1 Margarita Nights

by Phyllis Smallman

  I laughed in delight. “That’s about as likely as the Pope doing the can-can on Easter Sunday, but I live in hope.”

  Chapter 49

  Clay got his way.

  “You’re fond of conspiracy theories, aren’t you, Mrs. Travis?” Styles said. He was wearing another brown suit, darker than previous days but still anonymous. Today he’d gone wild and opted for a pale green shirt with a black tie with three small white diamonds across the middle. “Lynch killed Jimmy and Andy.”

  “Let me see, first it was Mr. Rollins who was responsible for the explosion on your husband’s boat, something about double billing, then there was this SUV on a mysterious tape that disappeared and now a blackmailing scheme. Are there any of your theories I’ve missed?”

  I beat back the anger, trying for calm. “Are Jimmy’s and Andy’s deaths just theories?”

  “You were on the boat the day it blew up. You’re the only person who gains by your husband’s death.” I tried to keep my face as bland as his but I hadn’t had the practice. I’m sure he knew he’d scored heavy. “Except for Lynch. He stopped Jimmy from blackmailing him.”

  “And Mr. Clay Adams,” Styles added, “with whom you spent the night. He got you. And now he’s using this cock-eyed story to put pressure on Mr. Lynch so he can take over his land development project.” Styles pressed his palms together and tapped his fingertips against his lips as he watched me. “Mr. Adams is a man who plays rough. Everything you said about Mr. Lynch’s financial situation says Mr. Adams stands to benefit from the bankruptcy of Gridiron Developments.”

  “And Andy? You think he killed Andy?” I croaked. “Or do you think I killed Andy? Why?”

  “You’re the one who took Mr. Crown to that motel, the one who kept him there. You obviously had a reason to do so.”

  “I was working when Andy died.” I was trying to break free of the web he wove around me. “Lots of witnesses.”

  “You have another friend, Mr. Peter Bryant. He’s at the bar you work in every night and Mr. Bryant has lately acquired some new partners from Miami. Our little backwater is changing and Mr. Bryant’s new partners are introducing a different element to the Kit Kat Klub. Personally, I think Mr. Bryant is a small-time hustler who is in way over his head. He’s sailed close to the wind before but now he has lost control to his partners. But it gives Mr. Bryant access to a whole new set of muscles. Mr. Crown was tucked up nice and secure at Mr. Bryant’s motel. His killer knew where to find him. Perhaps there was something you wanted out of Mr. Crown or maybe you wanted to make this story of yours believable; either way, his death muddies the water. I think you excel at spreading confusion.”

  “And my mother’s trailer?”

  “Your mother doesn’t think torching her trailer had anything to do with you.” I threw my hands in the air and got to my feet. “Well, I’m so glad you have it all worked out. There’s only one thing. If you’re wrong, someone is still out there trying to kill me.”

  Chapter 50

  By seven o’clock that night I was in Clay’s bed, sound asleep. But when exhaustion wore off I woke to stare into the dark for hours, all of my thoughts waking nightmares. Alone, on the dark side of midnight, there are no good thoughts.

  I slipped from Clay’s bed and walked barefoot through the intimidatingly beautiful apartment to the balcony, the only place I felt comfortable in Clay’s home, and sat in the dark looking out to the gulf.

  When would Styles come for me? In a few hours or a few days? Soon. Freedom was flying away from me. And how many of my friends would I take down with me?

  I watched the twinkling lights off to the north on Shark Point as I searched the starless ebony night for answers, for a way out of the net winding tighter and tighter around me. Everything I knew to be true had been twisted and warped, and evil crouched in the shadows, waiting to consume me.

  Was Clay involved? It was the question that stole my sleep. Trust didn’t come easy to me, and Styles had made huge holes in what had been built slowly between me and Clay. I told myself none of Styles’ theories could be real, but doubts, once in your head, are hard to erase. And would Clay find it any easier to trust me unconditionally when Styles messed with his brain?

  And now I knew about the source of the deep worry lines that had been etched on Peter’s face over the last months. He was living in his own hell. Night after night, I’d put his drink beside the twenty he laid on the bar. I wouldn’t remove the bill until he drank it up or stood to go home. Most nights he laid another twenty down beside it.

  Jimmy’s idea about disappearing south into the islands teased and tempted me. Without money could I make it happen? Running, leaving my family and friends behind to deal with the fallout seemed cowardly but if they were all called into court to testify, to have every piece of their lives cut open, dissected and laid bare for anyone to pick through, was that any better? The big question was who would come looking for me and how hard would they search? I needed to move. I left the condo.

  The sun, creeping over the edge of the world, turned the shallow water near the shore a bright pink. The dawn beach was empty except for the tiny birds, legs scissoring frantically, that ran forwards and backwards at the edge of the water searching for food—a life and death struggle, hour after hour, of retreat and charge.

  I had been on my own for almost a year, but I hadn’t really gotten on with my life. I’d just drifted in some sort of limbo, and twice, out of loneliness or lust, I’d fallen back into Jimmy’s arms. No wonder Jimmy had a hard time believing I was really gone. But now, dead or fled, Jimmy was out of my life and all the wasted emotion was swept away like smoke from my cigarette.

