The Deep Blue Alibi

Thirty

"Junior's not a killer," Victoria said as they approached Big Pine Key.

"No way you can be certain."

"But you know Delia's harmless, even though she throws a mean meat cleaver."

Victoria was at the wheel of her Mini Cooper, headed south on U.S. 1. The car would have fit into the trunk of Steve's old Eldo, although the trunk was probably currently occupied by families of grouper and snapper. They were on their way to meet Junior, Steve insisting they confront him with Fowles' accusations.

"Look at the facts," he said. "Junior was angry that his father was going to build a hotel on top of a coral reef. But it gets worse. The old man's gotta put up everything he owns to secure the financing. Now Junior's afraid the fish aren't the only ones who are gonna be homeless. The two men argue, but no way Dad's gonna change his mind. Junior wants to stop the project, but how? He won't kill his father. And maybe he didn't even want to kill Stubbs. Maybe he just wanted to threaten him but things escalated."

"Couldn't happen unless Junior miraculously gets back on the boat while it's under way."

"No problem for Aquaman. You saw him climb on a seaplane that was under way."

"The security video clearly shows Junior diving off the Force Majeure."

"But not swimming away from the boat. He could have climbed up the dive ladder when no one's looking. He hides below, then confronts Stubbs in the salon, tries to get him to change his report. Stubbs says no. He's being paid a fortune to whore for Oceania. Junior threatens to expose the bribes, but Stubbs figures he's bluffing. If Stubbs is guilty of taking bribes, Griffin's guilty of paying them. Stubbs doesn't think Junior will take his old man down."

"You're making this up as you go along."

"That's what creative lawyers do, Vic. Now, just hear me out. Junior threatens Stubbs with the spear-gun. Maybe Stubbs tries to take the gun away and it discharges accidentally. Or maybe Junior just flat-out shoots him. Either way, Junior dives off the boat and swims to shore."

"Too many maybes. And Uncle Grif? Who knocked him out?"

"I don't know yet. But remember that cruise ship that got smacked by a forty-foot wave on a calm day?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe a rogue wave hits the Force Majeure as Griffin's going back up the ladder. He falls to the deck and is knocked out."

"Way too many maybes."

"Jeez, Vic. I'm just playing poker with ideas here. All I'm saying, we can toss Junior's Speedos at the jury and create reasonable doubt."

"Uncle Grif will never go for it."

"You're assuming he doesn't already think that's what happened."

"If Uncle Grif thought all that, why wouldn't he tell us?"

"Because he wants us to win the case without involving his son."

When they hit Big Pine Key, Victoria turned left onto Long Beach Road. Before leaving Fowles at Paradise Key, Steve had called Junior, who was looking at dive boats for sale in Marathon. Then he was heading to the Polynesian Beach Club to unwind.

Unwind from what? Steve wondered. The guy didn't work. What would wind him up in the first place?

Junior invited them for lunch at the club, which he said served a fine grilled ahi. So now Steve looked forward to tuna followed by cross-examination.

Junior said the club was reachable only by a private bridge from the southern tip of Big Pine Key. He'd lowered his voice to tell Steve the password, "Kon-tiki," which they were to say to a guard at the gatehouse. It was all a little too Skull and Bonesy for Steve's taste. A rich man's private retreat, fat cats congratulating one another over rum and colas. Junior chuckled on the phone, saying he was sure they'd enjoy the "ambience."

Ambience, my ass. The phony bastard.

"So what's your plan?" Victoria asked.

Steve gave her a smile. "I'm going to tell Junior to be a man. Save his father by turning himself in. Plead to manslaughter. Ten years, out in seven. Not too bad. Of course, he'll lose his tan."

The man in the gatehouse wore a pith helmet and a navy shirt with epaulets. He smiled broadly when Steve whispered, "Kon-tiki."

"Have a good day, sir, ma'am," the guard said. "And watch out for sunburn."

They crossed the bridge, and Victoria parked the Mini Cooper next to a silver Hummer with a trailer hitch. Junior's, she told Steve, as he unfolded himself from the little car. On the back bumper of the Navigator was a bumper sticker: "Divers Do It Deeper."

"Tacky," he said. "Very tacky."

"You're one to talk. With those juvenile T-shirts."

"Mine have meaning. They're not idle boasts."

"You're all adolescents," she said. "All of you."

They headed toward a clubhouse with bamboo walls and a thatched palm roof. Standing by the front door was an eight-foot carved wooden tiki, the Polynesian god. A long red tongue hung from his open mouth, looking distinctly obscene.

Steve heard the thwack of racket on ball. He took a closer look, first seeing a flash of movement, then a flash of flesh. Half hidden behind a row of sabal palms was a tennis court, two middle-aged couples playing doubles.

"I think the laundry workers are on strike."

"What are you talking about?"

"The tennis players aren't wearing shirts. Or shorts, for that matter."

Victoria peered between the trees.

A man shouted, "Out? Out, my ass!"

Then a woman's voice, "C'mon, Al. It was out. Forty love."

"They're naked," Victoria whispered, as if the tiki god might be eavesdropping.

"That's what I'm telling you. Junior wants us with our pants down. You, anyway."

"Don't freak out. It's got to be one of those clothing-optional resorts."

"Nothing optional about it," said the young woman behind the rattan counter in the clubhouse. Woven tapa cloths hung on the bamboo walls, and in the corner, a red-and-blue mynah was perched on an artificial tree. "Everyone's in the buff. Members, guests, staff."

The woman had one of those Disney World smiles, as if she'd overdosed on nitrous oxide. Her name tag said "Honey" and hung on a cord that snaked through the cleavage between her oversize, suntanned breasts. In Steve's estimation-based both on firsthand experience and defending Dr. Irwin Rudnick on med mal charges-Honey's grapefruit-shaped boobs had been surgically enhanced. "Once you cross the bridge, it's all nude, all the time," Honey emphasized. "Even the luncheon buffet."

"We're meeting a member," Victoria said, and Steve refrained from making a really bad pun.

"Who would that be?" Honey inquired.

"Junior Griffin."

"Oh, Mr. Grif-fin," Honey purred. "He's a big man around here."

Again, Steve stifled himself.

"I'm an intern," Honey volunteered. "Hotel management at Florida State. Mr. Griffin is my mentor."

"You're in good hands," Victoria said.

"Both of them," Steve remarked. A man can only resist so much temptation.

Honey pointed toward the locker rooms. After they disrobed-Honey confided that Junior-the-Mentor advised her never to say "stripped"-they should follow the Tahiti Trail across Volcano Bridge and the Koi Lagoon. They'd pass the swimming pool and find Junior Griffin on the croquet court.

"Mr. Griffin swings the best mallet at the club," Honey breathed, dreamily.

"Golly, is there anything that man can't do?" Steve said, agreeably.

"When he's got a clean shot, he always scores," Honey said, her eyes aglow.

SOLOMON'S LAWS

8. If a guy who's smart, handsome, and rich invites you and your girlfriend to a nudist club. . chances are he's got a giant

shmeckel.