Trevar's Team 1

by Kieran York

  Her florid eyes were riveted to mine. They were barbed, but pretending not to know I was on to her. “Of course not.”

  “When was the last time you saw Jeremy?”

  “Weeks ago at Sylvia’s. He needed a handout. His ponies must have tripped on the track.”

  “Amazing. I have it on good authority that Jeremy has been here more recently than that. Let’s try for some of your famous ‘The Truth’ for a change.”

  “Ah, yes. I forgot. He was here to request that I attempt to convince the other two heirs not to cut him out of his managerial proceeds on Sylvia’s final project.”

  I took a final sip of the cooler. “Jeremy supplied you with information.”

  “No one needed to supply Loma with information. Loma is information.”

  I stood. “So how does my love life look to old Loma?”

  “If you pursue Lilia Franco,” Helene answered with a grin, “it looks very sparse. She is a cold woman. However, you might just be a matched set.”

  “Loma is an authority on love?” I deliberately slowed as we reached the door. I mused, “The Latin soul places great importance on the symbolism of sun and shade. Sol y sombra. Maybe love is the sunlight between reality’s shadows.” I handed Helene the emptied bottle.

  “I’ll check that theory out with Loma.”

  By the time I reached the elevator, I felt a strong desire for Lilia. I wanted to touch her, to inhale her flower-garden fresh scent, and to be hers. The faint ring of my phone broke the spell.

  It was Rachel informing me that Lieutenant Powers had called and wanted to see me immediately. Summer was already on her way to the department to meet me there. No one was more adept at rattling Tom Powers than Summer. Except me, naturally.

  Summer and I entered Lieutenant Powers’ office. As we took seats at the desk, I greeted him, “Back by popular demand. So what’s going on?”

  Powers glanced up. “Trevar, don’t get too comfy. I’ve got a homicide to solve.”

  “Any case in particular?” I pried.

  His stony face eased as he allowed a stifled laugh through his teeth. “You’re a real comic.” He propped his munched cigar back in the side of his mouth. Often his cigars were unlit. When he could get by with it, he lit up. Then would innocently claim he’d forgot he was in a no-smoking-allowed zone. “The one set of photos Rachel got shouldn’t have been released.” He stood. He then moved toward his antiquated filing cabinet. Summer and I stole a quick side-glance at one another. Powers rooted through the files. He pulled out a folder. Returning to his desk, he sat with a thump. “None of the series B shots was to be officially released. They were confidential. The prosecution team is going to blow their bonnets if info gets out.”

  “Interesting,” I commented. “Lady Luck looks after lesbians. We just happen to have those photos.”

  “Hell,” he said with a hushed exasperation. “We take pains to immediately seal the place. We restore it. Only the housekeeper, police, and killer know the location where the body was found.”

  “Housekeeper, police, killer, and,” I mumbled, “Trevar’s Team know the body was found in the den.”

  Powers flicked ashes into a cluttered ashtray. “You got the idea. It’s one of the first questions we ask anyone calling. Every numb-nut has called to confess on this one. We got underworld tipsters, pranksters, and every fiendish wacko in town calling. We screen calls with that information. Yesterday I had a goof call. Told me he killed Sylvia Grant, but he knew nothing. When I refused to send a black and white for him, he threatened to cut off my head and shit down my neck. This case is a humdinger.”

  Summer repeated the word humdinger as if in disbelief.

  “It’s an antiquated word meaning the pits,” I explained.

  Powers rolled his eyes and then requested, “Can I count on you women to cooperate in keeping this confidential?”

  “Naturally, Lieutenant. I’ve always felt a great spirit of cooperation between us. I was just thinking how your files are loaded with information you might want to share with us.” I tapped the corner of his computer. “Bet you’ve used up a few gigabytes on this case, and I’ll bet we’d be interested in all of them. A little quid pro quo might be in order.”

  “Trevar, you’re tough. Do I have your word?”

  “Any inside leads?” Summer asked with a conspiratorial squint.

  He motions us near. “I’ll provide you with anything I get.”

  “Future tense doesn’t do it for me,” I challenged. “What do you have at the moment?”

