Authors: Patricia Watters
"The woman
whose stateroom you're sharing on the ship, Valerie Williamson. She's been
spending time with your husband. Do you have any reason to believe Miss
Williamson is involved with Mr. Cavallaro?"
At first Andrea
was at a complete loss for words. All she could think of was the storm that was
brewing inside her parents—first, her staying the night with some Italian named
Alessandro Cavallaro, then, a woman named Valerie Williamson getting it on with
Jerry... All the dirty laundry from the cruise hanging out to dry in front of
Mr. and Mrs. Carter Ellison III. Every sickening sordid, humiliating piece of
filthy laundry their daughter and
that
bastard
she'd married had left piled in a heap on the cruise ship.
But on the
beach with Jerry, with the warm waves washing over their naked bodies, and the
soft pearly sand beneath them, and the hot Bahamian sun beating down on them
while they relieved the sexual tension that had been building for months... for
that brief moment in time she'd thought all the dirty laundry had been washed
clean and she and Jerry might have a chance to make a new start. But that had
been an anomaly.
Their fiery,
explosive coming together had been brought on by sun and surf and the sudden
awakening of a dormant sexual need she thought she'd lost. She hadn't wanted
Jerry since Scott died. But it all came back on the beach: how she'd once
craved him, what he did to raise her physical senses to a need so potent she
had to have him, beyond all reason. Just as she had to have him when she left
college and ran off and married him.
But the sexual
part of their relationship...
that
,
she could never explain to her father. How could she tell Carter Ellison III
that his son-in-law turned his daughter into a brazen, lustful, hussy who had
no inhibitions when aroused by her
husband.
That she'd
do anything to keep him doing all the zany, outrageous things he did that left
her clutching her sides with laughter, and breathless with passion, and
afterwards, feeling completely satisfied... Yet, never quite satisfied, because
when it was over, she wanted Jerry all the more.
Nor could her
mother understand. Especially her mother. Andrea looked at her then, perched on
the edge of the sofa, back stiff, hands folded in her lap, face a mask of
contradictions. Anger showed in the way her nostrils flared. Incredulity from
her tightly pressed lips. Disillusionment from the hurt in her eyes. If Andrea
had announced that she and Jerry were getting a divorce, her mother would have
accepted it, bearing in mind the visits home Andrea had been making of late.
But never would her mother have considered the reality of what she was
witnessing now, of learning that her beloved only child, and the man she ran
off to marry against both her parents wills, were swingers! At least that was
the perception.
Her father, on
the other hand, understood perfectly. The bastard who lured his daughter away
from a family who loved her, and a father who could provide all the comforts
she could possibly want in life, was dragging her down into the same sewer he
grew up in...
"Mrs.
Porter?" the inspector's voice seemed far away. "Do you have any
reason to believe Miss Williamson is involved with Mr. Cavallaro?"
"Inspector,"
Andrea said, with irritation, "I have no idea where this is leading, but
no, I have no reason to believe Miss Williamson is involved with Mr. Cavallaro.
According to her, she had sex with him once, a long time ago, but that was
all."
"But since
you and your husband appear to have an open marriage, you must be aware that
Miss Williamson went to your husband's stateroom on several occasions?"
"What my
husband does when we aren't together is his business," Andrea said,
wondering how she could possibly explain that to her parents. "If you have
questions about him you'll have to ask him directly. I have nothing more to
offer. Mr. Cavallaro and I had cocktails on two occasions and dined together on
another. There's nothing more to it."
"Very
well," the inspector said. Andrea was certain the man would leave then,
but instead, he said, "When did you first start feeling ill?"
She had not
expected that question. It seemed irrelevant. "Why do you ask?"
"We have
reason to believe you were poisoned," the inspector said. "Nothing
life-threatening, just enough to send you to the medical clinic. There have
been other incidents similar to yours, other woman who spent time with
Alessandro Cavallaro and became ill after dining with him while the ship was in
port. The report from the lab will disclose any poison. You can thank your
husband for insisting blood be drawn."
"Then...
you actually think Alessandro poisoned me?" she asked, still shocked that
Alessandro was being tracked by government agents.
