Читать книгу Still Waters: The Island / Below the Surface - Heather Graham, Heather Graham - Страница 15

7

“I admit to still being confused,” redheaded Ashley Dilessio said, easing back in her chair at Nick’s, her uncle’s restaurant on the bay.

Nick’s was everything good about the area, Beth thought. Boats came in to dock, houseboats were moored nearby, and anyone was welcome. The tables were rough wood, an overhang sheltered the outside seating from the sun, and it felt like a continuation of island living in the midst of a hectic, overpopulated, multicultural community.

Not to take anything away from the yacht club, she decided a little defensively. The two establishments were just different. And of course part of Nick’s appeal was that she’d known Ashley most of her life.

Now Ashley was with the police force, in the forensics department, and her husband, Jake, was a homicide detective.

“Okay, you got to the island. You walked with the kids. You thought you saw a skull. A man showed up—you hid it. You went back with Ben, and there was no skull,” Ashley said, her green eyes studying Beth with a slight frown wrinkling her forehead.

“That’s the gist of it, yes. Ben thinks I saw a conch shell,” Beth said, her tone a little sheepish. “It might be nothing, it might be something. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Ted and Molly Monoco.”

“I remember the story, but... I thought they were sailing around the world,” Ashley said. “No wonder no one’s seen them.”

“But what if it was a skull?”

“You said that whatever you saw was gone when you went back.”

“Maybe I just couldn’t find it,” Beth persisted.

Ashley stirred her straw around in the large glass of iced tea in front of her. “This isn’t my jurisdiction, or even Jake’s, you know.”

“But you have contacts,” Beth reminded her.

Ashley nodded thoughtfully.

Beth let out a deep sigh. “Shouldn’t someone check it out?”

“Yes,” Ashley agreed. “We can get the Coast Guard out there to take a look, if nothing else. But...why would the skull—if it was a skull—have disappeared? Did any of the other boaters seem suspicious?”

Beth groaned. “All of them.”

Ashley smiled. “Okay, tell me.”

Beth began describing the other campers on the island: the Masons, who Ashley knew casually, Brad and Sandy, and the three men in the exquisite yacht.

“Three hunks, huh?” Ashley teased.

“Um. They looked the part.”

“What part?”

“Oh, you know, the type who would be out fishing, diving...boating.”

“You mean they had beer bellies and could open the bottles with their teeth?”

“Ashley!” She flushed slightly, remembering the way she’d described Ben’s mythical “friends” who were due to arrive on the island.

“Sorry, just kidding. But they don’t sound like modern-day pirates. Not if they already had such a fantastic boat themselves.”

“So there really are pirates out there?” Beth asked, keeping to herself the thought that maybe Lee hadn’t been the legitimate owner of that boat after all.

“You bet. There’s lots of money—and very little law—once you’re out on the ocean,” Ashley said seriously. She was doodling idly on a napkin. “Describe your guy.”

“Which one?”

Ashley grinned. “The one you’re talking about the most, seem the most suspicious of—and the most attracted to.”

“Ashley...”

“Beth, just describe the guy. Tall? Dark? Face shape—round...long...?”

“Um, really good bone structure. Cheekbones broad, chin kind of squared, really strong. Eyes...” She watched as Ashley sketched on the napkin. Her friend was good. “Farther apart. And the brows have a high arch. The nose is a little longer, dead straight. The lips are fuller. And the hair...well, depends on whether it was wet or dry.”

“Just go for the face.”

“A little leaner there, below the cheekbones,” Beth said. Then she exhaled, leaning back, staring at Ashley. “You’d think you knew the guy. That’s incredible.”

Ashley shrugged, sliding the cocktail napkin with the perfect likeness to the side of her plate. “Let’s hope so. I’m being paid to do it.”

Beth shook her head, staring at Ashley, thinking of the man whose likeness her friend had just drawn.

“Hey! Look what the summer wind brought along,” a masculine voice said, breaking the moment.

They both looked up. Jake had arrived. Winking at Beth, he kissed the top of his wife’s head and pulled out a chair. He was a rugged-looking man; he either looked his part as a cop or could be taken for one of her boat people. In fact, he was both. He’d spent years dealing with the hardest, darkest, ugliest secrets of a big city, and still knew how to come home and smile, play with his toddling son and baby daughter, love his wife and enjoy his friends.

“Beth thinks she might have found one of the missing Monocos,” Ashley said.

