by Kieran York
“I’m glad they bring you joy. Your smile brings me joy.”
She sipped the ice water slowly. Her lips pressed against the edge of the glass and distracted me. She smiled. “Was Jeremy terribly unpleasant?”
“I admonished him to never call again. I wonder if he gets so loaded he forgets he’s even called.”
“Perhaps he murdered Sylvia during a blackout. She once told me that after he beat her, he often had no recollection of their fight.”
“Jeremy is a very agitated person,” I evaluated. I perused the menu when the waiter appeared. “A crab salad and white wine sounds about right.”
“I should also like the salad and wine,” Lilia echoed.
“Yes, Miss Franco,” the waiter said with a bow.
“He must be a fan,” I acknowledged when he left.
“He is Latin, so he probably knows my music. I feel uneasy when people approach me. That is why I often wear sunglasses. So they won’t recognize me.”
“Lilia,” I began, “I have something to ask you.” She leaned forward. “Did you ever make mention that if you couldn’t have Sylvia, no one would? In reference to Helene?”
She looked away, then back into my face. “Perhaps in anger. Our fights were very emotional. We both said many things we later regretted. Lovers do that.”
“Sometimes, yes.”
“Why do you ask?”
“It was reported that you’d made that statement. The police consider it important.”
Her lush, dark eyes blinked, then her glance tethered with mine. “Beryl, you don’t believe I’m responsible, do you?”
“No. No, I don’t.”
“I need your faith in my innocence.” The waiter placed two frosted wine glasses in front of us. After he had poured, she toasted, “To our future.”
I raised my glass. It touched hers. “To our future.” I sipped slowly. My eyes didn’t leave her face. “Lilia, I hope you have faith in my ability to solve this crime.”
“I have faith in all of your abilities. One is being able to change. I hope you will one day change to permit love. If you cannot love—life is empty.”
“We’re all works in progress.”
The waiter placed chilled platters that brimmed with crisp greens, huge chunks of crabmeat, and artichoke hearts. Spice scents of lemon juice, fresh herbs, mustard, and oil lifted as I poured circles of dressing over my salad. I passed a basket of warm bread to Lilia.
She declined. “The cameras put on pounds, so I must not indulge.”
“I think you look ravishing.”
Our gaze penetrated one another’s faces. We finished the meal with few words, only smiles. Reverting to social chatter seemed not only to lack clarity but also to lack significance. Yet, I wondered if the silence was borne of impossibility.
As I accompanied her to her silver Jaguar, I contemplated the stark reality. She had lived with an enormously wealthy and famous legend. Lilia Franco was one of the most beautiful, talented people and she was internationally acclaimed. She was elite, had status and recognition.
Contending for a woman like Lilia seemed like an unachievable dream.
She slid behind the wheel. The plush leather seats were the same shade of silver as the rest of the automobile. Lilia placed her sunglasses on the top of her head. When she turned back to me, she tugged at my shirt. Slowly she drew me toward her. Then her lips brushed my face at the side of my lips before settling on my mouth.
When she drove away, I traced the place on my lips where her kiss had touched. I walked to my own car. My knees buckled as I sat. I realized I was trembling. My palms were damp. I imagined her loving me. Then I turned on the radio to hear the forecast. It was going to be a hot, muggy day. But there would be some relief with the ocean’s breeze.
My entire afternoon was spent scouring the Intracoastal for Blue Fin’s Laura. I began with the rental of a small speedboat. I talked with numerous people who had seen the craft at one time or another. She was described as being a 32’ Blackfin Flybridge with a half tower and was modified for speed. Her trim color was more aquamarine than blue, I’d been told.
Finally, I hit pay dirt. A marine worker told me the craft had been renamed. With that information, I visited a couple of sign and boat painting shops. A hundred dollars got me to the finish line. A painter took care of the job without checking papers. He’d been given double his fee. No questions asked. But through the conversation with the two women, he’d gathered the rig was docked in Boca. That I had not expected. I presumed Anita Cruz might distance a stolen craft away from her digs. So much for presumptions.