  Watching the shorebirds, I realized that all life was pretty much the same. We’re caught in the currents that take us where they will—if you try to stand still, a wave of change will sweep over you and drive you forwards or backwards. Either way, it will move you. The only way to keep your balance and gain a little bit of control is to keep moving, pick a target and pull towards it with all your might. But even when you gain your goal, it quickly moves away from you and you need a new sighting, a new star to make for. It was time for me to find my own star and pull towards it.

  Could I trust Clay? While I was in his arms I could believe, but I’d lost all confidence in my own judgment—except for the strong conviction that no matter what the truth turned out to be, Clay was not a murderer. I turned around to walk back up the beach to the condo. Fifty yards ahead of me Clay stood watching me. I walked towards him.

  Chapter 51

  The chances of collecting on Jimmy’s insurance were looking slim at best so I had to go to work. When you’re as insolvent as I am there isn’t much choice. Besides, if I was honest, it was the place I most wanted to be. Clay came with me.

  About five o’clock, Cordelia came into the Sunset, this time with boldness and a new air of defiance. It was as if everything had just loosened up inside her like the elastic on pantyhose left in a drawer too long.

  “Fancy meeting you in a joint like this,” I said. “What are you drinking?”

  “How about a margarita? You always say they help you see the world from a new angle.” She stood on tiptoe to slide up on the stool.

  “Yes, I know I’ve preached that in the past, but do you really want to see the world from toilet-bowl level?”

  “Let’s risk it.”

  “And so?” I asked, as I positioned the coaster in front of her and set the salted glass on it.

  “Noble is at home with the kids. I had to get out. I can hardly stand to be around him.”

  “Understandable.”

  “I’ve started doing the strangest things.” Her tongue flicked at the salted rim. “Today I was going to dust his stupid basketball trophies. Instead I put them in a trash bag and I took them outside and smashed them. Very liberating.” “Well, it’s better then smashing Noble.”

  “Oh, I’ve thought about that too.”

  “But are you making plans to do it?”<
br />
  “Not yet. But I’m keeping that option open.” I’d make sure she stayed away from Brian and his stories. “Have you got any other plans?”

  “No. I’m just going through one day at a time.” She sipped her drink. “Delicious! Why haven’t I tried these before? I think I could get addicted to these.” “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  Peter sidled down the bar and set to work. He always moved in on any female within sniffing range and Cordelia was well within range. I saw the pink spread up her cheeks and blessed him. It probably had been a long time since she’d thought of herself as an attractive female. Before long Peter motioned for another round.

  “Not only hanging out in a bar but chatting up men—your reputation will suffer,” I warned her, setting down their drinks. She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “It will make lovely gossip, won’t it?” She canted her head to the side. “Which will get more attention, a minister’s wife in a bar or a gay minister?”

  “I don’t know. This story just has so much going for it.”

  “My life has turned into tabloid material.”

  “We must compare notes but I may not have too much time. I could get arrested at any second for two murders. You might not want to be seen with me,” I warned.

  She smiled and her delicate features suddenly lifted and she looked more alive and animated than I’d ever seen her. She lifted her glass to me. “Let’s swear to stick together. No one else will ever believe it.”

  “Sherri,” Jeff called and held up the telephone receiver.

  “Oh Sherri, I forgot to tell you there was another call for you. Well, several actually, a man wanting to talk to you. He asked if I knew where to find you but he didn’t leave a name.”

  I had a pretty good idea who it was . . . the guy with the gas can, wanting a second date. Who says men never call the next day?

  I held the phone away from me, cautious and leery, “Hello?”

  It was Andy’s mom. “I just wanted to tell you Andy’s funeral is tomorrow.”

  Marley came in, digging for details. “I expected you,” she said, really curious about where I’d spent the previous night but she’d have to wait for that information.

  “I went to see Bernice,” I told her instead.

  “What?” My story totally distracted from the trail she was sniffing along.

  “It was a crazy thing to do. I bet she’s torn every inch of that house apart.” I pointed a finger at Marley. “Think before you leap, girl. This just shows what acting without thinking can do. We’ll probably hear tomorrow that there’s nothing left of the Travis home but rubble.”

  “Good,” Marley said. She looked real sweet but it was a lie. Tony Rollins slid onto the stool next to her. He gave us his “Can you believe how hot I am?” smirk and asked, “Who’s your friend, Sherri?”

  Well, he deserved everything he got. I introduced them and added, “Tony is the pro out at Windimere I told you about, Marley.”

  “Oh really?” Marley said.

  Come to Jesus, boy, you’re about to be done over, but not until he bought her at least two more Corona and limes.

  Someone must have called a reunion ’cause Lara Zampa took a stool near the door. There were tables open but they were served by wait staff. I was figuring that the only way she could talk to me was by sitting at the bar. I put her out of her misery and went down and took her order for a Perrier.

  She didn’t look good. Her eyes had black circles like bruises under them. Her hair was unwashed and barely combed. She wore no makeup. “Have you heard from Jimmy?” she asked.

  Oh shit. “We’re not going to be hearing from him.”

