The premise, setting, many of the themes, and most of the characters belong to the creators of Death in Paradise.

Happy reading…

1. After Eight

The distant horizon was starting to spill into the Caribbean sea, in deep hues of orange and pink. A veteran officer with St. Marie's Honore Police Force, Dwayne Meyers scanned the faces of the four people gathered on the verandah of the late Countess' sprawling mansion nestled among swaying acacias, weeping cherry trees and bougainvillea.

One of the skills he'd honed through years of experience in the field was the ability to read people. Their team had closely followed and interviewed the key suspects in this case over the last two weeks, since the Countess had been discovered murdered in her bedroom - the latest incident to disturb the tranquility of the island paradise they called home.

The other officers also stood strategically positioned, alert in case the murderer tried to run off in a desperate attempt to evade prosecution under the law. JP Hooper, youngest member of the team, and Dwayne's partner, stood next to the wide banister along the short flight of stairs leading towards the gardens.

Detective Sergeant Florence Cassel stood beside the ornate archway leading into the house. Florence was a brilliant police woman whose hard work and unrelenting pursuit of the truth and justice had not only earned her accolades in her young career with the force, but also rapid promotion through its ranks.

Dwayne listened stone-faced, none too surprised when the Detective Inspector, having introduced each suspect in the context of their relationship to the victim and their possible motive for murder, turned squarely to face Susan Bonheur, daughter-in-law of the victim; revealing her to be the guilty party. An audible gasp went around the group. All appeared visibly shocked by the revelation, with the exception of Susan of course. Her initial blustering of indignation quickly melting into blank faced silence as the Detective Inspector delivered the denouement in his now familiar Irish brogue and meandering oratorical style.

DI Jack Mooney held the audience captive, walking them through every detail the investigation had uncovered, incisively deducing the more nuanced aspects of intrigue and deception involved in the case. And in the end, 'JP, please arrest Lady Bonheur - for the murder of Countess Marie Du Motier' he concluded.

A little later at the station, Florence tidied her desk, deftly gathering up documents related to the case they had just wrapped-up; filing away the relevant paperwork and sliding the rest into a secure disposal. DI Mooney was busy taking down photographs and tape from the evidence board, then proceeded to carefully erase each name from the board, along with each row of neatly bulleted notes outlining the suspects' connections to the victim. Dwayne and JP taped up evidence boxes, which would be logged and shipped off the next day to the main forensics facility in Guadeloupe.

'So…Catherine's bar everyone?' Dwayne piped up in his lilting Caribbean twang. The team typically headed over to Catherine's popular beach front spot, to toast the successful conclusion of a particularly grueling case. The work of policing, solving crime, involved hours of processing and reviewing evidence, interviewing witnesses and suspects, starting with puzzles that sometimes came in a million pieces, and ending with a clear picture of 'who did it' and in most cases 'why'. It was arduous work that could sometimes be frustrating, especially when they hit a dead end. Today had been a victory of sorts. In cases of murder however, any elation felt from bringing the perpetrator into custody was tempered by the sad reality of the life lost, and the grieving family members and friends who would never see their loved one again.

'Sorry Dwayne, my parents are expecting me for dinner tonight' Florence declined the invitation in her thickly accented English. Her sincere manner easily drew a smile from Dwayne, as he shrugged amicably. 'Oh yes, you did mention that your eldest brother is in town, I think Florence…?' Jack mused, absently tugging at his shirt collar and further loosening the maroon tie that already looped low around his neck.

'Ok!, you are excused', Dwayne said to Florence.

Jack had mostly adjusted to the island heat, but today had been particularly humid. He longed for a cool shower and the chance to relax under the stars in the hammock, out on the beachfront of the old shack that was now his home. He enjoyed being out there on nights like this, when the air was thick with the scent of Jasmine blossoms and he could taste the saltiness of the sea breeze as he listened to the waves rush to shore.

It'd been a year since the widowed Scotland Yard policeman had left the damp and familiar charm of London to visit the tropical island of St. Marie at the invitation of his transitory colleague DI Humphrey Goodman. Jack had met and worked with Humphrey, Florence and Dwayne during an assignment that'd taken the trio to London; and they had hit it off immediately. At the end of the case, a two week visit to St. Marie with his daughter Siobhan had subsequently turned into a permanent re-assignment to the island for Jack. Convenient; as matters of the heart urgently beckoned Goodman back to England, leaving the opening for a new Inspector in the coastal town of Honore.

