Lust on the Rocks

by Dianne Venetta

  “Fifteen years ago.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Not sure, exactly.”

  “What do you mean, not sure?”

  “His name came up in connection with the Regency Hotel in Philadelphia. I looked into it and discovered he served as General Manager for about two years. During that time, records show there was a lawsuit against the hotel, but no details. All I could learn was a local politician and his family had a celebration event after a big rally and his kid died.”

  Sam’s heart felt the crush. “That’s a tough one.”

  “I ran a search of the local papers, but couldn’t come up with much more. Like the story was buried, or something,” she said with a quick shake to her head, her earrings flapping.

  “What about court documents?”

  “Case was sealed.”

  Sealed. She’d about had her share of sealed cases. It was time to start peeling things open.

  “All I know is it happened at the pool. Report said the girl was pronounced dead on the scene.”

  “So what’s Scaliano’s connection?” Sam asked, as much to herself as Maria. She glanced at the red chaise in her office, as though the answer lay there.

  “He was ranking boss man at the time.”

  “Another Captain goes down with his ship?”

  “Not sure.” Maria shrugged. “I made a few calls to the hotel, but no one seemed to know anything.”

  “Fifteen years is a long time.”

  “Yes, but I did find an interesting fact.” She flipped through a few more pages and said, “He left the hotel less than a year later and for about four years, I couldn’t find a single link to his name. Nada.”

  Sam’s gaze drifted to the cluster of diplomas on her wall, the awards, the recognitions. Throughout her life she had achieved top honors in everything she did, but at the moment she felt inept. “People don’t just drop off the earth, Mare. Where’d he go next? What’d he do?”

  Maria laid her hand across the file, long pink nails lining up in a row. “I don’t know, but for about four years, there was absolutely nothing.”

  “Was he fired?”

  “Can’t say. Maybe he retired.”

  “Hmm...” Questions pummeled her. Something bad happens at the hotel, you’re the guy held responsible... She could see where he might want to lay low for a while. Especially when you’re talking politics. The blame would be tied around Scaliano’s neck like a noose.

  Dark saucy eyes widened with mischief. “Maybe he’s one of those mob guys who wanted to disappear for a while. You know, ice the rumor mill?”

  Sam smiled at her dramatic flair. “Nice try.”

  “It’s not only in the movies, you know. I had a boyfriend once, grew up in Jersey, and the stories he told...” Maria shook a hand through the air as though cooling a burn. “Ay caramba!—I wouldn’t ever live there, no matter how much you pay me.”

  Sam wouldn’t either, but these revelations didn’t explain anything. Rather, they complicated matters. Not only did she have no clue the extent of Scaliano’s involvement in the hotel death, she didn’t have clue how Vic fit in. But she knew he did. Scaliano in Philly was no coincidence, of that she was certain.

  Sam realized at once she would have to see for herself. “I’m going to Philadelphia.”

  “Why? What do you think you’re going to find out there?”

  “Don’t know,” she replied. “But I daresay more than you have.” At Maria’s visible offense, Sam quickly clarified, “Phone solicitations are easy to reject, but a six-foot woman on a mission...” A grin spread across her face. “That’s a harder push.”

  Maria laughed.

  Face to face, she’d be able to tell in short order if someone knew more than they were saying, and then she would probe full-throttle; a feat impossible to accomplish over the phone. Sam shot forward to her desk and grabbed a pen. “Make my reservations for tomorrow,” she said, and began making notes.

  “So soon?”

  “The fritters are fryin’, Mare.” Sam instinctively reined in her smile as she considered what lay ahead. “We don’t want them to burn.”

  # # #

  “You sure this is necessary?” Diego asked.

  “For the fifteenth time, yes, I am.” Sitting on the edge of her desk, hands holding tightly to its edge on either side of her hips, Sam appreciated Diego’s concern. She didn’t like wasted effort any more than he did, but this time, she sensed his trepidation had more to do with friendship than business.

