Island Storms

by Sherryl Woods

  “No.”

  “Have I stepped on some other cop’s toes?”

  “I’m in charge of the case.”

  “That doesn’t mean someone else couldn’t take offense.”

  “They would have complained to me, not my boss.”

  “Well, dammit, who’s behind this, then?”

  Michael looked thoughtful. “Offhand, I’d say the killer. Which leads me to wonder who at Ocean Manor has the ear of the county manager.”

  Molly stared at him. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because I’m the more obvious choice, and you’ve probably been itching for a chance to yell at me ever since I left you on Saturday.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t give you a thought,” she retorted, lying through her teeth, clinging to her pride. “It’s true, though, that you were the more approachable choice. As furious as I am, I wasn’t looking forward to dashing into the county manager’s office for a confrontation without knowing exactly what I’m up against.”

  Michael’s sudden grin was that of a kid just given an opportunity to dunk the principal in a tank of water. “On the other hand, I can hardly wait to butt heads with him,” he said.

  “Now?” she said enthusiastically.

  “Can’t do it now. First thing after the game, though. Are you going to stick around and cheer?”

  “Why not?” she said agreeably. Michael’s promise to take on the county manager was definitely something to cheer about, and she had every intention of being right in the vicinity when he did it. Whether inadvertently or intentionally, someone had first set her up as a murder suspect and now seemed intent on destroying her career. She wasn’t going to rest until she’d discovered the culprit and strung him up by his toenails.

  She was still trying to think of a fate vile enough for the guilty party when she heard raised voices on the field. More precisely, one raised voice. A woman’s. She had her back to Molly, but it was evident from her stance that she was furious. Her hands were jammed in the back pockets of her tight-fitting jeans. Her shoulders were thrown back. Long, shiny dark hair swung with each shouted word directed at Michael. He listened in stoic silence as she ranted. From the tilt of his head, he was gazing at the sky in a why me posture.

  “You promised that after the game the two of us would be alone for dinner for a change! What good are your promises to me? Why should I ever believe another word?” She waved a hand in the direction of the bleachers. “You bring her here to insult me.”

  Michael’s response was so low, Molly couldn’t hear it, but she’d guessed by now that the woman was Bianca and that she was more than upset over Molly’s appearance on what she considered her turf. Molly watched with fascination as Michael’s jaw tightened. She was surprised that Bianca seemed unconcerned that he was on the verge of exploding. Instead, the woman’s clearly provocative words were coming faster now and in Spanish.

  Michael shook his head and walked away. Bianca flew after him, stumbling a little as her high heels caught in the grass. A collection of bracelets clinked musically as she grabbed his arm and whirled him around. Molly waited for him to lash back, but if anything, his manner turned gentle. He leaned down and murmured something, soothing her as he might a skittish filly. Bianca suddenly laughed, the fireworks over. He walked her back toward her car, his hand sliding from her waist to her rear. The fond, intimate gesture was almost more than Molly could bear. Michael might say that Bianca had no hold on him, but his actions said otherwise. Suddenly she fully understood the possessive rage that must have surged through Bianca only moments before. Molly had to give her credit. She had given in more gracefully than Molly might have if their positions had been reversed. Then, again, what had Michael promised to soothe her fiery temper?

  Michael came back and sat in the row below her on the bleachers, watching as the kids practiced. He kept his back squarely to her.

  “Bianca?” she asked finally, staring at the back of his neck. The faint red beneath the tan hinted of tension or embarrassment.

  He nodded, his eyes on the field.

  “What’d you say to her to set her off?”

  “I told her I had to work later.”

  “She must be used to that. Cops have crazy hours.”

  “I told her I wouldn’t be home.”

  Molly’s pulse bucked, then raced. “No wonder she was furious.” Hallelujah!

  “She’ll live. I’m not so sure about you.”

  Lusty thoughts screeched to a halt. Molly swallowed hard as he turned an intense look on her. “I’m serious,” he said. “I’ve got a feeling about this. I can always tell when a case is about to break wide open. I’m not letting you out of my sight until all the pieces fall into place and the right person is behind bars.”

  Molly couldn’t tear her gaze away from the look in his eyes. The emotion was too raw. “You could have someone else stand guard.”

  “No,” he said quietly as he stood up to go back to the game. “We’re going to ride this out together.”

  If the rest of the night was any indication, it was going to be a hell of a ride.

  Michael called all over until he finally tracked down the county manager at his home. While Molly listened on the extension, he demanded to know to whom he’d been talking about the case. Roberto Benitez tried playing coy.

  “I thought this was what you wanted, amigo. It came from the department that the DeWitt woman was getting in your way and on your nerves.”

  “I know better,” Michael said. “My superiors and I haven’t had a single conversation regarding Mrs. DeWitt’s actions beyond the fact that she might be a witness.”

  “And a suspect,” the manager added. “Is that not true?”

  “Very low on the list.”

  “Then I think I am being generous in merely warning her. I could have suspended her for the duration of the investigation.”

  “I want to know exactly who involved you in this,” Michael repeated. “You can tell me now or we can do it officially.”

