He stared at me blankly for a second and then nodded. He stepped into the other room, and I heard him speaking urgently to someone on the other end of the radio.
Natasha wasn’t crying, but her entire body shook in my embrace. I pulled a throw blanket over her. As we waited, I took in the penthouse for the first time. From my perch on the edge of the massive circular white couch, it looked like the suite was bigger than my entire loft by a few times over.
Nothing to sneeze at. Chandeliers. A black marble dining room table. Murano glass bowls on open shelving. A goddamn Steinway grand piano. And the painting sure as hell looked like an original DeKoonig. An entire wall of mirrors. Private balconies. Hell, I could see the water of a private pool glinting in the moonlight on the private deck.
Several doorways led to other areas.
From what I could see, the balcony stretched the entire length of one side of the penthouse.
Natasha hadn’t moved. I crouched in front of her.
“What’s going on? Where is Henry, Natasha?”
She met my eyes and sadly shook her head.
“Is this his blood?” I took her wrists. I stood, looking for a sink.
“Please stay where you are until the detective arrives.” It was the security guard. “She asked that everything remain untouched.”
I nodded and crouched back down by Natasha.
In a low voice, I said, “The detective is going to be here in a second and is going to ask you what happened. Why don’t you practice and tell me?”
She closed her eyes for a second and then nodded.
Henry had been angry at her all day because the other night she’d brought that blonde woman back to the suite.
“You brought her back here?” I asked, incredulous.
“I should’ve just brought her to bed with him, then it would’ve been fine, but I didn’t want to share.” She stared straight ahead as she spoke, rubbing her bloody hands on her silky nightgown, leaving rust stains and streaks. “I took her to one of the other bedrooms.”
Then she asked for money. She said if I didn’t give her fifty thousand dollars she’d tell Henry.”
Natasha swiveled her head and looked at me. She waited as if I was supposed to say something, so I said, “Did you?”
“No. That’s ridiculous. I wasn’t going to give her any money. She could tell Henry anything she wanted. I do what I want. He lets me do whatever I want.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I thought it was over. I told her I would tell Henry myself, and there was nothing she could do to hurt us. But then she came here before dinner.” Natasha looked down. “I didn’t know it, but she took a video. Her phone was recording us the whole time. And she said she was going to send them to the tabloids, the paparazzi.”
I stood and poured us both drinks, even though the detective has asked us not to touch anything. I gulped mine, refilled it, and then handed Natasha hers. She held it in trembling hands, dipping her head to take a small sip before continuing.
“So before dinner I told him about us. He was angry. It wasn’t until after dinner while we were in the hot tub, that Henry said he wanted me to move out of our suite for the rest of the cruise. I was heartbroken. So, I left. I didn’t know where to go so I went to see her. And now he’s dead.”
The blonde.
It stung that she would go to that stranger, a blackmailing stranger, instead of me—her friend, but I let it go.
“Shhhh,” I said, rubbing her arm. “You said you don’t know that he’s dead. He’s missing right now. We don’t know anything.”
“Look,” she held out her hands. They were caked in blood. She was right. The blood told a different story.
“When did you see him last?”
“I left Greta’s cabin about three. I figured Henry would be asleep and I could just sneak in and try to get him to forgive me when he woke.”
Back in the penthouse, she showered and then slipped into bed, but Henry was not there. She assumed he was angry and sleeping in a spare bedroom. But later in the night, a noise startled her awake, and she called out for him.
He didn’t answer, so she got up to find him.
The first places she looked were the other two bedrooms, but they were empty. So were all the other rooms in the penthouse. Heart pounding, she even checked the hot tub, terror streaking through her at the thought that maybe he’d had a heart attack in the tub after she’d left. But the hot tub was empty and the jets were off. That’s when she saw the open doors to the massive deck surrounding the penthouse. As soon as she stepped outside, she saw something wet on the deck and smeared on the rail. She reached down and touched it before realizing it was blood, she said.
