The Turquoise Shroud: A Seth Halliday Novel

by Bobby Underwood

  I sighed. I'd gotten them killed by taking the money. Vargas wasn't happy about losing two million. Once Sanchez had given him the bad news, knowing Sanchez was too smart to screw him, Vargas decided his courier girl had crossed him. When reports began pouring in that the money had been left at a church, Vargas would have known something entirely different was going on, but by then the girls were already dead or about to be dead. If I was right, it meant Vargas had sent those guys to Miami to take out Caroline. He didn't know I'd been the one to take his money.

  "How'd they get it?"

  "Report said they were injected in the back of the neck with something. Both had a needle mark. People on the beach thought they were tanning, napping on the sand, until they started to fry like Kentucky Fruck and someone went over to check on them. Some lady on the beach thought she remembered seeing another chic but cops in Playa haven't been able to confirm it from anyone else, or get a description. You know how it is on the beach, man, people doing their own thing."

  I felt a pang of regret, most of it for the goth girl. Just another lonely, disconnected girl used by someone preying on her vulnerability. Her only Achilles heel had been her need for love and acceptance, a need that had gotten her killed. Maybe that need was everyone’s Achilles heel. But the consequences of failure were usually heartache, embarrassment, and shame, not death. At least not such an immediate death.

  Caroline had drawn close to me on the bed as Sonny talked. She had been a real trouper so far, but the bodies were beginning to pile up: Nancy, Rosita, now the two girls transporting the cash. And earlier in Miami, had one of the killers sent to Dinner Key not gotten careless because he wanted a cigarette, us.

  Newfound love and the fact that Caroline trusted me to protect her, coupled with her sweet personality and that somewhat embarrassing yet undeniable thrill of being involved in adventure and mystery, had brought her here so quickly that the mortal stakes had not had a chance to be absorbed. Here on the boat, finally stationary, I could feel it sinking in. She still trusted me and it gave her some sense of safety, but a healthy worry had set in. As much as I hated this new uncertainty clouding the joy for life behind those eyes, I knew she was better off aware. It would keep her alert to the danger, which in turn might keep her alive.

  I nodded to Sonny and he closed the door behind him, leaving us alone again. I laid back, bringing Caroline with me. She placed her head on my shoulder. "I was thinking," I said, "unless you have some place else in mind, that from where we're at now, we could just follow the coast line, see all those Latin American countries, taste the life there, work our way down to South America. A long, long, honeymoon."

  A flash of wonder reappeared in her eyes. "I can't wait." She looked up at me. Her smile held everything worth living for. "Caroline Halliday. I could get used to that."

  I used my fingers to gently brush back her hair, sweeping it behind one ear. I opened my mouth and found her lips. We kissed seriously, and for a long time. When I came up for air, I whispered reassuringly, "We'll get through this."

  "I know. And I know we can't run. You have to find out who killed Nancy."

  "It's that, but it's more than that now. If we left now, we'd always be looking over our shoulder. It has to end here, so we have a clean start. A life together."

  "You know," she said slowly, "if I wasn't such a high-society jet-setter with so many prospects to choose from, you might turn my head with this kind of talk, and have me swooning."

  "What do girls do when they swoon?"

  Her laughter was for the moment free of trouble and anxiety. "Once you make an honest woman out of me, I'll show you."

  I turned so that our noses were almost touching. "I'd better hurry and get you to the altar, then."

  "Just as fast as you can, Mister."

  In less than ten minutes Caroline was asleep again. I quietly slipped out without waking her. I ran into Delana as she headed for her cabin. She smiled thinly, hesitating. Her eyes had that sort of watery look that comes with a slight buzz. She unexpectedly gave me a hug, whispering in my ear, "She's the right one for you. I'm glad nothing happened with us that would have screwed it up for you, Seth."

  She meant it but there was something sad and defeated in it as well. It was the voice of someone who'd given up, not just five minutes ago, but a very long time ago. It came out of nowhere, perhaps brought to the surface by Dos Equis. Maybe what she'd left behind had been a lot worse than she'd let on. I'd found Caroline so soon after meeting Delana that there hadn't been time for Delana to reveal all the emotional baggage she was carrying. It was only part of Delana I'd been seeing, unlike Caroline, whose heart and soul were written on her face, and in her eyes.

  Delana ducked into her cabin and closed the door behind her. I could almost feel her weight leaning against the door, her eyes closed, wondering if she'd just made a fool of herself. I felt sorry for her, which is the worst thing you can feel for a woman, because it only magnifies the wound. A man can never let a woman know he feels sorry for her. It gives an opening for the bad ones to take advantage of him, and bruises the pride of the good ones. It's a lose-lose situation.

