The Trojan Sea (18 page)

“So how many companies would be willing to share the risk with us?”

Now Marsten was at his best. “Given the political implications and the fact we’re dealing with an unproven technique, I’d say no one.”

“So we have to go it alone,” L.J. said, “and if we repeat the Mukluk experience?”

“It will most likely bankrupt us.”

“Unless what?” she asked.

“Unless,” Marsten said, “a disaster interrupts drilling and our insurance underwriters have to pay off.”

“Of course, insurance won’t cover all of our losses,” she said.

“But it would be enough to stem the tide of bankruptcy,” Marsten added.

She made another sudden jump. “Have you ever been to Cuba?”

“No. By the way, are you improvising on this?”

She smiled. “Not at all.”

Later that same day Ann Silton telephoned L.J. with the news. “Have you heard?” she gushed. She didn’t wait for an answer. “The president appointed me to head the Task Force on the Environment! Can you believe it?”

“Congratulations,” L.J. replied. “But I’m not surprised. You certainly deserve it.”

“I heard what you said to the president. I can’t thank you enough.”

“All I said was that I trusted you. Which I do.”

“Oh, L.J., there’s so much I need to learn and don’t know. I’ve got to move to Washington, and I need a new wardrobe and, and—oh, the butterflies!”

L.J.’s laugh rang like summer, full of warmth and promise. “Tim, my pilot, is in St. Louis picking up an airplane. Why don’t you catch a ride back with him? I know just the thing to cure the butterflies. A little shopping!”

“Can I bring Clarissa?” L.J.’s voice turned sad. “Maybe that wouldn’t be a good idea, not now.” They talked for a few more moments arranging the flight. After hanging up, L.J. thought for a bit. Then she dialed another number.

“Clarissa,” L.J. said, “we need to talk about Ann.”

L.J. was waiting with a black Lincoln Town Car when the Sabreliner taxied into the chocks at Love Field. The sleek corporate jet seemed small compared to the other jets lined up like princesses awaiting the proper escort to a royal ball. But the Sabreliner glistened with care, and its noisy engines spoke with a lusty impertinence. In a not-so-subtle way the Sabreliner was a perfect reflection of L.J. and RayTex Oil. Her company was labeled a maverick and, thanks to L.J., was considered lean, mean, and highly maneuverable. In the oil industry L.J. and RayTex got things done, just like the Sabreliner.

The entrance door flopped open, and Tim Roxford climbed out to help Ann Silton down the steps. He smiled when L.J. gave her a hug. “You look wonderful,” L.J. said. She guided Ann to the waiting car. “We have so much to talk about.”

The ride into town was all part of the plan. “There are some wonderful boutiques here that you’ll just love,” L.J. assured her.

“I don’t think I can afford them,” Ann said.

L.J. laughed. “Who can? I’ve got a special arrangement with one in particular, and I get a big discount. Figure one-fourth of what you see on the price tag. But for heaven’s sake, don’t tell anyone.” They giggled like conspirators while L.J. opened a bottle of pink champagne. “This is considered very gauche, but I just love it. Here’s to shopping.” They toasted the venture and plotted what clothes Ann would need in Washington.

The older woman waiting for them, Elana LaBou, was anything but a normal fashion consultant. Not only was Elana beautiful and elegant, she had a rare sense of style that could find gold on a Kmart clothes rack. Even more, she was a kind person who liked her customers, as long as they were also kind and polite. More than one Dallas matron, thinking money was the common denominator that gave her the right to be a bitch, had found Elana’s services unavailable to her. One customer had threatened to buy the store just to fire Elana. But any thoughts of revenge died when she learned what it would cost to buy out Elana’s contract.

“Miss Ellis,” Elana said, genuinely glad to see her. “And you must be Miss Silton.” She extended her hand in friendship. They shook hands and sat down.

“Elana, I wish you’d call me L.J. like everyone else.”

Elana gave her a lovely smile in return. “My mother would die a thousand deaths of embarrassment if I presumed,” she said. She turned to business. “Well, Miss Silton, I think we have some little things that may work.”

“Trust her,” L.J. said, leaning back to enjoy the experience. The first model stepped out wearing a business suit, and Ann gasped. The model was her exact size with the same coloring and hair length.

Ann gazed out the restaurant’s window high above the Fort Worth skyline as they ate lunch at the Riata. “I still can’t believe the prices,” she said.

L.J. looked around to be sure they weren’t overheard. “I told Elana what you could afford. Everything you bought came off her back racks.” She dropped her voice conspiratorially. “I imagine most of them are returns. You’d be surprised how many women, even very rich ones, buy a dress for a special occasion, wear it once, and then return it afterward for a refund.”

