He dragged the silk over my naked body. The experience was so luxurious and erotic that my flesh pebbled...and my insides quaked.
I’m not certain when, exactly, the misgiving began, but sometime during this foreplay—maybe after both of my wrists were tied to the headboard and he was winding the third scarf around my ankle—I sensed we were being watched. The impression was no different from the one I’d had out on the street when we’d avoided the other vehicle.
Foolish...stupid.
How could that be in my own bedroom? I tried to convince myself...but I couldn’t.
Finally, I put the fear into words. He just laughed, teased me about being paranoid, and—securing the fourth scarf—suggested my reaction came from doing something foreign and forbidden.
Naked...spread-eagled...vulnerable...
I tried to believe him.
But I couldn’t relax. He was determined to make me. Even as he made love to me, whispering hot, sexy promises of how he would turn me inside out all night, uneasy thoughts raced through my mind.
What if someone really was watching?
To my shame, the fear heightened the experience.
I could almost see another set of eyes glued to our every movement, another set of ears hearing our every moan. The imagining of a third person in that room, a party to our lovemaking, did nothing to cool my ardor.
I burned brighter...wanted more intensely... had to have more....
And in the midst of his bringing me to the pinnacle again and again, another terrible, frightening thought occurred to me. What if I were making dt all up because I needed more than Boone alone could give to satisfy me?
The truth or an imagined necessity....
Which would be worse?
An uneasy Phoebe lowered her sister’s journal, for once more disturbed by the contents than by the erotic imaginings it normally produced. As usual, all her senses were heightened, especially that same sixth sense—dread—which had struck Audra so sharply.
Shivering, she gazed into the four corners of her own bedroom, as if expecting someone to be spying on her.
Had Audra really recognized a frightening truth that had precipitated her death—or had it merely been sex-play for her like the other times she’d played with Boone?
Erotic games, sex toys, intimate paraphernalia, Audra had been into them all.
Could it be that lust had ruled her sister for so long that she’d needed the extra incentive to be satisfied?
Disturbed by the possibility, and by the parallels she could start drawing to herself, Phoebe stiffly flipped through the remaining pages of the diary, reading nothing, merely picking out words here and there.
No voodoo doll.
Thankful to be done with it, she shoved the leather-bound book back into the drawer next to the one she’d found in the shoe box at Vance’s place. A glance at the nightstand clock reminded her of her obligations.
If she was going to check on Jimmy Bob Dortch before reporting for work, she needed to get a move on.
A quick change of clothing and she was on her way.
If she’d been hoping the ride to Dolphin’s Gate would settle her down, she was sorely disappointed. Audra’s self-doubts had brought up some of her own.
Not that she needed unusual circumstances or games—rather it was that she didn’t seem to want more.
That fact had bothered Simon so much that he’d rejected her. A somewhat sobering first. Her experience with men, while limited in comparison to that of her mother or Audra, was enough to know that “more” wasn’t normally what men were looking for. Those she’d been with had been happy enough to take what she’d offered and hadn’t complained when she’d chosen to end the short-term affairs.
Why hadn’t that been enough for Simon Calderon?
What made him different?
And why did she care?
Phoebe tried to shake her weird reaction prompted by the journal entry, but as she sailed through the development’s entrance, she realized that wasn’t as easy as she’d like. She felt that she was coming to some kind of crisis in her life, and that scared her. All wound up, she had as little success as Audra in trying to relax.
Seeing Jimmy Bob’s truck in her mother’s driveway, Phoebe practically flew from her convertible into her mother’s townhouse.
“Jimmy Bob, it’s Miss Phoebe,” she called.
Expecting to see him at work, she instead faced an empty kitchen. His toolbox lay open on the floor. Materials spread along the counter.
But no Jimmy Bob.
How peculiar.
Pulse fluttering strangely, she stopped and stood listening to the refrigerator hum.
Growing apprehension filled her as she tried again. “Jimmy Bob, where are you?”
Had the handyman wandered off somewhere in search of a forgotten tool?
A thump directly overhead dashed that idea. She considered quickly—the sound had come from Audra’s bedroom.
He had no business being anywhere but the kitchen, so what in the world was he up to?
Phoebe crept up the stairs, all the while attuned to the strange noises issuing from the bedroom. She’d swear the handyman was moving furniture.
Just outside the door, she paused and took a deep breath. Then she stepped inside.
Jimmy Bob was standing on an upholstered chair he’d pulled directly to a wall of built-in storage units. The louvered doors to a top cupboard stood open, and he was rooting around inside.
Eyes wide, she demanded, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The handyman whipped around, and in trying to maintain his balance, released the object he’d just picked up. It flew directly at her and landed at her feet.
Phoebe stooped to retrieve it.
A video camera.
And a videotape recorder was sitting on the floor next to the chair, while two wires hung from the open section of the wall unit.
She tried to grasp what all this meant and could only come to one conclusion.
“Jimmy Bob, how long were you recording what was going on in my sister’s bedroom?”
