Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry Page 5

  “If you remember anything about Cathy, please be in touch,” Gina asked, dropping her voice as she handed over her card.

  “Of course, I will,” Anna promised. “It was so sad about your friend. She was so young and so pretty.”

  “Yes, she was,” Gina said. “Now, one last favor. Would you ask the other waitress to come over and take my order? I want to ask her about Cathy.”

  As it turned out the other waitress had no recollection of Cathy.

  * * *

  The cab ride to the Jet Ski rental took about five minutes. She told the driver she would not need a ride back to the hotel.

  Gina walked from the parking area across a path of wooden planks that zigzagged its way to a small office. The walls were lined with pictures of past clients, presumably happy renters. The bulletin board behind the counter suggested that Paradise Rentals offered a little bit of everything. In addition to the Jet Skis, small sailboats were available, as well as SUPs, stand-up paddleboards.

  The couple in front of her finished paying for their sailboat, and the man behind the counter turned to Gina. “Good morning, do you have a reservation?”

  He appeared to be about sixty. His deeply tanned face was creased with wrinkles. Thinning gray hair was combed backward and hung behind a baseball cap. Gina guessed him to be the proprietor as she recognized his face in most of the pictures on the wall.

  As the owner, he’d likely be suspicious of anyone asking questions about an accident involving one of his rentals, Gina decided.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I’m with the tour group from the Americana Hotel.”

  “You’re early,” he said, glancing at his watch.

  “I know. I thought it would be nice if someone could take a little extra time to familiarize me with the ski before I took off. I’ve never ridden one before.”

  He sighed. “Go outside to the right and down to the gas dock. Klaus will tell you what to do.”

  Gina left the office, glanced to her right, and saw a hunched-over teenager putting gas in one of the skis. She walked over to him and he looked up, his glance lingering on her long, shapely legs. His thick blond hair hung halfway over his ears. Deep blue eyes stood out behind a handsome face. A Speedo bathing suit was the only cover of a slender but well-muscled torso.

  “Are you Klaus?” Gina asked.

  “Yes, I am,” he said, his English revealing a distinct German accent.

  “Your boss said you could help me out. Before I go on the tour at eleven o’clock, I want to learn a little about how these things work.”

  “Don’t worry. They’re easy to operate. Are you from the Americana Hotel? I’ll be leading your tour.”

  “Are you the guide on all the tours?”

  “Peter and I used to split them until he quit last month. Now I do them all until they hire somebody else.”

  “I understand that in the middle of a tour a woman named Cathy Ryan was killed in an accident two weeks ago. Were you her tour guide?”

  Klaus put his head down and glanced over at the office, where the owner was leading a family toward the sailboats, before he spoke softly. “There’s a bar called the Silly Parrot about a kilometer south of your hotel. Tonight at six-thirty. We can talk there.”

  Klaus then raised the volume of his voice as the owner approached. “Don’t worry. We get plenty of first-timers using our skis. Just follow a few basic rules and you’ll be fine.”

  16

  About fifteen minutes later the jitney from the hotel arrived. Two couples who appeared to be in their late twenties or early thirties and a man in his fifties got off and walked down to the boathouse. After they checked in, introductions were made. The couples were honeymooners from Minneapolis and Cleveland. The man, who introduced himself as Richie, asked, “So Gina, are you here by yourself?”

  This is the last thing I need, she thought. A little white lie will nip this in the bud. “Yes, for now. My fiancé will arrive tomorrow.”

  “Lucky him,” Richie said, obviously trying to conceal his disappointment.

  Klaus came over, introduced himself as the tour guide, and asked the group to follow him. He climbed onto a ski while the others remained on the pier. “Anything you want to keep dry, put in here,” he said while pointing to a small saddlebag behind the seat. “Although you will be riding on several different models, the controls are in the same place.” He flipped a switch to start the ski. “It’s in neutral now. When you put it in forward gear, turn your right hand grip to speed up, let go of the grip to slow down. A few basic rules of the road…”

  “Is there a brake?” the honeymooner from Minneapolis asked.

  “No brakes,” Klaus said, smiling. “As soon as you stop giving it gas, the water will slow you quickly down.”

  Fifteen minutes later they were speeding along the coast. From the lead position Klaus put his hand up, signaling everyone to slow down. Pointing to the remains of a fort, he shared information about the early days of the Dutch settlers on the island and their interaction with the Caiquetio Indians of the Arawak tribe from Venezuela.

  Gina was enjoying herself. She experienced an ounce of guilt, but only for an instant, knowing that she would bill this tour to the magazine as part of her research.

  After three more stops they pulled in to a pier next to the Tierra Mar restaurant. Fishing boats and yachts of various sizes bobbed gently in their slips.

  Gina remembered from the guidebook that this was where the tour would break for lunch. She thought of Cathy Ryan docking her ski, going inside for what would be her last meal.

  They fetched their personal items from the saddlebag on each ski and followed Klaus into the restaurant. A table for seven had been reserved. It was just to the right of the bar and enjoyed a view of the azure-blue water and the coastline. Richie was quick to take the seat next to Gina. Her telling him that she was engaged had not delivered the intended message.

