The events Ruffing threw at the marina were monumental, and Noah would attend them as “perimeter staff.” Noah was allowed to mingle and enjoy the amenities, but with the understanding that if something needed to be taken care of, he was on call. But when it came to the private soirees at Ruffing’s Star Island mansion, only the elite of the elite were invited. That particular guest list included foreign dignitaries, multinational banking executives, shipping tycoons, and a smattering of royals from all over the world.
Out in the hallway, seated at the desk, Gabby was perplexed. Why is Noah suddenly being nice to me? she wondered. Is it possible he’s interested in my trust fund? She could believe that was Noah’s ulterior motive, but Liam’s? Surely not. But her journalistic instincts had been awakened. She knew there was something sinister about The Haven though she could not figure out what it was. The people who came and went on the second floor were always on edge, which seemed decidedly odd for a community that touted itself as being a spiritual retreat. Plus, the men who came and went didn’t look like they were part of any religious sect or seeking spiritual enlightenment. No, they looked more like gangsters, hit men, thugs as far as she was concerned. And those accents. Eastern European and Far Eastern. It was like the Tower of Babel.
She pulled out one of Liam’s Daily Mindfulness books and started to read. It was filled with the verses of some of the great spiritual leaders of all time, with anecdotal notes from Liam. He had self-published several books on the subject, and they were part of the package you received when you signed up for the program. As one advanced through the steps of the program, one had to buy the more advanced edition. Or, for most members, do more labor to pay down the debt.
Copies of the basic books were also sold at the farmers’ market. Next to the incense. The Haven had started with only one stall at the market. Now they were up to five, dividing them up by products. It had developed into a fine cash-flow business.
Gabby was engrossed in a passage from the book The Art of Happiness when the phone rang. Gabby bounced from her chair. “Good morning. How may I direct your call?”
“Good morning.” A sultry-sounding woman with a Caribbean accent greeted her in return. “Please tell Noah the package is ready for delivery. Thank you.”
Gabby wrote it down, word for word. Then she cocked her head. She didn’t recall ever having taken a message from a woman.
*
Yoko had reported to Freddie at eight o’clock in the morning. Yoko noted how many boxes and their contents were being loaded into the truck. Freddie wanted an accounting at the end of the day. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust anyone. He wanted to be sure he included the proper amount as profit for his tax return. Freddie had been one of the lucky ones to escape Castro’s regime during the airlifts. He was only five years old at the time, but he remembered how terrified his mother and sister were, hoping that his father wouldn’t be too far behind. It took almost a year before the family was reunited and settled in Miami. Freddie had the utmost respect for America. He never wanted to put himself or his family at risk. Playing by the rules was essential, especially in the hotbed political climate of immigration reform. He and his family were legally documented immigrants, but the prejudice was real nonetheless. A lot of people assumed that if you looked different or had an accent, you were an illegal alien. He was adamant that everyone in his family speak proper English without a hint of an accent. As he loaded the last box of birds of paradise into the truck, he turned to Yoko. “Thanks for helping out today. It’s my granddaughter’s first Holy Communion this afternoon. It will give me a couple of hours to clean up and get there on time.” He hoisted a thumb at the three young men who had loaded the trucks. “The boys here will do all the lifting. All you have to do is collect the money and count it at the end of the day.”
“Oh, Freddie, I appreciate the opportunity to see how you run things. I promise to keep my calculator in my apron pocket at all times.” She smiled, jumped into the passenger seat of one of the trucks, and headed to the farmers’ market.
Back at the hotel, Alexis and Maggie got ready for their own journey to the market. Alexis, being a master of disguise, exited the bedroom and twirled in front of Maggie. “Wah gwaan?” Alexis said in her best Jamaican accent. “Every ting is every ting.” She tossed her head from side to side, swinging the blond dreadlock braids that hung from her head wrap. “Mi agwan easy.”
Maggie was practically rolling on the floor. “You are too much! That is one of your best disguises.”
“Ya mon!” Alexis replied.
“I especially like the native garb.” Maggie was referring to Alexis’s colorful blouse and skirt, a traditional outfit worn by Jamaican women. “And the extra padding!” Alexis wanted to hide her lithe figure, anticipating a different disguise in the future if necessary. Or none at all. No one would be able to recognize her once she shed that day’s outfit.
Reverting to her normal speaking voice, Alexis asked Maggie, “So what are you going to wear today?”
“Besides sunscreen and a hat?” Maggie joked.
“Yes, clothing would be a good idea,” Alexis teased. “I have a short blond wig you can borrow and a camouflage jacket. It’s got padding, so you could look a little heftier.”
“Won’t I sweat?” Maggie hated to play dress-up and preferred light khakis and a T-shirt.
“No, it’s vented.”
“You got anything else in your bag of tricks?” Maggie was dubious about a jacket in eighty-plus-degree heat.
“I have a caftan and a black wig.”
“Jeez ... then my head will sweat.”
“Quit whining. You’ll wear a big straw hat.” Alexis went back into her room and returned with an outfit that no one would ever suspect Maggie Spritzer would wear. Satisfied they could pull off being tourists, they headed to the market in separate cars.
When they arrived, they each stopped at the flower stall. Alexis approached Yoko. “Wah gwaan?”
Yoko looked up from her calculator. “Good morning.” She had no clue it was Alexis. Alexis wandered through the booth, looking at the variety of blooms. “Dis be-u-di-ful,” she said in her Jamaican accent, giving Yoko a sideways glance. Still nothing. Alexis was thrilled she had been able to fool one of the sisters.
She circled back to where Yoko was standing and held out her hand, in which she was clenching several anthuriums. It was only then that Yoko recognized Alexis’s bracelet. It was a simple gold-link chain that Alexis wore very often.
Yoko smiled. “Those are lovely.” She calculated the amount, and continued, “That will be fifteen dollars, please.”
Alexis dug into her sack and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to Yoko. Yoko handed her a five and said, “Thank you. Hope to see you again.”
Alexis replied with another “Ya mon!” Yoko had to stifle a laugh.
Alexis continued to wander through the market, stopping and looking, as any other tourist or shopper might do.