  “It’s your trio being seen with all the suspects. You tell me,” Powers blasted back.

  “Come on, Tom,” I prodded. “Don’t be selective. Just tell us what you have.”

  “Undercover tells me the Grant kid has run up some huge tabs.”

  Summer immediately disputed the allegation. “She’s with a dealer. Her drugs are probably on the house.”

  “If it’s the Cruz house,” Powers argued, “drugs are business. They don’t come without a price tag. And,” he divulged, “Debra Grant has a damned extravagant lifestyle to maintain. She’s way over her head. When we turn up the heat on her dealer, it also set Debra’s feet to the fire. They share the same burner. Anita Cruz might be attempting to take over the Grant estate. Nice place for the Columbian drug cartel to hang out, eh, Trevar?”

  I sighed. “Anita Cruz is not as smart as her brother, and he’s doing time. How do you know for sure Debra has money woes?”

  “She’s been siphoning funds from Sylvia’s account,” Powers answered. “For the past ten months, as best we can tell. The week before the murder, the bank informed Sylvia. She was enraged. Told them she would deal with Debra after the AIDS concert.

  “That proves zip,” Summer grimly inserted. “Deb’s had access to her drug fix through her lover. She’s not desperate for her next line of cocaine. And she’s been staying with Cruz. Living off Cruz’s nickel.”

  “But she wouldn’t have had ready cash,” he reasoned. “Life has been going on a tab.”

  “What else do you have?” Summer asked with sarcasm.

  “What you want, jam on the deal?” Powers huffed. “That’s it. And we’d appreciate it if you three would back away. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “We do the hurting, we don’t get hurt,” Summer boasted.

  “Well, we don’t need your help. I don’t get it,” Powers dueled. “The way you women live.” He shook his head.

  “Our hedonistic lifestyle must intrigue you,” I teased. “We’re epicurean, we’re renaissance, and we’re Sapphic. Which part don’t you get?”

  His words were clipped, rushed. “I’m just glad my daughters aren’t lesbian.” With a fatherly gruffness, he added, “You two get out of here. And be careful. You’re chasing a killer. We got a cop saying around here—don’t pick up the racket if you don’t have the balls.”

  Summer’s eyes were on fire. “Powers, while you’re playing with your racket and balls, we’ll be solving this murder. And you’re way off base if you think Debra killed her own mother. Think about it. No matter what, kids usually don’t kill their parents—even if they’d like to. I’ll bet your daughters considered whacking you, but they didn’t.”

  “My daughters turned out terrific. And they like men.”

  Summer gave a dramatic sigh. “There goes my happiness, how about yours, eh Trevar?” she mimicked Powers.

  Laughing at her impersonation, I conceded, “Breaks my heart to be left out of the selection circle. But then I’ve always stood back as far as possible from prejudice.”

  Powers blustered, “Now, I never said you two don’t have the right.”

  Summer smiled. “Beryl, Tom just gave us his blessing to solve the crime. Let’s go.”

  “Out of here,” I said as we left. “Busy, busy. Thanks for the blessing, Tom. We won’t let you down.”

  By the time we reached the parking lot, Summer’s mood had changed. She fumed, “He as much as accused Deb.”


  “He may be right. Anita Cruz and the wrestler aren’t the best company. That, coupled with money difficulties, makes them all highly suspect.”

  “Beryl, remember your saying about conjecture doesn’t convict?”

  “No need to choose up sides,” I lamented. We both knew sides were indeed being chosen. They were, regrettably, opposite sides.

  After the appointment with Powers, I checked my phone for messages. Lilia had requested that I provide protective services for her. She was going to be performing live on a Spanish-speaking TV variety program. I quickly agreed.

  Back at the yacht, I rushed through a shower. I then dressed in a conservative navy trouser and blazer outfit. Beneath the blazer, I packed my trusty pistol. Within the hour, I had picked up Lilia. We then arrived at the auditorium safely and in plenty of time. After half an hour of a makeup artist and hair stylist working on her, she slipped into her gown. Then she made her way to the stage.