The new name of the craft was The Turquoise Debra. It did my heart good to know that Cruz was somewhat of a romantic after all.
With that much information, I decided it was time to head back home. I’d planned a special menu to take place prior to an evening consultation with the trio. But the dinner hadn’t impressed Summer. If her brand new state-of-the-art, luxury motorcycle hadn’t brought her out of a lousy mood, my cooking didn’t have a prayer.
Rachel had commented on the tastiness of each of the courses. The fresh spinach salad, cheese soup, pan-roasted quail in cognac, breaded oysters wrapped in bacon and sautéed with chives, steamed broccoli dressed in sprinkles of almonds, and hot pumpernickel bread had at least been noticed by Rachel.
I’d placed dessert in front of Summer. I had held out hope it might bring her out of her depression. She pushed the crème de menthe, Kahlua chocolate mousse with dark swirling slabs of bittersweet around with her spoon. That was never a good sign when she was too bummed out to enjoy chocolate.
Rachel devoured hers. She complimented me profusely on the dessert. We both watched as Summer pressed the mousse between her lips as if it were a store-brand fudge bar she was being forced to eat as part of a hazing.
After I poured coffee and was again seated at the dining room table, I began my report of the day’s events. I figured we might as well talk shop over coffee since social chat was zilch. Locating Cruz’s craft was a major breakthrough. However, when I got to the vessel’s new name, I stopped.
“Well,” Rachel asked, “what’s the name.”
“The Turquoise Debra,” I answered.
Summer tossed her napkin on the table. “A little something to make up for the bruised face. Cruz might as well have named it the toked up, battered Debra.”
“Well, that’s all I have to report,” my utterance converted to a near whisper. “Rach, have you got anything?”
“I played with the computer again today. I can’t get a handle on exactly how Sylvia was murdered. If I had to guess from what data I was able to feed into the system, and extract for analysis, I’d say we’re looking for a very strong perpetrator. Someone hit her with one blow to the head that disabled her. Again, my guess is someone taller than she was.”
“Everyone was taller than she was,” Summer disputed. “So if you’re blaming Deb’s gang, forget it. I still don’t think Debra was involved. The gang is trash, but I say it was Jeremy. Or maybe Lilia.”
My back stiffened. “I’m convinced it wasn’t Lilia. She didn’t even know where Sylvia was murdered. And before you make reference to my relationship with Lilia—yes, I do have very strong feelings for her. But that would not cloud my professional integrity.”
My admission came as no surprise to any of us. But it had been vocalized, and I was stuck with the consequences. Summer’s eyes blazed. “I knew it. She’s playing you.”
“Summer, I think she cares for me.”
“Save it for the paperback version. She probably lied about threatening Sylvia, too.”
“No,” I refuted, “as a matter of fact, she said she may have said those words.” I was aware that Summer’s idea of truth mirrors mine. False in one thing, false in everything—falsus in uno, falsus in omnibus. “She hasn’t lied to me.” My jaw clamped like a vise.
“I’ll bet you didn’t use your famous attorney cross-examination methods on her either.”
“My take on it is that they haven’t released it because there was a significant alcohol content in the blood analysis. The missing page, or pages, includes the toxicology report. They’re covering to protect the media’s anti-drug and alcohol campaign that Sylvia was such a big part of.”
“It was the most successful substance campaign in history,” I commented. “And if the paparazzi got wind of it, they would go wild.”
Rachel added, “No doubt her legacy would get papped good. Funny because she said that she didn’t mind media bugging her.”
“Is there anything going on with Helene?” I inquired.
“Nothing. When I questioned her about getting the information from Jeremy, I got the same wall as everyone else got. She might have inadvertently heard him mention a fact or two about Sylvia, but Loma would never use that kind of tainted intelligence.”
“Tainted,” Summer repeated with disgust. “I think there is plenty of tainted crap coming to light. Let’s get back to the yellow rose of Argentina.”
Our mutual scowls tagged one another. “Investigatory skills and intuition tells me that Lilia could never in a million years be guilty of murder.”
