Gossip (Desire Never Dies)

by Clara Grace Walker

  “And there was no movie of Janelle?”

  She brought her gaze back up to meet his. “No. There was no movie of Janelle.”

  Damn. If Rod didn’t have the film of Janelle, where the hell was it? “Jamie, I may have an even bigger problem than you know.”

  “What do you mean?” She sounded unsure; wary almost.

  “There should have been a film of Janelle there, too.”

  “What?” Shock enveloped her face. “Why do you think that?”

  “Because Janelle had an affair with Rod.”

  She dropped her gaze again. “Why do you think she had an affair with Rod? You told me she hated him.”

  “She did. At least, I thought she did. Pearl Watson, however, says differently. She was the one who gave us the anonymous tip that Rod was involved with Janelle’s death.”

  “She is?”

  “Yes. She called me and spilled the whole blackmail story. She said after Rod blackmailed Janelle, she started talking to some of the other women they knew socially; trying to warn them against getting involved with him.”

  “How do you know Pearl’s telling the truth?”

  “The police confirmed it. That matchbook cover they took from my house had Rod’s name, with a hotel and a time written on it. A desk clerk there identified Janelle as having come in with Rod last spring. Apparently, Rod’s a regular.”

  “Maybe she was there for another reason,” Jamie suggested.

  “No. I know you’re trying to spare my feelings, Jamie. And I appreciate it. But I have to face the truth. Janelle was having an affair with a man who swims in the gutter. And he blackmailed her. The police found a $100,000 withdrawal from her personal account in late April. The only question is, where’s the damn film?”

  “Nick, I-”

  “If I ever find out who has it, I will make that bastard very sorry they took it.”

  “Nick, you don’t know there’s a film. I mean; maybe Rod gave it back to Janelle. Maybe she destroyed it.”

  He laughed, feeling angry and bitterly unhappy. “Sure. How’s that for a best-case scenario? Never thought I’d see the day when I’d be hoping my wife destroyed a sex film of her with another man.”

  Jamie looked up at him, tears filling the corners of her eyes. “Nick, I am so sorry.”

  “Hey, I know. Come here.” He pulled her into his arms, thinking about the kiss they had shared the other night. The one he’d been so sure was going to end with them naked. He still wanted her; wanted her to want him back. The way she melded into his embrace so easily only stirred his desire further. She felt soft and warm, and more like a refuge to him than anything he’d felt in a long time. “I don’t mean to be dumping on you,” he said. “But I sure as hell appreciate your support. You’re the one person I can count on. The one person who’s really been there for me.”

  She nestled into his arms. “You can always count on me.”

  “I know.” He kissed her on the forehead. “You’re the one person who never lies to me.”

  She didn’t say anything, just lay there resting her head against his chest. He held her, smelling the citrus scent of her shampoo, mingled with her lavender-scented perfume. For a few minutes, he felt like a man again. He missed feeling that way.

  “We’ve got to get this blackmail story into the next edition of our paper,” he said. “That way, if anyone does have Janelle’s sex tape, they might be dissuaded from trying to use it.”

  She looked at him uncertainly. “You think so?”

  “Sure. I can’t imagine there are too many people wanting to point a spotlight on themselves and tell the police they’ve been involved in a blackmail scheme.”

  “You have a point there.” She pulled herself free from his embrace. “And since the next edition of Just the Facts comes out in two days, that only leaves tonight and tomorrow to put the story to bed. I’d better get home and dig out those photos I took at Rod’s.”

  “I guess you’re right.” He hated to admit it. Kind of put a damper on his plans for making love to her. “I guess this means I’m on my own with just this bottle of beer for company.”

  “Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.” She was already moving toward the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Right.”

  As soon as she was gone, Nick went to the kitchen and got out another beer. He drank it down, feeling it wash away his many troubling thoughts. Janelle. Jamie. Children. Sex. Testosterone. The more he drank, the more he forgot. Time to settle back into temporary oblivion.

