Maybe it was the was the warm postcard glow of the sunset, or maybe it was the third, (or was it fourth?) margarita, but for the first time since the chaos of the morning Arden was finally able to relax.

Tilting his head back, he slowly drank in the salt tinged evening air. Seven Mile Beach stretched out in a crescent before him, the pure white sand now washed with the rosy quartz of the reflected sky. The shoreline was vitrtually empty now, aside from a middle aged couple strolling through the sand, dangling shoes in hand, returning no doubt from some romantic dinner.

 It was hurricaine season and the usual frenzy of eager vacationers jostling for their momentary place in the sun had long since vanished.  The oceanside bar was quiet and restful with just a handful of guests and the odd local enjoying a mahi mahi, swordfish steak or a cold Red Stripe. The ubiquitous happy sounds of island music added to the languid, unhurried atmosphere.

This was the perfect choice, Arden complimented himself. "Perfect" 

He leaned back further in his chair, nibbling at the tangy salt crust rimming his glass. He didn't drink margaritas but the waiter had touted them so enthusiastically as the "special of the day". If he was going to pass as an ordinary off season tourist, he had to play the part. Besides, the last one had gone down surprisingly smoothly and he felt the violent tension gripping his neck and shoulders begin to subside. He closed his eyes for a moment, wondering what it might be like to disappear, to wash away with the tide, to wake up somewhere foriegn and strange, fresh, to be someone else, to start anew.

 "This seat taken?" a voice purred across from him. Startled, he looked up to see a tan young woman motioning to the chair opposite his. He had no interest in company but with instinctual good manners and a gesture toward the empty seat answered, "Please, sit down."

"Quite the view" the woman started with the small talk, nodding toward the horizon.

Another time he would have been more than delighted for an attractive stranger to approach him. She certainly was attractive; slender with honey colored hair, dressed in tasteful resort wear, sexy but not tawdry. "Remember" he told himself , "act as normal as possible and don't draw attention to yourself"

"Best view on the island" he responded with a forced smile he had used before. A grinning waiter appeared."Welllcome" he sang.

"A rum punch please" she chirped and watched the young man retreat.

" I need one after my morning.." her voice soured "Can you believe the airline lost my luggage? I've been on the phone since I arrived and have gotten nowhere with them. Nowhere at all. three hours...on the phone, incompetent!." Arden mustered an expression of seeming concern and shook his head.

"So much for my first day in paradise." she crossed her arms with a childlike pout. "So when did you arrive?" she asked more brightly.

"uh, A few hours ago" he managed. The waiter appeared with a noxious pink colored drink festooned with a parasol.

"Here for vacation or ...business?" she added. She certainly was curious.

 "just a quick getaway." Arden answered, feigning cheerfulness.

"Me too. I'm from Philadelphia. Yourself?" she queried sipping her tropical concoction. This was feeling more like an interrogation than a conversation. His mind was racing to put together the right answer when he was rescued by the overly chipper waiter.

"Excuse me miss, but they seem to have located your luggage, it will be delivered any minute now to the lobby."

"Thank God" she placed her hand to her heart with more drama than was really necessary. "Do you mind if I go take care of this?" she asked, rising from her chair.

"Of course not" answered a relieved Arden. She glanced at her unfinished drink.

"Please, don't worry, I've got it" he motioned to the waiter and fumbled for his wallet.

"Thanks everso." she cheeped trotting away cheerfully. He could hear her relaying the story to the poor waiter as he guided her patiently toward the hotel lobby..."three hours on the phone..."

Back in his room Arden drew the curtains and reached for a small carryon in the back of his closet.

The woman in the bar had disturbed him. Women had come on to him before. He was attractive with easy manners and a polished demanor. The glint of his extravagantly pricey watch and well cut suits had lured many a prospector. But this one seemed different. Something was off.  She claimed to lose her luggage and had just arrived from a chilly East Coast but was tan and dressed for the tropics. 

 Maybe paranoia was getting the better of him, clouding his normally rational judgement of which he was so proud. He comforted himself, OK she could have picked up clothes at the hotel boutique and gotten a tan from a bottle like half the women he knew in the city. Anyway, she was gone now and he needed to focus on the task at hand.

 He dumped the contents of his bag onto the bed. Heaps of bills in various denominations littered the colorful linen comforter. Clustered in stacks held with red rubber bands. How cliche' he thought as he began to organize them into neat piles, unmarked bills in a duffle bag.

Tommorrow, maybe the day after, he would go to the coffee shop and pick up a copy of the "The Times" . Surely by then it would be mentioned.

Man disappears...or...Prominate NY man missing.. or maybe it would state..Police suspect foul play in man's diasappearance.

 Just then the phone rang.