  There was a long silence while Benitez considered the effect an official inquiry might have on his political fortunes. He served at the whim of some very fickle commissioners.

  “I had several calls,” he conceded finally.

  “From?”

  “The victim’s wife spoke to my wife, as a matter of fact.”

  “And? I don’t believe for a minute that you’d take this kind of action based on some indirect comment from Mrs. Winecroft.”

  “Mr. Gonzalez also spoke to me, as well as Mr. Mendoza,” he said with obvious reluctance. “It seems your witness has offended a number of important people.”

  “And now I’m offended,” Michael retorted. “You know what happens when I get offended, don’t you? I tend to start asking some very hard questions. I wonder why certain people find a need to come to you. I wonder if they’re trying to protect their own asses. And I get really uptight that a county official might help them to do that.”

  “Detective, I have tolerated quite a lot from you in the past.” The manager’s voice was icy. “Do not step over the line.”

  “I might say the same to you. Good night,” he said, then added as a pointedly derisive afterthought, “sir.”

  When he’d hung up, Molly walked back into the living room. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m going to that luncheon tomorrow.”

  His thoughts clearly still on the call, Michael asked distractedly, “What luncheon is that?”

  “It’s honoring Drucilla.”

  He glanced up from his notes. “Exactly how is that supposed to help?”

  “Mrs. Benitez, Mrs. Mendoza, and Drucilla all in the same room. Surely I can get a few clues about the men in their lives from that little scenario. Care to come along?”

  He actually shuddered. “Not if they paid me.”

/>   “And I thought we were going to stick together like glue,” she said, feigning disappointment. Actually, she was delighted she was going to have a chance at those three women all on her own. Having Michael breathing down her neck would have definitely cramped her style.

  “I’m not sure I’m crazy about this,” he said.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, filled with bravado from her previous investigative successes. “They’re not likely to take me out at a charity luncheon. I promise, though, if any of them reach for the butter knife, I’ll cut and run.”

  Michael looked more worried than ever. “Don’t make light of this, Molly. We’re not playing a game.”

  “Believe me, no one is taking this any more seriously than I am. My whole future seems to hinge on the outcome. Jailhouse gray would be lousy with my complexion.”

  “I’d be more worried about the alternative, if I were you.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Five hundred women, wearing vibrant spring colors and sipping mimosas, were wondering whether Drucilla Winecroft would dare to show up at the latest luncheon in her honor. If the committee members had been taking bets instead of selling raffle tickets, they would have scored a record haul.

  Dozens of cocktail parties for film industry officials, plus more than her share of cotillions, had made Molly something of an expert at mingling at packed-to-the-walls occasions like this. As soon as she’d registered and paid for her ticket, she moved from cluster to cluster, smiling, listening, then slipping away without commenting on much more than the weather outside and the clothes in the room. The former was beastly, the latter stylish and expensive. She could have traveled to Europe on what a couple of the designer outfits must have cost. There was no need for a fashion show at this event. The spring collections of the country’s top designers were represented right in the room.

  According to Molly’s unofficial tally, Drucilla was favored to appear, if only to prove that she wasn’t behind bars.

  Sympathy was also on the widow’s side. There wasn’t a woman in the room who didn’t think that a satin-lined box was too good for the man who’d cheated on the ever-charming cultural benefactress. Feeding Allan to the sharks was the disposal method of choice. Since he was already in the ground, it was a belated thought.

  During her first tour of the room, Molly had spotted the wives of several area mayors and chairwomen from at least ten other events she’d received invitations to during the course of the year. Drucilla had served on all the committees. It was payback time.

  To her disappointment, though, Molly had yet to spot any of the women she’d hoped to see. Mrs. Benitez was short, so it was entirely possible that she was hidden from view in the center of the crush. Rosa Mendoza, however, was tall and a stately size sixteen. She tended to dominate a room, in the most positive sense of the word. Molly had watched her walk into a ballroom once. Every head in the room had turned toward the force of her radiant smile, like flowers seeking sunshine. It had been an astonishing display. A woman like that would be an unmistakable asset to her husband. Molly wondered if Manny Mendoza deserved her. For Rosa’s sake only, she hoped she was wrong about his possible involvement in some sort of cover-up attempt. His call to the county manager was suspicious, as far as Molly was concerned.

  A chime sounded, signaling the start of the luncheon. Slowly, amid much laughter and the mingled scents of a dozen designer perfumes, the women began to enter the Intercontinental’s waterfront ballroom with its spectacular view of the bay. Molly stayed by the center door, her eyes peeled on the crowd as the women passed by.

  Finally, Mrs. Benitez, whom she’d met at several official county functions, appeared, all of her attention focused on the woman at her side. Molly stepped in front of her, smiled, and managed to inject a note of enthusiasm into her greeting. Startled, Mrs. Benitez faltered, then regained her aplomb. “Why, hello. Molly, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it’s so nice to see you again.”

  “Do you know Mrs. Jackson? This is Molly…” She hesitated.

  “DeWitt,” Molly supplied.

  The county manager’s wife suddenly appeared nervous. “Of course. I should have remembered.”

