Madison's Avenue

by Mike Brogan

  Borden sipped his drink, then continued. “And you have some pressure. Your account involves the police, a possible homicide, plus two attempts to murder you, Madison. All that should help loosen their tongues.”

  “But if it doesn’t?”

  “Then it’ll take more time to get information. Either way, I’ll call you tomorrow with an update.”

  The waitress placed their meals on the table. Madison breathed in the savory aromas of her garlicky chicken kabob and Kevin’s blackened grouper and Craig’s sauce-slathered pork ribs. One bite told her the food was as delicious as it looked.

  After dinner, Madison headed toward the ladies room, and on the way paid the bill. In the restroom, she reapplied her lipstick, smiling wide to make sure her teeth weren’t smudged with red. Earlier today, Kevin told her she had a terrific smile. The compliment had made her heart pump faster. Even now, it did.

  Slow down, girl....

  She checked the tiny scab by her ear. It was healing, but it reminded her that the Tall Man was out there looking for her. This afternoon, Kevin bought two large fishing knives at a sporting goods store. He’d given her one and shown her how to use it. And she would use it, if necessary.

  She returned to the table and announced they were free to leave. Both men thanked her for dinner, pushed their chairs back, and made their way past a sunburned family of four, an elderly priest wearing a beret, and a rugged-looking man in wraparound sunglasses who looked like a forty-year-old Clint Eastwood.

  Outside, the ocean breeze carried the sweet scent of lavender. She breathed it in and realized that she hadn’t felt this relaxed in two weeks – thanks to good friends, good food, and the brain-numbing Stone drink.

  A perfect night, she thought, as they walked down the street.

  Craig thanked her again, flagged down a taxi and headed back to his hotel.

  Madison and Kevin strolled on down the street. She looked out at the Caribbean, shimmering like black satin under a fat white moon.

  * * *

  Eugene P. Smith, loosened his priest’s collar and adjusted his Jesus beard. Madison, Kevin and the tall banker had just walked past his table and headed outside. He’d easily lip-read their conversation while pretending to read Spirituality magazine.

  Smith crossed himself, placed money on his check and walked outside.

  He watched the banker leave in a taxi, then followed McKean and Jordan. As he passed a television shop, he noticed a face on all TV screens. A familiar pudgy face.

  Smith paused to read the announcer’s lips ... “a Nevis banker, Mr. Bradford Tipleton, was found dead in his home tonight after a pizza delivery man observed his body through a window. Mr. Tipleton appears to have died from a heart attack.”

  And stay tuned folks, Smith thought, that’s not all!

  Thirty Nine

  Harken to yon tinkle!” Madison said, cupping her hand to her ear as she and Kevin walked through the reception area of Ottley’s Inn.

  “Tis the tinkle of nightcap glasses, methinks,” he said.

  “Tis! Tis!”

  Although she didn’t need any more alcohol after drinking the Stone, she wanted to ask Kevin again how certain agency people got along with her father. “I thought we might go back over things. See if we missed anything.”

  “Makes sense.”

  They strolled toward the outdoor patio and sat at a table facing the long, narrow swimming pool. The water lapped against the sides and shimmered like ribbons of silver under the white moon. Tall palm trees stretched toward the stars. Seconds later, an elderly waiter shuffled up to their table and smiled.

  “Compari and soda, please,” Madison said.

  “And you, sir?”

  “Grand Marnier.”

  The waiter nodded and headed toward the bar.

  Madison looked up at the imposing shadow of the volcano, Mount Liamuiga. She’d read it was created one million years ago from magma roaring up from miles beneath the sea. The island’s first humans, the Arawak Indians, appeased the angry volcano by tossing living human beings into its abyss. Yesterday the Tall Man had tried to add her to the tossees.

  The waiter placed their drinks on the table. They sipped some, sat back and sort of melted into the warm tropical night.

  Kevin gestured toward the palm trees and stars. “I feel like a kid at camp.”

