I slipped back into my dress while Toby stumbled over to the phone and dialed. “This is Toby in the surveillance room. I need to talk to the captain.” There was some chatter on the other end of the line and then Toby said, “I don’t care if he’s asleep. Wake him up—now!”
I sat in a plain room with white paneling on all four walls and looked out the six foot windows at the lush green mountains of Jamaica. Mountains I’d hoped to explore, along with a nice, wet hike up Dunn’s River Falls in my skivvies. Sadly, it was not to be. At the moment I was stuck with a bunch of men whose only interest was my role in the mysterious events that took place the night before.
The captain, upon learning a man had gone overboard, turned the ship around. He muttered something about how it was their obligation to return to the site and do a search and rescue. Because of the timestamp on the video surveillance camera, it didn’t take long to make it back to the exact spot, but of course, there was no sign of Doug anywhere. And at that point, all kinds of red tape came into play. The way Giovanni explained it to me, because we were on the high seas and not on American soil or in American waters, it was hard to say what type of investigation would take place, and since the ship departed from a US port, special maritime jurisdiction applied. The only problem was, it often took a lot of finagling before anyone got anywhere.
“Jamaica can wait. This can’t,” the captain said. “Now…I want you to tell me again how you ended up in my surveillance room and why you wanted to see that footage.”
He said the word my like a polygamist referenced one of his many wives.
“We’ve been over this,” I said. “Twice. My story won’t be any different now than it was fifteen minutes ago. I’ve told you everything.”
“I still don’t think you’re giving me all of it. So let’s go over it again,” the captain said.
Giovanni, who sat back in the chair next to me with his arms crossed, leaned forward and chimed in. “I’ve allowed this to go on long enough. We have both complied with your repeated requests and your questions. Any further questioning is unnecessary at this point. We’ve done nothing wrong, and you have neither the right to question us or the authority to detain us any longer.”
The captain bent over Giovanni’s chair until he was mere inches from his face. “We’ll sit here all day, but you will tell me whatever part of the story you two have left out.”
I wanted to tap him on the shoulder and say: I wouldn’t do that if I were you.
Giovanni remained calm. He pushed the captain away from him with his hand and said, “I need to make a call.”
The captain threw his hands in the air. “This isn’t jail. You don’t get your one phone call. My boat, my rules.”
Giovanni looked at me and said, “Say nothing more.”
So I didn’t. And aside from my stomach’s disapproval of me skipping a nutritious breakfast, we sat in silence for the next twenty minutes.
When it was clear the captain’s patience was spent, he said, “You two are behaving like you’re waiting to get a lollipop from your mommy. Stop wasting my time. You’re not getting a phone call.”
In unison we shrugged our shoulders and continued to offer up the silent treatment. If he was going to ruin our day, the least we could do was return the favor. While we put up a united front, I played a mental list of songs inside my head to pass the time starting with Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down” and ending with Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It.” By then, the captains face was so red it looked like one of his blood vessels was about to burst from his body, shoot across the room and smack both of us in the face multiple times.
With a great deal of reluctance, the captain looked at Giovanni and gestured to a phone on a desk. Giovanni clutched it in his hand and made his one phone call. He paused a moment and waited for the call to go through and then said, “Agent Luciana, please.”
The captain’s brow raised, but he said nothing.
Another pause and then, “How are you, Carlo? Yes, we’ve had a great time. I need your help with something.”
From there, the details were explained to Carlo in a different language which I perceived to be Italian, and then Giovanni handed the phone to the captain. “He would like to speak with you.”
The captain rolled his eyes, snatched the phone and positioned it over his ear. “Captain Manning here. Who’s this?”
Those were the only words he got in before going mute for the next two minutes. Before he ended the call he said, “Yes, I understand.” The phone was placed back on the receiver and the captain turned to Giovanni and frowned. “You could have told me your brother was FBI.”
Giovanni smirked. “You didn’t ask.”
“Your brother has assured me the two of you will cooperate under his supervision if anything else is needed now or at any time in the future.”
What the captain didn’t know was Lucio answered to Giovanni.
“And?” I said.
The captain gritted his teeth. “I want to know your whereabouts for the remainder of time you’re on my boat, and I can assure you both, I will be watching. But for now, you’re free to go.”
I smiled. Maybe I’d get the chance to climb the river after all.
Trista lay on the bed in her cabin curled up in the fetal position. When I walked in to check on her, she shot up and wrapped a blanket around herself. Her eyes were puffy, and her makeup, smeared. “So you saw him…go overboard?”
I nodded. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could have told you something else.”
She closed her eyes. “I can’t believe anyone could do such a thing. Doug was the kindest person. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Why would someone want to kill him? It doesn’t make sense.”