“And Elana lets them get away with it?”

“She lets them think they get away with it. They end up paying in other ways. We benefit because Elana refuses to sell returns as new and gives her friends discounts. That’s why all the labels are gone. Elana is such a dear.”

“I hadn’t noticed about the labels.” L.J. reached across the table and touched her hand. “Ann, I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed today, but I’m afraid we can’t do it again.” Ann looked at her in shock. “Once you’re officially appointed to head the task force,” L.J. continued, “you’ll have to be very careful about who you associate with. Many of your old friends, like Clarissa and me, are politically unacceptable. Your enemies will say we’re influencing you.”

“But I don’t have any enemies—” She stopped, her mouth open. “The videotape.”

L.J. nodded sadly. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. Anyway, I hope I’ve taken care of it. But that doesn’t mean the bastards won’t try again. You must be careful.”

“What did you do?”

“Don’t ask,” L.J. replied. Their hands joined for a moment. “We can still be friends, but for now it’ll have to be at a distance. Don’t be afraid to make decisions that will be unpopular. Above all else, do the right thing. I’ll be disappointed if you don’t. Whatever you do, don’t sell out to anyone. And that includes me.”

Ann’s eye’s glistened with tears. “You’re the best friend I could possibly ask for.”

L.J. had her friend at court.

Dallas

L.J. was in her office talking on the telephone when Marsten joined her. She mouthed the name “Elana” to indicate the caller. “I know. The change is astounding. Ann is so grateful for what you did.” She listened for a few moments. “Please, this must remain between you and me. She has no idea what it really cost.” Another pause. “Just charge my account with the difference.” L.J.’s face lit up with pleasure. “Elana, I can’t thank you enough. It was a very sweet thing you did for a very special person.” She broke the connection.

“What exactly did you do?” Marsten asked.

“I told Elana to charge Ann only fifteen percent of the price, and I picked up the balance.”

“Poor Miss Silton,” Marsten said. “First the videotape, now accepting gifts. I take it you’ll burn her if you have to.”

L.J. sighed. “I don’t want to. But the stakes are so high.”

“I’m under the impression,” Marsten said, “that you like the woman.”

“I do,” L.J. confessed. “She’s a bright and kind person who cares about people and doing the right thing. I know it’s a new world, and RayTex has to change. That’s not a problem, as long as we’re allowed to do so in a reasonable manner. But I will not allow them to do to us what they did to the tobacco companies.” She took a deep breath as Marsten smiled gently at her. “I’m preaching to the choir again, aren’t I?” He nodded, still smiling. “Well, then,” she said, changing the subject, “is your trip all arranged?”

“I leave tomorrow,” he replied, “and arrive in Havana Friday afternoon. I should be back next Wednesday. Entering Cuba is no problem, since I travel under a British passport.”

“I thought you were a naturalized U.S. citizen.”

“I am. I maintain dual citizenship. In this case, I leave the U.S. with my American passport and then travel to Cuba under my British passport. All very legal.” He filled in the details. “I’m entering Cuba through Cancún, Mexico, with all the American tourists who think they’re being so wicked.” He shook his head. “How naïve. Don’t they know the CIA tracks Americans going in?”

“Probably not,” she replied. “Americans don’t really understand heads-on-heads intelligence. Just stick to your cover story that you’re on the Hemingway trail.”

“Which is true,” Marsten said. He was a Hemingway collector and had a library of first editions and memorabilia. “I’ve always wanted to visit his home and old haunts.”

“Where are you staying in Havana?”

“In a
pensión
that caters to the more affluent tourist. ARA will arrange contact.” He looked worried. “There is always the possibility that…” He didn’t finish the sentence, as the memory of Eritrea loomed large. He forced his fears back into their walled niches. “ARA assures me they’re the legitimate article.”

“I don’t think we’re being set up,” L.J. assured him. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll come and get you.”

He knew she would. “Take care of Duke while I’m gone.”

“I will,” she promised.

The phone call from John Frobisher came late that afternoon. The image of the teddy bear was back as he explained how he was in town on business and was wondering if she was free to discuss an important issue that had come up. At first L.J. pleaded that her schedule was full for the day. Then he said that Ann Silton had offered him a job as her vice chairman on the president’s task force on the environment. “I’m awfully busy right now,” she said, “but if you’re free this evening, why don’t we meet for dinner?” He agreed, and she asked, “Where are you staying?” He mentioned a hotel in Fort Worth. “The Petroleum Club, say, seven tonight?” She gave him directions before hanging up.

