Vacations Can Be Murder: The Second Charlie Parker Mystery (18 page)

"What was the deal?" I asked. "Akito asking
everyone to stay around for questioning?"

"I guess so. I don't know why. It sounds to
me like he's got a pretty strong case against Mack Garvey."

I wondered who had told her that. There were
still a lot of unanswered questions about Mack, and most of the
so-called evidence was circumstantial.

Still, I felt no need to share my views with
her.

She stared down toward her toes, flexing each
leg muscle in turn, apparently admiring the way they looked. I
wanted to open my notebook, but hesitated. I didn't especially want
her there looking over my notes with me. I was trying to think of
the best way to formulate the question about her unfinished health
club, when she let out a little groan.

"Oh, shit, here comes the ice princess,"
Susan muttered under her breath.

I followed her line of sight, past the edge
of the pool. Emerging from the small outdoor cafe under the
colonnade was Catherine Page. She was walking straight toward us,
although she hadn't seen us yet.

"I am just not up for any of her bullshit,"
Susan said. "Excuse me."

She gathered her sunglasses, lotion, and
wristwatch from the small table between us, and strolled off in the
opposite direction. Every male eye in the place followed her
G-stringed rear end.

I wondered about her remark. I wasn't aware
that she and Catherine Page even spoke, but apparently some pretty
venomous words must have passed between them.

Catherine was almost even with my chair
before she saw me. She wore a wide-brimmed hat, and sunglasses I
recognized as Dior. Her peach silk pants and shirt gave her a
tropical look, without exposing her delicate skin to the sun.

Once I knew she had seen me, it seemed rude
not to acknowledge, so I raised my fingers in a tiny wave.

"Oh, Charlie! How are you, dear?"

I wasn't aware that I rated being
dear
to her. I suspected this familiarity came from the Jack Daniels I
could smell on her breath as she stretched out on the empty lounge
to my right—not the one Susan had just vacated.

"Well, Catherine, will you be leaving the
island tomorrow, too?" I asked.

"I suppose so," she sighed. "They sent Gil's
body back yesterday, you know. I guess that means I have a funeral
to plan."

She referred to it as though it were a
charity function or an afternoon tea, complete with silver tea
service and tiny sandwiches. She didn't bother to pretend any grief
over the occasion.

I tried to imagine her working up enough
fervor to plot her husband's death. Perhaps the murder was
something she had planned unemotionally, just as she would now plan
the funeral.

"You know, if it weren't for the funeral, and
the fact that I miss Jason already, I wouldn't mind spending a
little more time here." Her unfocused eyes scanned the pool area,
and her voice got light and drifty again. "It's pleasant, you
know."

She settled back into her chair, and didn't
seem to have much else to say. I obviously wasn't going to get my
notes read with her sitting there, though, so I decided to pack it
in.

I murmured something about reaching my limit
with the sun, and pulled myself upright. I made sure my notebook
was intact, and reached to the small table on my left where I had
set my room key.

Draped over the back of the chair Susan had
occupied was a lime green jacket. It had to be hers; it matched her
suit. Probably part of the expensive set I'd seen the receipt for
several days ago.

I debated. If I left it there, it would
probably end up in some backroom jumble of a lost and found, or
some larcenous soul would recognize an expensive garment when they
saw it and take it home with them. At any rate, Susan would
probably never get it back.

As little as I cared whether I saw her again
or not, I knew the decent thing would be to return it to her. My
mother had instilled these little courtesies somewhere in me. It
would be easy enough for Drake and me to pop up to the tenth floor
on our way out to dinner.

I picked it up, bade Catherine goodbye, and
headed for the elevators.

Once in my room, I took a few minutes to
update a couple of entries in my notebook. The motorcycle ride and
my questioning of the boat rental guy seemed to have taken place
days, rather than mere hours, earlier. I checked to be sure I had
written down when I could find Willie Duran tomorrow. I had.