  Harry was snoring in his chair, gun in hand, and Sonny was up top. He'd brought up some sleeping bags from below. His Walther was lying on top of his. We stretched out, looking up at the sky over Cozumel. Finally I asked, "How did Delana seem?"

  "I don't know, man. She seems great, but there's something there. She hides it well though. Like somethin' screwed her up real bad."

  "Or someone."

  "Yeah. She rocks, but it's like she's afraid to rock too much, if you get my drift."

  "Like it might break her."

  "Exactly, man."

  "This wasn't your war, Sonny. You didn't have to come."

  "Don't sweat it. I been meanin' to get to Mexico for a while anyway. You know the worst part of bein' legit, man? It's so damn boring. I miss the action. I hated the guns, and the people, but I miss the thrill, I guess. You miss bein' a cop?"

  "Sometimes. Sort of the same way as you though. Got a license to do it private now, so maybe I can help somebody out once in a while on something after this is all over."

  Sonny was quiet for a bit, then chuckled. "Yeah, maybe you can get a van and you, Caroline and Harry can drive around the world solving mysteries."

  "You can come along, too, but you'll need to get a dog."

  "Scooby-dooby-doo."

  It was the kind of stupid talk you only make with close friends. We talked about how bad the Dolphins were, but how hot girls looked in Dolphin Jerseys. We decided it was good for three upgrades on a one-to-ten-scale if a girl was wearing one with short-shorts. If she was say, a 5, and wearing the jersey, showing some leg, she instantly became an 8.

  "What if she's already an 8 and she's wearing it?" mused Sonny.

  "Then it's time to sell your boat and give her all the money."

  In unison we said, "Because she's gonna get it all anyway."

  Since I was rested, I told Sonny I'd grab the first shift and wake him when I got dozy. While he was bedding down I took a box of Wheat Chex cereal out of the foot locker where Harry kept ropes and lanterns and all sorts of nautical paraphernalia. I kept a box of Corn Chex and a box of Rice Chex in there as well. The Wheat Chex were closer to the color of the pier than the other two.

  I started about four feet past the stern and worked my way about the same distance past the bow, dusting the wood lightly enough with the cereal to disguise it as natural debris. It was unlikely anyone attempting to get close would have a flashlight turned on once on top of us. The crunch beneath their feet would momentarily freeze them, and alert us. Old tricks are usually the best, because they're time-tested.

  The hard part came next. It's difficult to remain awake when the only objective is simply to stay awake. Your eyes focus on the darkness until they get heavy and exhausted from the struggle. The strain of listening for any sound, any movement out of the ordinary, brings with it a heightening of the se
nses which can't be sustained without constant practice. Snipers can do it. Few others can. I held the elevated alertness for three hours, which is pretty good for an ex-cop out of practice, but then I began to feel fatigue setting in. I was about to wake Sonny when I heard the crunch.

  He was good, because I'd kept my eye on the road above and the pathway down to the pier and hadn't seen him. I punched Sonny in the leg with the barrel of the Beretta, having left the Bren Ten in the cabin with Caroline. Then I rolled starboard as quietly as I could. Sonny is a light sleeper — in his former profession he'd had to be — and had the Walther he hated in his hand. I motioned for him to slip around in behind our visitor if he could. But before he could make a move, a woman's voice, almost amused, said, "Quite ingenious. Vlad said I would be surprised at how good you are."

  I looked at Sonny and shrugged. I kept the Beretta in my hand but had it pointed down as I said to the voice in the darkness, "Vlad sent you?"

  "Yes." She stepped out from the shadows. She was wearing midnight-blue stretch pants and a matching color long-sleeved T-shirt. Black in not the color of night, as so many believe, but blue-black. Pros know and blend in accordingly. Her hair was full and elegant, curled around her face in that late-1960's Jacqueline Bisset style. The Casino Royale, Bisset, not the Bullitt, Bisset. From what I could see the rest of her was equally impressive. "May I come aboard? I have a message."

  "As long as you don't mind having a gun held on you while you're searched?"

  She smiled. A dangerous sex kitten, highly amused. "Do you promise not to miss any places where I might be concealing some hidden weapon? I haven't had a good search in quite some time."

  Sonny raised his eyebrows, grinning, and tucked the Walther into his joggers. I kept the Beretta at my side just in case she tried to jump me and kiss me. I reached out my left hand. "Come aboard."

