Authors: Dianne Venetta
“What kind of info were you looking for?”
“The story. The real story,” she clarified, settling into her new lead. “Why, do you know something?”
“I was there.”
Forget hooked—Sam hit elbows to the bar and leaned forward—she was on the line on her way to the boat! “You were there? As in you worked for the hotel? Or on scene as a guest when it happened.”
Emotion swamped his gaze. “I was the pool attendant. I was there when she drowned.”
“Oh my God,” she uttered, dumbstruck by her luck. She’d been through this whole damned hotel searching for witnesses,
anyone
willing to talk and all the while her answers lay here, at the bar. The irony swept through her and she suppressed a grin. Next time, she’d order her drink
first
.
Dusk began to filter indoors, guests meandered toward sofas, patrons idled up to the bar. Beyond the glass walls of the lobby, she could see waiters applying finishing touches to tables within the neighboring Steakhouse. Yet as the lounge assumed a more relaxed pace, Sam shifted into high gear. Duty would soon call this man back to task and she wanted answers. Needed them. “So what happened?”
“A tragedy, for sure.” He glanced the vicinity for onlookers, then busied himself organizing a stack of beverage napkins. “Young girl drowned in the pool while her family watched.”
Her family watched
.
Sam cringed. “Preventable?”
“If you ask me? Yeah.” His shoulders sagged. “Definitely preventable.”
A shudder flew down her spine. An ugly day in any parent’s life, but more so when it could have been avoided. “Why do you think so?”
“I know for a fact the management knew there was a problem with the pool and didn’t fix it.”
“A problem?” Her legal antennae shot up. “What kind of problem?”
“The drain. Suction was too strong.”
“How is that an issue?”
“The suction was so strong, a person could get their suit stuck in the drain...” His voice faded. “And not be able to free themselves.”
Her immediate thought was simple. Disrobe.
“Accidents happened at other places, which my manager brought to the hotel management’s attention because he didn’t want it happening here.”
“On his watch, you mean.”
A veil of resentment dropped over his eyes. “He was an honest guy, doing an honest day’s work. He saw trouble and wanted it fixed.”
“So he informed management.”
“Yeah, but they didn’t listen to him.”
“You mean, Scaliano.”
“Among others, but yes,” the bartender slid his gaze in either direction before he added with a touch of animosity, “he was head honcho at the time and a son-of-a—”
Sam censored her amusement at his self-censor. This was obviously a pure and decent guy. One interested in doing the right thing. “But why not do anything? Sounds like an easy fix to me.”
“Not really. They would have had to add a couple more drains throughout the pool to disperse the pressure and that meant closing down the patio for an extended period of time.”
“Which doesn’t bode well for business.”
“No. Especially when you’ve booked convention after convention.”
“No one wants to be at a hotel under construction,” she said, filling in the blanks in her mind. “But surely during the winter months, when people migrate indoors. Why not then, when business slowed?”
He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Money.”
“Yes, but the lawsuit had to cost them.”
“It did. In more ways than one. The publicity after the fact was horrible, so they went for a quick settlement. It was a local politician’s kid that drowned, you know.”
“Definitely food for the piranhas.”
“You could say that.”
“But from what I can tell, there was little or no coverage on the incident. How come?”
“Because nobody wanted to mess with Senator Marinelli.”
Diego’s mob talk floated in. “He a bad guy, I take it?”
Bartender shook his head. “Quite the opposite.” A waitress at the far end of the bar summoned him and he promptly took his leave.
Damn
. She wasn’t ready for him to go yet.
But patience was a virtue and the key to information, so Sam waited. Music overhead eased into the void and she watched a group of men enter the lounge, leisurely scanning the area for an available table. More intrigued with her bartender, she returned to watch him fill the order wondering how far he would go.
So far he had been helpful, almost as though discussing it lifted a burden from his conscience. Did he have anything to add? Anything to connect Vic? Swirling her sword, she debated the likelihood and how hard to push.
Upon his return, she ventured, “So, any idea how much it cost them?”
