Chapter Sixteen
Wesley’s languid eyes followed Katherine’s feminine gait as she walked over to Johnny; every movement of her body registered in his mind from the straight, pulled back posture of her neck and back, to the bottom of her gown waving slightly with each step, each pivot of her hips, to the click of her red high heels. The only thing missing from the picture was her blue bag. A lump rose in his throat. Despite his heroic speech about being there for her as a friend, it still hurt to see them together.
Her, so beautiful, and him—so not. He didn’t trust Johnny. Yet he reminded himself he had to give Katherine the benefit of the doubt. Although, he was beginning to suspect her trust had wavered a bit. After all, her tastes couldn’t be that screwed up, and if Johnny wasn’t involved in this huge mess he certainly couldn’t break up their relationship. Only one way to find out, and that was to get inside Johnny’s head. Get to know him personally and see what he was all about. The thought didn’t appeal to him.
“Wes, old boy! Those clenched teeth and that deep guttural noise you just made sounded like someone on the pull-up bar. Muscles sore?” Mike, in a tight-fitting white polo shirt had the perfect stance, as he carelessly drank champagne, reminding Wesley of a clothing advertisement from a shiny fashion magazine.
“Actually, they are quite sore.” Wesley dramatically stretched his shoulders for emphasis. “Even had to spend some time in the steam room this morning to loosen up.”
“That’s the way to do it.” Mike approved with a broad grin. “Heat works the best for me as well. I tried massages a while back, but the masseuse never could never get the deep muscles. The muscles in my back are just too large.” His matter-of-fact tone left no room for humor.
“That’s terrible.” And he succeeded in keeping a straight face.
“I know.” Mike shrugged. “But what can one do? One must take the bad with the good.”
“Of course. Have you met Pamela’s parents yet? I’m sure they’d love to be acquainted with you.”
“Nope. Been waiting here for a chance to be noticed.”
Wesley didn’t mention he’d already seen Henrietta’s eyes drift over Mike twice. Donovan wasn’t one to go unnoticed anywhere. “I’ll fix that.” He took a few strides and tapped the back of Doug’s shoulder like he was typing in Morse code. “Doug, I’d like you to meet Mike, a friend of mine and Pamela’s.”
And he knew he’d chosen the right words; Doug turned quickly to meet the man of whom Pamela often spoke. And Pamela was surprisingly quiet as she watched with anxious eyes her father’s behavior as he met Mike.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Doug’s charm was turned up full volume. “My daughter has spoken often of you.”
Mike just stood there awkwardly, seemingly at a loss for words, a rare quality for him. Wesley grinned.
“Yes, I—er, it’s nice to meet you, sir.” They shook hands and Wesley empathized with Doug’s wince at Mike’s strong grip. Then the awkward silence resumed.
It had to have been a few minutes before Torres, whose focus appeared to have shifted to the other side of the room, abruptly excused himself. Wesley let out a little breath—he felt relieved for the poor man—he bloody well couldn’t say anything without his wife correcting or rephrasing his English to the proper form.
“Wesley, I was thinking . . . ”
He turned, startled at Henrietta’s approach.
“Next time you’re in Rio would be a great time to do that interview.” Her large nose crinkled and took on the form of a valley with a thousand rivers running down it as she smiled up at him. “You just started my mind churning with great ideas—how to build you up to the public, how to make you seem, um, more important.”
“Oh, how nice.” Wesley gave a fake smile and commented through clenched teeth. She couldn’t really suspect he was serious, could she?
“I knew you’d be delighted.” The way she grinned up at him reminded him of a horse receiving a carrot.
“Of course. I’ll be sure to remind you of it next time I’m in the deep jungles of Rio.” He made a mental note to never return to Brazil. “I’m going to go see what’s holding up the drinks. They seem to have run out, and Pamela assured me there would be plenty for the whole evening.”
He felt the hawk eyes on his back as he pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen and stood awkwardly inside. At least watching the plump red-haired cook prepare more cucumber sandwiches was better than talking that clacking bird. The redhead looked up and started. He gave a nervous wave, which he realized must’ve been very stupid-looking for the acute angle of his arm, and headed for the bottled wine that rested in three little rows on the counter. He poured himself a glass of sparkling white, and, nodding again to the suspicious cook, backed out of the revolving door.
Back in the lion’s den he took a sip of the bubbly wine and stole a furtive look in Henrietta’s direction. Wesley breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her talking to Mike, probably giving him the third degree. He paused and cupped his hands to light the end of a cigarette he’d extracted from the red striped pocket of his jacket. A movement caught his eye as he did so, and he looked up just in time to see Doug quickly scribbling on a paper that he held fisted in his right hand. He quickly snapped shut the lighter and waved the smoke away from his eyes.
