Suspicion of Guilt (11 page)

Anthony walked over to her, his hand out. "Ah, Karen.
Bienvenida, mi cielo. Como estas?"
After a second, she shook his hand. He smiled.

"It means welcome, and how are you? Your mother says you are studying Spanish in school."

Gail gave her a hug around the shoulders. "And getting an A, too."

"Que bueno."

"But I prefer to speak English," Karen said.

He glanced at Gail. "All right. English." Another smile at Karen. He gestured at the purse. "You are a young lady now, I see, carrying a handbag."

She only looked at him.

"Ah ... ha. Well." He clapped his hands together, as if he had remembered something. "I have a surprise for you. And for your mother, of course. We're going to have dinner at Biscayne Billy's and tie up at the dock. Look." He moved to the French doors at the other end of his living room, gesturing as he walked. "A boat."

Gail followed him. "So this is why you told us to wear something casual." She could see past the screened patio to the inlet behind his house, where a sleek red and white speedboat waited at the sea wall. Not just a speedboat. A Cigarette offshore racer with a radar arch over the stern. "My God. You didn't buy that, did you?"

"No, no. It belongs to Raul." His law partner had a waterfront home near Coconut Grove. Gail had met Raul Ferrer. He was married and middle aged, with four kids. She would never have expected a boat like this.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"It looks awfully fast. He showed you how to handle it, didn't he?" "Gail, please. Of course."

Karen was still standing by the sofa. Anthony walked back to her. "Would you like to see the house? I'll take you on a tour when we come back. I rented three videos in case we want to watch a movie later.
Beauty and the Beast.
And two more they gave me, I can't remember which. But we should leave now, so we can watch the sun set while we eat."

Gail bit her lip to keep from smiling. She had never seen Anthony Quintana remotely nervous, ever.

Karen turned to her. "May I use the rest room, please?"

Gail took her to the one in the hall, closed the door and lectured her about her manners, then left her there. She found Anthony in his kitchen packing a zippered bag: cookies, sodas, a Thermos, cups and napkins. All this for a two-mile boat trip. He wiped a smudge of something off the counter and hung the towel neatly by the sink. He had Belgian cookware, spices she had never heard of, tiled countertops, and solid oak cabinets. An espresso maker gleamed from one corner. There were no spatters on the stainless steel stove, no drips of jelly on the floor, and no dust kittens under the refrigerator.

Gail leaned against the end of the counter, which had four chairs at precise right angles to the other side. She watched him zip the bag.

"Sorry Karen's being so bratty," she said.

He turned around. "Ah, well. This is new for her. And for me, having a child here." His own children, teenagers, had both moved to New Jersey with their mother four years ago. He saw them when he could.

"You're a grand host," she said.

He shrugged. "I hope she has a good time tonight. By the way, what does she keep in that purse?"

"I have no idea." Gail smiled. "Why, Antonio, your
rodillas
are showing."

Puzzled, he looked down. He was wearing a white pullover and crisply pressed, navy-blue shorts, revealing pale skin and a fuzz of dark hair down to his boat shoes. "My knees?"

"I thought Cuban men didn't wear shorts," she said.

He shook his head slowly. "Where do you hear such things?" His eyes came back to hers, deepest brown, shadowed with black lashes. He had just shaved; his skin glowed.

She felt a flutter low in her belly and let out a breath.

They met halfway across the kitchen, diving into each other. She locked her arms around his neck, and he slid his hands down to cup her backside. He squeezed and her heart rate shot up. His lips found her ear, then her mouth. They broke from another kiss then noticed Karen standing by the refrigerator with her eyes narrowed.

Anthony took a step backward. "Well. Are we ready to go?" He smoothed his hair and put on a turquoise Florida Marlins baseball cap. He patted her on the head as he walked by. "The 'Canes aren't bad for a college team."

Karen glared at him behind his back. Gail whispered, "Don't say a word. I mean it."

After setting the burglar alarm and locking the doors, he led them down the rear steps and across the thick grass. His townhouse was one of a dozen that curved around a quiet inlet in a canal that led west to Biscayne Bay. Two sailboats and a sportfisher were tied at other docks. Raul Ferrer's boat had a stiletto prow, two form-fitting white seats in front, a padded bench just behind, a dashboard like an airplane, and four chrome exhausts at the stern. A hatch led to a small cabin below. The boat seemed to crouch by the dock like a feral cat, ready to leap.

