6 Martini Regrets (18 page)

CHAPTER 35

In a way, the mansion’s architecture was rooted in Florida history. Like a Seminole chickee, it had a steeply pitched roof and was constructed on cantilevered stilts to allow storm surges to sweep under it without damaging the structure above. From the dogtrot house of the early Florida settlers, the design sported a gallery that ran around the building, providing outdoor living space and natural cooling.

All similarities to those modest structures ended there. A house with attitude, it was built in the shape of a pentagon, with one of the points facing towards the north and Jacaranda. The roof rose higher as it went from the south end to the north end, where the floor-to-ceiling windows were eighteen feet high.

The roof was uneven, with the west slope rising several feet above the east side, allowing for a chain of windows the full length of the house. Wide, whitewashed plank flooring and a white handrail atop glass panels wrapped around the house.

Standing on the huge deck at the top of the stairs, you could see nearly three hundred and sixty degrees, see sailboats on the horizon eleven miles away. Black wicker lounges with white cushions, lined up along a sisal area rug, looked out over the Gulf of Mexico. It was a beautiful day and the gulf was busy with boaters on holiday, but Liz was in no mood to relax and watch the world go by. “This way,” she said, already on the move.

Off the deck was the living room. There were windows on three sides of the room, making it almost like being outside. Three large couches surrounded a fieldstone fireplace. The white couches had an abundance of blue and white cushions. Oversize blue-and-white Chinese vases, so big you could hide a small child in them, stood on either side of the fireplace. All the tables in the room were made of gray driftwood and glass. On the plank ceiling above us, a giant palm-frond fan turned slowly.

Clay dropped his bag and turned in a circle, taking it in. “Beautiful. I need to come back with a photographer and take pictures.”

Liz waved his words away. “Don’t worry about that today. I just want to give you an overview so we can start sketching out a marketing plan.”

“How many acres are there on the island?” Clay asked.

“Ten. It’s completely self-contained for fresh water and sewage, and totally private.”

Not good. Alone made you vulnerable—a target—like food fish cut off from the school by a shark.

Liz pointed at the fireplace. “The stone goes all the way down to the concrete pad below and has two more outlets there; three fireplaces in all.”

I looked up at the mammoth structure and asked, “Is Ethan coming by?”

Beside me, Liz’s body jerked away from me. “Good god, no.”

“Oh,” I said, still staring at the fireplace.

She grabbed me. Her nails dug into my arm. “Why did you ask that?”

I turned my face to her. Her angular features were locked in anger. I noticed that the roots of her caramel-colored hair were growing in gray. “I thought maybe there would be a repeat of the party.” I looked down to the arm grasping mine; ropy muscles stood out along the powerful forearm of an expert tennis player.

“Ethan isn’t coming.” She let go of me and stepped away. “Once was enough.” She planted her fists on her hips and added, “You told him the island is for sale, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t realize it’s a secret.”

She frowned. “He showed up here three days ago in a company helicopter with his chief of security to look the place over.” She gave a snort of disgust. “Chief of security? Digger Jackson is just a no-account bully from back home who’s learned some fancy tricks. He and Ethan were always thick as thieves and rotten as hell. They came here with no warning, hoping to surprise me.” Her annoyance with me was gone now, and she grinned like a naughty girl enjoying herself. “They looked this place over real good, every corner. Ethan said he might be interested in buying Dancing Lady.”

I watched her closely and asked, “But you don’t think they were island shopping, do you?”

Again she snorted. “They were looking for Ben’s orchid.” Liz pointed at Clay. “Which reminds me, if he actually offers on the island, you don’t get a commission.” She was on the move again and talking over her shoulder. “He viewed the place before you became the agent, Clay.”

Clay, following at Liz’s heels, frowned back over his shoulder at me.

“Sorry,” I mouthed, but somehow I didn’t think that was going to cut it if I’d screwed up Clay’s commission.

