"Chic I knew once was into it. I think she actually sang. Anyway, after a while I got used to it, you know? It kinda grew on me."
"She must have been really pretty," Caroline laughed.
"Oh yeah. Maxwell House."
"Huh?"
"You know, like the commercial. Good to the …" Sonny turned away, embarrassed. He couldn't know that if she had ever seen the commercial, she'd probably forgotten that Maxwell House was good to the last drop.
"An old joke," I said dismissively.
I could almost see Caroline trying to reach back in her memory. It must have been like searching for your car keys when you had no idea where you left them. And then I could tell from her expression and her body language that she got it. She said, holding her arms out and twisting like a hula girl as she spoke, "So Sonny, did you fill it to the rim, like Brim?"
He looked up and we both busted out laughing. "As a matter of fact, I did. At least until she ran off with a linebacker from the Dolphins."
"The way they play, she's probably sorry, now," I joked.
"That's a fact, Jack." Sonny looked at the two of us. Caroline had sat down next to me. I had my arm around her shoulder and she was smiling, her face full of life and wonder.
"Was it hard, man, mixin' up that voodoo potion to make Caroline fall for you? Cause there ain't no way you deserve her."
"Oh, he has his moments," she said airily, laughing.
The rest of the ride we were quiet. I kept thinking about Nancy, coming out of a Benzodiazepine haze only to realize in terror that she was going to die, and die very slowly. She would know who betrayed her and why, but she could not tell me. I would have to discover it for myself and make it right. I sighed.
It is a misnomer, of course, this "making it right." When something tragic happens no amount of foolish gallantry can ever make it right. The best we can do is give ourselves peace in the knowledge that we did something. We do it for us as well as them. To give ourselves closure. And perhaps, if such a thing is possible, and their spirit lives on after them, they can find some kind of acceptance of where they're at now as opposed to where they were before, with us. And they can remember us as fondly as we remember them.
Sonny shut off the music. He glanced over at Caroline and me sitting next to each other. I still had my arm around her shoulder.
"We're comin' up on it pretty quick. Time to lock and load, man."
"It's just a friendly meeting," I reminded him.
"Then how come I got all these goosebumps?"
Fifteen
Sonny eased back the throttle until we were barely moving. To our left, the sea, to our right, land. Palm fronds in shadow of night swayed in the breeze above the verdure. Fragrances like perfume filled the moist air. Bahia Honda was garden-like, a lush tropical reminder of how nature could flourish when not trampled upon by man. Man was prone to clear the Bahia Honda's of the world to build condos and complexes and business suites where people would live and work in quiet desperation as they scrimped and saved to vacation some place much like the one they'd destroyed, which were becoming more difficult to find each year. Condos, high-rises, and office complexes growing out of concrete had replaced paradise. Seth Halliday, the Sylvia Plath of urban society.
Sonny abruptly swung the boat towards shore. I thought he was going to beach her until I saw the channel, barely wide enough for Candida. It serpentined but Sonny navigated through the strait beautifully. Those dark shadows making eerie shapes on each side of us got farther away. I realized we were in a cove. Unless you knew the tiny bay was there, it would be difficult to locate even in daylight.
Directly ahead of us stood a massive deck, very softly lighted. Marquez and his wife were watching as we approached a small dock beneath the deck. They were sitting in two massive Adirondack chairs. Behind them, secluded in shrubbery and tropical foliage, a sprawling home with lots of glass -- probably bullet-proof -- and big wood beams painted green to blend into the surroundings. Marquez's home would be more difficult to locate than Shangri-La had been for Ronald Colman. The trees, mostly palms but some others I didn't recognize, acted as a canopy so that even from the air it would be tough to pinpoint.
The woman stood as I jumped out to secure Candida to the small dock. Sonny and Caroline were close behind me. The woman turned and spoke to her husband and the lighting became brighter. Marquez followed her down the steps to greet us, something I had not expected. We were being received as guests.
