Room with a View

Chapter 13 - Day 4 - The Investigation

A rooster's racket dragged Miller's eyes open and he squinted once again into the blast of early morning sunshine filling his room. He pulled his sheet over his head and thought with a touch of irony how the building he was staying in was so aptly described. Brighthouse might even be better. The image of Billy, glimmering in the moonlight, as she slapped him in her role as resort representative in charge of saps pestered his mind.

The thought gave him a headache. The rooster crowed again and he tossed the sheet back in disgust and checked his travel alarm. Six-thirty. How bloody considerate, he muttered, climbing out of the bed and looking at his clothes from the previous evening all heaped over the two chairs.

Reluctantly, he gathered them up and hand pressed the creases out before hanging them carefully in the wardrobe. The water sputtered and spit then settled into a weak stream in which he washed and shaved and after choosing some shorts, a t-shirt and his sand-crusted sandals, brushed his hair and climbed down to the ground floor. It was about time he began getting something out of his damned vacation. Today he decided he would walk to the restaurant and give himself a private, unhurried tour.

The sun was warm on his head and shoulders and he smiled thankfully up at the sky as he picked his way down the road track and through the forest of palm species, bougainvilleas in a blaze of colours and many plants and shrubs he had never imagined. A narrow path broke off to the ocean side of the track and he paused, wondering if it might lead to the beach.

Hoping it might be a shortcut Miller boldly stepped into the unknown, whistling. The path twisted around rough rock surfaces and more plants and shrubs, some less friendly than others. His legs were getting scraped and one particularly ugly growth drew blood.

Just when he began regretting his choice the path ended on a shallow bluff overlooking the ocean and below was the end of the resort beach with a few early birds setting up towels and chairs. He recognized the steps below and off to his left as those leading to the Fonda Anita. He tried working his way down the slope, finding a foot purchase increasingly difficult and finally finished with an uncontrolled run to the beach where he crashed in the sand, plowing up a large dune with his outstretched arms.

"That was kinda dumb, mister." The young voice caused him to turn as he stood up, brushing sand off his clothes and out of his hair and he saw the boy from the plane whose father had threatened him.

"Accidents happen, sonny." Miller half snarled. He dug himself out and started away when another voice stopped him and he turned again, this time to watch the irate father slogging through the sand, carrying a child's surfboard and wearing a large pair of goggles on top of his head.

"I warned you once, pal, about messing with my kids." His face was burned a bright pink and the circles around his eyes stood out like white poker chips.

"Excuse me?" Miller put his hands on his hips.

"You heard me." He dropped the board and gathered the boy close to his side.

"Actually . . . sir, your son made a rude comment to me because I happened to fall in the sand, otherwise I wouldn't have anything to do with the little- with him."

"Yeah? Well I don't want you around him at all so just buzz off."

"Oh, this is your beach is it? Well you might hang that little creep up as a sign indicating such."

He turned and marched through the sand with as much dignity as possible, ignoring the harangue following his passage. He reached the steps to the dining room and stopped to empty the sand from his shoes and then went right up and into the Fonda Anita.

Anita de la Gonango el Nutrado stood at the entrance with her arms folded watching Miller approach.

"Buenos dias, senorita," Miller greeted her. "I have come for breakfast." They faced off, eyes locked.