The Beautiful and the Wicked (27 page)

“Hey,” he said, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her toward him. She let him do it. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since yesterday.” He kissed her lightly on the lips as his hand gently traced the contours of her breast. Just as the other hand began to slide down her body, over her ass, and then up her inner thigh, they heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs and quickly pulled away from each other.

It was Edna, of course. It was always Edna.

The chief stewardess looked at the two of them and seemed to know instantly what they had been up to. “Nicky,” she said sternly, “there's much to do before dinner tonight. And I won't warn you again.”

“Ever get tired of being such a battle-­ax, Edna?” Ben said, giving Lila a playful hip check. Lila didn't understand how Ben got away with giving Edna a hard time. It seemed like everyone else on the yacht feared her.

“That's right, Mr. Reynolds. Some of us have to actually work for a living. It must be quite confusing for you,” Edna said as she pushed by Ben and Lila, her back stiff and her chin jutting haughtily out.

“I work for a living,” he said with an exasperated tone. “I mean, no one can do what I do, just ask Nicky, here.” Then he slipped his hand under Lila's skirt and up between her legs. She jumped away from his touch. As far as Lila was concerned, the moment was over.

“Nicky. No dillydallying,” Edna yelled over her shoulder as she walked down the stairway.

Once the chief stewardess was out of sight, Ben grabbed Lila. “She's gone,” he whispered into her ear. But Lila wriggled out of his embrace impatiently.

“Not now,” she said. “I've got to go.” Without looking back, she dashed up the stairs, took a left at the side deck, and arrived at the very spot where Jack Warren soon would die.

She surveyed the area, as she had done thousands of times since she'd boarded
The
Rising Tide
. It was a tricky spot. She looked at the sight lines. It would be impossible to lie in wait for the murderer on the deck; there was nowhere to stake out the place without being spotted. Her only possible vantage point was up in the captain's bridge. From there she'd be able to finally find out who killed Jack Warren.

Standing in the very spot that would soon be covered in Jack's blood, Lila went over her plan for that night yet again, staring absently at the Caribbean Sea. For all its beauty, she thought, the ocean was a brutal, dangerous place, filled with creatures preying upon one another just underneath that serene surface. And it was the same for all the ­people on this boat. Under the resplendent veneer, they were all ravenous sharks, ready to devour anyone foolish enough to get too close.

 

CHAPTER 24

J
ACK'S PARTY WAS
a complete success, though soon enough, no one would remember it in the shadow of his death. The scandals, betrayals, and subterfuge that had poisoned the mood over breakfast seemed to float away on the salty Caribbean winds as everyone sat down to dinner. The food came out course after perfect course. Even Lila had to marvel at the exquisiteness of the meal she was serving. Chef Vatel had really outdone himself. But only he would later have any recollection of what was served.

He'd planned the menu for months, refining each dish until it was flawless: a single oyster, fried perfectly, resting atop a circle of brioche; Patería de Sousa's legendary foie gras brightened with a splash of aged balsamic vinegar; sea-­urchin pasta with a dollop of Russian caviar; risotto with white truffles flown in from Italy; Japanese
wagyu
beef cheeks slowly braised for hours in a hearty Barolo, all perfectly paired with priceless glasses of wine.

Even the table was a work of art. Candles encased in handblown hurricane lamps cast a sumptuous amber glow. The flower arrangements dotting the table were gorgeous, anarchic compositions that looked as if they'd been ripped out of an eighteenth-­century Dutch still-­life. Branches of wild honeysuckle were intertwined with orchids the deep yellow of egg yolks. The papery skins of the red poppies interspersed throughout the bouquets caught the candlelight, creating a fiery flicker on the edges of the night.

But all Lila could think about were the seconds counting down to Jack Warren's murder. She watched Jack carefully. He looked like he was the happiest man on the planet. Little did he know, with each exquisite bite, how quickly he was moving toward his own death.

His guests were also enjoying themselves. Quick to laugh, quick to groan with pleasure over the food, the wine, the ocean rolling beneath them. The only rival to the beauty of the sea was the magnificence of everyone's clothes. The women were all breathtaking in ornate gowns and perfectly coiffed hair. Josie was wearing a clingy, iridescent silver gown with her hair slicked back into a high ponytail and a thin string of diamonds hanging from each ear. There was something very powerful in her countenance that night as she breezed around the deck with a glass of champagne in hand. It was as if that morning's tears and humiliation had only left her stronger and bolder. Perhaps she found power in having nothing left to lose.

Wearing a cream-­colored, one-­shoulder silk sheath that hugged her thin, toned body, Elise Warren looked like a goddess. Her delicate wrists were wrapped with white-­gold-­and-­diamond bracelets and her dark brown hair was elegantly drawn back into a chignon at the nape of her swanlike neck. Gone was the speech slurred with pills and alcohol, gone was the snarl and the snap of her biting words and withering glares. Now she was like an ice queen, dolled up in white and diamonds, impervious and grand.

