“Maybe. Or…” Skye paused for effect. “...someone who knows what happened to Marge.”

  Curilla’s eyes widened. “Oh my. That would mean… It’s sad what happened to her.”

  “Have you told the police what you saw?” Kris asked.

  Curilla shook her head. “No. They haven’t come to ask.”

  “I’m not surprised. I’d like to hear more,” Skye said.

  “Sure. Why don’t you come and have tea with me?” Curilla offered.

  That was how Skye and Kris found themselves sipping spicy, hot black tea with ginger cookies while seated in Curilla’s living room. Despite the heat, spicy tea—not fruit juice with ice cubes—was a cultural delicacy whenever you visited someone’s home in Fedha.

  As Skye enjoyed her drink, she looked around. Curilla’s house was like a monument to African art. While the living room was large, she had paintings covering most of the wall space and sculptures fighting for floor space. Her oak furniture had intricately carved patterns. Two fans hung from the ceiling, spinning slowly to give a gentle breeze.

  A four-foot-tall, detailed pencil drawing of an African elephant—imposing frame, trunk, tusks and all—hung over the mantel. Skye studied it with wonder. While it was beautiful, it reminded her once again of Victor, her ex-boyfriend. He owned a log cabin nestled in the forest near the stunning Mount Hood in Oregon. He’d mounted a large painting of a bison over the fireplace. She’d loved going there and even spent two holidays with him during their years-long relationship, exploring hiking trails and later nestling by the cozy fire while eating marshmallows. Why did she keep getting flashbacks of him? She was supposed to be starting life afresh, not craving old memories.

  Skye blinked to refocus. “How long have you lived here?”

  Curilla leaned over to set her teacup on the table and smiled. “Over twenty years. I moved here after marrying my husband—God rest his soul—and I’ve never wanted to be anywhere else. When we built this place, we were surrounded by bush.”

  “Sorry for your loss,” Skye said.

  “It’s alright. That’s life,” Curilla replied.

  “Got any kids?”

  “Just the one from a previous marriage. He’s a grown man now, working in Nairobi. Do you have any kids?”

  Skye disliked the question, given she’d heard it many times. It seemed everyone thought someone her age should be having offspring. She played it off with a mild smile. “Not yet. But soon.”

  “You’re seeing someone?”

  “No, not really. It’s tough dating these days,” Skye replied. She could feel Kris’s taunting gaze but ignored it.

  Curilla adjusted in her rocking chair and crossed her legs. “Well, the clock is ticking, so don’t wait too long. I held off with my second husband because we wanted to travel together for a few years first. Four years later, just when he wanted to try for a baby, he died.” Curilla looked down, shaking her head sadly. “Learn from me and make it happen as soon as you can. I wish I had.”

  While Skye appreciated the advice, she didn’t want the pressure. The last thing she needed was a boyfriend, much less a baby. She decided to change the subject. “You were neighbors with Marge for a long time. What did you think of her marriage to Nelson?”

  Curilla thought about it for a minute before responding. “It was a strange one. One moment, you’d think they were married, and the next, they’d act like total strangers. I never saw them kiss or hold hands. At least I don’t remember.”

  “Total strangers? How?” Skye asked.

  “I remember one morning I went looking for Marge—I wanted to borrow something—and I found Nelson instead. I don’t get along with him, so we only spoke for a short while. I asked for her, and he said he hadn’t seen her for two days. I was stunned. Two days? It was strange because I saw both of them go in and out of the house the day before. When I asked why he hadn’t seen her, he cheekily said they slept in different bedrooms. He laughed, but I think it was true.”

  “I also got the sense they were together for convenience,” Skye remarked.

  “That’s the phrase. Marriage of convenience. I totally agree with that,” Curilla replied. “I always found it odd that there were no photos of them together on their walls, like a typical family.”

  Maybe Kris was right about Nelson. Maybe he really had been waiting for the perfect moment to kill Marge. But Nelson didn’t have a ponytail.

