Kitabı oku: «A Clandestine Affair», sayfa 3

“I have been to them, and they gave me copies of your reports and the photos.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, they did. I’m a criminologist investigating the case.” That was close to the truth. She was just a degree and a job offer away from being official.

“Then you know all I do. More, actually. I’ve had way too many margaritas since then to remember details.”

Static crackled in her ear. She’d likely lose the connection any second. “Look, I won’t take up much of your time, but I’d really like to talk to you.”

“You’re talking.”

“The connection’s already breaking up, and the chances of getting through to you again are not good. I’m staying in an apartment on Cape Diablo, but I think I can get someone to take me to Everglades City.”

The pause lasted so long she feared they’d been disconnected. When Mac Lowell finally answered, his tone seemed almost fearful. “What the hell are you doing there?”

“I just wanted to see the scene of the crime for myself.”

“Does Carlos Lazario know why you’re there?”

“No.”

“Keep it that way. And if I were you, I’d get off that island tonight. Get off and stay off.”

“Why? Is Carlos dangerous? Was he involved in the crime?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Ten minutes of your time. That’s all I’m asking.”

The phone crackled like crazy, causing her to miss half of what he said next.

“Did you say Slinky’s Bar?” she asked, trying to verify what she thought he’d said.

“Tomorrow at two. Take a seat at the back of the bar and don’t tell anyone why you’re there.”

“How will I find Slinky’s Bar?”

The connection splintered or else Mac Lowell broke it. He obviously didn’t want to talk to her. He might not even show, but she’d find Slinky’s Bar and be waiting at two.

Grabbing a pen, she checked her caller ID for the number he’d phoned from, then scribbled it on a pad of paper, along with his name and Slinky’s Bar at two.

It wasn’t until she’d picked up her orange and taken a big bite that Mac’s warning started echoing in her head. He seemed to believe that staying on the island put her at risk. But from whom?

Surely not Carlos. He couldn’t go around murdering tenants like a character in a grade B horror movie. Someone would have noticed long before now. And not Alma. She was strange, but much too frail and pathetic to be a real threat.

Still, Jaci checked the locks on the door before she crawled back into bed. This time when she slid beneath the covers, she fell into a troubled sleep where nightmarish bodies entwined with the roots of mangrove trees.

And Raoul Lazario swam naked in a murky pool.

RAOUL LEANED AGAINST THE DOCK’S end post and took a long drink from the bottle of cold beer Carlos had just handed him. A few clouds had blown over earlier, but the sky was clear now. Heaven’s bejeweled curtain, Allison used to call it when the sky sparkled with stars the way it did tonight.

“You brought in any interesting treasures lately?”

Raoul pulled his thoughts from the past and turned to Carlos. “We uncovered a couple of ancient Greek statues on a ship in the Aegean Sea. I’m not exactly sure of their historic or archeological significance, but the man who financed the dive was excited.”

“Ancient Greek statues. It must have been an old ship.”

“Sank in the sixteen hundreds.” Old ships had always held more interest for Raoul than their cargo. Not that anything held much interest for him these days.

He watched a stingray as it swam out from beneath the dock. “I’m thinking of taking a couple of years off.”

“To do what?” Carlos asked.

“I don’t know, just something besides dive for lost treasure.”

Tamale joined them, carrying a worn tennis ball that he dropped next to Carlos. It started to roll, but Carlos grabbed it before it reached the edge of the dock. He picked it up and threw it without saying a word to the dog.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

Funny. Raoul hadn’t mentioned Allison once since he’d arrived on the island, but he knew that was what Carlos was talking about now, the same way Carlos knew it was why he’d lost his zeal for diving.

Carlos was insightful. He was also wrong. “It was my fault.”

“I don’t see how you figure that.”

“I’d rather not get into that tonight.”

Carlos reached down to wrestle the ball from Tamale and toss it again. “You remind me a lot of Emilio. You’re smarter than either of us, but as stubborn as the rest of the Lazarios.”

“Grandpa was smart. You are, too.”

“We never did much with it. Not like you. You went out there and made a name for yourself. You even got a movie made about you.”

“The movie never mentioned me.”

