“You could be right. But that still isn’t any reason to think someone wanted you to die that night.”
“If I’d died, Frank would have inherited everything, including my trust fund.”
“What are you really suggesting?” Chris held her head away so that he could see her face. “Don’t play with this anymore. Are you saying you think your husband wanted you dead so he could inherit everything?”
She ran her tongue over her lips. “I’m saying it’s one motive someone could have. And I think I’m right where I started when I got here. I believe Edward decided I was one of those women he needed to punish. He’d know from Ena that my baby died. Maybe he blamed me for that, and for something happening to Frank.”
“The guy wasn’t balanced,” Chris admitted. “He obviously hated women.”
“He set me up to be scared. Who knows what he intended to do that night? I don’t want to think about it.”
They regarded each other for a long time. Doubt nagged at him. She’d suffered a head injury. He wasn’t an expert, but those things could mess with a person’s mind, and no matter how much another person wanted it to be otherwise, he supposed paranoia could be the result—and it didn’t have to be curable.
She peered past his shoulder. “Don’t we know someone who bought a car from a Playboy bunny?”
He didn’t immediately make the connection. When he did, he grinned and twisted around to see Flynn’s pink Mustang parked under a light in the deserted parking lot. “What can I tell you? Flynn regards that as a work of art. I didn’t know he’d told you it was probably a gift to a Playboy bunny. Runs like a Rolls, so he tells me. He’s had a thing for cars like that as long as I’ve known him, and that’s a long time.”
His old partner’s long legs covered ground fast. He bent forward at the waist, peering into what had become almost total darkness.
“He thinks we’re here,” Sonnie said. “Roy and Bo must have told him.”
“You can bet your boots they did. They’re all in cahoots.”
“About what?”
And that, Chris thought, was not an appropriate topic to visit this evening. Sonnie was the subject of the day, not Chris Talon. “They’re following what’s happening to their favorite friend—you. You’ve really found a way into my brother’s hard heart—and Bo’s.”
Aiden Flynn had broken into a run and arrived, silent in tennis shoes, in an amazingly short time. “Bo said—”
“You’d probably find us here,” Chris finished for him, but without rancor. “Join us. We’re watching the sunset.”
“Huh?” Aiden looked over his shoulder and across the Gulf. “There isn’t going to be any sunset tonight. It’s too late, anyway.”
“Is it?” Chris managed to sound surprised.
Aiden cuffed him playfully across the ear. “I need to talk to you, Chris. Our friend Wally was busy today. Let’s get Sonnie somewhere safe and have a chat.”
“You won’t be having any chats without me,” Sonnie said, scrambling to her feet and grabbing Aiden’s sleeve while she bent and stretched her left leg several times. When she put her full weight on her right leg, she screwed up her eyes momentarily. Chris glanced at Aiden. She’d really been beaten up in that crash.
“Why not take it easy at Roy and Bo’s?” Chris said.
“This is all about me, and I want to know anything you’ve found out.”
Chris’s instinct nudged him to find a way to stop her from hearing whatever Flynn had to say.
“Okay by me if it’s okay by Chris,” the ever-helpful Flynn said.
“It’s okay with Chris—isn’t it?”‘ she said in a tone that dared him to argue.
“Sure,” he said. “There’s a bench over there. I doubt if there’s anywhere much more private. Lead on, Flynn.”
The man went to the bench and flopped down at once. He popped up again as Sonnie approached and waited until she sat to join her. Chris remained standing.
“I’m worn out,” Flynn said. “Would you believe I haven’t eaten in hours?”
“No. We’d better do something about that—after you spill whatever you’ve dug up.”
Flynn cleared his throat. “There’s no make on Edward Miller. Not a damn thing outside what the police found at that place next door to Sonnie’s. They’re furious. Kinda enjoyed that. The gent appeared on the earth in Miami—fully grown and apparently in his forties. That’s all. Not another thing.”
“Shit,” Chris muttered. “I’d feel better if we could trace him.”
