скачать книгу бесплатно
But obviously he hadn’t made any effort to locate her—she was simply too easy to find.
Every time the phone rang, she answered it eagerly, then was disappointed. Since she had come home, she realized, nothing had changed.
She still thought about two things: Keith Henson and the skull on the island.
She realized that she was becoming obsessive, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Despite the fact that Ashley and Jake had been true to their word—they had taken her seriously and gotten a friend to order the Coast Guard to search the island—nothing had been discovered. She should have been happy—there had been no corpse on the island, no body parts.
But she couldn’t help wondering where the skull she had seen had been hidden, or whether at this point it had been removed entirely.
At home—and even at work—she had spent hours online, looking up everything she could find on the Monocos. There were pictures of them alongside their magnificent yacht. There was even an old photo of them—from perhaps fifteen years ago—when they’d been at her club. That meant some of the older members might have known them.
She’d also searched the name Keith Henson on the Internet. She found a dozen men of that name who had Web sites or were mentioned in articles.
He was not one of them.
She was thinking about both the island and Keith now, as usual, tapping a pencil idly on her desk, when there was a knock on her office door and George Berry, the current commodore of the club, poked his head in.
“Beth?”
“Hi, Commodore.”
“May I come in?”
“Of course, please do.”
He sat in the chair across from her. “I’ve been worrying about the Summer Sizzler.”
“Oh?” She smiled questioningly.
The Summer Sizzler was an annual event, and all new members were seriously encouraged to attend. It was an important date on the club’s social calendar. The food had to be the best. The entertainment was expected to be the same. And it was coming up in less than two weeks. She, along with the entertainment committee, had it well in hand.
“Chef Margolin has been working hard,” Beth assured the commodore, when he didn’t say anything further. “He hasn’t given me his final menu yet, but I’m willing to bet that once again, he’ll completely outdo himself.”
The commodore waved a hand in the air. He was a man in his early sixties, with a head of the most remarkable silver hair she’d ever seen. His wife had the exact shade. They both had twinkling blue eyes, and in Beth’s mind, they were adorable. They’d had no children, and for as long as she could remember, they had put their time and efforts into their various boats, charities and the club.
Like the Monocos, she found herself thinking.
“You are planning something very special, aren’t you?”
She arched her brows, looking at him. How special? The Summer Sizzler was like an end-of-the-season party—not as major as New Year’s, Christmas or the Grand Ball, when the new commodore was installed each year.
Special?
Of course, there was going to be a great menu. And she’d ordered torches, and wonderful light and flower arrangements for the outside bar area, hired a band….
“Really special,” Commodore Berry said insistently.
His concern gave her an idea. “I think you’re going to be very happy with my plan,” she told him.
“You do have a plan for something special?” he asked.
She saw no reason to tell him that her plan had just come to mind. “Give me a day or two, and I’ll lay it out for you, all right?”
“It’s going to be incredible, right?” He smiled anxiously. “It has to be, you know. I want to go down in history as the best commodore this club has ever had.”
“We’ll see to it,” she vowed.
As soon as he had left her office, she jumped up and headed for the stairs that led down to the first level, with the dining room and, beyond glass doors, the patio. Just a little while earlier, she had noticed a member she had been anxious to talk to—Manny Ortega.
Manny was in his sixties, just like the commodore. He was a fascinating man, who’d come over from Cuba in his teens—lying about his age in order to enter the States with a conga band. He had worked clubs all over Miami in his day.
She was certain he must have worked with Ted Monoco at some time in his life, and she was more than certain he knew the couple, because, according to an item in the paper, he had called the police about the Monocos, suggesting that they were missing.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said to her as she approached his table. He was sitting, Cuban coffee in front of him, smoking and staring out at the different vessels in their berths.
Manny loved his Cuban cigars. He always had the real thing. She wasn’t at all sure how he got them, but she never asked.
“Hey, yourself,” she said. “And thank you. Can I join you?”
“Absolutely. What’s up? Need an aging drummer?”
She laughed. “You never know when I’ll take you up on that, Manny. Actually, I was curious. I happened to be reading some old newspapers the other day. Are you a good friend of the Monocos? Ted and Molly?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Have you heard anything from them?”
He shook his head slowly, his mouth downcast. “Not a word.”
“Do you think something happened to them?”
“Well, I did. But the police told me the other day that their yacht had been spotted, so I guess I have to respect their right to privacy. Seems odd, though. They’ve always kept in touch with me before.”
“It does seem odd. Do you know who actually saw their boat?” she asked.
He tapped his cigar, studying the smoke. Then he looked at her. “Is there a reason you’re asking all this?”
“Oh, we just came back from Calliope Key, and it made me start thinking.”
Manny lifted his hands in a fatalistic gesture. “Who knows about people? They tell me that Ted and Molly can do what they want, that they are adults. So…did I offend them somehow? I don’t know. Could they show up tomorrow? I suppose.”