  Her eyes did a shift that told me she knew what was coming. “Jimmy is dead,” I told her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Her lips pursed against the pain.

  “Hey, I’m sorry.”

  She nodded and opened her eyes. “John said Jimmy was dead. He seemed sure of it.”

  “Maybe Dr. Zampa just wanted it to be true ’cause he wants you back. That’s all.”

  “Yeah?” She stared at the bubbles in her glass. “But what if he was the one who killed Jimmy? I can’t stand not knowing.”

  “He didn’t do it. I’m sure of it.” Her eyes said she wasn’t believing me.

  I tried again. “Truly, Dr. Zampa had nothing to do with Jimmy’s death.”

  She gave me a weak little smile. I’d tried. I went back to work. The next time I checked on her, Dr. Zampa was sitting down beside her.

  “Oh, mother, this is going to be a long night.” I headed down the bar to deal with the coming disaster.

  I arrived as she snarled “What are you doing here?” at him. Softly, as if she’d shatter if he spoke too loudly, he said, “I saw your car.”

  “You followed me, you mean. Go away.” She turned away from him and he flinched in pain. I put a coaster down in front of him.

  “Bring me a Jack Daniels,” he ordered. His eyes never left his wife.

  The Sunset is generally a mellow sort of place with only soft music, the clink of glasses and the sound of light laughter to disturb the calm surface. Not that night. The bar was packed. Crowds take on moods and this one’s state of mind wasn’t good. Voices were raised at a table. Bodies moved restlessly around it until the atmosphere settled and then loud laughter erupted across the room where a chair was overturned as someone left abruptly. The air was charged with energy as if an electrical storm was about to crack open the room. Every conversation bristled with emotion and everyone was hanging in as if they were expecting something big to happen. Waiting and drinking hard.

  Tony Rollins, his face beet red, as if he’d been holding his breath way too long, got up from his seat and moved further down the mahogany. Marley gave me a sunny smile and went to join Peter and Cordelia.

  As I passed a fresh drink to Tony Rollins I asked, “So when did Jimmy fire you?”

  His eyes opened in surprise but he answered my question. “He told me the day he died that I was gone. He said he was buying into the club and he didn’t want trash like me around his golf club.” He was astounded. He really didn’t get what Jimmy was objecting to.

  Styles came in. A path cleared around him as he walked to the bar. Even drunks have a sense of self-preservation. “Are you working or is this a social call?” I asked.

  “Bring me a club soda,” he said.

  “Ah, the wicked aren’t resting.”

  “What time do you get off?” he asked when I set down his glass.

  “Are you asking me for a date?”

  “Not likely.”

  “Too bad ’cause I bet I could put some color in your cheeks.” Maybe I was as crazy as everyone else in the room tonight.

  “What time?”

  I watched him drain his glass and leave. I went down the bar to Marley and told her, “All I need to make this fine evening complete is Bernice.” I turned a nervous eye to the door. “If that bitch comes in I’m going to faint dead away. A girl can only take so much.”

  “Nah, don’t worry. She’s probably still home destroying property. It’ll be days before she figures out what you did to her.”

  I beamed at her in delight.

  But it was Eddy who came in right after this, who really put a smile on my face, his own look of delight saying good news before he opened his mouth. “We’ve got your license plate.” He slid a piece of paper across the mahogany bar towards me. “That’s his name and his address. His name is Gregg Ganoff. One of the guys followed him home. Another driver knew him. Ganoff’s wife teaches his kid over on the mainland. Hope you get your money back.”

  Chapter 52

  “Ganoff, Gregg Ganoff,” I told the amigos.

  “Yeah, but who is he?” Brian asked.

  They all got on their cell phones and started making calls to find out what they could about Ganoff.

  Brian was the first with information. “He works for Hayward Lynch.”

  “So it’s all true?” Why was I surp
rised? My hard surface cracked.

  “Hey come on,” Brian pleaded softly.

  “Can I get a little service down here?” a guy called down the bar.

  “Hold your fucking horses,” Brian roared. The bar went silent.

  I’d have been less shocked to hear Noble swear from the pulpit. I gulped down a laugh. “No more language like that Mr. Spears or I may have to ban you.”

  The big guy was frowning along the bar at Brian, trying to decide if he wanted to make something of it. I sauntered down.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” I told him.

  “Not only is he a lawyer but he’s a personal friend of the chief of police.”

  I gave him my sunniest smile.

  “Now how about a drink on the house?”

  When I came back, my amigos were in a heated discussion of what to do “Call that cop . . . what’s his name?” Brian asked.

  “Styles,” Peter told him, “His name is Styles.”

  “Yeah, Styles. Call him,” Brian ordered.

  Clay was turning his mug of beer around and around. “Well?” I asked him.

  “Sure, call him.” His eyes flicked up and then back to his glass. There was only an inch left in the bottom so I couldn’t see what he was finding so interesting. “But?” I urged him on.

  He shrugged. “Without proof we go nowhere. Maybe the police will get lucky.”

  I watched his face closely and asked, “What are you thinking?”

  “Lynch doesn’t know he got your only copy. Maybe we should run Jimmy’s scam and see what happens.”