Tall, Dark, and Deadly

by Heather Graham

  She was going to call and quit right away. She’d be all right.

  After all, she could work the private parties. They would pay so much better.

  And be so much safer.

  Mollie was back. A ray of hope that just made Sam feel better.

  She’d been lucky not to wake up with a killer headache, she knew, and yet, by Wednesday afternoon, she was feeling very concerned and totally frustrated.

  What had going to the club proved? Nothing, except that she was a chicken and capable of drinking far too much wine. And she’d made a fool of herself with Rowan. And the thought had tormented her all day, so she’d tried to concentrate on work.

  Two officers, now showing more and more attention to the matter—although they still told her that this was no great amount of time for a grown woman to be missing— had been assigned to Marnie’s case. Detectives Lawrence and Ostermann. They had shown up at the gym, too. They reminded Sam of Laurel and Hardy, the one being very tall and slim and the other being as round as a department-store Santa. They were both friends with Teddy, who assured her he had seen to it that the best men were on the case. The detectives were concentrating on the law firm, delving into the people Marnie was defending.

  She wondered if she should mention the strip club, but she didn’t know what to say. She had promised Loretta that she wouldn’t, and she wouldn’t—not without a reason! She didn’t really have one. Maybe the police were right to concentrate on Marnie’s clients.

  It was sunset now. She’d come out, seen that Mollie was cruising her waters, and gone back into the house for a head of lettuce. When she returned, she sat and fed the manatee, coaxing Mollie close, scratching her head, talking to her.

  The night was still. The colors over the bay were glorious. It all appeared very peaceful, and beautiful.

  She felt Rowan’s presence before she turned to see him. Actually she didn’t exactly sense Rowan’s presence, but she realized that someone was standing behind her, and when she turned, it was him.

  She looked back to the water. “You’re not supposed to just appear in someone’s backyard. You might have knocked on the front door.”

  “I did. You didn’t answer.”

  “That probably meant I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  “I thought I’d take a chance and come around back here.”

  She was trying to think of the right words to tell him that she wanted him to go away. Except that she didn’t want him to go away. She stared straight out across the bay, her feet dangling in the water. He sat down beside her. He was in cutoffs and a polo shirt, barefoot, and he dangled his feet over the dock, then reached down as she had done to pat the manatee. She wished that Mollie would recognize him as a stranger and swim away, lifting her sea cow nose into the air. Mollie did no such thing. She kept sweeping back and forth by Rowan, accepting his touch.

  “She’s incredible,” he said.

  “Yes,” she murmured coolly.

  “Friendly.”

  “Maybe too friendly. She’ll catch another propeller one day. We probably shouldn’t feed her the way we all do.”

  “Oh, I think she seldom leaves this area. She probably learned her lesson about boats.”

  “Well, sometimes we can all be amazingly dense about learning lessons in life.”

  “Are you referring to me, or yourself?”

  “Maybe both of us.”

  He sat up, shaking the sea water from his hands. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “Be that as it may, you did a darn good job.”

  “You might consider the idea of forgiving me.”

  “I might,” she said, looking his way at last. “But somehow… the desire to do so just eludes me.” Then she flushed, realizing how horrible she sounded—and just how decent he had been the night before. “I—I just don’t think that… that people can go back. That we could like or trust one another again.”

  “Well, then, there’s not too much I can do,” he said, but he didn’t move. It was the most beautiful time of the day. Both sky and bay gleamed with a soft crimson glow, and orange streaked the skies. Across the waves, the buildings out on Key Biscayne glittered like ancient palaces.

  She kept staring at the bay. “You left last night. You could have stayed. I was in no shape to protest.”

  “That’s exactly why I didn’t stay. But, yes, I could have.”

  “I owe you for last night, that’s for certain.”

  “All right. This is the truth, and I swear it, and I don’t beg people to believe me, no matter how much I want them to. Dina was self-destructive, and I knew it. When she returned, she was in sorry shape. I had married her. I could never have lived with myself if I hadn’t tried to help her.”

