by H. H. Fowler
One of the men smirked at Gregory’s silly suggestion. They were dealing with it. Ms. V was a very astute woman who knew how to cover her tracks. The police would never discover the truth about what happened to the limo they’d used to get rid of Jorge. So it wouldn’t have mattered if Asia saw the license plate number or not. But the man enjoyed seeing Gregory sweat under pressure. He asked innocently, “What do you mean get rid of it? That’s a seventy-thousand-dollar car.”
“Well, park the bloody thing somewhere else! Asia has seen you chase Jorge off the property with guns. She could assume you all are capable of murder.”
“Like we said, we had nothing to do with it.”
“My suspicion is not leading me wrong,” Gregory said strongly. “I didn’t authorize the hit on that young man’s life. So it had to have been Viola. Did she give you instructions behind my back?”
“How would Ms. V even know that you are having relationship issues with your daughter?”
Because I complain to her about everything, you idiot, Gregory thought bitterly, but instead, he muttered, “What doesn’t Viola know? You had better clean up this mess, because Asia firmly believes that I had something to do with Jorge’s murder. I refuse to be caught between a rock and a hard place with my daughter.” He suddenly leaned forward and pinned the men with a penetrating gaze. “What about that shooting at my wife’s gallery? Tell me what you know of it.”
“Nothing.”
“Come on. Viola uses you guys to do most of her dirty work.”
One of the men sat forward and appeared as if he had a genuine look of shock on his face. “Sir, do you really believe we would hurt Mrs. Beaufort? We were assigned to protect you and your family –”
Gregory slammed his hand on the oak desk. “Oh cut the bull! You men cause nothing but trouble for me and my family! I don’t trust you!”
“Then, who else is there to trust outside of the organization?”
There’s was a quiet tap on the door that caused Gregory to pause in his rant. Miss Rose stuck her head in at Gregory’s brusque invitation.
“Mr. Beaufort, didn’t mean to disturb you…two detectives are in the livin’ room waitin’ for you.”
Gregory sat up erect, his expression filled with annoyance. “Why have you let them into the house, Rose? What’s the matter with you?”
“You are good friends with Mr. Shelby,” Miss Rose simply said. “I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
Gregory waved Miss Rose away and then stood to his feet. He glared at the men and was sickened by their lackadaisical attitude. “This meeting is adjourned for now, but we will continue this as soon as I’m done talking to the detectives.”
****
Five minutes into the conversation and Gregory realized the detectives had subtly selected him as a ‘person of interest’ in the death of Chazz Brunswick. He stared at the woman who was sitting next to Richard. She was both beautiful and fierce-looking. Under different circumstances, he would have probably given the woman an audible comment. However, Gregory’s equilibrium had been ruffled by Richard’s last question.
“Mr. Beaufort, you mentioned that you’d met Chazz Brunswick before he was murdered last week. Is that correct?” Karissa asked.
“Yes. I had hired him as my gardener.”
“Was he employed up to the time of his death?”
“No…I didn’t need him anymore.”
“How long had that been?”
Gregory paused to determine if he should continue with the truth or begin to fabricate at this point. If he told the detectives that it had been three years since he’d fired Chazz, it would certainly push their suspicion through the roof. All it took was just one pertinent piece of information to unravel the mystery behind Chazz’s death. The detectives didn’t have nearly as much to lose as he did. He focused his gaze on Richard. He didn’t seem like the cheerful man with whom he’d spent countless numbers of hours playing dominoes. Instead, his lips were pulled into a grim, tight line. He had not even indulged in any form of pleasantries, but got right to the meat of the matter.
“Are these questions off the record?” Gregory asked.
“Sure,” Richard smiled, taking his pen away from his writing pad.
In spite of Richard’s actions, Gregory didn’t believe him, so he proceeded with caution. “I hadn’t seen Chazz for three years,” he told the detectives. “I thought he’d left the island – at least, that was the last I’d heard.”
Karissa leaned forward. “And then he ‘suddenly’ shows up after three years at your wife’s art gallery?”
