She took a smokeless cigarette out of her bag and rolled it between her fingers. “No, it’s practical matters I wanted to see Clay about. I want to sell Dancing Lady Island. That’s why I came to see him.” She clamped her teeth down on the metal cigarette and inhaled deeply. A thin stream of vapor dribbled through her half-open lips.
She was watching my face for a reaction. When she got it, she raised one eyebrow and nodded a yes.
Dollar signs danced in my head. How much was an island in the Gulf of Mexico worth, and what would Clay’s commission be?
She reached over and dug a couple of olives out of the garnish tray. “He’s down there right now, figuring out the asking price and a marketing plan. I thought I’d come up here and have a drink with you while I waited.”
“The drink is on the house. Maybe I’ll even stretch that to two if you’re very good; it’s time to celebrate.”
While we waited for Clay we slashed the reputations of the people we’d dined with, cutting and tearing the evening to bits. Liz had known everyone at the table and wasn’t above sharing their faults. “Nina Dystra is an acclaimed botanist. She’s written two books on orchids,” Liz told me.
“I didn’t know that, but Ethan said she could write a book on fifty shades of young lovers.”
“Oh, that too. Once, when we met at the Redlands show, she described how she liked to have them pierced.” Liz grimaced and reached for another olive. “Even told me how much she paid them to go have these very private piercings. It was a staggering amount. Nina was quite proud of her generosity.”
“Crazy comes in all sizes.” I pushed the tray towards Liz. “I’m a little worried about Willow.”
Liz sat perfectly still, an olive halfway to her mouth, and listened while I told her about Willow’s call and the way it made me feel.
“You don’t think it was just a moment’s . . .” She shrugged, unable to finish the thought.
“There was real desperation there, maybe even fear.”
“Jesus.” She stared at her glass of wine, her mind going somewhere I couldn’t follow.
I took a couple of orders and filled the bowls of nuts along the bar while Liz sat slumped over her folded hands, staring at nothing.
I went back to her and lightly touched her hand to get her attention. “Hey,” I said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She didn’t look up. “My husband beat me.” She concentrated on her hands.
I covered her hands with mine. “I’m sorry if I brought back bad memories. Ethan told me your husband abused you. I should have thought before I told you about Willow.”
She pulled her hands away and picked up her glass. Her eyes rose over the rim to find mine. “Did Ethan tell you about my arrest for Kurt’s murder?”
“Yup.”
She sipped her wine and set the glass carefully back on the center of the coaster.
I picked up the bottle of Merlot. “I would have done the same. I’m glad you got off.”
Her voice was strangely wistful as she said, “But it wasn’t true.”
My hand hesitated. Our eyes met over the tilted bottle.
“I didn’t kill Kurt.”
CHAPTER 29
I lowered the bottle and waited.
“Susan killed him.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding.
“I’d left Kurt before but always went back to him. This time I wasn’t going back. I couldn’t. It was more than just my life now.”
The hand she lifted to the scarf at her throat was trembling. It wavered there and then she lowered it to her other hand, clenching them together. “I was in the kitchen cutting up beef for a stew. Kurt found me there. I should have realized he’d know I’d run to Susan and Ben. I had before.”
Her voice was heavy with pain and loss. I crossed my arms over my chest, ignoring the guy waving an empty glass farther along the bar.
“Kurt was a brutal man.” Her teeth bit down on her lip. She drew in a deep breath and straightened. “A functioning alcoholic, he was out of control at home but never set a foot wrong outside of the house. People couldn’t believe Kurt was beating me. I don’t really think Ben and Susan understood how bad it was when I told them.”
She raised her fist in front of her mouth to block more words . . . or perhaps a sob. It had happened years ago, but she wasn’t free of the memory. I left her to recover and went to serve the people waiting down the counter.
When Paul Hanson slipped in behind the bar and signed onto the register, I went back to Liz. She’d finished the wine so I refilled her glass.
I thought Liz would have been ready for a change of subject, but it wasn’t like that. In control of herself now, Liz began her story where she’d left off. “When Susan came into the kitchen and saw Kurt punching me, she just went crazy. You see, her father beat her mother. I guess she’d never been able to protect Hazel, but now she was a grown-up and she was going to save me. She picked up that carving knife and stabbed Kurt without ever saying a word, no ‘Stop’ or ‘Don’t.’” Liz made stabbing motions with her fist. “She just picked up the knife and jabbed it into his back. I didn’t even know she was there until he fell to the floor.”
Liz’s eyes were watching a screen of memories. “And then . . .” Her mouth worked. She couldn’t finish.
I poured myself a glass of the Merlot and waited.
“Susan knew I was pregnant, understood that I was miscarrying before I did. It was Susan who called the ambulance.”
Gently, not wanting to close her down completely, but not wanting to have her dredge up the horror again, I said, “Let it go. It’s over.”
She pounded her clenched fist on the mahogany. “Never.” Along the bar, faces turned our way. Liz didn’t care. “That’s what people don’t understand.” Rigid with emotion, she hissed, “It will never be over as long as I live.”
