1 Margarita Nights (35 page)

I debated going after him but decided to hell with him. Whatever his problem was I didn’t need it. I didn’t need him.

But not needing Clay was a lie I couldn’t sustain.

He returned with my handbag and dropped it onto my lap. “Go ahead,” he said.

“What?”

“Have a cigarette,” he said. “I know you’re dying to.” Clay hated smoking with a passion.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Clay dropped into the rattan chair and went back to studying the horizon. “I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

“In what way a fool?”

He shrugged. “By going into the Sunset and hanging all over you or crowing or . . . I don’t know what. I’m out of control.” Again the shrug. “You’d think it would be easier at my age. But it’s worse than when I was a teenager. I want to stand on the bar and announce it or send out e-mails or something. I warn you, Sherri, I might really do something embarrassing.”

I laughed in delight. “That’s about as likely as the Pope doing the can-can on Easter Sunday, but I live in hope.”

Clay got his way.

“You’re fond of conspiracy theories, aren’t you, Mrs. Travis?” Styles said. He was wearing another brown suit, darker than previous days but still anonymous. Today he’d gone wild and opted for a pale green shirt with a black tie with three small white diamonds across the middle. “Lynch killed Jimmy and Andy.”

“Let me see, first it was Mr. Rollins who was responsible for the explosion on your husband’s boat, something about double billing, then there was this SUV on a mysterious tape that disappeared and now a blackmailing scheme. Are there any of your theories I’ve missed?”

I beat back the anger, trying for calm. “Are Jimmy’s and Andy’s deaths just theories?”

“You were on the boat the day it blew up. You’re the only person who gains by your husband’s death.” I tried to keep my face as bland as his but I hadn’t had the practice. I’m sure he knew he’d scored heavy. “Except for Lynch. He stopped Jimmy from blackmailing him.”

“And Mr. Clay Adams,” Styles added, “with whom you spent the night. He got you. And now he’s using this cock-eyed story to put pressure on Mr. Lynch so he can take over his land development project.” Styles pressed his palms together and tapped his fingertips against his lips as he watched me. “Mr. Adams is a man who plays rough. Everything you said about Mr. Lynch’s financial situation says Mr. Adams stands to benefit from the bankruptcy of Gridiron Developments.”

“And Andy? You think he killed Andy?” I croaked. “Or do you think I killed Andy? Why?”

“You’re the one who took Mr. Crown to that motel, the one who kept him there. You obviously had a reason to do so.”

“I was working when Andy died.” I was trying to break free of the web he wove around me. “Lots of witnesses.”

“You have another friend, Mr. Peter Bryant. He’s at the bar you work in every night and Mr. Bryant has lately acquired some new partners from Miami. Our little backwater is changing and Mr. Bryant’s new partners are introducing a different element to the Kit Kat Klub. Personally, I think Mr. Bryant is a small-time hustler who is in way over his head. He’s sailed close to the wind before but now he has lost control to his partners. But it gives Mr. Bryant access to a whole new set of muscles. Mr. Crown was tucked up nice and secure at Mr. Bryant’s motel. His killer knew where to find him. Perhaps there was something you wanted out of Mr. Crown or maybe you wanted to make this story of yours believable; either way, his death muddies the water. I think you excel at spreading confusion.”

“And my mother’s trailer?”

“Your mother doesn’t think torching her trailer had anything to do with you.” I threw my hands in the air and got to my feet. “Well, I’m so glad you have it all worked out. There’s only one thing. If you’re wrong, someone is still out there trying to kill me.”

By seven o’clock that night I was in Clay’s bed, sound asleep. But when exhaustion wore off I woke to stare into the dark for hours, all of my thoughts waking nightmares. Alone, on the dark side of midnight, there are no good thoughts.

I slipped from Clay’s bed and walked barefoot through the intimidatingly beautiful apartment to the balcony, the only place I felt comfortable in Clay’s home, and sat in the dark looking out to the gulf.

When would Styles come for me? In a few hours or a few days? Soon. Freedom was flying away from me. And how many of my friends would I take down with me?

I watched the twinkling lights off to the north on Shark Point as I searched the starless ebony night for answers, for a way out of the net winding tighter and tighter around me. Everything I knew to be true had been twisted and warped, and evil crouched in the shadows, waiting to consume me.

Was Clay involved? It was the question that stole my sleep. Trust didn’t come easy to me, and Styles had made huge holes in what had been built slowly between me and Clay. I told myself none of Styles’ theories could be real, but doubts, once in your head, are hard to erase. And would Clay find it any easier to trust me unconditionally when Styles messed with his brain?

And now I knew about the source of the deep worry lines that had been etched on Peter’s face over the last months. He was living in his own hell. Night after night, I’d put his drink beside the twenty he laid on the bar. I wouldn’t remove the bill until he drank it up or stood to go home. Most nights he laid another twenty down beside it.

Jimmy’s idea about disappearing south into the islands teased and tempted me. Without money could I make it happen? Running, leaving my family and friends behind to deal with the fallout seemed cowardly but if they were all called into court to testify, to have every piece of their lives cut open, dissected and laid bare for anyone to pick through, was that any better? The big question was who would come looking for me and how hard would they search? I needed to move. I left the condo.