Beth was startled when he looked at her sharply, then at his wife again. “I’m not sure they are missing. I just heard a rumor that their boat was seen recently.”

“She might have found a skull on Calliope Key,” Ashley explained further.

“It disappeared,” she murmured, then shook her head. She couldn’t be hesitant. “Actually, I’m sure I saw a skull. But I got scared and tried to hide it. Then I couldn’t find it. And—”

She broke off, then plunged back in. “Well, if someone else had hidden the skull, it didn’t seem like a good idea to make a production of digging it up.”

Jake grimaced, looked at Ashley again, and then smiled at Beth. “Don’t worry, kid, we’ll get on it,” he assured her. “I’ll call Bobby—Robert Gray, a friend with the Coast Guard. I’m sure he’ll help. Will that make you feel better?”

“Yes, and thank you,” she told him.

“Hey, are we invited to your next big event at the club?”

“Absolutely,” she assured him. “You can come in anytime, you know that. Just use my name. No, better yet, use Ben’s. He’s the paying member.” She grinned.

“Want to hear more about Beth’s excursion on Calliope Key?” Ashley asked her husband. “Some of her new acquaintances sound fascinating.”

“Oh?” Jake said, and looked at Beth curiously.

“She met three hunks. Rich ones, maybe.”

“Ohhhh,” Jake said.

Beth groaned and stood. “You two are cops—you’re supposed to be taking me seriously. I’m out of lunchtime. Call me.”

Ashley grinned, shaking her head. “We’re taking you seriously, really. The thing is, your hunks do sound intriguing.” Ashley paused, her expression turning serious. “I promise we’ll find someone—the right someone—to look into what you saw.”

“And we will call you,” Jake promised.

Shaking her head, Beth turned and left them. But she smiled as she did so. She could trust them. If they said they would see to it that the Coast Guard checked out the island, it would be done.

* * *

As soon as Beth had gone, Ashley pulled the cocktail napkin from the side of her plate, setting in directly in front of her husband.

He frowned and stared at his wife.

“He was out at Calliope Key. Where Beth thinks she saw a skull.”

Jake picked up the napkin, but hardly bothered to study it.

“She sounds as if she’s paranoid already,” Ashley murmured.

Jake shook his head.

“Perhaps,” Ashley began, “I should—”

“No,” Jake said firmly. “No. She’s back here, and she’s safe. There’s no reason to say anything.”

“We both know—”

“Yes, we both know. But we don’t know what the hell else is going on. Leave it. I’ll call Bobby, they’ll check out the island. Other than that, there just isn’t a hell of a lot we can do.”

“Jake—”

“Ashley, it’s out of our hands. And besides, since we don’t really know anything for certain, what the hell are we going to say?”

She sighed, still unsure that silence was the right course.

* * *

Keith surfaced, lifting his mask, spitting out his mouthpiece. He saw Lee on deck—his binoculars in his hands, looking toward the island.

Hand on the ladder, Keith kicked off his flippers and crawled aboard.

“What?” he asked Lee, shedding the rest of his equipment.

Lee shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure what they’re doing.”

The day before, they had caught sight of Sandy and Brad on their old scow of a boat—and the couple had been watching them through their binoculars.

“What does it look like they’re doing?” Keith asked.

“Stashing, stowing...getting rid of something. In a hurry.”

Keith took the binoculars from Lee and turned slowly, scanning the horizon. Damn! He thought as he sighted a Coast Guard cutter. Beth. She just wasn’t going to let it rest. She’d gotten the authorities involved. The problem was, they weren’t going to find anything.

“Take a look,” he said softly to Lee.

Lee took the binoculars back and followed Keith’s line of vision. “Coast Guard,” he muttered. He looked at Keith. “Anything we need to worry about ourselves?” he asked. “This isn’t the time to be making explanations.”

Keith shook his head.

“Nothing down there?” Lee asked tensely.

“Not yet.”

“What was on the radar?”

“An old tire iron.”

Lee swore. “Well, hell, let’s get ready for guests, then, huh?”

Keith nodded.

He turned, moving down the deck to find the freshwater hose and rinse down his equipment before stowing it. Lee hurried down to the cabin.

As he worked, Keith was startled to see that Brad had gotten in his dinghy and was motoring quickly away from his anchored boat.

He chose the direction away from Keith and his group, disappearing around the island.

He was gone for only a matter of minutes, back long before the Coast Guard cutter approached.