  She gave me her hand and a second later was standing next to me. Some women just have that certain something that screams delectable. Anne Margaret. Jacqueline Bisset. So few have "It" any longer that you almost forget "It" exists. And then you run across a live one and remember "It" is something very real. She had so much of "It" that her clothes were only a teaser, a nuisance to be discarded as quickly as possible.

  "What's the message?"

  "It's verbal. You don't mind if I sit, do you?"

  I reached for one of the folded lounge chairs but she'd already sat down on top of Sonny's sleeping bag, Indian style. "I'd rather not look up while I report if you don't mind?"

  Sonny sat down next to her. I finished opening the chair and sat facing her. I introduced myself and Sonny.

  "Katarina."

  "Okay, Katarina, shoot."

  She closed her eyes a full five seconds, and then gave us the rundown.

  "Vlad says the woman in question was very much alive for quite some time after leaving. She used false passports and names as though running from someone. Then she fell off the grid. She was presumed dead until very recently. Vlad asks if you remember the bombing in Spain some time back?"

  "Yeah, a cafe. A dozen or so people, if I recall."

  "Yes, I was to explain had you not been familiar with the incident. Suffice it to say no one claimed responsibility, which is quite unusual. All the victims were identified with the exception of one woman. No one ever came forward to claim her as their own. Now here is where it gets interesting. About a year ago, a Spanish news program ran on the bombing's anniversary. Survivors of the victims -- family members, lovers, children, etc were interviewed. One of the few who declined to be interviewed had lost a daughter in the blast. Apparently the little girl had run back to the cafe to get her mother's sunglasses. A tape of the show was sent to the woman in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, where she happened to be living. She immediately called the station, asking about the unidentified woman. She then became quite friendly with an Interpol agent who reopened efforts to identify this woman. The woman in the blast had been using aliases and both Interpol and CNP, the Cuerpo Nacional de Policia of Spain, suspected that she might have been responsible for the bombing. Using new DNA extraction techniques unavailable at the time of the blast they came up with an identification. Vlad says to give you the technical -- how did he say? Mumbo jumbo, I believe he called it -- only if you request it."

  She gazed at me, challengingly, and I nodded negative.

  "She was identified as Suzanne Vargas, wife of known narcotics kingpin, Carlos Vargas."

  "How close did the Interpol agent get to the victim's mother?"

  "Vlad believes very close. Whether it was real or whether she was only using him is unknown. Her name is Delana MacCrae."

  "Shit," whispered Sonny, looking to see my reaction. It fell into place all at once, and the worst part was that it had been in front of me all along. Rosita's comments about her sister Margarita having empathy for Caroline was the pingpong ball that had been bouncing around in my head: "I can't always feed her the best, but my sister Margarita sometimes gives her meals when that tacaño husband of hers isn't looking. Margarita has dos hijas, so she understands." Two daughters, the name of the boat Delana had moored next to mine. The boat had to belong to Vargas.

  "Did Vlad have a marital status?"

  "Husband deceased, killed in Iraq before the daughter was born. Never remarried."

  Had it all been a lie, or only part of it? A daughter for a daughter? I just couldn't reconcile her murdering Nancy, much less in that cruel and twisted way. But had she been responsible? And the day Rosita had been murdered, Delana was out, shopping. While it was true that the easiest way back to the boat was on that road, her timing was looking less and less like a coincidence.

  "There's only one way to find out," I said, my heart heavy. "Are you armed?"

  Katarina stood, smiling. "Always."

  "Let's go talk to Delana."

  Harry was snoring heavily as we walked past him. He didn't stir. Delana's door was locked. I took the master key from my pocket and opened it. The room stood empty. The instant I heard the purr of the Vespa I knew what she'd done. She'd heard us and gone out through the stern access door. I nearly knocked Katarina down as I turned quickly and ran back up top. Delana was halfway up the hill and picking up speed. I hadn't gone to the airport yet so I had no way to chase her. She was gone.

  Twenty

  Vlad had advised Katarina to approach me carefully because we'd be on alert, so she had parked her rented SUV about a quarter mile up the road and cycled the rest of the way. That explained why I hadn't heard her until she was on top of us. As for Delana, she was long gone. But to where? A mother seeking revenge for her daughter's death had come from out of left field, a screaming line drive scattering all the players. I was trying to put the pieces together, but most of it was supposition. I went to search Delana's cabin. I didn't have to look far. An envelope with my name written across it in feminine scroll lay on the bed. I sat down to open it. Caroline sat next to me on the bed, while Harry, Sonny, and a curious Katarina took various positions around the room to wait.