She showed us around the rest of the house, rattling off facts and figures at warp speed. “There are five suites off this central hall.” Liz stopped and pointed up to the ceiling of the hall. “The windows above the hall can be opened by a remote control.” She pulled a remote out of a holder on the wall and demonstrated. A window silently opened above us. “Opening a window creates a giant chimney that sucks air in from the outside and sweeps it out here.” She tossed the remote back in its holder and trotted off down the corridor.

Waving at each open guest door we passed, Liz said, “Of course, the house comes fully furnished.”

I peeked into each room as we went along and then had to speed-walk to catch up.

She stopped at one of the entrances. “This is your suite.”

In gray and sea green, with a bathroom in white marble and black granite, the suite contained every luxury a houseguest could desire. “I could get used to this,” I said, turning around in circles.

Liz was already on her way out the door, a tiny dynamo on a mission. We dropped out bags on the floor and followed.

“My bedroom is at the end of the hall.”

Both bedrooms in our rental home could be put in Liz’s with plenty of floor space left over for dancing. Her suite contained an office, a bedroom, a dressing room and a bathroom. It ran the full width of the south end of the house. The house tour was calming my anxiety—until we got to her bathroom. A cheap plastic curtain partitioned off part of the shower—which was weird, because the walls and floors were made of travertine marble. A faint glow came from behind the plastic. I took a hesitant step towards it, curious.

Liz’s voice was sharp and insistent. “Come on, Sherri.” She turned and walked away.

I didn’t follow.

“Hurry up,” Liz ordered, waiting for me at the bathroom door with her hand on the knob. When I stepped over the sill she closed the door firmly behind me.

Glass doors along the south wall of the bedroom had been pushed back and stacked so that twelve feet of the room stood open to the outside. A brown pelican sat on the balcony railing. Liz crossed the carpet to the balcony, saying, “Wait until you see this.” With a wave of Liz’s hand, the pelican flew away.

Clay followed her halfway out the door and then, seeing me lagging behind, turned back to me and said, “Coming?”

“Yes.” I glanced back towards the bathroom once before I followed.

Clay and I joined Liz at the rail. Below was a raised pool and patio deck. The bottom of the blue pool was covered in a mosaic mermaid.

Liz said, “I swim every morning.” This was the first time on the tour that she’d been inclined to linger. It didn’t last long. On either end of the deck, stairs curled down to the pool. Liz headed for the flight of steps on the left, saying, “You’ve got to see the physical plant, Clay. We have two cisterns for the water we save from the roof, and our own purification system.”

Clay and I followed along like puppies. On the broad lawn beyond the pool, she tapped her foot on the turf and said, “The septic bed is here, under the grass.”

She pointed to the far left side of the green space. “That part, the bit screened off, is the physical plant that keeps this monster of a house functioning.”

They walked across the lush grass, me still trailing behind as they talked of sewage and generators and other exciting stuff.

Beyond the lawn, nature had been left to her own devices. A six-foot-wide brick path had been cleared through the jungle. Through the shadowy tunnel of undergrowth we came out on a tennis court. Liz explained that on the other side of the tennis court, the path led through a tangle of palmetto scrub to a helipad.

Back at the house Liz showed us the cool and pleasant tiled area under the house, with its huge outdoor kitchen and sitting areas. The block walls were painted a bright lime green.

The white pillars holding up the house had been strung with brightly striped Peruvian hammocks.

“This is also the living quarters for the staff, two small apartments. We won’t go in.” She pointed to the hammocks. “When the bugs let him, Silvio likes to sleep outside.”

“There don’t seem to be any insects here,” Clay said.

“I think it’s because we have more wind than the mainland.” She shrugged. “Whatever it is, I’m grateful we can open things up without being eaten alive.”

When the tour was over, Clay and Liz talked strategy while I spread on coconut sunscreen. Just the smell makes me think of good times and holidays. Out on the airless tennis court, I set the ball thingy firing yellow orbs at me while I swatted at them like they were annoying mosquitoes. I didn’t last long. After forty-five minutes I wandered off to see what else there was, leaving the court littered with missed objects.