  And you look like one, she thought, noticing how the breeze had tousled his hair. The moonlight glinted off his eyes, and the pool reflections rippled across his high cheekbones. Kevin was not GQ pretty, but handsome in a hunky Outdoor Life, Pendleton shirt way.

  “I keep asking myself,” she said, “who at the agency is capable of doing this to my father?”

  “Me too, but I still have no clue.”

  “Is there anyone my father was really angry at?”

  He paused. “Not that I know of.”

  “Anyone really angry at him?”

  Kevin shook his head. “As you know, he got along well with most people.”

  “Except recently with all the directors who favor the ComGlobe merger.”

  “Yeah, except them.” He sipped his Grand Marnier.

  “Anyone else been acting suspicious recently?”

  He closed his eyes. “My sense is that Leland Merryweather is up to something.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. The other day I was in his office when he got a call from London. He got excited and asked if I would mind stepping out. I did, but paused a moment and heard him whispering ‘the money is coming.’ And two days ago, when I walked into his office, he and Finley Weaver and Dana Williams stopped whispering.”

  “Trading recipes?” she said, smiling.

  “For poisons maybe. But Karla Rasmussen also might be up to something. She and Dana were working in her office with the door shut for five hours last Sunday, and the Sunday before that.”

  “Interesting. How did Karla ever reach such a top executive position, besides schmoozing people with her obvious warmth and charm?”

  Kevin smiled. “Her brains, for the most part.”

  “There’s another part?”

  Kevin’s face reddened and she wondered why.

  “Well, there’s a rumor that years ago when she was much younger and shall we say more curvaceous, she might have used her other body parts.”

  “Yikes!” Picturing cold-hearted Karla in the throes of lovemaking was like imagining Reverend Jerry Falwell leading a gay rights parade.

  “Yeah, but on a less catty note, clients do respect Karla’s marketing and advertising savvy. And she’s tenacious as hell in pursuing and grabbing off good accounts.”

  “Is she married?”

  “Once upon a time.”

  “What happened?”

  “Lasted about a year. Word is, the good man simply up and disappeared one night.”

  Madison couldn’t stop herself from envisioning Karla pushing the poor man’s corpse into a backyard grave. “Was her sainted husband in advertising?”

  “No.”

  All of a sudden, Kevin put down his Grand Marnier and stared at her, his large blue eyes wide.

  “What?”

  “Her husband....”

  “What about him?”

  “He was an international banker.”

  Madison sat forward. “As in offshore banking?”

  “As in an offshore bank in the Cayman Islands.”

  She blinked. “Where Tradewinds Investments just happens to be located!”

  “Yeah. I’ll ask Craig to see if her husband still works in the Caymans.” He flipped open his phone, called Craig and left a message.

  She realized that coincidences were stacking up fast against Karla Rasmussen. “What’s Karla’s background?”

  Kevin looked down at the shimmering water. “Poor family. Parents died early. Then some foster homes. Won a college scholarship. Summa cum laude. Got her Master’s from a prestigious East Coast school. Today, she’s quite wealthy, thanks to some very smart investments
in Manhattan real estate and the stock market in the seventies. In fact, she’s had more than enough money to retire very comfortably for many years.”

  “So why hasn’t she?”

  “Money! She can’t seem to get enough. Probably driven by her dirt-poor childhood. Also, she craves power. But bottom line, money drives Karla.”

  “Like the money she’d get from the ComGlobe merger.”

  “Like that.”

  A tiny hummingbird fluttered across the pool toward her, then swooped over to Kevin and paused as though reminding her that he was a cool guy ... like she needed a reminder.

  “Thank you, Kevin.”

  “For what?”

  “For being here, helping me, and, well ... everything.”

  He shrugged.

  “And for believing in my Dad’s innocence.”

  “That’s easy.”

  “It means a lot to me, really.” She placed her hand on his.

