join the good Lord in heaven ’cause they kill deyself,” he said. “Me ain’ really know bout zombie.” He sat taller, spoke more loudly. “I hear dey got movies bout zombie eating people. Dat sound like stupidness.”
Though zombies as suicides didn’t jive with Els’s dim concept of them, she just nodded.
Near the front door, a uniformed attendant stood motionless and observant, and Els wondered if a black cabbie and a white female guest engaged in intimate conversation had crossed some boundary.
“If I wanted to protect myself from a jumbie, Sparrow, what would I do?”
“Doan buy dat jumbie house,” he said. He threw a pebble over the queue of vans and onto the grass beyond. This appeared to release some of his anxiety; after repeating the move twice more, he sat back in a more relaxed pose. “If you just can’t live no place else, at least you got to pile sand in front all a’ you door. Jumbie goin’ stop to count every grain. Take dem all night. Dey forget all ’bout you.”
A cab pulled forward and picked up a waiting couple.
“And put salt on the end a’ you broom, but doan sweep at night,” he said.
“I take you for a religious man, Sparrow. Surely your faith doesn’t hold with all that superstitious voodoo.”
“You could say what you want, miss, you doan know nothin’ ’bout how it all work. But if people put obeah pon you or jumbie haunt you, you got to know how to deal wid dem.” He put his hand over his heart. “I know I been saved by Jesus, but I still got to protect myself from evil spirits. You call dat superstition. I call it insurance.”
Imagining the sultry air full of spirits, as thick and evanescent as the aromas of flowers, amused and comforted her.
Els started up the steps to the Great Room.
“Ms. Gordon!” a voice called from the car park.
She looked back over her shoulder and saw Tony Hallowell hurrying toward her. He motioned her to a secluded table near the pool and held her chair. Frangipani perfumed the air.
“Having fun?” he asked as she settled into her seat.
“I’ve read one tome of a romance novel. Nice escape, but that’s all the sitting about I can handle,” she said. “I’ve seen the sights and bought my obligatory piece of Nevis pottery. Any suggestions on how to keep sane for a few more days?” She caught herself in a lie; she’d become content just to stare at the sea for hours.
He dropped into the opposite chair. “A hard charger like you shouldn’t leave here without climbing Nevis Peak,” he said.
“I didn’t pack my crampons.”
“All you need is trainers and stamina,” he said. “The trail starts over by Golden Rock in Gingerland. But don’t attempt it without a proper guide.”
She mused on the coincidence that this island’s peak was the namesake of Ben Nevis back home, the mountain she’d climbed with her father when she was fourteen, its spectacular views being the reward for braving its icy hazards. Imagining her father’s reaction to the news that she’d summited tropical Nevis Peak, she knew she had no choice but to attempt it.
Tony fixed her with his rheumy blue gaze. “The heir has countered at six fifty.”
“She’s keen, then,” she said. She looked over Tony’s shoulder at the peak, now dark against a pearly sky. “Go to four seventy-five,” she said. “Still cash, same contingencies.”
“That won’t nearly do it.”
“How the hell do you know?” she said. “I’m not going to negotiate against myself.” She stood up. “I plan on exploring this little rock from stem to stern—maybe even to peak—for the next three days. You’ve got until Thursday evening, or the deal’s off.”
Els paid her guide and watched his beat-up Jeep pull away, glad to see the back of him as he’d talked incessantly for the five hours they’d spent climbing the mountain. But she’d been fascinated with his encyclopedic knowledge of Nevis and glad of his expertise and encouragement on the tough parts of the rocky and muddy ascent as she’d clambered from tree root to tree root and struggled for footing. They’d had only a few sunny minutes at the summit; during that window, she’d snapped a photo of the rainforest falling away to the distant sea and a small plane flying lower than where they stood. Then a thick mist had obscured the view, and she’d marveled that she was standing inside a cloud. Though she looked as if she’d spent the day mud wrestling,