The Little Death

Chapter Six

Louis voted for the Motel 8 in West Palm Beach. But Mel overruled him on grounds that if they intended to infiltrate Bizarro World, they had to be in the thick of it. A call to Reggie led them to the Brazilian Court, a couple of blocks off Worth Avenue. But when Louis discovered the rooms started at $250 a night, they retreated to Ta-boo to regroup. Yuba the bartender suggested they try a place nearby called the Palm Beach Historic Inn.

The small hotel had one double left, a Spartan but immaculate room with twin beds. It was $85 a night, but it was right next door to the police station. There was the bonus of a cozy little bar in the lobby.

That’s where Louis left Mel around ten-thirty, with the last of the Burger King takeout and a second snifter of Rémy Martin. Feeling too restless to go back upstairs and watch the grainy TV, Louis set out on the deserted streets.

He found his way back to Worth Avenue, nearly empty now of cars and people. Drawn by the salty smell, he headed toward the beach, down a long block and under the watchful eyes of the mannequins in Neiman Marcus’s windows. Alone on a bench at the beach, he found himself under new scrutiny, from a Palm Beach PD car that sat at the curb behind him for a full fifteen minutes before it finally pulled away. Louis was certain the cop behind the wheel had called in and someone had told him there was a black dude in town but he was okay.

After twenty minutes, he started back. The last thing he wanted was to listen to Mel snore, so he kept going down Worth Avenue.

The shops were closed, but most of the window lights were still on, some illuminating little velvet cushions imprinted with the outlines of the jewels that had been locked away in safes at closing time. The only sparkle now came from Christmas decorations.

A giant Christmas tree had sprouted in the intersection in front of Tiffany’s, decorated with huge gold and white balls. The small palms lining the avenue had been strung with white lights and lit from beneath by aqua spotlights that made the trees look weirdly fake.

Louis paused. Christmas already?

He walked on. Three years in Florida, and it still took him by surprise. There was no set signal, no warning from the weather, that the holidays were coming. It always left him mildly depressed.

Joe was suddenly there in his head. And their conversation when she had called to wish him happy birthday last month.

Why don’t you come up to Michigan for Christmas?

I don’t know, Joe.

Don’t you miss it?

She had been talking about the snow and all of the seasonal stuff. But he had heard: Don’t you miss me?

Of course he missed her.

He paused in front of a flower shop, looking at a pay phone. It was past midnight, but he was sure she’d be up. She had never been the kind to go to sleep early, even when she was exhausted.

He used his phone card to dial long-distance to northern Michigan. Surprisingly, there was no answer at her cottage. He hesitated, then tried the sheriff’s office.

As he listened to the phone ring, he had the thought that he had become too used to phones going unanswered. Busy… she was always so damned busy now.

She had gone back to Michigan almost a year ago, and spring was spent in a frenzy of campaigning for the sheriff’s position in Leelanau. Their plan to meet in late summer had been postponed as the election neared. She won the election easily, campaigning on an ethics and crime-prevention platform. Because he hadn’t heard much from her since Thanksgiving, he could only assume things were hectic. But a part of him always wondered what the hell the sheriff had to do in a quiet resort town like Echo Bay.

Finally, a woman answered the phone. He knew most of the dispatchers up there, but he didn’t recognize this voice.

“Is Joe Frye there?”

“Sheriff Frye? Ah… yes, I think she’s still here. Who’s calling, please?”

“Louis Kincaid.”

“What is this regarding, Mr. Kinsey?”

“Kincaid. I’m a friend. Just tell her it’s Louis.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Kinsey. Please hold.”

The woman set the phone down with a clunk. Normally, there was nothing in the background but soft voices and an occasional crackle of a radio, but tonight the line was filled with laughter, tinkling glasses, and Christmas carols.

A party. The department was having its annual Christmas party.

“This is Sheriff Frye.”

“Hey, Joe, it’s me.”

She was almost shouting. “I’m sorry. Who?”

“It’s Louis.”

“Oh. I can barely hear you. How are you?”