And that’s when she screamed.
“It’s okay. It could have been someone else’s blood,” I said, patting her skinny knee through the silk fabric. But we both knew I was lying. It was Henry’s blood.
“Oh my God. What will I do without him?”
At those words, I looked up and saw a woman standing there staring at us, eyes narrowed. She was tall and wore her brown hair pulled back in a severe bun. She wore khaki pants, a coral top and brown loafers. Her gaze was cold and calculating.
“Who are you?” I said.
“I’m Detective Solange.”
Right then, I knew Natasha was a suspect. I leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Do you want a lawyer?”
Natasha drew back in horror and flung my hand away. “What? What are you talking about? No! No! What are you saying?”
I closed my eyes for a second. “Sorry. I know you didn’t do anything,” I said in a low voice. But I didn’t like the look in that woman’s eyes.
“Thank you for sitting with Mrs. Ainsley until I could get here. We will no longer need your help.”
I blinked. But I didn’t budge.
“Please excuse us now.” She was a persistent little copper, wasn’t she?
“I’ll leave if Natasha wants me to leave.” I said, meeting her eyes.
Natasha burst into tears. “Just go, Gia. Just go.”
“Are you sure?”
She sniffled and swiped at her eyes. “Yes.”
“Fine. I’ll be in my suite if you need me.”
She didn’t answer. I cast one look back before I walked out. The detective had taken my spot on the couch and was leaning, speaking to Natasha. My new friend nodded once and looked back at me with terrified, wide eyes.
Chapter Ten
Poker Hand
Natasha didn’t answer my calls throughout the night, so in the morning, feeling adrift and worried about her, I pulled on my red crocheted bikini, grabbed a flask full of bourbon and my beach towel and headed for the pool. I was hoping she would show up at our usual meeting place. Or, if she went out on her balcony, she could see me there. I sent her a text saying, “At pool. Call me when you get up.”
Spreading my towel out, I plopped on my stomach, took a big gulp of my whisky and put my head down, staring up at the window from the privacy of my sunglasses. No movement. Also, with my gaze hidden behind dark sunglasses, I examined every blonde that walked across the deck to the café that served lunch. I figured the pool deck outside the café would be the most likely place to spot the blonde. Greta. Unless, of course, she ordered room service. Or just didn’t eat.
I waited until about three, but with the warmth of the sun on me like a drug, I could no longer fight the heaviness in my limbs and drifted off to sleep.
When I woke, I sat up and stretched. The sun was dipping on the horizon. I checked my phone. Nothing. Damn.
A waiter headed my way. “May I bring you something?”
My stomach grumbled a little at the words. “Yes, please.”
Before I could order, he turned and walked away. Okay. Whatever.
I leaned back and closed my eyes.
A few minutes later, the waiter reappeared with a tray of cheese, crackers, grapes, tiny toasts with caviar, a bottle of white wine, and a s
mall dish of shrimp, scallops, and crab bathed in butter with a hunk of bread to dip into the buttery broth.
“Wow,” I said and sat up straight. “Thank you. I’m in room—”
“It is already taken care of,” he said.
I scrunched my face. He raised his eyes. I looked over and saw Natasha standing on the balcony. She still wore the ivory silk nightgown she’d worn the night before. It blew in the breeze, along with her hair. She stood for a moment looking down at me and then turned and went inside.
After I polished off lunch and the bottle of wine, I tugged a black sundress over my swimsuit and headed for the bank of elevators that led to the penthouses.
Of course, once the elevator opened and I stepped inside, I realized I was going nowhere.
I didn’t have the code for the keypad and didn’t have the keycard to swipe.
I grabbed my phone and texted Natasha. “Help. stuck in your elevator. come get me.”
A minute later this text appeared: “#0407#. They let us program our own code. How cool is that?”
I punched the number into the keypad. Boom.