“But you inspired it. You brought up that ship off the coast of Argentina and recovered a wealth of Spanish history with it. Emilio was so proud when the movie came out, he couldn’t quit talking about it long enough to drink a beer with me. Guy let two Coronas get plumb hot.”

“That doesn’t sound like Grandpa.”

Carlos chuckled. “We had some good times, Emilio and me. Guess we could have had more, but I was stuck out here on Cape Diablo, and he didn’t like coming out here.”

Now they were getting somewhere. “Why did you stay all those years?”

“It seemed the right thing to do.”

“Does it still seem right?”

“We need another beer,” Carlos said, avoiding the question.

“I’ll get it.”

“No, you stay put,” he insisted. “I’ve got to take a bathroom break, anyway. Bladder don’t work any better than the rest of me these days.”

Tamale jumped back on the deck as Carlos headed toward the house. Only this time it wasn’t the ball that was clutched in his teeth.

“What you got there, boy?” Raoul clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth a few times and Tamale crept over with his tail tucked between his legs, as if he thought he might be in trouble for returning without the ball.

“It’s all right, boy. I just want to see what you found.”

Tamale dropped the object at Raoul’s feet. He stooped and retrieved it. A bone. Human. Much too small to have belonged to an adult.

And suddenly Raoul was taken back to when he was a kid and dropped into the scariest night of his life.

Chapter Four

Carlos and Emilio were sitting on the dock having a beer. Raoul had been playing in the sand, making a fort, with twigs for toy soldiers. He’d gone inside to go to the bathroom, and he guessed they hadn’t heard him come back out.

If they had known he was around, his grandfather would have never repeated the horrible things he’d told Carlos about what he thought had happened to Pilar and Reyna.

Raoul had been only six at the time, but his grandfather’s words had frightened him so badly that he’d spent the entire night hiding under Carlos’s bed. If something so terrible could happen to Pilar and Reyna, then it could happen to anyone on the island—even him.

He hadn’t returned to Cape Diablo until he was eleven. Even then he hadn’t ventured far from his grandfather’s side.

“What you got there?” Carlos asked now as he ambled back toward the dock.

Raoul pushed the memories to the back of his mind. “Looks like a leg bone.”

“Probably driftwood. Let me see it.”

Carlos’s hand shook as he exchanged the beer he’d brought Raoul for the bone. The tremors were new, a reminder of how important it was that Raoul succeed in his mission.

“It’s a bone,” Raoul assured him, “and human. I’ve scavenged enough sunken ships to know one when I see it.”

“Guess you’re right,” Carlos said, turning the object over so that he could see it from every angle. “Never know what will wash up out here.” He tossed the bone into the waves before Raoul could stop him.

Raoul decided thirty years was long enough to avoid a subject. “I’m surprised no one ever found the bodies of the Santiago family.”

Carlos stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared out at the water, though there was not much to see in the dark. “No one’s ever proved they’re dead.”

“Or that they’re alive.”

“Right,” Carlos agreed, “so any theory on what happened to them is just groundless speculation.”

“But you must have one. Do you think Andres staged his family’s disappearance?”

Carlos slapped at a mosquito, stepping backward as he did, and almost tripping over Tamale, who was crouched at his heels. “Guess a man might do anything if he had reason enough.”

“You and Andres Santiago must have been close.”

Carlos nodded. “He saved my life once. That binds men.”

“How did that happen?”

“It was back when I served with General Norberto. Andres had come to our camp to deliver some guns and ammunition he’d smuggled into the country. A bunch of guerillas jumped us and one got a fix on me. Andres took him out before he could kill me.”

A gust of wind caught wisps of Carlos’s thinning, gray hair and blew it into his face. He raked it away, then looked straight at Raoul. “All that’s past. No use in bringing any of it up now.”

His tone made it clear the topic was closed. The adage that elderly men spent more time in the past than the present didn’t hold true with Carlos. Or if it did, he didn’t want to talk of it with Raoul.

“It’s getting late,” Carlos said, “past my bedtime.”

And not nearly Raoul’s. Sleep avoided him most nights until the wee hours, so he avoided laying his head on the pillow until his eyelids were so heavy they’d close without a fight.

“You turn in when you’re ready,” Raoul said. “I’ll sleep on the boat.”