“Wouldn’t we all? I didn’t say I’d give up.”
“What else?”
“Wally got to go talk to the local Medical Examiner this afternoon. He was in the mood to discuss his work. Seems he had a notable customer recently.”
Chris heard Sonnie make a soft sound. He’d rather she didn’t go through this, but she’d been determined not to miss anything. “You can explain how you managed that later. Anything interesting?”
“I saw the record. Some really impressive candid shots, too. Apparently fairly healthy white male. Won’t bother you with the preliminary stuff. Standard T opening—”
“Cut it out,” Chris said.
“The Medical Examiner had done that, and it wasn’t pretty, I can tell—”
“Don’t tell us. It’s time you grew up.”
“You’re terrible, Aiden,” Sonnie said with an unconvincing laugh. At least she restored a little of Chris’s confidence. He didn’t want a fainting female on his hands.
“Not a’tall,” Flynn said. “Just revealing all, like himself told me to. Okay, me darlin’s, Edward Miller was supposed to burn in that fire. I don’t know exactly what went wrong, although there is talk of a gas can being found. Probably supposed to make a really good job of the barbecue.”
Chris gave up trying to control Flynn. He’d always been a sick bastard in these situations. His way of dealing with what was beyond acceptable, some had said.
“The fire was started—or so they’re almost sure—above the ceiling in that room. Apparently they found evidence to that effect in the attic. The intention was that when it reached Miller, it would shortly make contact with the gas and there you are. Toast. Only something went wrong, and although the cigarette they left alight in the sleeping bag did some damage, the gas was never touched by the fire.”
“Couldn’t he have crawled out?” Sonnie asked. She breathed hard. “Or did he die from the smoke?”
“Nope,” Flynn said, finding Chris’s face in the gloom and raising his own brows. “Amazing what those pathologists can find. He probably went in willingly. He had friends who helped him, but they didn’t fill him in on all the details they had in mind. You got a cigarette, Chris?”
“You don’t smoke anymore.” Flynn used to smoke until he saw a pair of blackened lungs at the autopsy of a Harlem pimp.
“So I don’t,” Flynn said. “Even toughies like me get jumpy sometimes. Edward Miller was a smoke screen. At least that’s my take. The question is, whose smoke screen? Medical Examiner found evidence of intravenous shots. Backs of Edward’s arms where he couldn’t have done them himself. Bruises, too, so he struggled. No smoke in the lungs. Tissue samples should be back soon, but they’re already convinced Edward Miller was murdered.”
Nineteen
Aiden recognized impending tragedy when he saw it. The man sharing a table with him at Captain Tony’s showed all the signs of misery in the making. Chris Talon had made his share of mistakes, but his biggest had been to believe that by ducking out on what had been his chosen life, he’d turn himself into someone different.
People didn’t change; they only became more of what they already were. Chris had never talked about his childhood, but Aiden figured the man was a graduate of something tough. The next piece of amateur psychology Aiden had pinned on his buddy was that he’d gone into law enforcement because he was committed to justice—because he hadn’t known much justice himself. And Chris was a man who had loved once, lost
that love, and vowed never to put himself in the way of that much pain again.
Tonight Aiden sat with Chris Talon who, although he might not be in love, was certainly moving in that direction, and with a married woman who, if her husband showed up again, would probably go to him regardless of her feelings for Chris. Strike two for Chris. Aiden really didn’t like thinking about where his friend might decide to go from there.
“I sure as hell don’t like it when you stare,” Chris said abruptly. “Makes me think you’re analyzin’ me. You’re the one who still has the problem. I got rid of mine.”
“Bullshit,” Aiden said, and felt angry all the way to the little hairs on his toes. He also felt caught. “You’re sinking fast and we both know it. We’re not even going to discuss what you think you mean about me. If it’ll make you happy I’ll be glad to go there with you. Later.”
Chris downed the dregs of his second whiskey. He’d informed Aiden that the only patrons were locals. Talk of hurricanes had grown louder. Tourists were thin to nonexistent. Even some of the natives were rumored to be getting ready to abandon ship if necessary and go north.