The very shrewd St. Marie Police Commissioner, Selwyn Patterson, in his typical wily fashion had ensured a smooth transition for Jack; the change causing no disruption to the day to day running of things, and barely noticeable to his new colleagues; except of course for the obvious differences between the lanky, somewhat clumsy but very likeable Goodman, and Mooney's more quirky wit, and quiet geniality.

'That's right sir' Florence offered; 'tonight will be the first time in two years that the entire family will be together again! I'm looking forward to it'.

'JP?" enquired Dwayne, grabbing his bike helmet off the desk and stepping outside so JP could lock the station's main doors for the night. The detective sergeant and the inspector were already heading down the wide stairway and towards the official vehicle of the Honore Police, a brown Land Rover with tan colored hood and moldings.

'I'm afraid I can't tonight', JP replied to Dwayne's invitation. 'I need to be home for Rosie' he leaned in towards his partner, and continued in a hushed voice 'the twins are lying low, and doing a number on her back. I promised to…you know, give her a massage, and help her get comfortable' he finished somewhat shyly. "Oh- ho, well I can't argue with that JP' Dwayne replied loudly with a wink. 'A man needs to be there for his wife, help her get 'comfortable''he teased.

'Well chief, looks like it's just you and me' said Dwayne turning to Jack. Jack waved good-naturedly, 'Thanks Dwayne but I think I'll also pass tonight' he replied, already climbing into the passenger seat of the Rover, 'Do give my regards to the Mayor though'.

'Aaah, forget it! I might as well just go home' Dwayne complained, fastening his helmet and climbing on to the other official vehicle, a 1990s moped that sported a sidecar. 'Good night…' called Jack, as Florence released the handbrake and the car pulled slowly away.

It was a little before 8 pm when they set off. Jack settled back into the passenger seat letting the darkness of the night envelope him. He'd found that Florence preferred to do most of the driving at work. Jack didn't mind. She did everything with such efficiency and ease; he was content to just follow her lead. As they left the narrow winding streets in the central part of town, the car began to pick up speed.

Florence occasionally glanced over at Jack, wondering whether the Inspector had fallen asleep. He'd not said a word since they left the station. His eyes were closed and she couldn't help but notice a tiny furrow on his brow, his face otherwise relaxed. The pale yellow glow of the street lights that lined the coastal highway, intermittently first illuminated then cast shadows over them, as they drove through the night.

Taking in the inspector's trim build, his strong jawline and slightly crooked nose, Florence found him to be quite handsome in a rugged sort of way. And she enjoyed the fact that even in the initially unfamiliar surroundings of the island; he carried himself with a quiet confidence that she found reassuring. Perhaps it came from him having to be a pillar for his family, for his daughter, for so long. Florence liked his eyes the most. She thought he had the kindest eyes she'd ever seen.

Florence often wondered how her colleague was really doing; how he was coping. Not only with his loss but with the big chance he'd taken, leaving everything behind back home to come to St. Marie not two months after burying his wife. It had been over a year but surely, he must still be grieving, missing her. With Siobhan around, Florence worried a little less for him. Jack's daughter was a lovely girl and so much like her dad. She was lively and had a positive outlook on life, despite its challenges. Siobhan was genuinely warm and curious and had taken a liking to her dad's colleague, becoming fast friends with the older woman. She'd spent the past Christmas with them in St. Marie, but had since returned to University in England.

'Did you want to ask me something Detective Sergeant?' Jack said with forced seriousness, belied by the small smile of amusement playing on his lips which he hoped she did not detect in the darkness. Florence glanced sharply at him; his head was still back, eyes still closed. She flushed; warmth spreading up her neck and into her cheeks. Fixing her eyes firmly on the road ahead, she managed a croaky 'No...sir'. She prayed that his eyes were indeed closed and that he could not see her blushing.

She chided herself, realizing that he must have sensed her looking over at him. If there was one thing Florence prided herself in, it was her professionalism. She and the Detective Inspector had shared many drives like this one together, to and from work. Tonight would be no different except perhaps that she'd just been day-dreaming; something that seemed to be happening more often lately.

Florence pulled the car up as close as possible to the beaten path leading to the Inspector's residence, slowing to a stop. Jack hopped out and shut the door, his hand lingering on the door frame at the open window.