  Chapter 32

  “Ahoy, Mates!” Rod Skinner burst into the Coral Gables Police Department in full pirate garb, complete with Buccaneer coat, eye patch and a feather-topped tri-corn hat.

  Sarge was not impressed. “So nice of you to make time in your schedule to visit us, Mr. Skinner. Have a seat in my office.” She opened the door and waited for him to take his spot in the interrogation chair. “And you can take off the hat.”

  “No problem.” He took off the hat, smiling like she’d invited him in for tea instead of questioning in two murder cases. “How do you like the get up?”

  She frowned. “You missed Halloween by almost a month.”

  “It’s not for Halloween. It’s for a costume ball I’m attending.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “My bald styling works just as well as the hat,” he said, rubbing the top of his skin-covered dome. “You know, I thought about putting in a hoop earring and getting a tattoo, and dressing up as Mr. Clean, but I don’t know, I think the pirate get-up has more character to it. Don’t you?”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. I’m even more sure I didn’t ask you here to discuss your choice in party attire.”

  He continued smiling. “No? Don’t tell me rumors of my sexual prowess have spread throughout the ranks of Coral Gable’s finest, and you’re dying to find out if they’re true.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Oh.” The smile finally disappeared from his face. “Well then, what can I do for you, Sergeant Freeman?”

  “You can call me Sarge. And you can start by telling me all about your past relationships with Patrice McKenzie and Janelle Tyler-Beck.”

  He grinned. “I was married to Patrice. Briefly. I’m sure you already know that. And as for Janelle…” His grin grew wider. “…I did tell you my sexual prowess was legendary.”

  Not even trying to hide it. No wonder Nick Beck hated the cocky bastard. “You find it a little strange two of your past lovers have become murder victims in the last couple of months, Mr. Skinner?”

  “If you knew what a fractional percentage of my lovers those two women represented, you wouldn’t even be asking me that question.”

  “Is that right?”

  He grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “That’s right. And I don’t mind telling you, I would definitely consider adding you to my roster. You fill out that uniform of yours in all the right places.”

  The guy had more than his share of nerve. “Is that supposed to flatter me?”

  He winked. “Does it?”

  “No. I’m not interested in joining your roster, as you put it. The only thing I’m interested in is finding out who’s killing off your ex-lovers.”

  “Fair enough. But if you change your mind, don’t be afraid to give me a call.”

  Women actually fell for that shit? She definitely didn’t get it. “Care to tell me your whereabouts on the morning of September fifteenth and the afternoon of October twenty-fourth?”

  “No problem. I spent the night of September fourteenth at the Breakers Hotel with a Mrs. Carole Mance. We checked out around noon on the fifteenth. You can check that out with the hotel if you like.”

  “I will. And what about the afternoon of October 24th?”

  “I was entertaining Darla Arnold for the evening.”

  “And I suppose Darla Arnold will corroborate that for you.”

  He pulled a cell phone from a holster on his knee-le
ngth breeches. “You’re welcome to call her and ask.”

  She ignored the phone. “I can assure you, Mr. Skinner, I’ll be asking.”

  “No problem. Believe me, there isn’t a woman on this planet who could forget a night with yours truly.”

  “If you say so. And you don’t think Miss Arnold will be upset to learn you’ve also been getting it on with her BFF’s mother?”

  Rod kicked back in the interrogation chair, as if making himself at home. Not seeming the least bit concerned. “Darla knows all about my sexual appetite. She’s fine with it.”

  “That sure about it, are you?”

  “One hundred percent. And, uh, by the way, Sarge, she’d be just as understanding if you wanted to take me out for a test drive.”

  She let the remark go unanswered. “I guess Miss Arnold’s also okay with you blackmailing her BFF’s mother after she’s done taking you for a test drive?”

