Dead in the Water (15 page)

“
Yes, but you were alone and quite hung over. Unless you want a repeat of that sad experience, you'd better hold onto sober for the evening.”

“
Does that mean …?”

“
I'm not promising anything. I'm just saying I don't share my bed with boozers.”

We shoved two tables together, ordered ribs, and soon I was dancing up a storm with all the guys including, to my surprise, Nappi, who preferred the slow tunes.

It was Karaoke night, so in case the participants sang like screaming tomcats, we'd chosen a table in the dining room, right outside the bar area where the singing occurred. As I was picking my last rib clean of sauce and meat, I heard the announcer say “And now, our own singing Miccosukee, Sammy Egret.”

I jumped out of my seat and ran into the bar. Sure enough, there stood Sammy, crooning one of my favorite country tunes. His dark hair was slicked back under a cowboy hat with a silver band and he wore tight black jeans and a knitted, long-sleeved shirt that hugged his biceps. Like all the ballads, this one was about lying, crying, and dying. Sammy did it well. And looked so good doing it.

Antoine, an accomplished country artist in his own right, stood beside me. “He's great, isn't he?”

“
Yep. And he's also good at swamp survival.”

“
So I heard.”

I looked at him in surprise. “You did?”

“
It's all over town how you and he spent the night in the swamps together. I thought Alex was the one.”

“
I thought I was too.” Alex stood beside me, and it was obvious he had heard what Antoine said.

I could almost feel the angry fire coming off him.

“
Don't you get all furious with me. You knew Sammy and I were left in the swamp together and that he took care of me, probably saved my life. Back off the jealously act, dearie.”

For a moment I thought he was going to walk off, but the anger faded, replaced by a smile. “Eve, you are one sassy gal. You always tell it like it is.”

Sure I did, except for leaving out one detail about that night in the swamp—that fluttery feeling in my stomach when Sammy looked at me. And I certainly wasn't going to divulge my hunch that Sammy felt pretty fluttery, too.

A
lex drove me home, and I invited him to spend the night. We flung open the French doors that led from my bedroom onto the back deck. I loved to sit here at night, listening to the coyotes call when the train came through. We slipped into the chairs and held hands. The moon was brilliant, making sharp the shadows of the palms and live oaks in the far field.

“
Care for a nightcap? I've got Courvoisier,” I said.

“
I think all I need tonight is an evening with you. Alone.” Alex got up from his chair and stood in front of me, holding out his hands. “Let's leave the doors open and let the night air into the bedroom.” He grabbed both my hands, and pulling me up into his embrace, he pressed his lips against mine. Lovely. The man could kiss, yes he could.

We parted and headed toward the bed. I lay back on the pillows and patted the space next to me. “It's been so long since we had time together. I'm sorry for all the interruptions.”

“
Me too. It's not only you and your, er, unusual life. It's also my job. I hate being out of the area for so long.” He rolled toward me and began another kiss, this one more passionate than the first. I was crazy about this guy. That's why I wish I hadn't fallen asleep before it ended, but damn, I was tired. Camping in the swamp does that to a gal.

Coffee awaited me when I awoke. There was a note from Alex beside the pot: “Don't beat yourself up about last night. I know you were exhausted. I didn't even mind your snoring.”

I took a sip of java and peeked at my watch. I had arranged to meet Nappi at my bank at ten this morning. It was almost that now. I grabbed a tee shirt and jeans out of my bureau and then spent some time scrambling around on the floor of my closet, looking for another pair of boots to wear. Another run-in with my furry slippers, which I flung over my shoulder and onto the bedroom floor. More time on my hands and knees searching in the dark, but no boots. I really needed to replace that burned out bulb. I grabbed a pair of sandals with open backs and three inch heels in coral leather. Damn. I looked at my tee and realized the fuchsia color did not go with the shoes. Should I check the closet floor once more or change the shirt? I changed the shirt to one in turquoise. I looked a little like a poster for the Florida Department of Tourism, but what the heck.

Someone knocked on the front door.

“
Just a minute.” I gelled my hair, swiped mascara over my lashes, and looked in the mirror. The mascara was only one shade blacker than the dark circles under my eyes.

“
Where have you been?” Sophia said.

“
In the swamps, getting killed.”

She looked puzzled for a moment, but then recovered enough to push me back into the house and slam the door behind us.

“
I need the money. Now. We're being threatened.”

“
There have been some complications. There's no money in Winston's accounts.”

“
What? Where is it then?”

“
I don't know.”

“
You don't want to give it to us. You don't care about my sister. Winston cared, but you don't.” She turned to go.

“
Wait. I want to talk to you.” I tried to grab her arm and explain, but Sophia interrupted.

“
There's no waiting. No waiting at all. We are dead people. My sister is dead. And you want me to wait.” She stalked to the door, and before leaving, she turned and fixed me with her cold eyes. “I will get you for this, Eve. I will.”

She slammed the door.

Her threat sent shudders through my body and almost toppled me from my fancy footwear. I tried to run after her, but she was already in the car. She gave me one last hard look then gripped the wheel and squealed off.

Oh crap. Now what could I do? I'd just have to meet Nappi, get the money and drop it off in West Palm. Maybe Nappi was right. Maybe I should forget about going through with paying the ransom. Could I trust Sophia? She sure did not want to listen to anything I had to say. And where had all my uncle's money gone? That was a question I'd have to pursue with the lawyer and perhaps a good private detective. I was a lucky girl. I knew a great PI.

I was still standing on the porch watching Sophia's car in the distance when Frida pulled up. Now what? I'd have to hustle her out of here if I wanted to be on time for my date with Nappi.

She got out of the police cruiser with all the enthusiasm of someone on her way to get a root canal.