I leaned back on the desk behind me that was more suited for a child than an adult. This was the part of being a PI that I tried to shy away from, when a case I worked on became personal. It wasn’t always easy to separate my feelings so I could focus on what I needed to: Finding out who killed Doug and why. And although this wasn’t one of my cases, I couldn’t sit back and do nothing. Doug and Trista were my classmates, and it didn’t matter how many years had passed since high school or the fact that I’d barely kept in touch with anyone since I moved after my senior year; when something like this happened, it was like someone had attacked a member of my own family. And I wouldn’t stand for anyone making a mess in my own backyard.
I boosted myself forward, sat next to Trista and patted her on the leg. Her body shook like it was undergoing some form of shock therapy treatment. I waited to speak until she seemed a little more relaxed which took some time and several minutes of sobbing and then drying her eyes and sobbing again.
“When you’re ready, I’d like to ask you some questions. But if now isn’t a good time…”
She shook her head back and forth. “What can you do…what can anyone do? Doug’s dead. I don’t even have a body to bury, and I probably never will. By now I bet he’s not even in one piece. Did you know sharks can smell blood a quarter mile away? And once they catch a whiff, it’s only a matter of minutes before…”
Tears gathered in the corner of her eyes and spilled onto the blanket she clutched in her hands. The only thing I could offer was to allow her to get it all out of her system. I felt powerless. I wanted to say something—anything, but it was times like these when I always felt I said the wrong thing. I couldn’t bring Doug back, but I could be there for her, and in that moment, my support was all that mattered to me.
When the tears had dried and gone, Trista glanced at me. “I’m ready. Ask your questions.”
“Are you sure? Because we can do this later. I don’t want to push you.”
She pulled herself up to a seated position, threw the blanket to the side and wrapped her hands around her knees. “Tomorrow this will all be over. Let’s do it now.”
I nodded. “Can you think of anyone who wanted to harm Doug in any way?”
She shook her head. “Doug was the typ
e of person who made friends, not enemies.”
“What about his job? How were things there?” I said.
“I don’t know. He didn’t talk about it much. It’s not like being the manager at TFB was hard. Granted the town has changed a lot since you were there last, but it’s still small and friendly, just like it’s always been.”
“What about his demeanor? Have you noticed a change—anything out of the ordinary?”
Trista sat back and didn’t say anything for a moment.
I leaned forward and looked her in the eye. “It’s okay, you can talk to me. What you tell me stays in this room, between us. I’m not here to judge you, and if you want my help, I need to know everything.”
“You remember what Doug was like in high school, right?”
“Who doesn’t?” I said. “Every girl wanted to date him, and every guy wanted to be him. I was surprised when he turned down that football scholarship to Stanford and you two got married. The last time we talked, you guys had your bags packed and planned on attending together, but then you never left.”
She nodded. “I was chosen to be on their cheer team, and we were all set, but right before we were supposed to leave, things got complicated.”
“He threw it all away to become a bank manager for the rest of his life?”
She shrugged. “Once his mind was made up, he said he only cared about one thing—getting married.”
“You two have been together a long time.”
“Twenty years.”
“What was married life like?”
She smiled. “Doug has always been sweet to me….”
“But?” I said.
“He had a drinking problem. It started right after we married.”
“How bad was it?”
“It was tolerable at first, and I didn’t think much of it. He’d come home from work and have a few beers. He seemed fine, and I figured he was a typical guy.”
“What changed?”
Trista rubbed her arms with the palms of her hands like the air conditioning in the room had just been turned on and glanced out her balcony window. “I’m not sure I can talk about this.”
In my experience as a PI I’d learned sometimes in order to get a person to a comfortable place where they were willing to talk, the best way to go about it was to share a personal experience of my own. It created a type of bond with the person and made them feel like not only did I sympathize, I empathized as well. But since I was a big fan of keeping my personal life private, I reserved this for special occasions only when I felt the risk would payoff in the end.
“Do you remember Colin Ross?” I said.
She squinted and stared at the television which wasn’t on. “Vaguely. Wasn’t he in our class?”
I shook my head. “He was one grade above us.”
“Didn’t he have a sister—Missy?”
“Mindy,” I said. “I married Colin, right out of high school, just like you and Doug. Most people didn’t know because I’d moved away that summer and we eloped.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Colin wasn’t nice like Doug, and when he drank, he was even meaner.” I stood up. “I want to show you something.”
She bit down on the inside of her lip. “Okay.”
I pulled my shirt up until it was level with the bottom edge of my bra.
Trista gasped and clasped her hand over her mouth. “What happened? Did someone—were you stabbed?”
I nodded. “My ex-husband had a drinking problem too. The only difference between him and Doug was Colin was a mean drunk.”
“Mean enough to stab you?”
“A couple times,” I said.
“Oh my gosh. Why?”
“I wanted a divorce, and he didn’t.”
“So…what did you do?”
Now it was my turn to pause and take a moment to think about how much more information I wanted to share. But I knew I needed to gain her trust. “I shot him,” I said.
