Libi stopped walking. “Go back there to the Channel Eight truck and wait for me.”
“Okey-doke.”
As Pettigrew turned toward the street, Carlos said, “I wouldn’t get involved with a man like that.”
“Well, Carlos, that’s why God made you a cameraman and me a reporter.” She headed again toward the lights, double time.
He caught up and asked, “Why do you want something on C.J. Dunn?”
Libi was smiling. “Did you know that C.J. Dunn is up for a job on CNN? Hosting a show on homicide by the rich and famous. She’s too aloof for that gig. People don’t like that. And I’m younger and hotter, anyway.”
“It doesn’t sound like an entertainment show,” Carlos said.
“Of course it is. It’s all entertainment. Even this.” The glare of the lights cut across her face. She clamped her microphone and reporter pad under her arm long enough to take a compact out of her jacket pocket and check her lipstick. “Okay, let’s do it. Get the police activity first, then swing over to me. Wait. I want to stand so my hair isn’t against the sky. Let’s have some backlighting. How’s this?”
“Good.” As Carlos panned over the scene, Libi pushed her hair behind her ears and straightened her collar, opening her shirt to show some chest. He turned on his camera light and put her in the right side of the frame.
Her image said, “I can guess what Nash Pettigrew will tell me. Want to hear it?”
“Sure.”
“Congressman Paul Shelby is the one who hired C.J. Dunn. Why else would he blow off my request for an interview? I happen to know that homicide detectives have been questioning his chauffeur. I can’t remember his name, but I wrote it down. Don’t you think that’s interesting, Carlos?”
“Not really. They’re questioning a lot of people.”
Libi said, “A mere chauffeur wouldn’t be able to pay her exorbitant fees, but Shelby would. I saw her with Shelby tonight. They went outside to talk. I’ll bet it was about this case.”
The viewfinder framed the circle of lights blazing on the beach, the yellow crime-scene tape, and two men approaching with a stretcher. Carlos said, “They’re going to take the body away.”
Libi looked around. “We got here just in time. Are you taping it? I want that.”
They carried a stretcher with metal rails and a heavy black bag in the center, neatly folded. Someone ought to be calling the family, maybe bring a priest to the house.
“Carlos!” Libi looked into the lens. “I’m going to give you a couple of openings. They can use whichever fits. Ready?” She had a slight frown on her face, which was appropriate, he guessed, for a pickup of a death scene by the major networks. “This is Libi Rodriguez for CNN, reporting from Fort Lauderdale Beach.” She paused, then said, “This is Libi Rodriguez for Channel Eight News.”
Gesturing toward the activity behind her, she went on, “Speculation over the disappearance a week ago of a beautiful young Miami woman, a model and budding actress, seems to have ended tonight when an Ohio couple, taking a romantic walk on the beach, stumbled upon a grisly sight.”
For the small thrill it gave him, Carlos let his finger touch the button that would turn off the sound. He wondered how soon he could get to his phone to call Rick Slater.
chapter EIGHTEEN
in her bedroom, C.J. turned on the television and scrolled through the local channels for the gruesome scenes of a body washing ashore. Or worse: parts of a body. She saw game shows and sitcoms. She hit the mute button and left the picture on. One of the stations, probably all of them, would break in at the top of the hour.
What chilled her to the core was the thought that the girl on the beach wasn’t Alana Martin at all, but Kylie Willis. Highly improbable, but all the same she felt anxious, and the muscles of her chest quivered when she took a deep breath.
“What an idiot you are,” she told an absent Kylie as she flung her dress over a chair and jerked open drawers for shorts and a sleeveless top. “Friends like that. Alana and her bunch. Sex, fake ID’s, drugs, alcohol. The road to ruin, my little darling.” C.J. slid the top over her head and shook her hair free. Tomorrow, she decided, she would call Fran and admit that Kylie had run away. “I hope you have some magic formula for getting her home, because I sure as hell don’t.”
