If you missed the beginning, start here – or jump to part2, part3.

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The manager, Mike Dryer, was already engaged in another animated discussion. Whoever was with him in that office wasn’t happy.
“But we planned it this way. The whole promo is set up around balloons!” a woman complained. 
“Still a no-go. I’m not losing my license over you littering the beaches downwind for some gaudy inflatables promo. Go improvise something!”
“We could wait for the wind to die down.” 
“Honey, you’re in the Caribbean. There’s always wind. Varying intensity, sure, but never none. That’s where the freaking white beaches for your product placement come from. And don’t even try to do it behind my back. The neighbors here don’t play around.”
“What if the sponsor coughs up some extra bucks for compensation?”
“Enough! You want to bribe the cartel, Caroll? Get lost!”

Nathaniel caught the door as Caroll stormed out, her face pinched and eyes blazing. He popped his head into Mike’s office. “That seemed tense. I almost feel bad to come a-knocking with my issue.”
Mike sighed in an over-dramatic fashion but waved him and Polly closer. “It’s nothing. What’s up?”  
“You sent us to the wrong beach today.” 
“I don’t think it was…uh,” Mike changed course when Nathaniel held his gaze. “Yeah. The western beach is off-limits just now. Jellyfish infestation.” 
“Bullshit,” Polly said before Nathaniel could caution her. “People have fallen ill left and right!”
Mike ran a hand through his hair. “You talking about these minor food poisoning cases that crop up now and then? That’s just a few people unfamiliar with the local cuisine, nothing to worry about—.”

Polly rushed forward, stopping only inches from Mike’s face. “BULL-SHIT! Sera’s been in the ICU for days; her kidneys are half-ruined. Food poisoning? Sera didn’t have dinner at that fucking beach!”
Mike’s eyes widened, but he took only a moment to recover. As he sprang to his feet, Nathaniel held up a hand. “Wait!”  
Something had just tickled the back of his mind. A hunch of something…. 
Years of forensic work had taught him to follow his intuition. “Just—a—moment,” he said, grasping for the half-formed thought in his mind. What had he heard?

‘There’s always wind.’
‘You want to bribe the cartel, Caroll?’
‘Food poisoning? Sera didn’t have dinner….’  

No. But Sera had been rolling in the sand, the grains clinging to the jewelry, her hands, her lips…
JC had gotten away with contact eczema. But Sera had ingested a tiny amount. And that made a huge difference. 

“Poison.”  

Mike’s face draining off all color was answer enough. Then, everything slid into place, the snapshots before his inner eye falling like dominos. 

Click. Sera and Polly atop Grande Dune du Pilat, a giant sand dune deposited over thousands of years, grain by grain.  
Click. The beach, an ocean of small sand ripples, miniature dunes that sent off light plumes of dust as they walked across.
Click. The relentless wind, picking up fine dust. The effects would be stronger at the westernmost beach, where the island faced the brunt of the constant winds.

Pollen and fine dust particles could travel long distances and cling to clothes, hair, and skin. He had often enough found traces of dust and pollen on swabs of seemingly clean surfaces. The finer the particles, the more likely they’d irritate sensitive skin.  

The Caribbean wind was steady and predictable; it could easily spread a wind-borne agent to handpicked beaches. A low-level poison would suffice, severe enough to starve a resort of visitors, mild enough to prevent wider attention. 

It worked, too. Mike had closed the prettiest beach. More would follow until the island was uninhabited again, free for trafficking purposes. 
‘The neighbors here don’t play around.’ 
Perhaps the cartel was cashing in twice? 

Nathaniel focussed on Mike. “The license for The Glimpse is with the cartel, isn’t it?” Panic flooded the man’s eyes. Bingo. “How many years in advance did you pay them. Three? Five? Now they’re poisoning the beaches, driving you off.”
Mike leveled a cold glance at him. “Take your rabid model and clear out. You have fifteen minutes to pack up your skimpy bikinis and ugly glasses.”
Nathaniel leaned in close, holding Mike’s gaze. “Sure. You don’t mind us packing some beach sand, do you? As a keepsake.”

The clinic would pop a probe into its lab’s gas chromatograph and identify the poison in no time. Then, Sera would get the right treatment. And the DEA, CDC, and FBI would have a field day with Mike and his cartel friends.

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-the end-

More than 6k writers participated in the NYC Midnight Short Story Competition in 2022. I didn’t make the cut to advance to the next round with this story, but I sure had fun writing it.