by Aha

The Jamaican wind was beginning to blow harder now and occasionally a hard clap of thunder punctuated the night. The forecast was not all bad; the hurricane was going to miss the island, but the outer edge of it would catch the leeward side, producing winds in excess of forty miles per hour, the radio had said. Tanner was in the Holiday Inn, sitting on the edge of the bed in room 223. It was dark except for the dim glow of the bathroom light and the sporadic sheet lightning. This was the room his blackmailer had told him to be in and he had driven completely across the island of Jamaica to get here. The metal Halliburton briefcase stacked full of money sat beside him. From where he sat he could see the parking lot; he stared down at it, straining to see some movement, but nothing was visible and the only sound besides the thunder was the steadily building wind outside causing the constant creak of a swaying, rusty Phillips 66 sign across the road. He looked at his watch — the radium dial read 9:25. She had said to be there at 9:00 sharp. Where was she? He noticed the plain green door leading to the next room and realized that he was in a suite with an adjoining room. The door must lead to room 225, he surmised. Could she be in there waiting? Had he gotten the wrong room? He’d distinctly heard her say 223. He was positive. He began to think he should have brought a gun. Margaret had tried to persuade him to, but he would have none of it; now he regretted that decision.

Finally he could wait no longer. He got up off the bed and walked over to the connecting door. He tried the knob; to his surprise, it opened with a click. He stared tentatively through the crack but could see nothing. Like room 223, room 225 was lit only by its bathroom light and the sign outside. He quietly stepped through the door. He could feel it, smell it, and almost taste it: something was wrong. He should get the hell out of there now, he thought. But a combined sense of unfinished business, curiosity and morbid fascination kept him from it. He also had a need to settle this and have it be over — and he was willing to pay — but the question always remained in a blackmail situation: how much was enough for the extortionist? No matter, she was not going to go away until this was finished. He surveyed the room. His eyes swept over the double beds...not a wrinkle. He eased his way across the thick carpet to the bathroom door and peered inside. It was pristine. The paper sanitary strap was still across the commode seat. He drew in a breath and could smell perfume hanging in the air... it was vaguely familiar. At that moment, he wished that he were back in Iowa, living the good life instead of standing in a dark motel room with every instinct pinging back and forth between fight and flight. Cocking his head, he surveyed the bathroom... it was then that he noticed the telltale moisture dripping from the bottom of the semi-opaque shower curtain. Looking through it, he could see a dark form lying on the other side. A feeling of dreadful expectation washed over him as he reached over and tentatively moved the curtain aside. His heart froze...

The dead woman's nude body sprawled in the tub. Her corpse was very white; a dripping showerhead had spread a shroud of tiny glistening droplets of water over it, giving it an even paler cast. The droplets formed a pool where her collarbone met her neck and then ran down her shoulder, onto the side of the tub and into the floor. Her once pretty face, now an ugly mask, had a blue and greenish hue. Both eyes stared into nothingness with a look of vague surprise. A white washrag overflowed her fully stuffed mouth, protruding above and below the silver duct tape that wrapped around her head and held it in place. The double lines cutting into the flesh around her neck made it instantly clear that the life had been strangled out of her. Bruises blighted her face as well as her right breast and thigh. Both arms were bent behind her back. Tanner recoiled in horror. Fighting the urge to bolt, he took a deep breath and forced himself to look closer at the dead woman's face. His shock deepened. Jesus… it was Gloria — his blackmailer! But who… and why?