  Though he wouldn’t voice it, Diego was making the personal link between Sam and Vic and a trip to Philadelphia, unbeknownst to his buddy, didn’t sit well with him.

  “Vic’s been adamant about Scaliano, Diego. If there’s something in the man’s past that might affect our case, we need to know.”

  “No, man, I understand,” he hemmed, his gaze clouded with reservation. “I just don’t think you’re going to get anywhere. We’re talking fifteen years. You can’t expect to find anybody around who knows what happened back then.”

  “I disagree. Hotels are career tracks. Upper level managers don’t usually change positions like they do soiled sheets. Not the way our Scaliano boy does, anyway. They start at the bottom and work their way up. I’m bound to find a few people who remember the incident.”

  “And willing to talk?” Diego began to pace. “The case is sealed, Sam—for a reason. No one’s going to cut open old wounds. Definitely not, when you’re talking politician.”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  Diego stopped. He combed a hand over short curly hair and hitched his gaze to hers. “Is it?”

  “Trust me on this one, okay?”

  He teetered on the edge.

  “Have I ever let you down?”

  She hadn’t. Not once. “If you think it’ll work...”

  “I do.”

  “Then, okay, I’ll go along with it,” he said, but his features twisted in revolt against his unwilling betrayal.

  Sam pushed off the desk and walked over to Diego. She placed a firm hand on his shoulder and said, “You can’t tell Vic, okay?” She needed her ally to stand strong on this one. “Not until we talk. Deal?”

  “Deal,” he mumbled, but couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye.

  # # #

  Sam stood by the door. Her leather purse hung from one shoulder while an overnight bag hung from the other. “I won’t be gone very long,” she said, her voice thick with worry.

  “Whatever.” Jess was tired of being alternately fawned over and bitched at—it was getting old. She turned her back and walked into the kitchen. In fact, the whole scene was getting old.

  “Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  Jess flipped her a nod. Sure. Fine. She rounded the corner and stopped. Looking straight across the room, she locked her gaze to Sam’s. And what if I do, she thought. What are you going to do about it? Drop everything and rush home?

  Guilt cut her to the bone. Of course she would. Jess dumped her gaze to the sink. That’s exactly what her sister would do.

  Sam slipped out of the condo without another word.

  A mix of resentment and relief flushed through Jess’ belly. Fine. Go. I can use the time alone.

  And do what—ponder your decision?

  Angry, she silently mocked Sam’s preferred terminology. Ponder your “choices?” While you’re at it, how about talk to Luke? He keeps calling.

  He has a right to know.

  Jess’ heart wailed in protest. I have rights, too! Why doesn’t anyone care about my rights?

  You have decisions to make.

  Decisions. Jess was beginning to hate the little voice in her head, the words it kept spewing.

  Her chest tightened. You have a decision to make. A decision.

  There is no decision! I have to take care of this pregnancy. I have to call Dr. Anderson and schedule the procedure. Her breathing stopped. The procedure. Tears pushed forth and stung her eyes. You can’t h
ave this baby. You’re not ready to be a parent. An image of her parents shot into her mind and Jess squeezed her eyes shut and slammed fists to the counter. Stop it! Stop it!

  I can’t take it anymore!

  Something inside her cracked open. And laughed at her. Too bad. You don’t have a choice. The phone rang and her heart skipped a beat. Her eyes popped open and she stared as the ringing continued. I can’t take it anymore...

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would call the doctor’s office—the ringing ceased—and finally end the madness.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Across the lobby, Sam spotted the bar. Perfect. With a wearied mind and tired legs, she dragged herself over and slid onto a well-padded leather stool. Pushing the strap from her shoulder, she set purse in lap and pulled the cellular phone from an inner pocket.

  Time to call Diego. On second thought, she put the phone down on the bar and waved over the bartender. Prompt and courteous—and two shades shy of gorgeous—and made haste as he plucked a napkin from a nearby carousel and slid it in front of her. “What can I get you this afternoon?”