I went for a swim in the pool and sunned and waited. I didn’t even know what I was expecting, but there was a small lump of dread in the pit of my stomach that wouldn’t listen to reason and go away. A couple of appalling years, filled with death, had left me feeling like prey, a sensation that no amount of explanation could erase.

I told myself nothing bad was going to happen and things were just what they seemed. But the realization that Liz was the only one who didn’t try to buy the orchid from me, plus the fact that we were trapped on this island, had my nerves humming.

And then there was the fact that Silvio hadn’t returned.

CHAPTER 36

Dancing Lady Island was as close to paradise as most of us could ever imagine. Sitting on the dock and waiting for the boat to return, I watched a pelican fold its wings and dive-bomb for dinner. Later, a pod of dolphins fished off the end of the pier. While I watched the dolphins, a passing cruiser came about, turning towards the small dock. I got to my feet, prepared to run if the boat wasn’t what it appeared to be. But the boaters were there to enjoy the gleaming creatures arching out of the water again and again, putting on a show for us while they fed.

When the small yacht cleared out I searched the horizon over towards Boca for the runabout with the Bimini top. Why wasn’t Silvio back? He’d said he was only going to be gone an hour. It was now closer to two hours.

I had to do something besides sit there and drive myself crazy. I’d seen a trampoline on the outside of the house, beside Silvio’s patio. It had to be Cassandra’s. I couldn’t see either Silvio or Liz bouncing on it, but maybe I was underestimating Liz. A woman like that, who had survived what she had and moved at a clip that left a thirty-year-old in her wake—there was no telling what she was capable of.

I climbed up on the trampoline. There was no cross in the center to keep me oriented, and with no spotters, I warned myself to take it easy and find my balance. I bounced gently, getting my feel back and finding courage, and quickly found that what I’d once thought I was pretty great at now made me feel awkward and silly. A little higher. Still okay. With each spring into the air I felt the steel bands loosening around my gut, felt my knees relaxing and absorbing the shock of hitting the mat.

I lifted my feet out in front of me and hit the mat with my butt, a little hard and off balance, falling sideways. Encouraged, I tried again. I couldn’t quite make it back to a standing position, but at least I hadn’t injured myself.

I bounced higher and higher, the freedom of motion taking away the apprehension and dread I’d lived with for weeks. My whole body began to buzz with the joy of soaring high enough to look through the glass panels on the walkway.

I was there twenty or thirty minutes, maybe more—long enough to be able to hit the rubber mat and bounce back to my feet again, but not long enough to get up the courage to try a somersault in the air. Some tricks are best left on the gym floor.

I stretched out on my back on the trampoline. Cumulus clouds, in separate little fleecy puffs, dotted the sky. A wedge of ducks flew over, heading down the coast to Captiva Island. God, why hadn’t I thought of this before? Somewhere along the line I’d given up exercise for booze as a stress reliever. I might have to rethink my choice.

I planted my hands on the surround bar and somersaulted off. Sloppy, falling backwards onto the edge of the equipment but landing on my feet, I’d get no points for dismount.

I’d barely regained my balance when Buddy set up an uproar. Just that fast, my angst was back. I ducked low and ran to hide behind a pillar, pressing my tense body against the unyielding surface. My heart was pounding. It didn’t slow until I heard Silvio talking to the parrot.

I let out my breath and wiped the sweat from my face. “Crazy woman.” I went to join Silvio and watched Buddy take his bows.

Liz leaned over the railing above us. “Silvio, Sherri, come up here, please. We need witnesses for our signatures.”

“Okay,” Silvio answered, tucking one more almond into Buddy’s cage.

After Clay and Liz had signed the contracts and we’d added our signatures, they had drinks to celebrate while I went to our bedroom and climbed into the shower. As the water poured over me, I wondered what Liz was hiding behind the plastic curtain in her beautiful shower and tried to figure out how I could get a look behind the curtain.

When I went back outside the three of them were still on the veranda, with fresh drinks in their hands, watching boats go by and enjoying the day.

I helped myself to the nuts and asked, “Do people ever try to come onto the island?”