There was a sudden burst of nearby laughter, and he waited until it faded before he answered.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Say, listen, I was wondering…”

“Oh, Louis, hold on,” Joe said. Her voice grew muffled, as if she’d moved the phone away from her mouth. “Enough with the mistletoe, Mike. Go pester your wife.”

He waited for her to come back on the line. When she did, it was a shade quieter. She must have found an empty office.

“So, did you decide if you’re coming up for Christmas?” she asked. “We’re supposed to get ten inches. Should be beautiful.”

“I’m on a case.”

“Oh,” Joe said. There was a long-disinterested-pause. “What kind?”

“Cleaning up rich people’s messes. I’m in Palm Beach.”

“Well, at least they’ll pay well this time,” she said.

“I’m not so sure this joker will.”

Another pause. “Why take the case, then, if you dislike the client so much?”

It’s not like you’re driving a squad car that says to protect and serve.

“Mel asked me to,” he said.

“Mel… how is he? I’ve been thinking about him lately.”

“It would be nice if you bothered to ask me how I am,” Louis said.

What a lousy thing to say. What the hell is wrong with me?

“I don’t have to ask how you are,” Joe said. “I can tell by your voice. And I think we already talked about this at Thanksgiving, Louis.”

He was quiet. The background noise was picking up again, and he heard someone launch into a drunken version of “Oh Christmas Tree.”

“What do you want from me, Joe?”

There was a long pause before she spoke. “I want you to want something from yourself,” she said. “And while you work out exactly what that is, maybe we should… maybe I should give you some space.”

They were already fifteen hundred miles apart. How much more space did she think he needed? Still, even as he thought it, he realized he had known something like this was coming. Drifting… they were drifting. He was drifting.

“So, we’re just ending it?” he asked.

Joe sighed. “Louis, this isn’t a good time to talk about this.”

“You’re the one who brought it up, Joe.”

There was a long pause. “I think we need to take a break,” she said finally. “I think we need to find out exactly how we feel about… everything.”

“Does that include other people?” he asked.

Again, quiet on her end. He leaned his forehead against the phone, closing his eyes.

“Okay, then,” Louis said. “Have a merry Christmas.”

“Louis, wait-”

He hung up and walked away from the phone. He went almost two blocks before he paused at the corner of South County Road. The sound of a woman laughing drifted out to him on the warm night. He headed toward the laughter.

Ta-boo was still open. Through the open window, he could see the crowd, two deep at the bar, loud and garrulous.

He squeezed in through the doorway and made his way to the far end near the waitress station. Yuba, the pretty Indian woman, was hard at work but gave him a smile as she strained a martini into a glass.

“Heineken, right?” she asked.

“You’re good,” Louis said.

Another smile, and she was gone, sweeping to the other end of the bar to deposit two drinks and returning a moment later with his beer and a frosted glass.

“Should I start a tab?” she asked.

Louis hesitated. “Sure.”

A combo started up somewhere in the back of the restaurant. Through the latticework, Louis could see a couple drift out to the dance floor. The man was a slender white-haired gent in the requisite blue blazer setting off yellow slacks; the woman was tan, blond, and at least twenty years his junior. She wore a tight, low-cut pink dress, and Louis couldn’t take his eyes off her huge breasts even though he was sure they weren’t real.

Yuba returned and set a glass votive before him. She smiled when she saw him watching the blonde but said nothing. She pulled a purple Bic from her vest pocket. Her black eyes danced with the flare of the candle.

“Where’s your friend?” she asked.

His mind was still on Joe, and for a second, he thought Yuba meant her.

“The tall fellow with the yellow glasses,” she said.

“Asleep,” Louis said. “Thanks for the tip about the hotel.”

“You guys didn’t seem like the Brazilian Court types,” she said.

He had the feeling she knew exactly who he and Mel were and why they were on the island. He wondered if she lived here, but he had a feeling that, just like the gardeners and the maids he saw standing at the bus stop, she traveled back across the bridge at night.

“You’re here to help Reggie, aren’t you?” Yuba said.

“Yes,” Louis said.

