Pineapple Pirates

Book 21: Pineapple Port Mysteries

by Amy Vansant

Genres: Mystery; Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Animal Cozy Mysteries; International Crime & Mystery; Private Investigators; Traditional Mysteries; Female Sleuths; Humorous Fiction

Synopsis

USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author Amy Vansant leaves Pineapple Port's couples on their own. Will love save the day?

Charlotte and Declan enjoy a free honeymoon on the Bahamian island of Duppy Cay in return for investigating who’s been vandalizing the local resort. The trade seems like a deal until someone tries to kill the island’s most colorful character. There’s no shortage of trouble for such a small island—a pirate’s curse, angry ghosts, shipwrecks, hidden pirate caves...

Back in the US, Darla and Frank are kidnapped while visiting friends in Tennessee, leaving Mariska and Bob to solve a murder back home in Florida.

Release date: June 18, 2024

Publisher: Vansant Creations

Print pages: 321

Sample

Chapter One

A figure followed the man down the stone path, crouching behind a wide traveler’s palm to watch. The man reached the beach and walked toward the pirate’s cave.

This is it.

Things had been taking too long. It was time to speed up the process.

The moonless night made it easy to track the man. Soft sand swallowed the sound of footsteps. The two walked down the beach to where the sea lapped at limestone rock and fossilized coral—the same outcropping that had stood there hundreds of years ago when Duppy Cay’s early settlers arrived.

Many of them had been travelers.

The most important ones had been pirates.

The man entered the cave. Was that where he’d hidden the Duppy’s Eye ruby? For hundreds of years, locals and visitors alike had searched the island’s caves for that prize. Ghosts, pirates, hidden treasure—the Bahamian island of Duppy Cay had them all.

Duppy Cay Island Resort hoped to cash in on those legends. The seaside bungalows and rooms were built and decorated, the pier for receiving guests by boat was being lengthened, and spa workers were stacking fresh towels.

Soon, the pricey retreat would open.

Too soon.

The ruby needed to be found.

Now.

What if, with the influx of new visitors, some idiot stumbled on the treasure? Someone had to find it eventually. It was the law of a million monkeys—set a million monkeys typing for infinity, and eventually, one of them would produce Shakespeare.

That couldn’t happen.

The shadowy figure followed the man into the cave. Up ahead, a flashlight beam danced. The man found his spot and started digging.

His digging masked the approach of his attacker.

A quick strike, and he crumpled to the ground. It didn’t take much.

The man lay on the sand unconscious.

Maybe dead.

It didn’t matter.

Soon, the tides would rise and fill the cavern.

That would take care of him. There was no reason to leave any extra evidence. A stab, a gunshot wound, or ligature marks would lead people to think murder when they found his body.

Accident would be better.

Let the tide take care of the mess.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

The long pier jutting from the shoreline into the azure waters surrounding Duppy Cay awaited Charlotte and Declan. Their boat taxi slowed as it approached, navigating around a giant pile driver floating on a platform. The engine cut, and they drifted toward the pier.

“Here we are,” said the boat’s captain, Loony Lovelace, as the boat bumped against a piling.

Charlotte didn’t know if the captain was literally loony, but he had a big personality. His deep bow and how he’d called her m’lady when they approached him for their ride to the island was her first tipoff that Loony was a character.

She guessed him to be in his late fifties, with long salt and pepper hair flowing past his shoulders, a patchy white beard, and a deep tan on his leathery skin. He wasn’t tall, and his wiry frame moved with the agility of a teenager on that boat.

Loony tied the small skiff to the pier, his white shirt hanging unbuttoned over his colorful swimming trunks, revealing his bony chest and tuffs of gray chest hair. He paused to burp and hold his stomach as if suffering a flash of indigestion and then put out a hand to assist Charlotte from the boat.

As Loony and Declan gathered the suitcases, she scanned the island’s shoreline.

“Growing up in Florida sort of steals the wonder out of tropical islands, but this place looks gorgeous,” said Charlotte as Declan stepped onto the pier.

He stopped to admire the island and nodded. “It’s pretty impressive.”

