Every Waking Moment

by Meryl Sawyer

  Shane had checked into Jim’s background and knew this was true. Okay, he’d had his back against the wall, but you’d think he could have found something in the accounting field.

  “Where were you tending bar?” Shane asked, as if he didn’t already know.

  “El Tambor in Calle Ocho,” Jim replied in a belligerent tone.

  “Why Little Havana? Why not one of the trendy bars in SoBe or one of the posh resorts?”

  “Tips are better in Little Havana. Cubans are much more generous than Americans.”

  Live and learn.

  Shane wasn’t positive he was buying this, but Cubans seemed to flash more cash than their American counterparts.

  “Someone’s been tampering with To The Maxx’s Web site. Your name came up.”

  “I’ll bet it did. Disgruntled former employees always come under suspicion.”

  Jim shot another glance at Lisa, who was watching them.

  “I had nothing to do with it. Why would I risk a criminal charge?”

  Shane nodded, as if he agreed, but he knew there were ways of using public computers like those at libraries to hack into a company’s Web site. All it took was a little knowledge of computers and a copy of the Hacker’s Journal.

  Or Jim could have come across the codes to the Web site when he’d been working at To The Maxx. People were notoriously sloppy about keeping secret passwords hidden. He’d heard about one case at the DIA where an employee had written the password on a Post-it and put it on the bottom of his keyboard.

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t want any more trouble.”

  “Got that right.” Jim spit out the words. “I have a good job now. I’m not going to blow it.”

  Shane knew Lisa was paying him well to help her market Midnight Lace’s products online as well as at the love boutique. Since adult sex Web sites fueled as much as eighty percent of the Internet’s business, it was a safe bet Midnight Lace’s offerings would be a hit.

  “I needed to ask,” Shane told Jim. “The family’s been having a lot of trouble lately.”

  “Jim had nothing to do with any of their problems,” insisted Lisa.

  So that’s how it is, Shane thought. He detected an utterly female note of protectiveness and something he couldn’t quite describe. But his gut instinct told him Lisa cared—okay, more than cared—about this man.

  “I don’t suppose either of you ever met Renata Rollins.” Shane knew this was a long shot—out of left field, really. What possible motive could either of them have for killing Renata?

  Lisa studied the sex basket display for a moment before saying, “We met her briefly one night at the Living Room. She was there with Trent and his lover to go dancing. Trent introduced us, we said a few words, then we left.”

  “That’s right,” Jim added just a little too quickly.

  Shane knocked on the condo door. Doyle Maxwell’s first wife, Sophie now lived on Fisher Island. The exclusive island floated like a preening swan in the waters off South Beach.

  No bridges connected the island to the mainland, so Shane had taken the ferry over. Fawning attendants had washed the salt spray off the Rolls and Jags as they drove off the ferry. Noses in the air, it had been a quick sprite for the Jeep he’d bought used.

  Sophie herself answered the door. Shane had expected a maid, considering these condos were in the two-million-and-up range. Most were occupied seasonally by wealthy Northerners who wanted to escape the cold.

  “As I told you on the telephone, I know nothing about what goes on at To The Maxx.”

  She led him to a prissy white sofa, and they sat down.

  “When I was married to Doyle, he had his own investment firm. He didn’t start to help run his brother’s company until Duncan died.”

  Shane studied the pudgy woman with hair more gray than brown. She was a stark contrast to the sexy Brianna. Unlike many women in Miami who indulged themselves with the latest fashions and kept cosmetic surgeons up to their eyeballs performing liposuctions and face-lifts, Sophie didn’t appear to care how she looked.

  Not that she could be mistaken for the homeless.

  Her clothes were expensive but frumpy, and her hair had been styled recently. She just didn’t have the air about her that said she could be bothered trying to look any better.

  A gold cross on a filigree chain hung from her neck.

  The information Shane had gathered indicated Sophie was a devout Catholic and always had been.

  “Were you very friendly with Duncan?” Shane asked.

  Sophie studied his face with solemn brown eyes. Here was a woman who thought fun was a four-letter word, he decided.

  “When Doyle and I were first married, we spent all our free time with Duncan until he married Vanessa.”

  Shane detected more than just a trace of bitterness. “What happened then?”

  “Vanessa did her best to split up the brothers. She was nothing but a redneck hick without an ounce of breeding. Ajealous, possessive woman who didn’t want her husband to spend any time with his brother.”

  “How did you two get along?”

  “She tried to ingratiate herself. My family has money, connections. I saw right through her.”

  Shane nodded. One of the first things he’d noticed about Vanessa was how impressed she was with a person’s social connections. She’d asked him about his family.

  “I’m related to Margaret Turtle on my mother’s side. My father was a Vanderbilt cousin. I belong to all the best women’s clubs.”

  “I see,” Shane replied, thinking how radically Vanessa had changed since her illness. She was openly acknowledging a stripper was her daughter.

  “Vanessa wasn’t interested in me. She wanted my friends. She’s one of those hicks obsessed with wealthy people. We see quite a few of them down here.”

  Sophie’s eyes drifted across the elegant condo that seemed to belong to another person. “There were lots of other things, too.”

