Trevar's Team 1 Page 17

  “But I was set up by someone.”

  “Yes. But we can’t exclude the possibility that they might have been murdered by unknowns. Maybe someone was obsessed with Sylvia’s fame. A lunatic stalker. When you left the attorneys, there could have been a fan or paparazzi. Someone who picked your purse. The incidents could have been perpetrated by anyone.”

  Lilia objected, “But Sylvia would not have allowed a stranger inside. She would never have opened the gate. There was no foreign trace material.”

  “If she were drinking, she might have been lax in opening the gate and door. Someone might have said they were the police. There are endless ways a criminal mind might have deceived her. And some criminals can clean their sites.” I paused. “I agree it isn’t probable, but we need to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.”

  “The police believe I murdered him. I am innocent. I admit despising him for harming Sylvia, but I could never have killed him. Or anyone.”

  “With Jeremy there are too many enemies to count. He was in some financial tight corners. The mob doesn’t like it when a chump like Jeremy doesn’t square his bets.”

  “I certainly didn’t kill him. I’m not even certain he killed Sylvia so it wouldn’t have been for revenge. Revenge is the police’s theory.”

  “He had motive,” I suggested. “He was angry about getting the boot. And she threatened to change her will.”

  “We all knew Sylvia. She was difficult, but she would have relented. He knew her well enough to realize she might have given him another chance. Dead, he had lost his golden goose.”

  “You,” I teased, “are acting as Jeremy’s apologist.”

  She laughed. “Yes. I want to see the good in people. I wanted the world to see that Sylvia was a good person. I attempted to protect her from her addiction. When she drank, she was abusive. I believe it was her own feeling of inadequacy that caused her to turn on those she loved most. She even accused me of having sex with my leading men.”

  “I recall a lot of tabloid stories. There were photos of you and your leading men on the front page and in embraces.”

  “Scandal sells newspapers. Sylvia saw that trash that alleged my misconduct. When she was sober, she told me she knew it was all just to sell the movie, recording, television program. When she drank, she would go into a jealous rage and tell me that I am good only for sex. Most of the romantic photos were taken from when I was actually in the film.”

  I kissed her forehead. Lilia’s softness in my arms was comfortable and comforting. I wished to wipe hurt from both of our pasts. She had been wrongfully scorned by Sylvia, and now she was being accused of murder via the press.

  This lovely woman had lived in the shadows of a very complex legend. Sylvia, as with my mother, found cruelty a way to deal with her own insecurity. Lilia’s innocent background hadn’t prepared her to handle the neuroses of a superstar. I was a child and didn’t know how to cope with my mother’s disappointments. Sylvia Grant’s life was distorted by booze and pills. She latched on to an inexperienced young singer. Lilia worshiped Sylvia. Lilia accepted Sylvia’s harshness as part of a blind trust. In my case, birth incarcerated me.

  “Beryl, I was never unfaithful to her. She had no reason to doubt me. She kept a careful watch over me.”

  “I believe you. I’m sorry she said people only wanted you for sex. You know that isn’t true with me, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  With a raffish smile, I whispered, “I’ll love you when you get wrinkles and your boobs sag.”

  “You truly want to be together for always?”

  “Forever.”

  “If you are serious, perhaps we could purchase a home of our own.”

  “All my money is tied up in the yacht and my business,” I explained.

  “I have funds. If you agree, I’ll purchase a dream home for us.”

  “We’ll be together,” was my promise, but without agreeing to her plan. I stood, pulling her to her feet. We went to the helm. My arms went around her waist as I took the helm with my other hand. She leaned back against me and our cheeks touched. I was uncertain how to approach my concerns. I blurted, “Lilia, I make money as a PI, but I’ll never be wealthy. The kind of wealthy you are. And there’s the status thing. I’m a private investigator. You’re a star.”

  “It isn’t important to me what you are. Only who you are.” She inspected the skies. A spray of ocean mist created a veil, hitting our faces. “Money,” she explained slowly, “has always mattered little to me. Perhaps it was because I was poor and found happiness. Both in my childhood and with my vow of poverty. Now, I’m happier than I’ve ever been before. You make me happy. Please allow me to purchase a home for us to share.”