Dead coral and limestone made up the bedrock of most Bahamian islands, and their natural beachfronts were often short, sharp, and covered by little sand. The beach at the Duppy Cay Island Resort’s entrance sparkled deep and white.

“Did they add all that sand for the resort?” asked Charlotte.

Loony nodded. “And all those trees and the bushes and flowers.” He cackled. “They probably added fish to the sea, too.”

Beyond the beach stood a row of strategically placed palm trees and large pastel-painted cabanas with metal roofs and private infinity pools overlooking the Caribbean Sea.

Charlotte strolled down the dock toward the beach, struck by the perfect collection of shells awaiting her on the sand.

She motioned to them.

“It looks like someone handpicked those sand dollars.”

“Someone did,” said Loony, following behind her with the bags. “Me.”

“You did?”

He nodded. “They had a photo shoot for the website this morning, and Sinjin wanted everything perfect.”

“Mission accomplished,” said Declan.

Charlotte nodded, recognizing Sinjin as the name of the resort’s managing partner—the man who’d hired them and traded a free honeymoon.

“Batten down the hatches!” squawked a voice in the distance as they hit the beach.

“Is that a parrot?” asked Charlotte.

“It’s Longjohn. My boy,” said Loony, nodding toward a structure at the end of the row of bungalows. The colorful, one-story shack stood a fraction of the size of the newly built waterfront accommodations.

“Permission to come aboard!” yelled Loony at his shack.

“Permission granted!” answered the parrot in its distinctive squawk.

Charlotte and Declan laughed.

“I think I want a parrot now,” she said.

Declan winced. “I think we can visit his.”

He gave Charlotte’s hand a bouncy squeeze, and she grinned at him.

Her husband.

So strange to say it, even in her head.

Strange and wonderful.

She never dreamed she’d find someone. Living in a fifty-five-plus community at shy of thirty years old, she imagined she’d slide into retirement there like some spinster aunt.

The three walked between palms and down a stone path lined with flowers toward the center of the resort.

“I can’t believe Sinjin needed us for a case right when we needed a honeymoon,” said Declan.

They’d recently opened the Charlock Holmes Detective Agency, and most of their money had gone to the start-up. Sinjin’s offer couldn’t have come at a better time.

“You mean right when we realized we couldn’t afford a honeymoon,” said Charlotte.

He chuckled. “Right. That.”

The path began as flagstones and continued onto a low teak wood decking as they neared the main resort compound. They passed a large pool and another smaller wading area configured for children, with arcing fountains and a slide.

Sinjin Smythe emerged from a Bahamian-style cottage to greet them. He had a pear-shaped frame and bright blond hair tied into a low ponytail pinched at the nape of his neck. He wore leather sandals, shorts, and a matching pastel blue linen jacket. Many might find the pairing of shorts and a jacket odd, but coming from Florida, Charlotte understood. Sometimes, you wanted to look official, but that didn’t make it any less hot.

Sinjin moved with the slow, confident gait of a man in no hurry. His forehead glistened with a thin sheen of sweat.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he said in an unplacable European accent, shaking their hands in turn.

“Thank you for the invite,” said Declan.

Loony stacked their suitcases and perched himself on top of them. He flipped back his sunglasses, revealing sun-bleached blue eyes and crow’s feet half an inch deep.

Sinjin noticed him sitting on the luggage and frowned.

“Take their bags to Cabin Two,” he said through gritted teeth.

Unfazed, Loony bounced to his bare feet, grabbed the suitcases, and took a different path back toward the beach.

Sinjin smiled. “Sorry about that. He’s a bit of local color and almost untrainable.”

Charlotte laughed. “He was great. I trusted him with that boat. It was like he was born on one.”

“He probably was.” Sinjin chuckled. “He’d be happy to hear you noticed. He’s a direct descendant of a local pirate, you know. Ask him about it if you have a year to spare.”

“He mentioned something like that, but the motor made it hard to hear,” said Charlotte.

Sinjin swept out his hand. “Come to the bar. We’ll grab a drink and go over my troubles.”