  “You might have said that to me then.”

  “At the time? Exactly what should I have said. ‘Oh, excuse me, thank you, you’ve been a fabulous lover, but they’ve found my wife, I didn’t do away with her after all, but she’s a drug addict and I need to be with her’?”

  She swung on him then. “Yes!”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t love her anymore. Oh, God knows, I did care. But I didn’t love her. When she ran off—before I was accused of having done something to her, of course—I was actually relieved. She… God, she clung. I don’t know if she knew what she was doing to herself or not, but she was so needy. When she first ran off, all I could think was that I was so grateful— I could breathe. Then I met you. And I was in love with you. You were everything that Dina couldn’t be— strong, independent, you knew who you were. You didn’t need pills to sleep, or pills to wake up, or alcohol to make it through to sunset. You were fresh air and starshine, and we laughed, and you listened when I played, and you were so sincere in everything you did.

  So she was right. I didn’t love her. But I had to try. I thought that I could make her stronger. That I could build her up so she could live her own life. I was wrong. But I still couldn’t have done anything differently. I don’t know if I did things the right way, but I couldn’t have done them any differently.”

  Sam hugged her knees to her chest. “I don’t know what you want me to say. When we first met, I thought you were divorced—”

  “I told you that we had split up,” he interrupted quietly. “I didn’t lie. I didn’t tell you that I was legally divorced.”

  She shrugged. “All right, maybe I believed what I wanted to believe. But I loved you. When you were arrested—”

  “Actually, I was simply taken in.”

  “Whatever. The police cuffed you and took you away. It didn’t matter to me. I knew you were innocent, I loved you. I knew better. I adored you. I was like a stricken groupie. When I look back now, I was pathetic. But… but I went away. What else was there to do? So you went back with your wife, and… and my folks were in an accident, my father died, and my mother was terribly injured. It was a wretched time of my life. I’m through with it. I don’t want to take giant steps backward. I don’t want to fall in love with you again.”

  He had turned toward her. There was a rueful smile curling his lips. He reached out, stroking her hair, brushing a knuckle down her cheeks. “Don’t fall in love with me, then. Just let me be a neighbor—a friend.”

  “A friend?”

  His smile deepened. He looked out to sea. “All right, well, sex is an instinct in life. I mean, we all usually want to have sex with someone… and well, we’ve practiced before, there’s both a certain excitement and a comfort in knowing what you’re going to get…”

  “You have incredible nerve.”

  “Do I? You would have been as easy as sliding into silk last night.”

  “Oh, my God—”

  He laughed. “We could head back to the club, see how you feel today.”

  “You’re being horrible.”

  “I’m being anxious. Well… what do you think?”

  “I think you should dunk yourself in the bay!” she told him.

  “Actually, that doesn’t sound l
ike such a bad idea. Do you ever dunk yourself in the bay? I have a ton of scuba equipment.”

  She hesitated, then shrugged, realizing that he’d completely changed the subject. “Yeah, I go in now and then. Especially when Mollie is around. She loves to swim with people.”

  “Does she?”

  Sam took a look at him. He appeared comfortable, at ease. She knew that whatever her own bitterness against him, she was still terribly attracted to him—and that life hadn’t dealt him an easy hand at times either. Dina and then Billy. She thought about how painful it had been to lose her father, then she wondered what it would have been like if she’d had police and reporters demanding explanations for her every move along the way as well.

  But she was sober now, and she didn’t want to ride the roller coaster again. Yet it was good to sit beside him, and good to talk.

  “Sam,” he said quietly, “why did you go to that club?”

  “Marnie used to work there,” she said, glancing at him. “I thought I could learn something… but I failed miserably.”

  Rowan was very concerned. “Sam, don’t go getting involved with a bunch of creeps, thinking you’re going to help a friend. You’ve called the police. There’s nothing more that you can do. Except put yourself in danger.”

