Bad Blood

by Hugh Dutton

  Brady nodded to him and snared a Corona from the ice chest, taking it to an umbrella table for some shade. The no-Lexy thing had let a lot of the air out of his balloon, but he still wanted to hang out and soak up some of the feel of his new community. The barbecue smells wafting his way made him think of his mom’s cooking for some reason, even though she didn’t grill. Similar spicing, maybe. Some swinging single you are, Spain, homesick at your first party. He snickered to himself.

  “Hey, what’s so funny?” asked a voice below his shoulder.

  He looked down to see a woman lying on a chaise about four feet from him. One of the bunch he’d met right here the day he signed up, but he couldn’t remember her name. And wow, he never even heard her sit there, too busy inside his own skull.

  “Oh, nothing, really,” he said. “Man’s got to laugh at himself now and then. Keeps you sane.”

  “Do tell.” She smiled and rolled up on her side, propping her head on her hand. “I’m Ellie, we met last weekend. Would you do me a favor while I learn more about this personal sanity program?”

  “Sure.” Brady turned his chair to face her. Dang, she looked good in a bikini. Lean to almost skinny, but with super muscular definition, sculpted quads that accentuated the hollows of her inner thighs and a belly so flat that the bikini bottom showed a gap at the top where it strung across her hipbones. He also noticed her wedding ring, which was not his idea of fun, so never mind.

  “If you could shift that table this way a bit, my face will be in the shade,” she said, taking a few futile swipes at her neck and brow with a hilariously dainty little cloth no bigger than a Kleenex. “Keeps me a lot cooler when I’m laying out.”

  “Get skin cancer that way, you know,” Brady teased. He got up and scraped the table back and forth a couple of times until the shadow looked right.

  “I know, I know.” She made an exaggerated pout. “Susan’s right, you’re lucky you don’t have to worry about a tan.”

  Lucky? Brady sure felt like it now, but too bad she wasn’t there in high school to explain it when Betsy Jensen’s father forbade Betsy to date a “mixed race boy.” Brady had been all prepared to do the defiant stance thing, run away together or Lord knows what, until Betsy said she understood why her dad felt that way. Cured Brady of that crush, though the hurt lingered a while. Not exactly something you share with a stranger at a pool party, however. “Hey, that brings up a good question,” he said, going with the light touch instead. “Do us darker dudes get less skin cancer because of our pigment or because we don’t sunbathe?”

  She shook her head the way people do when they roll their eyes, though he couldn’t see hers behind her Ray-Bans. “Did you grow up in the Philippines?”

  “Nope, never been there. Grew up around a lot of Filipino culture early on, though.” He made a quick scan of the premises, but still no Lexy.

  “Really?” She flipped her shades up to the top of her head and leaned toward him as if genuinely interested, though it seemed like boring stuff to him. Neat eyes too, an unusual brown so light they flickered greenish-gold when in motion. “Like what?”

  “Well, I spoke Ilocano as soon as English. Still can a little.”

  “Cool. I wish I had a second language. What else?”

  “Hmmm.” He struck a thoughtful pose, and then laughed. “It’s not very different. Nothing exciting to tell. A lot more people around your house. Seems like all your relatives show up for dinner. I was six before I knew you could eat a meal without rice.”

  “Seriously?” She sat up and started toweling her back, using the full-size one she’d been laying on.

  “Dead serious.” He waved an arm at the smoking grill on the other side of the pool. “You take my dad over there and serve him one of those hot dogs, he’ll walk right past the buns looking for the rice to eat with it.”

  She laughed. “You’re putting me on.”

  “Maybe a little.” He smiled back at her. “But just in the way I tell it. It really is the truth.” He made another quick unsuccessful scan and turned back to see Ellie staring at him.

  “If you’re looking for Lexy, I don’t think she’s here.” The improbable eyes narrowed. “And maybe I should warn you, she might not be as available as she acts.”

  Brady felt skinned and spitted and ready for the grill over there, even though he’d suspected as much the other night. And way too embarrassed at how obvious his rubbernecking must’ve been to consider asking Ellie for any details.