I stuck the notebook down in a side pocket of
my purse, and straightened up the room a little.

I chose a turquoise silk dress and gold
sandals to wear to dinner, then headed for the shower. The stinging
hot water reminded me that my last shower had been at Drake's house
this morning.

I wondered briefly where we would end up
tonight.

Chapter 13

Drake's knock on my door came promptly at
seven. I wished I had thought to bring up something to offer as an
hors d'oeuvre. We could always break into the mini-bar, and see
what it might offer. He looked me up and down appreciatively,
admiring the way the turquoise silk fit.

"Would you like something to drink?" I
offered, indicating the mini fridge.

"Maybe we ought to get going," he suggested.
"Our reservation is for seven-thirty, and we have a way to go."

I picked up my purse, turned out all the
lights but one, and peeked into the bathroom to make sure I'd put
away my jewelry box. Didn't want to leave anything out that would
tempt the night maid.

At the hotel entrance, Drake had the valet
bring his truck around. The man held my door for me while Drake
took the wheel. He steered around a concrete island but at the
driveway instead of turning left and exiting to Rice Street, we
turned right.

"Doesn't this lead to more of the hotel
grounds?" I asked.

"We're going for a boat ride," he told me, a
mysterious grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

He pulled into a large parking lot, not far
away, and took my hand as we walked toward a small gray wooden
building. As we passed through the breezeway, I could see a boat
dock extending out into a narrow lagoon.

"The boats come along every fifteen minutes
or so," he said, leading me to the water’s edge. "I hope our timing
will be about right."

"Is this a natural lagoon?"

"Nope. The whole thing is man made. You won't
believe how elaborate it gets."

He was right, I didn't.

Within minutes, I could hear the low throaty
rumble of a boat engine. This one happened to be a mahogany launch,
made in Venice, according to the discreet brass placard near the
steering wheel. I could tell it was expensive by the sound, rich
and melodic, like a baritone doing a few warm-ups.

Half a dozen other people boarded with us,
most of them making their way below decks where they could sit on
thick upholstered cushions.

Drake and I opted to stay above, staking out
a spot right on the rail. The captain steered his craft slowly,
giving us plenty of time to ogle the scenery. Stone statues stood
at tasteful intervals along the water's edge, illuminated by hidden
lights which made them look like they glowed from inside.

We passed under bridges that might have been
on loan from Venice, and glided past fountains where leaping stone
dolphins playfully sprayed water toward each other.

I found myself staring unabashedly, although
I did make an effort not to let my mouth hang open. Behind us, a
golden moon the size of a platter had just peeked over the
mountains. Drake slipped his arm around my waist. I felt like the
heroine in a mushy romance.

Now,
this
is what a vacation should
be.

The captain skillfully steered the boat up to
a pillared landing, where a waiting crew member reached to take the
ropes. We stepped out toward a small cluster of buildings, almost a
mini-mall of shops.

Drake led me through the walkway, saying that
the restaurant was just a little further. Names like Armani, Rolex,
and Lauren rolled past, as we strolled through the arcade.

The restaurant was called Sharkey's, and
featured an eye-level tank, several hundred gallons large, where
small live sharks swam in endless circles. Their gray and white
bodies with the solid black eyes didn't look real to me. They
seemed like rubber toys, wound up to undulate around the
bathtub.

"Are these from around here?" I asked.

"I don't know if this particular breed lives
in our waters or not," Drake answered, "but we do have some sharks.
You read about shark attacks in the paper all the time."

Hanging above the tank, suspended from the
ceiling, was the taxidermied body of a great white shark. It was
posed to stare down upon us, teeth exposed, ready to rip our guts
out. I hoped our table would be out of sight of this ravenous
creature. I wasn't sure he would help my appetite any. Large
carnivorous sea creatures tend to make me squeamish. Drake's
confirmation of real live sharks in the area made me glad I'd opted
for the pool instead of the ocean.

A petite girl with dark curls down past her
waist led the way to our table situated by the windows, looking out
over the water.