  “There's got to be more that I can do—”

  “There isn’t. If something bad did happen to her, you could be putting yourself in the same kind of danger.”

  Sam looked at him. “You’re the one who’s buddy-buddy with the law firm. You should try to find out what goes on down there.”

  “Maybe I will.”

  Before Sam could reply, an anxious voice interrupted them.

  “Mr. Rowan, Senor Rowan…”

  They both spun around. Sam saw a middle-aged, slightly rounded Hispanic woman in a maid’s outfit making her way toward them. Croton leaves and hibiscus flowers were sticking out of her clothing. She had obviously dug her way through the foliage to reach them.

  “Adelia!” Rowan said, surprised, rising to meet her. “What happened? Are you all right? What’s the matter?” He walked to her quickly, taking her hands, studying her from head to toe.

  But the woman shook her head quickly. “No, no, you needn’t worry for me, Mister Rowan, but she’s back! That awful woman is back.”

  “Marnie?” Sam said, leaping to her feet.

  Adelia looked her way, frowning. “No, no, that reporter woman,” Adelia explained quickly. “She came to the door, rang, and banged! I didn’t answer the door to her, and do you know what she did? She dared walk right into the back—around the house. She was going to the pool to look for you, or to sneak into the basement area, where you keep your music.”

  Rowan glanced at Sam. “Must be an epidemic in this neighborhood of people running through private property to reach people they want to see.”

  “She is coming after you now, Mr. Rowan,” Adelia warned. “I think that she saw me, that she is following me right through the bushes!”

  Rowan was silent.

  Sam looked down at her hands—they were shaking. Damn, she didn’t want to do this. She looked up at him. “Do you want to come in?”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  She stood up, dusting off her hands and walking to the house. She entered on the basement level, allowing the two of them to follow her. She closed the door and looked out just in time to see a young woman in a tailored pantsuit come crashing through the bushes.

  The hedges were close to the pool. The young woman nearly plummeted in. She was attractive, mid to late twenties, with short, cleanly cropped dark hair that swung in an angle around her features. She regained her balance and looked around suspiciously.

  “Where did that old bitch go?” the young woman said, loud enough to be heard behind the closed door.

  Adelia swore in Spanish.

  “I really should go give her a piece of my mind—” Rowan began.

  “Umm, and she’ll write it right up,” Sam warned. “Shh!” She watched as the young woman walked around her yard, down to the dock. She stared out at the water, looked into it. Then she came back, walking around the pool area.

  “This is ridiculous—” Rowan muttered.

  “Rowan, stop, or she’ll hear you.”

  At length the woman turned and started walking around to the front of Sam’s yard. Maybe she figured that she had lost her quarry, and it would be useless to subject herself to the tall crotons and hibiscus again.

  “Let’s see where she goes.”

  Sam led the way up the stairs to her ground level, carefully pulling the front drapes to the side of the living room window. The reporter had gone to her red Jeep, opened the door, and crawled in. Sam waited for her to start the motor. She didn’t. She twisted around, and Sam saw that there was a man seated in the back of the car. He got out and headed toward Rowan’s front door.

  Adelia started to mutter threateningly in Spanish.

  “She’s really after you, isn’t she?” Sam murmured.

  “So it seems.”

  “Why?”

  “Same old story. You’d think that I would be very old news. We’ll go back the way we came, Adelia,” he told his maid.

  She nodded, but turned to Sam. “Thank you, gracias. It’s so kind of you, letting us in like this.”

  “So graciously!”Rowan added.

  He turned then, heading back to the steps to the basement level, to the French doors to the patio, and on out. Adelia followed along behind, and Sam followed them.

  “Shit!” Rowan swore, stopping. The bushes were moving again.

  “Well, you wanted to try out the water,” Sam suggested.

  “What?”

  “The water. There’s a little more gas and fuel on the shore here, but it’s really not so bad. Nowhere near as bad as by the marinas.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Oh, no! No, no, no! I am not going into the water!” Adelia protested.