They followed him to an open-air restaurant with a large circular bar in the center. The place was empty except for the bartender, who appeared to be expecting them. He wore a Hawaiian shirt and had a floppy head of hair. Charlotte guessed him for a college student who’d come to the island on spring break and forgotten to return home.

“Three Duppymons,” said Sinjin.

Floppyhair put three glasses on the bartop, threw in ice, and filled them with an orangy-pink drink from a pitcher.

“It’s our island punch—a Bahama Mama or Goombay Smash if you’ve had those around the Bahamas. Every island has its own version, and they’re all the same—rum, pineapple juice, orange juice, a little coconut—you get the idea.”

Charlotte nodded and took a sip. The fruity cocktail refreshed her and didn’t taste as if it had alcohol in it except for the faintest hint of rum.

She saw how they might be deadly.

“So tell us what’s going on,” said Declan.

Sinjin removed his jacket and rolled the sleeves of his turquoise linen shirt as he spoke.

“It started during the building of the resort. The crew—many of whom stayed in cabanas on the property during construction—heard strange noises at night. Whoever or whatever was responsible for the howling managed to scare a few of the more superstitious workers away. I know it sounds crazy, but some of the locals are a little jumpy. The island has a long history of mysterious happenings.”

“They described it as howling?” asked Charlotte. “That’s pretty specific. I know there are no wolves here, but how about other animals? Monkeys?”

Sinjin shrugged. “Birds, I guessed. I told them we’d released parrots on the island, but they swore the sounds were not birds. Howls and bloodcurdling screams are how they described them.”

“Yikes,” said Charlotte.

Sinjin took a sip of his drink. “I’ll be honest. I didn’t worry about it at first. There are all sorts of odd creatures on the island. The others pressed for resolution.”

“The others?” asked Charlotte.

Sinjin held up a hand. “Full disclosure—I didn’t hire you. I’m only one of several investors, and someone with a bigger stake than me decided it was time to act. Personally, I didn’t even worry when some reported seeing ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” echoed Declan. “Someone was walking around in a sheet?”

Sinjin chuckled. “No, they said they saw strange lights, but the island has a history of hauntings. I assumed they heard the stories and squawking parrots and created the rest in their heads.”

Charlotte lowered her glass. “The island is haunted? The whole island?”

Sinjin swirled his straw around his glass. “Yes, as the legend goes. That’s what a duppy is—a ghost. Sometimes, they’re the ghosts of helpful ancestors appearing to offer advice to the living. If you’re unlucky, someone sics a bad duppy on you. It’s West Indian folklore by way of Africa. You hear about duppy throughout Jamaica, Barbados, and the Bahamas.”

“I hope we get a good one,” said Charlotte.

Sinjin chuckled. “Our particular ghost—the one we’ll promote at the resort to amuse the guests—is a pirate, Lucky Lovelace. He cursed a shipmate who betrayed him and then, for good measure, cursed the whole island to protect the Duppy’s Eye, a giant ruby.”

Charlotte perked. “Is it a coincidence our boat captain’s name is Loony Lovelace?”

“No. Not a coincidence. Loony’s a direct descendant of Lucky the Pirate.” Sinjin took a sip of his punch and sniffed. “Supposedly. Who knows? From what I understand, everyone called him Lucky as a kid, but as he got older, Loony seemed a better fit.”

“You’re not from here?” asked Declan.

Sinjin waved his hand in the air. “Oh, no. I’m from all over. I’ve worked in hospitality since I was a kid, and when I got the opportunity to be a working partner here, I decided to invest and take the job.”

“Loony works for the resort?” asked Charlotte.

Sinjin nodded. “He does. He’s the boat taxi and does odd jobs. As erratic as he is, he’s harmless, and keeping him around is fun. It’s not every day people get to meet the descendant of an actual pirate—especially one whose history entwines with the island’s.”

“What about Loony and the other locals? How do they feel about the resort?” asked Declan.

Sinjin bobbed one shoulder. “Some, like Loony, see it as an opportunity for a better life. He’s actually an investor. He owned a big chunk of the land where the resort now sits.”

“Wow,” said Charlotte. “But, you wouldn’t think he’d sabotage his own investment.”

