'How long ago?''
'A little over two years.'
She looked surprised. 'I would have thought you'd been here longer. Everybody seems to know you and you seem to know everything about this place.'
'I'm very adaptable. Who knows, I may decide next week to head on down to Trinidad after all.'
'A real rolling stone, huh?'
'Something like that.'
'Never gathering any moss?'
'Nasty stuff, moss.'
The words came out as a warning. One he hoped she'd heed. Silence fell between them, not an entirely comfortable one, as they moved ever closer to the St. George's pale pink facade.
He broke the silence. 'What about you, sugar? What do you do up there in Alabama?'
'I own a plant nursery and I also do some botanical research on medicinal herbs.'
'Botanical research ' he echoed. Little Miss Jet-lagged Tourist had layers to her, didn't she?
'I have a master's degree in botany' she explained. 'Maybe one day I'll finish my PhD, too busy for it right now. What about you? What did you do before you took a right turn at St. Croix?'
'This and that. Nothing special.'
'It must be nice living in paradise year-round'
'Mostly.' lie agreed. 'The weather's great.'
As they reached the entrance of the St. George, Iris turned and looked up at him. 'Why are you doing this?'
He didn't follow. 'Doing what?'
'Helping me out.' Her dark-eyed gaze grew wary. 'Do you expect something from me in return?'
He didn't know whether to feel insulted or mortified. 'I don't expect anything from you, sugar. I'm just helping out a tourist in need.'
'You make a habit of that?'
'You caught me on a good week. I'm between jobs'
'Oh.' She licked her lips. 'I don't have a lot of money with me, but I can get some from my room-'
He grabbed her hand. She made a soft sound of surprise. 'I don't need your money. What do you think I am?'
'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you.' Her brow furrowed. 'I just thought-'
'I know what you thought.' He released her hand, looking away from her.
'I really am sorry' she said again, catching his hand with hers. He tried not to look at her, but the feel of her fingers, soft on his skin, drew him in. Her gaze was full of remorse, 'You've been good to me today. I don't know how to thank you.'
'You just did. Don't worry about it.' He withdrew his hand, wishing he were anywhere but here with this woman.
'I should attend the seminar tomorrow, shouldn't I?' Iris asked.
'Maybe you'll find your friend there '
'Maybe.'
'But you don't really think so.'
She released a shaky breath, 'She would have left me a message if she knew she was going to be away overnight'
'Are you sure she didn't?' he asked, wanting to smooth the frown from her pretty forehead. 'Maybe it got misplaced'
Her expression shifted. 'May be they sent the note to the wrong room. Why didn't I think of that?'
Her sudden look of excitement made his stomach hurt. 'Don't get your hopes up. It's just something to look into.'
'Maybe you're right.' She started up the steps to the hotel entrance. 'Thanks again for everything.'
He tamped down the urge to follow her inside. His good deed for the day was done, and then some. He'd told her about Celia Shore. He'd helped her find a computer so she could look up the Cassandra Society. Hell, he'd even tucked her into bed when she'd fainted on him.
And besides, he'd see her tonight at the cocktail party.
By 7 p.m, Maddox had taken his second shower of the day, dressed in a pair of black trousers and a white dress shirt, and headed back to the Hotel St. George to put his plan for the evening in motion. And a big part of the plan had just pulled into the St. George's employees parking lot.
'Milo!' Maddox pushed away from the wall and walked toward the barrel-chested waiter parking his scooter a few slots down from Maddox's Harley.
Milo Maroulis looked up cautiously. 'Maddox. What you up to?' He kept moving toward the kitchen entrance.
Blocking Milo's path, Maddox pulled a pair of twenty-dollar bills from his pocket. 'I need you to call in sick. I need inside the cocktail party going on tonight'
'Why?' Milo asked, his voice wary.
Maddox flashed the waiter a sly grin. 'Why do you think?'
Milo looked surprised. 'You not gonna hit on one of them crazy people, are you?'
Maddox stood in the doorway to keep Milo from going inside. 'I'll make it sixty. You can use my cell phone to call in.'
Milo pursed his lips. Maddox could tell he wouldn't put up a real tight; his eyes gleamed with unconcealed eagerness to take the money and run. Maddox added an extra twenty to the two bills in his hand and waved them in front of Milo.
Milo grabbed the bills from Maddox's hand and stuffed them in his pants pocket. 'Go talk to Thomas. He knows you. Tell him I'm home with a sore throat and I asked you to take my place.'
Milo headed for the parking lot, a spring in his step. Maddox entered through the kitchen, ignoring the curious looks from the staff already assembling appetizers for the party. He snagged a spiced shrimp off one platter, flashing a smile at the pretty Creole sous chef, and went to look for the staff manager to talk his way into the cocktail party.
There had been no note waiting for Iris in her box when she returned to the hotel that afternoon. She'd asked the desk clerk about the possibility of a mix-up, but the clerk had told her that nobody had mentioned getting the wrong note, so far. She hoped the Cassandra Society cocktail party would offer more information about her friend's disappearance.
The Paradise Room didn't quite live up to its name. Though live potted palms dotted the room and the walls were painted in a gradation of red, coral and saffron in an attempt to capture the colors of an island sunset, the room was small and windowless.
The dozen or so people Iris found mingling in the Paradise Room didn't seem interested in the decor, however. They gathered in clusters of three or four, drinks in hand and deep in discussion.
She took a deep breath and entered the room. Toiler left, a long table lined the wall. A couple of women dressed in black business suits sat at the table. Half a dozen name tags lay in a neat row. The younger of the two women, a redhead with a round, girlish face, smiled at her.
'Welcome, Iris.'
Iris blinked at the woman's use of her name.
The redhead chuckled. 'No, I'm not a clairvoyant. You're just the only person on the RSVP list I haven't met yet.'
Iris recognized the woman's Midwestern twang. She was the one who'd answered Iris's RSVP call.
Handing Iris her name badge, the girl added, 'My name's Sharon Phelps. I'm with the Minnesota chapter. I'm a medium. I guess you'd call it. Dead people talk to me.'
Iris tried not to gape. Though she'd lived her entire life knowing she had a special gift, she'd never spoken of it so openly and matter-of-fact not with anyone outside her family. 'Nice to meet you 'she managed after a couple of