Chapter Eleven
Averting his gaze from hers, Jimmy Bob whimpered and shifted from one foot to the other. Tufts of light brown hair stuck out from under his billed cap and around his florid face. He looked guilty as sin standing on that chair, and it took all Phoebe’s willpower not to scream at him to get down and explain himself immediately.
As calmly as she could manage, she said, “I believe I asked you a question, Jimmy Bob.”
“Gotta go.”
He practically fell in his haste to scramble down from the chair.
“Not so fast.” She planted herself between him and the door. “You have some explaining to do. What are you doing in this room with this equipment?”
And what was the equipment doing there in the first place? A camera lens aimed through the louvers of the cupboard door would give a direct view of the bed. She realized her sister probably never even guessed it existed—Audra hadn’t taken enough with her to fill all the storage space, so she’d probably never even opened the high doors. Anyone could have been tracking her sister’s sexual activities. Someone who’d been obsessed...
She shuddered at the thought.
“Who is responsible for this?” she demanded. “How did you know about the equipment?”
The handyman jammed his billed cap lower over his forehead. “I’ll finish the kitchen, now, Miss Phoebe.”
“No! You are finished here, for good,” she said firmly. No way was she going to give him free rein in the place. No matter the circumstances, he’d taken enough of that already. “Do you understand? You’re fired.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Despite the evidence, she had a hard time believing that he was responsible for installing video equipment in her sister’s bedroom. What would be his purpose? And was he even capable of the concept, let alone the execution?
“If you don’t want to talk to me about what
you’ve been doing, Jimmy Bob,” she said, desperate to get to whatever truth he could tell her, “then you can give your explanations to the police.”
“No police!” His voice rose to a squeak.
Phoebe could tell he was fighting panic. What was he hiding? Who was he trying to protect?
“Who put you up to this?” she demanded, Vance being her first choice.
“No one!” he yelled, trying to get past her.
Her pulse raced as she stood fast. “Maybe the police will ask what else you know about my sister... and about her murder.”
Jimmy Bob instantly became as agitated as he had the morning before at the Blue Crab. Had she struck on some ribbon of truth? Phoebe was ready to throw the camera at him—an improvised weapon—and to run if she had to, but the man made no threatening moves.
“Mr. Boone did it! They said so on the TV!”
“Maybe they were wrong.”
Phoebe knew she was taking a chance baiting him. Even if he was slow, he could be dangerous. Nothing to say he couldn’t have killed for money.
“But maybe you already know that,” she went on. “Maybe you had something to do with Audra’s death.”
His sudden stricken expression surprised Phoebe; she was certain he wasn’t faking.
“I would never hurt Miss Audra. Not ever. She was always nice to me.”
“Then why weren’t you nice in return?”
“I was. And I would never do nothin’ wrong. Not to her. I—I I-loved her!”
Phoebe’s momentary shock gave the handyman the edge long enough for him to push by her.
“Jimmy Bob, wait!” She followed him out the door. “Who put you up to this?”
“I’m leavin’ now!” he yelled, flying down the stairs.
“Was it Vance Laughlin? Audra’s husband?”
“You can’t stop me!”
Knowing she wasn’t going to get an answer out of him, Phoebe gave up. She stood at the top of the staircase for the moment it took him to cross the living area and run out the door. He didn’t even stop long enough to collect his tools.
Outside, his engine started right up and he wheeled his truck out of the drive so fast that his tires squealed.
Leaving Phoebe clutching the camera and wondering whether Jimmy Bob was really as innocent of wrongdoing as he claimed...or if he knew more about her sister’s death and who was responsible than he was telling.
WHEN SIMON ARRIVED at Calderon Charters, Corky Slotnik was leaning over Elise’s desk, practically drooling on her. She didn’t seem to mind. She was smiling and laughing at something he’d said.
Figuring if he was going to be the boss he ought to act like one, Simon cleared his throat. “Glad to see we’re all so busy this morning.”
Corky’s buzz cut practically bristled as he reluctantly straightened and went back to his own desk, muttering, “Ever hear of a coffee break?”
“So where’s your coffee?”
Elise, too, had sobered at the sight of him, but rather than being hostile, she seemed almost embarrassed. Her exotic features were drawn, her soft brown eyes avoiding his.
Stopping at her desk, he asked, “Magnus out with a charter this morning?”
Her eyebrows arched. “No. He goes out at noon, though.”
Simon checked his watch. Not for an hour, then.
“You need him for something in particular?” she asked.
“I’d just like to get to know him better,” he hedged. No need to raise her suspicions. “The other captains, too.”
Calderon Charters owned a fleet of two moderatesized cruisers, six manned fishing boats and an equal number of lesser rental craft. Indeed, Simon did want to get to know his nearly three dozen full- and part-time employees, but that wasn’t the purpose of his seeking out Magnus Hanson this morning. Like Elise, the captain had been with his brother from the first, and Simon figured picking the old man’s brain couldn’t hurt.
The late morning was growing hot as he strolled out of the air-conditioned office and onto the pier. Halfway down, he stopped and watched Magnus Hanson at work, checking over his deep-sea fishing equipment.
The grizzled man squinted up at him. “What can I do for you, Mr. Calderon?”
“First of all, call me Simon.”