  Shane waited, then prompted her. “Like?”

  “She never went to church. Duncan took Taylor and Trent to church, not Vanessa.”

  Shane listened, beginning to suspect something.

  “Several people have told me Vanessa could be an outrageous flirt. Did she ever come on to Doyle?”

  “Not exactly. Vanessa ignored my husband, made him feel like an intruder in his brother’s home. But I could tell she was more attracted to Doyle than she was Duncan.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. The woman is a hussy.”

  Hussy? He didn’t think that word had been in use since the fifties.

  “Was there ever … anything between them?”

  Sophie gave a little huff of disgust.

  “At the time, I didn’t think so, but then my husband threw me over for a lap dancer in Little Havana. Who knows what else he did?”

  Shane was on the ferry returning from Fisher Island when Vince called him on his cell phone.

  “Guess what? Raoul walked out of the rehab facility.”

  Shane wasn’t one bit surprised. Crystal meth was one of the world’s most addictive substances, worse than heroin. At least heroin addicts could be given methadone.

  The cravings for crystal meth were often too great. No matter what you had to lose, you’d take that gamble for the next fix. Evidently, the cravings had become too strong for Raoul to resist.

  “Where did he go?” Shane asked.

  “Disappeared into thin air. But he might turn up anytime.”

  Shane told him about his conversation with Sophie and with Jim Wilson. “Gut instinct here, Jim is holding back something. Why would such a qualified accountant with a degree from Wharton work as a bartender in Calle Ocho?”

  “Some illegal operation.”

  “Possibly,” Shane conceded, although he hated to think Lisa had fallen in love with the wrong man again. “They admit meeting Renata once at a club called the Living Room. Jim worked in Calle Ocho. On the afternoon of her death Renata went to a botanica in
Calle Ocho for a pin to ward off a hex.”

  “Santería is popular in Little Havana, but you don’t see it associated with bars. It may be a coincidence—not a connection.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  Chapter 20

  “How are you feeling?” Taylor asked her mother.

  “Better … I guess.”

  Taylor had swung by her mother’s house after working late, to see how the transfusion had gone. Her mother was propped up by half a dozen pillows in the family room, watching television. Seated nearby, Caleb munched on handfuls of cashews and eyed Taylor as if he expected her to pull a gun and shoot him.

  “What did the doctor say?”

  “She’ll be all right for now,” Caleb answered for her mother.

  Taylor tried not to be frustrated, hurt. Her mother seemed more interested in the television program than talking to her. She ignored Caleb and directed her question to her mother.

  “What does it mean that you’re all right for now?”

  “She’s all right until her next blood test.”

  Taylor resisted the urge to make a sarcastic remark. Caleb Bassett might have a veneer of charm—to some people—but he was truly a loathsome man. She certainly hoped he hadn’t raised Renata. The woman’s last years had been hard enough.

  Taylor could only imagine what a childhood with Caleb would have been like. Shane was scheduled to investigate the man, but with the murder, he hadn’t had the time.

  “Mother, when is your next blood workup?”

  Her mother turned her head toward Taylor. Her blue eyes were a glazed dull gray. No doubt the pain medication caused the listlessness.

  “Next Thursday.”

  A little over a week, Taylor thought as her mother turned back to the television. Taylor hated to ask the next question, but she had to know.

  “Does the doctor think he’ll have to put you on chemotherapy?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Caleb said.

  A rush of red-hot fury blurred Taylor’s vision for an instant. She clamped her mouth shut to keep from lashing out. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

  “You’d get a kick out of seeing your mother suffer, wouldn’t you?”

  Taylor jumped to her feet. “What a horrible thing to say! Just who do you think you are?”

  Caleb’s smug grin kicked her anger up another notch.

  “I don’t know. Vanessa, who am I?”

  Her mother turned to them, a puzzled expression on her face, as if their words were just registering and she was trying to sort them out. Taylor wondered if this creep was overmedicating her.

  “Caleb is … is … my friend.”

  “I’m your daughter and I love you.”

  Taylor sank onto the sofa beside her mother. So far, she hadn’t mentioned Renata’s death or blamed her for it. Caleb must have been lying when he’d told her that her mother didn’t want to see her.

  “I’m worried about your health, Mother.”

  Her mother looked at Taylor blankly for a second. “I’m worried about you, too.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “That worthless photographer isn’t the man for you.”

  Paul really had tried to please her mother, but Vanessa had been positively glacial to him. It had embarrassed and angered Taylor. She had tried to talk to her mother about her attitude. Stubborn to a fault, Vanessa had insisted Taylor could do better than Paul.

  Those arguments seemed like ancient history in light of all that had happened. Why would her mother bring up Paul? He had been gone two years, and she was with another man.

  She didn’t want to analyze how she felt about Shane. With Caleb present, now wasn’t the time to tell her mother she was seeing Shane.

  The man in her life wasn’t the issue. Her mother almost sounded as if she thought Paul was still living in Miami.

  “Mother,” Taylor began, testing, “Paul isn’t around anymore, remember?”

  “Of course I remember,” she snapped, but Taylor wondered if the drugs were playing tricks with her mind.