She grabbed a towel and ran it across the already spotless bar. She was looking for an excuse to linger, Louis realized, but was this about Reggie-or him?

Yuba nodded at his glass. “You want another one?” she asked.

“Yeah, thanks.”

After she had brought the refill and made the rounds of the other customers, Yuba drifted back.

Joe was still there, cluttering his thoughts. He knew beer alone wasn’t going to make her go away long enough for him to sleep tonight. He suddenly wanted a reason to keep Yuba in front of him, wanted the distraction of her lovely face, if only for the next hour.

“I’m glad you’re helping Reggie,” Yuba said, lowering her voice. “Reggie’s a good guy. He’s real. That’s not easy to find in this town.”

“I’m beginning to understand that. How well do you know him?”

She shrugged. “He comes in here almost every night. I’ve been here two years. We’re not friends or anything, but in this business, you get a pretty good feel for people.”

Louis looked at her skeptically over the rim of the glass.

“I went to a party at his place once,” she said. “He has a nice house up on the north end.” When Louis didn’t respond, she added, “That’s where the real people live.”

“Ah,” Louis said.

Someone called to her. Yuba waved to the customer to wait. “Reggie wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she said.

“You sure about that?” Louis asked.

She gave him a hard stare, then left to serve the guy at the other end of the bar.

The second beer went down more quickly than the first, and he suddenly wanted a third badly. But the bar was now three-deep, and he couldn’t get Yuba’s attention. He kept his eyes trained on her back, willing her to turn. No dice. That’s when he felt the weight of someone’s gaze and turned.

It was hard to miss her, even in the crowd. Turquoise silk. Milk-white skin. Carrot-red hair that could never be natural. And eyes below the soft sweep of her bangs that were trained on him like lasers.

A bare hint of a smile, and then it disappeared behind the rim of her martini glass.

Suddenly, Yuba stepped in, blocking his view. She set a frosty glass of beer in front of him. “From the lady in blue,” she said with a half-smirk before leaving.

Louis found the redhead’s eyes again, raised his glass in a salute, and took a drink.

The woman smiled back. Then she touched the arm of the man sitting next to her to draw his attention away from the conversation he was having with another couple seated nearby. She whispered something, and he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and turned away. She slid off the stool and picked up her drink and purse. Louis watched as she made her way toward him.

There was no vacant stool, so she wedged herself between him and the bar. She was tall, her body lush in the silky dress. A necklace of twisty turquoise glowed against her skin. Her face was taut, but as she smiled, a fine spray of lines at the edges of her eyes sprang into relief.

He couldn’t guess her age. He couldn’t even think of anything to say.

She leaned toward him and extended a perfectly manicured pink-nailed finger to the wet surface of the bar. She traced something in the spilled beer, a question mark that quickly faded.

The laser eyes found his.

“Louis,” he said.

She traced another question mark.

“Scorpio,” he said.

She smiled and traced another question mark.

“Democrat?”

She laughed. “I’m Sam.”

The man sitting next to Louis tossed a fifty onto the bar and left. Sam slid onto the stool.

“Thank you,” he said, raising his glass. “For the beer.”

“You looked like a man in need,” she said. When she crossed her bare legs, the front of the silk dress parted, revealing her thighs. Louis struggled to keep his eyes on her face.

“You’re the detective I’ve been hearing so much about,” she said.

“Word gets around quick here,” Louis said.

“How’s the investigation going?”

The last thing Louis wanted to do was talk about Reggie right now. He wanted-what? To take away the sting of Joe’s words? He glanced over the redhead’s shoulder and caught Yuba’s eye. There was something in her expression, like she could read his mind, and for a second he thought of settling his tab and going back to the hotel.

He looked back to the redhead, looked right into her eyes. “I can’t talk about it,” he said. “Client privilege, code of ethics, and all that.”

The redhead smiled, then caught Yuba’s eye and motioned for a refill on her martini before she turned back to Louis.

“Do you know Reggie Kent?” Louis asked.

“Of course. I live here.”