“No need. You can take my bed. I’ll stay in one of the guest rooms in the main house. We only have the one renter and she’s in the pool house.”

Even if there had been a dozen renters, there would be room in the big house. “I’m surprised you never moved up there permanently. Surely it’s more comfortable than the boathouse. Definitely more roomy.”

“I’ve thought about it, but I like my own space. The boathouse suits me. It’s clean and private. Mostly, it’s home.”

“More reason I shouldn’t run you out of it,” Raoul said.

“You’re not. I’m offering. A man gets pleasure from sharing his house with kin, and you’re the only family I got left.”

“In that case, I’ll stay in the boathouse.”

“You plan to do some fishing tomorrow?” Carlos asked.

“I’d like to. I was hoping you’d go with me. We can take my boat and hit the open gulf.”

“That would be good, just like old times, ’cept we got that lady staying here—that renter I told you about.”

“I met her when I took a walk up to the courtyard. She seems capable of taking care of herself for a day.”

“It’s not that, it’s just…” Carlos rubbed his whiskered chin with the back of his hand. “The guests are on their own, but still I hate to leave a woman who’s not familiar with the place out here by herself.”

“Alma would be here.”

“Yeah.”

His answer was evasive, but his expression was troubled. Evidently he realized Alma would be no help to Jaci or anyone else, no matter what the emergency.

“Get some sleep,” Raoul said, not wanting talk about Alma tonight. “We can see about fishing tomorrow.”

Carlos nodded. “There’s food in the boathouse if you want a midnight snack. Cereal and stuff like that. Plenty of cold beer, and a bottle of whiskey on the shelf over the sink.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Then I’ll just get a few things and head to the villa.” Carlos took the path to the boathouse, Tamale at his heels. He stopped after a few steps and turned back to Raoul. “How would you feel about taking another fisherman along—or in this case, a fisherwoman?”

Raoul balked. No way was he buying into that. “I don’t think Alma—”

“Not Alma. Jaci asked me to take her fishing, but I’m sure she’d have a lot more fun on a boat like yours. Besides, my motor’s acting up.”

Raoul mulled over the request. He’d hoped for some quality time when he’d have Carlos’s full attention and no interruptions. Jaci’s presence would make that impossible.

His great-uncle took off his hat and ran his hands through his thinning hair. “There’s nothing wrong with going fishing with a good-looking female.”

“That’s not the issue.”

“Isn’t it? How long has it been since you’ve been with a woman?”

Raoul tensed. He hadn’t expected anything that direct from Carlos. “I’m with women all the time. Some of my best divers are women.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

He knew exactly what Carlos meant, but there was no way he was discussing his sex life with his aging uncle. “We can take Jaci along if she wants to go. It’s no big deal.”

“Good. I’ll check with her in the morning,” Carlos said, yawning through the last of the sentence.

Raoul watched him walk away. Unfortunately, the question Carlos had asked didn’t recede with the man and his dog. The truth was Raoul hadn’t been with a woman in any kind of romantic or intimate way since Allison.

Two years plus. Twenty-seven months of aching loneliness.

Twenty-seven months of guilt.

He didn’t expect a day with Jaci to change any of that. Yet she was on his mind now, and he wondered again what had bought her to Cape Diablo’s isolated shores.

JACI HAD SLEPT UNTIL NEARLY 9:00 a.m., the latest she’d stayed in bed since the fall semester had started. Normally she would have been up by seven, but she’d lain awake for hours, tossing and turning and staring out the window into the darkest night imaginable.

She blamed her inability to sleep on the unfamiliar cacophony of sounds. The drone of the generator. The roar of waves crashing on the island’s western shore. The hooting of an owl. The chorus of a thousand tree frogs.

But it wasn’t just the noise. It was an apprehension she couldn’t explain, the feeling that something bad was going to happen before she got off this island.

She’d expected the place to be a catalyst for the investigation, but she hadn’t expected the aura of mystery to be so intense.

The isolation had a lot to do with that, but the island’s inhabitants certainly added to the eerie ambiance. Carlos Lazario and Alma Garcia were the strangest of bedfellows. Carlos was weathered but sturdy, like the mangroves that endured whatever storm come their way. Alma was more like the thin sea oats that swayed in the slightest breeze.

