6 Martini Regrets

by Phyllis Smallman

  Dystra didn’t settle on a mere touching of hands as he had with Clay; he enveloped my hand in both of his. When I tried to pull it back, he wouldn’t release it.

  I looked to the woman who’d come to stand beside him, Nina Dystra, the woman who’d lunched with Ethan. A cloud of flowery perfume surrounded her and tickled my nose. She was wearing a suit of stiff, crumpled material in a deep purple. It had a high stand-up collar with a low neckline that showed rather a lot of her freckled chest.

  I turned back to Dystra. The pressure of his hold hadn’t lessened. “May I have my hand back, please?”

  He faked a moue of surprise. “Oh, of course. I was so taken by your loveliness, I forgot my manners.”

  I was tempted to wipe my hand and ask if the slime he oozed ever stuck, but I’d promised Clay I would behave. My eyes returned to the woman beside him. She hadn’t smiled, frowned or said boo. “Hi, Nina,” I said, offering my hand to her.

  She looked at it and frowned. Knowing her husband had just touched it, I could understand why. I withdrew my hand and gripped my bag.

  “Hello,” she said. There was no smile, no inflection. It was like someone had prodded a mechanical response out of her.

  Dystra said, “You know Nina?”

  “In passing,” I said, while she looked around the room for someone more interesting to talk to.

  “Will you excuse us?” Clay took my arm and led me away from the crush of partygoers.

  I looked back over my shoulder. Ethan was still talking to them, but both Dystras were watching us.

  When we stood on the edge of the mass, I blew out a huge breath. “I feel I could use a shower.”

  “He has a reputation. You wouldn’t be the first woman who had to fight him off.”

  “Oh.” I nodded. “I understand, a pig in black tie. I hope I don’t have to sit next to him at dinner or I may commit a felony.”

  After another glass of champagne and some hors d’oeuvres, we walked along a winding path beside the bay where mangroves grew and fish splashed. We watched a fisherman, up to his waist in the water, cast time after time while fish jumped around him.

  Under the gumbo-limbo tree, we sat on a teak settee that overlooked Sarasota Bay and the arching Ringling Bridge to St. Armands. For a moment there was only us in the whole world.

  It wasn’t long before Clay suggested, “Perhaps we should get back to the party.” He was already getting to his feet. “Let’s go check out the auction items.”

  I looked back over my shoulder to see who he was trying to avoid and saw Laura Kemp, Clay’s former girlfriend, leaving a small group of partygoers and bearing down on us. Her electric-blue fringed dress ended at mid-thigh, and below it her long, shimmering legs looked lethal.

  “Very wise of you,” I said, rising. My last meeting with Laura had not gone well. “Two felonies in one evening would be too much even for me to explain.”

  Clay took my elbow and hurried me along, at a speed nearly impossible in spiked heels. The brick path led to two large white dining tents set up on the lawn under banyan trees. The roots of the banyans spread out at their bases like the swirl of a long, sleek ball gown from the twenties. In the shade of the trees, elegantly dressed people stood drinking champagne while tiny lights sparkled above them in the trees. It was an enchanted scene from a magical land.

  Between the two marquees was a black-and-white-checked dance floor that ran the length of the tents. The orchestra was already playing. Laughter floated on the soft breeze, feathers trembled on shimmering gowns, and jewels flashed. Orchids were everywhere, hanging from trees and decorating every surface.

  Across from the orchestra was a black-and-red gondola, raised on a cradle and transformed into a table for the silent auction. At each end of the gondola was a red-and-white-striped pole beside which a guard stood, watching the guests.

  I pointed to where the silent auction had been set up. “Why the barber’s poles?”

  Clay turned a page in his program before answering. “Apparently, they mark a place to moor your gondola.”

  “Good to know. If mine sails by, I’ll know where to park it. Is there anything here we can afford?”

  “Nope,” Clay said without raising his eyes from the program. “Unless you need a Cartier watch.”