  “If you feel the same way about it when the case is resolved, then yes.” My answer was a way of affording her an escape route. “Yes.”

  “I shall forever feel this way about you, Beryl.”

  Her kiss coincided with her words.

  There were luffing sails and moaning winds. And the indelible words of a lovely woman became scrolled on my heart.

  The caps upon the seas became platinum beams when twilight converted to night. I was still feeling the moments of love. Sailing under a canopy of stars had always been one of my greatest thrills. Lilia’s face was even more beautiful under the white moonlight.

  We found a peaceful cove to moor the yawl and we dropped anchor. I prepared a gourmet dinner of shellfish flan. The cheesy pastry flan shell brimmed with chopped lobster, crab, olives, and mushrooms. The filling was seasoned with cracked black pepper, cayenne pepper, my favorite selection of fresh herbs, lemon juice, cream, and brandy. A citrus soufflé and excellent champagne capped off the event. We toasted with champagne flutes. The flicker of candlelight shown on her face.

  After dinner, she grinned playfully at me. She extended her hands, suggesting the topic of conversation had put her in a romantic mood. We retired to our small stateroom. After a sensual shower, we tucked together on the bed. I wanted to assure her that I was not only interested in sex. If Sylvia had insisted that her worth was sexual, I wanted to dispel that.

  “Tonight, we can just hold one another,” I suggested.

  Her hand reached. “We can also share our love.”

  Alabaster beams of starlight projected onto Lilia’s face. We had made impromptu love on the deck throughout the afternoon. We’d snuggled and it seemed so natural. Now, I only wanted to tenderly cushion her through the night. I wanted to show her that I didn’t equate love with only sex. Before drifting to sleep, I tenderly kissed her temple. I whispered of my love.

  The night spilled radiant reds and golds through the porthole. That light gave our nude bodies a cameo nuance. I had barely eased toward sleep when I felt her move against me. My eyes fluttered open.

  Her face was filled with love. Kiln-hot lips began swarming me. The jasmine fragrance of her moist skin was an aphrodisiac. Our fleece passion built. We tangled in a series of bursting climaxes. Love brought us to dawn. We then cuddled in a dormant, complete peace. The gently pitching sea rocked us. Thus, we had completed one of the most wondrous days and nights of my existence.

  I was in Lilia’s arms, and she was at home in my embrace.

  13

  THE DAY HAD sped as I prepared for the evening festivities.

  Lilia was alluring when she boarded The Radclyffe for our dinner party. She was every inch a sensuous Latina star. She wore a satiny flamingo-colored evening gown.

  “My, my,” Rachel sang her praise. “Lilia’s upswept hairdo gives an added touch of glamor,” she whispered.

  “I’m amazed you noticed the hair before the cleavage,” Summer teased.

  “But,” questioned Rachel, “can she keep a taut jib stay?”

  “Absolutely,” I replied with a sly grin. “And I think we’re ready for entertaining.” I mentally went over the menu checklist. Hot hors d’oeuvres, cool vichyssoise, chilled alligator pair and tomato and avocado salad, warm broccoli w
ith rice, lobster, and tenderloin. This would be followed by a sizzling tangerine flambé. Music was piped throughout the yacht. We’d selected a light opera theme. With excellent cuisine, sensational opera, and a tranquil ambiance, we hoped to promote good behavior on the part of all guests.

  Bouquets of gardenias, jasmine, roses, and orchids decorated our decks. The lush arrangements were strategically placed outside and within. Dinner was to be served on our long, oak table. A magnificent floral centerpiece with sprays of orchids trailed the length of a frosty white tablecloth. A pink mist runner picked up the colors of the orchids.

  Not only was our yacht festive, but each member of the team was decorated to the nines. Rachel wore a leaf-print evening gown. Elegant and naturally stunning. Summer had donned a berry-colored jumpsuit. Unzipped to mid-breast, the suit’s flare equaled Summer’s fiery drama. My own gown was simple, Grecian, and baby blue to match my eyes.