  “Afternoon?” Sam checked her watch. “By my count, it’s borderline happy hour.”

  Dressed from head to toe in black, the dark-haired fellow grinned. “By my count, every hour is happy hour.”

  Sam liked him already. “Gin martini, straight up, bone dry, three olives.” Then she couldn’t resist adding, “And make them juicy.”

  “You got it.”

  She eyed her cell phone. Call now, or post liquid-balm?

  Sam heaved a sigh. Did it matter? Either way, Diego was still right. The hotel staff clammed up tighter than a hostile virgin. Nobody wanted to touch her questions, let alone be seen talking to her. Which stumped her. What was the big deal? She wasn’t making any threats, or waving around lawsuits. She was asking questions, pure and simple. Asking about an incident fifteen years ago—one that had nothing to do with these people.

  Sam watched the man cap the tall silver shaker cup and give it a vigorous one-two. She grabbed her phone and flipped open the cover. No time like the present, she decided. I want to enjoy that drink.

  She punched the speed dial for Diego and pressed the trim phone against her ear. From somewhere in the background, the first strands of lounge music filtered into her mind, reminding her evening wouldn’t be far behind. Evening filled with a nice warm bath.

  Sam smiled at the bartender as he set a chilled glass before her. With practiced finesse, he poured clear white liquid into the pointed bottom, then submerged an olive laden sword into its icy bath. She nodded thanks as Diego answered. “Hey, it’s me.”

  “What’d you find out?”

  That’s what I like about you, Diego. Get right to the point. “Nothing,” she said dully. “Not really.” She could almost hear him say, I told you so, but to his credit, Diego said nothing. “No one seems to know anything.”

  “Figures.”

  “I think some do, but they’re refusing to talk.”

  “Goes with the territory.”

  “But that’s just it. I wasn’t asking as a lawyer, I was Sally Citizen, nothing more.”

  “You were curious. That’s all that counts.”

  “Curiosity never hurt anyone.”

  “It killed the cat, Sam.”

  “Very funny.” She smirked into the mouthpiece. At least he wasn’t sulking anymore. “I’m serious. It was like no one wanted to touch me. They were a bunch of robots, everyone repeating the same thing. ‘Sorry, can’t help you. The case is sealed.’” Sam groaned and reached for her martini. “Tell me something I don’t know. Though one sweet lady did allude to the politician’s family, telling me how much she approved of their blackout on the media coverage.”

  “Sound powerful.”

  “Some Italian family.”

  “Mob?”

  “Now you sound like Maria. Do yourself a favor and turn off the television, will you? You’re starting to see monsters under the bed.”

  “Hey, they still exist, ya know. Only now they call themselves legitimate businessmen.” He paused. “You better be careful up there. They still take people ‘out,’ if you know what I mean.”

  “Don’t go melodramatic on me, Diego.” Sam ached to take her first sip, but manners prevailed. She’d wait until her partner was finished running his theatrics before she indulged.

  “Watch your backside, is all I’m saying.”

  “Well, I don’t know if I’ll give wind to your paranoia, but I do think the family holds the key.”

  “Ever think a powerful Italian senator might like to keep his business private?”

  “Too bad.” Bringing the drink to beneath her nose, she inhaled the tangy aroma of gin-drenched olives then spoke into the phone. “Tomorrow morning I’m headed for the library. I plan to run through the microfiche and see what I can find about this senator fellow. Maybe Maria missed something.”

  “Doubt it.”

  Sam did too, but it was her last chance. “Listen, Diego, I gotta run. But mark my word, if there’s a connection to Scaliano, I’ll find it.”

  Sam snapped her phone closed and slipped it into her purse. She sampled the beverage and within seconds, relief spread through her limbs with numbing precision.

  The bartender appeared front and center, awaiting her response. Sam hummed with pleasure. Crisp, clean, and oh-so-potent, it was meditation on the fly. She smiled her approval. “This is good.”