She immediately dialed another number. “Elana, I need something new for dinner at the Petroleum Club tonight.” She laughed at Elana’s response. “Yes, it’s for a man. What’s he like? Well, he reminds me of a teddy bear I loved as a child.” She paused, deciding what more Elana needed to know. “He’s very well connected politically.” Again she laughed at Elana’s reply. “No, I don’t think I’m interested in him romantically.”

L.J.’s eyes opened wide when Elana suggested a dress-and-coat ensemble she had bought over a year ago. “Are you sure?” she asked. Elana assured her it was the right dress if she wanted to keep “all” her options open and make a statement.

The elevator stopped at the fortieth floor of the Union Pacific Resources Building. The doors opened silently, and L.J. stepped out. She glanced around and saw Frobisher standing by the big window overlooking downtown Fort Worth. The club was sending the message she wanted—exclusivity and influence. But everything was in balance: secure and established, yet mainstream and in touch with their world of power and decision.

She walked toward him, certain that he saw her in the reflection from the glass. Frobisher turned and for a moment was speechless. Her dress was a simple, low-cut chemise that reached almost to her knees. He wasn’t sure what color it was, as it changed color with the light, turning from a dark, very rich brown into a darker shade of golden blue, then back. It was simple, demure, and yet incredibly sexy. Only the matching dress-length coat fashioned of the same material made it acceptable for the more conservative members of the club.

“Impressive,” Frobisher murmured. They shook hands.

“I thought you’d like it,” L.J. said, fully aware that he was paying both her and the club a compliment. She looked around. “I like it because the decor is so, well…old-fashioned. I’m not sure if it’s Regency or Empire.”

Frobisher gave her his best grin. “It looks more like Old Petroleum to me.” Their laughter joined as they strolled toward the dining room.

Curtis, the maître d’, was waiting for them. “Good evening, Miss Ellis. Mr. Frobisher, I presume.” Frobisher nodded, pleased that he was recognized. “The work you did on saving the whales was truly admirable.” Frobisher beamed at the compliment.

“Curtis is one smooth-talking devil,” L.J. said.

“I hope
that’s
a compliment,” Curtis replied.

“It most certainly is,” she replied.

Curtis escorted them to a corner table set for two and held the chair for L.J. She sat against the wall under an exquisite painting of a French château, while Frobisher sat at an angle to the big windows, able to see the panorama of lights below them. Since it was a quiet evening, Curtis had not sat anyone at the table next to them, which offered them some privacy while showcasing L.J. “We have a new hors d’oeuvre you must try,” Curtis said. “It’s leg of quail, deep-fried with a hollandaise sauce, cilantro, and pink peppercorns.”

“That sounds absolutely wicked,” L.J. said.

“It had better be, or we’ll fire the chef,” Curtis replied. He handed Frobisher a wine list and disappeared.

Frobisher studied her for a moment. “I take it you like him.”

“Curtis is probably the best maître d’ in town,” she replied, “and I admire anyone who is very good at his—or her—chosen profession.”

The hors d’oeuvres arrived and, as promised, were a rare treat. “Now, that’s a finger food,” Frobisher allowed.

“Only in Texas,” she murmured, sucking her fingers clean.

Curtis caught the message halfway across the room and wondered what it was doing to Frobisher’s blood pressure. They fell into an easy conversation while he kept a watchful eye, sending the wine steward or a waiter at the right time. He personally took their orders and urged the chef to give their requests special attention.

The evening was drawing to a close when Frobisher reluctantly turned to business. “I was surprised when Ann called me with the job offer,” he told her.

“Ann is a wonderful person, but…well, very inexperienced in certain aspects. I think you know what I mean.” Frobisher nodded in agreement. “You can fill in her weak spots, and I think you should take the position.” She could tell that Frobisher was still undecided. “I honestly doubt if she can do it without you,” L.J. said.

“Ann can be very difficult to deal with at times,” Frobisher confided. “Especially if she thinks a feminist issue is involved. I’m just not sure if I want to put up with all that.”

“Keeping her focused may be where you can help the most.” Frobisher was almost convinced. She reached across the table and touched his hand. “Think what you can do. It’s an opportunity you can’t pass up.” She paused to let it sink in. “It’s been an enjoyable evening, John, but I’ve got a busy day ahead of me tomorrow.” She gave him a lingering look over her wineglass.

“Thanks for the advice,” he replied, “and the wonderful dinner. I was impressed.”

That was the idea,
L.J. thought. She gracefully rose and led him to the elevator.