Yet they both seemed to belong to Cape Diablo, just as the crumbling villa did. Jaci stared at the vines that crept up the white stucco walls and twined around the second-floor loggia. The few remaining bougainvillea blossoms had turned brown, but she could well imagine them in full bloom, a riot of scarlet.

Wilma St. Clair’s painting didn’t seem nearly as bizarre now that Jaci had arrived on Cape Diablo. Fingers of blood gripping the walls fit the sinister feel of the place much better than colorful blooms.

Jaci padded to the kitchen and took a bowl from the cabinet over the sink. She’d have a bit of cereal, then get down to her real business of the day—finding transportation to Everglades City to meet with Mac Lowell before he changed his mind.

JACI TOOK A DIFFERENT PATH to the boathouse, one that skirted the eastern coastline of the island and wound through the mangroves instead of along the sandy beach. Birds chattered and shrieked in the trees, as if scolding her for invading their territory. Dragonflies and wasps flitted among the brush, and she stopped more than once to swat away a mosquito or wipe sticky spiderwebs from her face and hair.

The area wasn’t as frightening as the swamp would have been, but still it left her more uncomfortable than she would have expected.

She was almost to the clearing when she caught a whiff of cigar smoke. She had to search for the smoker. Finally, she spotted him standing under a tree a couple of yards away. He showed no sign of having noticed her, so she stepped off the path and behind a thick growth of palmetto to check him out.

Hispanic male, probably six-two, late fifties, lean but muscular, tattoos on both arms that looked to be dragons of some kind. No obvious weapon.

She left her cover and stepped back to the path. When he noticed her, she gave a wave.

“Good morning,” he said, tipping a Miami Dolphins cap. He seemed friendly and normal enough.

“Same to you. Are you a new tenant?”

“No. I’m a friend of Carlos and Alma, just here for a day or two.”

Who’d have guessed they socialized?

The man dropped the cigar and ground it out with the toe of his boot. “Enrique Lopez,” he said, walking toward her. “I’m sure we’ve never met. I would remember a woman as beautiful as you.”

“I’m Jaci,” she said, “a tenant.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” He took her hand and held it for a few seconds before kissing her fingertips.

The guy’s lines probably worked as often as not. He wasn’t bad looking for a middle-aged man. He had that pirate thing going on with the whiskered chin and dark, unruly hair.

“Are you going somewhere in particular, Jaci, or are you just out for a morning walk?”

“I’m on my way to the boathouse to find Carlos.”

“I just left there, and there was no sign of him.”

“He may be at the villa,” she said.

“I hope he is. That way I can surprise both him and Alma at once.”

“They don’t know you’re here?”

“Not yet. I got in late so I slept on my boat last night. It’s docked on the southern end of the island, in the deepwater cove.”

“Why didn’t you use the dock?”

“It is a very large yacht.”

“How did you meet Alma and Carlos?” she asked, still trying to picture the strange couple socializing.

“I had engine trouble on my yacht a few years back. I docked, Carlos fixed it for me, and we hit it off. Now this has become my haven.”

Cape Diablo as a haven. Jaci tried but couldn’t get that image to gel. “I guess I’ll see you around,” she said.

“I certainly hope so.”

Leaving him behind, she hurried down the path, not slowing until she stepped into the clearing near the dock. A dozen seagulls took flight, but it was the boat the birds flew over that claimed her attention.

It was an impressive vessel, at least forty feet long with the name Quest painted in gleaming black letters across its clean white side. The deck was wide, with a chrome railing, and the cabin was low and sleek.

If Enrique’s boat was parked at the other end of the island, than this must be Raoul’s—unless there was yet another guest she hadn’t met. At this point, that wouldn’t surprise her.

Jaci looked around. There was no sign of Raoul or Carlos or even Tamale. Still, she took the steep steps to the boathouse. No wonder Carlos stayed in shape if he climbed these a few times a day.

The screen door was shut, but the wooden one was ajar. She listened for a second before knocking. There were no sounds of activity or conversation, but the inviting scent of fresh perked coffee was strong.

“Carlos?” She called his name softly, and when there was no answer, called again, louder this time. “Carlos, it’s Jaci.”