  As we headed towards the display, I kept my eyes on the rent-a-cop in front of us. He had his hand on his gun, and his uneasy eyes were checking us out and then going right and left before coming back to us. His eyes never settled as he analyzed the grid for danger and raiding pirates. “Man, that guard is serious,” I whispered to Clay. “I’ve spent time in some pretty low-life bars and felt safer. Who knew fine living could be so dangerous?”

  Clay whispered, “Walk slowly or he might shoot you.”

  “At the first sound of gunfire I’m going to dive under the boat and pray the thing doesn’t crash down on top of me.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t make any sudden moves.”

  “Tell that to this dress. Without sudden moves I’d be naked.” In an attempt to be the sexiest girl at the ball, I was risking indecency and humiliation, and every step was cause for an adjustment. It would be a miracle if I made it through the night without flashing the revelers. Once again I’d taken things too far.

  Joining the crowd of shoppers, I glanced behind us to see if Laura Kemp had followed. She wanted Clay and wasn’t about to give him up. Maybe I could figure out a way to get the guards to shoot her and put her out of her misery.

  Inching past the array of things for sale, I understood why the guard was uneasy. There was a diamond bracelet valued at twenty thousand dollars, and a Chinese vase at thirty-five thousand.

  At the far end of the gondola, Clay met a contractor who wanted to discuss a new development. Leaving Clay to talk business, I headed off in search of alcohol.

  With a glass of wine in my hand, I wandered to the koi ponds. The orange-and-white fish rushed to my feet the moment my shadow spread out on the water. They hovered there with their mouths opening and closing, begging for food.

  “Ethan tells me you are interested in Ben’s orchid.”

  “What?” I looked up in puzzlement and saw Nina Dystra standing beside me.

  She said, “Maybe we should talk.”

  I looked around for Richard Dystra. “I thought your husband was the collector.”

  The sound she made was dismissive and disgusted. “He has his enthusiasms but they aren’t plants.” She moved in so close that her nose was practically touching mine. I leaned back as far as I could, away from the intensity that burned in her eyes and the essence that made me want to sneeze.

  “If you have Ben’s orchid, I’ll pay you one hundred thousand dollars for it.”

  My enthusiasm for the number she quoted must have shown in my face because she held up her hand and said, “Provided you can guarantee me that it’s the only single one.”

  For a hundred thousand dollars I’d tell her anything she wanted to hear, including that I didn’t think she was a repulsive bitch.

  I glanced over at Richard Dystra, who was talking to a beautiful coffee-skinned woman with silver bracelets around her upper arms. The woman must have felt my gaze because she raised her eyes to mine. “Will Richard mind you spending all that money on an orchid?”

  Nina didn’t hide her contempt. “Why would he mind? It’s my money. Do you have the orchid?”

  “If I find one, I’ll be sure to get in touch.” I dug out a business card for the Sunset. I had only this minute decided that everyone under the banyan trees was doing business but me, so I figured it was time to catch up. I handed her my card. “Bring your friends by the Sunset sometime. Our food gets rave reviews in all the best magazines.”

  As I swayed across the lawn, attempting to keep my heels from digging into the turf, my dress from falling off and my wine from spilling, I tried to
figure out how I could dye an orchid black.

  Ethan intercepted me. “There you are.” He took the glass from my hand and put it on the tray of a passing waiter, replacing it with a full glass of champagne from the tray.

  As he handed it to me, I said, “You didn’t tell me it was the wife in the Dystra family who was the collector.”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  “So why did you tell her I might have the orchid?”

  “Just to get up her nose.”

  “I knew there had to be a good reason she didn’t like me. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” Ethan said. “She’s also afraid you might cut into her fun.”

  “And what amusing little thing would she be into?”

  “Young men, very young men, not-old-enough-to-vote young men.”

  “Well, she’s safe from my interference on that one.” I studied Nina’s progress; she said hello here and there, but barely paused in her prowl of the garden. “She’s the one with the money, right?”