"We're
almost certain he did," the inspector said. "Although we don't have
enough evidence to arrest him, we know that Cavallaro is the king pin in a
major drug cartel that's responsible for laundering millions of dollars in
criminal proceeds."
Andrea looked
at the man, stunned. "But he seemed so sincere, so charm—" she
stopped short, feeling like the fool Jerry pegged her to be.
"Charming?"
the inspector completed her sentence. "He is. Men like Alessandro
Cavallaro are masters at what they do. But we're closing in on him. We have
attachés and agents in Rome who are helping to identify and track down this
criminal enterprise in Italy. They've arrested several cell heads and
significantly disrupted the infrastructure. Those indicted have been charged
with crimes that include murder, racketeering, conspiracy to kidnap, conspiracy
to kill, drug trafficking, and money laundering. In the case of Alessandro
Cavallaro, he takes the ill-gotten gains and uses it to buy rare stamps from
corrupt dealers. The stamps are then sold in other countries to corrupt dealers,
who sell them to collectors who don't ask questions. Money from illegal
operations is moved around the world undetected this way, with rare stamps as
receipts. Your involvement with Cavallaro might be what finally brings him
down. If the blood tests from the clinic show poison in your system, all we'll
need is the stamp, and we've got him."
"I don't
understand," Andrea said. "It seems like anyone could have put
something in my drink or food last night."
The inspector
looked at her with a kind of tolerant understanding, and said, "What
happened to you is a pattern with Cavallaro. He looks for women who appear to
be traveling alone, charms them into believing he's interested in them, invites
them for cocktails in his stateroom, then drugs them so they fall asleep long
enough for him to hide a rare and valuable stamp in the lining of the woman's
handbag. The next night he escorts the woman to a pre-arranged meeting place
where he laces her cocktail with a non-lethal poison then makes an excuse to
leave. By the time the woman has recovered from what appears to be food
poisoning, her handbag's missing, along with the stamp—taken by a contact who
the woman believes was a purse snatcher. The woman files a report and the
authorities give it little further thought because purse snatchers are rarely
caught. But no one connects it with money laundering."
Andrea tried to
digest all the information she'd just heard. Alessandro... the king pin in a
drug cartel? The man who'd sat across the table smiling at her and telling her
he wanted to take her to a place for lovers? A place for dupes would be more
appropriate! She just wished there was some way to keep Jerry from knowing what
a fool she'd been to be taken in so completely by Alessandro Cavallaro. She
looked at the inspector, who was waiting for her response, and said,
"Since that's the case, you have to believe what I told you."
He nodded.
"I did from the start. I just needed to confirm it."
"Then I'm
not suspected of anything?"
"No,"
the inspector assured her, "only of being a foolish woman who got involved
with a man she knew nothing about. Not a rare occurrence on a cruise
ship."
Andrea couldn't
argue that. She'd not only been completely duped, she'd seriously considered
giving herself to a man who didn't even want her as a lover. A man who made her
heart flutter a little. But even then, there had been no spark, no desire to go
beyond a certain point. But Jerry smashed that point to smithereens on the
beach, and she doubted if any man could bring out the wild, uninhibited side of
her that Jerry did...
"One thing
more before we go," the inspector said. "May we see the handbag you
had with you last night?"
"Not without a search warrant!"
her father barked.
"Mr. Ellison,"
the inspector said in a weary voice, "I assure you we do not suspect your
daughter of being connected with Mr. Cavallaro in any way other than what was
explained. But she could have a valuable stamp hidden in her purse and it would
be the evidence we need to arrest Cavallaro. If we're not allowed to inspect
the handbag we'll have no choice but to confiscate it and hold it until we do
get a search warrant, and to list your daughter as a person of interest in
connection with Mr. Cavallaro and continue to track her whereabouts."
"Inspector,
I have nothing to hide," Andrea said. "If the stamp's in my handbag,
I had nothing to do with it getting there." Before her father could stop
her, Andrea grabbed her handbag and handed it to the inspector.