The sun, creeping over the edge of the world, turned the shallow water near the shore a bright pink. The dawn beach was empty except for the tiny birds, legs scissoring frantically, that ran forwards and backwards at the edge of the water searching for food—a life and death struggle, hour after hour, of retreat and charge.

I had been on my own for almost a year, but I hadn’t really gotten on with my life. I’d just drifted in some sort of limbo, and twice, out of loneliness or lust, I’d fallen back into Jimmy’s arms. No wonder Jimmy had a hard time believing I was really gone. But now, dead or fled, Jimmy was out of my life and all the wasted emotion was swept away like smoke from my cigarette.

Watching the shorebirds, I realized that all life was pretty much the same. We’re caught in the currents that take us where they will—if you try to stand still, a wave of change will sweep over you and drive you forwards or backwards. Either way, it will move you. The only way to keep your balance and gain a little bit of control is to keep moving, pick a target and pull towards it with all your might. But even when you gain your goal, it quickly moves away from you and you need a new sighting, a new star to make for. It was time for me to find my own star and pull towards it.

Could I trust Clay? While I was in his arms I could believe, but I’d lost all confidence in my own judgment—except for the strong conviction that no matter what the truth turned out to be, Clay was not a murderer. I turned around to walk back up the beach to the condo. Fifty yards ahead of me Clay stood watching me. I walked towards him.

The chances of collecting on Jimmy’s insurance were looking slim at best so I had to go to work. When you’re as insolvent as I am there isn’t much choice. Besides, if I was honest, it was the place I most wanted to be. Clay came with me.

About five o’clock, Cordelia came into the Sunset, this time with boldness and a new air of defiance. It was as if everything had just loosened up inside her like the elastic on pantyhose left in a drawer too long.

“Fancy meeting you in a joint like this,” I said. “What are you drinking?”

“How about a margarita? You always say they help you see the world from a new angle.” She stood on tiptoe to slide up on the stool.

“Yes, I know I’ve preached that in the past, but do you really want to see the world from toilet-bowl level?”

“Let’s risk it.”

“And so?” I asked, as I positioned the coaster in front of her and set the salted glass on it.

“Noble is at home with the kids. I had to get out. I can hardly stand to be around him.”

“Understandable.”

“I’ve started doing the strangest things.” Her tongue flicked at the salted rim. “Today I was going to dust his stupid basketball trophies. Instead I put them in a trash bag and I took them outside and smashed them. Very liberating.” “Well, it’s better then smashing Noble.”

“Oh, I’ve thought about that too.”

“But are you making plans to do it?”

“Not yet. But I’m keeping that option open.” I’d make sure she stayed away from Brian and his stories. “Have you got any other plans?”

“No. I’m just going through one day at a time.” She sipped her drink. “Delicious! Why haven’t I tried these before? I think I could get addicted to these.” “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Peter sidled down the bar and set to work. He always moved in on any female within sniffing range and Cordelia was well within range. I saw the pink spread up her cheeks and blessed him. It probably had been a long time since she’d thought of herself as an attractive female. Before long Peter motioned for another round.

“Not only hanging out in a bar but chatting up men—your reputation will suffer,” I warned her, setting down their drinks. She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “It will make lovely gossip, won’t it?” She canted her head to the side. “Which will get more attention, a minister’s wife in a bar or a gay minister?”

“I don’t know. This story just has so much going for it.”

“My life has turned into tabloid material.”

“We must compare notes but I may not have too much time. I could get arrested at any second for two murders. You might not want to be seen with me,” I warned.

She smiled and her delicate features suddenly lifted and she looked more alive and animated than I’d ever seen her. She lifted her glass to me. “Let’s swear to stick together. No one else will ever believe it.”

“Sherri,” Jeff called and held up the telephone receiver.

“Oh Sherri, I forgot to tell you there was another call for you. Well, several actually, a man wanting to talk to you. He asked if I knew where to find you but he didn’t leave a name.”

I had a pretty good idea who it was . . . the guy with the gas can, wanting a second date. Who says men never call the next day?

I held the phone away from me, cautious and leery, “Hello?”

It was Andy’s mom. “I just wanted to tell you Andy’s funeral is tomorrow.”

Marley came in, digging for details. “I expected you,” she said, really curious about where I’d spent the previous night but she’d have to wait for that information.

“I went to see Bernice,” I told her instead.

“What?” My story totally distracted from the trail she was sniffing along.

“It was a crazy thing to do. I bet she’s torn every inch of that house apart.” I pointed a finger at Marley. “Think before you leap, girl. This just shows what acting without thinking can do. We’ll probably hear tomorrow that there’s nothing left of the Travis home but rubble.”

“Good,” Marley said. She looked real sweet but it was a lie. Tony Rollins slid onto the stool next to her. He gave us his “Can you believe how hot I am?” smirk and asked, “Who’s your friend, Sherri?”