Brad hadn’t even turned on the dinghy’s motor, he thought. He had used the oars, but had moved with incredible haste.

Why?

The answer was obvious. To try to go unnoticed. And to get rid of something.

Or someone?

* * *

On Monday Beth had been hopeful, by Tuesday she had been mad, and on Wednesday she was morose, then angry again, this time with herself.

Keith Henson knew her name, where she came from and where she worked. She realized that she’d had it in her head that he was going to find her, that he was going to say he had to see her again, that he was as mesmerized, fascinated, and in love or lust with her as she was with him.

But obviously he hadn’t made any effort to locate her—she was simply too easy to find.

Every time the phone rang, she answered it eagerly, then was disappointed. Since she had come home, she realized, nothing had changed.

She still thought about two things: Keith Henson and the skull on the island.

She realized that she was becoming obsessive, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Despite the fact that Ashley and Jake had been true to their word—they had taken her seriously and gotten a friend to order the Coast Guard to search the island—nothing had been discovered. She should have been happy—there had been no corpse on the island, no body parts.

But she couldn’t help wondering where the skull she had seen had been hidden, or whether at this point it had been removed entirely.

At home—and even at work—she had spent hours online, looking up everything she could find on the Monocos. There were pictures of them alongside their magnificent yacht. There was even an old photo of them—from perhaps fifteen years ago—when they’d been at her club. That meant some of the older members might have known them.

She’d also searched the name Keith Henson on the internet. She found a dozen men of that name who had websites or were mentioned in articles.

He was not one of them.

She was thinking about both the island and Keith now, as usual, tapping a pencil idly on her desk, when there was a knock on her office door and George Berry, the current commodore of the club, poked his head in.

“Beth?”

“Hi, Commodore.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course, please do.”

He sat in the chair across from her. “I’ve been worrying about the Summer Sizzler.”

“Oh?” She smiled questioningly.

The Summer Sizzler was an annual event, and all new members were seriously encouraged to attend. It was an important date on the club’s social calendar. The food had to be the best. The entertainment was expected to be the same. And it was coming up in less than two weeks. She, along with the entertainment committee, had it well in hand.

“Chef Margolin has been working hard,” Beth assured the commodore, when he didn’t say anything further. “He hasn’t given me his final menu yet, but I’m willing to bet that once again, he’ll completely outdo himself.”

The commodore waved a hand in the air. He was a man in his early sixties, with a head of the most remarkable silver hair she’d ever seen. His wife had the exact shade. They both had twinkling blue eyes, and in Beth’s mind, they were adorable. They’d had no children, and for as long as she could remember, they had put their time and efforts into their various boats, charities and the club.

Like the Monocos, she found herself thinking.

“You are planning something very special, aren’t you?”

She arched her brows, looking at him. How special? The Summer Sizzler was like an end-of-the-season party—not as major as New Year’s, Christmas or the Grand Ball, when the new commodore was installed each year.

Special?

Of course, there was going to be a great menu. And she’d ordered torches, and wonderful light and flower arrangements for the outside bar area, hired a band....

“Really special,” Commodore Berry said insistently.

His concern gave her an idea. “I think you’re going to be very happy with my plan,” she told him.

“You do have a plan for something special?” he asked.

She saw no reason to tell him that her plan had just come to mind. “Give me a day or two, and I’ll lay it out for you, all right?”

“It’s going to be incredible, right?” He smiled anxiously. “It has to be, you know. I want to go down in history as the best commodore this club has ever had.”

“We’ll see to it,” she vowed.

As soon as he had left her office, she jumped up and headed for the stairs that led down to the first level, with the dining room and, beyond glass doors, the patio. Just a little while earlier, she had noticed a member she had been anxious to talk to—Manny Ortega.

Manny was in his sixties, just like the commodore. He was a fascinating man, who’d come over from Cuba in his teens—lying about his age in order to enter the States with a conga band. He had worked clubs all over Miami in his day.

She was certain he must have worked with Ted Monoco at some time in his life, and she was more than certain he knew the couple, because, according to an item in the paper, he had called the police about the Monocos, suggesting that they were missing.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he said to her as she approached his table. He was sitting, Cuban coffee in front of him, smoking and staring out at the different vessels in their berths.

Manny loved his Cuban cigars. He always had the real thing. She wasn’t at all sure how he got them, but she never asked.

“Hey, yourself,” she said. “And thank you. Can I join you?”

