Castle Cay (11 page)

He smiled, disdain etched on his face.

The psychiatric literature said that people
like him had no “moral compass”.

He laughed out loud.

They didn’t realize that he was North on
their stupid compass and they were all simply relative to that.

Or not.

Life had evolved into a sophisticated game
for Avram. Moving among the sheep and manipulating them.

Of course, the money was important. The
player with the biggest pile was the winner. And so far, Avram had
over $6 million in the Caymans.

He chuckled.

I win.

* * * * *

A
fter a fitful night at the airport
hotel in Miami, Julie sat on the edge of the bed in her underwear.
She had called Luz, who had told her everything was cool with Sol.
Julie had explained that she needed to go to the Keys, and that
she’d be staying with David. However, as a precaution, she had
instructed Luz to tell anyone that called that she was in Chicago
at a conference.

She had also asked her to look up
something.

Luz called back a couple minutes later. She
had pulled up the
Island World Realty
listing Julie had
requested. The agent’s name was Frank Martino. Julie had already
called and made a morning appointment with the man, saying simply
that she “wanted to talk about an island”.

Now she sat there, literally on edge, her
cell phone in her left hand, her chin in her right and her bare
feet drumming away on the carpet.

I need him. I really do.

She took a calming breath and keyed in the
number. It rang.

Once.

Twice.

“Hello?”

“Joe? It’s Julie. I need your help.”

* * * * *

T
hree years ago, Joe Garrett didn’t
know he was in love with Julie O’Hara.

And then she walked through his office
door.

Joe had
seen
Julie bite her lower lip
that certain way,
seen
that elusive smile before. Her hair
was tied back, but he knew at once what it looked like loose. And
there was more…

He had tried to analyze it. Did Julie O’Hara
just happen to fit some unconscious image he’d constructed? In the
end, it didn’t matter.

Joe was bowled over by the déjà vu.

After a reasonable period, he had tried to
let Julie know how he felt. But every attempt backfired. He
flirted…and she ran for the shrubs like a feral cat. While it was
true that Joe wasn’t used to being rebuffed, the deal with Julie
was particularly confusing.

There was something between them, and he
was sure she felt it, too.
The more this odd push/pull
magnetism continued, the more caught he was, like a moon circling a
planet…unable to get closer but unable to get free.

Joe thought about their odd relationship once
again, as he gulped down his morning coffee and set the empty mug
on the kitchen bar. The door beside it was open to allow the
morning air to come in through the screen.

He had been remodeling the second floor by
himself, a little at a time, the operative word being
little.
So far, he’d opened up two interior walls and
re-laid the oak flooring, but there was still that unfinished,
unfurnished look about the place and a smell of raw wood and
paint.

The kitchen Joe stood in had been installed
first, so that he could live up there while he completed the two
first-floor offices. The irony struck him.

So Merlin and I could have separate
spaces.

Joe could hardly believe that she had finally
called him.

Now, worried and occupied with her case, he
couldn’t move fast enough. He closed and locked the back door and
strode down the hall.

Joe stepped into the shower, shivering as the
cold spray hit his body. Facing the round mirror stuck on the tile,
he quickly brushed his teeth. He ran his hand over the stubble on
his chin and decided to pass on shaving, since he’d probably be out
of there before the water even warmed up.

Soon, he was out of the apartment and headed
downstairs. He needed to talk to his secretary and make a couple
calls before he left for the airport.

He found her in the office, standing on a
chair, reaching for a chain attached to the ceiling fan. Janet
Hawkins was a wise-cracking, petite and busty blonde on the sunny
side of fifty. She was wearing slacks, for which Joe was very
grateful, considering her position. “Hi, honey, I’m home,” he
said…his usual greeting.

“Good. Hang on to this chair before I kill
myself. Really, Joe, a woman my age needs this thing on High! Why
do you keep turning it down?”

“Because, dear, it blows my papers all
around.”

“You’re hardly ever here, and I’m
always
here. How about if you just shut it off on the wall
switch when you’re working in the office?”