“But…don’t they have bills to pay and stuff? Taxes?”
“Everything is done automatically from Ted’s accounts. He set it up when they started planning to sail around the world. I just hadn’t realized he was planning on closing the door on old friends.”
“So no one has talked to them?”
He looked upset, and she wondered if she was treading on dangerous ground. Manny’s feelings had evidently been hurt. He might have started off worried, but whatever the police had said to him must have made him believe that his old friends just didn’t care anymore.
She leaned forward. “It doesn’t sound like the Monocos to me,” she said.
He arched a brow. “You knew them?”
“No, but…they were—or are—nice people, right?”
“The best,” Manny agreed.
“Then it doesn’t seem right.”
“No, it does not seem right. But it is…what is.” He stood and stretched. He was a man of about five-nine, compact and wiry, his features weathered. He set a hand on her head. “You’re a sweet person. Kind to worry, but don’t. It will do nothing but frustrate you, I promise.”
But they were your friends, she longed to remind him. She managed not to say anything, in the interest of remaining employed.
She nodded, then, on a whim, asked, “Manny, have you ever met a man named Keith Henson?”
He frowned. “I do seem to recognize the name. In what context, I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever met him, but the name rings a bell.” She waited, he frowned. After a minute, he shook his head again.
“How about Lee Gomez?”
“Hey…this is Miami. I know dozens of Gomezes.”
“But a Lee?”
Again he shook his head.
“Matt Albright?”
“No…can’t say I know that name.”
“How about Sandy Allison or Brad Shaw?”
He stared at her, frowning and took a puff of his cigar. “What is this today, Beth? Twenty Questions? All these names? There are three million people living here.”
She flushed. “They’re just people we met on the island.”
“Honey, people have been going to that island for centuries. Lots of them. From all over.”
“I know. But the name Keith Henson rings some kind of bell?”
“Yeah. But I don’t know what.”
“Thanks, Manny,” she murmured. “Sorry for bugging you.”
“I have to go, big date this afternoon,” he said. She had always thought of him as a dapper man, rather an old-fashioned word, but one that fit him. He inclined his head toward her. “Thank you for the lovely company, Beth. See you later.”
“Oh, Manny, I’m sorry. One more question. A man named Eduardo Shea bought the studios from the Monocos. Do you know him?”
“Sure.”
“Is he…a nice guy?”
“Thinking of salsa lessons?”
“Maybe. Mostly I’m planning something for the club.”
“The studios are doing well under his ownership, I have heard. He’s a decent fellow, a good teacher. Is that what you need to know?”
“Yes, and thanks for the help.”
“My pleasure.” He stood, ready to go, then paused. “You are a very nice person, Beth. It’s your job, I know, to be nice to people, but there’s a real kindness behind everything you do. Don’t make life miserable for yourself. Trust me. I don’t know if Ted and Molly are alive or dead. I know that my fears make sense, and that the explanations I hear from the police make sense, as well. I’ve learned that there’s nothing I can do. You should learn from my experiences.”
“Thanks, Manny,” Beth said. “You’re pretty nice yourself.”
He winked. “You’re cuter. Have a good day, Beth.”
He left. Beth waved, then rose. Walking back inside and through the dining room, she noted that Amanda was seated at a table with a group of women. She was wearing a white skirt suit and a broad-brimmed white hat.
Only she could carry it off, Beth thought, hoping to pass through unnoticed. But Amanda looked up, and Beth groaned inwardly. She was going to be asked about something. Amanda would do her best to make it appear that she wasn’t doing her job.
But Amanda only stared at her for a long moment, then she turned away, as if she had assessed Beth and dismissed her entirely.
Beth returned to her office. As she reached it, she hesitated. Her door stood ajar. She could have sworn that she had closed it. A sense of unease raked along her spine. She gave herself a mental shake. Ridiculous. A member had simply come up to talk to her, then not closed the door all the way. The commodore had come back, perhaps.
She smiled, thinking she was really becoming absurd.
But as she walked into her office, she was convinced that things were…wrong. It seemed that the papers on her desk had been moved slightly. Frowning, she began looking through her things. Nothing seemed to be missing.
She glanced at her computer.
It was off.
Her frown deepened. She hadn’t turned it off.
A chill shivered through her. And yet…there was nothing really frightening here. Maybe there had been a power surge. Maybe she had hit the off button without realizing it.
But she never turned it off during the day.
Still…
It was broad daylight. There were dozens of members and employees in and around the club. There was absolutely no reason to feel a sense of danger.
Yet she sat down slowly, the icy hot trickle of fear refusing to abate.
It remained with her throughout the day, and even followed her into the darkening parking lot when she finally left that night.
THURSDAY.
Morning dawned.