“Absolutely. What’s up? Need an aging drummer?”

She laughed. “You never know when I’ll take you up on that, Manny. Actually, I was curious. I happened to be reading some old newspapers the other day. Are you a good friend of the Monocos? Ted and Molly?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Have you heard anything from them?”

He shook his head slowly, his mouth downcast. “Not a word.”

“Do you think something happened to them?”

“Well, I did. But the police told me the other day that their yacht had been spotted, so I guess I have to respect their right to privacy. Seems odd, though. They’ve always kept in touch with me before.”

“It does seem odd. Do you know who actually saw their boat?” she asked.

He tapped his cigar, studying the smoke. Then he looked at her. “Is there a reason you’re asking all this?”

“Oh, we just came back from Calliope Key, and it made me start thinking.”

Manny lifted his hands in a fatalistic gesture. “Who knows about people? They tell me that Ted and Molly can do what they want, that they are adults. So...did I offend them somehow? I don’t know. Could they show up tomorrow? I suppose.”

“But...don’t they have bills to pay and stuff? Taxes?”

“Everything is done automatically from Ted’s accounts. He set it up when they started planning to sail around the world. I just hadn’t realized he was planning on closing the door on old friends.”

“So no one has talked to them?”

He looked upset, and she wondered if she was treading on dangerous ground. Manny’s feelings had evidently been hurt. He might have started off worried, but whatever the police had said to him must have made him believe that his old friends just didn’t care anymore.

She leaned forward. “It doesn’t sound like the Monocos to me,” she said.

He arched a brow. “You knew them?”

“No, but...they were—or are—nice people, right?”

“The best,” Manny agreed.

“Then it doesn’t seem right.”

“No, it does not seem right. But it is...what is.” He stood and stretched. He was a man of about five-nine, compact and wiry, his features weathered. He set a hand on her head. “You’re a sweet person. Kind to worry, but don’t. It will do nothing but frustrate you, I promise.”

But they were your friends, she longed to remind him. She managed not to say anything, in the interest of remaining employed.

She nodded, then, on a whim, asked, “Manny, have you ever met a man named Keith Henson?”

He frowned. “I do seem to recognize the name. In what context, I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever met him, but the name rings a bell.” She waited, he frowned. After a minute, he shook his head again.

“How about Lee Gomez?”

“Hey...this is Miami. I know dozens of Gomezes.”

“But a Lee?”

Again he shook his head.

“Matt Albright?”

“No...can’t say I know that name.”

“How about Sandy Allison or Brad Shaw?”

He stared at her, frowning and took a puff of his cigar. “What is this today, Beth? Twenty Questions? All these names? There are three million people living here.”

She flushed. “They’re just people we met on the island.”

“Honey, people have been going to that island for centuries. Lots of them. From all over.”

“I know. But the name Keith Henson rings some kind of bell?”

“Yeah. But I don’t know what.”

“Thanks, Manny,” she murmured. “Sorry for bugging you.”

“I have to go, big date this afternoon,” he said. She had always thought of him as a dapper man, rather an old-fashioned word, but one that fit him. He inclined his head toward her. “Thank you for the lovely company, Beth. See you later.”

“Oh, Manny, I’m sorry. One more question. A man named Eduardo Shea bought the studios from the Monocos. Do you know him?”

“Sure.”

“Is he...a nice guy?”

“Thinking of salsa lessons?”

“Maybe. Mostly I’m planning something for the club.”

“The studios are doing well under his ownership, I have heard. He’s a decent fellow, a good teacher. Is that what you need to know?”

“Yes, and thanks for the help.”

“My pleasure.” He stood, ready to go, then paused. “You are a very nice person, Beth. It’s your job, I know, to be nice to people, but there’s a real kindness behind everything you do. Don’t make life miserable for yourself. Trust me. I don’t know if Ted and Molly are alive or dead. I know that my fears make sense, and that the explanations I hear from the police make sense, as well. I’ve learned that there’s nothing I can do. You should learn from my experiences.”

“Thanks, Manny,” Beth said. “You’re pretty nice yourself.”

He winked. “You’re cuter. Have a good day, Beth.”

He left. Beth waved, then rose. Walking back inside and through the dining room, she noted that Amanda was seated at a table with a group of women. She was wearing a white skirt suit and a broad-brimmed white hat.