“Yes...I was surprised to find out that piece of information.”
“Mr. Beaufort, I think we are missing something here,” Karissa said, turning to Richard for approval to continue her line of questioning. His nod was subtle, but encouraging. “What was Chazz doing at the art gallery with your wife?”
“Now that, I can’t answer for you, detectives,” Gregory said.
He was half-telling the truth. He had hired Chazz to seduce his wife so that he could have an excuse to be with Viola, but he hadn’t any idea what he was doing at Dana’s place that day. Three years ago when he’d caught Chazz in bed with Dana (as per his and Chazz’s arrangement), he threatened the young man and sent him on his way with a wire transfer of five thousand dollars. Even though Chazz had been ‘inducted’ into the secret organization and had worked regular gigs, Gregory did not hear from Chazz ever again. But Gregory was not about to explain any of this to the detectives.
“And you’re confirming that you know nothing of the murder of Jorge Bentley?” Richard tossed in suddenly, as he’d done earlier. During an interrogation, he discovered that asking the same question at different times could generate different responses. “Your daughter believes you had something to do with it. As a matter of fact, she said she saw Jorge coming from the direction of this property. She also saw a black limo speeding away from the scene of the crime. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe your men drive a black limo.”
“And so do a dozen other chauffeurs on this island,” Gregory replied, basically repeating the same words his men had told him. “Come on, Richard. You know me better than that. I’ve always been upfront with my reservations about Jorge Bentley, but I did not lay one finger on the young man. I’ve given you my alibi.”
“And you hadn’t anything to do with the murder of Chazz Brunswick?”
“What would be my motive?” Gregory spat. “I feel as if I’m a scratched record, repeating myself over and over again. I can’t tell you why Chazz met with my wife that day, but I knew nothing of it until I got a call from the hospital saying she had been shot. You want an alibi for that too? Because I have no problem establishing where I was and what I was doing when I got that call.”
“Please, we would like to hear it,” Karissa pushed.
“I was having a meeting with Izaiah Cahoon on my veranda.”
“And who is he?”
“He’s the youth minister I recently hired for the church.” Gregory stood, signaling the interrogation was over. “Look, I think I’ve said more than enough and I’ve been more than helpful. I hope I won’t have to call my lawyer.”
The detectives stood, too. Karissa was ecstatic over the way the interrogation turned out. In her book, the great bishop of St. Donovan’s Chapel was hiding something. Why else would he need a lawyer? Richard, on the other hand, was torn. He wanted to believe in his friend’s innocence, but the detective in him wouldn’t allow him to scratch Gregory off his list of suspects. The same for Anwar Daxon. They needed to sharpen their focus on his ‘sudden’ disappearance, which Richard believed may have been contrived anyway.
As for the incident involving Chazz Brunswick, Richard didn’t know what to think, because his instincts told him that Mrs. Beaufort had been carrying on an affair with a much younger man and was trying to hide it from her husband. Did Gregory find out about it and was he just acting as if he didn’t know? That was one question h
e needed answered. Certainly that could be a motive for murder. Richard was not excited about where this investigation could lead. Gregory was a very influential man in Bliss Haven and he would hate to see him charged for such a despicable crime.
On the surface, it appeared as if they were dealing with two separate cases, but experience taught Richard that it was possible that a missing link could connect the two cases as one. Hopefully that missing link would be Anwar Daxon.
“You owe me a rematch,” Richard told Gregory, as he followed Karissa into the foyer.
“I had always thought that we were even.” Gregory forced a smile and hoped his subliminal message would escape Karissa. Richard was talking about dominoes, but Gregory was talking about friends having each other’s back. “See you around, Richard. Hopefully not under these circumstances.”
The detectives rushed out through the front door, passing Izaiah on the way. They hadn’t any clue that he was the youth minister who Gregory had been referring to. Richard headed directly to the unmarked police car, but Karissa made a quick diversion to the black limo that was parked outside the Beauforts’ gate. She took out a writing pad and scribbled down the license plate number. She then climbed into the driver’s seat and flashed Richard a smile.
