Windward Whisperings (12 page)

On the drive to Woody’s, he came up with several ways to take the loss off his taxes. Garrett
breathed relief. Getting rid of a forty-foot yacht moored in the Pacific when he lived on the Atlantic
was the right thing to do. In retrospect, he knew he bought it to impress Kitzie. Hell, he would have
given it to her. Since she wasn’t interested, he never bothered to tell her he’d named the boat
The
Windswept
.

Parking spaces were at a premium. He found a space a block away and took the boardwalk.
The ocean stretched in variegated bands of blue from crystalline turquoise from bright shoreline
lighting to deep cobalt. Slanting light made the water uncommonly brilliant, as if diamonds had been
scattered across the surface.

Suddenly, he wanted to buy her a diamond, make her his. This time he wouldn’t let her go. He
shook his head over their confrontations. Other times, she was elusive. There were worse things. It
warmed his heart that she would visit his grandparents.

Woody’s office was on the second story, and he took the stairs outside the building. The air was
chilly. He breathed in the fresh sea air and then opened the door.
“It’s all here, sir.” Woody handed him a folder. “Check and paperwork is all inside. My broker
fee is ten percent.”
Garrett leaned on his desk. He thought he smelled a spicy scent of pomegranates as he made out
a check for his broker services.
Woody handed him a receipt.
Gar shook his hand. “I’ll coordinate a meeting with you and Christian Spencer of NYB.”
“I’ll free myself up on Saturday afternoon. Set a time.”
“You’ll get a call from my secretary.”
Back in his car, Garrett drove to the bank. He glanced at the clock on his dashboard. The bank
would be open for another fifteen minutes. He sped down Landings Boulevard, parked in the lot,
and pulled out his checkbook. He made out a deposit slip, and then pulled the check from the
folder. He saw her lacy signature. The forward tail of the
K
looped halfway under Katrine with a
graceful swirl. If it were any other woman, he might have some fun with this.
He stuffed her check into his glove compartment and dialed her cell. When she answered, he
said, “Always the extremist, aren’t you? I’m coming by for a pre-dinner talk.”
“Fine, but someone else might be here.”
Her blunt words rattled him, hit him in the chest, and made him ache inside. He’d bought the
boat to impress her, yet she wouldn’t step aboard when it belonged to him. He felt off balance, the
way she’d said one thing but meant another. She was unreadable, and that left him floundering.

In a rage he could barely control, he jerked his car to a halt in front of her house. Some other
damn car was in her driveway. Walking up the porch steps, he glanced at the car and read the First
Team Realty logo painted across the side.