“It’s too damn hot,” Chris said. “Wind’s picking up again, too. We could be in for it.”
“Forget hurricanes,” Aiden said, bracing for whatever might come. “This is some common sense you need to hear and act on.”
“Save it.” Chris got up and went to the bar. Business cards tacked on top of business cards, names on names, stories on stories covered every inch of wooden pillar and beam. Donated bras flapped like freeze-dried bats—memories of old hangovers. Captain Tony’s decor was classic clutter with a dash of cozy sleaze thrown in.
A woman who sat at the bar left her stool and walked to stand between Chris and a man with an iguana on his shoulder. Aiden figured she was the right side of forty, and nice on the eyes—if you liked blond, blue-eyed women with good figures and killer smiles. Aiden had a thing for red hair.
Shoot. Sonnie had, well, fair hair and blue eyes. She was little, but her shape was sweet. Nothing was likely to be sweeter than her smile, though.
He watched the blond with fresh interest, or he watched Chris’s reaction to the blond with fresh interest. She said something to him and he turned, looked down at her.
That man never changed. He remained a straight-backed, obviously powerful, and apparently magnetically male male. Aiden had been told by trustworthy sources—female members of the force—that visions of Chris Talon kept a kit of women awake at night. The blonde was mature enough not to drool, but from where Aiden sat, she looked close to doing so. She leaned on Chris’s tanned forearm and raised her face to his as if she were in the presence of perfection.
Smiling slightly, Chris listened to her. He bent toward her and inclined his head to hear her over the singing guitarist’s gravelly roar. When the woman had finished and waited, her lips parted, for whatever Perfection might say, he smiled at her, and Aiden wondered, since Chris had a glass in each hand, if she’d faint and fall on the floor—uncaught.
Chris spoke.
His words brought disappointment to the lady’s expression, but she inclined her head and responded before returning to her stool.
“What did she say?” Aiden asked as Chris sat down. “She’s cute.”
“She wanted to buy me a drink.”
Aiden puffed up his cheeks.
“I thanked her but said I’d already paid for these. Then I told her she’s very lovely, but I’m already involved.”
“Damn,” Aiden said with feeling. He put his elbows on the table and propped his chin in his hands. “Υοu’re the only man I know who has knockout women offering to buy his drinks. And you turn ‘em down?”
“Drink.”
“I haven’t forgotten what I want to say to you.”
“Drink.”
Aiden did drink, and he reached to grip one of Chris’s wrists. “Now,” he said when he wasn’t thirsty anymore, “this is the way I see it. Sonnie’s a nice person. You respond to nice people, and this time you’ve convinced yourself that what you feel is something bigger than usual. Yeah, well, that wasn’t supposed to sound that personal.”
Chris grinned and Aiden warmed to his topic. “You’re not in yet, so it’s a breeze to get out, isn’t it?”
“I don’t follow,” Chris said. He sniffed his drink.
“Sure you do. You aren’t really in with Sonnie yet, so making sure you don’t get in shouldn’t be a problem. Frankly, I’m worried about her anyway.” He held up a hand to silence Chris. “Hear me out. She’s a sweetie.”
“She is not a sweetie, Flynn. Little kids are sweeties. Sonnie isn’t a little kid.”
“Yeah, well. Right. Sonnie’s easy to like—a lot. But she’s got trouble, and I’m not sure how much of it is outside her mind. And she’s married.” He raised his voice to override Chris’s protests. “And that’s the truth, schmuck. She isn’t available. Maybe that’s what appeals to you—she’s already attached, so you can play with the idea of loving her without ever having to do anything permanent about it.”
“Aiden.”
“Or you could really be in love with her. Hell, how should I know? But if you are and her husband comes back, what d’you think that’d feel like? She’s the kind who’ll think loyalty means she has to go back to him—even if she’s in love with you, too, and she doesn’t love Giacano anymore. Look at it this way: you’ve got to be strong for both of you. Break it off. I don’t mean you shouldn’t be kind to her—you would be anyway—just quit sleeping with her.”
