Читать книгу A Clandestine Affair - Joanna Wayne - Страница 11

Startled, Jaci stared accusingly at the man who’d appeared from nowhere. “Who are you?”

“Sorry if I frightened you. My name’s Raoul, and you must be Jaci.”

“How do you know that?”

“Took a wild guess.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Carlos said there was a woman named Jaci staying in one of the pool house apartments. He failed to warn me you were territorial.”

Okay, so she’d come on a little strong. Still… “You could have let me know you’d walked up behind me.”

“I wasn’t exactly tiptoeing around. You were just so fascinated by whatever you were staring at, you didn’t hear me. Besides, the courtyard is a common area, or at least it used to be.”

“It still is,” she said, feeling unjustly chastened. “But I thought I was the only tenant on the island.”

“Technically, you are. I’m here visiting my uncle— Carlos.”

For some reason, she’d assumed Carlos Lazario had no relatives, probably because none had ever been mentioned in the police or newspaper reports. Which was why a good criminologist could never trust assumptions.

“So now that I’ve established I’m not a pirate from the high seas here to rape and plunder, why don’t we start over?” The stranger stepped closer and extended his right hand. “Pleased to meet you, Jaci.”

She shook it, more amiable now that she knew he was Carlos’s nephew. Maybe befriending Raoul would be the way into the old man’s heart, or more specifically, into his boathouse and villa.

It was hard to tell much about Raoul’s features in the dim courtyard lighting, but she did note a slight resemblance to Carlos. Something about the mouth and the shape of the eyes, she thought. But Raoul was much younger, thirty something, she’d guess. And way sexier.

“It’s a nice night,” he said, “cooler than this afternoon.”

“Very nice. Do you visit Cape Diablo often?”

“I try to check on Carlos when I can.”

“I’m sure he’s glad for the company. He must get lonely out here.”

“You’ll never get him to admit that.”

“Guess he likes isolation.”

“That and he’s incredibly hardheaded, just like my grandfather. Actually, Carlos is my great-uncle. He and my grandfather were brothers.”

“I suppose the hardheaded trait missed you,” Jaci said, finally managing a smile.

“You got it. I’m a rational, thinking man, and I’ll butt heads with anyone who says differently.” Raoul propped a foot on the rim of a clay flower pot full of blooming verbenas, and looked into the murky water. “I hope your room’s in better shape than the pool.”

“It’s clean, and the bed is comfortable.”

“This pool is disgusting.”

“I asked your uncle about it. Apparently it hasn’t been used in a very long time.”

“Try three decades. It should have been filled in years ago.”

“Or at least drained and cleaned,” she agreed. “Is there a reason why it’s been left like this?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but it’s a waste of time wondering how or why my uncle and Alma Garcia do anything on Cape Diablo. I gave up years ago.”

So he’d been coming to the island for a long time, maybe all his life. He might have even known the Santiago children, though he’d have been so young, Jaci doubted he’d remember much about them.

Raoul stooped to fish a plastic cup from the algae-filled pool. Jaci took the opportunity to study him more closely.

He was lean and fit, as if he worked out or engaged in physical activity on a regular basis. Dressed in denim cutoffs and a short-sleeved knit shirt open at the neck, even though she found the night wind cool. Dark hair. Probably dark eyes as well, though she couldn’t tell in this light.

Not classically handsome, but with a rugged sexual appeal that seemed to stem as much from his self-confident manner as his looks.

“So what brings you to Cape Diablo?” he asked, once he’d tossed the cup in a nearby trash basket.

“I needed some downtime, and a secluded island seemed the perfect place to find it.”

“That’s about all you’ll find here. That, snakes and every kind of annoying insect you can imagine.”

She hoped to find a whole lot more, and Raoul might be just the person to help her get it. “Will you be around awhile?”

“A couple of nights, but I probably won’t be here much during the day. I’m hoping to take Carlos fishing. He likes to catch the big ones, and his boat is too small to handle the waves in the open gulf.”

“I didn’t hear your boat come in.”

“Purrs like a kitten. It’s a lot quieter than the generator, except when I first start up the engines.”

She dropped to the edge of one of the webbed lounge chairs, hoping Raoul would do the same. He didn’t.

“The island must have a fascinating history,” she said, looking up at him with what she hoped was a natural and slightly seductive smile. “Do you know much about the original builders of the villa?”

“I’m not big on history.” He slapped at a mosquito that was buzzing around his neck. “Not fond of mosquitoes, either, so I think I’ll head back down to the boathouse. If I don’t see you again, enjoy your vacation.”

So much for her feminine wiles. “Thanks.”

She gave a slight wave as he retreated. But she had no intention of letting him get off that easily. She’d find a way to talk to him again.

