Every Waking Moment

by Meryl Sawyer

  Shane turned to her. “They don’t like Caleb. They say he takes advantage of your mother. He snoops through her things. Slips out at night after she’s asleep and doesn’t come back until nearly dawn. He gives her pills even when she doesn’t ask for them.”

  A surge of something too bitter and painful to be mere anger swept through Taylor. The man had managed to hook up with Renata and take advantage of her. Now he was after her mother, who was in a weakened, helpless state.

  “Maria, Pablo, gracias,” she said in a strained voice. “Muchas gracias.”

  She walked toward the door, planning how she’d confront Caleb, while Shane spoke to the couple in Spanish. When Shane joined her, she explained what she wanted to say to Caleb.

  Shane guided her out the side door into the pool area, where a few guests were milling around, munching on appetizers and sipping drinks.

  “I’m not sure confronting Caleb will get you anywhere.”

  “What am I supposed to do? Sit back and let him OD my mother or bilk her out of God-only-knows-what?”

  Shane cupped her chin with his large hand and looked down at her. “Do you want to drive a bigger wedge between yourself and your mother?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I suspect Caleb is just dying for you to pounce on him. That way he can go to your mother for sympathy.”

  “You’re probably right,” she conceded. “What are we going to do?”

  “I suggested it before, and I still think it’s best if you and Trent talk to your mother. You’re her children. Tell her your concerns. I’ll keep Caleb out of the way.”

  “All right,” Taylor agreed, although she had serious reservations about this working. Not only was her mother cool to her, but the last time she’d been with Trent, they’d disagreed. How much could she count on her brother?

  “Taylor, Shane, there you are.” Lisa walked toward them, her arm through Jim Wilson’s.

  “Thanks for coming,” Taylor said with as much sincerity as she could muster. As with her brother, her last words with Lisa hadn’t been pleasant.

  “That was some funeral, even for Miami,” Jim said.

  The pressure of Shane’s hand on the back of her waist kept Taylor from making a sarcastic remark. This accountant, who looked more like a surfer, had no right to criticize her mother.

  “You know Vanessa,” Lisa said. “She knows how to do things to perfection.”

  Personally, Taylor had thought this was over the top, even by her mother’s standards. But she wouldn’t admit it to anyone except Shane.

  “Taylor, why aren’t you inside?” It was Aunt Sophie.

  “Hello, Aunt Sophie. You remember Lisa? And Shane Donovan?” Taylor turned to Jim. “This is Jim Wilson.”

  Aunt Sophie acknowledged each of them with a short jerk of her chin. “You should be inside with your mother. That odious man is with her. It’s your place to be at her side, not his.”

  Before Taylor could respond, Aunt Sophie grabbed her arm and propelled her in the direction of the living room.

  “I saw that slut with my husband. You’d think he’d leave her home when it’s a family occasion like this.”

  “Aunt Sophie, they’re married. It would be strange if he didn’t bring her.”

  Aunt Sophie’s eyes blazed with a malevolent light. “That whore is trouble. She got my husband away from me with Santería.”

  “Magic? Oh, Aunt Sophie, you don’t believe that.”

  “She gave him one of their love potions and put a hex on me.”

  Taylor exhaled deeply, realizing the Tylenol hadn’t kicked in yet. “Why haven’t you ever mentioned this?”

  “I just found out.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Never mind,” she snapped. “I have my ways.”

  Taylor had never seen her aunt so unbalanced. True, she led a life steeped in religion and society-style charity work, but now she seemed more distraught than she’d been right after the divorce.

  Betrayal was a terrible thing. As was loss, Taylor decided. She’d finally moved on with her life. Why couldn’t Aunt Sophie?

  Inside, it appeared that everyone had arrived. A crowd surrounded her mother who was—miraculously—still standing. She should be sitting down, conserving her strength.

  “Trent’s with her,” Taylor told her aunt. “She doesn’t need me right now.”

  “So is the slut.”

  Taylor had noticed Brianna standing with the group but hadn’t mentioned it, knowing what Sophie’s reaction would be.