“Hell, no,” Summer ranted. “She from a poor background like you. That exempts her.”
“The facts don’t point in her direction. Even the evidence we do have has exculpatory value where Lilia is concerned. And background has nothing to do with it.”
“Of course, it does.” Summer vaulted up. Her voice went beyond confrontational. “Middle-class kids can be neglected, too. My mother did her Valium, and my dad did his martinis. A kid can live on a cul-de-sac, be driven in a SUV, and still be lonely. My mom was socializing and my dad was doing insurance deals. They might as well have been in a bar. But the shitty part of it was that they found time for my sibling’s sporting events and recitals. That was a way to make client contact. When I put an engine together for a science fair, they were too busy to attend. There weren’t enough potential clients for them to bother. I won first prize. And I was the only kid alone.” She turned and stomped to her stateroom.
I started to follow, but Rachel stopped me. “Give her a few minutes to settle down. I’ll talk with her.”
I cleared dishes from the table. Admittedly, the trio was fast slipping its mooring. Our yacht was no longer the good ship Radclyffe.
From the fly bridge deck, I gazed out at the misty, briny ocean. The night sea was cobalt and very still. The team’s relationship had always been a form of unvocalized love. It was the nearest I’d ever come to asking for love or friendship. I despised the mutinous atmosphere. A faded moon above appeared to be a hoop with a dull chromatic glow.
Life aboard The Radclyffe usually offered a way of sorting life. From the deck, there was the mightiness of the ocean. Waves lapped against her shell. There was an implied whisper with each splash. I eased down onto a bench cushion. My legs tucked beneath me, and my arms wound around my torso. I reflected on how my life had changed since this case began.
Once proud of the trio’s unity, perspective, and camaraderie, I was now saddened that we appeared to be going in different directions. Each of the suspect’s stories had discrepancies.
Although I believed Lilia to be innocent, not only because of my feelings for her, also I was convinced it was not in her to kill. As for my heart? In the past, I’d been ambivalent about giving my heart over. If my heart was in a lockbox, there was a reason. If I were fortunate enough to win her love, I would change.
If Lilia and I were together, it might require that I return to law. That would be the only way I could move in Lilia’s financial circles. That would mean disbanding the trio. It would also mean I would live in a quiet, locked-down area—gated. I’d need to carry a briefcase and wear court clothing. Although it sounded like captivity, I vowed to be okay with it. Total surrender depended on her feelings for me.
Rachel suddenly appeared. She’d changed into a nightgown with violet and rosette designs. Her vanilla mist scent reached me. I smiled. Her moonlit eyes were onyx and requested permission to stay. I patted the cushion beside mine. “Have a seat.”
Looking like a seraphic painting, she gently sat. Her arms circled me. My eyelids shut. “Beryl, want to talk about it?”
I answered, “I don’t understand Summer’s anger.”
With a quiver in her voice, she said, “We all have anger. If I didn’t bury my anger, it might run away with me.”
“Do you want to talk about your anger?”
Her eyes closed a moment. “No. One day, maybe. For now,” she said as she stood and offered me her hand, “it’s time you and Summer put this bickering behind you. We need one another.”
“Yes.” I obediently stood. “I’ll go down and talk with Summer now.”
Rachel returned to her stateroom, and I knocked on Summer’s door. “I just want to talk.”
“Come in.”
When I reached her bedside, I leaned to kiss her forehead. “I’m sorry. Can we end hostilities?”
Her smile lifted. She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Yeah. I’m sorry, too.”
“Summer, about your crush on me,” I said followed by a pause. “Did you notice how quickly it disappeared when you felt something for Debra?”
We both chuckled for a moment. Then I tucked her into bed, turned out her light, and went to my stateroom. There I would attempt to wave off the rockslide of problems. I wanted to ignore the cries from my stranded heart. I needed to delete the stress that seemed woven into my nerves. Or maybe all those problems were bogus.