He wanted to ask her if Reggie had ever been her escort but then realized it might insinuate that she was, what? Desperate? Alone? Or, worse, old? Reggie had said he never lacked for the company of widows. Up close, he could see she was maybe in her late forties. Beautiful, for sure, but not young. He snuck a glance at her left hand. She was wearing a wedding band of diamonds.

He allowed himself a small, wry smile.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Nothing. It’s just not my night.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Again, he met those eyes. They were dark, maybe blue. He couldn’t tell in this light.

Yuba brought the fresh martini. Sam plucked out the toothpick and ate the olive, her eyes never leaving his. Then she picked up the martini and, with one quick flourish, drained it.

She slid off the stool, taking her purse. When she leaned close to Louis, he caught the scent of her perfume for the first time-cloves and something smoky.

“My Jag is parked in front of Tiffany’s,” she whispered. “Wait ten minutes before you come.”

She left, swallowed up in the crush of bodies. He was so stunned it was a full minute before he finally took a drink. He sat there, staring at the yellow fish swimming in the aquarium behind the bar as he finished the beer.

Yuba wandered over and ran a towel over the bar in front of him. There were questions in her eyes, but Louis understood suddenly that she wasn’t going to ask them. Palm Beach’s weird code of discretion extended even to bartenders, maybe especially to bartenders. It was okay for a married woman to pick up a stranger in a bar. It wasn’t okay for anyone to notice it had actually happened.

“Last call. Another beer?” Yuba asked.

Louis hesitated. Until this moment, he hadn’t decided what he was going to do.

“No, just the check, please.”

Outside, a cool breeze was blowing in from the ocean. The street was deserted. Louis paused, then headed away from South County Road. There was a black Jag idling in front of Tiffany’s. As he approached the passenger side, the tinted window whirred down.

Sam leaned over. “That was fifteen minutes.”

“My watch runs slow,” Louis said.

“Get in,” she said.

He slid into the cocoon of leather and orange dash lights. The door shut with a soft shood sound, and the tinted window went up. It was quiet, the outside world gone.

“Where are we going?” Louis asked.

“For a ride,” Sam said.

The Jag pulled away from the curb. A couple of turns and a detour through a residential area, and they were on the road that ran along the beach, heading south.

The condominiums soon gave way to mansions set on sweeping lawns on one side of the road, private beaches on the other. The farther south they went, the bigger and more isolated the huge estates seemed to become. Greek temples gleaming white in the moonlight, mini-Versailles palaces, sprawling Spanish villas glowering behind gates.

Louis strained to look back as they passed a huge place that looked for all the world like that onion-domed cathedral in Russia.

“So, where are you from?” Sam asked finally.

“I live on Captiva,” Louis said.

“Really? Do you know where Marco Island is?”

“Over by Naples.”

“I have a little beach house over there.”

Louis had been to Marco Island years ago on a case. It was a rich playground, gated-community kind of place. He wondered what her definition of a little beach house was.

“This part of the island looks different from the north end,” Louis said.

When Sam glanced over at him, her surprise was there to read in the soft glow of lights. “How do you know that?”

The lie came easily. “I’ve been to Reggie Kent’s house.” A pause. “Have you?”

She smiled as she shook her head. “No, I don’t have much reason to go up there.”

The car slowed, and she turned right. The headlights lit up an high iron gate. “We’re here,” she said.

“Where?”

“My place.”

He didn’t even see her push a button, but the gates were slowly opening. He could see the lights of a small house on the left. But it was a looming structure far down the driveway that drew his eye. It was high and turreted, that much he could see. There were only a few feeble lights on inside and no outdoor lighting at all. Louis could only stare as one image came to his head: an old Spanish castle, like the one in the movie El Cid.

The car came to a stop.

“Yes, it’s awful, I know.”

He looked over at Sam.

“It’s the oldest home in Palm Beach, a real Mizner, and we’re restoring it,” she said. “I’m staying in the guesthouse.” She nodded to the house on the left.

There was no point in pulling punches at this point. “Where’s your husband?” Louis asked.

“Rome.”

She put the Jag in gear, pulled left into a gravel driveway, and cut the engine. The guesthouse was Spanish in style and looked new. To Louis’s eye, it looked like it could comfortably house a family of ten.