  I kissed Lilia and then escorted her through The Radclyffe. Her grace made my pulse flutter. I had never known a stronger magnetism. I hoped the evening would impress her. Yet, I realized that while at the side of Sylvia Grant, Lilia had been entertained by royalty, wealthy pleasure-seekers, and the famous throughout the world. Naturally, social blunders at our party weren’t on my playlist.

  Then we passed by Pluma. “Pinche cabron!” Pluma squealed. “Fuckers!” she added for good measure. As if to translate for a Latina guest, she cawed, “Chingadas.”

  My head went into my hands. So much for impressing Lilia with the yacht’s refinement. “Pluma was partial payment when I practiced law. I’ve since changed professions. I rest my case.”

  Lilia’s shocked expression converted to laughter. She squeezed my hand, and I knew things would be okay. Not even Pluma’s obscenities could ruin the evening. When we entered my stateroom, I closed the door behind us. We embraced. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since you came aboard,” I whispered.

  A lingering kiss was shared. Lilia backed away. “I confess I’m very nervous about tonight.”

  “With the exception of Pluma, I think everyone will be on good behavior.” I was convinced Pluma was conceived in a trashcan.

  “You are lovely,” she complimented.

  “And you’re divine.”

  “You don’t think my gown is too lowly cut?” she asked with concern.

  “Not at all.”

  I heard voices. Cracking open the door, I saw that Rachel was acquainting Helene with the yacht’s layout. Thankfully, Loma was incognito. Helene was dressed in an absinthe-colored silk sari. Her phosphorescent eyes sparkled as she greeted us. To Lilia, she offered a hand. “So nice to see you, Lilia dear. Such a constant person.” Her eyebrows lifted as she clicked her teeth. “So devoted.” Her bitchery was executed with precision, I noted.

  Rachel wisely suggested we continue to the large salon where we might sample her specially prepared Bombay punch. We strolled back, lifting glasses, toasting, clinking, drinking, and breathing easier.

  Summer had waited on deck for Debra. When she arrived, Summer directed the semi-stoned young woman to the salon. Dressed in a hot pink outfit that featured sausage-tight pants, Debra was snorted out. Her skin was bisque porcelain, her eyes were like gimlets, and her theatrical makeup was way over the top. Summer’s frown registered her disappointment. Rachel and I had sympathy for both of them. We all knew Deb would be ricocheting off the walls before the evening ended.

  Debra received congenial hugs from each of us, with the exception of Lilia. There were enormous vats of pain. She was obviously dealing with the hurt of Debra’s condition. She knew the inelastic gestures used by her stepdaughter were the result of a chemical stupor. Debra wanted to rile Lilia. She gave me an extra tight hug, and then kissed me passionately on the lips.

  I leaned back away from her clutch. “How are you tonight, Deb?”

  She giggled. “I’m high as a Georgia Pine.”

  “Good thing for gravity,” I commented with a barely noticeable reprimand.

  “Sure,” she said as she squinted back at me. “Without gravity, we’d fall out of our graves.” Her laugh was harsh and pitiful. Examining Lilia, Debra appraised, “Look at Lilia Franco. Her dress must have been spray-painted on her body. Can’t kneel in that outfit, can you, Saint Lilia?”

  Helene expelled a snicker. I considered disclosing the fact that Lilia was definitely not for the saint-hearted in bed. I resented their attacks, but Lilia was taking it in stride.

  “Beryl, I hear you took a ride on the Intracoastal,” Debra clamored. “We thought you’d had your lights put out.”

  My ribs still ached, my pistol was rusting away in the drink, and my car was being repaired. However, I vowed to keep it sisterly. “Yes. I ran into some of your reptile pals. Simian ancestry is alive and well.”

  “They put marks on you,” she challenged.

  “The cost of trespassing,” I conceded, “is not always pleasant.”

  Summer changed topics as rapidly as she could. “A toast. Tonight six of Florida’s most interesting women are aboard The Radclyffe Hull.”

  “Great toast,” Rachel commented as she clanked glasses with Helene. No one was more aware of Summer’s charm, when charm was called for, than Rachel. When she was a police officer, she had busted Summer often enough.

  Debra lifted her glass, but her penetrating scowl had not left Lilia. After a sip, she announced, “I hear our soap opera queen will be going on a Latin American tour soon.”