The elevator whooshed up, and the doors opened into a small foyer.
I didn’t see her anywhere. “Hey?”
Nothing.
Then I saw her. She was standing on the big balcony with her back to me, looking out over the sea. When I reached her side, she didn’t turn. She just kept staring sightlessly at the sea churning in the boat’s wake below. Her hands clenched the railing so tightly her knuckles were white. The rail was wet from the tears dripping off her cheeks.
“What can I do?” I said in a soft voice.
She turned. “I don’t know.”
“What does that detective say?”
“They are treating me like a suspect. Me!” Her eyes were wild. “How dare they?”
“That’s crazy,” I said.
She sniffled and nodded.
“I told them she did it, but they still are treating me like a suspect.”
I froze. “Who is she?”
Natasha looked at me with wide eyes. “Sharon Long.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She couldn’t have him so nobody could. She killed him. I know it,” Natasha said. She reached into my bag and plucked out my cigarettes, lighting one. “I even showed that detective the note.”
Sharon Long had written Henry a note saying she’d rather see him dead than with Natasha.
“That’s pretty incriminating,” I said.
“Right?” Natasha blew a perfect smoke ring. “And she doesn’t have an alibi for last night.”
“Holy shit.”
“But they still are treating me like a suspect. They said they aren’t sure I should get off the ship in Tangier.”
“That’s crazy. You’re not under arrest. They can’t keep you.” I said it, but I wasn’t sure. Maybe ships had different rules.
I remembered that the detective had first suspected me in Bobby’s murder and how furious and helpless I had felt. I knew how awful it was to be in a deep pit of hopeless grief while also being treated as a suspect. I also remembered how it felt to have just lost the man I loved. There was only one thing that had kept me going. And that’s when I knew what I could do. I leaned forward.
“When they murdered Bobby, I couldn’t rest, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think, until I found out who did it.” And killed them.
She nodded but seemed unconvinced.
“If Sharon Long did this, maybe we can find some way to prove it,” I said.
“Maybe she paid someone. I don’t think a woman would be capable of overpowering Henry. I mean, he was a big man,” Natasha said. “But I know she’s behind it somehow.”
“You think there’s any chance he’s alive somewhere? Maybe on board hurt or something?”
Natasha gasped and threw her palm to her mouth and walked inside, plopping on the couch. “Oh my God, I never thought of that!”
Then she frowned. “But the blood.”
“Yeah.” The blood. “Any chance he injured himself, went to get patched up, and didn’t come back?”
“No. He’s dead,” she said with a sob. “Someone hurt him and threw him overboard. I just know it. And the detectives are asking me questions. So many questions.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll figure out who did this, and the detective will leave you be.”
She nodded and leaned her head back against the couch cushion.
“Have you slept?”
“I tried. The ship doctor gave me those.” She gestured toward a small prescription bottle. I picked it up. It didn’t have a label.
“What are they?”
“A sedative or sleeping pill,” she said. “I didn’t want to take them. I was afraid whoever hurt Henry would come back for me.”
“I can stay here while you nap.” I grabbed a bottle of sparkling water off the bar, plucked a pill out of the container, and handed everything to her. “Here, you need to sleep.”
Natasha turned toward me. “Will you stay with me? Will you stay with me? You can stay in one of the spare bedrooms? I’m too afraid to sleep here alone.”
I hesitated for a second. But a good friend would say yes, so I nodded.
Her shoulders slumped in relief.
She took the pill from me and swallowed. Before long, she curled her legs up on the couch under her and closed her eyes. Soon, she was emitting soft snoring sounds.
I went to find the bathroom. The first door I came to led to the master suite, and I saw the open door to a bathroom beyond it. After using the bathroom, I lingered in the bedroom.
It was so sweet, they’d brought a photo of themselves and propped it on a dresser across from the bed among assorted bits of jewelry, makeup, and perfume. It looked like they’d been living there for years. I picked up the photo.