“Pertinent piece of information, don’t you think?”
“We don’t have anything to compare it to,” Richard replied.
“Just in case we need it, big guy. You never know what we might stumble onto.”
There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable
- Mark Twain
Chapter Ten
Anwar’s eyes fluttered open to the sound of Ms. V’s voice. She was not talking to him, but seemed to be several feet away, making some sort of perverse racket. He shifted his head on the pillow until his eyes found her. There she was, on her back with a young muscular man on top of her. The Adonis-looking kid with marine-blue eyes didn’t appear to be a day over twenty years old. It took a few seconds for Anwar to rally to his senses and realize that Ms. V was brazenly making out with this dude in front of him. To say that he was stunned would be a terrible understatement. He was completely blown away. Didn’t the woman have any decorum left?
Anwar eased up on his elbows, but not without experiencing a sharp pain in his head. He staggered back onto the pillow and groaned. A slew of questions immediately bombarded his mind: Why does my head feel as if it were about to explode? What happened to me? Where am I and what am I doing lying down in a bed, waking up to this sordid scene? But Anwar couldn’t think straight with Ms. V howling as if she was being mauled by a beast.
“The organization welcomes you,” Anwar heard Ms. V moan in a voice filled with desire. “Our clients will be pleased with your performance.”
Organization? Suddenly, Anwar’s memories received an electrifying jolt. Mustafa! In fear, he began to examine his body to make sure he hadn’t been vituperated by that revolting excuse of a man. The last thing he remembered was running toward a brick wall and had no recollection of what happened afterwards. He felt his forehead, his fingers connecting with a significant bump. He winced in pain as he turned his attention back to Ms. V and her boy toy.
In a matter of minutes, Ms. V was on her feet, shaking the young man’s hand like a business acquaintance. Her lips seemed to always be red and shiny.
“Good job,” she told him. “You will be highly recommended. We accept nothing but the best and this evening you have shown me what you are good for.”
The young man grinned devilishly. “Anytime. I’m glad I could be of service.”
Ms. V smirked. “There won’t be a next time, my young stallion. My schedule is too busy. Do you know how many of you I see within a week? Too many! Get dressed and meet me in the foyer for your paycheck.”
“Wow!” the young man exclaimed. “If I’d known things would be this sweet, I would have signed up earlier.”
“Things could remain as they are, but only if you stick to the organization’s rules,” Ms. V reminded. “I hope we are on the same page.”
“Oh, yes ma’am. I have no intentions of doing anything stupid. Getting paid to get laid…wow…this is the best job ever!”
Anwar scoffed silently. If that idiot only knew that he was just a pawn in Ms. V’s game, he wouldn’t be so chipper. Just wait until your gigs turn out to be fat, disgusting men from Saudi Arabia…you will be dodging like hell, trying to save your manhood. Anwar watched as Ms. V got dressed in a grey business-like suit, temporarily shedding her sluttish behavior in an attempt to appear professional. She pulled it off with ease, as she slipped her feet into four-inch black heels and then swayed stylishly out of the room.
Anwar tried sitting up again, despite his throbbing headache. Being in such a predicament caused his mind to move to Jorge and the many arguments they’d had about Anwar’s unorthodox quest for fortune. They grew up in St. Elmo’s Valley on hot tea and baked bread, but their impoverished background was about the only thing that really connected them. They clashed all the time because the life Jorge wanted Anwar to lead wasn’t what Anwar had in mind. Anwar wasn’t a ‘by-the-book’ type of fellow, which infuriated Jorge to the bitter end. He hadn’t seen or heard from Jorge in days and maybe that was for their good. They needed the break from each other, anyway.
However, Anwar could not afford to focus on Jorge and his woebegone advice. He needed to find his way home before his parents died of anxiety, because something told Anwar that he’d been locked up in Ms. V’s suite longer than he should have been. He staggered to his feet and quietly dragged his steps out of Ms. V’s bedroom. He was relieved to finally be out of the perfume-soaked sheets.