“Goddamn it, Flynn. You’re running off at the mouth.”
“So you are sleeping with her.” Suspicion One confirmed.
“I’m sitting at this table, on a rotten Conch Republic night, wide awake. Sonnie’s asleep at my brother’s place.”
“Don’t be facetious. What’s Conch Republic?”
“A Conch is someone who was born here. Conch Republic is what some of them would like this island to be. Don’t say another word about Sonnie.”
This was more dangerous than Aiden had expected it to be. Even more dangerous. “Have you slept with her?”
One by one, Chris pried Aiden’s fingers from his wrist. He placed Aiden’s hand on the table and brought a fist down on top.
There was more than one hard man present. Aiden winced, but didn’t make a sound.
“None of your damn business,” Chris said, “but no, I haven’t—not in the way you mean.”
Aiden stopped himself from asking what other way there could be. “That’s something. Don’t. You’d both hate yourselves in the morning. She’s doing a great job of holding herself together most of the time, but I’m not so sure she doesn’t have some kind of mental problem.” He braced himself for onslaught. It didn’t come. “You’re worried about that, too, aren’t you?”
Evidently the smell of Chris’s whiskey grew ever more irresistible to him.
“I’m not saying she wasn’t in a terrible accident or that she hasn’t lost just about everything that really mattered to her. Husband, a chunk of memory, and a baby she wanted. But the world already knows all that. They also know how and why it happened. So what’s the mystery? Why all the talk about there being something deep and dark and evil that she’s got to find out? Edward Miller got knocked off at her house. Probably. For all we know, whoever did him made a mistake. They could have meant to off him at Ena’s place but got the address wrong. Any way you look at it, what could he have to do with Sonnie? Which brings us back to a big, fat nothing. Be a friend to her if you think you’ve got to, but don’t let her suck you into believing her story, and don’t—don’t do anything that’s likely to make you feel responsible for her. You’ve got to be able to walk away, man.”
“Finished?”
Aiden sat back in his chair and propped his ankles on the corner of the table. “Yeah.”
“My mother was right about you. You’re an opinionated bastard.”
“Your mother never met me. And
my father is married to my mother.”
Chris leaned across the table. “I’ve only got your word about your folks. And if my mother had met you, she wouldn’t have liked you. But I’m patient. I’ve heard you out and now you’re going to hear me out.”
Aiden sank his chin on his chest, but kept an eye on Chris. “You don’t know everything that I know. You don’t know everything she’s told me.”
“Any witnesses to what she’s told you?”
“You can believe what you want to believe. You weren’t there when I went to her house after she called me. She was almost unconscious with fear. You didn’t have to listen to a description of what she’d seen.”
“According to her.”
Chris’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You didn’t see the box of calla lilies some sicko sent her—with a card that talked about her baby’s casket. Sonnie detests calla lilies—she’s always found them funereal, and the person who sent those lilies knew it.”
“Those would be the lilies paid for in cash by someone no one at the florist’s remembers. And Sonnie knows she doesn’t like those lilies.”
“She didn’t send the lilies to herself.”
“Prove it.”
“Goddamn it, Flynn. I’m going to rip your throat out. When she was in the hospital after the so-called accident—”
“lt was an accident. I’ve seen the records.”
“I’ve seen them, too,” Chris said. “Since when did you believe everything you read in a police report? The whole thing could have been staged. And the local boys believed what they were supposed to believe.”
“See those little green men, Chris, the ones diving into your booze?” He looked into Chris’s glittering eyes and decided he could possibly back off an inch or so. “lt could have happened that way, but it didn’t. You know it and I know it. Don’t you at least have some doubts about Sonnie’s stability? You told me yourself that the guy who came down with her sister’s a shrink. The sister seems real worried about her, and she’s known Sonnie a little bit longer than you have.”
“Is it my turn?” Chris asked.
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