Her eyes widened like she’d been spit on by a gorilla at the zoo. “Are you serious?”
I nodded. “And then he lunged at me again with the knife so I shot him in his other kneecap. Let’s just say he couldn’t get around very well for a while. It was worth it. A week later he granted me the divorce I wanted.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. It was a long time ago, and I’m in a much better place in my life now. Look…my point in telling you all this is because I want you to know I understand what it’s like to live with an alcoholic.”
She fidgeted with her wedding ring, sliding it up and down her threadlike finger. “I tried to help him, I really did.”
“Alcoholism can do a lot of things to a person,” I said. “It was his responsibility to overcome it—not yours. It’s a disease. You can’t implicate yourself because of the choices he made.”
“I guess somehow I always felt it was my fault, like he didn’t stop because I didn’t do enough to help him. I thought if I was a better wife, he wouldn’t need to drink. If I was a better mother, he wouldn’t need to drink.”
I shook my head. “Alcoholism doesn’t work that way,” I said. “I’m sure you were an amazing wife.”
Trista reached her trembling hand over to the nightstand and cupped it around a glass of water. She drew it close to her lips and took a sip. “Tomorrow this trip will be all over, and I have to go home and tell my kids what happened to their father. How am I supposed to look them in the eye and tell them?”
“Do Doug’s parents still live in town?” I said.
She nodded.
“Talk to them first. Let them help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”
Her eyes glimmered with determination. “I know you do some kind of PI work now, at least that’s the rumor going around. I read it on the Where Are They Now paper displayed in the dining room. That’s what you do, right?”
I nodded.
“Then I want to hire you.”
I decided to spare her the details about not being licensed in the state of California. Besides, crossing state lines had never stopped me from snooping around before.
“Let me go home and get a few things squared away and then I’ll fly down in a couple days. In the meantime, I’m going to leave you my number.” I grabbed a pen off the counter, scribbled my number down on a pad of paper and handed it to her. “You can call me anytime; it doesn’t matter when, I’ll answer.”
She stood up and grabbed her purse off the chair. “Do you want me to give you some money now, or can I pay you when you get in town?”
“Neither,” I said.
She squinted, wallet in hand. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want any money from you. Doug was a good friend to me once. I want to do this for both of you.”
If I’d come from a family of huggers, I would have pulled her in close right then and told her what she needed to hear—I’d find the person who ended Doug’s life, and everything was going to be all right. But the lack of affection I’d been raised with left me with an inability to bond fully without feeling like I was being forced to sit through a long sermon in a sticky church with no air conditioning. So instead I reached out, patted her shoulder and let her know I’d call her the moment I arrived in town. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
When I left the room I had the overwhelming sensation Trista was still keeping things from me. Maybe with time, she’d open up and lead me to Doug’s killer without even knowing it. I wondered why Tehachapi’s golden boy threw the chance of a great career away for little pay in a dead-end job. I wondered why he chose to spend his nights in a bar getting trashed when he had a family at home that loved him and parents who were the toast of town. Something drove him to the bottle, and I couldn’t help but feel the key to the present lied in the past.
“Earth to Sloane, come in,” Maddie said. “Over.”
I shifted positions on the sofa and sat up. “Sorry. I drifted again. I can’t st
op thinking about what happened on the boat and Trista and how she’s doing.”
“Have you heard from her?”
I shook my head. “Not a word. I called her last night, but she didn’t pick up.”
“How are you doing with all of it?”
“I’m anxious to fly down there and see what I can do to help,” I said.
My eyes shifted to Lord Berkeley, a.k.a. Boo, who was fast asleep on the arm of my sofa.
“Why wait? Go. I’ll take Boo to my house. It will be fine. Take all the time you need.”
Upon hearing his name, Boo rose from the dead, hopped off the couch and trotted to the door. When I didn’t get up fast enough, he scratched it with his paw a few times and then gave me a look that said: Any day now.
Maddie walked over and let him out and then back in about fifteen seconds later. Boo did several spins in a row and then hightailed it to the pantry and waited. Maddie bobbed her shoulders up and down and looked at me. “He didn’t do anything. I don’t get it?”
“It’s the treats.”
“What?”
“The new Beggin’ Strips I got him,” I said. “He thinks he can fake me out by going outside and doing nothing and still get a treat out of it. He goes to the door about twenty times a day now.”
She laughed. “Time to get some new treats.”
“No kidding.”
Maddie bent down to give Boo a reward for the impeccable skill of going out the front door and coming back in. Her long blond pigtails with a splash of hot pink ink on the tips swooped down in front of Boo’s face. He lifted his front paws and swatted her hair like he was trying to catch a fly with a single chopstick.
“Hey, stop that!” Maddie said. She looked my way. “Your dog is mental.”
“He thinks you want to play.”
She threw down another treat, sat back down on the couch and looked at me. “What happened on that reunion cruise of yours amazes me.”
I Have a Secret (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Three) Page 3