Little Voices

by Lillie, Vanessa

  He waggles his finger, then returns to the bench. He pulls out more large contraptions, one with balls on the ends to feed the electronic sensors of the boat. Finally, the show-and-tell is done.

  “Tell me about your initial investment,” I say. “Your father put up all the capital so far?”

  “He and a few friends,” Miguel says. “I’ll pay them back within five years. None of that will come from your profits.”

  “He’ll be an investor with me?” I say. “I looked into him. He’s made quite a name with his security company.”

  “Monitors most of the East Side, downtown Providence, Newport, and Jamestown,” Miguel says.

  “Why not work for him?”

  “I did for ten years, but building a successful fishing business is in our blood. It’s not just the Portuguese and Italians who have the connection to the sea. My father traces our family line back to Spanish explorers.” He puts his hands on his hips, staring out at the ocean.

  I like this part of the pitch, the history and pageantry. It’s easy to picture his ancestors as explorers at the behest of Queen Isabella, on the heels of Christopher Columbus. But as far as an actual business proposition, there’s a very big issue.

  “Where will you get the fishing licenses?” I ask.

  “I’m working on it,” he says, that grin again.

  “My investment will be contingent on the full twelve licenses and captains being secured.”

  The conquistador pose falls. “My job is to worry about those details.”

  “It’s not a detail,” I say. “It’s an essential fact.”

  “A very complicated matter.”

  He knows you’re too stupid to understand.

  He sees right through your game.

  “Miguel, I’m looking for a partner. If we can’t begin this relationship openly and honestly, then I see no reason to continue it.” I nod curtly at him and stand.

  “Wait,” he says quickly. “You’re right that as of now, there aren’t enough commercial licenses to make our business profitable. But there are other factors.”

  “Such as?” I press.

  “Between us . . . Ricky can help,” Miguel begins. “Alec has always been the one who said no to this partnership and expanding. But Ricky brought me this opportunity. He may have screwed me on the boat, but Alec is no longer in a position to say no. They can’t afford their licenses and won’t be able to keep their group of captains together. Both will be on the market soon. We’re first in line to get them.”

  I’m not surprised Ricky is already putting another deal together. Even if it’s basically profiting from Belina’s murder. “You’re so sure Alec’s going away for murder?”

  “If you know him, I don’t want to insult you,” Miguel begins but then pauses as if needing to shift the topic. “Listen, I hear there’s another large block of licenses coming onto the market. Not immediately but by next season. If we have one good year, we can make a play for those.”

  “How significant?”

  “We’ll be able to buy one of those,” he says, pointing to a large yacht, in the million-dollar range.

  Even the largest boat groups have only a few dozen licenses. A yacht like that would cost millions. There is only one person with that large a block: Stefano.

  “This conversation has been very promising,” I say, meaning it.

  Miguel has a lot to gain with Alec’s murder conviction. It’s something I suspected and am glad to confirm. But more valuable, he’s alerted me to a new issue: Stefano is in some serious trouble—legal, financial, personal, or all three.

  Chapter 21

  I’m relieved to find Gillian in the car with Ester, and as I get inside, I warm my fingers against the hot air blasting through the vents. Wiping my window with my sleeve, I watch Miguel hurry across the dock into the parking lot. The wheels of his black Mercedes squeak while a loud bass rattles the tinted windows. I rub my hands over my eyes, wondering if I’ve really found a new suspect.

  You think pointing your fingers will amount to anything.

  You’ve already failed.

  You’re just too stupid to see it.

  “What was his deal?” Gillian asks from the back seat.

  I tap my fingers on the steering wheel. She works for Uncle Cal, so of course I can’t trust her. But at the same time, if she’s worked for him this long, she’s probably forgotten more than I’ll ever know about Rhode Island. “Miguel wants to start a fishing business. Like Stefano Venantius. Know anything about him?”

  She stares out the window. “Not somebody I socialize with.”

  “What do you think it’d take for Stefano to give up his commercial fishing licenses?” I ask. “Sell his business?”

