by Rachel Woods
“Don’t tell me,” said Leo.
Beanie said, “Derek was engraved on the back of the Rolex.”
37
“A Rolex watch?” Confusion in his gaze, Derek shook his head as he looked up from the wedge of pound cake, covered in mango compote, on his dessert plate. “I don’t have a Rolex watch.”
“Are you sure?” asked Leo, glaring at Derek, who sat directly across from him at the table in the informal dining salon.
Dinner had been, as usual, reserved, if not somber, with superficial conversation designed to avoid more controversial topics.
“What are these questions about a Rolex watch?” asked Burt, sitting at the head of the table.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Vivian, an edge of admonition in her tone. Earlier, after their conversation with Beanie about the watch, he and Viv had decided to verify the story before questioning Derek about the Rolex. A glance at his wife confirmed her annoyance with him for going off script.
Leo would risk her irritation. After they’d been unable to talk to the jeweler, who’d had to close his shop early due to an unforeseen family emergency, he’d concluded that he didn’t need verification. He needed answers from Derek. The dessert course, he figured, was as good a time as any for an interrogation.
Clutching his fork, Derek shook his head. “I don’t have a Rolex.”
“That’s … that’s not true,” said Melanie, staring at Derek, who sat next to her. “You’re lying.”
Derek gaped at her. “What the hell—”
“You do have a Rolex,” said Melanie. “Besi bought it for you. I was with her when she bought it, and she told me she was going to give it to you after she came back from the Aerie Islands.”
“Besi never gave me a Rolex watch,” said Derek.
“That’s not true!” Melanie shouted, rattling the silver utensils and plates as she banged her fists against the table. “Why do you keep lying? Why don’t you tell the truth? You had Besi killed! You never loved her! You only wanted her money!”
“I did love Besi,” Derek insisted. “I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her!”
“You mean you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her money,” said Leo.
“She never should have gotten involved with you!” Melanie pushed back from the table and jumped up. “You made her change her will! You made her get plastic surgery! But, that wasn’t enough! She met all your demands, and you still killed her!”
His face a mask of stricken shock, Derek stuttered his denial. “Mel, I didn’t—”
“You evil bastard!” Melanie whacked Derek across the face.
The force of the blow, which sent Melanie stumbling from momentum, stunned Leo. Next to him, Vivian jumped slightly.
“Melanie,” bellowed Burt. “Calm yourself. Please.”
Her face flushed and blotchy, Melanie burst into heaving sobs.
“Vivian,” said Burt. “Can you see about Melanie?”
“Sure,” said Vivian, rising from her seat. Walking to Melanie, Vivian put her arm around the hysterical woman and led her out of the room.
Scowling, his face lobster red, Derek sat motionlessly, jaws clenched and fists in a tight ball.
Burt said, “Leonard, what is going on with this Rolex watch?”
Leo said, “Derek can explain—”
“I want answers right now!” Burt thundered.
Disappointed by his father’s withering glare, Leo repeated the information Beanie had shared with him and Vivian earlier that morning.
Burt asked, “Did you confirm that the Rolex watch has ‘Derek’ engraved on the back case?”
“Melanie just confirmed it,” said Leo. “Did you not hear her?”
“Melanie said that Besi bought a Rolex watch for Derek,” said Burt. “There was no mention of the watch being engraved.”
“I can’t believe you!” Leo said. “Why are you so damned determined to ignore all the evidence? Why do you refuse to accept the truth?”
“Why are you so damned determined to believe I’m guilty?” Derek asked Leo. “Melanie is wrong. Besi never gave me a watch after she got back from her surgery in the Aerie Islands.”
“So, you’re saying Melanie lied?” asked Leo.
“Derek said that Melanie was wrong,” said Burt. “I believe that, as well. I don’t dispute that Besi bought Derek a watch, but I don’t think she gave it to him.”
“Then how did the watch end up in a gold and diamond shop in downtown St. Killian?” asked Leo. “How did the watch end up as payment for the gun used to kill Besi?”
