by Rayna Morgan
Don't get me wrong. I don’t deny Barrett Mason is, or was, a great actor. But the truly great ones don't feel a need to recount their climb to fame and fortune. They don't keep reliving their days of glory. It seemed the man was going through a mid-life crisis, afraid his best days of acting were behind him. I'm sorry to have to say it, but I believe he resented the fact my best days of acting are yet to come."
At that moment, a good-looking man with a towel wrapped around his waist emerged from the hall rubbing his wet hair. Chad waved his hand in that direction as part of a casual introduction. "Lieutenant Elliott, meet my roommate, Lance."
The man introduced as Lance could have easily been a model. The look which passed between Chad and him suggested a relationship deeper than one of roommates.
"I'm borrowing your blue crew-neck today, okay?"
"Sure, take whatever you want."
With a brief nod to Tom, the man turned and walked back down the hall.
"Fellow actor?"
"Nope. He travels with me wherever I'm playing. I have condos in four different locations. We consider this our ocean get-away. I'm not a sun-worshiper myself, but Lance catches rays at the beach when I'm in a production here. Another reason I don't want to give up these gigs; would hate to lose the dear boy's favorite place to get a suntan."
"Was Barrett interested in who you kept company with during your free time? Maybe it was something he threatened to disclose to your father."
"If Barrett had any interest in my relationship with Lance, it would only have been his own lusting." He smiled snidely. "That's unfair. He was married to Julia. As far as I know, he didn't swing both ways. But if you're implying he was holding something over my head, you're barking up the wrong tree. In the first place, gay relationships are hardly uncommon in the theatrical world. The likelihood of it is one of the reasons my father didn't like my choice of profession, but he had accepted that a long time ago. He chose not to acknowledge it, but there's nothing Barrett could have told my father which would have shocked him."
"Frankly, I'm a little surprised. I've heard of your reputation at the Theatre for hitting on beautiful women."
"That's the persona I tend to promote. Truth be told, I'm unbiased, equally attracted to both men and women."
Tom glanced in the direction of Chad's roommate.
"Don't worry. He's aware of my predilection for physical beauty. I'm more romantically attracted to men and more physically attracted to women, but I truly don't feel a preference for one gender over the other. There are qualities I love about both. For me, it depends on the situation and the circumstances. I've had relationships with men, women, and both at the same time."
As offensive as Chad's viewpoint was to a person of Tom's high moral fiber, nothing in their conversation indicated a compelling motive for murder. He stood to leave. "Stay in town, Mr. Stewart. Until this investigation is resolved, we need to be able to get hold of you."
"I wouldn't dream of leaving now, Lieutenant," Chad remarked with an arrogant toss of his head. "As long as Julia doesn't do something stupid and sell the Theatre, I'm a shoo-in for the lead in the next production."
• • •
Tom returned to the Finish Line to re-question the young waiter. He located him at the bar dropping cherries in several glasses of liquid on his tray. "I'd like to speak with you, son."
"Can I deliver these drinks first, sir?"
"Hurry it up. I'll be in the alley waiting for you. Don't make me come and get you."
Within moments, the waiter came bursting through the door to the alley, nervous and edgy. "Why do you want to see me again? Did I do something wrong?"
"I think you were less than candid with me the first time we talked."
The boy's eyes darted from side to side. "Everything I told you was the truth."
"That's not the same as telling me everything you know." Tom didn't want the boy wasting any more of his time. "I can arrest you for obstructing an investigation. You told me you want to go to a state university after you finish junior college. An arrest could make things difficult for you, especially if you apply for financial aid."
The young man jerked the bow tie away from his neck as if he couldn't breathe. "Oh, man. I knew I shouldn't have started this. My friend talked me into being a runner. He said we could double what we were earning in tips from serving food and drinks. He had me talk to some dude who told me what to do. I never met the guy, but he sounded nice enough on the phone."
"What did the man instruct you to do?"
"He told me to start paying attention to the people I served. He wanted me to be able to recognize different kinds of bettors. He taught me three kinds to look for. Sharps or wise guys are the ones with their noses in their programs, doing their research. They keep checking the odds on the boards, study the monitors when the horses are shown in the paddock, bet larger amounts than most people, and wait until the last minute to place their bets. They know what they're doing and don't let emotions influence their decisions.
Then there are what he calls the sentimentals who place bets they can't afford, struggle to pay on time, and compulsively bet themselves into a deeper hole. They order the most drinks but they're the worst tippers. You can see them pace back and forth in front of the betting stations and then race up to place a bet right before the window closes like they can't help themselves.
Schnooks are the dumb bettors, more likely to get duped; they don't usually come out ahead. Schnooks and sentimentals are more willing to accept poor lines and spreads, or they put in an early wager instead of waiting for the lines and spreads to settle."
"He has you make contact with the sentimentals and the schnooks?"
"Yeah. All I do is make the pitch he gave me. I memorized it, like studying for a test at school." His voice was tinged with pride, but he quickly lowered his eyes realizing his pride was misplaced.
"What happens after you deliver your spiel?"