  “They have asked me,” Lilia responded, “but I haven’t agreed.” She glanced at my bewildered face. “In any event, I’m not free to leave until the case is solved. I haven’t mentioned it because I’m not inclined to go.”

  Her words sounded like an apology. My own reassured her, “Lilia, you don’t need to inform me of your schedule. Now, let’s assemble in the dining room.”

  Seating arrangements had been determined with great deliberation and great delicacy. I was at one end of the table. Seated clockwise were Helene, Rachel, Lilia, Summer, and Debra. The less plate passing by rivals, the better.

  We chatted throughout dinner without conflict. On the way to the galley to put finishing touches on dessert, I congratulated myself. Things were going off without a hitch. There were no confessions or slip-ups indicting anyone. But then, there were no additional murders.

  When I returned back to the table, I lit the tangerine flambé. The brandy syrup was kindled with a whoosh. Bouncing around the base of the pan, the flame flickered brightly. An aromatic fragrance of tangerines lifted as the flambé fluttered, then extinguished.

  Carefully, I spooned tangerines onto heart-shaped shortcake. With a tangerine slice in the center and a dollop of whipped cream on the side, the tangerines flambé was complete. I served everyone and was then seated.

  Each time I gazed across the table at Lilia, a strong tremor shot through my body. Certainly, I considered, those tangerines weren’t any better heated than my heart. The woman made my nerve endings throb.

  “Magnificent,” Helene declared after sampling the dish. “Loma loves tangerines. And truth, light, and flame,” she tacked on.

  Summer’s capricious grin filled her face. “Now that the dessert flame has been doused, we’re down to truth and light.”

  I reached to dim the overhead chandeliers. “I guess we’re now down to the truth.”

  Summer shrugged. “Unless someone wants to make a full confession, I think we’re only down to dessert.”

  After we’d finished the final course, each couple went in separate directions. Lilia and I strolled on the yacht’s deck. Under a great muskmelon moon, with piercing stars that spread a swath of light, we gazed into one another’s eyes. I’d never been aware of the dynamics of love. I was a love rookie, a relationship acolyte. In my idyllic halcyon days, I’d participated in the physical aspects. But this, I acknowledged, closing my eyes and breathing in Lilia’s scented warmth, was the depth and breadth of love.

  “You make me very content,” I whispere
d. My arm was around her shoulder. She leaned nearer. The massive Atlantic Ocean gleamed for us. Our heads touched in viaduct fashion. We both needed this pause. The evening had been tense. But there seemed a genuine attempt by everyone to deal with the situation. Debra even softened. She giggled uncontrollably at times. At others, her expression was that of a dusted mannequin.

  The team successfully harnessed conversation. Safe subjects were covered. Rachel mentioned that we had discussed everything but politics and religion. Helene’s rejoinder was that when we got to religion, Loma would give a terrific invocation. Even Lilia laughed at that. There was an undeniable suspended tension, but civility remained throughout the shank of the evening.

  After a long break, and many kisses, Lilia suggested we retreat to Breakers. My lips pressed her neck. The kiss trailed softly down to her shoulders. She trembled. Her fragrance left me weak.

  “Yes, let’s make a break for it.”

  The others had journeyed elsewhere on the yacht, and I guessed that couples were on opposite ends. “I suppose we should put in our appearances and say our goodbyes,” she proposed.

  Arm in arm, we made our way to the recreation salon. Then we walked to the spa where I heard voices and splashing. I figured they had all donned swimsuits before diving into the Jacuzzi. When we entered the candlelit spa room, my eyes began adjusting to the flicker of light. The four romping figures were nude. If Lilia suspected hedonistic behavior of the trio before, it was now confirmed. We were cruising on the good ship erotica.

  Lilia’s face sternly inspected my somber eyes. “We must go now.”

  “Yes,” I replied. To the women who had just taken notice of us, I said, “We’ll be leaving now.”

  “Beryl and Lilia,” the X-rated channel, Helene, called to us. “Why don’t you join us?”

  “Yeah,” chimed Debra. “We could use cooling off when iceberg Lilia enters the spa.”