by Joanna Wayne
THE SKY WAS AN AZURE shade of blue, with only an occasional whipped cream cloud to break the splendid monotony. The wind had picked up a little since morning, but the water in the small channels was still relatively calm as she and Raoul made their way through the maze of green islands toward Everglades City.
The day was so magnificent, in fact, that Jaci had started to lose the defensive edge she’d expected to need with Raoul. He wasn’t overly friendly, but he hadn’t said anything to indicate he knew about all the research material in her apartment.
“Nice boat,” she said, slipping out of her sneakers and stretching her legs along the curved seat that hugged the bow. “Do you spend a lot of time on it?”
“Not that much anymore.”
“What a shame. It’s a beautiful vessel.”
He nodded.
Definitely a man of few words. She gave up on the effort to engage him in conversation, and leaned back to enjoy the scenery. A fish jumped ahead of them, its fins shining like gold in the bright sunshine.
A few minutes later, she spotted a long, green snake stretched out on a limb hanging over the water. And on the other side of the channel, a blue heron scouted the beach, lifting each leg, then cautiously lowering it as if walking on hot coals.
A small loglike snout caught her attention. “Look! There’s a baby alligator,” she said, pointing to the bank where the small reptile was sunning.
“Probably a watchful mother close by then,” Raoul stated.
Jaci searched the area but caught no sight of a dangerously wary parent. “It’s amazing how this area thrives with life.”
“And we’re seeing only a small portion of it,” Raoul replied, finally letting a bit of enthusiasm seep into his voice. “There’s lots more beneath the surface of the water.”
He steered the boat to the right, passing a sandy slope of yet another island, and a half-dozen huge turtles sleeping in the sun. “Have you ever dived?”
“Many times,” she said. “My mother and her husband gave me diving lessons when I was sixteen, then took me to the Great Coral Reef off the coast of Australia to try out my new skills. From that moment on I was pretty much hooked. How about you?”
“I was hooked early, too,” he admitted, “but I didn’t get to Australia until much later.”
She’d probably sounded like a snob, throwing out the Australian adventure like that. She hadn’t meant it that way. But the experience had been so exciting.
Not that it mattered what Raoul thought of her. She’d probably never see him again after today, and she was still certain he had an ulterior motive for taking her to Everglades City. Sooner or later, he’d hit her with it. She’d prefer it be sooner so they could get it out of the way.
“Why did you volunteer to take me into town?”
“It’s no big deal.”
“It interfered with your fishing trip.”
“I can fish tomorrow just as easily as today.”
He was standing at the rudder, his unbuttoned, long-sleeved blue shirt blowing open to reveal all the details of his bronzed chest. A smattering of dark hairs started around his nipples and trailed down his flat stomach until they disappeared into the waistband of his white shorts.
She turned away quickly when he caught her staring, then adjusted her hat to block more of the sun’s glare. “It’s warm for late October.”
“You can never tell about the weather this time of year. There are cold beers in the refrigerator inside the cabin if you’re thirsty.”
“Any diet sodas?”
“There should be a couple. Help yourself.”
“Can I get something for you?”
“A beer would be good.”
Not bothering with her shoes, she walked barefoot into the cabin. It was small but more luxurious than she’d expected—and extremely neat for a guy who traveled alone.
The living and kitchen areas were one room separated by a small bookcase. There was a brown tweed sofa, a TV, a pull-down kitchen table between two cushioned benches, and a cooking area. The bedroom and bathroom were most likely through the door behind the kitchen.
Jaci started toward the refrigerator, then stopped to examine a small framed photograph on the bookshelf. It was of Raoul standing with his arm around a strikingly beautiful woman. She had the clean-cut look of a soap model, with no apparent makeup and shiny brown hair flowing to her shoulders.
Another photo of the same woman stood beside it. This one looked as if it had been taken by a professional photographer. It was signed, “To Raoul, All my love forever, Allison.”
So there was a woman in Raoul’s life, though he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Jaci’s mother would be proud that she’d noticed that much.
Jaci retrieved the drinks and rejoined Raoul on the deck. This would have been the perfect opportunity to get his take on why Carlos had stayed on Cape Diablo for so many years—that is, if he hadn’t already caught her snooping in the man’s closet.
Raoul thanked her for the beer, but barely let her get seated again before he nailed her with a piercing stare. “Why did you really come to Cape Diablo?”
She bristled at his tone. If he thought he was going to put her on the defensive, he was wrong. “I don’t owe you any explanation for why I rented the apartment.”
“You people just don’t give up, do you?”
“You people?”
“Yeah, Miss Matlock, you people who think every unsolved crime is your oyster. I know all about your little school project.”
“So you’re the one who broke into my apartment?”
“When did someone break into your apartment?”
“Like you don’t know.”
“I didn’t break into your appointment.”
“Then how do you know so much about my business?”
“The form you filled out when you rented the apartment asked for next of kin. You gave your mother’s name.”
“And you called her to spy on me?” His gall amazed Jaci.