'Thank you Florence,.. for everything' He paused. 'A job well done today by the way. Couldn't have done any of it without you'. They both waited in a brief silence. He was about to bid her good night when she shut off the engine.

'Actually sir..', Florence hesitated, 'I was wondering whether you would like to join my family and I for supper tonight', 'that is, if you don't have other plans…' her voice trailed off. 'That's really kind of you Florence, but isn't tonight a special occasion?', 'I…', his hand still resting on the door frame. She'd swiveled slightly in her seat to face him. 'I'd like to; very much actually' he started, 'Though I really wouldn't want to impose, I'm sure your fam…'. Florence raised her hand, interrupting him 'No imposition at all sir, my brothers would all very much like to meet you'. He nodded in understanding.

'So...', she went on cheerily, revving the car's engine back to life, 'I'll pick you up i-i-in… half an hour?' she enquired, cocking her head to one side. 'Yes' Jack replied, 'Wait' he stopped her, 'No need to pick me up' he continued 'You've already been too kind by even inviting me- no need to do any more driving tonight on my account...you go on home; I'll call a taxi or maybe even walk. It's a nice night' he said, looking up at the cloudless sky as if for confirmation.

'Alright', she replied with a smile, putting the car in reverse 'Then I'll see you in a short while sir'. Jack tapped the hood in assent and stood watching as the tail lights disappeared into the dark.

Twenty minutes later, showered, shaved and feeling human again Jack surveyed his surroundings. He'd fed Harry the resident reptile, his requisite mix of mashed fruit and mosquitoes. The green lizard had been keeper of the shack since Jack's pre-predecessor Richard Poole was the occupant, perhaps even before. Jack caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror pausing to inspect his appearance. He'd exchanged the tie and suit pants of the day for khakis and a more relaxed shirt which he wore untucked.

He inspected himself more closely, blue eyes looking back at him. One of the many things he liked about being in the Caribbean was the pace of things. It was as if time slowed down here, so you experienced life frame by frame almost. It felt odd somehow knowing that he was the same man he'd been a few years ago; maybe he'd lost a few pounds, gained a few more creases on his brow but by and large he was the same person.

How different everything had been before it all suddenly turned inside out two years back when his wife had fallen ill. Watching her suffer, and not being able to do anything to stop it, watching his daughter in pain and not being able to make it better, had been the hardest things he'd ever endured. The pain had faded now. He'd let it go quickly because he had to think of Siobhan; she needed him to be whole. The pain was gone but it left a sadness; one that visited him in moments like this when he felt alone.

Dinner with the Cassel family was a lively affair. The older couple lived inland, at the foothills of the more mountainous parts of the island. Their home was of the old colonial style - high ceilings and arched entryways. It emanated a brightness and warmth that Jack observed was a reflection of the close bond the couple shared; also evidenced in the faces of their six adult children and (currently) eight grandchildren.

Florence's father Gilbert Cassel was a historian, retired from the academic world but still very involved in preserving and promoting the stories of the islands. Elements of his studies were woven throughout the tasteful décor of their home; as was the work of Sylvia Cassel, Florence's mother. Sylvia, a painter, also still worked. In fact Jack's previous visit to their home had been some months back when he and Siobhan were invited to a luncheon in celebration of some of Sylvia's pieces being curated in a series of North American Exhibitions. The Cassel family had lived on the island for several generations.

Gilbert's ancestor, a merchant sailor from the American southern state of Louisiana had arrived on St. Marie in the mid eighteen hundreds. The family's current patriarch; Gilbert was tall and imposing, his mixed French-Creole and Apache heritage lending a sharpness to his features which to those yet to make his acquaintance, appeared severe. Yet, to see his eyes soften when his wife of forty five years walked into the room, spoke volumes of the love they shared. In appearance, Sylvia was the opposite of Gilbert; her delicate frame and fine features were accentuated by glowing ebony skin, evidence of her direct African ancestry. In her, Jack saw the essence of Florence's beauty and unaffected charm.