  “Inherited tens of millions, while Richard only has what he can earn.” Ethan made it sound like failure, as if a man who was a defense attorney and real-estate investor lived hand to mouth. It indicated how wealthy Ethan was—and how he judged people.

  “So, if she’s so rich, why keep him around?”

  “Maybe he keeps her out of trouble, either paying off her mistakes or strong-arming them. He’s ruthless, and he knows where to find muscle when he needs to. I suspect Nina wouldn’t last long without him to fix things for her. Besides, they each get to indulge their sins and enjoy her money. It works. They’ve been together a long time.”

  I saw his face change.

  “Ah, Liz,” Ethan said to someone behind me.

  I turned to see a petite woman in her fifties. Sleek as a cat and radiating pent-up energy, she had caramel-colored hair cut short in an angled bob, which set off unforgiving feline eyes of steel blue.

  Ethan held out his arm to welcome her. “This is my oldest friend, Liz Aiken.”

  She looked up at Ethan, who towered a foot above her, and raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you could rephrase that.”

  “Oh, sorry. This is Elizabeth Aiken, a friend from childhood.”

  She tilted her head to the side and gave him a searing glance.

  He hurried to smooth this latest gaffe. “I’m much older than her, of course. Liz grew up on the ranch next door, and I’ve known her since she was a baby.”

  “Much better.” She held out her hand and said, “It’s true, we grew up together. Mrs. Bricklin, Ethan’s mother, taught me about orchids, gave me my first one for my sixth birthday.” A swift glance at Ethan. “Remember how she used to take us swamp walking in search of orchids?” She didn’t give Ethan time to respond. “We’d be in water up past our waists, following her where no white person had ever been before.”

  “Weren’t you afraid of getting lost?” I asked.

  “Never thought of it.” A swift turn of her head towards Ethan. “Did you?”

  “No.”

  That was all he was allowed to say before Liz went on. “Mrs. Bricklin always seemed to know where she was and where to find orchids. So did Ben.”

  The mention of Ben Bricklin stopped her for a second before she started to describe an orchid show she’d attended the day before. Now Ethan was allowed to join in.

  Their conversation went on like they’d been saving it until they were overflowing with talk, had to get it out before they exploded. I listened to the rat-a-tat of their gunfire exchange, but I was way out of my depth. Every few minutes one of them would turn to me with some tidbit for my enjoyment. I had no idea what they were talking about, but I nodded anyway. Then I went back to checking out the dresses of the other women while their conversation wrapped around me.

  Suddenly, Liz turned and asked, “What particular type do you collect, Sherri?”

  “Oh, I don’t collect. Actually, I don’t even understand your passion. Is the attraction that they’re rare?”

  “Oh, my dear, they aren’t rare. They’re one of the two most common flower species in the world. Only some of them are rare.”

  I threw up my hands in surrender. “I’ll never understand.”

  She laughed. “That’s all right, I’m not sure I do either.” She bounced up on her toes in her animation. “All orchid collectors are a little out of control.”

  Ethan handed her a glittering package. She took it from him but she hardly looked at it. She just continued talking. “I still have that orchid Mrs. Bricklin started me with, a Tolumnia bahamensis. I named my island after it: Dancing Lady Island. They are almost wiped out in the wild, thanks to overdevelopment.”

  “Dancing Lady Island. Lovely name,” I said.

  “But the flower has a nasty smell.” She turned back to Ethan. “I just got back last week from Moyobamba.”

  He took the gift out of her hand and started to unwrap it as she explained to me, “It’s an orchid town in Peru.” She didn’t wait for me to respond but went back to telling Ethan about her trip and what she had found there.

  Ethan held out the present he’d unwrapped. “Try on your mask, Liz.”

  Liz’s face covering, in black leather, was the face of a cat. It rose above her forehead into pointed ears. She put it on and became strangely menacing and ominous. “How do I look?” she asked.