Then guilt settled down on her, heavy and gray, and she heard a woman’s voice. You’ve been a disappointment to me from the day you were born. C.J. slammed the drawer shut with her knee. She hadn’t spoken to her mother for ten years, and a hundred wouldn’t be long enough.
When C.J. turned around, she saw Taffy on her bed, licking his paws. He had limped into the yard last winter, bleeding, and, nine hundred dollars later, the vet said he’d make it. Useless old cat. She walked over and scratched the pale orange fur on his belly, and he hissed at her, his love song.
Her cell phone chimed, and she dug it out of her purse and saw Billy’s name on the screen. She let it ring twice more before she answered it. “Hey, sailor. Where are you? Still at Monty’s?” There were noises in the background, conversation, a laugh.
“Great dinner,” he said. “Sorry you missed it. We’re about to get back on the boat. Dennis Murphy just called. He said you and Slater were at my house wandering around the backyard. How did you hook up with him again? And what, may I ask, were you doing?”
“Picking up my car, and then I wanted to look at the place where my client was supposedly seen with Alana Martin. Dennis pointed your shotgun at us. Did he tell you that?”
“Did he? I’m sorry. He thought you were burglars. He was cleaning out the garage. He should’ve left already. He said you and Slater were pretty chummy. What’s going on?”
“Nothing is going on. Mr. Slater is my client. Are you jealous, Billy?”
“Not of him, unless your standards have slipped. But you’d like me to be jealous, wouldn’t you?”
“You sound a little drunk,” she said.
“I am, a little. C.J., don’t be mean. Come over tonight. I miss you. My friends are tedious, you are absolutely right, but you shouldn’t have walked out on me. It was hell to explain.”
She sat on the edge of her bed and petted the cat. Taffy grabbed her hand and gummed her fingers. He was nearly toothless. “Have you heard the news? A body washed ashore on Fort Lauderdale Beach. They think it’s Alana Martin.”
“What did you say? A body?”
“Pieces of a body, to be exact. I don’t have any details. I thought you might have heard—”
“Coño carajo. We’ve been sitting here having dinner. I haven’t heard a thing. Pieces of her body?”
“She might have been dismembered, or the body could have come apart.”
“Ugh,” said Billy.
“The medical examiner will be able to say which, but either way, it’s terrible. Her family will be devastated.”
“Christ, let’s not talk about this. Will I see you later?”
C.J. played with Taffy’s torn ear. A woman and her cats. Something sad about it, but not sad enough to send her running to Billy. Not tonight. If she went over there tonight, there was every chance of waking up with a hangover.
“Thanks for the invitation, but I need to look halfway rested this weekend. Donald Finch’s sister is in town. I might be seeing her if she has time. The producer at CNN. Remember?”
“Sure. A job interview. You choose fame and fortune over me?”
“Alas, yes,” she said. “I also have to see Milo in the morning. I asked him to find out for me if Alana Martin was doing porn films. Milo hears everything.”
“Milo is an old lady,” Billy said.
“Do you know Jason Wright?” C.J. asked. “He’s an architect who works for Milo. Tall, blond, good-looking. Do you know who I’m talking about?”
“Jason. Sure. Why?”
“I spoke to him tonight. Supposedly he and Alana had something going. He says they’re just friends, but if you’d heard him—He really cared for her. I pressed him to tell me ab
out her, and he shut down. There are things he wanted to say, I’m sure of it. I did get this much: he has no alibi for the time Alana disappeared. He left the party in his own car. Alana’s body could have been in his trunk.”
“How convenient for you,” Billy said. “You could close your file.”
“Yes, but I’m not going to the police, not without more. You could find out for me, couldn’t you, Billy-boo? I need to know the real story with Jason and Alana. I don’t want to ask Milo.”
“No. Turn it over to the cops and let them handle it. I promised you the names of the witnesses. That’s my good deed for the day. Let’s not talk about it anymore. I think it puts you in a bad mood. Body parts washing up on shore. It’s depressing. Come see me. I’ll cheer you up.” He must have cupped his hand around his cell phone, because the background noises faded, and all she heard was the rumble of his voice, smooth as velvet.
