"Your phone got a signal? I usually can't…"Silas's phone began to ring.
As he clicked on, I could hear him try to interrupt the caller.
"Of course you had to give her the money, George. Yes, it's nice the two policemen bought their wedding rings in your store, but there's no reason to bother them right now. My car is… unavailable at the moment, but somebody will be able to give Dorothy a ride, I'm sure. I mean Doria. Okay, you can put her on."
At the mention of Dorothy's name, Joe called out. "You got Dorothy on the phone? Let me talk to her." He held out his hand, then waved it away, "No. Second thought, give it to Bonzo here. Let him tell her I didn't kill you, okay?"
Silas handed his phone to Ronzo.
As Ronzo held it to his ear, his face went from his usual cocky smile to shock, and back to a smile.
"Doria? I'm talking to Doria Windsor? I'm glad you're not dead. I'm not dead, too. Feels good."
He handed the phone to Joe.
"She says she's sorry she thought you killed me, Joe."
Chapter 87—The Resurrection of #HarrytheShark
Doria was happy Plant and Silas had enough food in the freezer for her to cook a meal for the whole crowd. She asked Bucky to go down and invite the people from the camp as soon as she arrived. Everybody deserved to be in on the celebration. She was so proud of Joey—and Bucky and his pals—for rescuing her friends.
Toto had come running up with Tyler right behind him, followed by the others. The little band welcomed her like family as they streamed on to the patio of Silas and Plant's big house.
Doria was glad George and Enrique agreed to come, too. They'd been so nice about giving her the money for her ring setting. Almost a thousand dollars. Amazing what a fortune that seemed to her now. They really had been very kind. Although right now they looked a little nervous about all the homeless people seating themselves around the patio.
Lucky looked just as wary of George and Enrique, and she was obviously none too pleased to see people drinking wine, but she was at least being civil.
"I did not believe that B. S. Joe was giving us about the stuff he found in that blogger's notebook. All that stuff about Harry the Shark being alive in some hideout." Lucky accepted a plate full of barbequed tri-tip, beans, and cornbread from Silas. "Bucky's an old man. He could have got himself killed."
"But he didn't," the little balding man said. "He was a goddam hero."
"I think my training in 'Nam kicked in," Bucky said. "I guess killing people is one of those things you don't forget. Like riding a bike."
George and Enrique turned a little pale at the gallows humor, but they didn't bring up the police again. They were still upset that Doria hadn't turned herself in to the authorities. Apparently the two policemen she'd run from the day before had actually been a gay couple buying rings and now they were fast friends with George and Enrique.
"Think of how much better you'll feel once you let people know you're not dead," Enrique said. "You must have family and friends who are worried sick."
It was amazing how few family and friends Doria had. Her mother and aunts were long gone and she had no siblings. Friends were not a luxury she'd been able to afford as she clawed her way to the top. And then there was Betsy….
Besides, she hadn't yet decided about the authorities. Joey really wanted her to stay dead. He said dying was the best thing that ever happened to him, but she was pretty sure becoming a fugitive wasn't a good lifestyle choice for a woman her age.
She went back outside to join Joey. He was having a glass of wine in spite of Lucky.
"Alcohol was never my drug of choice," he said. "I was a coke head. And that—well, I haven't touched it since the day…" he glanced through the window at Ronzo and lowered his voice. "The day J. J. Tower died in that fire. Don't worry. A glass of wine isn't going to turn me back into J. J."
There was a shout from Marvin and Plant, who were in the living room watching the TV news. Plant had already read on Twitter that the Coast Guard had picked up somebody who might be Harry. It seemed Harry had his own category on Twitter: #HarrytheShark.
"Breaking news!" Marvin said. "It's official. They got him!"
Doria ran inside in time to hear the newscaster say—
"Disgraced financier Harry Sharkov was found alive in a cove near Ragged Point, in the company of some members of the Norte de Valle Colombian drug cartel. He was attempting to escape the country unnoticed in one of the semi-submersible boats called "narco-subs."
So that's why he'd been so excited about those damned submarines. He must have been planning this for months.
Doria stood in front of the television. They kept showing pictures of the boats. They looked like long, skinny spaceships, painted blue. But she didn't want to see boats. She wanted to see Harry. In handcuffs.
"Pictures!" she shouted. "I want to see pictures of Harry. I'm not going to believe any of it until I see him."
But the TV went back to their regular programming.
"Film at eleven," she said. "I can't wait for some damned film at eleven."