“Considering your snooping behavior, I thought it important to know if you’re a thief or just a nosy liar. Your mother wasn’t home, but her housekeeper was most helpful with her explanation that you’re working on a project for a graduate degree in forensic science.”
“So you got me,” she said, taking a huge swallow of her drink. “It’s not as if I’m breaking a law. The suspicion of foul play and the few police records that exist regarding the Santiago family are public record.”
“My uncle’s not part of the public record, and breaking and entering was a crime the last time I checked.”
“I didn’t break in. The door was open, and I thought the boathouse was part of the resort, not a private residence.”
“Don’t take up poker, Jaci. You’re a sorry liar.”
“Okay, so I looked around. It’s not as if I planned to hold him hostage.”
“No, you were going the subtle route—talk him into taking you fishing, and worm your way into his confidence.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Isn’t it?”
Actually, it was, but when Raoul said so, it sounded a lot more underhanded than what she’d planned. “You make it sound as if Carlos has something to hide.”
“No, but that wouldn’t keep you from trying to pin something on him.”
“I’m in forensic science. We examine evidence, not fabricate it.”
Raoul took a long swig of his beer. “Carlos was cleared years ago. He’s an old man. He’s paid enough over the years. He deserves a little peace.”
Jaci took a deep breath and focused on a jungle of mangroves to their right. She could see where Raoul was coming from, but he was making her out to be the bad guy. She wasn’t.
“Look, Raoul, no matter what you think of me, I’m not here to cause trouble for Carlos or Alma Garcia.”
“If that’s the case, why don’t you just pack your things and let me take you back to the mainland tonight? I’m sure you can conduct your
‘little investigation’ just fine from there.”
She counted to ten to keep from hurling the half-empty soda can at him, finally deciding not to dignify his comment with a reply.
She had every right to be on the island. She stewed silently, and the more she thought about Raoul’s reaction, the more suspicious she became of his motivation.
Could it be that the sexy, arrogant Raoul Lazario knew something about his uncle that he didn’t want discovered? For a cold case, the Cape Diablo mystery was getting hotter by the day.
They made the rest of the trip in silence. Raoul was infuriating, which made it twice as irritating that every time she caught a glimpse of him, she was aware of how sexy he looked at the helm of the boat.
Amazing that a man like Enrique tried so hard to be seductive, and with Raoul it just seemed to come naturally, even when he was being a total ass. Even when she suspected he might have something to hide.
But then, that was probably the attraction. She’d always loved a challenge.
SLINKY’S BAR WAS THE TYPICAL beach hangout, right down to the rickety wooden sign that proclaimed No Shirt, No Shoes— No Problem. The building itself looked as if it had been constructed overnight, probably after a hurricane had ripped the last Slinky’s Bar to shreds. The lingering odors of smoke, beer, body odor and mold hung heavy in the stale air.
Various beer advertisements dangled from the walls, and a jukebox in the corner was belting out a Jimmy Buffet song. Two bearded guys in Bermuda shorts and cotton shirts, tails out, sat at the bar talking to a waitress with breasts that threatened to slide out of a lime-green tank top at any second. Jaci guessed both men to be in their midfifties, though she couldn’t be sure in the dim light.
The only other patrons were a group of what looked to be middle-aged vacationers at a table in the back, and two guys and two girls in their twenties playing pool.
Jaci was aware of the stares from the two men at the bar as she crossed the rough floor and took the table in the back right corner, hoping that neither turned out to be Mac Lowell. They looked far too zoned out for her to put a lot of stock in what they remembered from thirty years ago.
She tucked her handbag on the seat next to her and tried to look at ease, though she felt as out of place here as she did at her mother’s society functions.
Not because it was a bar. Even though she wasn’t much of a drinker, she’d been in her share of them during her years at the university. The awkwardness was due more to the fact that her reason for being here was seriously out of kilter with the atmosphere.
The waitress stopped in front of her. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a margarita on the rocks, no salt.”
Jaci kept her eye on the door, wishing Mac would show up, though she knew she was early. She waited until her drink was served, then glanced at the Budweiser clock over the bar. Still twenty minutes before two.
She made the mistake of making eye contact with one of the men at the bar. He picked up his drink, slid off his bar stool and ambled back to her table.
“Are you expecting someone?”
“Yes. He should be here any minute.”
“Is he a big, burly, jealous husband?”
“No, just a… He’s just a friend.”
“In that case, feel free to join us until he shows up—or if he don’t show up. You look too lonesome back here in the dark by yourself.”
She’d hoped to look inconspicuous. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine.”
“You here on vacation?”
“No. Just visiting.” It was clear he wasn’t just going to disappear voluntarily. “Would you excuse me?” she said, picking up her handbag and slipping the strap over her shoulder. “I need to go to the restroom.”
“Gotcha. You’re not looking for company.”
He tipped his beer in her direction and went back to the bar. She followed the signs to the bathroom, hoping Mac would be here by the time she returned, or at least by the time she finished the margarita.
Mainly she just hoped he showed up.