  “You like her, don’t you?” Aunt Sophie’s voice had an accusatory edge.

  “Yes.” Taylor told herself not to feel guilty. Brianna was her friend and deserved her loyalty.

  “She used Santería on you, too.”

  “I don’t believe in it,” Taylor responded with as much patience as she could muster.

  “I’ve seen evidence of it.”

  Taylor glanced over her shoulder, hoping to find Shane coming to rescue her. Instead, Raoul Cathcart was bearing down on her, a knockout blonde at his side.

  “Hello, Mrs. Maxwell,” Raoul said to Sophie with a charming smile. “You look beautiful in that navy suit.”

  Taylor hadn’t realized Raoul knew Sophie. Evidently, Trent must have been to Fisher Island to visit his aunt.

  “This is my companion, Fallon James.” He beamed another smile, and Taylor wondered what her brother saw in this man. “She’s at my side every moment to be sure I don’t touch any drugs, not even alcohol.”

  “He’s been a good boy so far,” Fallon said.

  Taylor managed a weak smile. She thought a rehab program would have been better because it dealt with the causes of addiction. What would happen when the companion left?

  “We’re discussing Santería,” Sophie told Raoul. “Do you believe in it?”

  “Of course. I’m part Cuban. My mother swears by it.” Raoul chuckled. “Beware of the evil eye.”

  “Excuse me,” Taylor said. “I need to find my brother.”

  “He’s in the library with Doyle,” Raoul told her as she walked away.

  It took her a few minutes to walk through the crowd, accepting condolences from people who hadn’t met Renata, and get to the library. She knocked on the door. Uncle Doyle called out for her to come in.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  “No,” Trent said, “we were just discussing what to do about Caleb Bassett.”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

  She explained what Maria had told them about the Vicodin and the way Caleb behaved.

  “I think Trent and I should take Mother aside and tell her how concerned we are. Shane said he’d keep Caleb out of the way while we did it. Perhaps, Uncle Doyle, you could help him.”

  “Good idea,” Doyle replied. “I’ll get Brianna, too. Caleb can’t keep his eyes off her.”

  “I guess we should wait another hour or so until the crowd thins out,” Trent said without a hint of enthusiasm.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “Money,” he said. “I was asking Uncle Doyle for a loan, but he’s short of cash, too.”

  “I can loan you a little,” she said, even though she would have to take it from the account she’d set up to start her own business.

  “A little won’t help. We need to sell the business.”

  “I’m hoping your mother will agree to a sale just as soon as this computer mess is cleared up.”

  No one had to tell her that Trent needed the money to help Raoul. A companion like Fallon had to cost a bundle.

  Oh, Trent, she thought. Don’t do this to yourself.

  Chapter 25

  Shane stood beside Brianna, who was talking to Caleb. Doyle was at the bar set up near the pool, getting Caleb another Johnnie Walker.

  What a crock!

  The jerk-off did not need another drink. He was in the bag already.

  Taylor and Trent told Caleb they were putting their mother to bed. The ma
n was too busy drooling over Brianna and kicking back expensive Johnnie Walker Blue Label to pay much attention to what Vanessa was doing.

  “Where did you live before New Orleans?” Brianna asked Caleb.

  Shane had coached Brianna and Doyle about information the three of them should try to get out of Bassett. It wasn’t going to be easy. Bassett’s eyes had shifted to the side at the question.

  The man was drunk but not stupid.

  “Lived here and there, darlin’, here and there. Why?”

  “Your accent is so interesting. When we met you in New Orleans, you sounded British. Now you seem Southern. Mississippi or Arkansas.”

  Caleb’s sly smile revealed little.

  He shrugged, lifting the shoulders of the lizard-green-and-purple print Versace sport coat he’d put on after the funeral. No doubt the guy didn’t think black was his color. The trendy Versace jacket could have got him arrested in Des Moines, but no one looked twice in Miami.

  “Here’s your Johnnie Walker,” Doyle said as he walked up and handed Caleb another drink.