Sinjin shook his head. “No, and I don’t suspect he has. He sees this as a chance to make some money. Other locals are less excited, though.”

“You’ve had protests? Threats?” asked Declan.

Sinjin nodded. “Both. It’s par for the course. I’ve seen it before, and, like I said, I didn’t take the ghost reportings seriously.”

He frowned and looked away.

“But then...?” prompted Declan.

Sinjin sighed.

“But then, the hauntings turned into vandalism.” He made air quotes as he said the word hauntings. “Damaged furniture, graffiti, red dye in the pool—that’s what pushed the other investors over the edge. A few sold their shares to other members and bailed.”

“What did the graffiti say?” asked Charlotte.

“Go home. Very original.” He scoffed. “You can see, though, it’s pretty obvious who did it. That has to be some collection of locals. The hauntings too, I assume.”

“But you don’t know if there’s a particular local spearheading the protests?” asked Charlotte.

Sinjin shook his head. “No. No one stepped up as the ringleader, and, to be fair, the island’s tiny police squad is less than useless. I suspect they know who it is and don’t want to rat them out.”

“Maybe they’re involved?” suggested Declan.

“Maybe. I assumed it was kids, but things have been escalating. Someone cut through our main power cord, which took everything to the next level. Crippling our power isn’t just a nuisance. We can’t allow that to happen.”

“What’s your security like?” asked Declan as the last sunlight disappeared and automatic lighting popped on around them.

“It’s a skeleton crew at the moment. Livingston, our head of security, is here most days. I have a couple of other part-timers on call for his days off. There are cameras all over, but someone’s been taking them down. I hang more, and they tear them down.”

He huffed and locked his gaze on them again.

“That’s why you’re here. I don’t care about fake hauntings and a little graffiti. Usually, the locals do things like that because they want things to stay the same forever. They get it out of their system, realize their silliness won’t stop progress, and go back to living their lives. But this—”

He shook his head and fell silent.

“Is there anything suspicious about how they’ve circumvented your security? Does it seem like they have inside knowledge?” asked Charlotte.

Sinjin frowned and tapped his finger on the bar. “Livingston is a local man. The thought crossed my mind that he might be in on it, helping them, but, honestly, I doubt it. He’s very laid back. I can’t see him getting wound up about the resort. Plus, his wife is pregnant, and there aren’t many well-paying jobs on the island. He needs this job.”

“So you don’t think someone would need a map of the security system or anything?”

He shook his head. “Oh, no. They’re knocking down the visible cameras. Nothing has happened that only an insider could accomplish.”

Charlotte sipped her drink and heard the ice clank, signifying she’d reached the end. They’d been traveling all day, and she’d been thirsty.

 She put the glass aside.

“Could you get us a list of the people you think we should investigate? Vocal locals, your security team, and anyone else you think we shouldn’t miss?”

Sinjin reached into the pocket of his khaki shorts and pulled out a slip of paper. He handed it to Charlotte.

“Of course. I already have it here,” he said.

She took it, glanced at it, folded it in half, and thrust it into her own pocket.

“Great. We’ll start work in the morning.”

Sinjin nodded. “I appreciate you coming so fast. We’ll be opening in two weeks, and I need this cleared up by then.”

“Your timing couldn’t have been more perfect,” said Declan. “We were just married and in the process of picking a honeymoon spot.”

Sinjin straightened. “Really? Isn’t that funny? Well, now I’m glad I put you in our honeymoon suite.”

He made an odd expression that caught Charlotte’s curiosity.

“Is there something else?” she asked.

Sinjin grimaced. “I don’t know. It’s almost too silly to ask.”

“Go ahead. We’re here,” said Declan.

Sinjin pushed his glass aside.

“I was going to say, if you happen to find the Duppy’s Eye for me while you’re at it, I’ll throw in a bonus.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “The ruby? It isn’t a myth?”

Sinjin laughed. “I don’t know if it is or not. But if you found it, it would be a big draw for the resort.”

“Oh, no problem. We’ll solve your sabotage issue and a centuries-old mystery,” said Charlotte, grinning. “That’s a Tuesday for us.”