s ears as she wrestled her duffel bag out of the tightly packed overhead compartment.  She was exhausted.  And still dehydrated.  Even though she had slept on the plane, the enormity of the journey and the murky task ahead made her yearn for a comforting bed.  As soon as she got off the plane, she would look for Kent and take a taxi with him to the hotel.  From there, once she had recovered her natural vitality---and bravery---she would set out on her own to locate the Silver Goddess.  With any luck, she would conduct a cogent interview that would produce material suitable for a cultural anthropology memoir.

Herculea had published numerous articles and contributed to several textbooks in her field.  That was standard procedure for a tenured professor.  But she had never published a full length book on her own.  Shoving aside the disturbing dream and walking straight ahead off the plane, she focused all her mental energy on that singular goal: to publish a book of her own.

In the hotel room, Herculea fell asleep almost immediately.  After dumping her bag, unpacked, onto the armoire, she retreated immediately to the king sized bed.  Setting her cell phone onto the nightstand beside her, she checked one more time for messages.  She tried not to be too disappointed to see that Pedro still had not contacted her, not even a quick text message.  She obviously had misread him on their one and only date.  He was a Lothario, no doubt, and probably charmed women every night of the week.  Maybe he had even been expecting sex that night.  She was glad she hadn’t succumbed to his fiery charms.  Not hearing from him after a kiss was upsetting enough.