  “Thanks.” He looked around at the nearly empty pool area. “It was a helluva’ party. A nice send-off for my baby.”

  “Do you think the police are going to solve the crime?” Brianna asked.

  “Nah, they aren’t even trying.”

  Caleb swigged his whiskey, then leered at Brianna’s low-cut neckline. For a grief-stricken father, the man was having a damn good time.

  “Do you think Renata had made enemies where she lived before?” Doyle asked. “That person could have—”

  “Nah. Everyone in New Orleans adored her.”

  Gimme a break.

  “It’s a shame. She was so young,” Brianna said. “She had her whole life ahead of her. I started out as a lap dancer not much different than what Renata was doing, and look at me now.”

  Caleb didn’t need any encouragement. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Brianna’s impressive cleavage.

  “I’m starting a new life here in Miami,” Caleb announced, after kicking back the rest of his drink. “No more selling insurance for me. No, siree.”

  “What are your plans?” Doyle asked.

  “I’ve always been innerested in real estate. I’ve got a hankering to sell condos. There are a lot of retirees down here looking for them.”

  Shane could see Caleb as a successful real estate salesman. Stranger things had happened. The man could be persuasive and charming. When he wanted, he could beam a smile bright enough to light up Miami.

  “May I get you another drink?” he asked Caleb. “I’m getting myself one.”

  “Sure. Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Make sure they don’t give me the rotgut Johnnie Walker.”

  “Gotcha’.”

  Shane would have bet his life Caleb hadn’t had Blue Label until he came to Miami. He held out his hand palm up, took the glass, and turned before Caleb could notice he wasn’t letting his fingers touch the glass.

  Not that Caleb was paying attention to anything but Brianna.

  While they’d been talking, Shane had an idea. Lift Caleb’s fingerprints off the glass, make copies of the print, and run it through police databases in nearby states.

  See what turned up.

  Swans do not wax poetic about their lives as ugly ducklings, but Caleb’s reluctance to discuss his past indicated the man had something to hide. Shane had noted the comment about selling insurance. Caleb hadn’t been doing squat in New Orleans.

  So why had he mentioned selling insurance? Granted, he had been selling insurance long ago when his house had burned down. Had he continued to sell it for years?

  There weren’t many insurance companies. As with most other businesses, the sharks had gobbled up the little fish. Assuming he’d been using the name Caleb Bassett, it shouldn’t be hard to check.

  “The guy over there in the green jacket needs a Johnnie Walker Blue Label on the rocks,” Shane told the bartender. “Make sure it’s Blue Label.”

  “We’re out of Blue. He drank it all. We’ve got Johnnie Walker Gold Label. Will that do?”

  Shane nodded, thinking Caleb had consumed a fifth of whiskey. Okay, it had been over a five hour period, but still …

  He slipped into the kitchen, where the caterers were cleaning up, and wrapped the glass in a paper towel to preserve the fingerprints. He caught a glimpse of Raoul down the hall. He was kissing the blonde who was supposed to be keeping him off drugs.

  Go figure.

  He dumped the ice in the sink and ducked into the pantry to use his cell phone. Vince answered on the first ring. Shane explained what he wanted to do, and Vince agreed it was a good idea.

  “I wish I had the time to go to Arkansas and do some checking on Bassett. But I don’t want to leave Taylor right now. I can be more help here with the murder investigation.”

  “If my company was bigger and had more men, I could send one of them.”

  Vince was just starting out and specializing in computer security. He’d given Shane a job because they’d known each other from the DIA. In a year, if they worked well together, Shane was going to buy half the business. Then they could expand.

  “I doubt a hundred men could turn up much on Bassett. I’m betting he covered his tracks.”

  While Trent pulled the drapes and turned down the bed, Taylor took her mother into the dressing room and helped her change out of the black Chanel suit she’d worn to the funeral. Her mother was unsteady on her feet and her hands shook. Taylor couldn’t tell if it was from exhaustion or drugs.

  “It was lovely,” Taylor said because she felt she should. “Everything was perfect.”

  “Yes. I thought it went well. So many of my friends came.”