  “No, you just stay here with me for a while,” Sam said. “Rowan, you’d better hustle—”

  But he was already gone. He moved with the silence and grace of an athlete, shooting across her yard, onto the dock, and into the water.

  A second later the man appeared. He stopped just by Marnie’s bushes. Then Adelia started to swear again in Spanish—and her words were punctuated with references to the polizia. The man retreated into the bushes.

  Sam couldn’t help it. She started laughing. She put a hand on Adelia’s shoulder. “Come in. We’ll have a glass of wine together.” Wine. Maybe she shouldn’t. No, it would be all right. She wouldn’t be staring at naked people tonight—she wouldn’t be tempted to guzzle.

  “Oh, no, no, no, thank you, but I’m working, I work for Senor Rowan—”

  “You work for him all night?”

  “Oh, no!” Adelia said with wide eyes. “Oh, no, he is easy, the nicest man I have worked for ever.” Her eyes rolled. “At first I was afraid. I meet Miss Newcastle, and I think, no, Adelia, I scrub sidewalks before I work for her. I worked at the law office, you see, but they hired a new company, and the companies, they…” she paused, sniffing scornfully, “they make money off my knees, you understand?”

  “I’m afraid I do.”

  “But Mr. Rowan… he tells me to go home early, he thanks me for what I do—and he give me what he calls ‘bonus’ already. I love him! I work when he needs me. Next time I will take a rolling pin to the head of that reporter woman!”

  Sam laughed again, certain that Rowan would be in good hands. She could just picture Adelia, dark Latin eyes flashing, as she went after the chic brunette.

  “The next time, she goes into your pool, eh? She is the one who will be all wet.”

  “Here, here! Now that certainly deserves a glass of wine.”

  Adelia was confused and protested again, but Sam urged her on in. She poured them both wine, then found herself cooking pasta.

  She enjoyed Adelia. And sipping the wine carefully actually did seem
to help.

  Adelia told her about her nieces and nephews back home in Cuba. She was trying to earn enough money to help her sister bring the family over.

  “Can they legally come?” Sam asked.

  “You don’t understand Cuba. Laws are for sale. Maybe I can get them out legally, maybe I will need more money for people to turn their heads. Even here, money talks loudly, you know? Mr. Rowan, he will help, I know that.”

  “But you worked at the law firm—”

  “Yes, there is a man there for immigration. Miss Newcastle, though, she is the one who tells me to help myself, and then God, and others, will help too!” She crossed herself.

  Sam lowered her head for a moment. Yes. Marnie would help Adelia. Marnie could be cold, self-centered, and ambitious as hell, but she could be stubborn and determined, and she would admire Adelia’s work ethic and her determination.

  She served simple pasta with marinara to herself and Rowan’s protesting maid; she forced Adelia to remain seated while she put out the plates and poured the wine. Adelia grew giggly, and described Cuba when she had been a little girl. She’d had a husband once, but they had locked him up years and years ago in a Cuban prison, and she didn’t even know if he was alive anymore, if she was really a wife or a widow.

  “And there’s nothing you can do about that?”

  “Maybe. Maybe now that Mr. Rowan has gone to Mr. Daly. Mr. Daly can make things happen. He knows men in politics, and sometimes…”

  “Your husband may very well be dead, Adelia.”

  “I know.”

  “But you should know, in case you wish to remarry—”

  “No,” Adelia said, turning the wedding band on her finger. “Mario and I were deeply in love. He would not recognize me now—I am chubby, si? But once I was slim, so pretty, and he was so handsome. Proud—he had to say what he believed. So they took him away, but I will always love him. I will just keep praying. Am I silly? A silly old chubby woman?”

  “No, Adelia, you’re beautiful, and your thoughts are beautiful,” Sam told her. She hesitated, thinking about Adelia’s words, about the man she had married—locked away now for years, if he still lived.