  “Dry enough?”

  “Stiff enough.” Sam liked the ensuing spark caused by her remark and grinned. After all, she was never too old and they were never too young!

  “Good.”

  She trailed his backside as he sauntered back toward the other end of the bar to check the status of his customers. Tall, dark and solidly built, he reminded her of Vic.

  Sam eased another long swallow of gin down her throat. She hated the idea of returning home empty, nothing more to go on than when she left. She was still convinced there was a reason for his behavior, but time was running out.

  Sam raised her brow as the bartender returned. What was this? She concealed her amusement as he wiped the clean surface beside her. He was cute, but if he was after more than good service, she wasn’t interested.

  Really? She marveled at her hesitation. Was she really uninterested in the attention from this good-looking stranger? Sam took a second to digest her feelings as Vic’s image crystallized in the forefront of her mind.

  Sam threw back another sip of gin. Interesting.

  “Did I hear you mention the name Scaliano?”

  Effectively hooked by the casual delivery of the name, Sam withdrew the glass from her lips. “You did.”

  “What’s your interest?”

  What’s yours, she wanted to ask, but instead, leisurely stirred the sword of olives through her martini. “Nothing in particular. Friend of mine mentioned his name in connection with an accident happened here, few years back.”

  “What kind of info were you looking for?”

  “The story. The real story,” she clarified, settling into her new lead. “Why, do you know something?”

  “I was there.”

  Forget hooked—Sam hit elbows to the bar and leaned forward—she was on the line on her way to the boat! “You were there? As in you worked for the hotel? Or on scene as a guest when it happened.”

  Emotion swamped his gaze. “I was the pool attendant. I was there when she drowned.”

  “Oh my God,” she uttered, dumbstruck by her luck. She’d been through this whole damned hotel searching for witnesses, anyone willing to talk and all the while her answers lay here, at the bar. The irony swept through her and she suppressed a grin. Next time, she’d order her drink first.

  Dusk began to filter indoors, guests meandered toward sofas, patrons idled up to the bar. Beyond the glass walls of the lobby, she could see waiters applying finishing touches to tables within the neighboring Steakhouse. Yet as the lounge assumed a more relaxed pace, Sam shifted
into high gear. Duty would soon call this man back to task and she wanted answers. Needed them. “So what happened?”

  “A tragedy, for sure.” He glanced the vicinity for onlookers, then busied himself organizing a stack of beverage napkins. “Young girl drowned in the pool while her family watched.”

  Her family watched.

  Sam cringed. “Preventable?”

  “If you ask me? Yeah.” His shoulders sagged. “Definitely preventable.”

  A shudder flew down her spine. An ugly day in any parent’s life, but more so when it could have been avoided. “Why do you think so?”

  “I know for a fact the management knew there was a problem with the pool and didn’t fix it.”

  “A problem?” Her legal antennae shot up. “What kind of problem?”

  “The drain. Suction was too strong.”

  “How is that an issue?”

  “The suction was so strong, a person could get their suit stuck in the drain...” His voice faded. “And not be able to free themselves.”

  Her immediate thought was simple. Disrobe.

  “Accidents happened at other places, which my manager brought to the hotel management’s attention because he didn’t want it happening here.”

  “On his watch, you mean.”

  A veil of resentment dropped over his eyes. “He was an honest guy, doing an honest day’s work. He saw trouble and wanted it fixed.”

  “So he informed management.”

  “Yeah, but they didn’t listen to him.”

  “You mean, Scaliano.”

  “Among others, but yes,” the bartender slid his gaze in either direction before he added with a touch of animosity, “he was head honcho at the time and a son-of-a—”

  Sam censored her amusement at his self-censor. This was obviously a pure and decent guy. One interested in doing the right thing. “But why not do anything? Sounds like an easy fix to me.”

  “Not really. They would have had to add a couple more drains throughout the pool to disperse the pressure and that meant closing down the patio for an extended period of time.”