Death of a Pirate King - lanyon Josh - Страница 16

She stared at me, her breasts rising and falling in agitation. “You’re too trusting, Adrien. Of all the wrong people.”

My cell phone rang.

“I have to take this,” I said. I didn’t care if it was the Los Angeles Times with a Very Special Offer. I intended to take it.

“Fine,” she clipped, and stalked out.

I checked the number on my cell phone. Guy.

“Hey,” I said.

“Why don’t we go away this weekend?” Guy said. “Just you and me. Los Cabos is only a two-hour flight. I could book a hotel at one of the resorts. Somewhere on the beach. Somewhere romantic.”

“I…” The call waiting beeps went off. I glanced at the caller ID display and my heart skipped a beat -- but I was pretty sure that had to do with the various strains of the day.

I clicked the incoming call. “Hang on,” I said. I clicked back to Guy. “Can I put you on hold for a sec?” I asked.

“I’ve got class in five minutes,” he said. “We’ll talk tonight, lover. Take it easy this afternoon, right?”

“Right,” I said, and clicked off.

“I’m back,” I told Jake.

“You sure are,” he said. “What the hell did you say to Alonzo? He’s now convinced you’re our perp.”

I’d had time to cool down from the morning, but the sound of Jake’s voice sent my heart into that jittery and unpredictable rhythm. I was beginning to think he was hazardous to my health. Certainly to my mental health.

I said shortly, “I threatened to call my lawyer.”

Silence. Jake said, “What did he say that rattled you?”

“You mean besides implying I’m a serial killer?”

I had the mixed pleasure of knowing he was struck speechless.

“I just…lost my temper,” I admitted. “I’m tired of being suspected of murder. This is the second -- no, third -- time.”

Even I could hear the tension in my voice. Jake said slowly, “I see.” Then he threw me entirely by asking, “Has something else happened? Because this doesn’t sound like you.”

“How the hell would you know what sounds like me?”

“I know you don’t panic easily. If you did, I wouldn’t have agreed to this plan of Paul’s.”

“Yeah, well that’s a mystery in itself, isn’t it?”

Aggravatingly, he didn’t answer. What was with him? If this was what marriage had done to him, he might as well have got a lobotomy.

I said, “He told me the toxicology report identified digitoxin as the poison used to trigger Jones’s coronary, and he told me that traces of it were found on the broken glass with my fingerprints.”

“Which we were expecting.”

We? Him and me or LAPD? I wasn’t sure.

“I seem to be his only suspect.”

“Listen,” Jake said. “You know how this works. He’s giving Paul and the Beaton-Jones broad the same star treatment. You didn’t kill Jones, right?”

“No. Jake --”

“Right?”

“Right.”

“So relax.”

“That’s easy for you to say.”

He laughed. “It is?”

Well, maybe he had a point there. For the first time it occurred to me how precarious Jake’s own position was -- or at least, given his paranoia, how precarious it might feel to him. I asked, “Why does Alonzo suspect Paul Kane?”

“He doesn’t like fags. He doesn’t like Hollywood types. And he hated Paul’s last movie. Oh, and Paul mixed the fatal cocktail.”

“I feel much better.”

He asked, “Who are you planning on talking to next?”

I said, and I wasn’t exactly sure why, “I’m not sure. I need to talk to Guy. He doesn’t know I’m deliberately involving myself in this investigation. I don’t think he’s going to be too thrilled when he finds out.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jake said drily. “How is Captain Crunch?”

“He’s fine. He’s back teaching at UCLA.”

“So I heard. Because no college education is complete without a course in Applied Hokum.”

“It can’t be all Police Science and SS Interrogation Techniques.”

“Speaking of which, remember to let me know before you talk to anyone -- assuming you decide to continue.”

“Roger wilco.”

He sighed and rang off.

* * * * *

“Maybe one of us should learn to cook,” I said as Guy dished out teriyaki salmon, vegetable roll, and tofu salad from Japon Bistro.

“You don’t eat enough to make it worth either of our time.” He opened the fridge. “Mineral water?”

I sighed. “I guess.”

His smile was sympathetic as he poured lemon-flavored mineral water into a goblet. “How’d your tests go, luv?”

“I’ve no idea. I don’t see Dr. Cardigan until next week.”

He sat down across from me and said, “Did you think about going away for the weekend?”

“Er…yeah.” I sipped my mineral water. “The thing is --”

“I was thinking of Palmilla Resort,” he said. “It’s right on the ocean. Right between San Jose del Cabo and Cabo San Lucas. Every room has a patio and an ocean view. They’ve got two infinity edge swimming pools, a spa, restaurants -- and a wedding chapel.”

I dropped one of my chopsticks. “Guy…”

“All right.” His smile was rueful. “Don’t panic. I’m not going to push you into anything, but we need this time together, Adrien. You need this time. We can lie in the sun and swim and sleep late and fuck like minks…”

“I’d…like to,” I said, constrained. “But this isn’t a good time.”

He kept smiling, but I could see the effort. “I know exactly what you’re going to say. You’re going to say you can’t leave when you’ve already been out of commission for a couple of weeks, and with the renovations going on next door. But we’re only talking about a weekend. I think Natalie can handle things for two -- two and a half -- days.”

I said, “I’m a suspect in a murder investigation. How’s it going to look if I suddenly pull an O.J. and run for the border?”

“No one could seriously believe you’re a suspect in this bloke’s death. You didn’t even know the man.”

“But I am a suspect, and that’s why…”

“Why what?” he inquired, when I paused.

“Paul Kane asked if I would -- just informally -- talk to a few people.”

I met Guy’s gaze. His eyes were just the color of green when surf hits rock. “What exactly does that mean: ‘informally talk to a few people’? You mean he’s asked you to…investigate?”

“Nothing that formal,” I assured him hastily. “I’m just going to ask a few casual questions. This is apparently a very close-knit and closedmouthed group, and the idea is that they might open up more readily with someone like me.”

“Someone like you? A complete outsider?”

“But Kane is sort of vouching for me.”

Guy put his chopsticks down and folded his arms. “That asshole Riordan would never go for that.”

I said very carefully, “Well, surprisingly, he seems open to the idea provided I keep him updated on anything I learn.”

Guy stared at me as though I’d offered him a bite of my blowfish. “You’re joking.”

I shook my head.

“There’s no way that sonofabitch would be okay with that.”

“Guy!”

He waited, brows knitted, angry.

I swallowed my first response, made an effort to relax my grip on the stem of my glass. Of course Guy hated Jake -- and my instinctive desire to defend him was just an old bad habit I hadn’t quite managed to break myself of.

“Nothing. Look, I don’t know. I don’t know if this is just Jake’s way of pacifying a media darling like Paul Kane or if he really thinks I might be of help.” I shrugged. “Maybe he’s learned a few things.”

“Maybe he has. I’m surprised you haven’t.”

He seemed to be pushing me toward confrontation, and that was unlike him. “Come on, Guy,” I protested.

“Even if you were well enough to take something like this on --”

“Oh, for chrissake!”

He was staring at me with a look I hadn’t seen on his face for a long time -- two years, to be exact. “You enjoy this, don’t you? I never understood that before.”

“I don’t enjoy it. I’m a suspect, Guy. I can’t just sit here and --”

“Why not? That’s what normal people do. They let the police and the trained investigators deal with this kind of thing.”