9
I HAD MADE a morning trip around the area that yielded empty clues. I then returned to the yacht. After boarding The Radclyffe, I realized there was too much silence. I’d noticed Rachel’s car in the marina’s lot, but there wasn’t the usual music coming from our office.
When I entered, Cruz and Hammer were waiting with a gun to Rachel’s head. Rachel was being threatened with extinction. Icily Cruz instructed Hammer to shoot her if I gave them any trouble.
“Well,” I began the conversation, “permission to board not granted, but then I’m a tad late for that.”
“Shut up, bitch,” Cruz yelled at me.
“We don’t know where Summer went,” Rachel’s words were laced with artificial calmness.
“Is she with Deb?” Cruz questioned. “Answer me!”
“I just got here. Rachel says she doesn’t know,” I replied
Hammer brandished her weapon as if she were waving a flag. “I told you she wouldn’t be here,” Hammer huffed. “Deb’s back at her old lady’s place.”
Cruz gave me a shove against the wall as she passed. “If your partner is with Deb, I’ll kill her.”
Cruz was halfway down the gangway before Hammer released Rachel. When she was out of sight, Rachel grabbed the phone. “I’ve got to warn Summer. Deb called this morning. Summer went to see her at the Grant Mansion.”
As I rushed to the door, their vehicle was squealing away from the parking lot. “Keep trying her phone. I’ll try to beat them there. We’ve got to warn Summer. If you get her, just alert me.”
Driving as rapidly as I dared, my Firebird took a sharp turn. My plan was to go an alternate route so that I wouldn’t encounter Cruz and Hammer. I would enter from the ocean side of the mansion.
I parked behind a nearby wall. Grabbing my gun with a holster from the glove compartment, I fastened it around my shoulder. I then scaled the stucco wall. Decorative bars trimmed the restraint’s top. I grasped them to assist my vault over. My landing in the corner bush wasn’t the easiest I’ve ever had. But the brush provided great cover, as well as a few minor cuts on my arm. Scoping out the land gave me a few ideas. I caught a glimpse through the gates of the driveway. Cruz
’s car door was fanned open. Summer’s motorcycle had been overturned. Muffled sounds came from the terrace. Cautiously, I rounded the corner. I took my Beretta from its holster. Voices were becoming clear.
Then I heard Summer scream. With gun drawn and aimed, I stepped carefully away from the building. Summer was on her knees with her arms being held behind her by Hammer. Cruz was in front of her, smashing her fist into Summer’s face. She clutched Summer’s hair and yanked it. Debra’s shriek allowed me to make my entry going unnoticed.
“Don’t move!” I shouted. I edged behind Cruz. My gun rested directly at the base of her skull. “Tell Hammer to release Summer,” I commanded.
Hammer’s teeth gnashed against Summer’s ear. “I’ll bite her fuckin’ ear off.”
“And I’ll blow your boss lady’s head off,” I challenged. “Then your pal’s brain will be hash, and Summer will need her ear sewn back on. And a tetanus shot. I can take both of you out and not have even an itsy bitsy conscience qualm.”
“She’s bitten ears off in the ring,” Anita Cruz dared me.
“And I’ve shot heads off before,” I lied. I tapped the gun barrel against her head. “You tell her to release Summer now. The term hair trigger comes to mind. And at this range, it will be very messy if my finger taps the trigger. I’m going to do just that on the count of ten. One…”
“Let her go,” Cruz ordered. “Hammer, I said let her go.” Her face was going titanium white. Her pulse was beating rapidly against the gun.
“Two. Three. Four…”
“I said let her go. Hammer, you fuckin’ asshole! Are you trying to get me killed,” Cruz screamed. “The bitch’ll waste me.”
“Five, six, seven, eight...” My count was rushed.
With a shove, Hammer released Summer. Summer fell forward. After shaking her head, she regained her balance and stood. She moved toward Cruz with a menacing walk. Her punch landed directly against Cruz’s jaw. Cruz soared through the air, landing in a large bush.
“No more,” Cruz pleaded. Her bloodied hands were in front of her face.