  He looked at her. “Actually, Madison, I feel like I’ve known you for years. Your Dad often bragged like you were the Second Coming.”

  “Please tell me he didn’t show you my baby pictures?”

  “Cute butt....”

  She laughed so sharply the waiter spun around in Heimlich-maneuver mode. She waved him off.

  For the next few minutes, they went back over all the Turner executives, even ComGlobe executives and clients, trying to eliminate suspects, but were unable to. She found herself more and more frustrated by the lack of hard, incriminating evidence against any one individual. She also found herself hypnotized by the moonlight glimmering on the water. Moments later, she stifled a big yawn.

  “Sleep beckons, boss.”

  “Yep.”

  They stood and strolled back toward her room, greeting the muscle-bound security guard, Benny, seated at the end of the hall. At her door, she turned and faced Kevin, hoping her feelings for him were not flashing like neon lights.

  “Breakfast at eight?” she asked.

  “Sounds good.”

  “What time’s our flight back?”

  “Six p.m.”

  “That gives us a whole day here,” she said.

  “Yeah. Maybe Craig will find out about Karla’s husband, and the account at Tradewinds.”

  She nodded. “And maybe the Royal St. Kitts police will find the Tall Man.”

  “Don’t worry about him, Madison. Benny is right here. And I’m only four doors away.”

  “That’s very comforting.”

  He smiled as they looked into each others eyes a few moments. Then, very slowly, he leaned toward her. Her heart raced as she realized he was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes, waited....

  “It’s healing nicely.” he said, looking at the small scab on her cheek.

  “Oh, yeah ... it is.” She breathed in his cologne.

  “I’d kiss your boo-boo to make it better, Ms. McKean, but kissing the boo-boo of one’s CEO seems like gross sucking up. Sort of conduct unbecoming an underling.”

  She thought, This CEO would welcome a little conduct unbecoming from THIS underling....

  As though reading her thoughts, he leaned forward, kissed her cheek and said, “Until breakfast.”

  “OK.”

  “If you arrive first,” he said, “could you please do me a huge favor.”

  “Sure.”

  “Order me a bowl of Count Chocula.”

  “Deal.” Smiling, she entered her room, closed the door, leaned against it, and realized she really liked a man who really liked Count Chocula.

  What the hell was happening to her?

  If she’d learned anything over the last few years, she’d learned to not let her heart control her life. Yet, here she was, following her heart and drawing closer to Kevin each day.

  Somehow, she had to slow down and stop herself. Now. She didn’t have the emotional strength to sustain a relationship with him. She could barely summon the strength to handle her new responsibilities.

  She had to back away from Kevin.

  Hard as that would be.

  Forty

  Damn....”

  Madison looked up from her breakfast and saw Kevin pouting.

  “No Count Chocula?”

  “Nope,” she said, smiling. “Just these soft banana pancakes slathered with gobs of cholesterol.”

  “They look yummy.”

  You too, she thought, noticing that the only thing bluer than his Izod shirt were his eyes. His wet hair was combed back as though he’d just stepped from the shower.

  Kevin sat down beside her.

  “Coffee, sir?” asked the young waitress.

  “Yes, please, and some of those delicious looking pancakes.”

  The waitress nodded and placed a newspaper on their table. “Here’s The Democrat, our local paper.”

  Madison thanked her, then scanned the front page until her eyes locked on a story in the lower corner.

  “My God! ‘Local Banker, Bradford Tipleton, Dead at 36. The medical examiner says the cause of death appears to have been a heart attack!” She closed her eyes, felt nauseated, pushed her food away. “Heart attack? I don’t buy it.”

  “Me either.”

  “First, my Dad is accused of depositing funds into Tipleton’s bank and that night my father dies. The next day, I learn of the bank account and that night a man tries to kill me. Later he tries to push me into a ravine. Then, Tipleton gives us information about the account and that night Tipleton dies.”

  “Too many coincidences.”

  She nodded.