“I have no idea,” said Derek, a forlorn weariness in his tone. “Maybe someone stole the watch from Besi.”
“Leo, I’d like you to look into this situation with the Rolex watch,” said Burt.
“And talk to Skip,” said Derek.
“Yeah, I would if I could,” said Leo, standing. “But, for some reason, Skip Taylor isn’t returning my calls.”
38
Approaching the storefront, Leo checked out the tasteful display of gold and diamonds behind large, plate-glass windows of the Luxury Gold and Diamond Emporium, located on the far east end of downtown.
According to Beanie’s source in Handweg, this was the place where the Rolex watch engraved with Derek’s name had been fenced. Tracking down the shady jeweler had been fairly easy, considering that there was only one gold and diamond exchange in St. Killian.
Removing his Ray Bans, Leo walked into the store. The frosty air conditioning was a welcome respite from the brutal sun and humidity that nearly smothered him as he made the five-block walk from the Palmchat Gazette offices.
Leo glanced around the shop. Typical jewelry store. He could think of better ways to waste a Tuesday afternoon, but he was determined to prove that Derek had given the watch to Aaron Jones as payment for the AR-15 ghost gun.
Behind a waist-high glass display counter, a balding, fifty-something Southeast Asian man tried to convince a couple of tourists dressed alike in khaki shorts and T-shirts declaring their love for the Palmchat Islands, why they should purchase a diamond tennis bracelet.
The jeweler nodded to Leo, deftly acknowledging him while continuing to hawk his glittery wares to the couple. Leo doubted they were sincerely interested. Sweaty, flushed, and fanning themselves with small, folded street maps, they were probably more interested in the A/C than the bling.
Moments later, not surprisingly, the couple left without making a purchase. The jeweler had given them a conciliatory smile, but when they turned, he’d pursed his lips as he returned the tennis bracelet.
“My friend! Good day, and how are you,” said the jeweler, his smile once again magnanimous. “How can I help you today?”
Leo wasted no time inquiring about purchasing a Rolex watch.
“You are in luck, my friend,” said the jeweler, a hint of an English accent in his engaging tone. “I have four that you can choose from. Now, I will be honest with you … “
Leo doubted it, but he tried to keep his expression pleasant as he waited for the guy to continue.
“One of the watches have engravings on the case backs,” said the jeweler. “Of course, some people like engravings because they give the piece character, but I can get new case backs if you prefer. Won’t be a problem at all.”
Shrugging, Leo said, “I don’t mind engravings. Depends on what it says. Initials are okay, but I don’t need words of wisdom or professions of love.”
The owner sighed. “Well, then you might not be interested in my latest acquisition, which is the nicest watch in my possession at the moment, but it has a very personalized engraving. The other three Rolexes don’t—”
“I’d like to see it,” said Leo. “If the engraving is too mushy, I could get another case back. If the watch is as nice as you claim it is.”
“Oh, my friend, it is very, very nice,” said the jeweler. “I received it a week, or so, ago, from a man who no longer desired it, though he didn’t tell
me why, but that doesn’t matter. Wait here. I have the watch in the back. I’ll bring it out to show you.”
As the jeweler scurried off, Leo’s pulse jumped. Mulling over the owner’s description of the Rolex, with its personalized engraving, he drummed his fingers against the glass counter. Was it the same Rolex Besi had bought Derek for a wedding gift? The Rolex he claimed she’d never given him? The Rolex that Aaron Jones had used as payment for an AR-15 ghost gun?
Leo suspected he was about to verify the story from Beanie’s source, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Part of him, for some reason, hoped the watch would bear no mention of Derek. Leo exhaled, anxious for the jeweler to return.
Minutes later, after the jeweler showed him the engraving on the case back of the Rolex, Leo stared at the etching, his heart pounding as several emotions coursed through him.
“What do you think, my friend?” asked the jeweler. “You like the watch?”
“Thanks, but, no,” said Leo. “Don’t think this is the right watch for me.”