He felt a flush of heat. He was out of his element. And Joe was suddenly there with him. What the hell was he doing here? Was this some stupid revenge thing?

“Is something wrong?”

He looked over at Sam. Sam with no last name. Sam with a husband somewhere in Italy. Sam with the soft white skin and smell of cloves.

Suddenly, very suddenly, it hit him. He felt off balance, out of place, off his game. And where that sort of feeling normally put him on guard, now he felt only…

“Louis?”

… liberated.

He leaned over the console and kissed Sam. Her lips were soft, the clove smell strong. The dart of her tongue into his mouth surprised him.

When he drew back, it took her a moment to open her eyes. “Let’s go in,” she said.

The details of the house registered in a blur. A beamed ceiling, living room of plush furniture, dark wood, and thick carpets. Paintings on dark green walls with dim lights over them. She led him down a hall and into a bedroom. Soft lights, odd straw wallpaper, dark furniture out of a rich man’s safari dream.

A huge canopy bed dominated, ripe with white pillows and topped with a meringue of a comforter. Silky netting hung from the canopy, stirred by a paddle fan overhead.

She saw his expression and laughed softly. But she didn’t say anything. She just came to him and kissed him deeply. Then she pulled his shirt from his pants and raised it over his head. Her lips were hot on his chest, and he closed his eyes.

Joe was suddenly there again.

It had been so long.

Her hands were urgent now at his belt. He started to help her, but she pushed his hands away. He let her do the rest, and when she stepped back to look at him, he didn’t move.

“You’re beautiful,” she said.

Then, slowly, with a smile, she reached behind her back. He heard the zipper, then the turquoise dress puddled at her feet. She gave him only a moment to look at her-cream white skin, full breasts, long legs that met at a carrot-red thatch.

He laughed softly as his eyes lingered there.

She read his thoughts and laughed. Then she came to him and pressed her body against his.

Joe was there again for a second, then vanished.

It had been so long. It had been too long.

Her lips were hot at his ear. “Forget her,” she whispered.

And he did. For the next hour, there was nothing but the feel of engulfing warmth, the smell of sweat and salt spray, the tangy taste of her skin, the sounds of her cries in his neck.

Then, suddenly, the game changed. She turned him onto his back and straddled him, taking control. Each time he was at the brink, she would pull back, teasing him, her hair damp with sweat on his chest, her mouth devouring him.

When he could stand it no longer, he threw her on her back and entered her with a ferocity he had never felt before. She clung to him.

“Die with me,” she whispered.

Her body gave a final shudder that triggered his own. He collapsed on her, panting. It was a moment before the room swirled back. Another moment before he realized her arms had fallen from his back and she was not moving.

“Hey,” he whispered.

Nothing.

He slid onto his side. Her body glowed with sweat in the candlelight, her head to one side, her eyes closed.

“Hey,” Louis whispered. “Are you-?”

Her chest wasn’t moving. He scrambled to his knees and gave her cheek a tap. “Sam, wake up!”

Nothing.

“Jesus,” he whispered. His eyes darted to the phone on the night table, then back to Sam. Without thinking, he slapped her hard.

Her eyes sprang open, and she gasped, drawing in a ragged breath. She seemed dazed, and then her hand came up to her cheek as her eyes locked onto his.

“I’m sorry,” Louis said. “God, I’m sorry, Sam. You were out cold, and I had to-”

Her eyes had gone as dark as a night sky. She turned her head away as she rubbed her face. “I think you’d better go,” she said.

Louis didn’t move.

“Just go,” she said.

He was so stunned he didn’t know what to say. Hell, what could he say? She had just ordered him out of her bed. He slipped out of the bed and found his clothes. When he was dressed, he looked back at the bed. Sam had turned on her side, away from him.

He went out to the living room and let himself out the front door. It was only when he saw the black Jag parked in the driveway that he remembered he had come there in her car.

Louis glanced up at the moon. It was probably only about three miles back to the hotel. He went down the driveway and scaled the gate. He turned north on the beach road, and started the walk back.