Silvio said, “Not when I’m here.” He struck a hero’s pose and patted his chest. “It’s my job to keep them off.”

Liz placed her empty highball glass on a silver tray. “A drink, Sherri?”

“Sure, how about a soda?”

Clay looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

I said, “But first I want to make a call, check on things at the restaurant.” I held up my cell phone. “I can’t get a signal.”

Liz said, “Cell service is spotty out here. There’s no tower. There’s a
SAT
phone on the boat. Use that, or if you want to send an e-mail, we have marine satellite Internet, but it’s slow and hit-or-miss.” Liz picked up the tray. “There’s also
VHF
and
EPIRB
on the
Dancing Lady II
, so we’re not totally cut off.” A small smile teased Liz’s lips. “As long as you can get down to the boats.”

I said, “Even if I can get to the boats, I don’t know how those systems operate.”

Silvio set his glass on the table and got to his feet. “Come on, I’ll show you how it works.”

Following Silvio down the stairs, I asked, “Why don’t you have a
SAT
phone in the house?”

“Lousy reception in a concrete building, better on the boat. Besides, Liz calls having phone service ‘being at everyone’s beck and call.’”

Liz and not Ms. Aiken; I was betting a little more than strictly business was going on here.

Silvio stopped and fed Buddy another nut.

“The guard bird does all right.”

“He deserves it.” He made clicking sounds at the parrot. “He’s the early warning system when people get too curious.”

“Ah, you mean when boaters drop in.”

“Exactly.”

Too curious was an odd way of putting it. I wanted to ask, “Curious about what?” Instead I said, “But don’t the mangroves and the gate keep them out?”

“It’s a nuisance to keep the gate locked during the day. Every once in a while an unwanted sightseer decides to venture past the dock. Buddy lets us know.”

“So, at night you’re behind locked gates with no telephone service, cut off from the world?”

“Pretty much.”

I shuddered.

He gave me a questioning look and said, “You okay?”

“Sure, fine.” I tried to smile at him. “I’m not used to being so remote.”

He stepped onto the boat and held out his hand to me.

I took his hand and stepped aboard.

Silvio turned on the communication system and the large microwave antenna automatically turned to track satellites. We got a signal right away. I got through to the restaurant and started asking if the wine delivery had arrived.

Gwen clearly thought I had lost my mind. “It arrived before you left,” she pointed out.

“Yes, that’s right. How are reservations?”

“Fine.” She drew the word out cautiously, and then Gwen said, “What the hell is going on?”

“I missed you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I handed the phone to Silvio. “I’ve never used one before. Show me again how to make a call if I needed to. I want to be sure I know how it works.”

He nodded as though he thought I was perfectly sane. When we’d gone through it again, he jumped up on the dock and waited for me. A boat pulled in close to stare at the flying fortress above us. Silvio pointed at it and said, “It’s something that happens over and over.
Dancing Lady
is a marker for passing boaters, something to show the guests.”

Silvio waved a greeting but waited on the dock until they’d pulled away.

When we’d passed through the gate he locked it, pulling on the steel bars to test that it was firmly in place before he removed the key and stuffed it in his pocket.

There was no leaving the compound now. So much for knowing how to use the communication system. I could no longer get to it.

Clay wasn’t usually much of a drinker, but when Silvio and I rejoined him and Liz on the deck, he downed two scotches in a row, on top of what he drank while I was in the shower. It was an unheard of number for him. Working on a fresh one and becoming very mellow, Clay regaled us with stories of his sailing trip to Cuba. “The captain was a Nazi, and the only other crew member was a drunk. It was the trip from hell.”

Silvio started talking about where he’d sailed, from Key West to the Caribbean and south as far as Venezuela. His trips had been just as adventurous as Clay’s, making me even more determined to stay home. I hate traveling—another thing Clay and I disagreed on.

“And now it’s time to think about dinner.” Liz drained the last of her scotch and got to her feet, overbalancing and giggling. “Whoopsie.” She was in no better shape than Clay.

“I’ll come with you,” I said, gathering up the glasses.