  “We have Brianna to thank for that. She did the lion’s share of the calling.”

  Her mother didn’t comment. She tottered off into the bathroom. Taylor didn’t follow. Instead, she returned to the bedroom area.

  “Mother is in the bathroom.”

  Trent was standing in front of a table where there was an arrangement of family photographs in sterling-silver frames. In the center was the last publicity picture taken of Duncan Maxwell for the To The Maxx catalogue.

  “I miss him. Don’t you?” Taylor asked.

  “Totally. He’d know what to do.”

  “He wouldn’t want us to sell the company.”

  “I’d like to keep it and run it with Raoul, but I don’t have the money for the buyout.”

  “Trent, why are you so pressed for money? If it’s none of my business, just tell me, but if there’s any way I can help, I will.”

  Trent turned to her, a glimmer of the brother she once knew reflected in his eyes.

  “Thanks. I appreciate the support. I don’t need the money right this minute, but I will. It’s going to take a lot to get Raoul back on track.”

  That’s exactly what she thought the money was for. Maybe she’d misjudged Raoul. She’d like to believe her brother’s time, money, and most of all, love wasn’t wasted on a vain man who’d dump him in a heartbeat if something better came along.

  “What are you doing?” Their mother’s soft voice came from behind them.

  Taylor turned, saying, “Looking at the picture of Dad. Missing him.”

  “I miss him, too.” Tears glistened in her eyes.

  Taylor rushed to her side. “Let me help you to bed.” She guided her mother to the bed and steadied her as she slipped between the sheets.

  Without makeup, her mother’s skin was a worrisome ash color. Her eyes seemed clearer than they had the other day, but they held a world-weary expression.

  The day had taken its toll, the way Taylor had known it would. It didn’t seem fair to have this discussion now, but who knew when they’d have another chance?

  Trent sat down on the foot of the bed. “Mother, we’re concerned about you.”

  She looked up at them from beneath half-closed lids. “It was an exhausting day, that’s all.”

  Taylor eased herse
lf down onto the bed, not knowing how to begin even though she’d mentally rehearsed this at least a dozen times. “We’re worried because your blood work isn’t good.”

  “We knew this day would come. Didn’t we?”

  Taylor nodded with a quick glance at Trent. This sounded like the woman who’d raised her. She faced the world head-on.

  “Yes, we’ve all been aware of the progression of the disease,” Trent said.

  “It’s only a matter of time until I die.”

  Taylor wanted to deny it, wanted to shout it to the heavens, but what would be the use. They all knew the truth.

  “With luck and proper treatment, you’ll have quite some time,” Trent said.

  “We’re concerned about the amount of painkillers you’re taking,” Taylor said.

  “How do you know how much I’m taking?” Her mother’s voice was soft, as if she didn’t have the strength to raise it, but there was a distinct bite in her tone.

  Rather than get Maria in trouble, Taylor said, “We see it in the way you look, the way you talk. Your eyes don’t look … right.”

  “I haven’t had a pain pill all day. Caleb wanted to give me one several times, but I didn’t want to miss a thing. I just took one now. I’m waiting for it to work.”

  “Is Caleb giving you those pills more often than you’re supposed to take them?” Taylor asked.

  “I-I’m not sure. I’m in a lot of pain, you know. I-I need …”

  Taylor reached for her mother’s hand. “We know you’re in pain, and we don’t want you to suffer. But … if you’re doped up and groggy how can you enjoy yourself?”

  “We’d like to have a nurse come in to help you. She can administer the proper amount of medication and take care of you,” Trent added.

  “I don’t want a nurse. I’ve got Caleb.”

  “Mother, he doesn’t dress you or put you to bed,” Taylor pointed out.

  “Maria is here if I need her.”

  “That means Caleb gives you all your medication,” Trent said. “What happens when he leaves? I’m sure he’ll be going soon, now the funeral is over.”

  Her mother’s head slowly swung from one side of the pillow to the other in an attempt to shake her head. “He’s staying here with me while he gets a real estate license.”