  “Do they have kids?” Skye asked.

  “None that I know of.”

  “Were you ever part of the neighborhood association?” Skye asked.

  “I was. Not anymore.” Curilla shook her head and pursed her lips. “Bunch of busybodies.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Skye prodded.

  “I think Marge formed a clique within the association. They would agree to the most ridiculous things.” Curilla rolled her eyes. “It stopped being helpful. I don’t pay much attention to what they say.”

  “I had a run-in with them the other day,” Skye said.

  “Oh, I saw that!” Curilla commented.

  “Not a lot gets past you, right?” Skye winked.

  “People-watching is one of my favorite pastimes. Humans are complex, fascinating, and sometimes depressing… Worth studying,” Curilla replied.

  “Have you always enjoyed that?” Kris asked.

  Curilla leaned back in her chair. “Not really. There’s a reason why there are all these art pieces all over my house. I used to run an art gallery. Did it for fourteen years. I quickly learned to read people—the quirky, wealthy man who wants the more realistic pieces to connect them with the real world, the extrovert who wants something abstract to make them forget reality, and so on. It was also fascinating when I got it wrong. I’d always wonder why. And it made me realize that though we’re all humans, we’re all unique in so many ways—some normal, some abnormal.”

  “Did you meet pure hearts?” Skye asked.

  Curilla chuckled. “There’s no such thing as a pure heart. We all have a dark side. Some let their good side dominate. Others allow their dark side to be dominant. Trust me, I met people who bought paintings where all they made me feel was the aura of evil inside them.” She shuddered. “It exists.”

  Curilla spoke with a conviction that made Skye want to hear more about those experiences. But she needed to know more about Marge first.

  “What did you think of Marge?” Skye asked.

  “She was a bully. I don’t gel well with bullies because I’m a bit of a rebel myself, so I kept my distance. On that day I saw her confront you, I could tell she was trying to stop you from fixing up your place.” Curilla frowned. “She was creep, and so is that Linus of hers.”

  Skye raised a brow. “What does Linus do?”

  “He’s her bull terrier. She’d take him along to squeeze their targets, make their lives as miserable as hell. He also has a thing for silly chemical concoctions. Look out for him.”

  “Chemical concoctions?” Skye asked.

  “He sells fake fertilizer to clueless farmers on credit. After a few months, their farms can no longer bear crop and pay back their debt. Then he seizes their land and sells it for a fortune. He’s a crook!”

  “That’s insane.” Skye was silent for a few moments as she tried to process everything Curilla had said. It was a lot to take in. “What do you suggest I do?”

  “With your property? Keep going! That’s what I would do. And if they try to stop you, tell me. I’ll take them to the cleaners.” Curilla lifted her chin like a queen on her throne.

  Skye laughed. “Do you remember anything else about the ponytail guy?”

  “Hmm,” Curilla said, tapping her fingers against the arm of the rocking chair. “He walked funny—almost like he had a slight limp, though I can’t be sure. Sometimes walking on sand makes you change how you move.”

  “What were you doing up at two in the morning again?” Kris asked.

  Curilla smiled. “An old hag like me doesn’t sleep much.”

  “You’re not old,” Skye insisted.

  “My mother had good genes, it must be said,” Curilla replied. “Anyway, to answer your question, I like my afternoon naps, but sometimes that means I don’t sleep much at night. So, I stay up and look at the stars. Or watch people. That night had the most stunning full moon I’ve ever seen. I had to bask in its greatness.”

  They ended up talking about stars, astrology, and history as they downed two more cups of tea. While it was an enjoyable time, Skye worried that they had overstayed their welcome. She wrapped up the conversation and got Curilla’s phone number before they left. With any luck, Detective Bowe would talk to Curilla and start looking for Ponytail Guy.

  As Skye and Kris walked back to the van, Skye’s mind raced. “She’s what we were looking for. Ponytail Guy is the smoking gun!”