I frowned at the drinkers who were eavesdropping. For Liz, we might just as well have been alone.
She said, “I miscarried, right on the kitchen floor beside my dead husband, my blood mixing with his and our baby’s on the linoleum. By the time the police arrived, it looked like a slaughter-house in there.”
I had no words to make it better. She was beyond comforting remarks.
“Waiting for the ambulance to come, I made a decision. Sue had a young daughter, and I had brought this trouble to her family. I wrapped my hands around the handle of the knife to cover her fingerprints, and when the cops came I told them that I killed Kurt. Susan didn’t want me to do it, but I made her promise to keep our secret.”
She scrubbed at her face with her hands, smearing her mascara but wiping away the past, putting it back in its box, done with it for now. “I don’t know why I told you that, except that it no longer matters now that everyone is dead. I’ve kept it to myself all these years. Not even Ben knew the truth.” She thought about it for a brief moment and then corrected herself. “Unless Susan told him, but if she did, he never mentioned it to me.”
“It was my telling you about Willow—sympathy, that’s what brought your story out.”
“Perhaps.” But her face said it wasn’t true. Something was happening with Liz that I didn’t quite understand. She asked, “Do you think there’s anything we can do for Willow?”
“Nope.” The truth was, I didn’t want to do anything, didn’t want to risk anything I hadn’t already. I changed the subject. “Why Clay? Why did you choose Clay to sell your property?”
She started to smile, and I could see a joke coming. I waved it away. “Oh, I know all about his physical assets. That’s why I chose him, but why did you?”
“Dystra. Clay could have kept his mouth shut and walked away from that fiasco with a fistful of money. Instead, he went to bat for his client. Honest people are hard to find these days. I want one on my side for a change.”
&
nbsp; Down the bar Paul was run off his feet, but I stayed right where I was. “Clay is honest,” I agreed, “but . . .” I bit down on my lip.
“What?” Liz said. Her eyes were locked on my face.
“I wish he’d just be happy selling one house at a time and not look for that one big deal.”
“You’re worried about his connection to Ethan, aren’t you?”
Her insight was startling. I started to brush her words aside, but this wasn’t a woman to bullshit. I just nodded and changed the subject. “Were Ben and Ethan close?”
“God, no. They didn’t even get along as kids.”
The register pinged with a bar order to be filled, but I ignored it. “Ben called everyone at our table for the ball about the orchid, didn’t he? They were all potential customers.”
“Nope. He didn’t tell Nina he had the orchid. He only told Faust and, of course, Sasha and me.”
“Why not Ethan? Surely he’d tell his own brother.”
“They haven’t talked in years.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Family stuff. Ben thought Ethan cheated him out of his share of the ranch, and he hated the family homestead being turned into a phosphate mine.” She smiled. “Ben and Susan even stood out on the road picketing the Bricklin Mines. Not a good way to promote brotherly love.”
Clay came in. He hesitated. He glanced from Liz to me, knowing something was going on.
I smiled at him and started filling the dining room order, while he continued towards us and took the stool next to Liz. He laid some papers in front of her. “I’ve got some comps for you to look at, although there isn’t anything close to Dancing Lady Island.”
“Good.” Liz smiled at him and he returned it.
I could see him relax. Whatever the situation was between Liz and me, he knew it wasn’t going to harm his business. At the moment, that was the only thing that mattered to him.
It was a busy night, but as I drew pints and mixed drinks I waited for Willow to call or come in, still sure I’d hear from her.
Clay and Liz had dinner at one of the small tables in the bar. Liz never looked up from the papers on the table in front of her, just ate dinner and left with no more than a hand raised in goodbye. Sometimes people regret the things wine makes them confess, or maybe she was just over her brief rehash of her history. Liz was tough. She hadn’t survived all she’d been hit with by giving in to grief.
Clay walked Liz to her car, and when he came back, he wore a big grin, the kid who’d guessed the correct number of jellybeans in the jar.
I couldn’t share his pleasure in his good fortune at getting this commission. I could only see that kitchen—and the blood.
“We’ve been invited out to Dancing Lady Island,” he said and slid onto a stool.
“I don’t like this, Clay.”
“Why?” I could see he genuinely had no idea what was bothering me.
“I don’t like being involved with these orchid collectors. I want us to keep our distance from them.”
“This is about real estate, not orchids.”
“Maybe, but there’re just too many people circling around me like sharks; I want them all gone.”
“That’s silly. Why can’t you just see this as something good coming out of something bad?”
“It’s just that as long as you’re doing business with Ethan, that mess in the swamp isn’t over. I want out of it, Clay. These people will destroy us without a second thought.”
He brushed the back of his fingers across my cheek. “Don’t worry.”
“That’s all I do with you hanging out with Ethan.”
He sighed. “Look, you were the one who didn’t want to go to the cops. When you made that decision, it was over, end of story.”
“Ethan wants to know what happened and he’ll keep digging.”