“Simon it is. Come aboard, then.”
As he did so, Simon noticed Magnus’s scrawny mate, Elijah Greer, at the other end of the pier, huddled with a couple of hands from one of the cruisers.
“So, Magnus,” he said without preamble, “tell me about my brother.”
The captain nodded knowingly, as if he’d guessed Simon’s reason for seeking him out. “Boone was a good man, he was. Good to his employees.”
“What about women? Was he good to them?”
Magnus’s rheumy blue eyes met his. “He was a man. Men have their failings. Thought he was changing his ways, though, with that Laughlin woman. Damn shame he didn’t live long enough to find out.”
No point in beating around the bush. “So you think he killed her...and himself?”
“I ain’t no expert on such matters.”
“You’ve lived long enough to judge how a person thinks. Is a good man capable of killing?”
A gruff sound akin to a laugh escaped the old sailor. “Any man can kill under the right circumstances.”
As well he knew. “What about these circumstances?”
“Could be wrong, but I don’t believe so.”
“I don’t think he did, either,” Simon said, realizing he meant that without reservation. “But I think just about everyone else does. Including Elise.”
He shook his head. “That poor girl had it bad for your brother.”
“I noticed.” Wondering who had the man’s loyalty—his dead employer or a live young woman he obviously liked, Simon got to his purpose for the visit. “How long ago were they seeing each other? Before Blair?”
“That was the last time, far as I know.”
“Last?” Simon echoed.
“They had an on-again, off-again kinda thing going. Whenever he was between women, Boone turned to Elise. Or let her in, I guess you could say.”
Which sounded as if Elise’s affections had never been returned, something he hadn’t expected. “Surely that couldn’t have been enough for her.”
Magnus guffawed. “Sex ever enough for any woman?”
Though Simon could think of one, he ruefully said, “Not usually.”
“Ah, poor Elise. She took the crumbs. Actually, I think she kinda forced herself on your brother and he didn’t fight her too hard. Maybe she figured if they were together enough, the relationship would take. Only it never did.”
“Elise must have resented Audra, then.”
“Didn’t like her, that’s for sure. Thought she wasn’t good enough for Boone.”
Simon doubted Elise would have thought any woman good enough for his brother...other than herself, of course.
Now the hard part.
“Did Elise ever say anything specific about Audra’s taking Boone away from her?”
Magnus stared at him for a moment before saying, “Just ‘cause I’m old don’t mean I’m a fool. You want to know if I think she killed ’em, say so.”
“Do you?”
Magnus flashed his decaying teeth at Simon in a weird grin. “Didn’t say I’d answer.” His gaze lifted to a spot above and behind Simon. “Make sure we got enough beer this trip out, would ya.”
“Already did. And we do.”
Simon glanced over his shoulder at Elijah, whose features were pulled into a disapproving frown.
How long had the mate been standing there, listening to their conversation?
And why exactly did he seem so unhappy?
PHOEBE LET THE PHONE ring until she wanted to scream. Where the heck was Simon? And why wasn’t he trying to call her?
She felt like exploding. Here she had new, possibly important information and she didn’t know what in the world to do with it. She’d even tried h
im at Calderon Charters but had missed him there, as well.
Noticing a party of four at her station, she slammed the receiver in its cradle and seated them.
If only she could have gotten something concrete out of Jimmy Bob Dortch. Like whether or not he’d planted the video equipment, either for himself—after his last admission about his loving Audra, she had to consider it—or for someone else; or whether he’d merely gone on a fishing expedition, looking for something of value to steal.
Then, again, the rest of the room hadn’t seemed disturbed, as if the handyman had known exactly what he was looking for and where he’d find it.
Not that that was proof of anything.
For all Phoebe knew, Audra could have had that camera installed herself—a kinky if plausible explanation for its placement, and one the authorities would be likely to buy. She couldn’t be sure they’d make the connection between someone else’s interest in her sister’s bedroom activities (as in her soon-to-be ex-husband) and her death.
And to tell the truth, Phoebe wasn’t sure she could make the connection, either.
The thing that was really bothering her, though, went back to the journal entry—her sister thinking someone had been watching her in her own bedroom. The video camera would have provided the means for someone to watch without actually being present.
Bubba?
If he’d been picked up yet, Detective Sandstrom hadn’t called to tell her. But thinking of him reminded her of the other phone call she’d been meaning to make—one to a certain Naples lawyer. She meant to confirm the connection between her brother-in-law and Bubba.
Returning to the telephone, she looked up the number and punched it in.
A moment later, a voice whose accent was distinctly New York answered, “Donald Platt’s office.”
“May I speak to Mr. Platt, please?”
“Sony, honey, but Mr. P’s not in at the moment. Wanna leave a message?”
Phoebe said, “Actually, I’m calling to confirm an appointment for Vance Laughlin. Do you think you can do that for me?”
“I think I can manage,” the woman said dryly. “What day and time?”
“Tomorrow at free.”
Only a few seconds passed before the secretary said, “Nope,” as Phoebe had known she would. “No Laughlin on tomorrow’s schedule.”
A Lover Awaits Page 14