Wesley turned to face the large colonial art piece on the wall and pretended to be studying it as watched Doug from the corner of his eye. The latter glanced around the room before walking slowly in the direction of Kate and Johnny. Who was he going to give the message to? His heart thudded heavily in his chest—obviously all this detective crap he and Bailey had cooked up was getting the better of him. Good thing he wasn’t standing next to Mike, who would surely raise his weekly cardio assignments if he noticed.
“I think he was trying to escape us.” Mike was joking to Pamela as the two approached.
“How’d you fare?” Wesley asked with a quick glance at Mike who’d just nervously swept away a bead of sweat from his forehead.
“Oh, it was better than I expected, really.”
“Is there something I’m missing here?” Mike’s bravado was back as he rotated to see Wesley’s face, Grant having shifted positions to keep Doug in sight.
“Huh? Oh no. You’re not missing anything.” Wesley’s voice betrayed his excitement and he gulped the rest of his wine and tried to redirect the spotlight. “You seem awfully quiet today, Pamela.”
“Trying to catch my breath,” Pamela said sincerely. “Keeping up with my mother is something else.”
Wesley inched to the left again, standing on tiptoes to see over Mike’s head. “No kidding. You’d think she was on more than just a story.” Doug was speaking to Johnny? Did they know each other? No, they didn’t. Katherine appeared to be introducing them.
“Henrietta seems to be a very nice sort of lady.” Mike was trying to defend Pamela’s mother for her. “She is very successful in her career as a journalist.”
“Actually, Wesley is right,” Pamela said, contradicting him flatly. “She’s very difficult sometimes. Both my parents are. In fact, when we came to the States for Drake’s funeral it seemed like a sign for me to buy my own place.”
Wesley finished his cigarette, then held it ungracefully posed in the air, not noticing the bits of ash that were falling off the tip. He stared as Doug patted Johnny’s arm with his right hand and with his left tried to slip the note into Morgan’s pocket, only to have it flutter slowly to the ground.
“Don’t you agree Wesley?” Pamela was asking him a question.
“Um, agree to what—of course I do,” Wesley stuttered, at that instant zoning out again; Doug didn’t notice the paper had fallen to the ground and was still talking.
“See, I told you!” Pamela triumphantly turned to Mike. “I knew Wesley would insist on hosting the event as his house.” Wesley processed the last words like someone turning the crank of an old auto.
“Wait.” Finally the eng
ine started and Pamela had his full attention now. “I would insist on hosting what event?”
“The tournament after-party, of course. Mike would like to invite several of his friends and colleagues over after his big tennis game, but of course, as he doesn’t own a place here it makes it a bit difficult.”
“Of course. Excuse me a minute.” Grant noticed at last the mess his cigarette was making on the carpet and brushed past Pamela to put it out on a small ashtray next to one of the couches. At least, it had looked like a small ashtray from where he stood. Now that he had a closer look at it, it resembled more of a decoration of some sort. No time to worry about that now though; he had to see that note.
“Johnny! Long time no see.” Wesley scurried over to Morgan and patted him on the back, pretending to trip and catch himself as he did so, so that he was able to look down at the carpet and see if the note was still there. It was.
“Yes, it has been a long time.” Johnny gave him a wary look before backing up a step.
“Had a bit too much to drink?” Doug’s smooth voice held a touch of haughtiness.
Wesley placed his foot deliberately on the paper, standing so close to Johnny that he was forced to again step to the side several inches. “Oh, not enough, apparently. This party is still really boring.”
“Wesley, let me take you for a walk.” Katherine intervened, stepping in and placing her arm under his elbow to help support him.
“Okay,” Wesley drawled as he pretended to stumble again, this time almost to the ground; he shot out a hand to cover the paper, snatching it as he reeled back up. “I’ll be all right. Just need a bit of fresh air.”
He caught Johnny’s glare as Katherine led him out. He couldn’t resist turning once more. “Bye folks, don’t have too much fun while I’m gone.”
“Wesley! Please,” Katherine insisted as she pulled him towards the door again. Then she lowered her voice and said close to his ear, “You’re going to upset Mr. Torres.”
“Don’t break my heart,” Wesley quipped while letting her support a little bit of his weight. He could stand perfectly well on his own two feet but it offered a good excuse to be skin-close to Katherine. Maybe he should pull this stunt more often . . . especially if it made Kate that attentive to him.
“It wouldn’t be so funny if he broke off all ties with you,” she admonished as they stepped out on the large porch facing the beach. The sun was just sinking over the water, making the gentle waves appear as molten gold. Why hadn’t he thought of this gig sooner? Watching the sunset over the water with Katherine was much better than listening to Mrs. Torres.