The inspector
opened the bag, dumped the contents onto a table and inspected the lining. Eying
an area near the zipper that closed the bag, he said, "Was this slit here
before now?"
Andrea looked
at the slit in the lining of the bag. "No," she said. "The bag
is brand new. I bought it on the ship."
"Then the
stamp has been removed." The inspector tucked his fingers through the slit
and when he pulled his hand out, he looked at his fingertips. They were coated
with a dusting of white powder. He touched it to his tongue, and said,
"There was drug payoff along with the stamp. Whoever took the stamp took
the packet of drugs, but there's enough residue left to use as evidence. There
should also be Cavallaro's fingerprints all over the handbag from securing the
stamp inside the lining. I'll send the handbag to our lab." He looked at
Andrea's father, who shrugged and nodded.
The inspector
turned to Andrea, and said, "Who else could have had access to your
handbag yesterday or earlier today?"
Andrea
shrugged. "I don't know. I left it at the table when I rushed into the
restroom at the Pirate's Cove, but I don't remember much after that. It was at
the medical clinic while I had my stomach pumped so I suppose any number of
people could have gotten into it if they wanted to, including those working at
the clinic. My husband knows more about it than I do."
"Then I'd
like to talk to him," the inspector said. "We went to his bungalow
looking for him, which was right after we came here looking for you. Maybe the
two of you were together at the time."
"Well,
actually we were," Andrea
said,
a flush rushing
up her face. Boy were they together, rolling around in the surf, desperate to
be yet closer together, more deeply connected, as together as a man and woman
could conceivably be. The thought of that fevered male-female union sent
adrenaline pumping through her, along with an almost irrational desire to be
with Jerry and experience the overwhelming, uncontrollable passion just one
more time before the divorce...
"Where can
he be reached?" the inspector asked.
"Right
here." Jerry stood in the doorway, his gaze moving over the faces in the
room, eyes challenging as they settled on Andrea's father. He looked at the
inspector. "I was told at the front desk you men were looking for me.
What's the problem?"
The inspector
filled Jerry in on what he'd told Andrea and her parents about Cavallaro then
added, "You were following Mr. Cavallaro and your wife last night. Was
there a reason?"
Jerry looked at
the man, and said with irony, "Does a man need a reason to follow his wife
when she's with another man?"
"In your
case, yes," the inspector said. "You and your wife seemed to freely
enjoy the company of the opposite sex, with each other's knowledge, which was
why I asked."
"I was
concerned for my wife," Jerry said. "I knew Cavallaro had ulterior
motives for being with her when I found out he had a luxury yacht in the
Mediterranean and was a regular on these cruises. Seems I was right." He
gave Andrea a look of smug satisfaction.
Which made
Andrea want to beat him with her fists instead of roll around naked with him on
the beach. "How did you learn that?" she hissed. "From your
sugar baby!?"
"No, I
learned it by making a call to a contact in Majorca," Jerry said in a
controlled voice, "I wanted to prove that your Italian stud was a gigolo
before you got intimate with him—"
"I did not get intimate with him!"
Andrea cried.
"You sure as hell were doing something
between cocktails and the next morning!
"
"If that's not the pot calling the
kettle black,"
Andrea shouted, "
with you getting it on with your sugar baby!
"
"Umm...
excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Porter," the inspector cut in. "If we can get
back to the issue of the handbag,"
Andrea glanced
at her father, who was glaring at Jerry, hatred on his face, and she wished
she'd held her tongue for once in her life. This scene would be played out
again and again,
ad nauseam
, until
the divorce was final. But now her father had all the ammunition he needed to
destroy Jerry in the process. She pursed her lips, determined to say nothing,
no matter what Jerry revealed.
"Mr. Porter,"
the inspector continued, "we're trying to learn who had access to your
wife's handbag last night. Cavallaro's contact never made it to the Pirate's
Cove. We found his body in the trunk of a stolen rental car this morning, shot
in the head at close range. Typical criminal-world assassination. So there's a
hired gun out there who knows about the stamp, but most likely isn't part of
the cartel. Our concern is, whoever it is believes your wife still has the
stamp and will come after her."