Below the Surface (25 page)

“She just tell me it very complicated. Yeah, that's the word she used.”

Bree's hands slapped her thighs. “Damn it! Why didn't you tell me earlier, when she was missing, at least?”

He shrugged. “Honoring the dead, her last wish to me, in a way. If she was gone, nothing can be done about the baby.”

Bree jumped up and started to pace with her arms folded over her chest. Thank the blessed Virgin, he thought. She'd assumed he'd simply volunteered to keep Daria's secret. Truth was, he'd suggested to her that he'd keep quiet if she'd turn more and more of the running of the business over to him during her pregnancy. She'd told him she was having and keeping the baby. He admired her for that, but he'd still blackmailed her, in a way. He hadn't asked for money, but she'd offered it. As ashamed of himself as he was now, he'd taken it, a couple of hundred dollars, which he was pretty sure she got from her lover. But if Bree learned all that, she just might find a way to kick him out of here.

Cole sat on Bree's veranda drinking coffee the next morning as she made the call to the police. He could catch occasional things she said, her voice impassioned.

That's how he'd felt about her from the beginning, impassioned. Had it only been ten days since he'd found his mermaid washed in on the stormy shore? He felt as if he'd known her—wanted her—for years. Since their mutual drive to find what had happened to Daria might be over now, would she need him less?

He did not feel the relief she did. Yeah, everything pointed toward Sam and Ric, and Cole was glad the investigation would soon be in official hands. He still didn't trust Verdugo, but maybe that was because he hated what he stood for, escape from reality and easy money through gambling. It had ruined his mother's life, his dad's and his, leaving a legacy of only loss.

He frowned in the direction of Verdugo's yacht, where he was going to finish the paneling today so the place would look good for the shakedown cruise—the PR party, as he'd heard Verdugo call it. Cole agonized that he had sold out to Verdugo. He'd only wanted to help Bree by keeping an eye on the man, and the paneling deal had fallen into his lap as the perfect way to do that. But he still longed to chuck it all and start up a boatbuilding business of his own.

He'd agreed to go out on the casino boat tonight, but only so he could search an off-limits storage area he'd noted below decks yesterday while Verdugo was distracted by his guests. Now, he was also looking for diving gear and spearguns. The police could focus on Sam Travers and his divers, but Cole could not shake the gut feeling that Verdugo was dirty, too.

Bree came out and sat across the little table from him. She was almost smiling. That tilted the corners of her gray-green eyes and made her look less exhausted.

“Finally,” she said, and sighed so hard her shoulders rose and fell.

“They're going to open the case?”

“A Lieutenant Mike Crawford is going to get a search warrant for Sam's house and shop and put in a request that the police dive team retrieve the stern piece from
Mermaids II
in Marco Pass. I told them I hoped it was still there, because of what happened with my sea grass report to the commission. I said I'd dive with them, but they said absolutely not, that my description of the layout would be enough. And that they would interview both of us at length tomorrow morning.”

“Great!” he said, reaching over to clasp her bare knee. “I hope that now you can relax a bit.”

“For the first time, I admit I feel totally wiped out. I couldn't let up before, not until we found Daria, buried her, then found her killer.”

“But if it
is
Sam or his divers, the question remains whether he meant to kill you.”

“If that was his plan, he could have done it several years ago, probably closer to when Ted died.”

“Maybe it took time for him to get to the point where he'd risk it, time to lay plans.”

“Maybe time to realize he'd get more vengeance not by eliminating me but Daria. I believe he wanted me to suffer for her loss as he had suffered with Ted's. Then, when Daria and I dared to open a business that was competition to him, even though he could almost buy and sell us—and tried to—he just bided his time until he could make it look as if Daria had an accident. Maybe he came upon her in the storm and took his chance, maybe he stalked her. I don't know, but I hope the police can get it out of him.”

In a way, he wanted her to go with him on the casino boat tonight, but he wanted to be alone when he searched the storage room he'd seen Verdugo's men go in and out of.

“Verdugo said I can bring you tonight,” Cole reminded her, “but I thought you might want to just crash—sorry I put it that way. Are you okay with being alone?”