  “Divorce, jail, or body bag,” she says matter of factly.

  “Divorce?” I say.

  “Wife gets half,” she says. “Breaks things up, don’t ya think?”

  My phone rings, and I answer quickly when I see the name. “Ricky?”

  “Devon Burges,” Ricky says. “Can’t stay away from a man with a shiny rod and reel?”

  “How the hell do you know that?”

  “Easy, tiger,” he says. “If you step outside your car and look back at the docks you just left, you’ll see me waving like an idiot.”

  I throw open my door and climb onto the doorframe to better see the water. Ricky is on the dock, wildly swooping both arms. He’s beside a commercial fishing boat, a real one, mostly rusted steel with hefty nets hanging off the side. Less flashy than what Miguel was trying to convince me to invest in.

  “I see you,” I say into the phone.

  “Come on over,” he says. “I smell like fish, but I can make a Bloody Mary that’ll curl your toes.”

  “A little early for a drink.”

  “Black sea bass sushi,” he says. “Only touched the ocean and air before my cooler of ice.”

  Something about black sea bass pings from my research, but I’m too surprised that he’s here to place it. “Were you following me?”

  He laughs. “What an ego, Mrs. Burges. This is my dock. You’ll find me here around this time every morning.”

  “Oh,” I say, feeling stupid. Getting down from the car, I give Gillian a just-a-minute wave and shut the door. “I was about to drive around Newport,” I say, leaning against the car.

  “Looking for what?”

  I hesitate because there’s nothing about this guy that I trust. But I also don’t have a lot of time. “Belina had a code in her journal. A place she’d go.”

  “What kind?”

  “Initials,” I say. “CCH.”

  “Too easy,” he says. “Clarke Cooke House right across the parking lot on Bannister’s Wharf.”

  You’re too stupid to see what’s right in front of you.

  “I’ve got a friend and my daughter in the car,” I say. “Why don’t I meet you in the middle and say hi?”

  “Yeah, sure,” he says.

  We put our phones away, still watching each other. I tell Gillian I’ll be right back and head toward the dock entrance. I feel a flush spread up my chest as we walk toward each other. Something about Ricky reminds me of the aloof guys from high school. The type who’d sneak Skoal tobacco chew in the back of class and spit it on the floor when the teacher wasn’t looking. The kind of restless boys whose attention I was constantly trying to get.

  “Hi, Mrs. Burges,” he says with a shit-eating grin. He’s in dark-tan fishing overalls and waders. “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “You do smell like fish.” I wrinkle my nose at the smell, not actually disliking the mix of plastic lures and blood and sweat and cold ocean air.

  “Captains are giving me trouble,” he says. “They like Alec better, so if we’re going to make ends meet, I’m back to fishing my limit,” he says, a faint blush. “It’ll be tough to keep the business going with Alec away.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  That tugs at something much deeper than high school crushes. My b
rother also has odd jobs in addition to hacking, putting cash together week by week to afford his drugs and cat food.

  “Forgetaboutit,” he says with too much of an accent. “Alec, on the other hand, may not.”

  “I’m working on it,” I say.

  “What’s with the CCH code?” he asks. “Are there others I can help with?” He puts his hands in his pockets.

  “Not really,” I lie. I want to confide in Ricky, but I don’t fully understand his motives and role in Belina’s life and death. Plus, he lied to me about Stefano. Or at least didn’t admit they were working together. That most of their business was because of his fishing licenses. I want to hear the truth. “Who paid you and Alec?”

  Ricky runs his fingers through his dark wavy hair, scratching at the scalp as if trying to remove leftover sea salt. “Couple streams of income. There one particularly on your mind?”

  I shiver, glance toward his boat. “Venantius Ventures?”

  Ricky doesn’t respond as the wind kicks up, pulling at my curly hair, causing my eyes to water.

  He sees you’re too stupid for this work.

  You’re wasting his time.

  He’s laughing at you.

  He’s using you.

  Like everyone.

