Risky Business

could accommodate fifty divers from the skin out, dozens of snorkelers, underwater photographers, tourists who wanted an easy day on the water or gung-ho deep-sea fishermen.
    The first boat she’d gambled on, a dive boat, had been christened Faith, for her daughter. She’d made a vow when she’d been eighteen, alone and frightened, that the child she carried would have the best. Ten years later, Liz could look around her shop and know she’d kept her promise.
    More, the island she’d fled to for escape had become home. She was settled there, respected, depended on. She no longer looked over the expanses of white sand, blue water, longing for Houston or a pretty house with a flowing green lawn. She no longer looked back at the education she’d barely begun, or what she might have been. She’d stopped pining for a man who didn’t want her or the child they’d made. She’d never go back. But Faith could. Faith could learn how to speak French, wear silk dresses and discuss wine and music. One day Faith would go back and mingle unknowingly with her cousins on their own level.
    That was her dream, Liz thought as she carefully filled tanks. To see her daughter accepted as easily as she herself had been rejected. Not for revenge, Liz mused, but for justice.
    “Howdy there, missy.”
    Crouched near the back wall, Liz turned and squinted against the sun. She saw a portly figure stuffed into a black-and-red wet suit, topped by a chubby face with a fat cigar stuck in the mouth.
    “Mr. Ambuckle. I didn’t know you were still on the island.”
    “Scooted over to Cancun for a few days. Diving’s better here.”
    With a smile, she rose to go to her side of the opening. Ambuckle was a steady client who came to Cozumel two or three times a year and always rented plenty of tanks. “I could’ve told you that. See any of the ruins?”
    “Wife dragged me to Tulum.” He shrugged and grinned at her with popping blue eyes. “Rather be thirty feet down than climbing over rocks all day. Did get some snorkeling in. But a man doesn’t fly all the way from Dallas just to paddle around. Thought I’d do some night diving.”
    Her smile came easily, adding something soft and approachable to eyes that were usually wary. “Fix you right up. How much longer are you staying?” she asked as she checked an underwater flash.
    “Two more weeks. Man’s got to get away from his desk.”
    “Absolutely.” Liz had often been grateful so many people from Texas, Louisiana and Florida felt the need to get away.
    “Heard you had some excitement while we were on the other side.”
    Liz supposed she should be used to the comment by now, but a shiver ran up her spine. The smile faded, leaving her face remote. “You mean the American who was murdered?”
    “Put the wife in a spin. Almost couldn’t talk her into coming back over. Did you know him?”
    No, she thought, not as well as she should have. To keep her hands busy, she reached for a rental form and began to fill it out. “As a matter of fact, he worked here a little while.”
    “You don’t say?” Ambuckle’s small blue eyes sparkled a bit. But Liz supposed she should be used to that, as well.
    “You might remember him. He crewed the dive boat the last time you and your wife went out.”
    “No kidding?” Ambuckle’s brow creased as he chewed on the cigar. “Not that good-looking young man—Johnny, Jerry,” he remembered. “Had the wife in stitches.”
    “Yes, that was him.”
    “Shame,” Ambuckle murmured, but looked rather pleased to have known the victim. “Had a lot of zip.”
    “Yes, I thought so, too.” Liz lugged the tanks through the door and set them on the stoop. “That should take care of it, Mr. Ambuckle.”
    “Add a camera on, missy. Want to get me a picture of one of those squids. Ugly things.”
    Amazed, Liz plucked one from the shelf and added it to the list on a printed form. She checked her watch, noted down the time and turned the form for Ambuckle’s signature. After signing, he handed her bills for the deposit. She appreciated the fact that Ambuckle always paid in cash, American. “Thanks. Glad to see you back, Mr. Ambuckle.”
    “Can’t keep me away, missy.” With a whoosh and a grunt, he hefted the tanks on his shoulders. Liz watched him cross to the walkway before she filed the receipt. Unlocking her cash box, she stored the money.
    “Business is good.”
    She jolted at the voice and looking up again stared at Jonas Sharpe.
    She’d