Ignoring the jeweler’s attempt to show him a different watch, Leo turned and hurried out of the store. Donning his sunglasses, he walked away from the Luxury Gold and Diamond Emporium, the image of the case back engraved in his mind: Derek, I will love you always. Besi.
39
An hour later, back in his office, Leo decided to go over notes for an upcoming meeting with the Bronson Publishing lawyers next week. There was no need to prepare himself so far in advance, but he needed the distraction. A long, laborious overseas conference call would have been perfect right about now, but he didn’t have one scheduled. There weren’t many tasks on his calendar today. Nothing important or time-sensitive. Nothing to take his mind off that damn Rolex watch engraved with Derek’s name.
Once again, Derek had lied.
But, this time, Leo wasn’t sure how to deal with the deception. Normally, he wouldn’t be surprised, but confirming the story from Beanie’s source about the Rolex presented Leo with another set of ramifications and potential consequences, all of them dire.
Leo sighed and leaned back in his chair. He would have to tell his father about the trip to the gold and diamond exchange. He wasn’t looking forward to that. What would his father think? How would Burt react? More blind loyalty and unwavering belief in Derek’s innocence? Or, a grudging realization of Derek’s dishonesty and cold-blooded brutality?
Gazing out of the ceiling-to-floor plate glass windows, which offered a view of downtown St. Killian, Leo struggled to come to terms with Derek’s guilt. He’d always been suspicious of Derek, but now that he’d discovered evidence to prove his suspicions, he wasn’t sure how he felt.
A percussive knock on his door interrupted his musings.
Stevie Bishop peeped around the door. “Hey, boss, got a sec?”
Normally, Stevie was the last person Leo wanted to deal with.
Stevie, whose last name was associated with wealth and privilege in the Palmchat Islands, had been hired by Burt as a favor to Stevie’s father, the founder of a multi-billion-dollar brewing conglomerate. As far as Leo was concerned, Stevie had been handed a job he wasn’t interested in, a job which should have gone to a more deserving candidate. Since he couldn’t fire Stevie, Leo had grudgingly decided to mentor him, though he could barely tolerate Stevie’s nonchalant surfer dude attitude.
Right now, he hoped the slacker-reporter could distract him from his worrisome thoughts about Derek.
“I got a minute, or two,” said Leo. “What do you need?”
“Got some news about Skip Taylor,” said Stevie, walking into the office.
Tension coiled in Leo’s gut. So much for distraction from Stevie. Despite giving the slacker-reporter the task of finding Taylor, Leo hadn’t thought Stevie would come through with any useful information. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to discuss anyone with any connection to Derek Hennessy.
“He hasn’t left the island.” Stevie dropped down in the chair in front of Leo’s desk.
Hesitant, Leo asked, “Are you sure?”
Stevie frowned. “Pretty sure. I found out from some friends who work at the airport that when Skip Taylor arrived on the island, he rented a car from St. Killian Car Rentals. A Toyota Camry. Then, instead of checking into a hotel, he rented a house in Oyster Farms. Far as I know, he’s still there, but I didn’t go by the house and confirm that. Guess I should have, huh?”
A hint of a memory sparked within Leo. “A house in Oyster Farms?”
“On Dove Street,” said Stevie.
Rubbing his jaw, Leo said, “Are you sure?”
“Huh? I mean, yeah, I’m sure.” Stevie frowned. “I think so. Wait. Let me check my notes.”
“Don’t bother,” Leo said, reaching toward his desk phone. Pressing the button that connected him to Vivian’s office, Leo requested his wife’s presence.
Minutes later, Vivian stood in the doorway. “What is it? I have a meeting with the news staff in ten minutes.”
“Should I be at that meeting?” asked Stevie.
Leo tried not to laugh as Vivian glared at Stevie.
“Aren’t you part of the news staff?” demanded Vivian.
“Yeah,” said Stevie, as though some revelation had dawned on him. “I guess I am.”
Clearing his throat, Leo said, “Stevie just confirmed that Skip Taylor did rent that house on Dove Street. The bastard is hiding out, or laying low, in Oyster Farms.”