“Here, sit down.” He let her lead him to the steps that wound down to the sandy beach. “You’re heavier than you look.”
Without complaint, Wesley sat down heavily. “Ahh. Maybe I did have a bit too much to drink.” He looked at his empty wine glass. “Emphasis on the maybe.”
Katherine laughed as she kicked off her shoes and played with her toes in the sand. “Good thing Pamela didn’t notice; she might not have liked you almost falling onto her father.”
“She’d probably appreciate me bringing him down to earth.”
Katherine’s peal of laughter rang out loudly. She quickly covered her mouth. “I don’t even know how you found so much wine. I only got one glass before it mysteriously dried up.” She stood up. “I’ll go get you some water. Then you better wait out here for a bit before you go in.”
“Don’t take too long—I might pass out and drown!” Wesley called after her as she headed for the house.
As soon as he heard her footsteps fade to the other end of the porch and the door shut behind her he opened his hand and looked at the piece of paper.
Well, at least he reads English, he thought as he looked at the corner torn off from that day’s newspaper. There was a crudely written on the blank side. Need to meet tonight. Urgent. Changing room at 10.
He slowly replaced the note in his pocket while his mind raced to sort out the information. Doug secretly trying to meet Johnny. Sounded rather romantic. But the locker room? It must have something to do with Drake’s murder. Both had known him. Why else would they pretend not to know each other when the note obviously proved they did?
He heard the door squeak open and Katherine’s voice as she spoke to someone inside. “No, thank you. I’ll be right back in; just getting Wesley some water.”
He quickly slouched back into the lazy position she’d left him in, thinking all the while—if he didn’t get the note back to Johnny, Morgan wouldn’t know to meet Doug, and there wouldn’t be anything to figure out. It was clear he had to get the note back into Johnny’s pocket somehow.
“Here, better drink it all.” Katherine passed him a large beer mug full of water. “It’ll make you feel better.”
“I feel great,” Wesley insisted as he slowly sipped on the cup, trying to stall for time as he made up his mind what to do. Should he involve Katherine? At first his mind balked against the idea, but she was the only one who could get close enough to Johnny without raising suspicion.
“Kate.” He sat up suddenly. “I need you to do something for me. Would you?”
She looked at him in surprise. “It depends on what it is.”
“It has to do with Johnny.” He felt her stiffen beside him so he continued. “Doug is trying to arrange a clandestine meeting with him and I need to know why.”
“Doug?” she repeated. He knew he had her interest. “Why? It’s not really your business if he’s secretly meeting with Johnny . . . although it is a bit strange.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “But they were just introduced tonight. Why would they be arranging a meeting unless they knew each other before? Maybe it has something to do with Doug’s business . . .” Something clicked in her mind. Had Doug been the man she’d seen with Jerry that day at the drive-in? The tilt of his head, the way he dressed, it was all starting to come together. If he was connected with Jerry somehow, he might be connected to the attack on her . . . she had to help figure it out.
“Exactly. There’s something suspicious about the whole setup.”
“Like you pretending to be drunk. I should’ve guessed it was some game of yours. I’ve never seen you not able to hold a good amount of liquor.” She giggled as she lowered her voice. “Although it was entertaining.”
Wesley whispered as well, and the whole feeling surrounding them was like two school children sharing a deep secret. “Are you going to help me?”
She hesitated, suddenly serious again. “I’m not sure, Wesley. I should be helping Johnny, not you.”
“But you might be helping Johnny. Who knows what Doug is up to? Has Johnny told you anything of what’s been going on lately? He hasn’t been himself since Drake’s murder, has he?”
She shook her head. “No, he won’t tell me what’s going on. He tells me it’s something to do with work. I can’t figure it out.” She hesitated, as though not sure if she wanted to continue, then took a deep breath. “A couple weeks ago, I saw Jerry and Doug at the drive-in. I recognized Jerry, and even though I only saw the back of the other man, I’m sure it was Doug.”
Wesley grabbed her hand in excitement. “And you were attacked later that day. It’s got to have something to do with this. It has to!”
She was quiet, looking down at their hands, and then she squeezed his slightly before releasing it. “I’m in. What do you need me to do?”
“First of all”—Wesley passed her the note—“get this back into Johnny’s pocket before you leave. Make sure he reads it. You should feel proud that you’re indirectly helping the police.”
Katherine froze. “You’re working with the police?”
“Yes, with Detective Bailey. But don’t tell anyone.”
Again she struggled with her feelings. Could she really do this? What if by helping Wesley, she was helping to incriminate Johnny?
Retribution Page 28