“
I was just leaving. What's up?”

“
You're not going to be happy with me, but I thought I owed it to you to tell you.”

Oh, oh. I hated it when people said they needed to tell me something. That usually meant bad news.

“
I just arrested your friend, Nappi Napolitani, at the bank.”

“
Was he robbing it?”

She gave me a look of disgust. “I'm doing you a favor here and you have to get smart with me?”

“
Sorry. Let me do this again. Why in the world would you arrest Mr. Napolitani?” I wanted to remain calm, but my voice rose to a high-pitched squeal, a sound of distress Frida couldn't help but detect, being a detective and all.

“
Calm down. Let me explain.”

“
I'm calm, but you? You are out of your mind.”

“
He's connected to the mob.”

“
I know that, but so what? You have to have a reason to arrest him, more than just his family connections.”

“
I arrested him for murder. Your uncle's murder. With the placement of the bullet and all, it sure looked like a mob hit and we're pretty certain Nappi took the contract.”

Did he? Was Nappi involved in the hit on Winston? Not impossible, but improbable.

“
What are you thinking, Eve? I can tell you've got something on your mind. I can almost smell the smoke from the gears grinding.”

“
When can I visit him?”

“
He'll be arraigned tomorrow. I assume his lawyer will get him out soon after. Look, I've got to run. Detective Tooney and I are letting him sweat a bit; then we'll question him. Unless he lawyers up. I told Tooney I'd go out for pastries before we started.”

“
I don't think Nappi likes pastries much. He's more of a bagels man, I'd guess.”

“
The pastries aren't for him. They're for us.” Frida shook her head, got back into her car and drove off.

I knew Nappi could take care of himself. I was certain he'd been “sweated” many times and in places more sophisticated in police interrogation than our little jail. But I was in a real pickle. I needed to get the money to Sophia, but someone had taken all of the inheritance Winston left me. Who? I shoved that concern to the back of my thoughts. I couldn't deliver the money to Sophia and Boris, not Winston's money, not money from Nappi. I knew Nappi was good for the loan, but right now, he was tied up with two pastry wielding detectives. Maybe Sabal Bay was small potatoes in the police department, but until he got out on bail—
if
he got out on bail—I was empty handed. All Sophia had to do was to make the Russians believe her. All I had to do was make her believe me.

I called Winston's condo and there was no answer. I really didn't expect one, because Darlene said she had moved out of it and was sharing digs with Sophia and Boris. I had no number for them. Perhaps Winston's lawyer did. He was in court when I called, but his secretary said she'd check my uncle's files.

“
There's no phone number listed for them, or for Darlene. But I do have a street address in West Palm.”

I jotted it down and tapped my fingernail on my phone case. God, I needed a manicure. And a pedicure. And new boots. And half a million dollars. And a shoulder to cry on. I called Alex and got voicemail. Sammy and his grandfather didn't answer either their home phone or the one at the airboat business, and neither place had an answering machine. I tried Madeleine, followed by Grandy, then Jay and Antoine. I ran out of names. I considered calling Jerry but thought better of it. I rescued Jerry, not the other way around. All my contacts seemed to have something better to do than listen to my troubles. I again scrolled through my phone contacts and considered calling Lord and Taylor's.
Really, Eve?

I grabbed my purse. Off to West Palm to track down the kids and Darlene. If Sophia had been angry with me this morning, she'd pop a rivet when she heard how my loan fell through.

The address was east of City Place, somewhere off Okeechobee Boulevard. When I located it I was surprised. It was a bit seedy, a two story condominium built in the early seventies and in need of renovation. Well, I never did ask Darlene and Sophia and Boris what they did for work or even if they worked. Winston seemed to be crazy about Darlene when they were at my place. And if he was willing to put up half a million dollars to rescue the sister of Sophia and Boris, he must have also felt something for them. None of this made sense.

I pulled over to the curb and punched the lawyer's number into my phone. This time I caught him on his way back from court but with a client sitting in his office.

“
This will only take a minute. I want to know who owns Winston's condo now.”

“
Winston didn't own the condo. He rented it.”

“
Any leads on those accounts?”

“
I'm working on it,” he said.

After thanking him, I ended the call. So it wasn't because she couldn't handle the sad memories evoked by being in the condo. Darlene had probably moved her things out of there because she didn't have the money to pay the rent. Hmm. What else had she lied about? I mentally chided myself for my suspicions about Darlene. Maybe she was just too embarrassed about her financial situation to tell the truth about living off the kids.

The plantings around the aging buildings were mature and lent a softening effect to the drabness of the stucco gray walls. I pulled into a slot marked for visitors and followed a broken concrete path to the back of Building #1 to the door marked 1G. I knocked and waited, then knocked again. The third time I banged on the door, I heard a voice from inside. “All right, all right. I'm coming. Don't get your Spanks twisted.”

Someone released the safety latch and opened the door. It was Darlene, clad in a ratty flowered bathrobe, a towel around her head. Red dye dripped from beneath the towel and ran down her face. Without her makeup she looked ten years older, not at all like the glamorous, mature beauty I had grown to know and dislike.

“
You have the money? C'mon in. I was just doing my hair. Have a seat. I'll be back in a jiffy. Got to rinse this out.” She fled toward the back of the condo. She seemed happy to see me.

I looked around the room. This place was sad. It wasn't dirty or messy, but it was certainly not what Darlene was used to with Winston. The décor was in keeping with Florida—coral and turquoise, white rattan furniture—but the pieces were worn, one sofa arm split along the upholstery seam. It looked as if the place contained the furniture selected when it was built fifty years ago. The laminate countertop on the pass-through to the kitchen was chipped in several places.