The Sea of Aaron (13 page)

What a senseless waste of life,
Aaron thought as he erased the recorded phone message. He had accepted that the Allard inheritance investigation was over, but a law enforcement contact had just told him that there was a new development in the case. He was certain this development had no dire ramifications for Valerie, but nonetheless he planned to catch an earlier flight back to New York to make sure.

He was back in his old Caye Caulker hotel room, the one Valerie had vacated. The bed was cluttered with business papers and a few essential belongings that he was transferring to a suitcase so they'd be ready when he flew out of Caye Caulker in the morning. He had just about everything packed when he was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by a familiar voice.

“Hey, Aaron. You there?”

Only marginally surprised, he opened the door, permitting his business partner Noah to enter, and then resumed what he was doing.

“Checking out?” Noah asked.

Aaron nodded. “Soon. What brings you here?”

Noah smiled. “Charming as ever, I see. Anything wrong with my showing a little concern for a good friend?”

“Am I a good friend?” Aaron closed the suitcase and locked it.

“I suppose that's what you've been for the last…what is it? Twenty or so years.” Noah inspected him. “I'm glad to see that you look amazingly well.”

“What did you expect to find? Dead man walking?”

“Actually, yes.”

Aaron ignored the remark. “So where did you come from?”

“Cielo Vista.” Noah strolled to the kitchenette, opened the mini-refrigerator, and helped himself to the last can of beer. “Thought I'd stop off in Belize to see how you were doing and then head back home.”

“How's Simon?”

Noah popped the tab on the beer, picked up a tattered boating magazine, and sat on the edge of the bed. “He's all right. Same old problem with the refugees.”

“He's going to have to close the border and put a stop to it,” Aaron said dryly. “One small country can't solve the problems of an entire continent.”

Simon Baraka was the African country's first democratically elected president, thanks to the aid of Aaron and Noah. By all accounts, he was doing quite well. Still, there were a lot of problems, mostly caused by outsiders who were trying to escape war-torn neighboring countries.

“Forget Simon for now,” Noah said. “Tell me about you.”

Quick as a cobra, Aaron swiped the beer from Noah and walked to the desk in the corner to check the e-mail on his laptop. “There's nothing to tell. I've done enough time recuperating here, and I'll be heading back home tomorrow.”

Noah scowled. “Really? And what have you done with Valerie? Is she still alive and reasonably sane?”

At the mention of her name, Aaron could not conceal the smile that briefly crossed his face, and of course Noah did not miss it.

“Whoa! What was that? Was that a smile, man? Uh-oh. Now I'm really worried.”

“Valerie left this morning and she is fine, a lot finer than you're going to be,” Aaron said.

Noah laughed. “Not sure I like where this is going. What have I done to incur your wrath?”

“It was your idea that she look out for me. What the hell made you think I needed a nursemaid?”

“Was either that or a coroner. Get over it, Weiss. A
sabra
you may well be, but you're only human. Everyone needs help sometime.”

“Your help has cost me big time.”

Noah's brow rose. “How so?”

“Because I now have a wife.” Aaron assessed Noah's surprised expression. “That's right. Valerie and I are married.”

Noah stood up. He had been aware of the obvious chemistry between his friend and Valerie, but in all the years he had known Aaron, the man had never expressed sentimentality, minced words or acted impulsively. Chemistry not withstanding, never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that the loner, the quintessential bachelor, would end up married. He controlled his shock.

“I'm aware that Valerie is an attractive woman, but were you delirious, in pain, drunk?”

“No.”

“In that case,” Noah spoke slowly, “since you're not irrational like the rest of us, you married her because that's what you intended to do, and she's obviously the one you wanted.”

“I did want her…and knowing that she's not the kind of woman one can just have a long term affair with, I made it legal.”

Noah grinned. “I hear you. Val's an amazing woman. Gotta be in order to love the likes of you.”

“My only regret is the timing,” Aaron said.

