1 Margarita Nights (11 page)

I turned to a Tampa rock station and drove back over the bridge and out Killman Road to Windimere, out where slash pines grew above undergrowth so thick not even the longhorn cattle raised out there can make their way through it. Starting in early February, the male pinecones produce yellow pollen to blow down and cover cars and boats and mobile homes. You can forget about trying to keep anything outside clean around here in the dry season. The pollen seeps into houses and into cars, turning every surface and every piece of upholstery yellow. The pines are always the first things to go when the developers move in.

But development hadn’t spread to this little wilderness between I-75 and Ta miami Trail. Here feral pigs, longhorn cattle, snakes and birds of every description ruled. Only the golf course infringed on this backcountry. Windimere was owned by a group of businessmen and professionals, lawyers and doc tors, who sank every spare cent of change they could beg, steal or borrow into this bet on the future. So far they only had a great golf course, but one day soon gated communities will surround it. Already, red stakes with yellow plastic ribbons fluttering on them had been driven into the ground along the western boundary. Things were about to happen out here.

The manicured entrance, with stone pillars and tropical flowers, divided deep jungle on either side of the drive. A bevy of quail scurried across the road in front of me and disappeared into the thick brush. The winding drive opened to a parking lot, empty except for three cars and the huge clubhouse with the golf course behind it.

The Windimere owners hadn’t stinted on the landscaping. A full-grown Jacaranda tree, with beautiful silver bark, had been planted in the center of the parking lot. In early April it would turn periwinkle blue with flowers. The flat-roofed pro shop sat under bottle bush trees, heavy with their distinctive red flowers. I’d stayed away from Windimere because of Jimmy’s connection to it, so this was all new for me. In the soft light of early evening, it looked magical. But without people coming and going it had a lonely feeling and wild untamed nature crouched around the perimeter of its carefully tended area waiting for the owners to fail so the jungle could reclaim its own.

In the pro shop, a foursome was at the cash register. A handsome man behind the counter, who was handing over a bag to one of the golfers, looked my way at the sound of the door. His smile faded.

The other men turned around to follow his stare. Their faces were a whole lot friendlier than the guy’s behind the counter. But this late in the day, after an afternoon of golf and a few beers, these guys would be friendly to just about any female. I wasn’t exactly dressed for golf, more dressed for a night of mud wrestling out at Big Daddy’s. My wooden platform sandals, with the Chinese red toenails sticking out, struck loudly on the ceramic tiles as I moved to a display rack. A soft whistle came from behind me. I held up a 250-dollar rainsuit as a shield. I was still studying it when the four guys left.

“Hi, Sherri.”

Surprised, I shoved the hanger back on the rack and clacked up to the counter. The guy was smiling now. The smile worked well. Tall, dark and athletic-looking, he was wearing a soft pink shirt with black trim on the collar and sleeves. He and Jimmy must have been quite a pair with the ladies’ membership.

“Have we met?”

“No, but I know you’re Jimmy’s wife.”

I smiled and told him, “I haven’t been Jimmy’s wife for a long time.”

“I . . .” His response was cut off by the door opening behind him. An older man, dressed in work clothes, came through the half-opened door and said, “We’re done. See you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Lock the back door on your way out.”

“Sure,” the man said and closed the door.

We were all alone.

“I’m Tony Rollins, by the way,” handsome said and went to lock the front door to the pro shop. “I’m the assistant pro.” He came back towards me, moving in too close, stopping inside my comfort zone. I eased away. “I had a call,” he said and gave me a strange little smile. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

Private? We were surrounded by hundreds of empty acres, just us and the wildlife. It didn’t get more private than this.

Alarm bells started jangling but I clattered along behind him. That’s the amazing thing a bout dumb people like me— we go on making the same mistakes over and over, trusting to luck or divine intervention. Since everyone had left for the night and nobody would be coming out here after dark, if things went wrong divine intervention was the only thing I could count on.

I followed him through the merchandise, down a hall running past washrooms to a door at the end, trying to remember what Jimmy had said about him. There was something evil bouncing around in my head but I couldn’t identify it.

“This is Jimmy’s office.” He stood aside for me to enter. A faint memory of expensive cologne hung in the air, bringing Jimmy back.

A big desk sat in the center of the back wall. Beside a dead computer screen, a large silver-framed picture of Jimmy and me sat on the desk, which explained how Tony Rollins recognized me. Jimmy’s normal chaos was at work here as well. Bills and invoices floated to the very edge of the desk.

“This room looks like Jimmy.” Half stockroom, half office, the room was crowded with boxes of shoes and clothing. Golf clubs and bags, new and used, were stacked on top of each other or leaning up against the walls.

Tony Rollins laughed. “No one could ever find anything in here but Jimmy.”

“Not the tidiest person in the world was Jimmy.” Watching Rollins carefully, I asked, “ Have the police been here?”

A small nod, “Yesterday. They came out and looked through everything and asked a lot of questions.” He didn’t look worried so they hadn’t asked the right questions. “They said it was just routine.”