Stevie said, “Wait, you already knew about the house on Dove Street?”
“We suspected Skip Taylor might have rented the house,” said Vivian. “We believe Besi Beaumont went to see Skip at the rental house the Tuesday before she was killed.”
“Now that you’ve confirmed our suspicions,” said Leo, sitting forward. “We can find out what Skip has to say about his meeting with Besi.”
40
“Maybe Besi didn’t go to see Skip Taylor,” said Vivian, rolling down the window of Leo’s old Ford truck as he shifted into park and cut the engine. “As you pointed out when we found out the address programmed into the BMW’s GPS, we couldn’t conclusively determine whether or not Besi had driven to the rental house on Dove Street.”
Leo shook his head. “If she didn’t drive to Skip Taylor’s rental house, then why did she put the Dove Street address in the GPS? Before we left, Stevie confirmed that there’s only one Dove Street in St. Killian.”
“I know that,” said Vivian, concerned by her husband’s clenched jaw and dogged determination. “But, maybe—”
“I came here to talk to Skip Taylor, and that’s what I’m going to do,” said Leo, opening the driver’s door. “He can tell me if Besi came to see him, and if she did, he’s going to tell me why.”
Leo stepped out of the truck and slammed the door.
Vivian jumped and then exhaled as she glanced at her watch. A few minutes after two o’clock. Right now, she should have been developing and assigning story ideas for her reporting staff. She’d canceled the meeting when Leo insisted on driving to Oyster Farms to question Skip Taylor. Her husband hadn’t asked her to tag along, but Leo’s confrontational tone bothered her. She worried that the meeting with the fixer would become contentious, considering Leo’s hostile demeanor.
Exiting the Ford, Vivian closed the door as Leo headed around the front of the truck and up the driveway of the rental house on Dove Street.
Vivian took a deep breath and hurried to follow her husband. Striding past the Toyota Camry, she frowned. As Leo had driven to the house in Oyster Farms, Vivian had hoped that Skip Taylor would be gone, but no such luck. Joining Leo at the front door of the modest home, Vivian asked, “What’s your game plan? More flies with honey than vinegar?”
Usually, Leo’s interviewing techniques involved finding some way to sympathize or find some common ground with a witness. His approach relied on a principle that people were more likely to open up to someone who was compassionate and kind, than to a person coming at them with a barrage of questions. N
o one wanted to be interrogated, especially by a reporter with no reason to expect, or demand, answers.
“Might have to use brute force,” said Leo. “If Taylor opens the damn door, which it doesn’t seem likely.”
“Maybe he’s not home,” suggested Vivian, her concern increasing as Leo banged on the door.
Hearing a car drive by, she glanced over her shoulder. The last thing they needed was some nosey neighbor thinking they were trying to break into the house and calling the cops.
“The car he rented is in the driveway,” said Leo. “He’s home. Probably peering at me through the peephole.”
“But, maybe—”
“I’m going around to the backyard,” said Leo, leaving the front porch.
“You think you should?” asked Vivian, following him around to the side of the house. Shaded from the afternoon sun by the roof, the narrow path leading to the backyard separated the rental home from the house next to it.
Leo said nothing as he strode through the grass and stopped at the wooden gate.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” said Vivian, walking up behind him. “This is private property. We can’t just—”
“Look at this,” said Leo, stepping aside. “There’s some damage to the gate.”
Beneath the chest-high lock, which seemed to be bent, several planks were broken, the wooden boards splintered and nearly split apart.
“Maybe someone tried to break into the house,” said Vivian, curiosity overtaking her concern.
“Maybe,” said Leo as he pulled the gate open and headed into the backyard.
Besides two large hibiscus bushes against the back fence, there wasn’t much landscaping and the grass, ankle high, needed attention.
As they walked up the steps to the back deck, Leo said, “Check out the patio door.”
Vivian took a deep breath. The right pane of the double-side sliding glass patio door was completely shattered. Shards and slivers of glass jutted from the metal frame while chunks littered the deck and the tile floor inside the house.