'Stop it, your face will stick like that.'
An expression of amazed enlightenment spread across her features.
'Surely not – not Dr. Dunnett, scion of the floating medical profession. Oh, surely not!'
I blew a smoke ring.
'The very same. And quit hamming. You make Roger Moore look like Laurence Olivier.'
Miss Lawrence tipped a glass of half melted ice down my cleavage. It felt rather refreshing.
'A snip here, a tuck there, and Bob's your auntie.'
'Not forgetting the boob job. That must be what really set her – him – whatever – off. Sloppy silicon sliding suddenly southward.'
I drained my Hermaphrodite in satisfaction. One part of the mystery was solved. Or was it? Was it part of the mystery at all? We had set out to discover who murdered Raoul, not that Dr. D was the knife behind disposing of Swat's excess wedding tackle and botching her chest job.
Jay read my thoughts.
'Perhaps there is a connection? There's plenty of scope for digging a motive out of this lot somewhere. We ain't finished yet.'
'We ain't indeed, my dear Mrs. Neptune. A three pipe problem, methinks.'
I tapped my pipe out and rose to my feet. The ballroom had emptied as we cogitated.
'Come, my love.'
'Yes, please!!!'
Miss Lawrence took my arm and looked up eagerly. I steered a circuitous path toward the door, emptying glasses of the more interesting looking liquids as we wended our way.
My dress flowed in the breeze on the open deck. Mr(s) Neptune took my hand solicitously and smoothed her mustache.
Harry Neptune's musical recital would have to wait for another day. Quel dommage.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: MISSION IMPOSSIBLE
The tour guide was both Colombian and attractive, a wiry looking woman who wore heavy rimmed glasses and had an endearing habit of smiling at you over the top of them. Sensing a kindred spirit and a potential conquest, I decided to brush up my Spanish. Harry groaned as we began to climb the steep track that led from the beach into a dense forest of verdant green.
'Co'mo esta's tu, sweetie?'
My husband winced.
'Oh, very clever, I'm sure. It's my rotulas, if you must know. I might have to eschew this cultural interlude for a few cold ones on the beach.'
I gave my partner a very hard stare.
'Your rotulas, eh? That's a new one. Got your ojo on someone, have we?'
Harry raised his eyes to the sky and shook his head disapprovingly.
'I don't know, Mrs. Neptune. Anyone would think you didn't trust me. My kneecaps are giving me serious gyp. It's the heat and the lie of the land. I think I'll really have to sit this one out. I'm sure you'll survive without me.'
Clara, the tour guide, looked amused.
'It's not the heat, it's the humidity.'
I blew Harry a kiss and turned to watch him limp off down the track. He'd most likely be heavily medicated by my return, the old reprobate. There was a large shelter on the beach, artfully crafted from coconut palms, where a barbecue was planned for the latter part of the day. Various less adventurous souls had passed on the hike to the ruined mission, in favor of lounging in the silvery sand. They might have a point. It was getting very hot.
'What a stunning view!'
The old road emerged from the lush vegetation and there was a sudden and magnificent vista of the turquoise bay below. The Caribbean Conch looked like a toy ship anchored in the distance. White clouds scudded across a bright blue sky and a fresh breeze cooled my burning face. I took a long, deep drink from my water bottle, deliciously aware of Clara's eyes upon my swallowing throat. She had my numero, all right. The party toiled onwards and upwards, and I lagged behind a little to admire our leader's pert behind. The Boner-Drippits were present, naturally, although, no doubt, more for reasons of exertion than cultural interest. Will sported a pith helmet and Frippery a straw sun-hat as big as a sombrero. I wondered whether they had discovered that their closet black magic had taken a hike. Apparently, Inspector Parrott had Ms. Larry Swat under house arrest and it also seemed that Dr. Dunnett was lying low. Well, who could blame him? The chap was as popular as defective ventilation at a chili-eating convention. Gigi Goldfinkel had decided to opt for a relaxing day on the beach and was last seen wearing a neon pink swimsuit and trying to inveigle a handsome young man to play volleyball. The woman seemed indefatigable.
On and on we climbed, finally emerging at the cliff-top, where the crumbling remains of a dazzling white building rose against the cerulean sky. Clara paused to recount the mission's history, then, leaving the group to mill about the sun-baked ruins, she wandered off down a steeply sloping bank. Certain of her intent, I followed after a modest pause. Once, twice, I slipped and fell onto my bottom, finally rounding a vine encrusted stone buttress to discover the tour guide leaning against the shaded foundations of the mission. Almost brusquely, she removed the large silver hoops from her ears and thrust them into the pocket of her shirt. She looked at me with frank challenge.
'Kiss me.'
Her black hair was thick and wiry between my burning fingers. I took her head between my hands and slid the tip of my tongue between her lips. Clara murmured into my mouth.
'Don't tease, Jay. You want me, you take me. All of me…'
I kissed her hard and felt her sensuous spirit collide with mine, just as strong, every bit as hungry. Aggressively, she pulled at my thin cotton shirt and a button gave way, skittering off down the precipitous bank. Her hands sought my breasts, wresting them from my sweat-soaked bra. I gasped as her hot wet mouth surrounded one nipple with velvety heat. Clara burned with the kind of visceral, powerful, forceful energy I seldom find in a man, never mind a woman. Closing my eyes, I had the oddest sensation that we were both male and female, conqueror and vanquished rolled into one. Where she began and I ended was unclear. I longed for her to penetrate me like a man and, as if reading my mind, she thrust one hand down my trousers and roughly pushed two fingers into my cunt. I moaned softly and she laughed:
'Don't tell me you want me to be gentle. I don't believe that.'
'No… Oh god…'
It was my turn to be pressed up against the warm stone surface and I parted my legs to accommodate Clara's hungry mouth as she knelt before me, her wild hair escaping from its loose ponytail. My trousers were about my ankles, my breasts bared to the midday sun, as I looked up to see the Boner-Drippits glaring down at me from a vantage-point above. Unable to resist the temptation to tease them both, I ground my pussy against my Latin lover's face and threw back my head in ecstasy. I heard two exclamations of disgust and a muttered 'bloody unhygienic' before my first orgasm swept through me like a veritable electric shock. It was all I could do not to scream at the top of my lungs. Will and Frippery disappeared from view and Clara stood up, deftly pulling my trousers to my waist. Swiftly, she replaced her earrings and combed her tousled hair with her fingers.
'Time to go. Next time, you take me, not the other way round. You weren't quick enough.'
'You make it sound like a game!'
The tour guide only laughed and began to climb the crumbling slope back to the ruined mission and her flock of restless charges. I tried to follow at a discreet distance but my legs appeared to have turned to jelly. Perhaps it was the intense heat of the day or the after-effects of a powerful orgasm but I suddenly felt rather odd. Trembling slightly, I slowly clambered up the bank. It didn't really matter if the group went on without me, as there was but one road up to the mission and we would simply be retracing our steps back down to the beach. Realizing that my problem might be caused by dehydration, I sat down within the cooling shade of a tree and unscrewed the top of