“I've already decided not to go. Don't worry, Manny's coming over to play bodyguard, since we have a lot to discuss about our new partnership. And,” she said, sounding lighthearted for once, “I'll wait up for you, and you can tell me all about it. Besides, Lieutenant Crawford promised to call me here with an update this evening.”

“I like the sound of that, not just the police being on the case, but you waiting up for me.”

He pulled her closer and kissed her, lingeringly at first, then intensely. Her lips opened; a jolt of desire nearly shot him off his chair. Her fingers moved across his temple and through his hair, stroking it. He felt swept away, as if he was sailing full blast, skimming over the water to parts unknown but deeply desired.

When they finally broke the kiss, with her mouth moving along his cheek, she said, “I realize I've said this before, but I don't know what I would have done without you through all this. Take care of yourself tonight. We might have survived by being in your boat when the sharks were in the water, but I'm afraid on that yacht, you'll actually have some sharks on board with you.”

M
anny was late. He'd called to say he'd had a flat tire on Golden Gate and had spun off onto the berm. Bree realized she was still suffering from the residual effects of paranoia. She should have asked him if he was all right, but instead she blurted, “You're sure it was just a flat? No one's tampered with the truck?”

“I know tires like I know motors. Be there as quick as I can.”

“Make sure you're far enough off the road so no one hits you.”

“Yes, boss.”

“‘Yes, partner,' will do,” she said as she punched off on her cell. She was hoping to use tonight to patch things up with Manny and set out some mutual rules for working together, because they had to get the business back on its feet. She was pretty sure a lot of Manny's problems with his daughter and with her and Daria had been that he was from a culture—and a gender—that didn't like taking orders from women. They'd have to really talk that one out, or else their partnership would never work.

Bree decided to call Amelia to update her on Lieutenant Crawford taking Daria's suspicious death case, but knowing Ben, he was probably already up on the latest developments. For all she knew, the judge who signed the search warrant had reported right in to him. But the voice who answered the phone was not Amelia's.

“I'm Mrs. Westcott's sister,” Bree said. “This is the Westcott residence, isn't it?”

“Oh, yes. This is the babysitter, Johanna. I thought it might be my mom.”

“Please tell Mrs. Westcott I called and I'll phone again tomorrow.”

“No problem. They went out on a big boat at the Turtle Bay Marina tonight. The boys are being really good,” the girl added, as if she had to give Bree the parent report.

“Tell them ‘hi' from their aunt Bree, and that I'll see them soon.”

She should have known, she thought as she put her cell on the table, that the A-list of movers and shakers around here would include Ben Westcott. She was glad Amelia was well enough to go. Patching up things with Manny was one thing, but Bree knew she had a long way to go with Amelia. She hoped she could help her believe that she was loved and had always been loved. She hoped they could help each other.

As much as she was finally starting to relax, Bree jumped when the downstairs doorbell rang. Maybe Lieutenant Crawford had stopped by in person. Deciding not to turn on the inside office lights until she saw who it was, she hurried downstairs.

It was Nikki Austin, dressed to kill, as usual. Mark stood behind her, looking pretty natty, too, leaning against the car as if the part he would play tonight was chauffeur. Snapping on the main office light, Bree unlocked and opened the door.

“Wow,” she said, admiring Nikki's jade-green, strapless, silk cocktail dress. “You look fabulous.”

“We're going to meet Josh on board the casino boat for the big show-and-tell party, where Verdugo
shows
the powers-that-be how he's lily-white in the pollution department and
tells
us to get the voters to see things his way. Marla Sherborne's attending, too.”

Bree almost told them Ben and Amelia would be there, but she decided to stick with Verdugo. “At least you're on to the casino king,” Bree said. “Cole will be there, but, as you can see,” she added, gesturing at her shorts and T-shirt, “I'm staying put.”

She considered telling them about the police taking the case, but she decided she'd wait on that, too. It still was possible that Josh, not Ric, was the father of Daria's baby. Then again, Daria could have met Ric on a diving job and not told Bree about their developing relationship because he worked for Sam. Even in their brief encounter, Bree had seen how charming Ric could be.