When Karen jumped aboard Anthony handed her a bright orange life vest. "Here. This should fit. Raul has a daughter about your size."

Karen didn't take it. "Are you and Mom wearing one?"

"No. We're adults and we can swim."

"So can I."

"Look, it's the color of the Miami Hurricanes."

"I don't want to if nobody else is."

He turned his face to Gail, eyes shaded by his cap. Gail said, "Put it on, Karen. I'll wear one too."

For a few seconds Anthony said nothing, then announced he would go below to find one more. Gail took Karen's hat off, dropped the vest over her head, and helped her adjust the buckles.

"How come he doesn't have to wear a life vest?"

"Because it's his boat."

"No, it's not."

"Stop it, will you?" Gail fluffed Karen's bangs. She hadn't meant to cut them so short, halfway between eyebrows and hairline. "Please? For me?" She handed back the hat.

Anthony gave Gail a life vest, then stepped back to the dock to untie the lines at bow and stem and flip the ropes onto the boat. Gail wanted to tell him somebody else should do it while he started the engine, or they would drift away, but he was already coming back aboard, sliding into the captain's seat on the right.

Gail cinched the straps on her vest, a slick yellow ski vest with reflective stripes at the neck—in case the wearer fell overboard at night, she supposed. She wished the boat had seat belts.

From the front passenger seat Karen watched him turn one of the keys. There were two of them. Two monstrous engines, Gail realized. The starter whirred. He tried again. Karen swung her legs. "My father used to have a lot of boats. He's in St. Thomas at the moment. That's in the U.S.' Virgin Islands."

Anthony smiled at her. "Yes. I know." He turned the other key. Another whirr. They had drifted halfway across the inlet. Gail was standing now, ready to push them away from the sportfisher.

Karen said, "He has a sailboat, a forty-foot sloop. It's bigger than this boat. He lets me sail it. I think he'll be back around Christmas."

"You can be my special boat consultant." Finally the engine snarled and spat, then settled to a low growl. He gave the other key a turn, and that engine also began to rumble.

Gail tapped Karen's shoulder. "Sit in the back. I get the front seat. Privilege of age."

In the bright orange vest, Karen climbed over the rear seat, then sat on the long, padded rear deck that covered the engines.

"You should sit on the seat," Anthony said.

"I won't fall off. We're not even making a wake." She held on to the stainless steel railing along one side.

Anthony's fingers drummed for a second on the wheel. He shrugged and put the boat into gear. Slowly the ridiculously long bow swung around. Gail could feel the heavy vibrations through her feet, as if there were a beast underneath the deck gathering its muscles to break through the fiberglass and steel. She straight-armed the dash, checked Karen, then said, "Take it easy when you give it the gas, okay?"

Muttering in Spanish, Anthony sat back down. At no-wake speed they maneuvered out of the inlet then along the canal. The air was sticky with humidity but not as hot. The sun was turning orange above the horizon.

Gail said, "She isn't usually like this. I don't know what's the matter with her."

"You don't?"

"Be patient, will you?"

"I am." Anthony's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. "I'm very patient."

Gail stood up, crossing her arms on the wraparound Plexiglas windshield. Karen was a hard topic, better avoided. She took off her sunglasses and tilted her face into the breeze. A smaller boat putted past and the couple in it waved cheerily. Gail waved back. Water gurgled in the channel, sparkling in the lowering light.

She looked around at Anthony. He was watching her and reached over to pull her closer with an arm around her waist. Gail lifted off his cap to kiss him on the top of his head. His hair was thick and wavy and smelled of spicy shampoo and fresh air. He leaned his cheek against her chest for a moment, then let her go.

"Guess who I saw today," Gail said. "Your pal Mark Brody."

"Pour us a daiquiri, why don't you? What did he say?"

She found the bag Anthony had brought, Thermos of frozen daiquiris inside, then told him the gist of the conversation: the signatures didn't look like Althea Tillett's. It wasn't enough to guarantee a win, but enough to start digging.