“Things like love and passion can't be timed. Congratulations,
compadre.
” He gave Aaron a bear-like embrace and then stepped back. “So why isn't she still here? Did she realize her mistake and dump you already?”

Aaron smirked. “Not yet. We agreed that she leave ahead of me, seeing that I have a lot of things to do here.”

“Is
Saniyah II
among those things?”

“Yes. I hired someone to check up on her. Plus, Andrew has a vacation soon. He's coming down with some friends, and they plan to take her to Aruba.”

“Does Drew know his old man's married?”

“I e-mailed him.”

Noah shook his head incredulously. Only Aaron would e-mail his son to tell him that he was married. He probably hadn't bothered to inform him that he'd been half dead a month ago, either. Still, for the atypical family that they were, it was not strange behavior.

“You planning on being back in New York for that stockholder's meeting?” Aaron asked.

“Yeah. Are you planning on weaseling out of it again?”

“Of course. Pomp and boardroom bull are your forte.” Aaron closed the laptop. “Any word on that Comoros Island deal?”

“I think we're going to get the contract, but Salazar won't work with Dalton or me. He told me he'd wait for you before he signs.”

Aaron frowned. “Meaning I'll have to fly down there and hold the little rodent's paw.”

“Better you than me, my man. I don't have much tolerance for rodents. The seamier sorts all take a shine to you.” Noah moved toward the door and then hesitated. “Aaron, I realize this contract is important to you, but no need to jump on it right away. Salazar has waited this long, another week won't hurt. You just got married and you and Val deserve some time together.”

When Aaron said nothing, Noah decided to take the man's silent response as positive. At least he hadn't brushed off the suggestion in his usual offhand way.

***

“Hello, is this…may I speak to Valerie Redmond?” an unfamiliar and very indecisive female voice said.

“You're speaking to her,” Valerie said, trying to temper the sleep-hazed irritation in her tone. The caller sounded way too unprofessional to be heralding disaster, so she did not immediately react with alarm, even though it was almost midnight and she was in bed.

“I…I'm sorry if I caught you at a bad time. I mean, I tried to get you earlier, but I couldn't. I know it's late, but this is kind of important.”

Valerie sat up straight. The stranger on the other end definitely had her attention now. “What is it?”

“I'm a friend of…well, not really a friend, but related to Carolyn Allard. She asked me to call you, but I've been really reluctant to do so until now.”

The woman sounded as if she were either intoxicated or on the brink of tears. Valerie's irritation and resentment levels rose, but she remained calm and continued to listen.

“You probably don't know it…or don't want to know that Carolyn has died. She hung herself in prison.”

A wave of vertigo swept Valerie, and she gripped the receiver tightly as the feeling gave way to confusion tinged with anger. “I'm sorry to hear that, but who are you and why are you telling me this?”

“Umm…my name is Martha Cates, and I'm the grandmother of Carolyn's son, who is living with me.”

“Grandmother? Son? Mr. Allard never mentioned a grandson.”

“I don't believe the old man knew about him, not that it would have mattered. But I'm telling you the truth. My grandson's name is Brandon, and he's eleven years old. Carolyn and my son were a couple when they were young. My son is…my son is in jail for life.”

Valerie took a deep breath. “Ms. Cates. I'm sorry about all this. Really, I am. But I still don't see how any of this is my business.”

“I'm sorry. I understand how you feel, and I really didn't want to call you but I had to. It was the last thing Carolyn asked of me. And…and maybe she would still be alive if I'd done it sooner. She told me that her grandfather left you some things that were supposed to be hers, including a large sum of money, and she needed those things for her son.”

“Oh, I get it now. Of course this is about money. Why didn't Carolyn's grandfather know about the boy?”

“Carolyn said she never told him because he wouldn't accept him. You see, Ms. Redmond, we're African-American, which makes Brandon biracial. Carolyn told me that her grandfather was a racist.”