  “Let’s say she’s telling the truth. You still have to find out who in the area looks like that,” Kris said. “I’ve been here for a few years, and the only people who have ponytails are tourists and the occasional dreadlocked beach boy.”

  “Then that’s where we start—people who knew Marge and have a ponytail or dreadlocks. Oh, and I need to tell the cops that Curilla is my alibi,” Skye said.

  “I don’t think that will work.”

  Skye whipped her head around to look at Kris. “Why not?”

  “First, we’re not sure she saw what she saw. Second, she didn’t actually see you throughout the night. Third, telling the cops would make them arrest you.”

  “On what charges?”

  “To get you to make a confession. You think Curilla is saving you, but they’ll think you had an accomplice that you’re protecting,” Kris replied. “Girl, the cops aren’t your friend.”

  Skye frowned as she tried to process everything Kris said. “Well, Curilla might be a loner who spends too much time snooping on her neighbors, but she sounded like she was telling the truth.”

  “Or she’s a loner who’s so bored she makes up details to add drama to her life.”

  “Now you’re overthinking things,” Skye said.

  “You’re trusting her too soon,” Kris countered.

  As they stood next to the van, staring at the ocean in the distance, Skye found herself wishing she could just float out to sea and leave all her problems behind. Sadly, Skye’s biggest problem wasn’t going anywhere without a little help. In fact, if nothing changed, Skye was convinced she’d go from murder suspect to being charged with murder any day.

  “I think I’ll still talk to the cops,” Skye said firmly. “I’d like to find out the shoe size of the prints they found leading to the van. It might be another detail that can help narrow down the killer.”

  “Now you’re talking. Do you think they’ll give you that?” Kris asked.

  “I’ll find a way,” Skye said. “Someone in this little town knows Ponytail Guy. We’re going to find out who it is.”

  9

  The next morning, Kris left for town in a tuk tuk, tasked with finding someone on the town council. She was also going to ask around for leads on Ponytail Guy while Skye focused on getting Detective Bowe to share information about the footprints with her. It was a solid plan—as long as everyone cooperated.

  “You haven’t been up to anything I need to know about, have you?” Detective Bowe asked when she called him.

  “I don’t think so,” Skye replied.

  “I’ve got eyes on you. I hope you’re being honest with me,” he said.

  He’s got eyes on me? Skye blushed at his words, though she knew he meant nothing by them. Nothing except he was keeping track of her as a murder suspect.

  “Of course, I’m being honest.” Skye pursed her lips, pushing away the fear he was trying to trigger. “Listen, the reason I’m calling is because I have a request.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Could you tell me the shoe size of the footprints you found?”

  There was a slight pause before he responded. “Why would that interest you?”

  “It does, since I’m a suspect.”

  Detective Bowe cleared his throat. “That’s part of an active investigation.”

  “I’m aware of that. But it appears to me that if you thought they were mine, you’d have kept me in custody.”

  Silence. She could hear him breathe as he thought of a response.

  “As I said, it’s evidence in an active investigation.” He briefly paused again and lowered his voice. “All I can say is it was less than thirteen and higher than eleven.”

  Skye did a little happy dance. “Thank you! That’s more than enough.”

  “Sure.”

  The line went dead.

  Skye stood on the apartment’s balcony, watching the busy street below. So, this strange man with a ponytail, possibly walking with a slight limp, wore size twelve shoes. The information was helpful, but it also led to more questions. Who was he, and what was his connection with Marge? Or was he Nelson’s hired killer?

  She texted Kris the shoe size and then reflected. What next? Curilla had affirmed Skye’s initial thoughts about Nelson and Marge’s colorless marriage. It was now safe to say they didn’t love each other. They slept in different bedrooms and could be considered siblings or colleagues rather than lovers. So, what was keeping them together?

  A new thought came to mind. People crave affection when it’s absent. If they weren’t intimate with each other, where were they getting it? Did either Marge or Nelson have a lover?