  The waiter insisted that everyone try their world-famous piña coladas. After some hesitation they all nodded and decided to go along. Klaus alone demurred in favor of a Coke.

  Everyone ordered fish, and twenty minutes later they unanimously raved that it was very good. The waiter came over and without being asked began refilling the piña colada glasses. Gina held her hand over her glass and asked for an iced tea. The newlyweds looked at each other, shrugged, and accepted their second cocktails. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” Richie said as he watched the creamy white liquid inch up inside his glass.

  Gina asked Klaus, “Do they always reserve this table for the Jet Ski tour?”

  “Whenever we have six people on the tour, which is almost always, they save this table for us,” he replied.

  * * *

  After lunch Klaus led them back to Paradise Rentals. “We stayed a little overtime at lunch,” he announced. “You can ride on your own now. Please have the skis back in forty-five minutes.”

  The four newlyweds took off in a race to the open ocean. Gina decided to head in. She wanted time by herself. She was relieved when, after hesitating, Richie gunned his ski in the opposite direction from the others. If he had been hoping she would follow his lead, he was sorely disappointed.

  17

  The atmosphere was quiet on the jitney ride back to the hotel. A long day in the hot sun and the two piña coladas had taken their toll on both sets of newlyweds. Although it was only a ten-minute ride, they appeared to be dozing. The couple from Minnesota was in the seat in front of Gina. His head leaned against the window while her head rested against his shoulder. A bright red sunburn was apparent on the back of his neck and upper back. He should have used a little more sunblock on that Viking skin, Gina decided.

  Back in her room she set her iPhone alarm to wake her at 4:30. Within minutes she was fast asleep.

  She was out on the water heading for the open sea. The Jet Ski was skimming quickly and effortlessly across the glassy calm water. To the right of her was Klaus, his blond hair trailing behind him. He waved and
she smiled back at him. To her left and slightly behind her was Ted. She looked back at him and his face was anguished. He was shouting something, but she couldn’t make out what he was yelling. “Out” was all she heard. She turned her head forward and Klaus was no longer to her right. Directly in front of her, barely twenty yards away, was a small yacht. She was going to crash into it. She thought of trying to jump off the ski, but there was not enough time. Her heart racing, her mouth open wide, she began to scream.

  Gina opened her eyes. Both hands were clenched in fists, gripping her pillow. She was breathing heavily, as if she had just completed a run around Central Park. Small beads of sweat were on her forehead. She lay still for a minute, thankful for the safety of her hotel room. She wished Ted was in the room with her. Or her father. Someone to hold and to be held by.

  Her iPhone began to chime its wake-up tone.

  18

  The concierge spotted Gina walking across the lobby. “I see you’re headed out. Would you like a taxi?”

  “No thanks,” Gina said. “Just to be sure. I’m meeting a friend for a drink at the Silly Parrot. I can walk there in about fifteen minutes. Correct?”

  “Yes. Ten to fifteen minutes,” he said, pointing out and to his right. “You can walk along the road, but it’s a nicer walk along the beach.”

  “The beach it is,” Gina said as she put on her sunglasses and headed outside.

  The concierge waited until Gina was out of sight and then disappeared into his small office beyond the luggage room. Removing the piece of paper from his wallet, he began dialing the number for the second time that day.

  The phone was answered after one ring. The greeting was the same as this morning. “Talk to me.”

  “Gina Kane asked the waitresses at breakfast about Cathy Ryan—”

  “We already discussed that,” the voice interrupted. “Tell me what I don’t know.”

  “All right. Miss Kane went on the Jet Ski tour this afternoon. She’s now going to meet somebody at a nearby bar, the Silly Parrot.”

  “Keep me informed” was the response before the connection was ended.

  The concierge smiled as he slipped the paper with the phone number back into his wallet. It was easy to tolerate the rude American on the other end of the phone as he thought about how he would spend the $2,000 that would be wired to his bank account.

  19

  Gina was lost in thought as she walked, beach bag in hand, across the smooth white sand. She was crossing what appeared to be a public beach. Parents had dropped their towels and staked their umbrellas close to the water where they could keep a close eye on their young children. Two boys who she guessed to be about thirteen were skillfully tossing a Frisbee back and forth. A group of young couples, two on each side, were enjoying a game of beach volleyball.

  She thought about her parents. High school sweethearts. He had gone to the all-boys Catholic high school in Oradell, New Jersey. Her mother went to the all-girls sister school. They would hold dances, “mixers,” her mom and dad called them, which were supervised by parents who got roped into being chaperones.

  Gina never tired of her father telling the story. “I’m sixteen years old, a junior, and I’m standing with a group of my friends from the track team. I look across the gym and I see this beautiful girl talking to her girlfriends. We made eye contact for just a second. But she smiled at me and went back to talking. To this day I don’t know where I found the courage to go over and introduce myself.” He would always add with a laugh, “I really would have felt like a fool if she was smiling at the guy behind me, but luckily the thought never occurred to me.”