  I start to explain that I’ve read Alec’s financial documents, traced the offshore accounts, wanting to prove myself when no one has doubted me. But instead, I focus and get to the point. “He’s your only source of income.”

  “Underestimating pretty women always bites me in the ass,” he says. “Yeah, I work for him.” Pauses to sniff and clear his throat.

  “What about Belina? Did she know Stefano?”

  “Biblically know him?” Ricky asks.

  “However.”

  “Yeah, she did, once upon a time, at least.” He pulls at the strap on his overalls. “Stefano owns most of the fishing industry around here. That means I’m not in a position to screw with either of them. You know what I mean?”

  It is heavy-handed, but I leave it because he seems to be opening up. “Can you share information? I won’t draw you into this . . . unless you’re involved.”

  It is a weak reverse psychology play, but Ricky lets me have it. “I’m happy to help you, Devon, but Alec is who really matters. Personally and to our business.”

  “I met Belina’s mother this morning.”

  Ricky makes a clicking noise from the side of his mouth. “She’s a mess, huh?”

  I knew women like Tina growing up. Working every angle to get an inch, usually a Sisyphean pursuit, but sometimes it meant rent was paid. School clothes bought. Doing what had to be done no matter how they were judged. My respect for them was tempered by a fear I could become one. “Stefano paid Tina one hundred grand.”

  Ricky’s mouth falls open; he breathes deeply, the swoosh of it speeding up. “Why?” he says sharply.

  “She said it was a kind of insurance policy.”

  “That bastard never does something for nothing unless it’s a stab in the back.” He stares out toward the boats, his the junkiest, the rust and faded number on the side. “I’m sure Tina’s a pig in shit about it.”

  I don’t mention Tina’s tears or the look on her face as she stood in Belina’s bedroom. “What’s worth that kind of money to Stefano?” I ask.

  “Tina is a hustler,” Ricky says. “I wouldn’t put it past her or Lee to blackmail Stefano.”

  “You know Lee too?”

  “Sure,” Ricky says. “He’s useful in lowlife circles. I’ve employed him from time to time.”

  “How lowlife?” I ask.

  “Murder kind, you mean?” Ricky licks the corner of his mouth. “You really see the worst in people.”

  “I met Lee,” I say. “Not much imagination required.”

  “I can ask around, see if Lee’s been bragging about the money. Or knew about his payday before Belina was murdered.” Ricky smiles as if proud of himself. “I’m kinda getting into this.”

  “Sherlock on a ship,” I say flatly.

  “No ship, Sherlock?”

  We both laugh a little more than required. “Did you sell Miguel a bad boat?” I ask, more curious than judgmental.

  “I told him why the price was so good. If he didn’t look into what it’d take to fix it up, I’m hardly gonna feel bad.” Ricky crosses his arms, taking a step closer to me. His eyes are bright as if he’s really sharing something that matters to him. Something I’ll understand. “People like Miguel,” he begins softly. “People like Alec, for that matter. They don’t understand what it means to work for something you want. They’re treated special by their parents and East Side schools and Ivy League colleges. They expect the world to do the same. Over and over they expect it. And when the world isn’t handed to them, it’s a shock.”

  He doesn’t sound mad. In fact, I feel as if he’s giving me a tip on a horse race. “You and Belina understood that?”

  “Sure,” he says. “She was one of those wisteria women.”

  It takes me a minute to connect what he means to the blooming vine. “She was a beautiful climber.”

  “Bingo,” he says. “Two years younger than me in high school. Didn’t know her, but I saw her.”

  I then focus back on Ricky’s relationships. “How did this business with Alec begin?”

  “I met Alec at a polo event. We hit it off. He had the idea.”

  “From Belina?” I ask.

  He frowns. “I’m not sure. Kinda weird to take business advice from the nanny.”

  “What about working with a rival?” I say. “Miguel seems to think you’ve all but signed a contract. Alec wouldn’t like that.”

  He whistles and shakes his head. “You really get people to talk, huh?”

