Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry(16)

Her mother’s response was always the same. “Honey, I was really fortunate. The first guy I ever really kissed turned out to be a prince. I got to skip all the frogs!”

Looking down the beach, Gina spotted a large wooden red parrot with one eye in a wink. It sat atop a thatched roof. Beneath the roof was a long bar with high stools. Tables were under the roof for those who preferred shade and on the sand for those who had not had enough sun. About half of the tables were occupied.

A waitress in a bikini approached her. “Just one?” she asked.

“No, I’m meeting someone.”

“Would you like to sit at the bar?”

Gina looked around. A table near the pool was unoccupied, as were the tables closest to it. Pointing, she asked, “Okay if I have that one?”

“Sure,” the waitress replied, leading her over. “Do you know what you’d like to drink?”

“A sparkling water for now. I’ll order something when my friend gets here.”

Gina reached into her beach bag and pulled out the small notebook she always carried. She did a scribble with her pen to make sure it worked.

She saw Klaus enter the bar area from the street side. She put her arm up and waved. He nodded and made his way over to the table.

“You made it. Thank you,” he said.

“I’m the one who should thank you,” she replied.

Seeing the waitress headed their way, Gina said, “I’m buying. What will you have?”

Distracted for a moment by the waitress’s bikini, Klaus ordered a Heineken. His eyes lingered on her as she made her way back to the bar.

“Don’t worry,” Gina said, “you’ll see her again when she brings our drinks.”

“Was I that obvious?” he asked sheepishly.

“Yes, but if she didn’t want men to look, she wouldn’t wear that outfit.”

Relieved, he laughed.

“So Klaus, do you have a last name?” Gina asked with a smile.

“Yes,” he replied. “Webber, with two Bs.”

“Where are you from?”

“Hamburg, Germany.”

“Your English is excellent. Did you grow up speaking it?”

“My mother worked as a translator. She spoke English to me all the time. She said it will help me someday when I pick a career. She was right.”

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“That’s pretty young to already know what kind of work you want to do.”

“In Germany it’s different. In America it seems like everybody goes to college whether it makes sense to go or not. In Germany if you go to a good technical high school and do well on the finishing exam, you can get an excellent job.”

“Are you talking about the job at Paradise Rentals?”

His broad laugh revealed two rows of even white teeth. “Of course not. You’re American, yes?”

“I am. From New York City.”

“You know BMW, the German carmaker, yes?”

“Of course.”

“In Woodcliff Lake, New Jersey, which is near New York City, BMW has its American headquarters. Every year they bring in trainees from around the world. They teach them to repair and design their products, and then send them to countries all over the world. Some of the trainees are college graduates; others like me went to technical high schools.”

“That certainly makes a lot of sense. In the United States so many young people are saddled with hundreds of thousands in student debt and they can’t even find a job. So at BMW, you are going to learn to work on their cars?”

“No, motorcycles are my specialty. I’ve been riding them since I was fourteen. I built my first bike myself. The Japanese sell the most motorcycles, but BMW and Harley-Davidson make the best ones.”

“Okay. You went to high school in Hamburg. You’re going to work for BMW. How did you end up in Aruba?”

“The BMW training program begins in September. I’ve always been interested in Jet Skis. For me they are like motorcycles that go on the water. I bought a couple old ones. Took them apart. Put them back together to see how they worked. I was looking at a magazine that advertises Jet Skis. There were ads in the back. One of the ads was for a technician to work at Paradise Rentals. I applied, they accepted, and I started here two months ago. I am honest. I told them I would leave in August.”

“Klaus, I appreciate the opportunity to learn about your background. You may be the perfect person to help me.”

“Help you do what?”

“When I first met you at the gas dock and asked about Cathy Ryan, you didn’t want to talk to me there. Why not?”

“Before I answer, can I ask, are you with the American police?”

“No.”

“The Aruba police?”

“No, I’m a journalist.”

“A reporter?”

Gina was uncertain about how much to share with him. “Yes, you could say I’m a reporter. I’m investigating an American company. A number of the employees had bad experiences when they worked at that company. I want to find those former employees and learn what happened to them.”

“And Cathy Ryan was one of these employees?”

“Yes, she was. I assume you were the tour guide the day Cathy came to Paradise Rentals.”