6 Martini Regrets (19 page)

I collected the plates on either side of me. “What will you do when you sell your island, Liz?”

Liz filled her water glass until it spilled over the brim. “Ben left me his nursery.” She set the water jug down but made no move to mop up the spill. “The fire destroyed the buildings and all Ben’s mother’s orchids are gone, but at least the land is there. I’m going to start over doing what I love, breeding plants.” She raised her glass. Water slopped over the lip onto her hand. Without taking a drink, she set the glass back on the table with a thud, spilling more water.

Liz leaned forward, planting her elbows on the table and her chin on her hands. “I’ve been thinking about why he did that, why he left me the nursery. I think he knew about Susan, knew that she stabbed Kurt. She must have told Ben, and this was his way of thanking me.”

Maybe it was true. Liz had got rich by making deals and taking chances. If she knew she would inherit the nursery, she might have killed Ben to get it. And Liz was the one who had just come back from Peru, the world center for the collection of wild orchids. Had she smuggled the orchid into the country and sold it to Ben? Or was Ben just representing her? Either way, I wasn’t ruling Liz out for involvement in Ben’s death.

It didn’t make sense that Liz would destroy everything at the nursery she stood to inherit, but maybe the blaze had gotten out of control, with unexpected consequences. The fire was probably meant to wipe out evidence, not the whole plant center.

I carried the plates to the kitchen and was loading the dishwasher when Clay headed down the corridor to our suite. I followed him.

As I closed the bedroom door, Clay lifted his head from his overnighter. “What’s the matter?”

“Let’s get out of here,” I whispered. “Tell Liz I’m sick.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

He pulled a big envelope out of his bag. “You’re being irrational.” He went to the nightstand and picked up a leather portfolio. “Go if you want to, but I’m staying.” He left the room.

I wasn’t going anywhere without Clay.

In the living room, I listened as Clay and Liz schemed on ways to maximize the profit of selling the island. First they discussed breaking the island up into lots and selling them off, something that seemed an easier sell than getting rid of the whole island. They even discussed developing Dancing Lady into a resort. Given enough time and scotch, they’d probably have drawn up plans to turn it into a pirate-themed island park for boaters. I wasn’t sure if any of their ideas were practical or if they were just having fun. What struck me was that
Silvio was right in the thick of it, and in the end he was the one who rejected an idea or said if it was possible. Liz, the independent woman, seemed to have a partner.

At one point, Liz turned to Silvio and said, “What do you think, Silvio?”

He replied, “It isn’t any crazier than Ethan showing up here and searching for Ben’s orchid.” They both roared with laughter.

Clay’s eyes met mine over their heads. His forehead wrinkled in concern. He was just sober enough to get what was happening between Silvio and Liz.

I rose to my feet and left them. Out on the deck the night was as soft as satin upon my skin. Beyond the mangroves the running lights of Liz’s yacht were on, outlining it and keeping it safe from boats traveling at night, but making it look like a great big target for thieves. The lights must have been on a timer, because Silvio hadn’t left us to turn them on. Silvio had said
SAT
communications were best on the yacht. That’s where I wanted to be. Spending the night on the yacht seemed like a better idea than being in the house.

I stood there and told myself that my fear had gotten out of hand. Everything was just as it seemed. This was just a beautiful island. But there were too many things getting in my way. The biggest of these was finding that parcel on my desk. But there was something else, something that had happened on the night of the ball and was just out of sight. As I leaned on the rail, my mind turned over rocks of memory. It was something I’d seen, something that had frightened me. I felt a jolt of excitement as it crystallized. What came back to me was the memory of arriving at Selby Gardens. An earlier image, seen online and vaguely remembered, floated across my brain to merge with what I’d seen through the limo window.

I needed a computer. I went back inside.

“May I use your computer, Liz?”

“Sure,” she said with a wave of her hand. “It’s in my office.”

And the office could only be accessed through her bedroom with the attached bath, the room that held Liz’s little secret.

CHAPTER 37

The master bedroom was dark. I walked through to the gallery, with only the hall light behind me to guide my steps. The generator hummed in the distance. It was the engine that kept Dancing Lady going; without that thrum of machinery the house would shut down. Even as I thought that, the generator went silent. I held my breath, but the light in the hall stayed on.

I turned on a floor lamp. All the furniture surfaces were mirrored, which made the light bounce around the room. The most formal room of the mansion, with blue damask on the walls and a matching duvet, it was like stepping into a picture in a magazine.

The office was through French doors off the left side of the bedroom. I booted up the computer, then went to the hall door and peeked out to make sure no one was coming to check up on me. The hall was empty. I was alone.

Time to see what was in that shower. In the bathroom a faint glow still came from behind the white curtain. I drew the curtain back to reveal a giant orchid, almost two feet across. It was covered in black flowers.

Having my wildest fears confirmed didn’t make me feel better. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Okay, so Liz had the orchid. Did that mean she’d killed Ben? Silvio would be the one who’d actually done the killing. Still, there were things that needed to be explained. If Liz already had the orchid, who had been in my house looking for it?

I closed the curtain. There was still one more thing I wanted to check. I searched the Internet for the picture of Angie that had appeared with the story of her murder. The article sprang up quickly. “Jumping Jesus.” In shock, I pushed back from the desk. Then I pulled myself forward again to stare at the picture. The little worm that had been burrowing into my brain since the night of the ball had found its way home.

“So, now we know,” I whispered to the screen. Here was the proof. I brought up Liz’s e-mail program, typed in Styles’s address and attached the link for the article. Then I started writing out the whole story, from the beginning of my trip back from Miami to finding the black orchid in the shower stall. Styles could sort through it, verify everything and put an end to my nightmare in the swamp. I had just hit Send when Buddy screamed in the night.