  “How do you like living here?” She rushed into his silence, like she regretted that last blurt and wanted a redo. She leaned over and hid her face by making a production of fluffing out her short dark hair. Brady noted the rippling in her biceps. Girl had some serious cut to her arms. And apparently some issues with Lexy.

  “So far, it’s great,” he answered. Except for the pipe dream she’d just stomped flat. “Peaceful, friendly, and beautiful is a tough combo to beat.”

  “Yes it is. Every day here is another day in paradise.”

  It was the same phrase Brady had heard continuously. All the residents used it as a greeting, which he had thought was pretty cool, but he was beginning to wonder. After hearing it so much, it sounded more like an incantation from some wigged-out church. Kind of indoctrinated-sounding. Before he could formulate some harmless inanity that would extricate him from the conversation and its soured vibe, Lexy plopped into a chair at his table and slid a new bottle of beer in front of him. His mood shot up like a champagne cork, until he remembered the boyfriend warning.

  “Hey, Brady,” she said. “I saw your drink was empty, and I figured we just can’t have that.”

  “Thanks.” He took an obligatory sip. “Afraid I’m a lightweight, so I don’t reload very fast.” He watched her give Ellie a cursory nod, and turned in time to see Ellie do the same, but from where his chair sat directly between them it was impossible to tell whether it was a cool exchange or the casual communication of friends. Would’ve gone a long way toward telling him whether Ellie had been protecting a friend or cat-hissing behind Lexy’s back.

  “See you later, Brady.” Ellie stood and touched his shoulder. “I’m glad you like it here.”

  “I see you staring holes in her swimsuit, Brady Spain,” said Lexy, once Ellie moved out of earshot.

  Busted. He laughed and shifted around to face Lexy, who looked just stone-cold blood-stopping in a white one-piece cut high enough he could almost see her lower ribs.

  “Hey, I was admiring her conditioning,” he said with a wink. Amazing how he felt all hyped-up at the sight of her, despite the boyfriend. He wondered how to bring it up, see if he had a chance. “I was going to ask her to recommend a gym.”

  “Yeah, right.” She punched his arm. “She really is in some kind of great shape, you know. She did a lot of rowing in college, still goes kayaking all the time, I think. She’d be dangerous if she ever realized how good she really looks.”

  “Maybe I need to try that.” He flexed his arm and prodded the bicep with a finger. “Nah, no hope.” Boy, was it hard to not try for a sneaky peek at all of the Lexy hanging out from the bottom of the high-cut suit.

  “I hope you mean try the kayaking.” She wagged her finger, no-no fashion. “She’s married. That’s the other reason I came over, to keep you out of trouble.”

  “Not my fault she was about the only one here I know.” He shook his finger back at her in mock accusation. “You weren’t anywhere to be found when I got here.” He felt his mouth go dry, but took the plunge anyway. “Besides, she was just telling me the same thing about you.”

  “I’m married?” She sat back and wrinkled her nose up in a “do what?” expression. “How come I wasn’t the first to know about it?”

  Brady had to laugh. How about gorgeous and the quickest wit on two feet? “No, she just said unavailable, I assume meaning you have a boyfriend.”

  Something snapped like an arcing current from a live wire deep in her bottomless black eyes. “Sounds like she oug
ht to try minding her own business.” She reached over and patted his hand. “Why don’t you ask the horse’s mouth?”

  He felt his heart whacking around in his chest as if it had broken loose or something. What about her made him so nervous? “Okay, are you available?” Hoping his mouth didn’t sound as sticky as it felt. “Though I have to say, I never thought of you as a horse’s mouth.”

  She smiled, mischief bouncing around in her eyes. “As long as I don’t remind you of the other end. Available for what?”

  Brady sat back, hiding his self-consciousness behind the old sip of beer routine. She obviously enjoyed dragging it out. He wanted in the worst way to say something like, available to take a shower together? But he wasn’t sure she would appreciate the humor or the seriousness of it. “Well, maybe we could get together sometime, now that we’re done with business.” Except for a three thousand dollar rubber check, that is.