  “Beautiful,” I told her. Which was true, but it also made me want to ease away from her. I added, “And bewitching.”

  Already pulling it down, she nodded and waved at someone behind us. “Excuse me,” she said, patting my arm. “We’ll talk later.”

  I watched her go, wondering if Ethan realized she hadn’t thanked him for the mask or offered any parting words to him.

  Liz greeted a woman with slicked-back hair and a face totally tattooed in a pattern reminiscent of a South Sea Islander. The tattooed woman wore a long-sleeved glittering black sheath, completely molded to her body and reaching the floor.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off her. “Are those real tattoos?”

  “Well,” Ethan replied, “the last time I saw Myra she didn’t have them, but there’s no telling with her.”

  I turned to face him. “I like Liz.”

  He was frowning and studying Liz’s back.

  “Why a cat?”

  His eyes stayed on Liz and his answer came slowly. “Liz has that quality, slinking and secretive. Her mask represents a special cat, an Egyptian cat.” His eyes followed Liz through the crowd. “The ancient Egyptians’ religion centered on the worship of animals, especially cats.”

  “And?” I prodded when he went silent.

  “Cats killed snakes, like cobras, and were the ancient symbol of grace and poise. There were two cat goddesses: the lion-headed goddess Mafdet represented justice and execution, while the other cat goddess was the deity of protection, fertility and motherhood.”

  “So which one does Liz represent, the nurturing one or the one out for vengeance?”

  When he didn’t answer, I reached out to touch his hand.

  He gave a small jerk and said, “Sorry, I was lost in thought.”

  “About Liz?”

  Instead of answering, he asked, “Do you know her story?”

  “I just met her.”

  Ethan took my elbow and led me farther under the banyans, out of earshot of the other guests. “I thought you might recognize the name.”

  “Why, is she famous?”

  “Sort of. She killed her husband.”

  CHAPTER 20

  I swung around to stare at the small middle-aged woman, now deep in conversation with an elderly couple. Her mask was in her hand as she waved her arms about, describing something with great gusto. The couple she was speaking to burst into laughter.

  “A murderess? How’s that possible?” I
asked.

  “Liz’s husband beat her. She ran to Ben and Susan’s to hide. Her husband, Kurt Aiken, came after her, and when he found Liz in Susan’s kitchen, he beat Liz so badly that she miscarried their child. In the struggle, Liz stuck a knife in Kurt.”

  The possibility of that tiny dynamo killing a full-grown man seemed ludicrous. Liz seemed to feel my eyes burning into her. She glanced over her shoulder and then raised a hand in acknowledgment. It wasn’t hard to smile at her.

  I said, “It was self-defense then.”

  “Unfortunately, she stuck it in his back. Liz was charged with his murder.”

  “Did she go to jail?”

  “Everyone knew she’d killed him, but the jury voted to acquit anyway. They figured the bastard deserved to be knifed.”

  “I would have voted the same way.”

  “Well, it worked out for her in the end. She became a very rich widow. Aiken owned car dealerships all over Florida. She inherited millions and turned them into a lot more millions. She’s very smart, and when she sets her sights on something, she gets it.”

  “And you think she wanted Ben’s orchid?”

  “I suspect she may have got it.”

  “Did she ever marry again?” Her sad story deserved a happy ending.

  “No.”

  A crush of people moved towards us, pushing us farther back.

  “It was more than Kurt’s death that kept her from remarrying. It was always Ben for Liz. I think she married Kurt because she knew she was never going to have Ben, but I thought they might get together when Susan died.”

  “There you go. If she felt that way, she’d never hurt Ben, would never steal from him.”

  He frowned. “Liz’s had a tough life. It’s made her hard. I don’t think there is much she wouldn’t be capable of. Her old feelings for Ben might not be enough to overcome her desire to possess the rarest orchid in the world, to propagate it and have it named after her. Naming a species is a way of making yourself immortal.”