“No.”
“Had to be hefty.”
“You’d think.”
“Any idea why Scaliano left the hotel?”
“Left?” The bartender scowled. “The man was kicked out on his—” He grabbed a bar towel and started wiping again.
Sam gave in to a private smile. “Did they have cause?”
“I’d say.” He swept the area with another glance. “Rumor has it ours wasn’t his first experience with accidental death.”
No, nor was it his last.
“He came to Regency from another hotel chain and word is, there was an accidental fall from a ninth floor balcony.” Sam knew his next words before he spoke them. “Faulty railing, in need of repair.”
# # #
Sam checked her watch and drained a second cup of coffee. Seven forty-five. From her window side table, she calculated time. Doors opened at eight, giving her roughly two hours to research the date and catch her flight—hopefully—with something tangible in her briefcase. After another half-hour with the bartender, it became clear Scaliano was bad news—a regular negligence nightmare. Something Vic apparently already knew.
But how?
That was the sticker. The one piece Sam couldn’t fit together. Nothing in her conversation last evening revealed any connection between Vic and Scaliano. Nothing. Checking the microfiche database was her last chance.
She briskly folded her newspaper and set it alongside the empty coffee mug. Wired for sound, she gazed at the bleak concrete building across the street. Brown framed windows lined its front, a single set of doors accessed its interior. Spotting the librarian inside as she unlocked the door, intuition hummed. She felt certain the answer lay beyond those gray walls.
Upstairs on the second floor, Sam searched for any clue as she scrolled through article after article, screen after screen whizzing by. It had to be here somewhere. But the rapid pace of white light began to form one big blur.
Wait
—
There. Spotting the name, her hand stopped and reversed course. Her movements grew urgent as curiosity sharpened. Grazing over the headline, she went straight to the meat of the story.
Her heart went cold. There it was, in the first paragraph.
Twelve-year-old girl drowns Saturday afternoon at the Regency Hotel pool. Celebrating her father’s win during a special election, the Senator’s daughter tragically lost her life as her brother struggled to save her.
But his efforts proved futile as paramedics arrived and pronounced the girl dead on the scene.
“Oh my God...” Sam murmured as she stared at the mottled black and white photo. Dread trickled in, rippled across her skin. The gooseflesh rose instantly.
No need to read any further. Everything about her case just turned crystal clear.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sam couldn’t move fast enough as she steamrolled her way through the offices of Baker, Schofield headed straight for Vic’s. Roiling in disbelief, she still couldn’t believe it. She had to find him, talk to him. Careening around the corner, she halted at the desk of his secretary. Casting a glance toward his closed door, she asked, “Vic here?”
The woman looked up with a smile. “Hey, Sam. How are you?”
“Fine,” she replied, though it took every bit of self-control not to leap passed her.
Receiving no more, the woman briskly responded, “He’s in court this afternoon. I don’t expect him back.”
Doing what? she wondered, but the distraction was brief. Without another word, Sam entered Vic’s office without objection from his secretary. Practically partner and personal friend, she didn’t expect any and strode over to the far wall. Sam halted before the diplomas, mesmerized by what she found. There it was, on each and every one, plain as day.
How had she missed it
? How could she have missed such an obvious detail? And Raul. Realization washed over her. Why had he hidden the fact? He must know—he hired the man!
Like a bad movie, the story replayed over and over and over.
Twelve-year-old girl drowns Saturday afternoon at the Regency Hotel pool. Celebrating her father’s win during a special election, Senator Marinelli’s daughter tragically lost her life as her brother struggled to save her. But his efforts proved futile as paramedics arrived and pronounced the girl dead at the scene.
Sam peered up at the diploma, her mind threading around the intricate calligraphy. Victor Marinelli, Juris Doctor.
I saw a girl drown
.
The words floated in.
It was a long time ago
.
After Selena’s ordeal, Vic had revealed a part of his past. Given her a fleeting glimpse into the pain he carried with him, memories of a tragedy.