Something else I hadn't expected was Mrs. Marquez, but it explained why Mr. Marquez didn't fool around. She was Claudia Cardinale-like, all big soft lips and big soft breasts and big soft hips beautifully shaped. She was wearing a cotton dress, tiny blue flowers against a soft yellow background. Nothing about her was small, but it wasn't too large either. Voluptuous, with a big friendly smile that appeared genuine. All woman. She had to be in her mid-fifties but you'd never know it. Except for a slight roll around the mid-section and a few character lines around the eyes and mouth, she might have been 40. A lush babe aging gracefully.
"I'm Anna Marquez," she said, extending her hand. It was soft and feminine -- the voice and the hand.
"Seth Halliday. This is Caroline and Sonny." We took turns shaking hands with her. She was the official greeter and enjoyed her role.
"Obviously you already know my husband or would not have been invited here. We have so few guests." There was a mild, scolding tone to her voice as she'd finished, glancing at her husband, who looked chagrinned. An old point of contention between husband and wife. The one argument she would never win -- I would have bet good money she won every other one -- because Marquez could never allow his family to become vulnerable.
"I've prepared some snack trays and placed them in the den. I'll take my leave now while you discuss your business with Fernando. Perhaps you can visit us on another occasion when it isn't business." Another glance at her husband, but a smile accompanied it this time. She was needling him in a sore spot, but as a wife who loves her husband, not as a nag. Before she turned to leave she said to Caroline, "Dear, you have such lovely eyes, full of life itself."
Caroline blushed.
"Thank you."
It was difficult not to watch those spectacular hips as Anna Marquez walked away. It was like being locked in a room with the Mona Lisa and told not to stare at her.
"Follow me into the den."
The room was all wood and good leather, globes, maps, fine but sturdy furniture. A man's room. Between a large sofa upholstered in an avocado color velvet and a massive chair of fine leather sat a mahogany coffee table. Trays filled with nuts and a few other little goodies I was unfamiliar with had been placed on the table by the impressive better half of Mr. and Mrs. Marquez. A pitcher of what appeared to be punch and three glasses had been provided as well.
Marquez waved us to the sofa and sat directly across from us in the king's chair. "Please, do enjoy the refreshments. My wife will feel hurt if you do not." Too gallant to be mean to anyone who reminded me of Claudia Cardinale I poured three glasses of the punch and grabbed a handful of cashews. Sonny and Caroline tasted the offerings as well. While we did this Marquez opened a fancy humidor box and held it out as an offering. "Cubans," he said.
Sonny and I passed. He set the box down and asked Caroline, "Do you mind? I assure you I will not be offended if you do. My wife is after me constantly to quit."
"Oh, no. It's your home. A man should be able to do as he pleases in his own home."
Marquez stared at her, and you could almost sense him filing away that he approved of her. He turned to me, and then Sonny. He got his cigar going. Finally he said, "You have been vacationing in Cozumel. I hear it is lovely. My wife and I have not been."
He paused, made a smoke ring.
"Now, tell me, does the explosion which just occurred have anything to do with the rather substantial church donation which is all over the news?" Marquez was letting us know that nothing happened of which he had at least some knowle
dge.
"Someone tried to blow us up earlier this evening. A bomb was planted on the hull of Candida, Sonny's boat. We were able to . . . reverse the situation."
"An interesting choice of words. And the money?"
"They might have thought I stole it from them."
"And did you?"
"I saw a church with a need and acted accordingly."
His eyes were amused but the rest of him remained on point. "Did they know you planned to meet with me?"
"I don't think so, but I honestly can't be certain, since I have no idea how they knew I was in Miami in the first place. I'm also not certain the money was the reason for the hit."
His forehead wrinkled as he raised his eyes. He was interested now. "You seem to be very unpopular. You abscond with two million dollars of someone else's money and yet you aren't convinced that is the reason someone wants you dead? What might the second reason be?"
We were at the tipping point now. Marquez had been asking all the questions. It was now or never. "I need you to tell me about Carlos Vargas, first."
He leaned back against the soft leather and took a puff off the Cuban. "Sonny implied you might be able to, how shall we say, help me expand my marketshare?"
"It is possible, even probable. But I need to ask some questions that perhaps only you can answer."
"And why do you think I will have these answers?"
"Because rivals usually know more about each other than anyone else."