  She swung her head, flipping her hair over her shoulder, and faced him directly by propping her chin on her hand. “Maybe we can, Brady, that’d be nice. I can tell you, I’m as available as I want to be. But right now, I need your help with something, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  Even amidst the exhilaration soaring in him from her receptiveness to a date, he felt his scalp tighten up as the sudden husky intimacy of her voice set off his alarm bells. Girl like her just did not ask a guy to help her out of her swimsuit, no matter if she was the man-eater that she came on as. “Sure, anything I can.”

  “Do you remember Monday night? You were moving your bed and I met you there at the house?” She did her little quizzical eye-tilt, keeping them locked on his.

  He nodded, wondering what she wanted and if his answer would decide whether she stayed open to that date idea. “Sure.”

  “Well, that was the night, and pretty close to the time, that the psycho attacked poor Sara.” She paused, shaking her head. “Can you actually believe that happened?”

  “I know. Makes me sick just thinking about it. They catch the guy yet?” And what does it have to do with me, with us?

  “No, and that’s why I need your help. Dad says all the men here are going to need to prove where they were at the time.” She lowered her hands to the table with her chin still propped on them so that she was looking up at him. “Anyway, my brother Nick told Dad he was with me, and he was, but Dad asked me who else saw us that night. And I thought of you. Do you remember him sitting in my car waiting?”

  Brady thought for a minute, replaying the scene in his head. “Lexy, I remember there was someone in your car. But he never got out, and I couldn’t see in. Couldn’t tell you if it was Santa Claus or Aunt Jemima. Besides, I wouldn’t know your brother if he fell on me.”

  “That’s okay, all you do is look at him now, or a picture, and say, ‘That’s the man I saw with Lexy.’ ” She turned on the big smile, firing up the charm.

  “You’re kidding, right? You want me to give your brother an alibi?” It sounded so ludicrous, so B-movie, that he laughed.

  Her eyes flashed for a second and Brady knew he had been warned. Girl was serious about putting him on the spot. “Exactly. After all, we’re your alibi. Bet no one else can vouch for you, and you’re the new guy in town.”

  Whoa, was that a threat or just a poor choice of words by an overwrought sister? He wanted to believe the latter, since she probably didn’t date guys she believed capable of rape. “Lexy, I don’t think I need an alibi.” Did he? “And if you were with him, why can’t you be his alibi?”

  “Dad says he’ll need more than a brother-sister witness to get the police to believe him.”

  “Lexy, I think you’re overreacting.” Then the thought hit him like a tire iron to the head. Duh. Could it be that her brother was the guy? He leaned back in his chair in an unconscious attempt to dilute the power of those hypnotic black eyes. Could the whole “that’d be nice, Brady” answer be a little incentive for him to cover for a guilty brother? “I’m not about to get hung up lying to the police. I’m sure they’ll get the right guy.”

  “That’s a damn lousy attitude to take!” She stopped and took a breath, softening her face back into a smile. “I don’t want you to lie. I just want you to remember. I swear Nick was there with me. Don’t you believe me?”

  He watched her eyes for shiftiness and saw none. Just the impatience of someone accustomed to getting her way. Maybe she was telling the truth, but that didn’t ease the feeling that she was jamming him. “I believe you, Lexy.” Should he? He hadn’t forgotten her playful warning to never trust her on anything besides money. “Tell you what, I’ll think it over some more, okay?”

  “Thanks, Brady, you’re sweet.” She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I’ll owe you and Dad will, too. Maybe we can rework your lease after this is over.” She smiled again, gave his hand a final squeeze, and then was gone.

