by Anita Meyer
“And that bothers you?”
“Yeah, it bothers me. Life isn’t perfect. It doesn’t work that way. There’s always something or someone to make me suspicious. And the fact that there hasn’t been is what’s .making me really suspicious.”
Jeff scowled as he tried to follow Mac’s convoluted logic. Today it was even worse than usual.
“You hear that?” Mac asked.
Jeff listened. All he heard was scratching against the door. He stifled a yawn. “Better let him out.”
“Let who out?”
“The dog.”
“What dog?”
“The one in the room.”
Mac yanked open the door and a bundle of black-andbrown fur rolled onto the asphalt path. The puppy struggled to its feet and shook itself from head to toe. Then it high-hurdled a bed of azaleas and bounded into the grass. Jeff pushed himself away from the wall and followed the puppy.
“Dumb question,” Mac said, hurrying after his brother. “But don’t you have enough to do without picking up stray dogs in a first-class resort in the middle of the Virgin Islands?”
“He’s not a stray, and he’s not mine,” Jeff replied. “Caroline’s keeping him for Alex.”
Mac did a double take. “The kid on the beach—”
“Whose parents have vacationed here every summer for the last five years,” Jeff finished. “That’s the one.”
Mac watched the puppy leap into the air in fruitless pursuit of a butterfly. “I don’t like it,” he muttered.
“You already said that.”
“I’m serious, Jeff. Think about it. Out of nowhere, she gets a dog on the exact same day one of the housekeepers calls in sick.”
“It’s a coincidence.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence. Never have, never will. I say the dog’s a plant.”
Jeff gave his brother a quelling look. “It’s a puppy, Mac. No hidden microphones in the collar, no coded messages in the dog food, and no bombs in the chew toy. I checked him out. He’s clean. Okay?” He whistled and the puppy obligingly returned, tail wagging vigorously. Jeff sat down on a stone step in front of the bungalow and scratched the puppy behind his ears. “Besides, he’ll be gone by the end of the day.”
“I don’t believe that, either.” Mac sat down next to his brother and the dog immediately tried to climb into Mac’s lap. Mac pushed him away. “Dogs are a lot like chewing gum,” he said. “Sooner or later you get stuck with them.” The puppy grabbed one of Mac’s shoelaces and pulled the bow into a tight knot.
Jeff scooped up the puppy and tucked it under his arm. “I’d better get back inside. I want to be there when she wakes up.”
Mac instantly sobered. “Look, Jeff, I’m sorry. I wish there was something more I could do.”
“Nobody should have to go through that kind of hell,” Jeff said, with more force than he intended.
“Except Augie Davis.”
“Yeah,” he echoed. “Except Augie Davis.” Once again he felt the anger burning deep inside. The same anger he had felt last night when he’d held Caroline’s shaking, sobbing form in his arms. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Are you going to be all right?” Mac asked.
Jeff offered him a tight smile. “You know, Mac, I saw a lot of gruesome stuff when I was a P.I. But last night, listening to what she said about her brothers—it was different. I wasn’t even there, and yet it seemed more…real. I kept imagining what it must have been like for her…watching her brother get shot.” He looked out at the ocean and let the morning sun flood him full in the face. “I couldn’t help wondering…” He shrugged. “If I saw you go down…” He turned and reached for the doorknob.
Mac grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it hard. “It’s not going to happen, bro. So stop thinking about it. I plan to be around a long, long time. After all, someone’s got to keep you out of trouble.”
Jeff swallowed a lump the size of Gibraltar.
Mac yanked on the bottom of his fitted uniform jacket, straightening it out. “I’ve gotta get back. Call if you need me.” He headed down the asphalt path.
“Mac?”
Mac spun around. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Mac saluted, then turned and sprinted down the pathway. Jeff watched until he rounded the corner and disappeared from view.
“Okay, buster,” Jeff said, addressing the puppy. “I guess it’s time to get to work.” He slipped back into the room as quietly as he had slipped out, and deposited the puppy into the open suitcase Caroline had designated as a makeshift dog bed.
Of course, the puppy wasn’t about to stay put. In less than a minute, he had climbed out and was busy gnawing on the strap.
Caroline was still asleep, still in the same position. In fact, she hadn’t moved since she’d crashed. Jeff stood at the side of the bed watching her. He knew all too well of her restless, fitful nights…of the constant tossing and turning. And he could only imagine the distorted, terrifying dreams that haunted her. More than anything else, he wanted to rip those memories from her so they could never torment her again.
The tones of a Motown group sifted from the radio on the bedside table. She had fallen asleep listening to those ridiculous oldies—the Beatles and Beach Boys and others he didn’t know. It wasn’t easy trying to think with that stuff in the background, but he didn’t change the station. He couldn’t deny her that small measure of comfort.
But now it was morning. He had to wake her.
Had to stick with the plan.
With a flick of his wrist, he turned off the radio. It was best to keep pushing. Right now while the wound was still fresh, the memory still sharp. Maybe this morning she’d remember something—some little tidbit she’d overlooked, something that would provide an answer to all his questions.