She lay on her bed. “Persuade me.”
Billy said, “I’m sorry we argued, baby. Let me make it up to you. We’ll light some candles, get the Jacuzzi going. I’ll take a Viagra.”
She laughed. “I wasn’t kidding, I really do have to wake up early.”
“We’ll set the alarm.”
“You won’t be home for hours.”
“Meet me at the Grand Bay Hotel. I can walk there in ten minutes.”
“What about your friends?”
“Fuck ’em. The guy from the marina can take them back. Come on. Say yes. I’ll get us a suite with a bathtub for two. Bring your bubble bath.”
The word hung on her lips—yes, yes, yes. But he would open the mini-bar and make drinks for himself and have a joint in his pocket for her, being considerate of her sobriety, and he would have some cocaine delivered at two or three in the morning, and argue when she said no, and the night would be a blur of sensation and regret. But she did miss him. It was a sickness.
“C.J.? Come on, baby. You’re the only woman I want. You know it’s true.”
She finally heard the rapping noise that had danced at the edge of her awareness for the past several seconds. She sat up. “Someone’s at the back door. It’s got to be Edgar. I’ll call you right back.”
“How long is this going to take?”
“One minute.”
“Uh-huh. Are you coming or not? I need to know.”
“Maybe not. I’d better stay here tonight. If I met you—”
“All right. Suit yourself.” The phone went dead.
She stared at it. “Prick.” She dropped the phone and headed toward the door. Taffy jumped off the bed and followed her down the stairs, hissing. She turned on the light in the dining room, then the one on the screened porch, and could see Edgar through the French doors. She unlocked one and pushed it open. “Hey. I got home early. Is everything all right?”
“I guess so. I have company. That girl, the same one who came around this morning. Kylie. We’ve been working on my old photos all evening.”
C.J. stared at him, then at the cottage. “Kylie is here?”
“Yep.” Edgar spoke quietly. “Fell asleep on the couch. I heard you come in, so I thought I’d run over and ask you what to do.”
“My God. I was so worried. Why didn’t you call me?”
“You were out with that Medina fella, and I didn’t want to bother you. I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s fine. How did she get here? Was she looking for me?”
Edgar shook his large, gray head. “I don’t know how she got here. She knocked on my door and asked if I had some work for her, fifteen bucks an hour, cash. I could see something wasn’t right, but I didn’t ask questions, figured I’d wait for you. She got busy right away on my photographs. Said we ought to sort them into piles and write down who was who. I fed her some soup, and she closed her eyes, and that was that. Poor little mite.”
C.J. hurried across the porch and stepped down to the dry grass, which crackled under her sandals. The air was heavy and still, with a distant chorus of air conditioners, crickets, and a passing jet plane. She quietly opened the door of Edgar’s cottage.
Kylie lay with her head on a sofa pillow, glasses crooked, one foot on the floor, the other dangling. The coffee table was strewn with black-and-white photographs, and someone had been making a list in a spiral notebook. Creeping closer, C.J. leaned over her. Kylie was dressed exactly the same as twelve hours ago, shorts and a bright yellow T-shirt. She had the smell of someone who had been out in the heat all day.
C.J. started to touch her shoulder, but her hand stopped in midair. “I don’t know what to do.”
Edgar said, “Leave her there. I’ll get a blanket.”
She might have heard their voices. Her eyes came open. She quickly straightened her glasses and sat up. “Hi, Ms. Dunn. I came over to help your uncle with his photos.”
“That’s what he told me,” C.J. said.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Kylie said. “I have insomnia, and then it catches up with me the next day.” She looked around, then picked up her purse. “Well. I should be going.”
“Would you like to stay here? I have a spare bedroom.”
“I can catch a bus to the Beach. I have someone to stay with.”
“Who?”
Kylie shrugged. “Friends.”
Maintaining her smile, C.J. said, “But it’s nearly ten o’clock. The guest room is all made up. There are towels and a new toothbrush in the guest bath. You don’t have pajamas, do you? I can lend you something. It’s no problem.”
