Naked Ambition

by Rick Pullen

  He nodded to one of the large sand dunes. “Look over there. On the other side should be the Caribbean. According to this plat, there is more than two thousand feet of water frontage on this parcel. That’s almost half a mile long. You know what that’s worth?”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  “More money than you or I will see in a lifetime.” “But how can he afford this?”

  Beck leaned against the warm hood of the car looking down again at the plat and then at Geneva. “He can’t. Don’t you see? He holds this land for as long as he needs while its value skyrockets, and all the while the Venezuelan company is paying the bills.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “The rents on the other properties pay him enough to bankroll the real prize—this land. The other real estate is a smoke screen. Its only purpose is to provide him with enough cash flow to pay for this. He pays nothing out of pocket, and yet he now owns all of this.” Beck again swept his arm across the horizon as he spoke and then rested one hand on his hip.

  “Come with me,” he said. They followed a path leading up the dune, and Geneva quickly fell behind, her sandals being sucked into the deep soft sand with each step. Short, wind-blown trees and scattered green shrubs held the dune together as the breeze swirled a low mist of sand at her feet.

  Beck quickly scaled it, his powerful runner’s legs thrusting his sneakers ankle deep with each step. Geneva took off her sandals and struggled barefoot, falling to her knees twice in the cascading sand.

  “Beck,” she called. He turned to see her on all fours. Her hands buried in the sand. Her hair askew and her knees and sundress disappearing in the white softness. From his angle above her, he looked down the top of her skimpy sundress and saw her large breasts swaying. He felt a momentary thrill.

  “Beck. Please,” she said. He realized he hadn’t moved and quickly descended the hill to help her. “Sometimes you can be the biggest jerk.”

  “Sorry. My head was elsewhere.” He helped her to her feet. God I am a jerk, he told himself. He held her hand and almost lifted her up the sand dune. Finally at the top, they could see the Caribbean several hundred yards away. It was a developer’s dream.

  He wrapped his arm around her waist, held her tightly, and felt her body ease.

  “So he owns all of this,” she said.

  Beck looked at the paper in his other hand. “Yep. All of it.”

  They walked hand in hand through the sand dunes and the brush. Beyond a small dune next to the road, they found a freshly painted sign that had blown down, hidden by overgrown bushes. “Crystal Shores Estates,” it read. “Future green estates developed by Sunrise Meridian.”

  “Look at this,” Beck said. “They didn’t even try to disguise the connection. I guess he thought no one down here would ever notice.”

  Beck pulled a small digital camera from his pocket and took several pictures. He then stepped back and took shots of the acreage. Finally, he turned with the sun at his back and took a shot of Geneva, standing with her hand securing her floppy straw hat and her face hidden by her windswept hair and large sunglasses. She playfully primped and posed, and he took several more shots.

  “Nice,” he said. Over her right shoulder, he saw a flicker of light in the distance. What was that? Beck was curious and zoomed in with his camera lens. About two hundred yards down the road standing behind a parked white car was a figure dressed in white wearing a white straw hat. There was another sudden glint of sparkling sun. A reflection? Binoculars, thought Beck. Someone was watching them.

  He said nothing to Geneva, who was still enjoying preening for the camera.

  23

  Back at the hotel, Geneva ducked her head under the shower spray, rinsing away a layer of sand, dust, and perspiration. The afternoon’s heat had nearly sapped her energy, but the feeling of the cool water pummel-ing her pores reinvigorated her. She lathered lavender soap all over her body. Suddenly, she felt Beck’s hands on her hips, his body behind her. Her heart raced in anticipation. She had not heard him enter the large walk-in shower. She liked the feeling of his wet, slippery self against her and handed him the bar of soap over her shoulder. He immediately began to rub her back, then her breasts, and then much more.