  “Pressure points,” I say, enjoying his praise a little too much. I hear a baby crying, and I freeze. “I need to check on my daughter.”

  “I’ll walk you,” he says, almost gallant covered in fish guts.

  She’s dying in that car.

  You left her with a stranger, and it will all be your fault.

  I don’t wait for him as I hurry across the parking lot. Reaching the passenger side of the car, I see Ester’s not crying but asleep in her seat.

  She’s not breathing.

  Gillian sees me and smiles, then returns to her newspaper. I let myself feel that deep relief that everything is okay. I head back toward Ricky, who is watching me. “Sorry,” I say.

  “I don’t know why people have kids,” he mutters.

  “Why do people do anything?” I say, my gaze snapping back toward the car. “I wanted to have a real family.”

  He raises his eyebrows, his tan forehead crinkling. “Not a good home life?”

  You’re so obvious.

  Everyone sees the stains.

  “That’s an understatement,” I say, pulling my coat tighter. “We can have a pity party contest next time.”

  Ricky flashes a half grin, and my brother’s smile appears in my mind.

  “Bad shit happens all the time. The end of the story is what matters,” he says, taking a step backward. “No matter how bad we had it, we’re not in jail.”

  “Not yet,” I say to his cocky grin before he turns toward his truck. He hauls his cooler over to his pickup and drives away with a wave.

  “Feel like an early lunch?” I ask Gillian when I get in the car. I stare across the parking lot at Clarke Cooke House, ready to uncover the Newport Belina and see if that version could have gotten her killed.

  Chapter 22

  Clarke Cooke House is classic New England charming, two stories of white clapboard and large windows with evergreen shutters decorated with red Christmas bows. A deck sits off the back, covered by plastic flapping in the cold ocean wind. Like everything in Newport, CCH is built for summer, so during quiet winter months, they batten down and pray for locals. Christmas shoppers are a respite, but even today, the cobblestone streets leading down the wharf’s narrow, pedestrian-only road are mostly empty. />
  Gillian remains overseer of Ester, keeping her covered with a breathable blanket in the stroller we wheel into the restaurant’s quiet waiting area.

  I put my and Gillian’s coats on the rack next to where the pretty hostess is stationed. I push the stroller to a table in the corner of the main dining room.

  “I’ll join in a bit,” I say to Gillian.

  The hostess looks about a day over eighteen, so I don’t bother showing her the picture of Belina. Instead, I head toward the back. In a separate room, the main bar is a long L shape near a dozen tables, all with a view of the water and a few inexpensive boats people didn’t bother to dry-dock for the winter.

  There’s a middle-aged couple chatting at the far end of the bar, near the large glass window with the best view of the docks. I sit at the opposite end, hearing the bartender humming from the back before I see him.

  He’s a handsome guy with neatly combed gray hair. His bright-green eyes assess me quickly before shifting attention to the other customers. He drops their check and heads back to me. “Sorry for the wait,” he says, returning his gaze my way. “Keg kicked. What can I get you?”

  “Hot toddy would be great.”

  “Brandy or bourbon?”

  “Wild Turkey is fine,” I say, letting my white trash show.

  He nods, dropping a napkin in front of me. It has the CCH logo, which features a mermaid with her tail split and curling, like an anchor. “What’s her story?” I ask as he fills a glass mug with a shot of whiskey and then pours hot water.

  “That’s our girl, Melusina,” he says and sets my drink down. “We had her before Starbucks.”

  I realize he’s right; the corporate coffee chain does sport a green version of her on its logo. “Why her?” I ask.

  He glances down at the couple at the end of the bar, both still chatting and beers mostly full. “She’s beautiful but cursed with a dual nature. It’s the waist down that gets her into trouble.” He pauses to shake his head, a faint blush on his cheeks. “I don’t mean it like that. She turns into this serpent when she bathes. When men discover she’s not what they thought, she shifts into a dragon and burns them to death. She wins, in the end. But is always alone.”

  “Sounds a bit sexist,” I say.