“I can do that. Here, let me help you
down.”

“Thanks. So what’s up?”

“I’m not going to be around for the next few
days,” said Joe, sitting down at the big oak desk that once
belonged to his father. He grabbed his card file. “You know that
friend of Merlin’s who died in Key West? Marc Solomon, the
artist?”

“Yeah?” said Janet, peering at him over her
glasses.

“She called me. She thinks he was murdered.
I’m going to help her. I’m going to Miami and then I’m meeting her
in Key West, but I’ll keep in touch.”

Joe knew from Janet’s expression of wide-eyed
innocence that she couldn’t wait to discuss this development with
Julie’s assistant, Luz.

“
What?”

“Nothing,” said Joe. “Have we heard from
Johnson & Cummings?”

“Yup. The check came in yesterday,” she said.
“I deposited it. $8,600.00.”

“Hallelujah!”

Joe had been waiting for that case to
settle.

“What else?”

“Angela called a couple of times,” said
Janet, offering the information like a glass of sour milk.

Angela D’Amato was Joe’s ex-girlfriend. He
broke up with Angie two years ago when he became hopelessly
attracted to his new tenant. He told her he thought they should
“see other people”. Of course, the only person Joe wanted to see
was Julie.

But that didn’t happen. Joe really tried to
avoid Angie…but sometimes he didn’t try too hard. Janet didn’t
approve.

“I’ll call her later,” he said, flipping
through the card file.

He found the one he was looking for:

Sawyer Aerial Photography

Will Sawyer was a pilot that Joe had met when
he was in the service. He was a few years older than Joe, but they
were both Florida boys away from home, and they had become good
friends.

Joe punched in the number.

Will’s wife, Carolyn, answered the phone. Joe
talked to her politely for a minute or so, before asking for
Will.

“Hey, Buddy!” said Will, “How’s it
going?”

“I’m good,” said Joe. “How’s everything down
in Miami?”

“Great! When are you coming down? We’ll pull
up some bugs!”

Will had a boat; Joe went down every so often
to help him with lobster traps.

Joe told him about Julie’s case, particularly
about the growing significance of the island, Castle Cay.

“So, I was hoping I could hire you to take me
there, get some photos?”

“When?” asked Will.

“As soon as you can.”

Will paused. Joe waited.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday and I’m open,” he said
at last. “There’s a tropical depression southeast of Haiti. That’s
far enough away, but you never know in hurricane season. It may
ground me pretty soon. How fast can you get here?”

“I can be there this afternoon,” said
Joe.

“Yeah, okay. And Joe, I’ll only charge you
for my costs.”

Joe closed his eyes and pumped his fist.

All right!

“Thanks, Will. I’ll grab a cab to your house
from the airport. See you later.”

Joe hung up and reached for his card file
again to look up Sherman Dixon’s number. He located the card and
rang the number.

Long time since I talked to Sherman…

Sherman and Joe had gone to Florida State
University together. What a time that was! They were campus heroes.
It was all about babes, booze and football. Their senior year of
college was a continuous party. Sherman graduated and went into the
FBI.

Joe graduated and went into rehab.

Joe remembered his mother going nuts over his
decision to join the navy after getting out of there. He would
never forget his father’s sharp rebuke: “Let him go, Dot! It’ll
make a man out of him.” How he had hated Big Joe for saying that.
Of course, his father had been right on the money.

“Dixon, here.”

“Hi, Sherm. It’s Joe Garrett.”

“Joe! Good to hear from you! Did you see the
game last Saturday?”

Joe knew he was talking about FSU. Sherm was
still a huge Seminole fan, even though he didn’t live in Florida
anymore.

Joe could picture the big black man standing
in front of the TV in the den, yelling, “GO! GO!” at the FSU
quarterback while his wife and two little girls looked on,
mystified.

Joe said he’d missed the game, and filled
Sherman in on Julie’s case.

“I’m thinking about this guy, Avram Solomon,
the dead man’s brother,” Joe said. “Just thinking…but maybe the
brother is involved with the Tambini family up there, and maybe it
somehow connects to the death in Key West.