He thought about that a moment. "Other than arranging this meeting as a courtesy to Sonny, who is a legitimate businessman as well, why should I reveal any knowledge I may have obtained through the course of legitimate business relations concerning a suspected drug supplier?"
So that was it. He wanted us on even ground. I turned to Sonny. I only had one card to play but it was a doozy. I could tell Sonny didn't like it. I didn't either. I said, "Because whether you realize it or not, you owe your success to me and Sonny."
Marquez leaned forward, very slowly, as though someone were hitting the freeze-frame button over and over. His dark eyes were intense. He focused them on me for at least 30 seconds, then turned to Caroline. He stood and walked over to her, holding out his hand. She looked at me and I nodded it was okay. She took his hand and stood.
"Caroline. May I call you Caroline?" She nodded. "Then you may call me Fernando. Please take it as a compliment and not an exclusion when I say you are much too nice to listen in on the matters we are about to discuss. Through that door there is an indoor garden with nearly every variety of flora found on the island. It would honor me if you would take a walk through the room and enjoy them. My wife is correct. Due to circumstances beyond my control we are unable to have many visitors, therefor I seldom get to show off my little collection."
"I'd like that. Thank you."
"I will let you know when we are finished."
"Okay."
He walked her to the door and opened it for her. The Spanish gentleman. He returned to his chair, the softer-than-a-baby's-butt-leather cooing as he did so. "Now, you may explain."
"I took out Escobar. Sonny took me out to the Keys to do it."
His cigar was halfway to his mouth and it caused a little hitch in the motion. It was barely noticeable, but for him, it was tantamount to someone else spitting out their coffee. He was very quiet for about 15 seconds, then nodded, relaxing. He looked at Sonny and then back at me.
"What do you wish to know?"
I took out the photo from my wallet and had to get up to hand it to him. Something in it obviously upset him, because he handed it back quickly, as if just touching it disgusted him. The reaction was more than a tad surprising.
"I met the young girl on the right in Cozumel," I explained. "She said her name was Nancy Wells. She was someone I came to care about. Not romantically. A friend. She was a very sweet girl, but she was running from something."
"Was?" Men like Marquez never missed much.
"She's dead. Someone buried her in the sand, leaving only her head above water so that when the tide came in she would drown."
Marquez took a deep breath and exhaled it back out very slowly. I waited.
"Nancy Vargas, the youngest daughter of Carlos Vargas. I know little about her except that she appeared to be, as you say, a very nice, normal girl. I cannot imagine how in a house like that."
"Why?"
"I must give you a little background first. It will seem unrelated, but it will make sense in a few moments. The older young woman to her right is Sheila Vargas, a daughter from Carlos's first marriage. Her mother, who was Puerto Rican, supposedly left Carlos when the girl was quite young and was never heard from again. By anyone. Anywhere."
The implication was obvious.
"Carlos remarried, almost immediately. A blonde this time, very pretty. She had been seen in his company prior to the first wife's sudden departure. Together they had Nancy. Sheila hated her step-mother. After some years went by, Suzanne, Nancy's mother, departed suddenly and inexplicably, just as her predecessor had. As the wife who came before her, she was never seen again by anyone, anywhere."
It was more than I'd known before but I wasn't sure what old Fernando was trying to tell me. "Are you saying Carlos dusted his wives?"
"Perhaps. He certainly would have had to on the first one."
"The first one?" Sonny said.
Marquez held up his hand to indicate a piece of information was about to come our way which would make everything clear. He pressed the intercom button next to the humidor and told someone named Alegria to come in.
We didn't have to wait long. "This is my personal secretary, Alegria."
She was brown-skinned, dark-haired, short, plump, and had an overbite that showed because she was smiling brightly. She gave the impression that she was always smiling. A sweet disposition. She bowed her head towards Sonny and me and we nodded. I said, "Hello, Alegria." It seemed to please her greatly.
"Alegria is from Ecuador and very well educated. However, when I placed her within the Vargas household as a servant, she quite cleverly gave Sheila the impression that she spoke no English, and had very little education. I desired to keep an eye on Carlos, who is not a man to be trusted. Were it not for the depravity she discovered, she might still be there. It was so unseemly I decided the possible damage to Alegria outweighed my own need to keep tabs on that disgusting household."