Mark came closer behind Nikki. “We saw your lights and thought we could give you a lift over,” he said.

“You know,” Nikki added, pointing to her stiletto-heeled sandals, “no one can walk far in these things. We'll wait for you to change. Mark can drop us both off.”

“Thanks, but I'm really not going. Enjoy yourselves.”

Bree's office phone started ringing. She'd had it on speaker earlier and forgotten to take it off. It might be Cole, and she didn't want everyone to hear what he said.

“Excuse me a second,” she said, but she didn't get to the phone in time. A man's voice—not Cole's—spoke. “Bree, Dave Mangold here. I'm so sorry to hear what happened with Daria and that I wasn't here to fly with the civil air patrol for the search.”

It didn't matter if Nikki and Mark overheard this, Bree thought.

Dave's voice went on. “I've been to visit my daughter in Memphis and I didn't even learn Daria had been lost until I got back today. I got your messages on my phone here. I did see something strange when I was flying out that afternoon. Racing ahead of the storm, I saw a pontoon plane towing a boat that could have been your dive boat—not sure, but it was really weird. They were heading toward Marco Pass, I think…”

His message continued, saying he'd call back later. The reality of what he'd said hit Bree like a rogue wave out of the dark. A pontoon plane, no doubt the very one she'd been in. She'd heard no motor when she was underwater because an amphibious plane's motor was above the water.

The timing could not have been worse. Nikki and Mark had heard everything, so there was no faking her response with them. Her stomach went into free fall as she turned to stare at them, standing close to each other now, intimately so.

“Too bad we can't convince you to go to the party, then,” Nikki said, her voice now solemn rather than solicitous. “The entire Clear the Gulf Commission will be there, I hear.”

“My sister and her husband are going, so I'll get a blow-by-blow from them,” Bree said, trying to find a way to brazen this out. “They're stopping by to say hi any minute now.”

“Nice try,” Mark said, aiming a small gun at her. “Nikki just talked to Josh on board and the Westcotts are already there, though he hadn't seen your watchdog, Cole, yet.”

Could Cole be coming back for her? How long would it take Manny to get here?

Bree's mind raced over possibilities. Were these two working with Josh or against him? She was furious with herself for not reading things right, for being sucked in by the Austins and their so-called bodyguard. And what was the real relationship between Nikki and Mark? Bree's voice came sharper than she intended; it didn't sound like her.

“Have you decided to stoop to using a gun now instead of your more bizarre weapons, like a wrench or speargun—or a detonator cap?” she asked Mark. “You've set Sam up to be a suspect in Daria's death, and with my help.”

Mark's grimace was more of a grin. “We were still trying to just scare you off at the Gator Watering Hole,” he said, his voice calm and controlled as he walked closer, hit the play button for Dave Mangold's message again, then deleted it. “By the way, the piece of blasted stern from your dive boat has gone the way of your sad sea grass meadow. The same way you're going to have to go now—bye-bye.”

“Then after killing me, you'll merrily go sailing with everyone?” Bree challenged.

“You're way off base again,” Nikki said as she pulled on a pair of white gloves and walked away to lock the front door. “Since you've missed the boat, so to speak, I'm afraid you're going to commit suicide by drowning yourself out by the Trade Wreck where you last saw Daria. And we're not going out on the casino yacht because in—” she glanced at the time on her cell phone “—less than sixty minutes, an underwater explosive attached to the boat is going to take it and everyone on board to the bottom of the gulf.”

“You mean Bree's not on board?” Amelia asked Cole. He'd been busy showing people his woodwork, especially after Dom Verdugo had pointed it out to everyone in his opening remarks. “I thought I'd get to spend some time with her.”

“She's really anxious to do that, but she's exhausted,” Cole told her, raising his voice to be heard above the buzz of conversations in the main salon.

The man certainly cleaned up well from the time he'd waited with her in the hospital, Amelia thought. He'd looked like a sea captain that night at their house, but he had stepped right out of the pages of
GQ
magazine tonight. If she were Bree, she'd have come along just to beat the women off. It certainly would do Bree good to have a man in her life—but then, maybe she wouldn't need her older sister any more than she ever did. Bree and Daria, Bree and Daria—she could almost hear the way they'd chattered to each other from the moment they could talk.