“Well . . . I suppose I could.”
“Wonderful. Edgar, thank you for taking care of her. Come on, Kylie.” C.J. motioned from the door.
Kylie threw her arms around Edgar’s neck, and he chuckled and patted her shoulder. “Good night, then. Sleep well. I make pretty fair pancakes. We’ll have some in the morning.”
As she followed C.J. across the yard, Kylie kept her distance. “In case you were wondering, I took Alana’s car back.”
“Oh? That’s good.”
“I’ve been thinking. You don’t have to pay my tuition. I shouldn’t have asked you in the first place. My dad says, and I agree, that it’s better not to borrow from friends or family. I have other ways to get the money.”
“Like working for Edgar?”
Kylie stood on the porch, not moving when C.J. opened the French door. “I really was helping with his pictures. I didn’t come over here to sponge money off him.”
“I know.” C.J. stood aside. This was like urging a skittish cat into the house. She guessed that Kylie had heard nothing about Alana. Edgar rarely turned on his television. Sooner or later she would have to know. In her mind, C.J. saw an image of an ocean wave falling back, revealing a body half buried in wet sand.
“Please come in. We’re letting the cool air out.” When Kylie stepped inside the dining room, C.J. closed the door and locked it. “Are you hungry?”
“Not really. No.”
“Want some hot chocolate?”
“All right.” At last a faint smile. “Thanks.” Kylie followed her around the dining table stacked with boxes and papers. “I got your messages. You said if I tell you what I know about Alana, we could work something out. That’s fine, and if you want to give me a loan, I won’t say no, but what I really want is for you to talk to my mother.”
C.J. turned on the light in the kitchen.
Kylie moved aside a box of crackers and set her purse on the counter. “My father is fine with me staying in Miami, but my mother’s the problem. I’d like for you to tell her I have a job and a place to live.”
“You want me to lie to her? I don’t know where you’re living.”
“I’ll get my own place this week. An efficiency apartment, or I might go through a roommate service, but a safe, clean neighborhood. Tell her that.”
“Do you have the money for an apartment?”
“I will have. Don’t ask me how. I’m not stealing it. I’m not doing anything illegal.”
“I�
��ll have to think about that,” C.J. said. “How will you pay for school?”
“Well, some modeling, like I mentioned before. I mean, if it works out. And there’s always waitressing. I have experience as a server. I put in three applications today.”
“And what else? School is expensive.”
“I’ll manage. Don’t worry about it. Listen, my mother was kind of upset, but I told her, I am not changing my mind. She might call you. She has the idea you’re trying to talk me into staying in Miami.”
“Hardly. You know where I stand.” C.J. took the milk out of the refrigerator, the cocoa from a cabinet.
“Does that mean you won’t help me?”
“It means we can talk about it.” She turned on the hot water to wash a mug. The orange cat walked past Kylie and hissed. C.J. said, “He won’t scratch. If he hisses, it means he likes you. His name is Taffy.”
Kylie knelt to pet the cat. “Hey, Taffy. You’re a fighter, aren’t ya? Somebody took a bite out of your ear, big boy.”
“The gray one is Dylan, and there’s a little white cat named Lady Bell, but she’s probably hiding under the sofa. Tell me about modeling. I think they want models to be at least five-eight.”
“Junior models can be shorter.”
“Do you have an agent? There are people out there who will take advantage of you.”
Kylie stroked the cat. “I know how to look out for myself.”
“If you’re under eighteen, a parent will have to sign the contract.”
“I’ll get an ID. I’ve been getting fake ID’s for years.”
“Have you now?” C.J. set the mug on the counter and dried her hands.
“I had to. My parents don’t have any money, and I needed to work. I didn’t tell them about it, of course. They’re sweet but clueless. I got my first part-time job when I was fourteen.” She stood up, shook her hair back from her face, and leaned against the counter with her arms crossed. Her collarbones were clearly marked, and faint tracings of blue showed beneath delicate skin. The overhead lights reflected in her glasses. So serious, this girl. Rarely a smile.
The Dark of Day Page 17