  Brady flopped back in his chair and took his frustration out on a mosquito trying to excavate his kneecap. So, decision time. Easy choice on the surface—just fudge the facts a tad, and bingo, a shot with Lexy plus an undefined financial reward. Nothing to it if he ignored one glaring little caveat: the fudging would be to the police. Was she worth it? If the brother turned out guilty, how deep was that hot water? Something about the way she’d boxed him into this must-choose position had him feeling like the proverbial deer in the headlights.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Leo Burgess stared morosely through his den window at the animated dialogue churning between Nick and Lexy out in the gazebo. Leo expected screw-ups from Nick but he was quite surprised at Lexy’s failure to secure the new tenant’s corroboration of Nick’s whereabouts. She professed confidence that this Spain fellow would come through, but to Leo’s business-sharpened nose, her account of their conversation smelled like a big, fat, polite no. Leo would have to see to Nick’s safety himself.

  He watched as Nick threw his hands in the air and stalked off toward the pool. Typical. Leo felt certain he knew almost verbatim what Nick was saying. Something to do with everything is someone else’s fault. Leo’s gaze followed Lexy as she shrugged and walked over to her car, head down and her hands in her pockets. Undoubtedly fed up with whatever moronic tirade her brother spewed this time.

  He sensed his wife’s presence before he heard her, and turned to face her as she spoke.

  “Are they going to take Nicky away?” she asked, holding her hands together in front of her. All but wringing them.

  He eyed his wife, half fondly, half exasperated. Still a glimmer in her of the beautiful Anna Kovich he had married, especially the eyes. But in a cold light, she was a short, dumpy, sixty-four-year-old woman who dyed her cap of curly hair a different color every month. “No, Anna. And who are they?”

  “The police.” Now she extended both arms as if she were handing him a live baby bird. “I heard you talking with Lexy.”

  The walls have ears, Leo thought wryly. He sighed.

  She read his sigh with the accuracy developed over forty years of marriage, and pushed on. “You’re afraid they will blame him for this awful thing that happened to that girl.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m merely attempting to be prepared in the event they question him. If our son is even briefly considered a viable suspect, it will greatly damage the image we have built here.” To say nothing of what havoc a conviction would bring, a much likelier possibility than his wife would ever comprehend.

  “Image, schmimage.” She swatted image away like she would a pesky fly. “I don’t care. You better make sure nothing happens to my baby. He couldn’t have done such an awful thing. This is an act of the devil, not some chippy changing her story afterward like the other time.”

  Only the years of negotiating for a living kept Leo from dropping his jaw. She could only be referring to the rape accusation he had bought Nick out of ten years ago. Which occurred in Pensacola; how did Anna know of it? “The other time, eh? And how do you come by this particular knowledge?”

  “You might be surprised
by what all I know, Leo Burgess, if you ever paid attention,” she said, hands on her hips, indignation in her eyes. “Don’t tell me you believe Nicky is capable of such a sin.”

  “I don’t, Anna.” Walls and ears indeed. Quite foolish of him to harbor delusions of privacy in a home Anna viewed as her personal fiefdom. “In fact, Alexandra says Nicolas was with her at the time of the attack. And I can tell when she’s lying.” At least I could when she was a teenager. Has that become a precarious assumption?

  She moved closer, tilting her head back to compensate for the foot and a half difference in height. “Then why do we need this other person to vouch for him?”

  “I simply wish to be prepared for any eventuality. One’s sister may not be considered sufficient substantiation.”

  She shook an admonishing finger at him, something she knew he detested. “Because the police will talk to that other Jezebel and she’ll slander Nicky’s character!”

  “The police will not know about the other incident.” That silence had been bought and paid for.

  “Then why are you worried, Huggy Bear? Tell me,” she said, gently now, using a pet name from their dating days.

  Because I do not trust Pete Cully’s conscience to withstand another cover-up, especially if he suspects Nick. And if he discloses why he suspects Nick, a sister’s testimony will not be worth a damn. Leo knew he could not tell Anna all of this; she would immediately alienate Pete, and they could not risk any further strain on Pete’s wavering loyalties. He circled an arm around her, drawing her close. “I am not worried, pretty girl. I am merely taking care of things as I always have.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  They stood like that for a few minutes, swaying gently together, watching the waves roll up onto the beach below. Perhaps, thought Leo, I can come upon the appropriate leverage to help young Mister Spain’s memory.