Lanyon, Josh - Adrien English 04 - Death of a Pirate King (17 page)

He stopped laughing. In fact, he was silent for a few
seconds. He said, “I gather from your tone you’re aware that Nina and I have
had a somewhat tumultuous past.”

“I know you had a child together, and that --”

“Yes,” he broke in crisply. “Quite. Well, you are thorough. I
give you credit for that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not trying to open old wounds, but
it occurred to me that the drink you handed me for Porter might easily have
been mistaken for your own.”

After a moment he said, “She wasn’t there. At least --”

“At least what?”

“No. It’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous?”

“Nothing. I appreciate your concern. Truly. But…not
necessary, I assure you.” Before I could respond, he went on, “Look, the reason
I’m giving you a tinkle is I’m having a little get-together at the marina
tomorrow. Valarie will be there, and it would give you a chance to speak with
her.”

“Sundays are awkward,” I said. “I’m supposed to occasionally
give my assistant a day off.”

But Paul persisted -- charming and intractable as ever -- and
I finally agreed just to shut him up.

“Marvelous!” he exclaimed after giving me the details. “We’ll
see you then.”

“All right,” I said without enthusiasm.

He chuckled at my tone, then said with unexpected
seriousness, “Adrien…thank you. I appreciate your concern. I do. But the loss
of our child actually brought Nina and me together. Allowed us to be friends
again.”

“Of course,” I said. “I didn’t realize.”

“How could you?” he said easily. “But I am genuinely grateful
for your friendship.”

“No problem,” I said.

With friends like me, who needed enemies?

Chapter Fourteen

The faded marina sign was missing an uppercase
O
. But
Watch
for
   
Posing Drivers!
seemed
pretty good advice given the number of Mercedes driven by guys in yacht caps.

I parked and walked past the clubhouse and Olympic-sized
swimming pool. Gaily colored pennants whipped overhead. Gulls mewed, swooping
and diving over the bobbing pier. The smell of ocean and diesel permeated the
air; sunlight glittered blindingly on the blue water.

It looked like a good day to be out on the high seas. Or the
low seas. The harbor was already full of boats heading out toward the
breakwater -- and even the vessels moored at the dock seemed to be crowded with
mateys intent on enjoying the sunshine, salt air, and -- in more than a few
cases -- the hair of the dog.

I found the slip number Kane had given me without trouble.
His luxury yacht,
Pirate’s Gambit
,
was a sleek seventy-eight-footer with a black hull. A pirate flag flapped
briskly on the bow.

“Avast ye!”

I looked up and Kane was leaning over the railing, a bottle
of champagne -- very expensive champagne at that -- in one hand. He was smiling
down at me. Not for the first time I was struck by how really attractive he
was. He had it all, really -- well, all that Hollywood cared about: looks,
charm, personal magnetism.

And he wasn’t a bad actor, either. I wondered if his bold and
unapologetic sexuality had anything to do with the fact that he wasn’t a bigger
star.

I walked up the boarding ramp and Kane came agilely down the
ladder from the upper deck to greet me.

“Perfect timing,” he said, lightly squeezing my shoulder as
he moved past me. “Everyone’s topside. Go say hello.”

I climbed the ladder to the smaller open deck. “Everyone”
turned out to be Valarie Rose and Al January comfortably ensconced in lounge
chairs. They were drinking champagne and arguing amiably. Valarie wore an
emerald green swimsuit, and January wore orange shorts and some kind of Aztec
print sports shirt.

“Welcome aboard,” Valarie called. “I hope you brought your
swimsuit. I feel a little underdressed.”

I sat down in a blue and white striped deck chair. “Sorry,” I
said. The breeze off the water was chilly, but the sun felt good. Not so good
that I was tempted to take my clothes off, but pleasant.

“How’s the investigation going?” January asked, pouring a
glass of champagne and handing it to me.

I murmured thanks, took a sip, and set the glass next to the
railing. “I don’t think the police are ready to make an arrest,” I said. “But
it’s not like they’re keeping me up to date.”

Although my Friday night meet with Jake had been surprisingly
close to it.

“I can’t imagine what the holdup is,” Valarie said. She was
attractive in a no-nonsense way: good figure, good bones, good teeth, good
skin. “We all know who did it.”