I followed as she weaved her way inside. It looked like our hostess was zipped. But then, she might be as sober as I was. I hadn’t actually seen how much she’d had to drink.

“This is something of a farewell dinner,” Liz said and opened the refrigerator. “Let’s make it good.”

“A farewell dinner?”

She stood looking into the depths of the fridge like she couldn’t remember what she was there for. “Things are changing. We’ll be leaving the island.” She closed the door and stood there staring at the blank steel surface, lost in her own world.

I went over and stood beside her. She looked at me vaguely and then wandered over to sit at the granite bar. I opened the French door of the refrigerator and started taking out salad greens. There was a large piece of something wrapped in butcher’s paper that Silvio had brought in a cooler back from Boca. I unwrapped it and set the sirloin in a bowl to marinate and then searched around until I found potatoes and got them ready for baking.

Liz planted her elbow on the counter and propped her head up with her fist. “You’re my kind of guest: one that cooks,” she lisped. If she wasn’t drunk, it was a damn good imitation. “I think all guests should come prepared to cook.”

“I like to cook, but at the restaurant Miguel never lets me and I’m never home to make a meal.” I pulled the cord on the lettuce spinner. “We eat at the Sunset most days.”

Liz watched me silently. At last she said, “I think I’ll have myself another little drink.” Her cheeks were a lovely alcoholic rose, but I still wasn’t convinced she was as inebriated as she pretended to be. Some people’s faces grew flushed after one drink.

She poured the scotch over ice as I said, “I’m surprised you haven’t got more staff.”

Her head tilted sideways and she studied me. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“What?”

“I’ve let them all go. I invested in some risky hedge funds, and now I’m just about bankrupt.” She looked confused. “What the hell are hedge funds anyway?”

“I’ve no idea.”

There was only hurt in her eyes. “Me either, but I’m trimming my assets like I’d prune a sick plant, cutting out deadwood and rot.” She gave a broad wave of her hand to indicate tossing away something unnecessary and unreliable, but the movement nearly toppled her off the seat. “I’ll do anything necessary to survive this, but survive I will.”

And that was precisely what worried me.

She considered me as she said, “I’m surprised Clay didn’t tell you. I thought you two were the type who told each other everything.”

“So did I.” The truth was, Clay knew Liz’s need for money would feed my paranoia. Even now, I was considering just what Liz had done for money. “So, that’s why you’re selling the island.”

“Dancing Lady sucks money, so she has to go, and the yacht is already sold. Silvio and Cassandra are delivering it to the new owner over in Miami next week. I’ll drive over and bring them back. Want to come along for the ride?”

“Sorry, can’t make it.” It would be a day or two yet before I was ready for that trip. “It must be hard to give this up.”

She tilted her head to the side, considering. “Kurt’s family owned this island for fifty years.”

I crushed some garlic and dumped it into a bowl. “You mean when I was a kid, playing out here, that’s who it belonged to?”

“Yup. I always dreamed of building a house here. Unfortunately I picked the worst time to do it. I got caught in the economy swirling down the toilet, like everyone else. When one thing went wrong, a whole lot followed.”

I squeezed a lemon into the oil and garlic for the salad dressing, but I was focused on Liz. “It must be hard to give up on your dream.”

“At least I got to have my dream; most people don’t. I can’t cry if the dream didn’t last. They seldom do.”

I whisked the dressing and studied her. “Finding the black orchid is important to you, might be the thing that saves you.”

She grimaced. “Saving me would take millions, not thousands.”

The amount took my breath away.

Clay grilled the steaks for the long, boozy dinner on the deck high above the water. I no longer wondered if Liz was inebriated. They all were. Except for me. I was cold sober . . . and waiting. Don’t ask me what I was waiting for because I didn’t know. I just knew I wanted to be ready when it came.

I was alone with three intoxicated people on a locked-down island, with evil circling. At least, I thought we were alone. I hadn’t checked out the helipad or the mechanical sheds. Who knew what was waiting out there? Even though it didn’t make sense, I couldn’t stop my imagination from coming up with scenarios like that.