Trouble in Paradise - [7]

We managed to get to all the stores closest to the back door of the shop before the island’s traditional afternoon break. Most of the stores had closed down, but we hit the ones that stayed open. Boutiques, jewelry stores, a pet store (because maybe the kidnapper had stopped there to keep her happy-a long shot, but we couldn’t afford to miss any kind of shot), and every fast-food place along the way (because Tammy Susie loved fast food). Zilch. No one had seen a little girl matching her description, with or without a red-and-pink scarf.

By the time we hit our last stop-McDonald’s-it was a quarter to two. We had fifteen minutes before the rest of the stores reopened. Two men in bright-orange loincloths and matching feather headdresses stood in line.

Erica saw me gaping. “Carnival parades,” she explained. But Bailey didn’t notice. She was staring at the menu that hung above the cashiers.

“A Big Mac,” she said with reverence. “I’m starved. I couldn’t eat that cardboard junk they gave us on the plane. Anyone want to join me?”

“For different cardboard junk?” I asked.

Bailey stepped into line behind the men in orange. “I need fuel.”

Erica, her face as tight as a drum, declined. I wanted to do the same, but the familiar greasy-yet-tantalizing smells were making my stomach growl. I compromised by ordering a plain hamburger patty on lettuce, and Toni followed suit. But Bailey, the sadist, got a Big Mac and a large order of fries. We sat down at one of the plastic tables and took stock of the situation.

“Given what we’ve seen so far, I’m not all that optimistic about our chances of finding a witness in this mall,” Toni said. “And I still haven’t spotted any security cameras.”

“Me either,” I said. That seemed a testament to the general claim that they didn’t have a serious crime problem here. Unfortunately, that wasn’t much comfort when the rare crime was committed. I sneaked a couple of fries from Bailey’s bag. “Granted we haven’t been able to get to all of the shops, but we did get to the ones that were most likely on the escape route. I hate to say it, but our chances of finding Tammy Susie without calling in the troops are not looking good.”

“Erica, I think it might be time to go ahead and report this to the police,” Bailey said. “I don’t want you-or us-to be accused of letting the trail get cold.”

Erica nodded glumly, then gave us another one of her damnably heartrending looks. “But can we try just one more place? Tammy Susie really likes the Harbor Outdoor Market. She’s been making me take her there practically every day since we got here.”

“And how long have you been here?”

“Ten days, four and a half hours, and seven minutes-”

“No, seriously, how long-any idea?” I joked. Erica just stared at me. “Right. Maybe she got someone to take her there.”

It was unlikely but not impossible that the kidnapper might pass through the area as a way of preventing Tammy Susie from making a fuss in public. Besides, it was a place the police would have to cover anyway. I slid out a few more fries. “It’s worth a try. But I mean a really fast try.”

“Then let’s get moving,” Bailey said. “If this doesn’t pan out, I’m pulling the plug and calling the cops.” She pushed her fries toward me.

“No, thanks,” I said, and pushed them back. Bailey rolled her eyes and started to toss them into the trash, but Toni snatched them from her.

“My mama didn’t believe in wasting food,” Toni said.

“Your mama wouldn’t have let you say the word ‘french fry,’ ” I said.

Toni gave me an icy glare, then turned to Erica. “Can we walk there? Or do we need a cab?”

“We can walk,” Erica said. “It’s just a few minutes.”

Erica led the way. The Harbor Outdoor Market was a series of connected stalls on the waterfront where lots of brightly colored gewgaws stamped ARUBA were sold-nearly all of which were manufactured in the United States. It reminded me of an upscale version of the boardwalk in Venice, California.

Just feet away, the afternoon sunlight danced across the gently undulating water in the harbor. I deliberately turned my head to block out the sight. We moved from one stall to the next, showing Tammy Susie’s photo and, as before, getting nowhere. Suddenly, Erica stopped, her cell phone held out in front of her with both hands. “Shit, shit, shit!” she cried.

“What?” I asked.

“They keep texting me, asking me about Tammy Susie. ‘Did she find her skirt? Where are you now? Have you given her lunch?’ Damn it!”

“Who keeps texting you?” Toni asked.

“The producers! All day long. And now they’re telling me to bring her back to the hotel!”

“What’ve you told them so far?” I asked.

“That she was fine, still hasn’t found the skirt she wants. Stuff to buy some time.”

I considered our depressing lack of progress and looked down the row of stalls. We didn’t have many more to go. “Let’s get through this market and then you can text them that you’re coming back. Better to tell them about Tammy Susie in person.”

Erica nodded, tight-lipped, more nervous than ever. We resumed our hunt but to no avail, and within ten minutes we’d reached the end of the row. We were waiting for Bailey to wrap up her conversation with the last vendor when I noticed something shiny under the canvas partition of his stall. I nudged it with my toe, and it slid out. It was a cell phone with a Hello Kitty cover.