Natasha was glowing. Her face was tilted, looking up at Henry with love.
Henry looked down on her with a dimpled smile. He was pretty cute for an old guy. A stab of grief took my breath away. He was probably dead. I bit my lip. I wasn’t going to cry. Christ, I’d barely known the guy. But I’d find whoever had killed him and make them pay.
I put the picture down and tugged open the top drawer of the dresser. I was hoping to find something comfortable for Natasha to wear to get her out of the bloodstained one.
The top drawer was empty. And the next one. And so on.
I looked around. The walk-in closet. Of course. She probably even hung up her silk nighties. I tugged a pair of yoga pants and a cozy-looking sweatshirt off a hanger. When I did, I noticed a small silver case tucked back under the hanging clothes
Something she’d said earlier had been nagging at me. I’d let it go at the time, but now it came back as I stood in her closet.
She was afraid they’d come back and search her suite. Of course, to me that offhanded comment meant that the couple had something to hide. But what?
A jewelry box full of illegal diamonds? Drugs? Paperwork of illegal financial transactions?
Maybe it was in the silver case she’d tucked behind all her clothes.
I pulled it out. It had a combination lock. I tried the code for the elevator she’d given me earlier. It worked.
At first I wasn’t sure what I was looking at. A stack of passports. Picking them up, I rifled through them like a poker hand. Five in all. A sound in the living room made me freeze. Then I heard it again—it sounded like she was moaning in her sleep. When I didn’t hear anything again for a few seconds, I quickly flipped through them. All Natasha’s gorgeous face with different names. Nadine Romanoff. Laura Matthers. Nancy Shostakova. Czarina Karliff. Yelena Belova. Jesus. It didn’t make any sense. Was she and Henry who they claimed? Maybe Henry was up to something nefarious, something illegal that had caused his death.
From the living room, I heard Natasha again. This time calling my name. With trembling hands, I shoved the passports back in the case, snapped it closed, and shoved it back where I found it
.
Scooping up the clothes, I hurried into the living room.
“I found these. You should change out of that nightgown.”
Looking down at the nightgown, she nodded but slumped back onto the couch, eyes half slit.
“I’m too tired.”
“You can wait until morning if you want, but you need to shower and change, okay?”
“I woke up and you weren’t here,” she said in a plaintive voice. “Where were you?”
“Getting you clean clothes. I told you.”
“Oh yeah.” She started to fall asleep again then jerked and opened her eyes. “Gia? Gia?”
Her voice was frantic.
“I’m here, Natasha.” I reached over and squeezed her hand.
She clutched it like a lifeline. “Please stay here with me. I’m afraid. I don’t want to be alone. Please?”
“Sure. Of course.” I let go of her hand and settled back on the couch. “I’ll be right here. Just sleep now.”
As soon as her eyes closed, my shoulders slumped in relief. This mothering, nurturing, caretaking stuff was fucking exhausting. I wasn’t cut out for it. It took all my effort to stay and console her when a small, irritated part of me wanted to take off and go back to my own bed.
Part of it was that it was disconcerting to see a strong woman reduced to needy mush. But hell, her husband was gone, probably murdered. And the detectives were treating her like a suspect. I knew how that felt. Shitty. I’d try to be more compassionate. That’s what friends did. I had a lot to learn.
Within a few seconds, I heard the soft sounds of her sleeping. Her eyelids fluttered slightly. I glanced over at the door to the bedroom and closet but then dimmed the light on the table between us and lay back, closing my eyes.
Maybe I’d ask her about the passports in the morning. Or maybe I’d find out what was going on by myself.
Chapter Eleven
Casablanca
When I woke in the morning, Natasha was in the shower. I figured that was a good sign.
Stretching, I glanced out the window to see sunshine reflecting off a bright blue sea. I padded into the kitchen to forage for coffee beans.
Black Widow Page 6