  LATER THAT EVENING, refreshed and exhilarated from their lengthy lovemaking, she and Beck stepped into a cafe built on a pier over the Caribbean Sea. She requested a table next to the water, and the young hostess obliged. From their perch, they watched the pale green ocean slapping against the pilings below. The violent clash of salt water against concrete formed rings of foam that glided gently up to the white sandy beach. Lights under the pier attracted tarpon, which provided much of the evening’s entertainment. The floor show was fed by diners who dropped bread crumbs in the water, prompting the big fish to frenetically hurl themselves into a lightning-quick battle for the morsels. Above, on the pier, a band played island sounds syncopated by steel drums under a small canvas canopy.

  Geneva suggested cocktails before dinner, then they ordered a bottle of white wine to go with the Caribbean lobster. The meat was more succulent than the northern lobster she had grown accustomed to with

  Harv on their many trips to Martha’s Vineyard and Bar Harbor. Somehow everything tasted better with Beck. And she needed to be sure to eat enough tonight so the alcohol did not affect her. This evening she was determined to get her man drunk, or at least drunk enough to give him a hangover in the morning. She needed him to sleep late while she carried out part of her and Keith’s plan.

  Beck downed a couple of beers and then switched to the wine. She kept his glass full while barely touching her own. Halfway through dinner, he excused himself to hit the men’s room, just as the waiter arrived with another bottle of wine and poured two glasses. She ordered another beer for Beck and then extended her hand over the railing and gently poured her hardly touched glass into the sea. It was a shame, she thought. It was rather good. Maybe the tarpon would enjoy it. The thought of a drunken fish wallowing in the clear, warm water below brought a smile to her face.

  As soon as Beck returned, she grabbed his hand. “Let’s dance.”

  He gave her a puzzled look but did not resist. They moved in rhythm on the tiny dance floor. Geneva ground her hips to a salsa tune, and her light flowered skirt whirled in the air around her. She wondered if she was revealing too much of her long, tanned legs, but then she decided she did not care. She was having too much fun.

  Beck played along, dancing and clapping to the beat beside her, but moving more in place as if to admire her show.

  She liked him watching her, but then he grabbed her hand and spun her around. They moved in unison as if they had been dancing together for years. Beck led her through a few provocative moves that verged on spectacle. It surprised her he could move with such grace and ease. She was learning something new about this intriguing man and realized she really didn’t know him at all.

  Other couples stepped aside to watch Beck lead Geneva through several improvised moves. She loved dancing, especially to a throbbing Latin beat, and she enjoyed the attention of Beck and the other diners. It had been too long since she felt this way.

  Finally spent, they returned to their table.

  “I love this music,” Geneva said.

  “I love the beat. It makes me want to move.”

  “You moved pretty well out there.”

  “I’ve never met a woman who could dance like that.”

  “I’ve never met a man who knew how to lead. You make it so easy, and you make me look good.”

  Beck was sweating and downed his wine to cool off. He grabbed the beer Geneva had ordered and gulped it down as well. He again excused himself to visit the men’s room.

  Geneva began to worry. Beck was holding his liquor rather well. She ordered two shots of a bourbon liqueur, Jeremiah Weed, as a nightcap, and waited for him to return.

  Beck stared at her wineglass. It was empty. His was still full. He gulped it down. “Lady, you’re drinking
quite a lot tonight,” he said. “Better pace yourself.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “And what have we here?” He eyed the two shot glasses filled to the brim with brown liquid.

  “Guaranteed to help us sleep,” Geneva said, raising her glass to him. Their shot glasses clinked, and he swallowed the liquor in a single gulp. Geneva sipped.

  “And what if I don’t want to sleep tonight?”

  She smiled at him.

  “That burns,” Beck said.

  Geneva put her hand to her mouth, struggling to swallow. She finally nodded in agreement. “Yes. But it makes you feel soooo good.” “You gonna finish that?” “I can’t.”

  Beck picked up her shot glass and drained it. “Wow. Good stuff,” he said loudly. “What’s that called again?” “Jeremiah Weed.” “Good stuff,” he repeated.