Charity Baines wore a strapless, floor-­length Valentino gown in eye-­popping Republican red. Her hair was teased into a stiff golden helmet that swept high up off her chemically frozen forehead. The diamonds in her Bulgari necklace sparkled magnificently in the candlelight.

Thiago and Esperanza were legendary among the international glitterati for their outstanding fashion sense, and they didn't disappoint tonight. He wore a black velvet tuxedo, white V-­neck T-­shirt, and black Wayfarer sunglasses, despite the darkness of the night. Esperanza was the yin to Thiago's yang, wearing a stark white, raw silk gown that was so ethereal it seemed like something an angel would wear. A thin gold chain around her neck was all that held the dress up. Every time the wind blew, the thin fabric pressed against Esperanza's body, blowing back her long, black hair. She looked angelic, pure, effortlessly beautiful.

Jack wore a custom-­made Armani tuxedo, looking every inch the successful billionaire he was. Senator Baines wore the same silk pocket square he'd worn to George W. Bush's 2004 inaugural ball, one of the most treasured nights of his life. And his hair was a sculptural masterpiece as unmoving as the Lincoln Memorial. Even Seth Liss, the man who seemed to wear his slovenliness with unwarranted pride, looked half decent. Sure, the cut of his suit wasn't what anyone would dream of calling fashionable, but for him it was quite grand.

But it was Daniel Poe who really stole the show. When he walked out, clean-­shaven, wearing a perfectly tailored, slim-­fit black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt and a long skinny tie the deep color of eggplant, everyone turned to look. Lila heard someone gasp. Paul Mason, ever the Brooks Brothers poster boy, broke into spontaneous applause.

Sam and Lila had been given strapless, black cocktail dresses and black stiletto heels to wear while working the party. Lila wasn't thrilled with the attire. Tonight was the night she'd be hunting down a killer, and doing it in a tight dress and high heels wasn't going to be easy.

Just as Lila had expected, her sister was not invited to the birthday party. But what Lila really didn't understand was why Ava was there in the first place. So far, it seemed like she hadn't even left her room. Was she there just as his hidden concubine? It struck Lila as wildly risky for a man as calculating as Jack. None of it made sense to Lila, but she'd been in the detective game long enough to know that the truth of a case always lay within the questions that seemed to have no answers. If she could unwrap the mystery of why her sister was actually on board, maybe she'd find out the truth about who killed Jack Warren.

Once the last course was served, the casual chatter that had enlivened the meal slowly petered out. Everyone seemed to be taking their cues from Jack, and he was being very quiet. But his silence wasn't seething, hard-­hearted, or angry like it usually was. In fact, Lila thought, he seemed almost peaceful, which was not a word she'd ever associate with Jack Warren. He sat at the head of the table, a contented smile on his face, taking slow, appreciative bites of his caramelized white chocolate birthday torte.

After the delicate dessert plates were cleared away, Jack Warren said, “I know how busy you all are. And I'd like to thank you for taking the time to spend this very special day with me.” He leaned to Sam and whispered, “Let's serve the champagne now, please.”

Sam nodded and went over to the sideboard, where there were four bottles of champagne chilling in silver buckets.

While Lila and Sam poured the honey-­colored bubbly in freshly set crystal flutes, Jack spoke. “At the height of World War One, a German submarine sank a Swedish freighter that was transporting goods to the imperial court of Czar Nicholas the Second of Russia. For over eight decades that ship, with all its glorious bounty, rotted at the bottom of the sea. When the ship was found, two thousand bottles of champagne in pristine condition were recovered. The sea had aged them perfectly. This is the most prized bottle of champagne in the world, and we have four of these shipwrecked beauties with us now. Everyone, please, enjoy.”

As he lifted up his glass, everyone followed his lead. After taking a long, meditative sip of the champagne, Jack continued. “Great men are often at war with themselves. And I think as much can be said of me. I have no regrets for how I've lived my own life. My only regret is that sometimes this war within me had casualities. Many casualities. Elise, my wife.” He said her name softly, turning to face her. She put down her flute of champagne and matched the intensity of his gaze with her own. “There is no other creature on the planet as fierce and as vibrant as you. When I first met you, you were electric. And now, looking at you, you're more beautiful today than you've ever been. To you.” He lifted up his glass of champagne and took a small sip. Then he turned to his daughter. “Josie, your free spirit, your hunger for life, and your tireless search for what is real have brought so much energy into my life and into your mother's life. I want you to always keep that part of you alive, no matter what. It's your magic.”

“I love you, Daddy,” Josie said as a ­couple of tears fell down her cheeks.

“I love you, too,” Jack said with total sincerity. Lila couldn't fathom what was behind this transformation. And neither could anyone else.

“Cheers to you, Jack!” Clarence said.

After all the champagne bottles had been emptied and the party conversation seemed to run dry, Jack began to pace the main deck, like a tiger storming around his cage. He wanted some fresh entertainment, so he picked up his phone to call the captain. “Nash, listen, we're down on the main deck having a little birthday party for yours truly. What do you say that you throw the boat on cruise control and you and your crew come and join us. We've got the makings of a real party down here.” He paused. “Okay. Great. See you down here soon.”