He picked up the tray from the table and returned to the bed. “Rise and shine, Bright Eyes. Breakfast is served.”
A muffled groan was her only response.
“C’mon, lady. We’ve got things to do, people to meet, puppies to play with.”
Caroline pulled the pillow over her head. “I hate morning people,” she muttered.
“I thought you got up at the crack of dawn to greet the early-morning commuters, then send them off with coffee, doughnuts, and a smile.”
“Coffee and doughnuts, yes. Smile, not a chance. Besides, most of them come stumbling in looking and feeling like I do.” She glared at him through half-open eyes. “I kick the cheerful ones.”
Jeff grinned. “Even when they bring you breakfast?”
She struggled to a sitting position, leaned back against the headboard, and eyed the silver tray skeptically. “Depends on what they bring.”
“Let’s see,” Jeff said, lifting the cover with a flourish. “We have croissants, eclairs, napoleons, scones, crumpets, strudel, Danish…and one pot of java.”
Caroline looked from the huge tray of pastries to his tousled hair and unshaven face. “What? No croquembouche?”
“Hey, I tried,” Jeff insisted, pouring the coffee into two cups. “But do you know what the chef said when I asked him if he would whip some up?”
Caroline shook her head and gratefully accepted the cup he offered her.
“Well, neither do I. He said it in French. But I don’t think it was repeatable in polite company.”
She nearly choked on the coffee. “Jeff, do you even know what croquembouche is?”
“Not exactly,” Jeff admitted.
“Believe me, it’s not something you ‘whip up.’ It takes all day to make a good croquembouche. Which is fine, because it’s also something you would not eat for breakfast.” She wrapped her hands around the steaming cup and took a long, slow sip. “When we get back to New York, I’ll make you one—for dessert.”
It was an innocent remark. But the implication had his heart doing a slow roll inside his chest. She was talking about the future. About a time when crime bosses and hit men and court testimony would all be
a distant memory. When there would be nothing preventing them from pursuing a different kind of…friendship.
Jeff studied her over the rim of the china cup. There was no indication her statement should be taken at anything other than face value.
“I’m going to hold you to that,” he said lightly. “You owe me one croquembouche—whatever it is.”
She smiled and his heart dipped again. “Literally it means ‘cracks in the mouth.’ You’d better hope you like it.”
Somehow he had the feeling it could crack like old shoe leather and he would still love every bite. He snagged a croissant. “We need to talk.”
She was instantly wary. Her eyes flashed open, and then, just as quickly, a thin veil dropped over them, hiding her emotions. “About last night?” Her voice was even, a perfectly controlled monotone.
Damn, she was good.
He nodded.
“Look, Jeff, I’m sorry I fell apart. But it’s not your job to put me back together like some messed-up Humpty Dumpty.”
She turned on the radio and cranked up the volume full blast, but Jeff reached over and snapped it off. He couldn’t let her escape into the music.
“I’m not a bit sorry,” he said. “I’m glad you told me. Now, maybe I can help you. Maybe we can help each other.”
The veil lifted, and the look of caution and suspicion was back in her eyes. “How?”
Jeff took a deep breath, stalling for time. He had to phrase his questions.. .his doubts…delicately, or she’d clam up and he’d lose whatever ground he’d gained. He held her hand in both of his.
“I have some questions about your story. About what happened to your brothers.” Anguish clouded her beautiful eyes as she snatched her hand away. Jeff could see her retreating, emotionally as well as physically. He wanted to pull her close, but forced himself not to touch her. “There are some things I don’t understand,” he said softly. “Things that don’t make sense.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Like what?”
Jeff took another deep breath. “Like why your brothers were killed.”
“I don’t know,” she said harshly, throwing back the sheet and hopping from the bed. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”
He caught her before she had gone two steps. “You have to, Caroline. It’s the only way you’ll ever know the truth.”
She spun in his arms, then pushed him away. The grief in her eyes turned to anger. “The truth? I told you the truth. All of it. And telling you again isn’t going to bring them back. Can’t you understand? I just want to forget. I want to sleep at night without seeing their faces. I want to walk down the street without hearing their voices. Is that too much to ask? Is it?”
“Of course not. But do you really think that can happen when there’s so much you still don’t know? Caroline, look at me.” He caught her chin and forced her to face him. “I’m not deliberately trying to hurt you. God knows, the last thing on earth I want is to cause you more pain. But we can’t just drop it. The pain won’t go away until you’ve resolved all the issues.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t answer. Didn’t even look away.
His frustration grew and he wanted to shake her. “You want me to leave it alone? Fine. Just explain to me why Alden and Brian are dead, and I swear I’ll never bring up the subject again.”
She struggled to hold it together, but he could see the fight in her slipping away. She looked up at him with eyes that didn’t try to conceal her pain. “What do you want from me?”
“I want some answers.”
“I don’t have any answers,” she sobbed. “I told you everything I know.”
Jeff rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Maybe not,” he said quietly. “Maybe you can still help me sort this thing out.”
After a long moment, she nodded. He guided her back to the bed and made her sit down. Then he turned on the radio, keeping the music low enough that they could still talk, but hoping the oldies would offer her some comfort.