  Seth,

  I hope you can find it in your heart to try to understand how it all happened. I won't ask forgiveness for Nancy's death, which I unknowingly caused. It is something I must now live with. What is that old saying about digging two graves? Like my Celia, Nancy was an innocent, collateral damage of the most terrible kind. There was not a single person who died that day in Spain that anyone had a reason to want dead. Except for one. Once I discovered who she was, I knew who had killed her, and who had killed my Celia. Who unknowingly and uncaringly had killed so many of us that day. It was almost a relief to finally have someone to hate, someone to blame besides myself. It gave me a purpose, a reason to go on. Please try to understand. Suddenly I was alive again. I had a task. I discovered where Vargas lived through a very nice person who I also used to discover the identity of the unknown woman killed in the blast. Hopefully he will one day forgive me. Once I knew where the monster lived, I vacationed in the Spanish Keys and watched and w
aited. It became an anguishing task because there appeared no way to get at the man who had killed my Celia. I saw him and this Sheila together but since I had not thought to inquire about family, I simply assumed she was his lover, his girlfriend, not his daughter. The younger girl, Nancy, acted like a daughter. She was never around when her sister and father messed around, but that seemed simply normal, for a father not to flaunt his passion in front of his daughter. I really had no clue of the twisted lives I was observing from afar. When Nancy fled, running away from them, I knew I had my chance. A new boat had been delivered that day. In all the confusion, with Vargas ordering everyone after her, I was able to steal the boat. I'm a Lauderdale girl originally, my father a sailor, so it was no problem for me. It was hours before he realized it was missing and by then it was too late. Nancy had never seen the boat, so didn't even recognize it when I tied up next to you. I had followed her the morning she left, knew exactly where she'd gone. But she had a head start and it took me some time to locate her again. I decided if I tried to use the boat to lure Vargas from his nest he would simply send others to get it, to kill me, and not come himself. But property and family are two very different things. Once I found Nancy again, I could use her location as bait, to flush him out into the open. I could make him pay for what he'd done to Celia. It was a fatal error for Nancy, and I am responsible for that sweet girl's death. When I called, it was Sheila I got on the phone, you see. I told her I knew where Nancy was, and wished to set up a meeting with her boyfriend to tell him, in exchange for two million dollars. I decided to make it an amount of such proportions that he would never consider paying it. I knew he would never leave finding the location of his daughter to underlings, and would come himself. For reasons that are obvious now, Sheila did not give him the message, but came to Cozumel herself. I recognized her when she entered the Golden Parrot, where I'd set up the meet, and knew something was wrong. I slipped out, walking right past her. Neither she nor her father knew me so it was easy. That evening, I called the Keys again, and spoke to Carlos himself. I pretended to be angry, demanding to know why he'd sent his girlfriend rather than come himself as we'd arranged. I could tell she had told him nothing. I should have known then that something was very, very wrong, but all I could think of was Celia, and her wonderful little face. My princess. So I went over my demands again. I set up another meeting, and told him if he didn't bring the two million, as his lover had failed to do, he would never find Nancy. God forgive me, I had no way of knowing at that time there was any danger to Nancy, thinking her father only wanted her back. It simply didn't register, perhaps because I didn't want it to, that Sheila's refusal to relay the message meant what it did. He actually came alone, and he actually had the money with him. I had him at gunpoint, but something terrible happened, Seth. I froze, just for an instant, thinking about Celia watching me pull the trigger. It was as though she were there beside me, Seth. That hesitation was all Vargas needed. He snatched the gun from my hand so quickly that all I could do was run. He couldn't shoot me, because I hadn't told him yet where Nancy was. All he could do was chase me into the jungle. But I had the Vespa hidden there, and escaped. That's when I decided to stay close to you, knowing that you'd lead me to Vargas again in your effort to find Nancy's killer. I didn't know then, that by making that phone call, I had killed her. I knew how to blow up the boat -- remember, I'm a sailor's daughter -- and was certain you'd offer to let me stay on board yours, where I could stay close. I used you, I know, but that day in San Miguel was real, I want you to know that. You'll never know how close I came to telling you everything that day on the beach. Now that I know what I've caused, all the deaths I've been responsible for, it seems as though the only person who should be dead, isn't. But he is still here in Cozumel, and so is his daughter, Sheila. I don't know where yet, but tonight, Carillo will tell me. And then I will set up a meeting with both of them. Forgive me, but I will have to use Caroline as bait. I am telling you so that you can hide her, squirrel her away somewhere, until this is all over. One way or the other. Everyone I loved is gone now, my husband, my Celia. I should have died with them. Maybe I did. Goodbye, Seth.