The crew joined the gathering with alarming speed, and kicked things into high gear. It didn't take long before the sophisticated soiree was transformed into an all-­out debauched bacchanal. And once the drugs came out and the wine cellar was raided, ­people started to really let loose. Daniel Poe immediately disappeared with Nash, Mudge, Pedro, and Josie into the main deck's bathroom. Thiago blasted samba music while Esperanza began to dance with a very excited, yet clumsy Seth Liss. Paul Mason joined Captain Nash and the rest of the degenerates in the bathroom while Sam disappeared somewhere belowdecks. Everyone, it seemed, was getting into the spirit of things.

Except for Lila. As the party got more out of control, it became increasingly difficult to keep an eye on all the suspects. But, she remembered, she just had to make sure she knew where Jack was at all times. As long as he was in her sights, she was okay. And at that moment, everything was fine. Jack and Paul were smoking Montecristos with their eyes glued to Esperanza's ass, which was undulating to the music as she yelled for her dancing partner, Liss, to “feel the rhythm in your hips.”

Then Lila saw Ben. He was headed across the deck toward her, carrying two drinks, with a smile on his face and a little salsa shake to his hips. “Finally, everyone gets to have a little fun,” he said as he put a drink in her hand. She just nodded, distracted. There was no chance in hell she was going to join in. This was the night she'd spent a decade obsessing over, and she couldn't afford to slip up for a
party
. She needed to be in control. First, she wanted to check in on Ava, to see if she was still holed away in her fortress of a guest suite.

“Hey, Nicky, loosen up. It's a party after all,” Ben said. Lila gave him a weak smile. He slid his hand across her bare shoulders and then down her arm. He leaned toward her to whisper into her ear. Before he could speak, though, a huge ruckus erupted from across the room as Daniel, Nash, Mudge, and Pedro burst onto the main deck with red noses and wild eyes. Daniel was dancing crazily, a chaos of spasmodic limbs in a fury of movement, while the others howled with laughter. It was pretty clear that they'd just sucked back an impossible amount of cocaine.

With a lit Roman candle in his hand, Pedro leaned over the railing while Mudge held on to his feet. The firework flared and then shot out of his hand, whizzing up into the starry sky, where it loudly exploded in a shower of silver rain. Daniel and Nash cheered wildly. Daniel handed Pedro another ignited firework.

As she turned her attention from the sky to the spot where Jack had just been standing, Lila's heart dropped. “Shit!” she said. He was gone. She frantically scanned the main deck. There was no sign of him except for his cigar, slowly burning in the heavy crystal ashtray.

“What?” Ben said. “Nicky, what's wrong?”

“It's nothing,” she lied, putting her drink down. “But I've got to go.”

“No,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. “You've got to stay. And then maybe later we can—­”

“Please, Ben. No!” She responded so emphatically that he immediately let her go. She rushed away from him without looking back. Her heart was racing. She had no idea where on this vast and many-­roomed yacht Jack Warren had gone.

Her first stop was the scene of his murder. She ran up to the second level of the yacht, praying with every quick step of her feet that he was still alive. A wave of relief washed over her as she arrived and saw there was no blood and no gun. Jack's murder was still in the future.

Moving as quickly as she could, she ran inside the boat, headed toward Ava's cabin. She'd go see if her sister was still safe and sound. A firecracker exploded in the sky, making Lila almost jump out of her skin. She could hear the music and the cheering of the party twenty feet below her. As she got to the hallway, she noticed that the door to Ava's room, which had been closed since her sister's arrival, was now ajar.

Keeping her back to the hallway wall, she slid down to the room, stopping once her shoulder was flush with the doorjamb. She peeked inside. The door to the balcony was wide open, the bed linens had been ripped off the bed, clothes were all over the floor. And the room was empty.

“Ava?” Lila said, trying to mask her voice so her sister couldn't recognize it. There was no answer. “Ava?” Still silence, so Lila carefully entered. She checked the balcony, the closets, and the en suite bathroom (which smelled just like her sister—­a mix of sandalwood soap and Nivea lotion). She even checked under the bed. Ava was gone.

“Fuck!” Lila cursed. Jack and Ava were nowhere to be seen, and the murder could occur at any moment.

Lila rushed to Jack's room. It was empty. She ran to the scene of the crime, but there was nothing. She spent ten minutes frantically searching the endless hallways and rooms of the yacht. Her heart was pounding so fast she thought it might burst in her chest. Finally, she heard voices coming from the master suite. She ran toward the sound. Frantic to find Ava or Jack, Lila didn't bother knocking on Elise's door. She just burst right in.

“Holy shit,” Lila exclaimed, when she found the soon-­to-­be-­widowed Elise Warren naked and straddling Ben Reynolds, the man who had just been trying to coax Lila into just this very position.