  He sat up in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest, losing all pretense of a smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Finally. A chink in the armor. “Is that right? Well, there’s a certain woman in the Greater Miami area who alleges you did just that.” She leaned forward, staring her subject down. “Not just to her, but also to Janelle Tyler-Beck.”

  She waited for a response, but he remained stone silent; his face not moving a muscle.

  “This woman also alleges Patrice was your accomplice. That she arranged your affairs with the married women you later blackmailed.”

  He rose abruptly from the chair. “You can prove any of this bullshit, you let me know. In the meantime, you can start speaking to my lawyer.”

  Jackpot! She’d hit the bulls’ eye for sure. “That’s the way you want to play it?”

  “I am also a lawyer, Sarge. In case you somehow missed that fact.”

  “A disbarred lawyer, if I remember correctly.”

  Hostility laced his words. “I know my rights. I have nothing more to say to you.”

  He started for the door and she grabbed the black tri-corn hat he’d left on her desk, tossing it at him. “Don’t forget the rest of your costume, Mr. Skinner.”

  He caught the hat and left without another word.

  Suspects. They were a pain in the ass.

  Chapter 33

  Rod sat in his kitchen, drinking espresso and staring at the front page of Just the Facts. His picture was plastered all over the front page. And not to showcase him escorting Darla to the costume ball hosted at the latest South Beach “it” club, Mask.

  No. That would be too nice of Nick, to actually give him some good publicity. Instead, Nick had quoted some ‘anonymous source,’ blabbing about his little money-making scheme with Patrice. Making him out to look like the most callous slimeball this side of Hell. Worse still, subtly insinuating the blackmail scheme may have played a role in the murders of Janelle and Patrice.

  Asshole. This was just what he needed, right when he was finally starting to get his life back on track. Some self-appointed, wannabe, do-gooder trying to warn the world he was evil.

  And did Darla even notice? No. She sat across the table from him, sipping a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and apparently not getting the part where his life was going down the toilet.

  Again.

  “You know, you could at least fake a little sympathy,” he said, unable to suppress his irritation. “That fucking asshole Beck has labeled me a blackmailing lecher on the front page of his newspaper.”

  She shrugged, barely looking up from her glass of juice. “Rod, honey, I love you, but Nick’s right. You are a blackmailer. I don’t know if you’re a lecher or not though. You’ll have to tell me what that means first.”

  Why did he like her? “Never mind.”

  He opened the paper and read the rest of the story. It spilled the whole inner workings of his operation. How Patrice would use her high society friendships to find wealthy women whose marriages were in trouble, fix them up with Rod and wait for Rod to film himself having sex with them. Then the blackmail would happen.

  Photos of Patrice’s checkbook accompanied the story, showing entries of $25,000 in cash. Even more damaging, however, were photos of DVDs, each labeled with a name, obscured to protect the reputations of the supposedly innocent, and a date that corresponded closely to the cash entries in Patrice’s checkbook.

  “That mother-fucker broke into my house!” Rod shouted. Anger flared through him like a lit match. He’d taken great care to secure his home and movie collection. “That son-of-a-bitch! How dare he fucking break the law by breaking into my house, and then get all self-righteous while he complains about the laws he thinks I’ve broken.”

  “Rod, honey, calm down.”

  “I will not calm down. That son-of-a-bitch broke into my house!”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he has pictures of my film collection. There’s no possible way he could have gotten those pictures without being in my house.”

  “You’re a lawyer,” she said. “Maybe you should sue him.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  He read further into the story. Nick hadn’t even bothered to try and bury Janelle’s involvement with him. Admitted it. Right in his own paper. Quoting his ‘anonymous source’ as describing how Janelle dried up his pool of potential blackmail victims by warning other women about him.

  “Fucking bastard! Even says in this story Janelle’s film is missing from my house. Like to know how the hell he knows that. Probably has it himself.”