Kitzie opened the door and gave him a guilty little wave. He closed the door. “What’s going
on?”
She blew black hair off her forehead. “My realtor brought a couple over to look at my house.
They’re upstairs.”
Trying to decide what to say, he glanced up the stairwell and then back at her. “You bought my
boat. You’re selling your house.” Suddenly, all of it made sense. “You were in Harry Woodster’s
office. He called and asked me about Naiad’s broker.”
Her hand reached up and touched his cheek. “Don’t be mad.”
“No, no. Of course not.” He reached for her hand and pulled her against him. He threw his
arms around her. She was so small. “You’re in the running for Piermont Sails with him.”
“We may not acquire it. If we do, we will be partners. He has collateral with his real estate
holdings. I have to liquefy my asset if I am to qualify for a low-rate business loan.”
“I had no idea.” The scent of her perfume was still in her clothes. He hugged her close but
didn’t think the investment was a wise one. He knew better than to talk her out of it.
“Don’t say a word against this.”
“I’m not up for an argument.”
“Good because it could come to blows.” She nestled against his chest and then lifted her face.
“Just to let you know, I forgive you for being a pompous bastard.”
“I resembled that.” He kissed her softly. “Are you okay, babe?”
She kissed him back and held his forearm. “More okay than I’ve been in a long time. I
do
have to
resign. Conflict of interest, you understand.”
“Touché, mademoiselle. Tonight we’ll celebrate your resignation.” He laughed. “If the sale
doesn’t go through for you and Harry Woodster, I’ll hire you back.”
His cell rang, and he answered it. “Mackenzie here.”
“This is Vinny Devine. I didn’t send that e-mail. My laptop was stolen. I showed the cops my
police report.”
“When was the last time you had it?”
“It was in my office. After the shop floor meeting, I swung around to pick up my stuff. I
couldn’t find it. It crossed my mind you had it.”
“I’ll drop the charges.” He wound up their conversation and phoned headquarters to drop
charges before he turned to Kitzie. “I wonder how he knew my cell number.”
She sighed. “I gave it to him. I knew he wouldn’t have done it.”
“Vinny didn’t have nearly as much trust in you as you do in him. In fact, he warned me.”
“What’d he say?”
“’A man fool enough to stick it in Kitrine Piermont will get it froze off.’”
“He’s right. It’ll freeze right off.”
“You’re priceless.” He glanced at his watch. “Your flight is at ten. Hope you don’t mind a redeye. I arranged for you to be picked up at LaGuardia. He’ll have a sign with your name on it.”
From upstairs, they heard the realtor say, “Old pipes give the place charm.”
Kitzie rolled a suitcase out from the wall. “I’m packed. We’ll drop Thor and his food at your
place before we head for Duke’s.”
Next, she left a message with Coral. “You’re off the hook with Thor. He’s staying with someone
else. We’ll talk next week.”
They drove to his condo in silence. With her face to the window, she had much on her mind. He
found himself hating Vinny. He hated any man who talked with her.
He also thought buying Piermont was unwise. Knowing she’d try for it was like watching a blind
person cross a freeway. She scared him. At the same time, her independence did something to him.
It made him want her.
He sought refuge in the mundane subject of Thor’s care. They had a pleasant, unemotional
conversation that lasted all the way to his front door.
“Welcome to my condo, Salty Dog. You, too, Mademoiselle Piermont of Piermont Sails.”
“Ah, merci. You are too kind.”
He lugged a ten-pound bag of dog food and box of biscuits to the kitchen.
Thor padded around sniffing everything before settling on the rug.
As he pulled her into his bedroom, she said, “You don’t own a dog and won’t have to report
him on your lease.”
“Wouldn’t want to break any laws, now, would I?” He took off his khakis, neatly folding the
crease, and stood in his boxers.
He heard a gagging noise and walked down the hall to the bathroom. He pushed open the door
and looked inside. Kitzie had sunk to the floor at the base of the toilet and was throwing up. He
helped her, trembling, to brush her teeth and return to bed. When she wanted to phone Harry
Woodster, he brought her the phone. She made Woody promise to buy Piermont.
“Kitzie, it will go fine. I swear it. I’ll make sure Woody has all the information he needs.”
He cancelled their dinner reservations, made ham and Swiss on rye, and offered her ginger ale.
She sipped and set down the glass.
He pulled her into his arms. “You don’t need to fly out tonight.”
“No, I’m going. We have an hour here, but I’m afraid I won’t be much good for you tonight.”
He was silent for a moment. “You have a right to be angry with me. I hope you’ll forgive me. I
want so much to touch you. Not make love.”
She slipped out of her clothes and nestled nude against his back. Her open mouth pressed
against the smooth skin of his shoulder. She draped her leg across him.
He caught her knee and held it before turning toward her.
She held his face and kissed him. “I will always want you.”
He was ready and entered her in a single thrust.
She clawed to get closer and moved on top of him. She braced her hands on his.
He entwined their fingers and brought her ecstasy.

