“We use a little something you Americans like to call ‘pot, ‘ I believe.”“No shit,” I laughed and Bud grinned, having asked the same question earlier. “Got to take that recipe home with us.”“That’s not happening,” she said, still smiling, “unless you buy the cay.”“Is it for sale?” I asked, more surprised than curious.“Ya. A cool 24 million American and it’s yours,” she said as she pushed the rolling stove away.“We seen Doc lately?” I asked Bud, who had sat back with a full belly. “For that matter, I’ve haven’t seen Chuck or Darren since I banged my head.”“To be honest, I’m not sure Chuck is still on the island,” Bud admitted. “The seaplane has been gone since this morning. I didn’t see who left.”“Doc’s still here, right?” I asked a little too loudly. Shit, somebody was the puppet master on this trip.“I’m coming. I’m coming,” his voice came from up the trail.“You can say that again,” said a very blonde-sounding voice. A moment later, Doc appeared, wearing only some beach sandals, a. "The door opened and closed. There were a few moments of silence, broken by the Coroner's breathing. He took a deep breath, paused and then let it out.He mumbled under his breath, "Yeah, I got your card Detective."She heard him wad it up, a moment later it thunked into a waste can. His face appeared in her vision. It was horribly pockmarked. Deep scars from acne peppered his skin. There was something oddly familiar about it, something from way back, from another life. With a motionless shudder, she realized he was looking her up and down, an uncomfortable sheen in his eyes.She startled inwardly when his fingertips first brushed and then began to move in circles over her flat, cool stomach. Her skin tried to soak in the heat from them. Emotions collided inside her. Revulsion. Disgust. Shame over the realization that if she could, she would press herself into the grotesque caress if only for the warmth it offered.His hands moved up, cupping one breast and then the other. She felt sick.
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