He knew about the history of the island, but didn’t want to get into it with her. Why else would he have turned and run the minute she mentioned it? It couldn’t have been the mosquito. If he’d been avoiding those, he’d never have ventured out in the first place.

And even if she got nothing from him except company, it wouldn’t be a total loss. The solitude might suit Carlos, but as far as Jaci was concerned, it was growing old fast.

Her mother might not be able to push her into the path of a sexy man, but isolation and an old murder case could do the trick.

RAOUL TOOK THE LONG WAY back to the boathouse, still trying to decide the best way to accomplish what he was here for, but now also thinking about Jaci Matlock. Needing downtime wasn’t much of an explanation for why a young, good-looking woman would come to a secluded island by herself.

Maybe she had some big decision she was wrestling with and wanted uninterrupted time to think, or she could be getting over a man. Losing someone you loved could make a loner of you. Who knew that better than him?

Raoul slowed as he caught sight of Alma a few yards ahead of him, crouched between two clusters of sea oats. She was down on her knees, and sand was flying around her as if she were in a whirlwind.

A few steps closer, and he could see the small plastic shovel moving so fast it seemed to be gas propelled. He doubted she was building sand castles, but then who knew with Alma Garcia?

The woman was nuts. He’d first realized that when he was about ten and she’d kept calling him by the name of the Santiago kid who’d drowned in the pool. And then there was the time he’d run into her on the beach and she’d said she was looking for Pilar and Reyna because they had run off from their lessons. That had been four years after the girls and their parents had disappeared.

As far as he could tell, Alma was getting worse all the time. The woman should be living in a home someplace where she could get medical attention, not roaming the beach alone all hours of the night. She was probably the reason Jaci had spooked so easily.

But he didn’t dare mention that to Carlos again, not after the way he’d exploded the last time Raoul had suggested the woman get psychiatric help.

Raoul didn’t even begin to understand the relationship between his uncle and Alma Garcia. Misguided loyalty, his grandfather had called it. Carlos thought Andres Santiago expected him to care for his children’s nanny, and Carlos had never failed his old boss, even if it meant staying on Cape Diablo and looking after Alma until one of them died.

Raoul planned to make sure that didn’t happen, which was why he was here.

JACI WENT TO BED AT NINE, mainly because there was nothing better to do. Yawning, she stretched between the crisp white sheets, only to have macabre images of blood splatters start creeping through her mind. Two people had been shot and killed in the boathouse, one at much closer range than the other. Two and only two, though four had disappeared. There might also have been two shooters, one taller than the other, or else the killer had changed positions or been struggling with one of the victims when the gun went off.

That was as much as she could be sure of from the photos of the splatters—or at least relatively certain. It was unfortunate that some of the blood hadn’t been collected and preserved.

Not that they had any DNA from Andres or Medina to compare it with, but if the samples from the boathouse had included the blood of Andres’s daughters, DNA tests would have indicated the relationship.

Jaci’s mind went back to the police reports, most of which she’d memorized.

The beds of the Santiago children were unmade. The sheets, blanket and pillowcase had been stripped from one bed. Even the pillow was missing. The second bed was mussed, with the covers pulled back as if it had been slept in. The bed in the master bedroom was neatly made. There was no sign of a struggle and no blood found anywhere inside the villa.

And after that night neither the girls nor their parents were ever seen again. So the questions remained: had Andres and Medina been murdered in the boathouse upon returning from a Mexican Independence celebration? If so, what had happened to the bodies? And where were the girls, Pilar, age eight, and Reyna, age ten? Kidnapped or murdered?

So many questions without answers, and no real clues, at least none that Jaci had found yet. It would have helped if she could have gotten in touch with Mac Lowell and heard his impressions from the night he’d taken the photos.

She was still hopeful he’d show up in Everglades City, or at least get the messages she’d stuck under his door there. But even if he did, she wasn’t sure how he’d get in touch with her. Her cell phone was basically useless.

A good project required more than remarks on blood splatters and a weak hypothesis. She needed pertinent information from Carlos and Alma, something that hadn’t come out before. And she needed to get inside that villa.

Giving up on sleep, she slid her legs over the side of the bed to pad to the refrigerator for a snack. She sliced into a juicy orange just as her cell phone blasted—the first call to get through since she’d arrived on the island. She sprinted across the room and grabbed it before the connection was lost.

Her hello was a little breathless.

“Is this Jaci Matlock?”

“Yes. Who is this?”

“Mac Lowell. I heard you were looking for me.”

“I am.”

“What do you want?”

“I understand you were part of the original investigating team the night the Santiago family disappeared.”

“That was years ago.”

“I know, but I really need to talk to you about the photos you took.”

“Sorry, lady. You’ll have to go to the Everglades City PD for anything to do with that case.”

“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.