January gave her a tolerant look. “Then I guess the holdup
is, the police don’t have enough evidence to make their case yet.”

I asked, “Are you so sure Ally is guilty?”

“There! You see, I didn’t even need to say her name,” Valarie
said. “You know exactly who I mean. We all know she murdered Porter. It’s not
socially correct to say so, but we all know it.” She leaned back in her lounge
chair, tilting her face up. The sun glanced off her large green sunglasses.

January looked across at me and smiled ruefully.

“You don’t think anyone else had a motive?” I asked Valarie.

She lifted her head. “To commit
murde
r
?” Behind the big
shades, she looked amazed at the idea.

Beneath us, the ship’s engines rumbled into life. Paul Kane
climbed up to join us, taking a chair next to Valarie.

“What do you think?” he inquired of me, nodding to the
cockpit.

“Beautiful,” I said. “How many crew members?”

“Captain and one deckhand this afternoon. I take her out on
my own when I’m in the mood.” He grinned, his teeth very white. “I fly my own
plane too.”

“Paul’s a full-service action hero,” Valarie purred, and ran
a possessive hand down Paul’s tanned arm. He caught her hand and kissed it
playfully.

Well, blow me down, me hearties. I’d sort of guessed -- and
if you browsed the headlines of the celebrity gossip rags in the supermarket
checkout -- or even gave in and read a few pages while waiting for the line to
move -- it was common knowledge that Kane was bisexual. Nor would it make any
sense for him to sit home nights when Jake was playing
Make Room for Daddy
with Kate. I’m not sure why I thought he would
keep secret the scandalous truth of his appetite for women.

Meeting my gaze, Paul smiled again and said, “Take your shirt
off, Adrien. We’ve paid extra for the sunshine.”

I glanced down at my white polo shirt. “Mother Superior
warned me about boys like you,” I said.

January laughed, and Paul licked his lips. “She didn’t tell
you the half of it.”

That pretty much set the tone for the rest of our voyage.
Kane -- to the apparent amusement of my other two companions -- flirted
relentlessly with me during the three hours we cruised the open water. It was
harmless, but I couldn’t help wondering what lay behind it. I hadn’t previously
got the impression that Paul found me irresistible -- and all the winks and
little smiles and brushing of feet and hands -- didn’t alter my opinion. Paul
was doing his considerable best to charm me, and I wasn’t sure why. Did he
think I was considering abandoning my part in the investigation? Could he have
placed that much faith in my sleuthing skills?

There was more champagne at lunch, which consisted of Caesar
salad, pasta shells stuffed with ricotta cheese and spinach, and chicken
Vesuvio in garlic white sauce. It was a lot of food -- rich food -- and I was
very glad I wasn’t prone to seasickness.

Oddly, although it was ostensibly the reason for this
get-together, we barely talked about Porter’s death. Instead, the three of them
discussed various ideas for filming
Murder
Will Out
.

“I sense Jason has a dark past,” Paul said of Jason Leland,
the protagonist of the two mysteries I’d written about a gay Shakespearean
actor and amateur sleuth. “I think his past casts a long shadow.”

“A secret sorrow,” Al January said -- with a straight face,
as far as I could tell.

“Uh, sure,” I said. In all honesty I thought Jason was
suffering about as much secret sorrow as Jackie Holmes, the Man from C.A.M.P.
But I already knew from talking to writer friends that no one was ever happy
with the screen adaptation of their work. My main interest was getting money
for the bookstore expansion. That’s what I kept telling myself.

“I have some concerns with the London setting,” Valarie said.
“What would you think about moving it to The Oregon Shakespeare Festival?”

“Ashland’s beautiful,” Al agreed.

And on they went. After a time they stopped asking for my
input, and I stretched out on one of the lounge chairs. I hadn’t had much sleep
lately, and the food and drink and flattery -- the warmth of the sun and the
lulling motion of the water -- had a soporific effect.

The next time I opened my eyes, we were heading back into the
harbor and the three of them were talking quietly about Porter.

“…but if Porter really was dying…” That was Valarie.

January said, “Porter trusted Marla.”