  “On the other hand,” Kevin said, “Tipleton was quite obese.”

  “But only thirty-six.”

  “Heart attacks can happen at any age.”

  She nodded. “Especially when lethal poisons or drugs are injected into the blood stream.”

  “By someone like your attacker.”

  “Yes, but how would he even know Tipleton talked to us? We didn’t tell anyone except Craig Borden, and we didn’t tell Craig until after Tipleton’s body was found at 7:16 last night.”

  “Tipleton must have told the wrong person.”

  She nodded. “I should tell the local detective about this.” She took out Detective Johnstone’s card and dialed the number. He picked up after three rings.

  “Detective, this is Madison McKean.”

  “Ah, Ms. McKean. Are you feelin’ better today?”

  “Much better, thank you.”

  “Good. Unfortunately, we’ve still had no luck finding your assailant. And finding him, I should think, will soon prove more difficult.”

  “Why?”

  “Two cruise ships are docking here in a few hours. Thousands of folks comin’ ashore. Many of them tall, thin Caucasian men.”

  “I see. But I’m calling you about the young Nevis banker who died last night.”

  “Oh, yes, I saw that on the telly. Bradley -”

  “Bradford Tipleton. Yesterday, he gave me some privileged information about a suspicious account at his bank. And now he’s dead. Only thirty-six.”

  “A heart attack, the TV newscaster said.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  Pause. “Really?”

  “Yes. Will there be an autopsy?”

  “At his age, I should think so. But would you be suggestin’, ma’am, that Mr. Tipleton did not die of natural causes, that his death was related to the information he gave you?”

  She paused. “Well, yes, I think so.”

  “But there was no evidence of foul play.”

  “True, but as you know, two days ago, after I talked to Mr. Tipleton, a man tried to kill me. Then yesterday, Mr. Tipleton gave me some highly confidential information, and a few hours later he’s dead.”

  Detective Johnstone remained silent for several moments.

  “Interesting connection, Ms. McKean. I’ll check his autopsy findings. When are you flying home?”

  “Six tonight.”

  “I’ll ring you back when I know more.”

/>   “Thank you, Detective.”

  She hung up and filled in Kevin.

  The waitress set down Kevin’s banana pancakes. He pushed the plate aside, his appetite obviously gone.

  “So what’s next?” he asked, sipping his coffee.

  “I have to make some phone calls.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Wait!” she said, looking out at the royal blue Atlantic sparkling in the sun. “We have our phones, right?”

  “We do.”

  “We have sunny beaches?”

  “We do.”

  “We have swim suits available in the gift shop.”

  “We do,” he said, “But we also have something else.”

  “What?”

  “The Tall Man....”

  Her body tensed up as she pictured the crazed attacker. “Maybe he’s left St. Kitts, or is still recovering from his fall.”

  “Or maybe he’s fully recovered and still here.”

  “But we have our hunting knives. And I could wear my blonde wig and funky disguise again.”

  “That didn’t exactly fool him in New York.”

  “True....” she agreed.

  “You really want to go to the beach?”

  She nodded. “Suggestion.”

  “What?”

  “Benny, your security guard. He’s armed. Maybe we can hire him to take us?”

  Fifteen minutes later, Benny was driving them past magnificent vistas of the Atlantic shoreline, heading toward a secluded beach called Sand Bank Bay. She felt safe when she saw Benny’s bulging muscles and even safer when she saw his bulging handgun beneath his shirt.

  Minutes later, Benny parked near a sun-bleached wood sign that read Sand Bank Bay.

  “The beach is just over that bluff,” Benny said as they got out. “I’ll be up here watchin’ over you.”

  “Thanks, Benny,” she said.

  She and Kevin walked up to the bluff’s summit and stared down at the most breathtaking, pristine beach she’d ever seen. There wasn’t another person on it.

  “It’s like a giant postcard!” she said.

  “Yeah, let’s put our stamp on it!”