"If the guy seems interested, I tell him someone will be in touch. I get paid for every contact number I get."
"Do you get the bettor's name and phone number?"
"No real names. I give them a code name; they give me a phone number. At the end of my shift, I turn over my list of code names and numbers to a guy who works for the bookie."
Tom got excited at the prospect of having another witness to Hector's identification. "Describe the man you give the list to."
"I can't, sir. I've never met him in person. I leave the list taped to the bottom of the pay phone in the hallway outside the restrooms."
"When do you leave the list?"
"Before the start of a certain race. When the race is over, I go back to the pay phone. My list is replaced with an envelope containing the cash I earned for the list of names and numbers."
"Which race?"
"It varies. Every shift when I come in, there's a program on my tray with one of the races circled in red. That's the race when I'm supposed to deliver the list."
Tom's pulse raced. With Hector in jail, the bookie might be on the premises, picking up the list himself. "Which race today are you making the switch?"
"We're not. He called earlier; told me to hold onto my list. Said his pickup man had been hung up and won't be here."
"Yeah," Tom said, "hung up in jail. When did he say the next switch would be?"
"He'll let me know," the waiter reported with a lopsided grin. "It would have been my best payoff yet."
CHAPTER TEN
Lea answered her phone to hear a breathless voice with an Italian accent. "Good morning, Lea. It's Angelo."
"How are you?"
"I'm fine. No, that's not true. Who am I kidding? I'm terrible."
Lea's brows knitted. "You don't like the new brochure layout I sent you?"
"No, it's fine. I mean I haven't had time to look at it."
It was out of character for this man to sound so frazzled. "Slow, down, Angelo. Tell me what's going on."
"Can you meet me for lun
ch?" he pleaded.
"Certainly. I'll be at the Apex at eleven before the lunch crowd arrives."
"No, no. I don't want to meet here. My employees may overhear our conversation. Let's make it Margaritaville at the Landing. I don't want to go to the pasta place." He paused, sounding sheepish. "They know me too well. Margaritaville opens at eleven. Let's be the first ones there."
"See you then," Lea agreed.
Preparing to go to the Harbor, Lea thought about her intriguing conversation with Angelo. What does he want to talk about he's afraid his employees might overhear? He's usually the epitome of gentility and self-assurance yet he sounded completely rattled on the phone. And why is he calling me about whatever is troubling him? He's more than a client; he's a friend, but hardly on the level to share confidences.
"C'mon, you two," she called to the dogs. "You can come with me. You'll have to wait in the car while I'm at lunch but afterward, I'll take you to chase squirrels on the seawall."
• • •
Climbing the stairs to the popular Mexican restaurant on the second floor, Lea paused to lean over the brass railing, gazing out over the Marina. Most of the boat slips were occupied with recreational vessels of every description. Names painted on the rear of the boats gave clues to a boater's hometown or the love of his life. A man dressed in shorts and floppy hat cleaned the decks of a cabin cruiser. A dog ran frantically back and forth to the end of a ramp where a sea lion swam. Two sailboats unfurled colors of bright blue and yellow as they skimmed out the entrance to the Harbor. The air was filled with a pungent mixture of smells: salt air, fish, and boat fumes.
Lea had barely been seated next to the window when Angelo came rushing through the front door.
"Thank you for meeting me, Lea. Yes, yes, I'll have iced tea," he said hurriedly to the waitress asking for their drink orders. "And I'll have whatever this young lady ordered."
"Whoa, slow down, Angelo. Catch your breath. I haven't had a chance to look at the menu.” Observing the state he was in, Lea told the waitress, “Bring us both the daily special."
When the server had left, she turned to Angelo. "What's going on? I've never seen you so upset."
"I think the police are going to arrest me for murder."
"What?" The pitch of Lea’s voice caused the couple next to them to glance in their direction.
Angelo's face colored. He held his finger to his lips, gesturing for her to lower her voice.
"It's your friend Tom Elliott who's going to arrest me." He wrung his hands and moaned. "I heard how you and your sister helped to solve the murder at the pier. You've got to help me now, Lea. I could never do such a terrible thing, especially not to Barrett; he was my friend and business partner."
Lea took a deep breath. She didn't want to get in the middle of Tom's murder investigation, but she couldn't deny Angelo. He was a friend, obviously desperate and in need of help. She took a deep breath. "Don't worry. Of course, I'll help. Now, start at the beginning and tell me everything."
Angelo related the details of Tom's interrogation, not failing to include the questions about his wife. He dropped his voice to a murmur. "He even inferred I had a motive because my wife was having an affair with Barrett."
She raised an eyebrow. "Is it true?"
He took a moment to reflect while the waitress set their dinner plates in front of them. "Thank you, Miss."
"Can I get you anything else?" the waitress asked.
"No, we're, fine." He watched her walk away before answering the question. "I told the Detective that was impossible; my wife and I are happily married." He swallowed hard. "I wasn't completely honest with him, and I'm not a good liar. I'm afraid he didn't believe me."