Garrett hadn’t cancelled his airline ticket. He’d told Kitzie it was a good thing. She’d have extra
room.
He stood with her in the security line and kissed her forehead, not wanting to make a spectacle.
“You’re nice to go, so pretty of you.”
“You’re consumed. I’m glad I’m going. I might stay into next week.” She smiled, held her cell in
front of her, and pushed a button. Its sound dwindled to silence. “I won’t turn it on until I’m back.
Tell Woody. You understand, don’t you?”
“Sure. You don’t want to jinx the purchase of Piermont.”
“Besides that, I don’t want the distraction. I need to be in top form when I visit your
grandparents.”
“Any form will be fine.” He wanted to give her tight little rump a pat. Instead he handed her the
handle of her rolling luggage. “Louie will meet you. He’ll hold up a sign with your name on it.” He
took a deep breath and felt a loss when she disappeared. Cold, gray melancholy descended on him
when he wasn’t busy to the point of frantic. Tomorrow morning he’d jockey between broker
Christian Spencer and buyers for the sailmaking department, and he welcomed the thought.
By pure accident on his way out the terminal, he bumped into Leviticus Blake. He and his Asian
wife were checking luggage. “Heading out for the weekend?” Garrett asked.
A slight smile tugged at the older Black man’s mouth.
The former Miss Mae Han, his high school history teacher, smiled, and her eyes squinted into
crescent-shaped slits. “Oh, Garrett. It’s nice to see one of my top students.” She reached over and
squeezed his arm. “We’re going to the breezy, warm Caribbean Island of St. Vincent. Fun?” She
turned her dancing almond eyes toward Leviticus. “Millie is ahead, darling. Woody’s not going. We
can’t let her get lost.”
“Go ahead, sweetheart, catch up. I’ll be a few minutes.” Leviticus watched his wife hurry
through the revolving door. The skycap handed him packets of tickets, and he stepped out of line to
talk with Garrett. “Grayson Biltmore is providing a free ride to anyone willing to explore options at
his next resort.”
“Biltmore’s in the Caribbean to develop real estate? That’s a new one to me.” Garrett began to
question himself for taking Biltmore’s establishment persona at face value.
“We’re leaving a day before the scale model of Biabou Paradise will be unveiled. Mae loves a
social scene that’s shrouded in secrecy.”
“Secrecy, as in ‘let’s keep the paradise quiet because if we don’t, everybody and their rich aunt
will buy units, and there won’t be any left for the special people.’” Garrett felt his neck getting hot.
He knew why. This tactic was as old as the hills and one of desperation. He didn’t want to insult
Leviticus. “Planning to buy property down there?”
“Me? No. Look, it’s shabby to snoop behind the man’s back when he’s paying the freight. Don’t
lecture.” His Brillo pad hair was pulled back into a tight little ponytail, which he’d fastened with a
rubber band. All in all, Leviticus looked dapper for a man of sixty. He carried a leather bag and his
cell.
Garrett looked at him, realizing the PI must see him as stiff and conservative.
“I’m a detective. I like to detect.” He laughed, but his tone carried impatience. “Where are
you
headed?”
“St. Vincent. Have to say, Biltmore’s bullshit has me curious, too. Can’t get away until tomorrow
afternoon.”
“Good. You should come, but let’s keep our suspicions to ourselves. Biltmore knows you have
means. He’ll welcome you into his investment group. They’re flying down tomorrow on his private
jet.” He pulled out a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to him. “Call this guy. Tell
him who you are. Be pompous. Bud Logan is not imaginative.”
“Bud Logan. Who is he?”
“A B-list actor. Serves as Biltmore’s guerilla. His overly impressed girlfriend is coming. She’s a
has-been beauty queen, and I suspect she’s on Biltmore’s payroll as well.”
“Guerilla marketing. Let me guess, there’s a bar full of people. They’ve received exclusive
invitations. Bud hints that some are not worthy contenders. Liquor flows. After hours of glass
raising, Biltmore makes selections. People worry they won’t be chosen. The list is confidential.”
“His last development was on the untapped island of St. Lucia.” Leviticus regarded him with
sober eyes.
“Ah.”
“I wasn’t there, but Millie Pugh was. She walked along a white sandy beach with other investors.
The idea is to buy property and rent it. Buddy talked up plans for the nine-hole golf course,
described tennis courts, the sunsets on the beach. Caribbean music played.”
“Must have sounded like a paradise. Did she buy?”
“No, Woody advised her against it. The development was on the wet side of the island. Woody
knew a hurricane flooded it every September. Millie said the group was mainly from Santa Barbara,
and their money was deposited at the Aruba National Bank. That’s Biltmore’s bank, as you know. If
I can’t reach him on his boat, I leave messages there, and somehow he gets them.”
“Biltmore can place all the assets he wants offshore. He’s protected somewhat against litigation
in the natural disaster category. It won’t help if it’s criminal. Doesn’t sound like the St. Lucia
investment paid as promised.”

Garrett met with broker Christian Spencer of the New York Boatyard on Saturday morning.
They put figures from the sailmaking department into projections and comparisons with similar
entities. Woody and other interested parties were due in at noon. Spencer was a big man, old enough
to retire, and had many questions. He tilted his head to focus his glasses. “Piermont Sails sunk the
ship. Buyers will see that.”

Garrett appreciated the respect Spencer had for other people’s money. Swiveling his desk chair
around, Garrett sank into it, forehead in his palm. Woody and Kitzie were determined to buy it. He
hoped Woody would be objective enough to evaluate the risk. Outside the window, jacarandas
dimmed the bright sunlight. The Top Hat Catering truck pulled up. Garrett got up and walked the
hallway to the entryway. He unlocked the door and led the caterers to the conference room. He
phoned the security guard and reminded him to take down license plates but allow cars through the
gate.