  “Yes, you and Drucilla were discussing me just the other day, I hear.”

  Mrs. Benitez tried subtly to scurry behind her guest, but Molly was able to get between them. “Why, yes,” she said, glancing around with a desperate look in her eyes. “I believe she did mention you were neighbors.”

  “And that I’d found her husband’s body?” Molly inquired politely. Mrs. Jackson gasped. Resigned that there was no escaping Molly’s determination, Mrs. Benitez took the announcement with admirable calm.

  “I suppose that might have come up. If you’ll excuse us, we really should find our table.”

  Molly beamed again and stepped aside. “Certainly.” She’d found out exactly what she’d been looking for. Drucilla had made that call to the county manager’s wife. If she could just locate Rosa Mendoza now, she’d consider the day a success, even if she had to eat rubbery chicken for lunch.

  With nearly everyone seated, there didn’t seem to be much hope of spotting the developer’s wife without weaving in and out among the fifty-five tables with their towering centerpieces of pink tulips reportedly imported from Amsterdam. With waiters already crowding the aisles, Molly resigned herself to going to her own table. Since she’d made her reservation late and alone, she’d been relegated to a table at the back of the room. The better to observe, she told herself, just as Rosa Mendoza swept down on her in a rustle of bright-red silk.

  “Molly, I thought I saw you earlier, but in this mob, who can tell. I saw your name at the registration desk. You are alone, yes?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know until the last minute that I’d be able to make it. I didn’t want to miss it. Drucilla’s been through so much. She deserves this day of recognition.”

  Rosa nodded sympathetically. “You are right and it is a lovely party, isn’t it? You will come to my table, sí? I had a cancellation just this morning. There is a place. It has been a long time since we have had a chance to chat. It is so funny that now we are neighbors, I never seem to see you. We have much to catch up on.”

  “We do,” Molly agreed. Perfect.

  Rosa’s table was crowded with women whose husbands did business with Manny. Many of them, in their own right, held important jobs or led major fund-raising efforts for various charities, but Molly was more fascinated by the connections to the developer. His name crept into the conversation at frequent intervals, always with the faintest edge of reverence.

  Molly turned to the woman on her left, who was wearing a marquise diamond the size of a peach pit. “Your husband works with Manny?”

  “Yes. They, how do you say, developed? Yes, developed many properties together. Hernando says Manny is a genius.”

  Rosa leaned over. “Don’t let him hear you say that, please. I have much trouble carving his ego down to size as it is.”

  “He must be incredibly busy,” Molly said.

  “Always,” Rosa lamented. “All he ever thinks of is work, work, work. Now that the children are grown, he is worse than ever.”

  “How did he find the time for the condominium association?” Molly wondered aloud.

  “He said it was his duty. He created the property. It is where we live.”

  “Manny developed Ocean Manor?”

  “Sí. It is, what is the expression, the jewel in his crown.”

  No wonder the man thought he would hold the throne indefinitely. Would his loss in the last election have made him so resentful that he would kill? Tonight’s condominium association meeting would give Molly a chance to see the man in action. Maybe that would tell her if he was capable of murder.

  Meantime, though, Drucilla had just been introduced to a standing ovation. The queen lived. Long live the queen!

&nb
sp; * * *

  Despite the thunder outside the rumble of discontent was evident long before Molly reached the meeting room. The emergency session of the Ocean Manor Board of Directors hadn’t even started and already residents were sniping. If it weren’t for her curiosity about who would emerge victorious in the latest quest for power, she’d have stayed home to watch Jeopardy! and then her favorite, the complex mystery puzzles of Matlock. She had a feeling tonight’s live entertainment was going to be more akin to mud wrestling.

  She slid into the back of the packed and already airless room and found the last vacant chair in the last row. Michael spotted her, inched his way through the crowd and leaned down to whisper, “Welcome to the Tuesday night fights.”

  Molly tried to ignore the way his hand rested on her shoulder, but she liked the sensation too much. “Already?” she said as his fingers began a gentle massage. She felt her own tension begin to drain away. “The meeting hasn’t even started.”

  “They’ve been battling over who gets to sit in the front row.”

  Actually, Molly decided after a few minutes’ observation, the tense atmosphere was only slightly worse than last Tuesday night’s battle between the Winecrofts. “Let’s just hope this week’s version doesn’t culminate in another murder,” she murmured. Michael’s caress ended and she sighed.

  As condo vice president Boris Yankovich gaveled the meeting to order, Tyler Jenkins wrested control of the floor microphone away from another speaker. “I’d like to say something.”

  He was immediately drowned out by catcalls from the audience. Boris moved ahead as if the older man hadn’t spoken at all. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have to make a few decisions tonight.”

  It was evident that the ladies and gentlemen in question were seated at the head table, not in the audience. Not once did the vice president deign to glance in their direction.

  He went on. “Due to the unfortunate death of our president, it is necessary that we move to fill that seat on the board. It has been recommended that we expedite that process by appointing a man whose vast experience more than qualifies him to step in, Mr. Manny Mendoza.”