Sonny and I were both surprised. Marquez had someone close enough to old Carlos she could spit at him but he'd pulled her out? It said something about his feelings toward Alegria.
Marquez reached up, grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. "I know it is distasteful, and I promise you this is the last time you will have to speak or think of such deplorable matters, but please relate to these two gentlemen everything of import you discussed with me."
She turned to face us. When she spoke, her diction and elegant pronunciation were unexpected. Her demeanor screamed Ecuadorian farm-girl but her words were Harvard and Yale. It reminded me of the first time I actually saw a picture of Rick Astley. The body didn't match the voice.
"I sensed something very wrong within the Vargas household from the very beginning. Nancy was very sweet. She thought the world of her big sister, and while on the surface this appeared to be reciprocated, I felt a cool wariness on the part of Sheila to truly embrace her. Then I began noticing the interaction between Sheila and Mr. Vargas. They would be looking at something and he would stand just a little too close. Rather than being uncomfortable, she appeared to encourage it. She would lean back into him slightly, rather than away. She has a very sexy, slinky derriere and always dressed to accentuate it. I do not believe she owned a pair of underwear. Mr. Vargas always had his hand on her waist, his fingers on her rear, but they were careful not to let Nancy see. Sheila fell into his arms once, laughing and pretending I had left a wet spot on the floor which made her trip, which was untrue. It was as if they had a secret and she was teasing him about it. You could almost
feel the sexual tension between them. Nancy had no clue, however. She was as innocent as those two were depraved. When she was away at school or with friends, Sheila would run around the house half naked. I began to notice from the first day I arrived that Sheila's bed was rarely slept in, but the sheets on her father's bed were soiled with body fluids nightly, and had to constantly be washed. One day I forgot my car keys. I could not have been gone from the house for more than two minutes, but thinking I had gone, they were free. Sheila was on the lounge by the pool, her legs wrapped around her father's back as he pulled off her bikini bottom. She ran her hand through his hair and I heard her say through the open patio door, 'Make me feel wonderful' as she pulled his head down between her legs. I slipped out without them knowing I had witnessed their perversion. A couple of weeks later, during a party held at the home I observed Sheila and her father sneaking into an upstairs' bedroom. Everyone else was downstairs partying, swimming, getting drunk - Mr. Vargas did not allow drugs at his parties. Guests were forbidden from going upstairs. Nancy was away, of course. I believe she was spending the evening with a school friend. I took a risk and followed Sheila and Mr. Vargas upstairs, careful not to be seen. The door was ajar. The music downstairs was loud and they could not be heard. I cannot help thinking the door left ajar was intentional. Perhaps one or both of them enjoyed the added danger. Sheila was sitting on top of her father at his waist, both were naked. His hands were clamped on her rear and she was riding him with glee, moaning and telling him how good it felt and how much she loved him. He returned this perverted sentiment."
She closed her eyes a moment and took a deep breath. Marquez, very gently, said, "Please continue, Alegria." She opened her eyes.
"Certainly the father must have started this terrible perversion of everything decent, when I don't know, but it appeared to have been going on for many years. This was no father and daughter, at least not any longer. They were lovers, familiar and familia. A twisted tree. Their interaction led me to conjecture that Sheila was the one in control of the relationship now, even if that most certainly had not always been the case. But quite suddenly something changed. There became a different kind of tension between them, and somehow Nancy was at the center of it. I could sense it, feel it. That's when Mr. Marquez pulled me out, and I was glad to be out of there. We made up a story about my sick mother in Ecuador -- my mother is deceased -- and I even flew there as cover, in case Mr. Vargas checked. He is very careful. I wrote a letter of regret that I could not return to their employment, then Mr. Marquez arranged for me to secretly return to my duties in his wonderful household. What I witnessed was quite disturbing. A very tiny part of me did not want to abandon Nancy. I worried what would become of her. She was a goldfish in a shark pond. She did not belong."
The Turquoise Shroud: A Seth Halliday Novel Page 11