  Caleb downed another handful of cashews, then smiled, obviously enjoying this.

  Her mother patted her hand. “He wasn’t the man for you. Shane Donovan is your soul mate. Renata said so.”

  Renata again.

  When was the last time her mother had told her how much she loved her? Not since Renata had appeared.

  “Renata knew things. Saw things.” Caleb tapped on his temple with his index finger. “That’s why the Santería scared her. She musta’ known something terrible was going to happen to her.”

  Taylor did not want to discuss Renata. It only upset her mother and drove them further apart.

  Exactly what Caleb Bassett wanted.

  “The doctor won’t tell me how much medication my mother is supposed to be taking—or anything about her condition. I’m her daughter. I need to know if that creep is overmedicating her or something else is wrong.”

  “Telling you violates a patient’s right to privacy and could have legal ramifications.”

  Curled up on Shane’s sofa, Taylor listened to Shane and stroked Auggie’s silky head. It was comforting to have someone to talk with. She’d come home from her mother’s angry and upset, not knowing what to do.

  When she’d arrived to an empty apartment, Taylor’s first thought had been to call Lisa, but her friend wasn’t home. If she was still at Midnight Lace, she wasn’t answering the telephone.

  Taylor had reached for her laptop to work on her computer game the way she often did when she found herself home alone and edgy. It wasn’t beside her purse.

  She remembered packing it up and putting it on top of her desk. She’d been so preoccupied with her mother that she’d left the office without taking it.

  Gazing out the window, she wondered if she could get to sleep. Like a beacon, Shane’s lights had been shining across the courtyard.

  She’d rushed over and had been astounded at how glad she was to see him, to be able to talk with him. She hadn’t realized how close they’d become in such a short time.

  “The doctor explained about patients’ rights,” she told Shane. “Still, I think he should have been more concerned when I told him I suspected she was over-medicated, but he didn’t seem to care.”

  “Why don’t you ask Maria to check on the amount of medication your mother is taking?”

  “I don’t speak Spanish well enough. My mother insisted I take French—a refined language.”

  Taylor shook her head, remembering the arguments she’d had with her mother over this.

  “In Miami you need Spanish, not French.”

  “I’ll ask her for you.”

  Taylor stared at Shane for a second, surprised. “You speak Spanish?”

  “Fluently.”

  “You’re kidding!” she cried, and Auggie looked up at her, startled.

  “This is your lucky day. How can we get in touch with her without your mother or Caleb knowing?”

  “Easy. There’s a separate telephone line to the servants’ quarters.”

  “Let’s call her right now.”

  She found the number in the Palm Pilot she kept in her purse, dialed it, and handed the telephone to Shane. Taylor smiled as she listened to him speaking Spanish. There was something so reassuring about being with Shane.

  Paul hadn’t made her feel so … safe. In many ways, she’d nurtured him, encouraging his career, enduring his criticism of her family.

  She’d tried not to compare the two men, but at times like this, when she was so stressed with worry, it was difficult not to wonder what Paul would have done. Of course he would have tried to help, but Shane had the skills to get things done.

  She still loved Paul and would give anything she had or hoped to have to bring him back home. But Lisa was right. The chances of Paul being alive were slim to nonexistent.

  Life goes on.

  Sad but true, she thought as Auggie rested his head on her knee, lookin
g up at her with soulful eyes. She and Paul had been together a little less than a year. Now he’d been gone almost two years.

  He wasn’t coming back.

  Shane was here, helping her up when she needed it the most. They’d had great sex, and she’d tried to tell herself that’s all it was.

  Sex. Nothing more.

  She could handle sex. There had been men in her life before she fell in love with Paul. She was a young woman with a normal sex drive, for God’s sake.

  Taylor had assumed all Shane had wanted was sex. Wrong. He’d insisted on doing as much as he could for her by trying to solve the murder.

  And helping with her mother.

  Losing Paul was heartrending, but if her mother died believing she was a killer, Taylor knew she’d never get over it.

  Her mother wasn’t always the easiest person in the world to get along with. She could be overbearing, difficult. Pretentious.

  But she was her mother, and Taylor loved her.

  Shane hung up the telephone and broke into her thoughts, saying, “Okay, here’s the deal. When she gets a chance, Maria is going to write down the names of the medications your mother is taking, then call me here. She’ll leave a message if I’m not home.

  “Apparently, your mother has a number of prescriptions. We just want Maria to watch the painkillers. Those are the ones Caleb may be using to up the dosage.”

  “If he is, what can I do?”

  “You and your brother need to talk to your mother. I’ll take care of Caleb while you do it.”

  “Why would Caleb overmedicate my mother?”

  He grazed a fingertip upward from her knee and under her skirt.

  “Come on, Taylor. You’re smarter than that.”

  “He’s trying to get her money.”

  “Bingo.”

  He framed her face with his hands and kissed the tip of her nose. “We’ve done all we can do for tonight—for your mother. It’s time we took care of each other.”

  “I can’t.” Her voice trembled.

  “Why not?”

  His lips hovered over hers, and it was all she could do not to close the gap. “Too much is going on in my life. Things are happening too fast.”