“I mean, Julie was really close to this guy,
Sherm, and she’s a hundred percent sure he didn’t kill himself.
Now, I know you can’t tell me anything about any ongoing cases, and
I wouldn’t ask you to,” said Joe. “But I thought you might be able
to just check out the name for me, see if it’s come up before. Is
that possible?”

“Sure, I guess I can do that. You want me to
call you after I check him out?”

“That’d be great.”

He gave Sherm his cell number, spelled out
Avram’s name, and gave him the address of the Boston dealership.
They talked a bit more, promising to get together soon, and hung
up.

Last, Joe called the airlines for the next
flight to Miami and booked a seat.

“Okay,” he said to Janet, rising. “I’m off.
I’ll see you when I see you.”

Joe ran up the stairs, two at a time. He
quickly went around the apartment, gathering up his stuff. Finally,
his carry-on at his feet, he sat down on the couch to make one more
call.

“
Angie? Look, before you say anything…
there’s something I’ve got to tell you…”

* * * * *

J
ulie sat in the back seat of the taxi
thinking about David Harris. It was Friday, September 21st, and she
planned to be on the one o’clock flight out of Miami to Key West.
David was all set to pick her up there.

She thought about what Joe had told her:
“
There was no forced entry”.
She reminded herself that David
was the only other person in the house when Marc died. But it was
no use; no matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t imagine David
having anything to do with Marc’s death.

She got out of the cab a few storefronts down
from Island World Realty
,
which, fortunately, was fairly
close to Miami International. Julie tipped the driver a twenty. He
was to come back for her in precisely one hour, if he wanted to
collect another one.

She was surprised to find the place in a
strip mall. There were a few guys in cubicles on phones and
computers, and an older woman was sitting at a desk up front, near
the door. It suddenly occurred to Julie that they probably didn’t
have much
walk-in
business for multimillion-dollar islands.
Obviously, the closings took place somewhere else.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. I’m looking for Frank Martino.”

A dark haired guy, late twenties maybe,
rolled his desk chair backwards into the aisle between the cubes.
He looked at Julie, a pleased smile on his face.

“Hi! You Julie O’Hara?”

“Yes. Frank Martino?”

“That’s me. I’ll be right with you.”

Slick. The Bluetooth phone in his ear
completes the image…

Julie was glad she hadn’t mentioned Castle
Cay specifically. She had merely said that she was “flying into
Miami from Boston,” and “wanted to talk about an island.” She
wanted to gauge his reaction in person.

“You want to get some lunch? There’s a sub
shop next door,” said Martino.

“I could use a cup of coffee,” said Julie,
and followed him out. As they walked to the nearby sub shop, Julie
noticed some expensive cars parked in front of Island World…a BMW
convertible, a Cadillac and a Lexus.

They got their orders, and sat down opposite
each other in a booth.

“So how’s the real estate business these
days?” asked Julie.

“In the tank, I hear,” said Martino, smiling.
“But not islands. They don’t lose value like regular property and
the buyers are always qualified. So, are you a buyer or a
seller?”

“Neither, I’m afraid,” said Julie, watching
him carefully. “I’m here to talk about Castle Cay in the Abacos…and
Marc Solomon.”

Martino’s body stiffened immediately. He was
surprised and definitely unhappy. He was frowning, his brows knit
together.

The deal with Holiday Cruise Lines hasn’t
closed yet, I bet…and he has a big stake in it.

I wonder how much?

“Who are you? What does that have to do with
you?” Martino asked, no longer interested in his sandwich.

“I don’t have anything to do with it. Marc
Solomon was my friend, that’s all. That’s why I’m here. This sale
just happens to coincide with his death. I only want to ask a few
questions, Frank, just public record things,” Julie said, sipping
her coffee.

“What kind of questions?”

“Well, I already know quite a bit about it. I
know it was listed for $45 million, and that Holiday Cruise Lines
has offered $40 million.”