“Let’s start with Alden,” Jeff said. He paused before asking the question. “Are you sure his death wasn’t an accident?”
Her eyes and voice were filled with weariness. “Yes, I’m sure. I told you, my brother was an expert seaman. He had been over that boat with a fine-tooth comb. He wouldn’t have taken it out if he’d thought there was something wrong.”
“Okay,” Jeff said slowly. “If it wasn’t mechanical, then what about the weather? Bad winds, choppy waves, anything like that?”
She shook her head. “That day the weather was crystal clear. The water was calm and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. There was no reason whatsoever for that boat to blow.” She picked up her coffee cup and stared into the swirling blackness. “I don’t care what the police report says, I know it wasn’t an accident.”
Jeff rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin. “Let’s assume you’re right and someone deliberately sabotaged your father’s boat. What if they weren’t after Alden? Maybe it was meant for your father.”
Again she shook her head. “My father hadn’t used the boat in years. That’s one of the reasons why Alden went over it so carefully. If someone wanted my father dead, wouldn’t it make more sense to rig his car or his office? Why rig a boat he never used? Besides, Alden would have found the problem before he ever put the thing in the water.”
“Had Alden taken it out before the day it blew?”
Caroline nodded. “Several times. He’d take it out in the morning, come back and tinker with it in the afternoon, make a few adjustments, and then take it out again the next morning.”
Jeff’s brows knit together and he spoke more to himself than to her. “So if someone knew Alden’s pattern, they could sabotage the boat in the middle of the night, and Alden wouldn’t find it until it was too la—” He stopped. “Okay,” he said, continuing his oral decoding, “so who wanted to get rid of Alden?”
“Davis,” she answered, without a second’s hesitation.
“Why?”
“Because—” She stopped short, unable to answer the simple question. “Just because.”
“Just because?” Jeff shook his head. “Crazy lunatics may go around killing people ‘just because,’ but Davis is a businessman. Granted, he’s a cold-blooded piece of slime, but he’s also a businessman. He wouldn’t act impulsively or emotionally. If he killed Alden, it was for a reason—a damn good reason.” Jeff sat quietly, letting the silence drive home the importance of what he was saying. “Tell me about Alden. You said he was married and lived in Switzerland, but what was he like?”
Caroline released a long sigh. “He was wonderful—everything you could want in a brother. He was someone you could lean on, someone who would listen, someone you could trust. He was very protective, hardworking—driven, actually. He was passionately in love with his wife, and he would have made a great father. He didn’t have many faults, except maybe that he was overly conscientious. Like the thing with the boat. A real ‘detail’ person. The kind of guy who has to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s. Do you know what I mean?”
Of course he knew. The man she was describing could have been his twin. “What did he do for a living?”
“He had a degree in international finance. He worked for an American company with a lot of European markets. I don’t know all of it, but part of his job had to do with arranging loans from foreign bankers, investing idle cash, and hedging against currency fluctuations. He had connections with all the Swiss banks, and for that matter, banks all over the world.” Her mouth dropped open and she grabbed Jeff’s arm. “That’s it, isn’t it? Augie Davis must have known about Alden’s connections and was trying to strongarm him into working for the organization.”
“And when Alden refused, Davis had him killed?”
She nodded excitedly. “That must be it.”
Jeff shook his head. “I’m sorry, but that just doesn’t add up. Sure, Alden had some special skills, but so do a hundred other guys. If Alden turned him
down, Davis could easily have found someone else. Guys like Davis buy and sell people like shares in the stock market. If he wanted entrée into the European market, he wouldn’t have had to kill Alden to get it. And from what I’ve heard about Davis, he already has his fingers in a lot of international pies.”
She hung her head. “So we’re right back where we started.”
“Not necessarily. Every time we talk, I learn something I didn’t know before. Sooner or later we’ll be able to piece this thing together. It’s just a matter of time.” Jeff squeezed her hand. “Tell me about Brian.”
Caroline stared at the ceiling fan. “I think Brian was absent the day God handed out conformity. Alden was a rock—solid and dependable. But Brian was like water—always in motion. He was the original free spirit. He hated school—it was too structured, too regimented. But he learned real fast.” She looked at Jeff and grinned. “Especially things like picking locks and hot-wiring cars. He could move like a shadow, and most of the time you’d never know he was there.” She leaned back to watch the ceiling fan again. “He would have made a great cat burglar,” she said softly. “Just like Robert Wagner or Cary Grant.”
Jeff waited patiently, watching the joy and sorrow flicker across her face, biding his time until the rush of emotion had passed. “Did Brian have any special friends?” he asked gently. “A girlfriend, maybe?”
She shook her head. “Not that he talked about. He was a real loner.”
“If you’re sure he didn’t accept help from your father-”
“He didn’t,” Caroline interrupted. “He hated the old man as much as the rest of us.”
“Let me rephrase that,” Jeff said smoothly. “Since he didn’t accept any help from your father, how did he earn a living? What did he do to make money?”
“Having money was never important to Brian. If he found a quarter on the way to school, he’d give it to a kid on the playground. From what he said in his letters, he worked only when he needed food or clothes or a place to stay.”