“Why not?” Paul said. “Marla knew where the skeletons were
buried.” His voice changed. He said, “Hello, Sleeping Beauty.”

I glanced over and the three of them were watching me. Their
expressions were a curious mix. “Sorry,” I said, sitting up. “Too much sun and
champagne.”

“Did you have more than a glass?” Paul commented, amused.
“Not that I blame you for flaking out. We occasionally put ourselves to sleep.”

After that there was very little conversation. Valarie went
below deck and changed into white slacks and a sweater. January and Kane
chatted desultorily. It was just after seven-thirty when we put in at the
harbor and prepared to disembark.

Paul put a hand on my arm. “Stay for a bit, Adrien. I’d like
a word in private.”

January said good-bye to me, patted Paul’s shoulder. Valarie
kissed his cheek, murmuring, “Are you sure you can’t cancel your plans for
tonight?”

“I’m sure, my flower.”

“Well, watch out for the crazies.” She caught my glance, and
said, “Oh, that wasn’t directed at you -- although I do think you’re nuts to go
along with this last brainstorm of Paul’s. You know, what you two are doing
could be dangerous. Someone tried to run Paul off the road on his way down here
this morning.”

I turned to Kane, who laughed at my expression. “
No
one is trying to kill me,” he said.

Valarie gaped. “You mean someone has threatened to --? Paul!”

He was shaking his head, gently steering her toward the
gangplank. “Bad driving isn’t a crime. The perils of amateur sleuthing: Adrien
sees murderers behind road signs.”

He waved them off, then turned smiling lazily to me. “Alone
at last! Let’s go down to the salon.”

I followed him below deck to a beautifully appointed lounge
paneled in teakwood with panoramic picture windows of the harbor and the sky
flushed with sunset. The plush carpeting and rich furnishings were in burnished
earth tones. I’d been in nice hotels that weren’t as lavishly decorated.

“What’s your poison?” Paul asked, going to the bar.

Funny guy.

“Nothing for me, thanks.”

His mobile mouth quirked. He poured himself brandy and joined
me over on one of the long L-shaped sofas.

“Jake tells me you have a thing for pirates.”

As “things” go, my affection for swashbuckling films is
pretty tame, but his tone -- and the understanding that he and Jake had
discussed and laughed at me -- turned it into something else.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” I drawled.

He chuckled, studying me with his bright, inquisitive gaze.
He took a swallow of brandy, savoring it.

“Is Jake behaving himself?” he asked.

“As far as I know.”

He smirked at the implications. “He’s not scaring you off the
case?”

What was going on here? There was something very odd in this
casual, almost -- but not quite -- friendly inquisition.

“No.”

“And you haven’t changed your mind about pursuing
this…investigation?”

“No. Should I?”

He shrugged. “The police are very close to making an arrest,
you know. The evidence is stacking up against Ally.”

His main concern had not been justice for Porter -- it had
been that Alonzo viewed
him
as a
suspect. Not that I could fault him for that, since my concern had been that
I
was a suspect. I said, “Did you know
Porter had cancer?”

“Yes.” He looked momentarily grave. “I was one of the few
people he confided in.”

“I assume Ally knew?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but turned his head at the sound
of footsteps coming down the winding stairs that led into this lounge.

Boots. Jeans encasing long legs and lean hips. Wide shoulders
in a black leather jacket. Jake.

“There you are,” Paul said lazily.

Jake stared at me. In some alternate universe that dumbstruck
expression would have been funny. Not so much in this one.

“Oh, don’t run off,” Paul said as I rose. “We could make a
threesome of it.” He chuckled. “Dinner, that is.”

“Another time,” I said. “Dinner, that is.”

I had to step past Jake to get to the doorway. He had
recovered from his shock and watched me without expression.

“Adrien,” he said quietly.

I nodded at him. “Good night,” I told Paul. “Thanks for the
boat ride.”

I heard Paul laughing as I climbed topside.

The air was chill and smelled of brine and something dank.
Overhead, the palm trees rustled eerily, black against the blaze of sunset. The
hollow thud of my footsteps followed me down the pier as I walked toward the
parking lot.

It wasn’t a shock…exactly. It was more the realization that
Paul Kane had deliberately kept me onboard so that I would see Jake arrive.