When other people came up to talk to Cole, Amelia took a shrimp appetizer from the circulating server—the shrimp had a small edible orchid perched atop it, no less—and wound her way through the crowd and out on deck. Ben was so busy talking to Josh Austin he wouldn't miss her.

Josh's wife had just phoned him to say she had a terrible headache, that she was just going to lie down at their local campaign headquarters. Word was that the Austin power couple hoped to emulate Bill and Hillary Clinton someday. Now wouldn't that be something? Maybe Josh would put Ben in his cabinet.

As the boat left the harbor, Amelia ate her appetizer but saved the orchid. With a pink cosmo in her hand, she leaned against the wooden railing, then edged around the back of the yacht. As they left the shore lights of Turtle Bay behind, the stars popped out overhead, but she preferred looking down mesmerized, into the white wake in the dark water.

This gulf had swallowed her sister, drowned her. If Daria had not been unconscious, would she have died or saved herself? And then, would she have blamed Amelia—hated her even more? If she told Bree what had happened that last day, would Bree ever forgive her? How did it feel to slip under the sliding waves to die?

The buzz of voices and laughter floated to her, mingled with the murmur of the sea. Her drink glass slipped from her fingers and disappeared into the silvery wake.

“A toast to Daria,” she whispered, and tossed in the tiny orchid. They seemed to be heading in the direction of the Trade Wreck where Bree and Daria used to dive together.

Why had she always been so afraid of the waves and water? Amelia asked herself. But she'd been brave enough to go out in a boat to talk to Daria, who had told her to grow up and get over things. Dr. Nelson had said the same, in a more convoluted, quiet way. He'd said her perceptions might not be reality, at least for other people.

Amelia leaned out even farther, looking down, down into the silken surface of the sea. Again, she assured herself that the coroner's report stated that Daria had actually died from drowning, not from the blow to her head. And that had been an accident—she'd slipped, just slipped in the heat of their argument. But guilt pressed Amelia down, down, drowning her….

Bree's eyes darted to the clock on the office wall. A bomb to go off on the hull of the casino boat—no doubt under the waterline—in less than sixty minutes. Cole gone. Amelia and Ben. Verdugo. Josh and his opponent, Marla. All those others. Yes, these two had to be lovers or else Nikki would not let Josh die.

Somehow, she had to do something, and fast. The minute hand of the clock was moving so quickly. If she could keep them talking, Manny might come, but how long would that take? She had to get to a phone and get the coast guard out there to intercept Verdugo's boat.

Bree said to Nikki, “I'm shocked to think you're planning to get rid of Josh, your ticket to Washington and the halls of power.”

“I would have been behind him all the way, before he betrayed me,” Nikki said as Mark handed her the gun and went into the back room, clicking on the lights. The man knew his way around here, but then, he'd probably been downstairs, as well as upstairs, searching Daria's room.

“But it was best that Daria be eliminated,” Nikki went on, “and now Josh, too, for what he's done. Haven't you heard about the widow's sympathy vote platform? Congressman Sonny Bono dies in a tragic, publicized skiing accident, and his widow gets elected in his place. Years before, Congressman Boggs goes down in a plane crash and his widow takes his office. The third time's the charm.”

Bree's jaw dropped. Her gaze met and held Nikki's. The woman looked rock steady and icy cold. Forget the tactic of trying to work on her emotions or sympathy.

“If you're thinking the explosive on the boat will make Sam a suspect, you're mistaken,” Bree insisted. “He's in Sarasota, so he has an airtight alibi.”

“Wrong again,” Nikki countered. “He's been called back by Josh to speak at a luncheon tomorrow about saving the gulf. Briana, I know you and Sam don't get along, but you should know he's spoken out for your sea grass stance. But I'm glad you suspected him as the mastermind behind Daria's death, just as we had hoped.”

Bree just gaped, stunned anew. She'd tried to blame him for all of this and now she might not be around to testify when he took the fall for Nikki and Mark. “Then Ric's working for you?”

“Oh, yes, he's working with us and for us. He's worked closely with Mark.”