"That's why broadcast television is dying." Plant turned it off. "Let me see what I can get on the local channel's website." He played with his iPhone.
Marvin gave one of his odd laughs. "Believe me, Doria. Harry is alive and kicking. He sure kicked Ronzo here."
Ronzo was lounging on the couch, looking out at the patio with puppy-dog eyes fixed on Camilla, who was graciously making conversation with the people from the camp. Doria hoped Camilla was going to get over being angry with the poor boy. He was obviously smitten.
"Actually, that was his Colombian friends who did the kicking." Ronzo turned to Doria. "I could have taken Harry, even though I was a little sore from all that kayaking." He rubbed his upper arm. "I don't think he knew I was there until they'd been beating me for a couple of hours. They wanted to make me admit I was a cop. Nobody believes it when you say you're a blogger. I might as well have claimed to be Elvis."
Camilla had come to hover in the doorway. She was looking rather lovely in spite of her ordeal. Way better than Doria did, still in her oversized jogging suit.
Ronzo was wearing a jogging suit that nearly matched Doria's, also borrowed from Plant. The clothes he'd been wearing had been left in shreds by Harry's cohorts.
"It hardly bears thinking about," Camilla said to Ronzo. "It must have been so horrible—the ordeal you went through with those cartel people. If only I'd listened to my answering machine the day before. I could have told Marvin…"
"So he could have paddled into that trap, too?" Ronzo gave her a big smile. "None of us figured Harry would have an army of professional crooks posted all over the property. There must have been a dozen of them. It's a pretty perfect place to unload contraband. I think they might have been planning more operations there."
"No wonder Harry was so eager to buy that property," Silas said. He seemed to have finished his serving duties and had a plate of his own. He sat down next to Plant.
"Thank goodness you didn't listen to me when he offered to buy it," Plant said. "It must have put a crimp in his plans."
Ronzo sat up and took a drink of his wine. "Something did. Everything seemed disorganized up there. Like there was a plan and it had gone wrong. Things had to be speeded up for some reason. Harry kept telling me he didn't murder Tom. He claims Tom actually did set himself on fire, by passing out with a bottle of booze and a kerosene lantern inside his tent. He came running up the hill engulfed in flames and when Harry couldn't do anything to help him…"
"That is so much bullshit," Marvin said. "Excuse my French, ladies, but come on…a burned body just fell into Harry's lap? A toothless burned body?"
"That doesn't make sense to me," Doria said. "He was supposed to pick me up at the hospital the day after the fire. If he had a plan for later, I would have been up there by then."
"I think you were supposed to be blamed for the fire, Doria," Ronzo said. "That's why he'd filed for divorce. To give y
ou a motive. That and his relationship with the lovely Fantasia…"
Fantasia had downed four glasses of wine in quick succession and was now snoring rather loudly in one of the chaises on the patio. Poor girl. Doria supposed she'd been simply one more discarded piece of female flesh to Harry. After he'd used her to steal her father's boat, he didn't need her. Now she was afraid to go home to her father. Doria hoped Marvin would take care of her somehow.
Harry had a way of sucking the souls out of people. She was only now beginning to feel hers coming back.
She looked out at Joey and gave him a little wave. He smiled back over his plate of barbeque.
She watched Camilla coming closer to Ronzo. Doing that little mating dance.
"I think I owe you an apology Mr. Zolek," Camilla said, hovering near where he lay on the couch. "I was furious that you announced my poverty on that blog of yours. Although the cash mob was rather kind. I haven't had time to look at the numbers, but all those sales will go a long way to help me get the store going again."
Ronzo sat up and looked directly at Camilla. Doria hoped he wouldn't say anything confrontational. She'd had quite enough conflict for one week.
But Ronzo took Camilla's hand and shook his head like a little boy who was ashamed of himself.
"I ambushed you. You have a right to be pissed off. I knew you wouldn't let me run the story if I told you about it. But I did it to help. Do you really care what a handful of aging New York society witches think of you?"
Camilla hesitated a moment, then seated herself next to him. "Maybe not. Well, not as much as I would have a year ago."
Joey came in the patio door and stood behind Doria. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and said, "Looks like it might be bedtime for the Manners Doctor and Bonzo there. What about you and me? Wanna spend another night down there in Hobo land?"
Doria hesitated. She knew she couldn't live the kind of life Joey lived—or Lucky and Bucky—although right now it looked more appealing than the alternative. And she could make that campsite look really sweet with the thousand dollars George and Enrique gave her for the ring setting.