  “You know.” Darla got up from her chair and stepped behind him, rubbing his neck. “Peter’s still pushing for me to sleep with Nick. Maybe I should do it. Not for Peter, but for you. I could find out what else Nick knows about you, and how he found out.”

  “Do it,” Rod immediately said, but then realized what he’d just asked of her. “No. Forget I said that. Don’t.”

  She kneaded his shoulder muscles with her soft hands, coaxing him at least partially into a state of relaxation. “It’s okay,” she said. “If you want me to sleep with Nick, I will.”

  “I don’t want you to sleep with him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you don’t want to.”

  “No. But I’d do it for you.”

  “I appreciate that, sweetheart, but I am never going to ask you to sleep with a man you don’t want to. I’m not Peter.”

  “I know, honey.” She kissed him on the top of his head. “That’s why I love you.”

  And that was why he liked her.

  Chapter 34

  Rod arrived at Peter’s house late in the morning, Just the Facts’ latest edition in hand. He found Peter in his study, watching a rough cut of what looked like the porn studio’s latest film on a seventy-inch LED TV. The room was dark. Heavy, brocade drapes had been drawn across the windows to block out the daylight. With wood paneling lining the walls, it made the room feel like a cave.

  “Rod.” Peter acknowledged his presence without rising from his sofa. “Charlie said you called and were on your way over.”

  “Don’t get up on my account.”

  “No problem, pal. Wasn’t planning on it.”

  Rod took a seat at the opposite end of the sofa. “Any chance you could get your butler to bring us a couple of beers?”

  “Sure.” He grabbed his cell phone off the glass-topped coffee table. “Charlie, you want to bring us in a couple of beers?”

  “Right away, Sir.”

  “Thanks.” Rod set Just the Facts down on the coffee table, front page up. “You obviously haven’t seen this yet.”

  Peter glanced down, squinting, and went back to watching the TV screen. “I’ve seen it.”

  So as long as he wasn’t the target of the investigation, he didn’t care. “Well, thanks for the support.”

  Charlie popped in with the beers, set them on wooden coasters on the coffee table and left. Peter picked his up and began slugging it down. Impatient now, Rod pointed a
t the paper. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  “Quiet.” Peter nodded his head toward the TV. “This is my favorite part.”

  Bump and grind music started up. Rod knew what was taking place onscreen without looking, but he looked anyway. His mouth dropped open. “That’s Regina.”

  Peter, smiling, nodded his head. “I know. Isn’t she great? I tell you, that girl loves to fuck.”

  Rod watched a couple more minutes of the film. Regina was with two men. “Neither one of them are using condoms,” he said. “Aren’t you worried she might catch something and bring it back to you?”

  “These are stock actors. I had them AIDS tested before the shoot. Besides, I’m done with her anyway.”

  “You are?”

  “She’s getting a little been-there, done-that for me. You know what I mean? I’m ready to move on to fresher territory.”

  “Right.”

  Sitting there, watching him leer at two complete strangers having sex with a former mistress, Rod thought about how he had once admired the man. Peter Arnold. The great stud. Someone who enjoyed conquesting women every bit as much as he did. He’d almost considered the guy a friend. Almost. Preston Tyler had made sure he would never let his guard down enough to make that mistake again. Considering that ungrateful prick had gotten him fired, kicked out of some elite social circles and banned from practicing law in the State of Florida.

  “Drink your beer,” Peter said. “Damn thing’s getting warm.”

  Rod picked up the bottle and drank. “You get a release from her?”

  “Who? Gina?”

  “Yes, Gina. You know we can’t distribute that film without a signed release from the actors.”

  “Who the hell says I’m going to distribute it?” Peter sounded irritated. “I just made the damn thing for my own entertainment. A way to remember the good times. You know what I mean?”

  “Right.” Peter’s bullshit was getting old. “Anyway, about this story Nick did.”

  Peter sighed and turned off the TV. “Hell. You’re not going to be happy until we talk about this, are you?”