Jack had been drawn to Florence since the first day he laid eyes on her. Not in a sexual way, not at first. Of course he'd found her to be an attractive woman but it was something deeper, more visceral than that. They'd only just met - there she was, standing off to the side looking faintly amused as he and DI Goodman had awkwardly exchanged introductions via the newly installed video link in his London office. She'd been like a ray of sunshine at a very dark time in his life. That had shocked Jack and had left him feeling a sense of guilt. For so long, there had only been Ava his wife, and he'd not paid attention to any other women; so he'd wondered if perhaps his grief was the cause of the unexplained and completely unexpected reaction to a stranger. Jack had firmly set those confusing emotions aside for the better part of the last year.

Now, living in St. Marie, working closely with Florence every day, he'd had a chance to sort through his emotions somewhat. Seeing how devoted she was to her work he'd wondered whether she had someone in her life, but so far there was no indication of that. His attraction to her warmth and beauty had not waned, quite the opposite, but he'd managed to keep his feelings in check. Even managed to be unphased by her weather-appropriate attire which most often involved some type of dress shorts, showing off shapely bronzed legs. When his thoughts strayed that way, Jack chided himself; because where he saw Florence as vibrant and beautiful, he couldn't imagine she could ever see him as anything but a colleague. Ever since he'd moved to the island Florence had only ever been hospitable and generous, always making herself available and offering support over and above the call of duty. He didn't mean to mistake her kindness for anything more, but in the past year he'd increasingly mused about what it might have been like if he and Florence had met under different circumstances; at a coffee shop or crossing the street. Would they have been more willing to linger, and explore the possibility of what this 'connection' held?... assuming it was mutual?... But as often as these thoughts came, Jack dismissed them as uncharacteristic flights of fancy.

Tonight's reunion was especially in honor of the eldest, Andre Cassel who was home for a few days on a long overdue visit. As a commercial pilot based in Brussels, the family did not get to see him as often as they would all have liked. Like Florence, Andre was dedicated to his career and the prospect of marriage did not appear to be on the horizon.

The other members of the clan were fraternal twins Giles and Guy, who with their wives and young children had come in from Guadeloupe for the weekend. The twins had each married native Guadeloupians, making their lives in the main city of Basse-Terre, where they co-owned a fishing business. Mark Cassel, the middle son, was a successful banker who lived with his wife and child right there in Honore. He and his wife had married straight out of University; their son the oldest of the grandchildren, was a gangly pre-teen with a winning smile, who haggled with his younger cousins that he in fact was their tante Florence's favourite!

Jack observed in amusement as the children flittered around Florence for most of the night, vying for attention, which she lavished on each of them. Every bumped elbow and poked eye came to tante Florence to be kissed better.

Frederic Cassel, the youngest brother, was the only one who'd followed in the footstep of their parents somewhat. He was a Professor of Anthropology at the University in Monserrat where he'd met his wife, a fellow Professor in the English department; they had two young daughters.

Despite the teasing and joking about, Jack could tell they were all really close. Everyone was having a good time, and he was happy that he had come. On a night like this one, tomorrow's cares were momentarily forgotten amidst the banter around the table, as laughter erupted over stories told and subsequently retold because the first person missed this detail or that, …or didn't deliver the punch line just so; and as the off islanders caught up on all the juicy tidbits and gossip

With the slight headiness that accompanies a sumptuous meal and fine wine, Jack let his guard down just enough. Enough to notice the cute dimple that appeared and disappeared with the smile that danced across her lips, enough to notice the gentle swell of her breasts beneath the fabric of the baby blue shift dress she was wearing tonight, enough to notice the sway of her hips as she walked over to take her seat opposite him at the dinner table.

'So, tell me Inspector, does my sister still chase after criminals and single handedly bring them down?' teased Giles, as he reached for a second helping of plantains to complement the tender morsels of grilled snapper still on his plate. Jack smiled mischievously, pushing his plate away and exhaling contentedly. Florence shot him a mock glare as if to say, 'don't you dare encourage him'. Jack played along, 'Oh, no no...' he cleared his throat, continuing 'Things have been mostly quiet on the island. In fact, I think word has spread that the Detective Sergeant is not to be trifled with, so the criminals now simply show up at our doorstep and turn themselves in'; his quip drew chuckles all around, except for Florence who playfully rolled her eyes.

'Wow!, sis! is this true?' Andre turned to Florence incredulously. Usually the last person to get any joke, he was unsure whether the Inspector was pulling their leg as Jack had managed to keep a straight face while he made the wild claim. Guy grumbled just loudly enough for all to hear, 'I'm not surprised. She's a terror'. The other brothers erupted in knowing laughter, their wives chiding them with elbow digs and playful swipes.