She let Joey kiss her.
"Okay, just for tonight," Doria said. "I'll think about my resurrection tomorrow."
Chapter 88—Bedtime for Bonzo
Back at the Thrifty Motel, I helped Ronzo carry his things to his room from my car. Luckily they had a vacancy. This room was a bit more spacious than the one we'd shared. And it had a glimpse of the bay.
Here I was—alone in a motel room with him again.
We were both laughing too loud.
"Dorothy was pretty amazing out there with her homeless friends, wasn't she?" Ronzo was obviously trying to keep things light. "Dorothy and Toto. A kind of reverse-Oz. At least we pulled the curtain on her faux financial wizard before he got away."
I fiddled with the pencil and pad of paper on the desk, not wanting to take off, but not sure what to say. I decided to play along with his metaphor.
"You're right. She even has a Scarecrow and a Tin Woodman: Lucky with that hair of hers and Bucky with his metal leg. All she needs is a Cowardly Lion,"
Ronzo gave me a funny look. "Amazing you would say that."
I didn't understand his reference. Maybe he thought I was being rude talking about Lucky's hair and Bucky's prosthetic leg. But I didn't want to simply leave like this, not talking about our romantic non-relationship. Maybe if I shifted the subject a little…
"Doria Windsor in love with a homeless man—who would have imagined it?" I hoped that wasn't too unsubtle.
In case it was, I started to move toward the door.
Ronzo gave a big grin and sat on the side of the bed.
"Doria Windsor in love with J.J. Tower? It makes all the sense in the world. In a way, all her husbands were versions of him—brilliant, amoral geniuses."
I looked into his eyes to see if he was joking.
"But that man—he's not J. J. Tower. You heard him. He even called J. J. an 'a-hole'. "
"Yes he did. And I can believe Hobo Joe is a much better man than J. J. But he's also the same man."
"You honestly believe that old guy is J. J. Tower?"
I wasn't sure if I should sit too. I hadn't quite been invited.
"I met J. J. back when I was a kid." Ronzo said. "I got to go backstage when he played Madison Square Garden. He signed an album cover for me. When he signed, I could see the tattoo on his forearm. The astrological sign for Leo. Hobo Joe has a lot more hair on his arm, and it's pretty faded, but I saw that same tattoo today."
"Leo? That's what you meant about the Cowardly Lion?"
Ronzo nodded. "Yeah. You know, like the lion in Oz, Joe might be the bravest one of all. Or he could be a coward, depending on how you look at it."
He reached for me, leaning forward to grab my hand.
I stepped forward and let him pull me to sit next to him on the bed.
"Please tell me you're not going to put this on your blog?" I was only half-joking.
He laughed and shook his head. "One thing this ordeal has taught me is how much people are willing to do to bury their former selves. I can't make Joe face his past. It's not my right."
He cradled his jaw, which was purple with bruising.
"Harry's Colombians sure could pack a punch. I guess I'm lucky I didn't lose any teeth."
"Are you really okay? You don't need to go to the emergency room? You've got some nasty bruises. Don't they hurt?"
He gave me a goofy smile. "Probably not as bad as getting lacerated with a broken bottle." He gave my wounded arm a gentle stroke. "I've been reading all about your story on my blog—a bunch of readers talked about it in the comments. Was it really that crazy girl's boyfriend who stole Doria's Mercedes and drove it off the cliff?"
I still had some anger about that blogpost, but I masked it with a half-smile.
"It looks like it. I don't know if they've officially identified the body as Jason's. But I'm sure all your blogger friends have already decided."
Ronzo sighed. "I guess I was kind of an idiot, putting you on the blog without asking."
"You think?"
He did look a little ashamed.
"I don't like being blindsided," I said. "I hate to look pathetic, you know?'
"You will never look pathetic. I think you look brave and tough and…gorgeous." He leaned over and gave me a kiss.
I kissed him back gently. "Are you sure that doesn't hurt?"
"Only a little." He kissed me again.
I lay back, with my good arm around his bruised neck.
He hovered above me, studying my face.
"I tell you what," he said. "Tomorrow I'll buy a few of gallons of antique white paint and fix up your cottage—better than new. No more mauve. Will that make up for what I did on the blog—a little?"
"It might," I said as I pulled him down for another kiss.
*** end ***
No Place Like Home - A Camilla Randall Mystery (The Camilla Randall Mysteries) Page 25