Either they hadn’t known it was murder when they came or they weren’t spreading it about yet. I walked around the room taking it all in. “Did they ask about Jimmy’s extracurricular activities?”

Tony Rollins didn’t answer. I glanced back at him. He looked uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry.” I gave him a bright smile, pushing my shoulders back and jutting out my chest. “I have no illusions about Jimmy.”

“They didn’t seem to have anything in mind, just nosing around.” He hoisted a hip unto the desk. “I hear you made a call.”

“I want to get rid of those damn shoes.”

“Bill Jackson called me to say he’d heard from you.”

“They’re taking up space.”

“That’s all?” He polished the edge of the scarred desk with a forefinger. “Jimmy hasn’t been sounding off about things around here, has he?”

I gave a snort of disgust. “Jimmy and I weren’t talking.” I flashed him my biggest tip-generating smile. “At least not about shoes. I have them in the truck.” He was happy now. “Good.”

“But Jimmy wasn’t too pleased about your scam, was he?” His head jerked around to the closed door. We were the only people in the building but still he didn’t like me talking about it.

“It’s all right,” I assured him. I flexed my shoulders and his eyes went back to the cutout heart of my top. When in doubt pull out the big guns. “It’s nothing to do with me but it sounds like a pretty good gig.” I put my hands on my hips and pushed my shoulders back to hold his attention.

“Everyone does it,” he said, his eyes never leaving my heart.

“The accounts show one invoice but you pay a lesser one and keep the difference, right? Jimmy found out about the double invoicing and he didn’t like it.”

He frowned. “He just went crazy. Said a whole bunch of stuff there was no need to say. He was acting weird lately.” “Maybe he wanted in on the action.” He shook his head. “I offered him that.” “Did the police ask about it?” He was on his feet. “No.”

“Hey, don’t worry.” I was backing up as I said it. My hands were out, palms up trying to calm him down and take the scary look off his face.

“Keep it to yourself, okay?” The tone of his voice made it somewhere between an order and a threat.

“I’m cool. They aren’t going to hear about it from me.” He sat back against the desk, arms crossed and legs stretched out. “I don’t know what was wrong with Jimmy. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have some things of his own going on.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Poker games. He used to hold poker games here after hours. He picked up some nice change at those games.”

“Who was the big loser?”

“Not Jimmy.”

“Did he leave some unhappy players?”

He shrugged, not interested in poker. “He shouldn’t have ragged on me like that.”

The memory trying to dig its way out of my mind finally made it to the party. “What about drugs?”

“Jimmy didn’t have anything to do with drugs.”

“But Jimmy told me you sold great stuff,” I said softly.

“You should be careful what you say.” He was on his feet and I was backing a way again.

“No worries.” I was suddenly conscious of how quiet it was in the building and how black it was outside the window.

He loomed over me. “Who else have you been spouting off to?”

I edged further away. “Nobody.” I gave him my big warm “come to Mama” smile. “Do I look like I care?” Sexual heat and preconceived notions about a girl in cutoffs and a tight top are a great boon to a girl on a quest. “ Don’t worry about me,” I said, jutting out a hip. “A girl like me knows how to keep quiet.”

His eyes dropped to the cutout for reassurance.

“I was just wondering if Jimmy was using again.” I told him. “He’s been known to in the past.”

“Naw.” He waved away my suggestions and gave me a warm smile. “But if you need anything I can get it for you. I know how to take care of my friends.” He moved in closer, not touching me but his body covering mine just the same.

I tried a little laugh. “I’d have thought Jimmy would be your best customer.”

Rollins shook his head. “He was going around like my mother, having a hissy fit over a little pot.” He looked flabbergasted and confused at this failure in Jimmy. “Purer than the pure! Very uncool.”

“Jimmy didn’t like you dealing? That doesn’t sound like the Jimmy I knew.”

He swung away from me. “Well it was the Jimmy I knew.” Agitated and angry, he picked up one of Jimmy’s golf trophies from the desk and wrung it between his hands. “These last few months he’s been a real pain in the butt, riding me about everything.” His eyes were on me but his hands didn’t stop working on the trophy, twisting it between his hands like a rag and he was getting every last drop of water out. “Jimmy changed over this last year. Actually, he was doing a good job.” Jimmy’s reformation came as quite a surprise to Tony Rollins. It came as a revelation to me as well. After a lifetime of being irresponsible and out of control, this was a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn for Jimmy.

“He just didn’t want the stuff around anymore. I never had anything to do with hard stuff, but that didn’t matter to Jimmy.” The nameplate came off the marble base of the trophy and fell to the carpet. Tony Rollins didn’t notice. “He told me he would break my fucking neck if he caught me dealing drugs here again.” Indignation fought with stunned disbelief on his face.

“He even stopped the card games though he was the big winner. It was like he’d found Jesus or something.”

“Not being able to sell out here would be a problem. All of your customers must be here.”

He frowned.

“Come on. I work in a bar remember? I know the score.”

“It’s only small time. Just to keep the members happy.” He smirked, sure of himself, sure he was irresistible. “I like making people happy. I’m good at making people happy.”