  A short time later, they left the cafe and walked arm in arm back to the hotel. She noticed the streets were rather quiet tonight. No one was around except for a tall man in a white suit across the street. She wondered where everyone was. She would rather be back dancing at the pier, but she realized Beck was in no shape to continue.

  Beck stumbled entering the hotel lobby. Geneva steadied him, holding his arm. She barely got him into the elevator and down the hall to their room. She sat him on the bed and helped him undress before he collapsed in the sheets. He was snoring loudly before she stripped and entered their bathroom to remove her makeup and wash her face.

  24

  Beck awoke to an empty bed. After stumbling into the bathroom, he splashed water on his face and squinted into the mirror. He didn’t like what he saw. His eyes were red, and his cheeks were puffy. He could hear Nancy’s voice in the back of his head saying he looked like shit.

  He felt like it too. He walked slowly into the living room, steadying himself with his hand on the back of the couch. Geneva wasn’t there. He shuffled out to the patio. Not there either.

  A cool breeze struck him head-on. He looked down, realizing he was standing naked on the patio—Geneva’s influence. He could feel himself smile at the thought of her. But where was she? In his fog, he managed to find the kitchen and search the cabinets for an aspirin when he heard the front door open.

  “Anyone alive?” came a familiar voice.

  “I’m in here.”

  GENEVA ENTERED CARRYING AN overflowing grocery bag. “I bought you breakfast. Fresh fruit, bagels, eggs, skim milk, and veggies. I thought I’d make you an omelet.”

  She placed the bag on the counter, and Beck pulled her into his arms and attempted to kiss her. He felt wobbly.

  “Whoa, boy.” Geneva pushed back to elude his morning breath. She surveyed the damage. “Babe, why don’t you jump in the shower while I make you breakfast?”

  Looking at the floor, he ran his hand slowly through his already tussled hair and gently moved his head back and forth. Geneva gave him a hard shove toward the bedroom.

  When she heard the shower running, she slipped into the bedroom and found her suitcase. She pulled an envelope of papers from her purse, gathered on her morning quest, and slipped them into a zip-pered compartment of her luggage.

  She had entered the first bank when its doors opened, and then stood among the first customers at two others. She opened accounts at three different banks and was still back at their penthouse before ten o’clock. She would need these accounts later and could not risk Beck finding out.

  It bothered her to keep secrets from him. Maybe if she knew him better, she might not keep her plan with Keith a secret. She might even seek Beck’s help. She was growing more enamored every day. Beck’s adventurous side made her feel giddy, and she loved the feeling. But he was still a driven reporter always probing into other people’s business. She had to keep that in mind. She didn’t know just how far he might go for a story. Would her secret be safe with him? Was anything off-limits to a reporter?

  25

  Unlike his belly, which appeared to be held up with suspenders, Casper Agee’s wild fringe of white hair defied gravity. He welcomed Beck and Geneva into his clutter, clearing magazines and stuffed paper files from two office chairs to make a place for them.

  “So you want to rent that senator of yours place,” he said.

  “Well, we’d sure like to consider it and maybe others,” Beck responded.

  “The Bayard place is leased through the end of the year, or maybe it’s two years? I need to check on that. But from what I remember, I think the renters want to extend the lease.” Agee removed the eyeglasses perched on top of his head, pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, and began cleaning the lenses.

  “It’s such a great place. Do you think the tenant would give up the lease?”

  “I could talk with them.”

  “Mind if we do?”

  “A lawyer in town drafted the lease. His name is . . . oh, jeez, his name is—ah, yes—it’s Roger Kindle. No, that’s not right.” He tapped his index finger on the edge of his desk. “It’s Kindred, Roger Kindred. Nice fella. I work with him from time to time. Not many lawyers in George Town that aren’t on the insurance and banking gravy train. Roger does a lot of that too, but also enjoys real estate. He dabbles and invests.”

  “Don’t all lawyers?” Beck asked.