Only she could carry it off, Beth thought, hoping to pass through unnoticed. But Amanda looked up, and Beth groaned inwardly. She was going to be asked about something. Amanda would do her best to make it appear that she wasn’t doing her job.

But Amanda only stared at her for a long moment, then she turned away, as if she had assessed Beth and dismissed her entirely.

Beth returned to her office. As she reached it, she hesitated. Her door stood ajar. She could have sworn that she had closed it. A sense of unease raked along her spine. She gave herself a mental shake. Ridiculous. A member had simply come up to talk to her, then not closed the door all the way. The commodore had come back, perhaps.

She smiled, thinking she was really becoming absurd.

But as she walked into her office, she was convinced that things were...wrong. It seemed that the papers on her desk had been moved slightly. Frowning, she began looking through her things. Nothing seemed to be missing.

She glanced at her computer.

It was off.

Her frown deepened. She hadn’t turned it off.

A chill shivered through her. And yet...there was nothing really frightening here. Maybe there had been a power surge. Maybe she had hit the off button without realizing it.

But she never turned it off during the day.

Still...

It was broad daylight. There were dozens of members and employees in and around the club. There was absolutely no reason to feel a sense of danger.

Yet she sat down slowly, the icy hot trickle of fear refusing to abate.

It remained with her throughout the day, and even followed her into the darkening parking lot when she finally left that night.

* * *

Thursday.

Morning dawned.

Keith and Matt stood on the aft deck, looking across the water.

The disreputable vessel belonging to Brad and Sandy remained where she had been at anchor.

Matt let out a long sigh. “Guess they have no jobs to get back to,” he said.

“They don’t know what we’re doing,” Keith said with certainty, though their presence had disturbed him, as well. He had explored the area where he thought Brad had dumped something, but he hadn’t found anything. Still, the ocean was huge, and water and sand shifted. He hadn’t known exactly where to look—or what to look for. He was still convinced, however, that Brad had thrown something into the sea.

Something he hadn’t wanted the Coast Guard to find.

“I still don’t like it,” Matt said.

“I don’t like it, either. Frankly, I don’t like anything about the two of them. But as far as what we’re doing goes... Matt, one of us stays on board as lookout, all the time. We can’t stop our work completely just because other people are anchored nearby.”

“They’ve been anchored nearby for too long,” Matt pointed out.

“Maybe they’re saying the same thing about us.”

Matt snapped around, looking at him sharply. “I don’t want to leave,” he murmured.

“Maybe we should, though. Spend a night among the masses. See if we can pick up any idle gossip, any rumors.”

Matt stared at him, eyes narrowed, and shook his head. “Keith, I think you’re going off track. I’m upset that Brandon is dead, too. But now you’re convinced that some old couple’s disappearance is somehow connected, but I don’t see how.”

“They might be dead, too.”

“Lots of bad things happen. Lots of people die. They’re not all related.”

“Nope, not all of them. But I don’t think it would hurt to do a little investigating.”

Matt looked like he was about to argue, but then he shrugged. “You might be right.” Then he smiled. “I imagine you want to try to get an invite into the domains of a certain yacht club?”

“There are plenty of places to put ashore,” Keith said.

“I repeat—”

“Yeah, I think we should head to that area. Other than Brad and Sandy, those were the people hanging here.”

“We’ll talk it over with Lee,” Matt agreed. “And you’re right,” he murmured, sounding a bit disgruntled. “It’s just damn convenient for you, huh?”

Keith shrugged. Hell, yes, he was anxious to get over there.

He was worried about Beth Anderson. She was home, but he knew in his gut that the Coast Guard had been out here because of her. Still, Brad and Sandy were the suspicious ones, and they were out here, while Beth was safely on the mainland. He shouldn’t feel uneasy. But he did.

What the hell were Brad and Sandy up to? Hanging around forever, tossing things into the water.

He wanted to just go over and ask them what they were doing, but he didn’t want to arouse suspicion against himself. He reminded himself firmly that a boatload of Coast Guard sailors had arrived on the island, stayed a good long time and searched the interior—and found nothing.

Beth had not given up. She had gone to someone with the power to make things happen, and what was to say she wouldn’t push the issue again?

His smile faded, and he shook his head. She was like a dog with a bone, refusing to let go.

And that could be really dangerous for her. Because something was going on out here. He was sure of it.

Brad had been afraid they would search his boat, so he had gotten rid of something in the ocean.

So why were he and Sandy still there, watching them all the time?

It all kept coming back to one thing.

The skull.