“That can't possibly be true,” Valerie said, her voice rising. “I'm African- American, too, and I knew Mr. Allard for a few years. He never once gave me such an impression. Sure, he was solid conservative when it came to politics and…” She stopped. Why was she defending Mr. Allard to a complete stranger who could very well be lying? The whole story didn't sound kosher. “Listen, Ms. Cates. You need to understand that I cannot have this conversation now. If you give me your number, maybe I will call you sometime tomorrow.”

The moment of silence on the line indicated that the woman was disappointed, but she did give a number and an address.

Valerie scribbled the number and address down on a notepad. “Thank you. If I don't call you, do not call me again. Is that clear?”

“Yes, but—”

Valerie put the receiver down quietly. Oddly enough, she did not feel threatened by the intrusion, just disturbed and saddened…saddened over Carolyn's death and all the events and bad choices that had led to it.

Aaron was coming home to her place tomorrow, and she wondered if she should call him in Belize and tell him what had happened. After toying with the idea for a while, she decided that it could wait.

***

In the morning, after checking and responding to most of her backlogged phone messages, Valerie stared at the notepad where she had written down the information about Martha Cates. She had decided that she would not call her, but already her admittedly morbid interest in the tragic case of Carolyn Allard was out of control and her finger was itching to key in the number. It also didn't help that she still had no real idea what to do with the money that was stashed away in a safe at Jasmine's fortress home.

Valerie shoved the notepad aside. Right now there were plenty of other things to do, and her husband was her priority. She pulled on a thick down coat and stepped out into the frosty February air to take a trip to the supermarket because Aaron had said he would meet her at her apartment in the evening. He had given her the keys to his penthouse in Manhattan, but he was aware of her dislike for the city and hadn't insisted that they stay there.

She wondered exactly what locality they would eventually call home. She did know for certain that she wanted the house to be in the New York/New Jersey metropolitan area, maybe not far from Jasmine and Noah. Whatever the case, it was comforting to know that money would not be an issue.

While meandering down brightly lit produce aisles and dodging other shoppers with loaded carts—not one of her favorite ways to spend a morning—she realized that she didn't even know what Aaron's favorite foods were. Why hadn't she asked him last night over the phone? Here she was married to the love of her life and left with only her imagination to figure out what would appeal to him. Well, she did at least know that he liked beer. As for brand, she was clueless because they didn't sell the same type as in Belize, so she selected a German import because she liked the design of the bottle.

After purchasing enough to feed a small nation, she returned home and immediately set to work making pot roast, potatoes, vegetables, and a salad so the meal would be ready and she could heat it up in the microwave. She had decided to give her husband a break this time, but later she hoped to be able to cajole him into a healthier diet, meaning no red meat.

At noon, she took the fifteen-minute ride to Teaneck for an impromptu visit with her aunt, hoping to catch her alone. Aunt Marilyn had long since remarried after her divorce from Denise's no-count gambling-addicted father. Frank, her current husband, was a calm, amiable sort who had no destructive vices.

“Valerie, I'm glad you're back. How was your vacation?” Aunt Marilyn asked, hugging her the minute she stepped into the living room. “Frank's working and Denise is away.”

“My vacation was great,” Valerie said, secretly pleased that her cousin wasn't home and aware that her aunt knew zilch about the circumstances surrounding that vacation and very little about Aaron.

Marilyn was what most people would call a handsome woman who bore no resemblance to her daintily pretty sister Ruth Ann. In fact, anyone seeing them together would never think they were even related. Marilyn was much taller, browner skinned, and fuller bodied. If anything, Valerie thought she resembled her aunt more than she did her own fragile mother.

As they sat sipping tea in the sunny kitchen of the modest split-level home, Valerie let her aunt do most of the talking. Most of the conversation was about going-ons in the church and Denise and her so-called plans for a wedding.

“So, are you still intending to stay with private practice, or are you going back to the hospital to work?” her aunt asked.

“I definitely won't be going back to work for any hospital,” Valerie said slowly. “Private duty is less restrictive. Actually, I may not have to work ever again, but I'll probably choose to.”