  Her mother’s response was always the same. “Honey, I was really fortunate. The first guy I ever really kissed turned out to be a prince. I got to skip all the frogs!”

  Looking down the beach, Gina spotted a large wooden red parrot with one eye in a wink. It sat atop a thatched roof. Beneath the roof was a long bar with high stools. Tables were under the roof for those who preferred shade and on the sand for those who had not had enough sun. About half of the tables were occupied.

  A waitress in a bikini approached her. “Just one?” she asked.

  “No, I’m meeting someone.”

  “Would you like to sit at the bar?”

  Gina looked around. A table near the pool was unoccupied, as were the tables closest to it. Pointing, she asked, “Okay if I have that one?”

  “Sure,” the waitress replied, leading her over. “Do you know what you’d like to drink?”

  “A sparkling water for now. I’ll order something when my friend gets here.”

  Gina reached into her beach bag and pulled out the small notebook she always carried. She did a scribble with her pen to make sure it worked.

  She saw Klaus enter the bar area from the street side. She put her arm up and waved. He nodded and made his way over to the table.

  “You made it. Thank you,” he said.

  “I’m the one who should thank you,” she replied.

  Seeing the waitress headed their way, Gina said, “I’m buying. What will you have?”

  Distracted for a moment by the waitress’s bikini, Klaus ordered a Heineken. His eyes lingered on her as she made her way back to the bar.

  “Don’t worry,” Gina said, “you’ll see her again when she brings our drinks.”

  “Was I that obvious?” he asked sheepishly.

  “Yes, but if she didn’t want men to look, she wouldn’t wear that outfit.”

  Relieved, he laughed.

  “So Klaus, do you have a last name?” Gina asked with a smile.

  “Yes,” he replied. “Webber, with two Bs.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “Hamburg, Germany.”

  “Your English is excellent. Did you grow up speaking it?”

  “My mother worked as a translator. She spoke English to me all the time. She said it will help me someday when I pick a career. She was right.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “That’s pretty young to already know what kind of work you want to do.”

  “In Germany it’s different. In America it seems like everybody goes to college whether it makes sense to go or not. In Germany if you go to a good technical high school and do well on the finishing exam, you can get an excellent job.”

  “Are you talking about the job at Paradise Rentals?”

  His broad laugh revealed two rows of even white teeth. “Of course not. You’re American, yes?”

  “I am. From New York City.”

  “You know BMW, the German carmaker, yes?”

  “Of course.”

  “In Woodcliff Lake, New Jersey, which is near New York City, BMW has its American headquarters. Every year they bring in trainees from around the world. They teach them to repair and design their products, and then send them to countries all over the world. Some of the trainees are college graduates; others like me went to technical high schools.”

  “That certainly makes a lot of sense. In the United States so many young people are saddled with hundreds of thousands in student debt and they can’t even find a job. So at BMW, you are going to learn to work on their cars?”

  “No, motorcycles are my specialty. I’ve been riding them since I was fourteen. I built my first bike myself. The Japanese sell the most motorcycles, but BMW and Harley-Davidson make the best ones.”

  “Okay. You went to high school in Hamburg. You’re going to work for BMW. How did you end up in Aruba?”

  “The BMW training program begins in September. I’ve always been interested in Jet Skis. For me they are like motorcycles that go on the water. I bought a couple old ones. Took them apart. Put them back together to see how they worked. I was looking at a magazine that advertises Jet Skis. There were ads in the back. One of the ads was for a technician to work at Paradise Rentals. I applied, they accepted, and I started here two months ago. I am honest. I told them I would leave in August.”

  “K
laus, I appreciate the opportunity to learn about your background. You may be the perfect person to help me.”

  “Help you do what?”

  “When I first met you at the gas dock and asked about Cathy Ryan, you didn’t want to talk to me there. Why not?”

  “Before I answer, can I ask, are you with the American police?”

  “No.”

  “The Aruba police?”

  “No, I’m a journalist.”

  “A reporter?”

  Gina was uncertain about how much to share with him. “Yes, you could say I’m a reporter. I’m investigating an American company. A number of the employees had bad experiences when they worked at that company. I want to find those former employees and learn what happened to them.”

  “And Cathy Ryan was one of these employees?”

  “Yes, she was. I assume you were the tour guide the day Cathy came to Paradise Rentals.”

  Klaus nodded.

  “Tell me everything you remember about her.”

  “I meet a lot of people at the shop, but she is easy to remember.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, not like you, she was a very experienced rider.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “You may have noticed that the skis at the shop are made by different manufacturers.”

  “I didn’t, but go on.”

  “After I gave Cathy’s tour the instruction on how to operate the skis, she noticed the newest Kawasaki model that was recently added to the fleet. She said she had ridden the others and asked if she could try that one.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I said yes. The others on the tour didn’t care which ski they rode.”

  “Aside from being knowledgeable about skis, do you remember anything about her mood? Was she happy? Sad?”

  “She was friendly, but quiet. She didn’t smile much. She reminded me a little bit of you.”