My head jerked up. I listened with an intensity that froze me in place. Then I heard a curse and more squawking and clattering in the wire cage before the earsplitting racket was sharply cut off. Somewhere, a door banged as if in a breeze. But it was a still night. They were coming. No, they had arrived.

“Silvio,” Liz’s voice called into the night. “Silvio, where are you?” She was somewhere on the veranda at the front of the house. “Silvio, what’s wrong?” There was fear in her voice now. It jolted me to my feet.

My first inclination was to race down the hall to the living room, but I didn’t know what was happening there. Besides, it wasn’t safe inside where it was all lit up. Outside then. I slipped around the back corner of the house and ran down the gallery for our bedroom.

Liz called again, in a voice less certain and demanding, “Silvio?” She was begging now.

And then I heard a gasp of astonishment I thought came from Liz. I started to call out to her but bit back her name.

I moved slowly towards the window of our room. Clay had left the door to the bathroom open and the light on. In the dim glow, the room appeared empty. I slipped inside. I dug in my duffle and brought out the Beretta.

Rubber soles squeaked on the bare hardwood floor of the hall. I slipped out through the open French doors. On the veranda, I pressed my body up against the wall and held my breath, waiting.

From inside came the sound of heavy footfalls on the floorboards. Not Clay. Clay moved like a ghost, never heard and seldom seen. Silvio? Not likely. This was a bigger and heavier man than Silvio, so someone new, a man who shouldn’t be here.

I could follow his movements by the squeak of his shoes on the wood flooring. I heard the click of a lamp being switched on, and then light fanned out onto the veranda. I pulled my toe from the shaft of lamplight and listened to him move about the bedroom. He wasn’t trying for stealth but moved with a confident indifference, sure that he was in charge. The closet door rattled in its track as it was pulled aside. Was he looking for me? Time to move, before he checked the veranda. I ran along the covered terrace towards the front of the house, wanting to reach Clay.

Behind me a stranger’s voice yelled, “Hey!”

Scissor-kicking like I once had for the high jump, I went over the rail and down, dropping the six feet onto the
trampoline, landing on my ass and bouncing half over the edge before scuttling off. Under the house now, I ran north, towards the living room.

Feet pounded on the gallery above me. A voice yelled a warning. I kept running until I came to Silvio’s twisted body. Stumbling to a halt, I stared down at him. Someone charged down the flight of steps in front of me. The shadowy figure came around the end of the stairs, and then I heard a gun. Chips flew off of the pillar beside me. I zigged sideways behind the pillar. I raised my Beretta in both hands. He wasn’t trying to take cover, coming on without any expectation that I would return his fire. I squeezed the trigger. The sound was deafening, the scream of the guy even worse.

I darted left to the west side of the house and ran full-out down the underside of the gallery.

Without reasoning it out, I headed south towards the helipad, away from the direction of the dock and Buddy’s cage, where he stood guard and warned us before his alarm call had been brutally cut off. There was likely a man there to guard the exit. At least, that was my guess.

Past the pool and out to the lawn, zigging and zagging across the grass like a crazed rabbit, sprinting frantically and leaving Clay behind. The noise from the gun aimed at me was more a popping sound than the terrifically loud blast the Beretta made. Clods of dirt flew up around me.

I had no plan, no idea what I was doing. Escape was my only thought. At the edge of the lawn some innate survival system kicked in, telling me to think before I went too far. I burrowed into the shadows of the underbrush and looked back at the house. In the light from Liz’s bedroom windows I saw a man, built like a linebacker, run along the upper deck and start down the steps towards me, coming after me.

I had to hide, but where? By the water tanks? I hadn’t gone there with Liz and Clay so I didn’t know if they offered concealment. Besides, the linebacker would see me if I broke cover and headed across the grass in that direction. The mechanical sheds were out. But I had to find a hole to hide in.

I decided I needed to be in the thick underbrush beyond the tennis court. I moved towards the brick path. A gun exploded.

I ran. Adrenalin sent me crashing along the path and past the tennis court without thought to what was ahead of me. I was nearly to the helipad, driven by panic, before I jumped left, into the arms of the sea grapes. Digging deep into the underbrush, panting and winded, I settled down on my haunches with the gun raised. I steadied it with my left hand, just the way I’d been taught.

“I am not going to die,” I promised myself over and over while I waited for the man to appear.

He didn’t come. Cautious and aware that I had the advantage now, he was taking his time. But still, he was moving and I wasn’t. Silence and stillness were on my side. I wiggled farther into the undergrowth. Twigs snapped against me. A branch stuck into my back. Scrunched up to make a smaller target, I watched the path for movement.

Suddenly a pulsing sound filled the night. A terrifying sound, it grew louder and more insistent. A strange wind blew. The leaves around me whipped about and sand flew up into my eyes. It grew lighter in the undergrowth. It was like a spotlight shining on me from the sky.

I looked up to see a mechanical bug hovering over me. Could it see me?

It moved off a bit and then swung around to settle down on the huge white cross of the helipad. The helicopter was bringing reinforcements.

I let the branch settle back in front of me.

When the helicopter was still, the door slid open and Ethan Bricklin jumped out. He wasn’t more than a dozen feet from me and I could see him clearly in the helicopter lights. In his hand was a gun.

I aimed for Ethan’s chest. My finger tightened on the trigger. “Not yet,” I whispered. The sound of my own voice startled me and I hardly managed to keep from squeezing the trigger. It would give away my position, and killing Ethan might not be enough. How many men had Ethan brought with him in the helicopter?

A twig snapped under the weight of a man off to my right. They were on both sides of me now. My Beretta stayed locked on Ethan’s chest, but if the other man appeared first, he was a dead man.