No answer, and suddenly she was keenly aware that just beyond the open door was the area that had been the primary focus of the inept investigation. This would be the perfect opportunity to have a look at it—unless Carlos walked in on her.

A second later, she pushed through the door and into the room that had once been splattered with blood. She took in everything at once, noting obvious details and the far more subtle things she’d been trained to search for.

The only way into the boathouse was through the door she’d just entered. There were windows on all sides, but they were too far off the ground for entry unless someone had used a ladder.

The floor was stained linoleum, worn thin and faded from years of tracked sand and scrubbings that had probably removed all traces of blood. The walls were the color of weak tea except where sun rays coming through the window had faded them to a yellowed white. There was no sign of blood.

The meager furniture was old and worn, and stacks of newspapers and old magazines littered half the rectangular wooden table that dominated the kitchen area. Clean but mismatched dishes sat drying in a plastic rack next to the stained sink.

Jaci stood in the middle of the room and tried to picture the way it had looked the night Alma and Carlos had walked into the bloody scene. What had gone through their minds? Had they been afraid? Shocked? Angered?

Or had they just wondered, as Jaci was now, if the infamous drug runner, his beautiful wife and his two daughters by his first wife had been murdered in that room? And if the Santiagos weren’t killed, then whose blood had run like a river in the boathouse that night?

Crossing the room, Jaci opened one of the two closed doors, half expecting skeletons to rattle and fall at her feet. But the door only led to the bathroom.

The second door led to a closet. She pushed aside the few pieces of clothing on hangers and stooped to get a better look into the back corners.

A couple of huge cockroaches scurried out, one crawling over her shoe in its haste to escape. Jaci jumped so fast she banged her elbow against the doorknob and yelped in pain.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She spun around to find Raoul standing in the doorway. He was barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans. His hair was wet, as if he’d just stepped from the shower. If he had, he had used the one on his boat and not the one in his uncle’s bathroom.

“I was looking for Carlos,” she mumbled.

“And you thought he was hiding in the closet?”

“Of course not,” she muttered, stalling to come up with something Raoul would buy. “I heard scratching noises and came in here to investigate. Guess it was just a mouse.”

“Really? ’Cause it smells and sounds like a rat.”

“It could have been,” she said, choosing to ignore his grating sarcasm. “I didn’t get a look at it. Anyway, when you see Carlos, will you tell him I was looking for him?”

Raoul grabbed her arm as she tried to squeeze past. “Nice try, but try again. Why were you snooping around in here?”

“I wasn’t snooping, and you surely don’t think I was trying to steal something.”

“Not a lot here to steal,” he admitted.

His fingers were still wrapped around her arm, and though there was no pressure, she was far too cognizant of his hold on her. Aware of the fresh scent of his just-washed skin and the drops of water that glistened in the hairs on his bronzed chest.

The responsiveness irritated her and sharpened her tongue. “No one told me the boathouse was off-limits, or even that Carlos actually lived here. I thought it was part of the island resort, a place to pick up fishing gear. Now get your hand off me,” she demanded, “before I file a complaint with the Florida Tourism Commission.”

“Ooo, now you’re scaring me. Want to call in the game warden, too?”

“If it takes that.”

Tamale’s barking interrupted theirs. Jaci and Raoul both turned as Carlos and his dog reached the top of the steps. Raoul released her arm but didn’t back off.

“What’s going on here?” Carlos said. “You two arguing about something?”

“No, we were just having a conversation,” Raoul said. “Jaci’s here to see you.” He brushed past her and grabbed a shirt from the corner post of the unmade bed.

Jaci had no idea why he’d lied, but she certainly wasn’t going to volunteer the fact that she’d been digging through Carlos’s things. She breathed a small sigh of relief as she walked over to stand near the table.

Carlos rested his hands on the back of a kitchen chair. “We must have just missed each other. I was up at the pool house looking for you.”

“Then you go first,” she said, meeting Carlos’s gaze and avoiding Raoul’s steely stare. “Why were you looking for me?”

“You said you’d like to go fishing sometime.”

“Yes, but that can wait until you don’t have company.”

“But the thing is, Raoul wants to go fishing, too. We’re going out today. You’re welcome to join us.”

She seriously doubted that Raoul shared his sentiment. That alone would have made her tag along if she hadn’t had more important matters to pursue. “I’d love to go fishing with the two of you, but something’s come up and I need to make a trip to Everglades City.”