For a split second his mind shifted to Dallis Beaufort – the daughter of the man who had introduced Anwar to Ms. V and a gamut of other perversions. Dallis seemed to care about him. A nice Christian girl with a heart of gold. But his thoughts of her soon turned to regret, being sharply reminded of the way he’d treated her. Ever since he’d started indulging in the organization’s platters of pleasures, he had told her one lie after the other. Anwar knew any chance with Dallis would be next to impossible if she found out about his secret activities.
Life with Dallis meant a life of integrity. She was too principled to marry a boy like him. The thought made Anwar shudder as he held on to the wall for support. Jorge and Dallis were so similar in their morals that Anwar often wondered why Jorge hadn’t hooked up with Dallis instead of the gutsy Asia.
“…you love dropping in unannounced, don’t you?”
Anwar froze where he was when he heard Ms. V’s voice. She sounded upset, but Anwar could tell that there was still a measure of seduction in her voice. Anwar feared that Mustafa had returned, but the man walking ahead of Ms. V in a navy blue double-breasted suit looked nothing like Mustafa. Anwar suddenly felt a surge of anger when he recognized the man to be Bishop Gregory Beaufort – his smooth-talking recruiter. Gregory didn’t tell him that he would be forced to do things that he didn’t want to do.
“Viola, I need answers right this minute,” Gregory huffed. “Because there are a lot of things going on that I don’t know anything about. Am I still considered to be operating from a higher dimension than the others?”
Ms. V wiggled her brows playfully at Gregory and smiled. “Calm down, darling. How many times have I told you to keep your emotions in check? Besides, I haven’t changed. You have.” She walked away from him, intentionally keeping her curvy hips in clear view. Gregory enjoyed caressing them as much as he enjoyed staring at them. “Now…tell me what’s been eating at you?”
Gregory’s jaws tightened. “Viola, two detectives were at my house this afternoon, asking questions about this situation with Chazz and my wife. They even tossed in a few innuendoes about Jorge.”
“So?”
“I don’t need you to be cavalier about this,” Gregory said. “Two persons are dead and it seems as if every arrow is pointing back to me. Did you order the hit on Jorge’s lif
e?”
“Should I know someone by that name?”
“Come on, Viola, don’t play dumb,” Gregory spat. “I’ve complained to you many times about the boy Asia had been seeing. I can’t stand my daughter hating me because she thinks I’m a murderer.”
Anwar nearly had an aneurysm when he heard what Gregory had said to Ms. V. They had to be talking about his friend, Jorge. That knucklehead had been risking his life, trying to date Gregory’s daughter. Now, it seemed as if something terrible had happened to him. Anwar pulled in deeper behind the wall and tried not to react in a way that would draw attention to himself. But at the moment, it felt as if his heart would slam out of his chest.
Ms. V turned to face Gregory with that crazy smile still attached to her face. “Well, darling. Maybe I did; maybe I didn’t. But does it really matter? Aren’t you relieved, now that your daughter won’t have to settle for a stray dog – I mean an impoverished immigrant? I care about you, Gregory.”
Gregory scoffed. “You care about me? I don’t believe you do, Viola – not when you almost killed my wife. Did you instruct my men to go after Chazz, like you did with Jorge?”
“And what if I did? Are you still going on with that old news?”
“My wife is not old news! What is the matter with you?”
Viola exploded. “You hired a bloody kid to seduce your wife and you have the nerve to be curt with me? You should have directed that question at yourself!”
“How could you use the men that were paid to protect me and my family to shoot up my wife’s place?”
“Man up, Gregory and stop running to me about your problems like a blithering sissy! If you’d had the guts to take care of that little prick before he’d wedged himself into your daughter’s life, we wouldn’t be having this pathetic conversation. I guess you will need me to bail you out of the hands of the police, too. It’s only a matter of time before they find out that Chazz had an affair with your wife and then –”