RAOUL CHECKED THE SUPPLIES in the boat’s refrigerator, then got another beer and walked back to stretch out on deck. It had been awhile since he’d been to Everglades City, but it never seemed to change much, and he had no desire to walk the narrow streets or peruse the beach bars or seashell shops.
He closed his eyes, and his mind sifted through a couple of unsettling thoughts about Carlos and Alma before settling on Jaci.
She was nice looking in a low-key, casual kind of way that made her far more seductive than if she’d flaunted her body in one of those bathing suits that fitted like dental floss. Great legs.
Nice hair, too, especially when the sun highlighted it with gold. But it was her eyes that really set her apart. Dark lashes surrounded emerald-green irises that flashed when she got riled.
But he wished he knew what she was really after with this investigation. In thirty years, no one had tied Carlos or Alma to the Santiagos’ disappearance. Even Raoul’s grandfather had never suggested that either of them bore any guilt in the bizarre mystery.
And yet…
Raoul’s mind drifted back years to a hot night when he’d been sneaking to the playhouse Pilar and Reyna’s father had built them in a cluster of mangroves. Raoul couldn’t have been more that five. He didn’t have a lot of memories that went back that far, and this one was hazy.
Fragments of the conversation came back to him now. A body floating in the pool. An evil witch. And plans for how they were going to kill her. He’d run back to the boathouse when they’d started talking about killing witches. He’d told his grandfather, who’d said they were just trying to scare him.
Raoul let the memories slide, and finished his beer, already bored with nothing to do. Strolling the streets of Everglades City might not be such a bad way to wile away an hour or two, after all. If Jaci returned before him, she’d just have to wait.
Again he wondered exactly what she had to do in town that was so important, anyway. Anyone who had information about the Santiago mystery would have leaked it long ago.
MAC WASN’T THERE BY THE time Jaci finished the margarita, even though she’d sipped slowly and made it last as long as she could. Nor had he answered his phone.
He hadn’t wanted her to come to his house, but he must know that she’d at least try to catch him there if he didn’t show at Slinky’s.
She pushed the empty margarita glass away and glanced at the clock over the bar one last time. It was two forty-five. She paid her tab and escaped out the front door, eager to breathe air that didn’t choke going down. Eager to find Mac.
Less than ten minutes later, she walked up on the porch at his house and knocked. A dog barked inside, then broke into a wail. There was no sound of footsteps or any other human noises inside the house. She knocked again. The dog wailed even louder.
Unwilling to give up, she looked around to see if Mac was outside somewhere. He wasn’t, and neither was anyone else. The nearest house was half a block away, and it looked deserted.
She knocked again as she struggled with her conscience. Breaking into a house belonging to a man she’d never met before was a lot different than walking into a resort boathouse.
The dog continued to wail. She tried the doorknob. It turned and the door creaked open. The dog stood nearby, staring up at her with big brown eyes, its tail between its legs.
She knelt beside him. “What’s the matter, boy? You don’t look hurt. Are you hungry? Thirsty?” She stood and looked around. A nearly empty coffee cup and a saucer holding half a piece of toast set on a table near the sofa. A newspaper, opened to the sports news, was lying on the floor near a pair of green flip-flops.
“Mac?” she called, but didn’t expect an answer. The house had a quietness about it that spooked her a little.
The dog started to wail again, and Jaci hesitated only a few seconds before following him down the hall and through a doorway. Mac was there, or at least someone was.
The dog whimpered and scratched at its own face with his front paws. Jaci just stood there, staring into the room, while a cold knot of fear and icy dread settled in her chest.
Chapter Six
The body was suspended from what appeared to be a meat hook in the ceiling, the head resting at a bizarre angle that made it look as if it were unattached. The blank eyes were open, the bulbous tissue surrounding them discolored.
Jaci checked for a pulse, though she knew from the appearance of the skin and the musculature that he was dead. But he hadn’t been for long. Maybe for as little as an hour. It might have happened while she was sitting at Slinky’s Bar waiting for Mac to appear.
This might or might not be Mac. All she could ascertain was that the victim was a white, middle-aged or older male with a receding hairline, salt-and-pepper hair and a chunky build.
The chair kicked from beneath his feet and lying sideways on the floor indicated it had been a suicide, or at least that someone wanted it to look like a suicide.
She took in the rest of the surroundings slowly, working through the initial shock as best she could. The dog had stopped wailing, but he was stretched out beneath the dead man’s dangling feet.
The smell and feel of death consumed her as she took her camera from her purse and shot detailed photographs of the room and the body, careful not to disturb anything. Strangely, the action had a calming effect. Dissecting a crime scene was what she knew.
When she was finished, she called the local police, then walked to the porch to wait for the officers’ arrival. Guilt reared its ugly head as she waited. Could her phone call to him have anything to do with Mac’s death? But then, how could it?
The dog began to wail again. Maybe she was just commiserating with him, but suddenly she felt real pangs of isolation. She had never felt so alone.
RAOUL HAD ALREADY STARTED BACK toward the marina and his waiting boat when he heard the police siren. He turned to watch the squad car speed past, only to skid to a stop in front of the gaudy blue house about seventy yards down the quiet neighborhood street.