A pool
. A different dark-haired girl in danger of losing her life. Only this one had.
Fixed in place, Sam waited while the horrible events coursed through her, scraping the insides of her soul clean. It shouldn’t have happened. Should never happen. The worst kinds of accidents were the foreseeable kind. When so many events existed outside our control, Sam felt a poignant responsibility when it came to the avoidable ones. They loomed all the more tragic and fueled her fight against the injustice.
Vic had lost his sister. Worse, he was with her, had tried to save her. She closed her eyes and a chill raced across her skin. It was a cross no one should have to bear.
Left with a deep sense of sadness and regret, Sam knew Vic was right. Disgust welled from her gut. There was no question. Frank Scaliano had to pay.
# # #
Jessica’s hand trembled as she picked up the phone. Curled up in the corner of Sam’s sofa, it was time to call Luke. Outside, evening shadowed the sky, painted clouds with embers of gold and violet. Solemn and beautiful, the scenery felt like an end as well as a beginning. Twelve hours and she’d have new day.
With new challenges. New hope?
Doubt riddled her chest. But she first had to face this one. Jessica dialed the number. And waited.
She’d made her decision. One he would have to accept.
“Hello?”
“Hello,” she croaked, embarrassed by the sound of her voice. “May I speak with Luke?”
“Sure, man—”
“Hello?
Jess
?”
What—was he tied at the hip with his friend? Fear peppered her limbs. How did he answer so soon?
“How are you, babe?”
How did he think? Horrible, miserable, this wasn’t some reality show playing out, this was
real
life. “We need to talk.”
“I’ve been trying, you know I have.”
Yes, well. “I’ve made my decision.”
Silence.
She hesitated, suddenly nauseous.
“Babe?”
Jessica drew her knees to her chest and clutched the phone tight against her ear. “I’m having an abortion.”
Luke said nothing.
Tears pricked at her eyes as she willed him to speak. Speak, damn it! Say something—anything!
But he didn’t.
Jess could envision his face, the complete shock, the disappointment. She could see it as clear as if he stood before her. Words?
Who needed them. She knew how he felt. He wanted this baby.
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
She wanted to scream, to slash and kick. To throw something. “What do you have to say?”
Nothing.
“Damn it, Luke, that’s not fair! You can’t put this all on me! I didn’t get pregnant myself!”
“I’m not putting anything on you.”
The righteous tone irritated her and she cried, “This isn’t only my choice!”
“Sounds like it to me.”
“You’re part of this, too!”
The pause was deafening, until he whispered, “I told you what I want.”
No, no, no—you can’t want that! Fear clashed with doubt as a pit formed in her stomach. It felt like a hard ball wrenched tight within her belly, sickening her as it grew harder and tighter. “But Luke,” she pleaded. “You can’t be serious. This is real, not some fantasy where we play house and live happy-ever-after.”
“Why not?” His disappointment cut deep. “Why can’t we have this baby, Jess? I don’t get it.”
“Because we’re not ready! We’re still kids ours-elves!” Wasn’t that what Sam said? Wasn’t that her reasoning? She got it—why couldn’t he?
“Kids.”
“Yes,” she said, breathless, as hope swished in.
“So because we’re still kids ourselves, it makes it okay for us to kill a kid? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Blackness sprayed dots across her vision and she closed her eyes.
“Because if that’s your logic, I’m totally insane.”
# # #
Sam entered her home, greeted by dead silence. “Jess?” she called out. It wasn’t unusual these days for the girl to be locked in her bedroom. It seemed hiding out was her new way of coping. Continuing through the house, overwhelmed by converging thoughts of Vic and his sister, Jess and the pregnancy, she ached for relief. Answers. “Jess?”
Yes, she yearned for answers.
Moving back toward the living room, she spotted the note and walked into the kitchen, plucking it from the counter.
Out for the evening
. Should she call to check on her? See if she needs anything?
No. She’s a big girl and quite clear on the subject. She doesn’t want your help. Sam’s heart clenched; an uncomfortable yet common feeling these days.