  Skye’s mind started to swirl with possibilities. If she could find their lovers, that could be their Achilles’ heel. She could arm-twist the lovers into telling her everything they knew. But where to start?

  She thought of heading back to Curilla to squeeze out any gossip she may have, but she opted not to just yet. She needed another idea.

  Skye spent most of the day indoors, napping, eating, and thinking. Late in the afternoon, she craved the feeling of sand under her feet, so she drove out to her property. She parked and walked down to the shoreline. As she passed the spot where she’d parked the van that night, she stopped and looked around. There was no sign of Ponytail Guy’s footprints. She and others had already interfered with them.

  She backtracked and tried to imagine the route he took to Marge’s house. It wasn’t long before she realized she could easily maintain her gait over the uneven surface. It wasn’t the sand, then. The man had a slight limp. The only reason he had for walking to and from the van was either to check on whether she had seen him or to frame her for the murder.

  Suddenly, another question came to mind. Was his limp natural, or did it arise after his scuffle with Marge?

  Skye walked onto the beach and kept walking, her eyes marveling at the rolling waves. The water was a dull blue, with the foamy washes adding some variety. She got so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Bob—the boat captain—standing in front of her until she almost bumped into him. She shrieked just before they collided and stepped back. He grinned sheepishly.

  “I was bracing for impact,” Bob joked.

  Skye shook her head in disbelief. “What for?”

  “You know how it happens in the movies. Boy meets girl. They bump into each other and then she drops her books. And after that, they go on a date,” Bob teased as he winked.

  Skye pressed her lips together to prevent her from bursting into laughter. “This isn’t the movies.”

  “I was kidding, relax. Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just taking a walk. How’s the boat?”

  A smile spread across Bob’s face. “It’s fixed now. Wanna go for a ride tomorrow?”

  Skye remembered her vow and shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  “There’s a nice coconut juice bar not far from here. Can I buy you a drink?”

  She could tell from his eager eyes and playful grin that he was in a flirty mood, and she was nowhere near that, but she couldn’t tell him she was busy—because she wasn’t.

  “Honestly, I’m not in that space right now. But how about next week?” Skye clenched her teeth. Why was she offering him a Plan B?

  Bob beamed. “Next week sounds great. Tuesday works for you?”

  “Yeah, Tuesday.”

  “I’ll look for you. Enjoy the walk.”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Skye kept walking, resisting the urge to turn and watch him do a heel click with excitement. For nearly an hour, she hung around the beach, walking past couples taking their evening stroll, a woman with her pet Chihuahua, friends playing beach soccer, and kids trying to build a sandcastle.

  Eventually, she tired of walking and headed back to her van. Just as she was about to get in, she spotted Nelson. He’d parked his car on the side of the road, and its trunk was open. He was heaving two suitcases into the back, positioning them so they didn’t move around.

  Skye wanted to give him some distance, but she was curious about what he was doing. Where was he going? What was he taking? She steadied her shoulders and walked up to him.

  “Nelson. I didn’t expect to meet you here,” Skye said.

  He turned to glare at her before going on with his work. He didn’t say a word. This was going to be tougher than she expected.

  “I don’t mean to bother you. Are you going somewhere?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Nelson snapped.

  “It kind of is, since you accused me of killing your wife.”

  He turned to her and she could tell he was clenching his teeth. “Get off my property or I’ll call the police.”

  “Are you sure you want to do that? Because it will look odd if they find out you’re leaving town.”

  Nelson clenched his fists and bit his lower lip. He apparently hadn’t thought about the consequences of his actions.

  “You’re not going anywhere before you and I talk about Marge,” Skye said with finality.

  After a slight hesitation, he sat on the lip of the trunk and hung his head in defeat. Skye’s heart soared with encouragement. She’d worn him down. Maybe he’d finally give her some answers.

  “Where are you headed?” Skye asked.

  “To my brother’s place in Mombasa. I’m not even leaving the coastal region, so I won’t be hard to find,” Nelson replied.