The ground dropped away sharply outside, and
I could see a faint hint in the dark of a narrow paved road and
gently sloping ground below. Based on the diorama I'd seen of the
hotel grounds in the lobby, I guessed we must be directly above the
golf course.

"The seafood here is great," Drake was
saying. "I'm still a steak fan, despite what they say about red
meat now, so I usually get the New York strip with lobster. But,
everything on the menu is usually good."

I decided on the mahi mahi. Drake ordered
scotch, and I settled for a daiquiri. I was really in the mood for
a margarita on the rocks, but the waitress looked at me funny when
I asked about it. Apparently, they made everything here in the
frozen slushie machine.

Oh well, nobody can make a margarita like my
old buddy, Pedro, anyway. I'd just have to wait until I got
home.

"So. Anything new on the case today?" Drake
asked, once we had the preliminaries out of the way.

"I tracked down the name of the guard who was
working the gate that night. Willie Duran. I'm planning on talking
to him tomorrow."

"Willie's a local boy, young," he told me.
"No more ambitious than any of them, but he's got a little more on
the ball than old Stanley."

"I read back through my notes this
afternoon," I said. "When I came across the threatening letter we
found on my windshield yesterday, it made me think of an angle I'd
not considered before. Those words, 'let him fry'. That's pretty
vindictive talk.

“What if Gil Page was killed specifically to
implicate Mack? Is there anyone you can think of who hates Mack
enough to do something like that?"

He stared out into the darkness for a couple
of minutes. "I don't know, Charlie."

The fact that he didn't jump to an immediate
denial made me wonder what was going on.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Drake."

"Oh, I don't know. It might not be
anything."

He downed the last of his scotch, and
signaled the waitress to bring us both new ones. "There are lots of
people who dislike Mack. It's the nature of the business here.
These tour operators are so competitive that they're always at each
other's throats. It's one of the main reasons I've never started my
own operation here."

"Competitive enough to involve murder?" I
asked.

He waited a minute until the waitress had set
our drinks down and left.

"I honestly don't know. I know they have a
constant series of court battles going on. They fight over the
rights to landing pads, the locations of their landing pads, the
flight routes, whether anyone is flying outside the voluntary noise
abatement path... I could go on and on. They fight with each other,
they fight with the state, they fight with the FAA."

I thought of the thick file marked Legal I'd
found in Mack's office.

"Most of that sounds like it's verbal,
though," I suggested.

"Mostly, it is. But, there have been a couple
of cases where it got physical. Mack himself is one of the worst
when it comes to stirring up the shit. He gets right in there and
scraps with the best of 'em."

"Have there been any cases of serious
revenge? Sabotage? Anything like that?"

"I don't think so. There seems to be some
gentlemen's code
, and I say that sarcastically because some
of these guys are no gentlemen. I think if one of them were to
sabotage another's equipment, it could start an all-out war. One
thing would lead to another. Innocent lives would be lost. The
lawsuits to follow would put everyone out of business overnight.
No, even among the worst of them, I don't think anyone is quite
willing to step over that line."

The two daiquiris had begun to go to my head,
and I was glad to see the food arrive. As Drake had promised,
everything was delicious. Conversation lagged for a few minutes as
we both concentrated on matters of the stomach. The waitress
checked on us once, then faded into the background.

"Drake, do you know anything about a legal
battle between Mack and Bill Steiner?"

"Only that there is one. Mack bitches about
it all the time. Something about Steiner trying to overturn the
airport management's decision to give Mack his landing pad. Steiner
claims his name was on the list first, and he should have gotten
the pad when it came available."

"Do you think it's a legitimate claim?"

"It really doesn't matter whether Steiner is
legit or not," he said. "It will end up being an arbitrary decision
made in court. Whoever loses will appeal, and the fight will still
be going strong until one of them runs out of money."

I didn't tell him it looked like Mack was
quickly nearing that point.