“Not much there,” Carlos said, “unless you plan to take one of those airboat trips into the Everglades.”

“No, but this is somewhat of an emergency. I have a two o’clock appointment that I have to keep. I was hoping I could hire you to take me there, but since you’re busy, I’ll need to charter a ferry service.”

Carlos scratched his chin. “Kind of short notice to charter a boat out here.”

“I realize that, but it’s very important that I keep this appointment.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Carlos said. “I might be able to get Bull, that is, if I can get a decent phone connection.”

“Or I could use your boat and take myself,” she said. “I’d pay you, of course.”

“I couldn’t let you do that. You’d get lost for sure.”

Raoul walked over, poured himself a mug of coffee, then leaned his backside against the counter. “Kind of odd that you’d have to rush off to an important meeting, since you’re on a vacation to get away from it all.”

“That’s the thing about emergencies,” she said flippantly. “They don’t ask for an itinerary before they hit.”

“You’re right,” Raoul agreed. “So why don’t I take you to Everglades City?”

“You’re going fishing.”

“We can do that tomorrow, barring any unforeseen emergencies. Would that work for you, Uncle Carlos?”

“Works great. Unless the wind kicks up.”

Raoul’s offer caught her off guard. She’d love to tell him no thanks, but the meeting with Mac Lowell was too important. “I hate to mess up the fishing trip,” she said, “but I appreciate the offer. I’ll be glad to pay the going rate.”

“I wouldn’t know the going rate, but you can buy me a drink in town.”

“I can handle that. What time should we leave?”

“One-thirty should do it.”

“Can we make it one? I wouldn’t mind being early.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Matlock.”

She wasn’t sure what he was up to, but if he thought she was going to tell him her reason for snooping in his uncle’s closet, he had another think coming.

She wasn’t the type of woman who could be intimidated by a tall, sexy man with a nifty little cabin cruiser.

Forensics was not a science for the weak.

JACI WALKED BACK TO HER apartment, grabbed a pencil and pad, then settled on one of the lounge chairs in the courtyard to make a list of questions she wanted to ask Mac Lovell.

Mostly she wanted to listen to what he had to say, but since he was the first person she’d been able to talk to who actually took part in the investigation, she didn’t want to let anything slide.

Her first heading was “crime scene.” Question number one—“What were your first impressions when walking into the boathouse?” His response wouldn’t be as valuable now as it would have been when the experience was fresh in his mind, but it would still be helpful. First impressions of a crime scene always were.

Impressions were most important when they were at odds with the facts or the testimony of witnesses, and in this case, there were no witnesses. No servants around, though the family had employed almost a dozen. No nanny, no Carlos Lazario. They had all been away, most in Everglades City celebrating Mexico’s Independence Day.

The celebration was one of the biggest in the islands—a fiesta with fireworks and dancing and, of course, lots of food and tequila.

It struck Jaci that there had been no mention in the police reports that either Carlos or Alma had been drinking. Not likely that Carlos was, since he’d had to find the way through the dark channels back to the island.

So had he remained sober just so he and Alma could come back to the island that night? And why had they come back, when the police report made it clear that none of the other servants were expected to return until the following day?

Jaci raised her gaze to the window on the third floor of the villa. Sure enough, Alma was there, staring down at the courtyard. After thirty plus years, she must know every inch of the island, yet still she stared. Jaci lifted her hand and waved. If Alma noticed the greeting, she ignored it.

Jaci worked another half hour on the notes before lack of sleep and the heat of the midmorning sun took its toll on her concentration. Dropping her pen and pad to the tiled courtyard floor, she rose and stretched, then decided she’d think better if she got the blood moving back to her brain. Nothing like a brisk walk for that.

She went inside and put her pad on the desk, right next to her sticky note about her appointment with Mac. After a quick bathroom stop, she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and hurried out the door.

An hour later, hot and sweaty, she went back to the apartment for a quick shower before her trip to Everglades City. Jaci fitted her key into the lock and pushed the door open.

She took one step inside, then stopped, instantly wary. Something wasn’t right. And then she saw the evidence. Someone had been in her apartment while she was walking—or else was still in there.