  Splashing footlights glowed against the sensual Lilia Franco. Her swaying emerald-green gown shimmered under the light’s brightness. Her sultry voice was an exotic, yielding sound. The audience chanted her name. The same chant was in my heart. Her smile was playful; her eyes were teasing. Tresses fell against her bare shoulders, swaying as she moved. I ached for the feel of those curls and those shoulders. I craved the kiss of her lush lips.

  I continued moving as the TV cameras rolled so that she wouldn’t be out of my view. That was not only because it was my responsibility to guard her, but I didn’t want to miss her undulating, rhythmical glide. I didn’t want to miss her noble features. Her eyes held an intense sparkle. Her smile glimmered. Although I enjoyed her performance, I breathed a sigh of relief when her final song ended. It was difficult not to worry about protecting someone while being enthralled by them. I followed her back to her dressing room.

  “Beryl, thank you for agreeing to be here with me. My songs were for you tonight.”

  “They were lovely.” My voice was frail.

  “You are lovely.” Her glance in my direction was shy. “Would you unzip my gown?” She turned as I neared her. She lifted her veil of satiny hair.

  My trembling hands fumbled as they traveled down her back. My fingers held on tightly as the zipper skimmed slowly down the base of her torso. My fingertips also experienced the warmth. The gown dropped, and Lilia stepped from it. She quickly whirled a dressing robe around her nude body and exposed breasts. Delicately, she kicked off her shoes. I bent to pick up her gown and could feel its heat. For many moments, I hugged it near me. My own skin drank in the flush of her. The warmth was like a blowtorch to my heart. Finally, I secured the gown on a hanger.

  Lilia sat at the dressing table. She dipped rosebud-pink cream from a jar and slathered it over her face. When our glances met in the mirror, she stopped wiping the makeup for a moment. Her smile teased. “This is my glamor vanishing cream.”

  I laughed. “You’re beautiful without makeup.”

  “Often I feel as though I am two women. One is very ordinary. One is a star.”

  “Which do you like the best?”

  “The ordinary woman. And you, which woman do you prefer?”

  I chuckled. “I like ordinary. Your ordinary is extraordinary.”

  She continued removing her makeup. “Your answers are very short. I wish to know more about you.”

  “Like you, I’ve known adversity.”

  Her eyes averted my own gaze. “Of course, you’ve investigated me. I am a suspect, so you are aware of my past.”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “Your early life was difficult.”

  “There was poverty, but always there was music. Once placed in school, my greatest joy was singing. Music that once made hunger less harsh also made the convent less lonely.” She placed her cosmetics in an oversized handbag. “Beryl, thank you for protecting me.”

  “It’s important that you’re safe.”

  “I care very much for you…” she began.

  Before she could continue, the door blasted open. A drunken Jeremy Howell staggered in. I sprang across the room between the two. “How did you get in here?” I demanded.

  “I got my pass. From when I was with Syl,” he slurred.

  “Get out,” I ordered.

  “Not before I tell this Latina whore something.” He squared the shoulders of his pin cord suit. It was the best polyester money could buy decades ago. His bright jacquard tie was well worn and probably had been purchased by Sylvia. He had too much blood in his alcohol to keep him truly out of trouble. And yet, not enough to keep him out of harm’s way. “Move aside, wisenheimer.”

  “Leave now,” I commanded.

  “I’m gonna have the cops make you and your broads stop hounding me. Bunch of freaks,” his phlegmy voice muttered. “It’s illegal to bug a guy to death. Both your partners have been nosing around. You been snooping around. Hell!” his burly shoulders lifted.

  I barked back, “Tomorrow, I’ll have a court order restraining you from bothering Miss Franco.”

  “Shut up,” he said through clamped teeth. Looking back into Lilia’s face, he threatened, “and you better not sign those papers in the morning or your face is hamburger.”

  “That’s enough,” I interceded by stepping toward him. “Get out.”

  His expression suddenly froze. I whirled back around to Lilia. She was aiming a small handgun in his direction. Her hands quivered. Jeremy was street-wise enough to recognize danger. With a rapid lunge, Jeremy knocked the gun to the floor. Angrily, he turned back to me. His fist swung, landing a blow on my upper cheekbone. I had faltered a second before I unlocked a rocket-fire uppercut. It smashed his jaw. My galvanic anger buttressed him against the wall. He then folded to the floor.

