line from the ceiling, along with fishing nets and green glass floats, none of which looked like they’d ever seen a drop of ocean water. Obviously, this wasn’t a place for tourists, like so much of the rest of the island was, as the drinks were served in plain glasses, not in the fine crystal seen in the exclusive resorts and convoluted glass pineapples and coconuts found in the more common tourist haunts. And the crowd in this particular bar … definitely not tourist. Not a camera in the bunch. To Erin, this looked like a local establishment that was well past its prime. Good-natured, well used, much appreciated. Judging from the expressions on the faces of the people enjoying their drinks, enjoying the music, enjoying the conversation, the ambiance didn’t matter but the camaraderie did. She liked that, liked everything about this area so far. Except … the bartender.
“Do you know who he is?” she persisted with the man. He still ignored her. Didn’t even pretend he was going to turn back round to talk to her. In fact, it seemed he was going out of his way to snub her. Maybe because she was a stranger? Or he thought her an unescorted female looking for some action? She didn’t know, and the reason didn’t really matter because he was doing it quite handily, keeping his attention fixed on wiping a single water spot off a clunky beer mug.
But Erin wasn’t to be thwarted. Time truly was of the essence here. “I said—”
“I heard what you said the first time,” he replied, twisting part way round then taking one dismissive, downward glance at her. “The thing is, in case you didn’t notice, I don’t have a sign hung out front saying tourist information.” He turned his back on her and refocused on that very same spot.
“So, what happened to that Jamaican hospitality you’re known for? This is supposed to be one of the friendly places in the world. You know, people with impeccable manners, good ethics.”
“Are you talking about this bar, specifically?” he asked. “Because I don’t recall reading that in any of the island literature.”
“All I wanted was to find out if you know Adam Coulson. It’s a simple request. I’m willing to pay for the information.” Erin plunked two one-thousand-dollar Jamaican notes down on the bar, the equivalent of about twenty-two American dollars or a little over fourteen British pounds. “Is that enough to buy an answer?” Her Realtor had told her to come to Trinique’s and ask. This was Trinique’s, she was asking. So far, though, she wasn’t getting what she wanted.
The bartender turned round, pocketed the money in one swift movement, then said, “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I know Adam Coulson.”
“And?”
“And that’s what you asked, that’s what you paid for. I answered your question, the deal is over.”
“Meaning you want more money?”
“No. Two thousand was enough. And I appreciate it since I didn’t have to work hard for it.” He smiled, gave her a fake salute. Picked up another glass and started to polish.
Erin wasn’t going to be deterred by this man. Six months … she’d been working toward this for six months and nothing was going to stop her. Nothing! Time was precious now. Her father was going blind, slowly but surely. Being put off by the bartender, or by Dr Adam Coulson, wasn’t an option. “Well, I don’t appreciate it. You knew exactly what I wanted, and you took advantage of me.” She held out her hand, palm up. “Give it back. Or tell me where I can find Adam Coulson.”
He studied her for a moment, like he was weighing his options. Then he turned his back on her yet again and continued polishing. In the background, the Jamaican singer, a happy-looking young man with dreadlocks halfway down to his waist and a smile that nearly offset the bartender’s bad mood raised the level of the steel drums he was playing, causing the dozen or so people sitting at the tiny two-tops scattered around the open-style hut to raise the level of their talking.
This was a waste of time. A complete, absurd waste of time. And while so far, every islander she’d met had been friendly, this bartender, who was obviously not an islander, was the first one she’d met who was disagreeable. More than disagreeable, he was downright hostile. There was no point talking to him. She’d have to get her information elsewhere.
Without another word, Erin Glover spun around and marched out of Trinique’s, not so much angry over losing her money but over the fact that she’d been gullible, that she’d been taken advantage of. Her father had taught her better, had taught her how to get along in the world, no matter what the situation. She could almost see him laughing at her … good-naturedly. Laughing, and teaching her another life lesson … Don’t be so naive, Erin. People out there are always waiting for your kind.
Algernon Glover. Drs Algernon and Erin Glover. Adoptive father and daughter. They were an odd pairing to be sure. Full-blooded Jamaican father, full-blooded Irish daughter. As her father always said, the black and white of it. Some people considered it a pairing to stare at, but she considered it … normal. She’d met her father when she’d been five, and he’d saved her life many times since then, in both the literal as well as the emotional sense. She loved the man dearly, owed him everything she was and everything she had, and she wasn’t going to let one dimwit bartender stand in her way.
“He’s the one you want.”
Erin turned back to the door. “Who?”
“I heard the conversation. Saw the way he treated you. Shameful. But he’s got a lot on his mind these days, and he’s regretting his decision to sell his land.”
It was the singer. From a distance he looked older. Up close, he looked twenty, give or take a year. Decked out in rust-colored and blue-striped cotton pants and a white cotton shirt, he was simply standing there, waiting to give her information. And not holding out his hand for a gratuity. “I’m not sure I understand,” she said, trying to exercise the caution her father had taught her.
“Adam Coulson. He’s the one you want. You’re the doctor who wants to buy his land, aren’t you? Dr Glover? We got word from Port Wallace a while ago that you were coming here, looking for him.”
“Actually, I’m the one who already bought his land.” She was amazed how quick the news of her arrival had spread. She’d made the enquiries and word of her trip up to Regina had raced here faster than she could have gotten there.
“Well, that’s him.” He pointed to the bartender. “Over there. The one baring his teeth and growling like an angry dog.”
“Can’t be. The Adam Coulson I want to talk to is the local doctor. That guy looks more like the local malcontent.”
“One’s not exclusive of the other, you know. And that’s Adam Coulson, the full-time doctor and part-time malcontent.” He held out his hand to Erin. “I’m Davion Thomas, by the way. On my good days, I’m a singer here at Trinique’s. On my best days, I’m a future medical school student and a current paramedic being employed by Adam Coulson … the doctor, not the malcontent.” He pointed to the bartender again. “Him.”
“So when I asked him, why didn’t he tell me who he was?”
“Like I said, you’re the one who bought his property and he’s not fond of you because of that. He’s also having second thoughts.”
Erin blinked twice. “So I’m the bad guy here because I bought what he offered for sale?”