“You’re overreacting. I understand. With the things that have happened to you in the past, you’re bound to be jumpy but—”
I interrupted him. “Or maybe I’ve just developed very good survival instincts, better than yours.”
He slid off the stool. “I’m meeting Liz tomorrow at her lawyer’s with the contract. And this weekend we’re going to the island, so pack your bikini and bring your tennis racket. She has a court.”
“Whoopie.”
His face hardened. “I’m going down to work on those contracts. Don’t wait up.” Not hanging around for an answer, he headed for the door. Clay could smell money and he’d fallen under the spell of its perfume.
Willow never did show up.
CHAPTER 30
Liz’s story ate at me while I pulled pints and delivered drinks. Over the last few years I’d heard dozens of similar stories about women being beaten. Most of those women went running to friends for safety just as Liz had. But what if you didn’t have friends to take you in? Willow might be just such a woman. Doing nothing seemed wrong.
Slowly the night wore down and all the tourists paid their bills and left. Despite my vow not to get involved in someone else’s life, about eleven o’clock I went into the office and dug out the card Sasha had given me. I dialed the number.
“Sherri,” he sang, all cheerfulness and light, the nasty side I’d glimpsed at the Sunset well hidden. “I’m so glad you called. Have you got something wonderful for me?”
“Ah, that would be a certain flower, wouldn’t it?” I sat down and pulled my chair up to my battered desk. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I wish I had the orchid—I could use the money—but I’m just calling you because I don’t have Willow’s number.”
“Why do you want her?” His happy voice had turned to one of suspicion and distrust.
“Shopping. That girl has taste, and I could use a little of that.”
“I’m sorry, but Willow isn’t available.” He was no longer glad I’d called.
“Oh, I’m disappointed, but let me have her number, and we can find a time to get together. I’m willing to hold off on the shopping spree until she’s free.”
“That won’t be for some time.”
“Why?”
“You’re a very pushy woman, aren’t you?”
“I’ve been called worse. Look, Sasha, I need to know that Willow is all right. I talked to her earlier today. She was supposed to meet me. I just want to speak to her for a minute. You can listen in if you like.”
He sighed. “Willow isn’t available because I put her in rehab in Tampa. Her little habit was getting out of control.”
“You put her in rehab?” It was like he’d put his dog in a kennel.
“We’ve been through this before. This time, when she’s clean, I’m done.”
“For real?”
“Maybe.”
“What’s the name of the rehab place?”
“Why?”
I laughed. “I may have need of one myself. It’s been suggested I may be drinking a little too much.”
“Was there anything else you wanted?”
“Why Tampa? I thought you two lived in Miami.”
He said, “Mind your own business” and hung up. Another person I wasn’t going to get a Christmas card from.
I leaned back and thought about it. How do you find a woman you know only as Willow, in an unknown facility in a city the size of Tampa? And, my doubtful mind added, I only had Sasha’s word for it that she was in Tampa. She could be anywhere. Besides, even if I found the right place, they wouldn’t give out information on one of their clients. I did the only sensible thing: I got someone else to look for her. It took a little pleading, a little telling Styles how dangerous Sasha was, and then I outright lied and told him she’d been kidnapped from Jacaranda, from his territory. He didn’t believe me, but our history was on my side. In the past, his not believing me had brought down a load of trouble on his head. He never knew
when I was lying, so the little worry that I might be telling the truth brought him around.
It really didn’t take him long at all. What a clever man he is. He called the next morning while I was on my way to the Sunset.
“Wilma McKenzie, AKA Willow, is in the Harbor House Rehabilitation Center in Tampa.”
“Well, shut my mouth.”
“I wish I could. Is there anything else?”
“Not at the moment.”
He hung up without saying goodbye. I didn’t get a chance to tell him I was going out to a barrier island, a place I was reluctant to go, with someone I didn’t trust. Later, I wished I had.
I was fighting a cold, with a head that felt double its normal size and teeth that ached. I would have stayed home if I could have found someone to take over the bar for the first shift. Instead, there I was, watching a guy two stools away pull out his phone, holding it way out in front of him to make out what it said because he was too proud to put his cheaters on, and wishing I was dead.
Ethan came in and interrupted my study of stupidity. Sad and morose, he acted as if something had been taken away, as if someone had blown out a little flame. Maybe he was regretting giving away a million bucks. Giver’s remorse. Perhaps that’s what he was suffering from; I would be. Or maybe he realized he’d never know the true story of his brother’s death.
I don’t know if I was trying to cheer him up or just making trouble when I said, “Liz was here yesterday.”
There was no sign of interest on his face.
Blame it on the head cold, but I didn’t let it go. “She said you and Ben didn’t talk much.”
“Nope.” Now he really looked sad. “I wish I had a chance to make up for a lot of things. Don’t leave things too long, Sherri, or you may never get a chance to put them right.”
“A lifetime wouldn’t be enough time to make up for my mistakes.” I dropped a couple of cold tablets into my hand and poured a glass of water. “Did you know Liz might be selling Dancing Lady Island?”
“No.”
6 Martini Regrets Page 16