  “Roger also hires me and folks like me to manage his clients’ properties and find renters. He found this tenant, if you can call them that.” Agee held his glasses in his lap, continuing to clean them. “That house on the water is used as some sort of executive retreat for some South American company. The executives come up from Brazil every once in a while. No, that’s not right. It’s Venezuela, I think. But they are hardly ever there. I check on the place regularly for Roger. Once a week. Sometimes every other week. But, that’s not unusual in these parts.” Agee paused and scratched his head, leaving his hair even more unwieldy. “There are lots of expensive properties with part-time residents—lots of folk with money around here who have nothing better to do than to buy a place and let it sit empty. It makes more work for us. But it keeps us employed, you know?”

  Geneva had been sitting patiently, playing her role as Mrs. Silent Agreeable Wife, when Agee turned to her. “So, Mrs. Rikki, you like the island?”

  “ Very much,” she said. “We still want to look at some other islands, but this one appears to be our first choice.”

  Beck looked at her. She didn’t even need a script. She was a better actress than she let on. “When I was at the land records office looking for different properties, I saw Senator Bayard also owns a condo somewhere,” he said. “Any chance it’s available? If it’s half as nice as the house, maybe it would fit our needs.”

  “Actually, I think Sunrise Meridian is renting that one too. Lemme check.” Agee swiveled in his chair and faced a two-drawer file cabinet next to his desk, paused, and then turned back. “Now where did I put my glasses?”

  He continued to rub the lenses with his handkerchief.

  “Uh, in your hands.” Beck motioned toward Agee’s lap.

  “Oh, right. Thanks.” He perched them on his nose, turned again, pulled a file from the second drawer, and flipped through several pages. “Yep. They’re paying a premium to have it available. I remember this now. I was involved in the signing ‘cause Mr. Kindred was off island.”

  “Does Bayard own anything that Sunrise Meridian isn’t leasing?”

  “No doubt he’s got a really close business relationship with them.”

  “What about the acreage on the east end of the island?”

  “Don’t know much about that. Your senator Bayard fella is working with Mr. Kindred on that one. I saw a plat once, but Mr. Kindred handles all of those sales. Doesn’t let anyone else on the island sell them ‘cause he says he wants to attract buyers from off island. If you ask me, I think he just wants all of the legal fees and commissions for himself. Probably charges more that way too. Funny how he holds that one close to the vest. It’s the only property he doesn’t let others in the local real es
tate community sell. That’s a bit odd now that I think about it.”

  Agee took off his glasses and polished the lenses again. He then looked up at Beck and Geneva. “Maybe you’d be interested in one of those lots.”

  “The price would have to be right.” Beck looked over at Geneva. She struggled not to break out in laughter. He couldn’t decide if Agee was a senile old fool or a cunning operator. Whatever he was, Beck was determined to play along. “I saw Bayard even owns a shopping center. Don’t tell me Sunrise Meridian leases that too.”

  “Not quite. If I remember correctly, from time to time the company rented out some of the empty storefronts. Haven’t paid them much attention, but I don’t think they ever used them for any retail. I think they set up an office in one once and used some for temporary storage. Those units don’t go vacant for long. There isn’t enough commercial space around. That’s where you’ll find Kindred’s office, in the shopping center.

  “Look,” Agee continued, “you seem awfully interested in this Kindred fella. He’s not the only one on the island selling and leasing real estate. I’ve got plenty of other properties.”

  “We had our heart set on Senator Bayard’s house on the ocean,” Geneva said.

  “When we drove by, my wife fell in love with it,” Beck added. “If we decide Grand Cayman will be our winter home, I guess we will have to persuade the senator to lease it to us. Maybe Mr. Kindred could persuade him.”

  “Good luck with that one,” Agee said. “I think if I were you I’d try to buy one of those lots he owns on the ocean. Might be easier.”

  “YOU THINK HE BOUGHT IT?” Geneva asked as they hopped into their car. “You almost had me convinced.”

  “Good, ‘cause this Kindred guy won’t be so easy. He’s a lawyer, and if he’s involved in this, he’ll have his antenna on full alert.” “Lawyers. They’re all a bunch of liars and cheats.” “Isn’t your husband one?”