She sipped her drink, then set the insulated glass into the holder on the dashboard. Polished chrome, designed to swing when the boat moved. She wondered if anyone had ever baited a hook in this floating rocket. Behind her, Karen was flat on her stomach, barefoot, watching the water churn slowly past the stem. She had a little stack of cookies beside her.

Gail turned around. "Next week I'll talk to the management committee about letting me take the case."

"You'll make some money," he said.

"Maybe a few extra thousand dollars at the end of the year when they hand out bonuses."

'That's it?"

"The partners get a percentage, not us poor associates."

Anthony squinted into the sun, pointing the boat to the north. They were coming into Biscayne Bay, and the boat moved with the deeper swells. "I don't understand. Why do you work for a law firm which pays you so little, tells you what cases you may have, robs you of your family life ..." He lowered his voice. "It doesn't surprise me she is so jealous. She has too little of you as it is."

"Make me feel guilty. Look. I've worked for Hartwell Black since before I graduated from law school. Yes, the pressure can be murderous, but finally it's coming together for me. Partners can set their own schedules, hire extra staff. My God, I might even be able to work normal hours."

"Then you tell them—" He turned the wheel a little, watching ahead. "Tell them if you win this case, you want a partnership. Make them do that for you. Otherwise, you leave."

She took a swallow of daiquiri, the slushy ice chilling her mouth. "I'd almost say it just to see Paul Robineau's reaction."

"And what will you do if they don't accept the case?"

She laughed. "Maybe show up at your office, how about that? You and Raul need a good civil trial attorney?"

Under the hat brim Anthony's face was bathed in gold light. He didn't answer right away, then said, "Is this something you've been thinking about?"

"No. Not really." She finished her drink and dropped the empty glass into the holder. "I do appreciate the enthusiastic response, though."

"Gail." His look was gently chastising.

She grinned at him. "Would I get to bring Patrick with me?"

"No."

A little way past the mouth of the channel he turned around in his seat. "Karen! Sit down. I'm going to go faster, and I don't want you to fall out."

She scooted forward to the edge and put her bare feet on the bench seat. Her sneakers lay upside down on the deck behind her.

"On the seat, please."

"I can't see from down there."

Before Gail could speak, Anthony took the boat out of gear, stood up, and pointed. "Sit on the seat. Now. And put your shoes on the floor."
Chooz.
His Spanish accent came through when he was angry.

The two of them glared at each other from under the bills of their baseball caps. Then Karen retrieved her shoes and slid down into the seat.

Gail held back a laugh. "Aye, aye, Captain. Karen, come up here with me." She stretched around the front seat to take Karen's arm and pull her into her lap. The life vests were bulky between them.

Anthony pushed forward on the throttle. The pitch of the engines rose from a deep growl to a roar. The stern sank and the bow shot upward. The Thermos of daiquiris flew off the dashboard and bounced on the carpeted deck.

Gail shrieked.

Karen swung her head around to look at her, laughing. Her ponytail whirled under her hat. After a second the boat leveled out, but the water was a hissing, foaming rush. Gail clutched Karen around the waist.

"Mom. Mom! Let go!" She pointed at the speedometer and yelled, "It's only thirty miles an hour!" The speedometer, Gail noticed, went all the way to eighty.

"Oh, God." The shoreline was scrolling past on their right, tile-roofed houses and green lawns. Kids playing in a pool. A woman trimming her roses. The sea beside the boat was a blur.

Karen tugged on Anthony's arm. "Go faster!"

"We can't, this close to shore."

She bounced up and down on Gail's lap, shouting over the roar of the engines. "Anthony, let me do it! Please?"

"You know how?"

"Yes! Yes!" Gail yelled, "No!'

Karen wriggled away. Anthony stood her between his knees. 'Turn it south. Let's go around the ocean side."

"We're going into the
ocean?

"Gail, don't worry, it's okay."

The horizon tilted. The Miami skyline moved around the bow, then swung to the stern. Anthony stood up behind Karen and his hat flew off, sailing up and back, a spiraling dot that bounced once on the wake, then vanished. He looked after it for a only an instant. The wind whipped through his dark hair. He pushed Karen's hat down on her head. She was holding on tightly to the wheel, squinting over the top of it, flexing her legs with the rhythm of the boat. The water hissed under the hull.