Curtis was waiting by the entrance to the dining room and bade them a good evening. He watched them as they waited for the elevator. Then they were gone. The wine steward joined him for a moment. “My God! Did you see what she was wearing?”

“Very hard to miss,” Curtis allowed.

“She was certainly sending out the signals.”

“Actually, I think she was vamping him,” Curtis said.

“Did he fall for it?”

“Oh, yes.”

L.J. had her second friend at court.

L.J. dropped her dress on the floor of her dressing room and stared into the mirror.
Why am I doing this?
she moaned to herself.
What’s wrong with me?
There was nothing wrong with the image staring back at her. She was wearing no bra and only the briefest of panties. Her breasts were still firm and her stomach flat. She looked over her shoulder and examined her derriere in the mirror. Again, as perfect as it could get. She stepped out of her shoes and sat down. Slowly she removed her stockings. Her legs were smooth and taut. She slipped out of her panties and stood up, still appraising herself in the mirror.
John’s a nice guy, likable and cuddly and, maybe, under different circumstances…? So why are you doing this to him?
She knew the answer. The elephant.

She kicked the dress into a pile in the corner. She would never wear it again. She walked into her bedroom and slid under the down comforter. She curled up and for a moment felt like crying. Then she turned out the light and went to sleep.

Andrews Air Force Base

Special Agent Toni Moreno-Mather shifted in her chair. Being pregnant, she could never get truly comfortable. But she had work to do. She flipped through her notes before fixing Stuart with a concerned look. “I turned the Bondo you gave me over to the Arlington police, and they sent it to the forensic lab for analysis. It’s from the same batch they found on your Explorer.”

“What exactly was it doing there?” Stuart asked.

“Best guess? Whoever sabotaged your brake lines used a light coating to hold everything together. A hard or prolonged application of the brakes would cause the Bondo to let go, the brake fluid to drain out, and the brakes to fail.” She checked her notes again. “They also disabled the brake-failure warning light. Sounds like the work of a real pro.”

“But why me?” he asked.

“Good question,” she replied. “Come on. We’re meeting Ledbetter and Smatter at your place.”

“Why them?”

She shrugged. “That’s the way the system works. They were assigned to your case.”

“My case?” he said, feeling sick to his stomach.

She gave him a concerned look. “You are their prime suspect.”

Stuart fought the panic that threatened to engulf him. Until this moment he had never really believed he was a suspect, sure that it was all a misunderstanding that would go away. “Do you think I did it?”

“I just go with the evidence,” she said. “Where’s your car?”

“At home. I rode the Metro to work and took the shuttle bus here.”

“Do you mind driving my car?” she asked.

He shook his head and felt better. At least she trusted him to drive. He took that as a good sign. They drove in silence to his apartment, and he parked on the street. Ledbetter and Smatter were waiting for them, and neither looked friendly. When he got out, the panic was back. “Wait a minute,” he muttered to Toni. “This is Washington, and they’re from Arlington. Do they have jurisdiction here?”

“The accident occurred in Arlington,” she said. “The D.C. police were more than happy to waive jurisdiction.”

Stuart fought the urge to get back in the car and drive away. But it wasn’t his car, he was home, and it was late afternoon. He felt like a condemned man as he led the way down the alley and unlocked the garage. “It’s been locked since you found the Bondo?” Ledbetter asked. Stuart nodded and raised the door. “Hold on,” Ledbetter said. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a folded paper. “Search warrant” was all he said. “Don’t go in.”

The panic was back, and Stuart’s hands shook as he read the warrant. Since he had never seen one before, he handed it to Toni. She glanced at it, and again the shrug. “All in order.” His eyes darted from Ledbetter to Smatter and back again as they methodically searched the garage. Smatter bent over and picked something off the floor and put it into a small plastic evidence bag. He carefully noted the time and location on the bag after sealing it. Again, the skinny detective reminded Stuart of a weasel as he worked.
A very dangerous weasel,
Stuart thought.

He couldn’t stand to watch the detectives and went inside to change out of his uniform. After a few minutes he wandered back outside to see if they were finished.

“Well, well,” Ledbetter said, carefully holding what looked like a big tube of toothpaste. “What do we have here?” He held the tube up for Toni to see. The label clearly identified it as Bondo. “I’m willing to bet that it matches what we found on the Explorer and the floor.” A wicked smile played across his broad face. “With a little luck your fingerprints will be all over it.”

Something inside Stuart snapped. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“Plenty,” Smatter answered. He looked at Ledbetter, who nodded in reply. “Michael E. Stuart,” Smatter said, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Grant DeLorenzo. Anything you say—”