  Lesson number one in the femme’s guide to self-defense was that a woman must never fight fairly. Not only was he a large man, but he'd also been imbibing. A drunk’s strength was often increased. A portion of woman’s power was the fact that the attacker believed she was weak. So when Jeremy attempted to push himself from all fours to his knees, I gave a kick to his crotch. He buckled. Moaning through his teeth, he grabbed his priapic area. I pulled him back to his knees by his stained tie. I then delivered another fist to his face. He coughed, spurting blood from the side of his lip. His eyes expressed how truly stunned he was. With a flash of fists, I sent him sailing against the floor with a thud.

  His enormous eyes pleaded as I neared him. “No more,” he begged. With a lobotomized stare, he shrank. “Please! No more.”

  I grabbed his jacket lapels and tugged him to his feet. As I shoved him toward the door, I asked, “Does the term castration mean anything to you?” It was a very rhetorical question. He needn’t have bothered shaking his head to affirm. “Jeremy, if you ever threaten my client, my partners, or me again, you’ll be wishing you hadn’t. Next time you bother Lilia, I plan on really impressing you.”

  His stumbling footsteps could be heard echoing down the hall. Lilia placed her head on my shoulder. She wrapped herself in my protective embrace.”

  “I’m so sorry he harmed you.” She touched my cheek with a downy softness.

  Clutching her nearer, I whispered, “I don’t want anyone ever hurting you. I’ll get a restraining order. I’m not certain he killed Sylvia, but this proves he is dangerous. I’m glad you were armed.”

  “But I know I could never kill. Even in anger or fear.” She stepped away, turning from me. Her voice was soft. “Before we were interrupted, I was telling you how I feel about you. I find my emotions becoming very strong. Does that make you feel uncomfortable?”

  “No.” I swallowed a tight knot in my throat. “I’ve longed to hear that you care. Even a little bit. I’ve never felt this way before.”

  “It would make me very sad if I thought you were never able to feel true love.”

  Her smile ravaged me. Of course, I was falling in love. It didn’t take my skill as a criminologist to figure that out. Ab inito. From the beginning, I’d know
n how I felt about Lilia.

  After I had taken Lilia back to The Breakers, I considered the unresolved issues in my life. When we parted, it was with an innocent, yet tender, sensual kiss. I returned to The Radclyffe and the loneliness of my stateroom. I slid deeply under the protective wrap of pastel blue silk sheets.

  Before I had long to interpret my thoughts, I heard an impatient wrap on my door. “Come in, I’m awake.”

  Summer turned on the bedside lamp before being seated beside me. “What happened to your face?” she questioned. Her fingers lifted my chin when she examined the damage.

  “Jeremy paid us a backstage visit. His was a preemptive strike. I’ve got swelling below my eye, so I’ll have a slight bruise, but nothing permanent. And nothing a little makeup can’t hide. I did return his punch with one of my own. Then I slammed my knee on his gladiator. The guy may have gotten in a lucky first shot, but he’s got marshmallow balls.”

  “If they weren’t before,” she chuckled, “my bet is they are now.”

  “So how was your night?”

  “Same old surveillance. Deb plays with the bad girls. A bunch of snort puppets. But, Trev, Deb is a neat person underneath. She’s a mixed up kid like I was. I’d like to see her clean up. That’s a barefoot walk across hell’s deepest and hottest floor.”

  “Drugs give reality great distance. Maybe enough to kill someone.”

  “And maybe Lilia killed her lover.”

  “Summer, she did love Sylvia.”

  “Oh, please! Have you fallen in love with her? Or is it a sex thing?”

  “She might move like a sex goddess on stage, but she’s been very sheltered.”

  “Lilia knows her way around,” Summer indicated with a sardonic voice.

  “I honestly don’t believe that.” I reached to touch my tender cheek. “I’ve got to stop meeting Jeremy like this. He’s upset because we’ve been tailing him. He threatened not only Lilia but also the team. Remind me to warn Rachel about the threat.”