Lea sat back, stunned. She had seen Camilla numerous times at the Apex. Each time the woman appeared to be head over heels in love, completely swept away by this dashing Italian.
"My wife was only eighteen when we got married. I was almost twice her age. She came to me straight from living with her family. I was the only man she'd ever been with. She was from a large family with never enough money. As soon as she finished high school, she had to start working to help her parents.
All the time we were courting, her father told her how lucky she was to be marrying such a fine man, one she didn't deserve. I always felt I was the lucky one. Camilla's sweetness brought a light into my world I was lacking.
We moved here when I opened my first restaurant. It was a big step for her; it meant leaving her family and friends behind."
"Yes, I can see how that would be difficult for a young woman."
"When I bought the Theatre with Barrett, he and his wife became our closest friends. The restaurant required most of my time in those early days to make it successful. It didn't leave much time for me to spend with my young wife." His expression dulled. "She ended up having an affair with Barrett. It didn't last long, but Julia and I were both devastated when we found out."
"How painful for you … for all of you."
"It wasn't Barrett's first affair. Julia was used to her husband's meandering ways. I don't think she cared much."
"And you? How was it for you?"
"It was terrible, one of the darkest periods of my life, filled with heartache and guilt."
"Guilt?"
"I was so angry at first; I thought I would never be able to forgive her. And she didn't want me to. She said what her father told her was true: I was too good for her. In her eyes, she could never be the wife I deserved."
"Did you agree with her father?"
"Of course not. She had no idea how much I loved her. For that, I had no one but myself to blame. I had neglected to do things to show her how much she meant to me. I felt more at fault than she was."
"Did you feel her undeserving after her indiscretion?"
"To the contrary. It made me realize by devoting all my time to the business, I was no longer the husband she deserved. It took a while, but I eventually forgave Camilla and asked her forgiveness as well. That all happened ten years ago. We've been happy since. At least I thought we were, until about a month ago."
"What happened a month ago?"
A vein popped out in his neck. "I began to suspect it had started again … the thing with Camilla and Barrett."
"What made you think so?"
"Camilla started acting strangely and doing things out of character. She's never liked using the computer but all of a sudden, she seemed to be spending more time on it every day. She appeared to be edgy; nervous about something. At least one, sometimes two nights a week, the maid told me she wasn't at home when I called. When I asked her about it, she'd say she'd been shopping with friends or to the library. I suggested she read the books on her computer in the comfort of home."
"What was her answer?"
"She said she was old-fashioned; preferred the feel of a hardcover book in her hands." He twirled his glass, recollecting the conversation. "She offered some vague explanation about enjoying the atmosphere of rows and rows of shelves filled with books and the smell. I remember her saying there's something about the smell of print, especially of leather-bound editions, which books on a computer screen can't capture."
"Did her explanation satisfy you?"
"I told her we had enough money for her to buy all the books she wanted, even first editions. I would gladly build a library in our home. She laughed, insisting that wasn't necessary."
"What did you do?"
"I began to leave the restaurant early to see what time she got home. If she wasn't at home when I arrived, I'd call Barrett at the Theatre to see if he was there."
"And was he?"
"He always took my calls. I was never able to find them both absent at the same time."
"Did you ask her directly if she was having an affair?"
"Of course not. I had no reason other than jealous insecurity. Even suggesting infidelity on her part would have hurt her deeply if it were untrue." He paused while the waitress refilled their ice tea glasses. "But I'm
sure the Detective asked her. She came to my office when he was interrogating me. I told him to ask her himself and she'd tell him it wasn't true."
"And did she?"
"He asked me to leave them alone. The next thing I knew, she was running from my office in tears. She left without telling me what had upset her. I was furious with the Detective but he offered no explanation. When I asked Camilla about it later, she was reluctant to talk. I didn't want to upset her further. I let the matter drop."
"Did Barrett find your frequent calls to be odd?"
"No, I had good reason to be calling him." He placed his napkin across a plate of mostly uneaten food. "You know Don Carson and I have close business ties."
"Of course." Don was known to everyone as Buena Viaje's largest real estate developer. The Tower, the tallest office building in the County where Angelo’s restaurant was located, was Don's creation. "Don came to the restaurant a few weeks ago with a group of men representing a luxury hotel chain. They were feeling me out for any interest I might have in selling the parcel of land where the Theatre is located."
"They want to take over the Theatre?"
"They want to tear it down and build a hotel at the entrance to the Marina. The resort will feature a first-class dining facility. As an incentive, they said it could be my second Apex."
"Did you accept?"
"I'd be a fool not to, but of course, Barrett, Julia and I are co-owners of that land. I needed his agreement to sell."
"What was his reaction when you told him about the offer?"
"He wouldn't even consider it. Told me the Theatre was his life. Said even if he was interested in selling, which he wasn't, he wouldn't hear of anyone tearing it down. I argued he could relocate the Theatre to any number of places in town. He and Julia and the productions make the Theatre, not the building it's in."
"Was he convinced?"
"No. He'd been through one move; he wasn't willing to consider another. And he didn't want to lose the tourist traffic he draws from the Harbor."