Gilbert rushed to defend his only daughter, 'Now, now, don't tease'. 'Never mind, papa' Florence laughed good-naturedly, pushing out her chair and standing up. 'I had to be a terror' she said, as she jokingly hooked her arms around the necks of the twins on either side of her in a mock choke-hold...'because I had a pair of terrible brothers who needed to be kept in line'. 'Hear, hear' piped Frederic. 'That's why she became a cop' retorted Sylvia. 'Exactly maman' stated Florence, as she turned around to walk towards the kitchen. 'Who's coming to help me with dessert?', she sing-sang over her shoulder. Jack immediately jumped to his feet, and headed towards the kitchen after her.

The hum of conversation from the dining room wafted into the kitchen as the two of them worked side-by-side in silence; she, gently guiding him in arranging the sweet treats onto the two doily covered trays resting on the counter. Jack had brought a box of After Eight chocolate mints as a gift for his hosts. He regretted not having been able to get them something more sophisticated ahead of tonight's soiree; it was the best he could do on short notice. The specialty version of the confectionary was an expensive gift from Siobhan on her last visit. He'd remembered that the chocolate was tucked away at the back of the ice box at the shack, to protect it from turning to soup. It turned out that the chocolate paired perfectly with the assortment of fruit and pastries being served for dessert.

He stepped back to inspect their handiwork; then turned to face Florence, raising one eyebrow as he awaited her verdict. 'Not bad!', laughed. 'Yea..', Jack's voice caught. He cleared his throat and tried again. 'Yes. We make a good team'. He hadn't meant to sound suggestive, but the off-hand comment caused a flush of color to rise to Florence's cheeks. It was the second time he'd made her blush tonight. Jack became intensely aware of how close they were standing. He breathed her in, imperceptibly almost; anxious not to spoil the moment. A delicate fragrance, a mix of her perfume and her essence, filled and flooded his senses.

Their gazes met. Florence felt herself sway towards him, the blue of his eyes like magnetic pools in which she would drown. They were so close she could feel the heat of his body; sparking a sudden flash of deep desire in her belly and causing goose bumps to run up and down her bare arms. She breathed in sharply, taking a step backward.

Picking up one of the trays, she said briskly 'we'd better get these outside before they fall apart', and she was gone, balancing the tray on her upturned palm. Jack picked up the second tray of desserts and again hurried after her.

After the meal and some easy after dinner conversation Jack looked at the time. It was later than he'd realized; the time had flown by. Already the younger grandchildren were dozing on the plush settees in the sitting area, or stretched out on their parents' laps. He thanked his hosts for the invitation and for dinner, amidst Gilbert's protestations that no thanks were necessary. He was at the door exchanging good-byes, or 'a la prochaine's as was preferred.

Sylvia said 'There will be no taxis at this hour; surely, you are not planning to walk back home this late, Inspector?' she sounded concerned; 'Mark will give you a lift' she said gesturing toward her son, 'Of course'; Mark said, as he started towards the living room 'I'll just get my car keys'. 'No need,… really' Jack insisted, 'you've already been too kind'. Florence said 'You should take the jeep sir', she picked up a set of keys from the entry table. 'I'll get a ride in to work tomorrow, so you don't have to worry about picking me up' she handed him the keys. 'Here, let me show you where it's parked'. Her suggestion made sense; 'Thank you, Florence' Jack said, as she walked past him to open the front door. In one last chorus of 'good night's, the two of them stepped out into the dewy night

'A good man' Gilbert stated as a matter of fact when the door had closed behind them. 'Yes', Sylvia added 'I rather like him', smiling knowingly up at her husband, before linking her arm through his. The two walked side by side into the family room to join the others. 'What are you two up to now?' Guy questioned his parents cheekily in French. Sylvia just continued to smile, picking up one sleeping grand-daughter from the settee to carry her off to bed.

If anyone else had noticed that evening, the way Detective Sergeant Florence Cassel and her superior officer, Detective Inspector Jack Mooney listened in rapt attention to everything the other said, or how they finished each other's sentences while sharing anecdotes from work, or how their eyes met and their fingers lingered ever so slightly when they'd accidentally brushed over the bowl of Etouffee at dinner; no one mentioned it.