I smiled at him. I’d known Pete a long time. He was an ex-single-hander. On his way up from the Virgins, he’d gone to sleep one night on watch. His autopilot had driven his pretty little Swedish-built cutter right up on the beach in front of the Fountainbleu in Miami. The boat was holed, and he lost everything. He’d been tending bar in the Downtowner back in the days when Red used to bring me in for Shirley Temples and regale the other regulars with his stories about the great little boat handler his daughter was turning out to be.
“Don’t worry about trying to make me feel better Pete. I knew Neal had been seeing somebody else. He and I broke it off a while ago. He was free to do as he pleased.”
“It wasn’t that, Seychelle, honest. It just seemed kinda strange at the time. She came in here all alone one afternoon, about three weeks ago. I carded her, so I know for a fact she was just barely twenty-one, but she looked mighty at home in a bar. A bunch of the guys hit on her, and they all struck out. Then Neal came in and sat at the bar. He was thinking about something, keeping to himself, and didn’t hardly seem to notice her. She called me over and asked me his name. Then before I knew it, she was over there sitting by him, laughing at his jokes, staring up at him with those big blue eyes. Like I said, he didn’t have a chance.”
Another customer called Pete over, and I was left to wonder why such a gorgeous girl would have singled him out. Neal was an attractive guy, all right, but why would he have appealed to a girl like Patty Krix? Really beautiful people were a different breed, and they always made me slightly uncomfortable.
Hiking my purse onto my shoulder, I slid off my stool and walked back to the corridor where the bathroom was. The beer was making me sleepy. I splashed cold water on my face and looked at myself in the mirror. What a mess. I hadn’t changed clothes since I’d thrown on shorts and a worn T-shirt in order to work on the damn broken marine head. Loose, windblown hairs stood out around my head in a sort of sun-bleached halo. I pulled the rubber band out of my shoulder-length light brown hair, used my fingers to comb out the snarls, and decided to leave my hair down. Although I usually sport a fairly dark tan from working outdoors, my skin looked pale, as though it were drawn too tightly over my cheekbones. Evidently, discovering dead bodies is not a recommended beauty treatment.
When I returned to the bar I was surprised to see that Collazo had come in and was sitting on my stool. He leaned across the bar talking to Pete, his notebook open, gold pen in hand.
“Buenas tardes, Detective. What brings you to this place?” I slid onto the stool next to him and reached across for my beer.
“Miss Sullivan.” He nodded at me, something like a little bow, but ignored my question.
I tried another question. “Any word on Neal yet?”
“No. It doesn’t look likely we’ll find anything at this point. The Gulf Stream, you know.” He tapped his pen on the cover of his notebook. “But we’ll give it one more day. You haven’t gone downtown to sign your statement yet.”
“No. I had some personal business to take care of this afternoon. You didn’t say I had to do it today.”
He nodded. “Tomorrow morning, then, first thing.”
I reached for my glass and took a long drink. “Care for a beer, Detective?”
Pete shot me a look that told me to shut up. He’d had a strong distrust of cops ever since the Miami Beach police had stood by and watched as looters stripped his boat of everything he owned.
Collazo dismissed my question with a wave of his hand. “I understand from this gentleman,” he said, indicating Pete, “that Patty Krix used to work as a barmaid here. And he tells me that you are quite a regular. Yet this afternoon you claimed not to know her.”
“Hey,” Pete jumped in, “I never said Seychelle knew Patty. She only worked here a couple of times.”
He leaned his chest against the bar and focused his full attention on Pete. “They’d never met, then.”
“How should I know? I’m running a bar here.” Pete tossed his damp towel on the bar.
“It’s okay, Pete.” I set my glass on the bar. Two beers on an empty stomach, and I felt a surge of alcohol-induced confidence. “Detective, I’d never seen that girl before today when I found her on the Top Ten.”
He swung his head around and focused his dark eyes on me. In spite of the beer, my mouth felt dry. “You are absolutely certain of this.”
“Of course I’m certain. I’d remember if I’d met her.”
“Because she was Garrett’s new girlfriend.”
“What are you fishing for, Collazo? Just exactly what do you think happened out there?”
“I don’t know, Miss Sullivan, but I have been considering a possible scenario. I’d like you to tell me what you think of it. Yesterday morning, Garrett gave the ship’s engineer the day off. I am told it is very irregular to take out a boat of that size with only two people aboard. Apparently, the captain wanted a day alone with his new lady friend. His former lady friend was not happy about the new relationship. Garrett goes down for a dive, leaving his current girlfriend on the boat, but the fuel pumps malfunctioned and all the engines shut down. The girl got scared. She called for help. She didn’t know when Garrett would surface.
“You happened to be nearby when you heard this mayday call. When you came aboard, you saw your chance. You killed the girl, and when Garrett surfaced, you shot him, pushed his body overboard, and pressed the gun into the girl’s hand to mark it with her prints. Given the Gulf Stream, I assume the body will eventually wash up somewhere north of Pompano. Not even weight belts hold them down for long, Miss Sullivan.”
I wasn’t sure if it was the beer or Collazo’s little scenario, but suddenly I was feeling a little woozy and nauseous. “You’re joking, right?”
“I’ve been a cop a long time. We know you always start looking close and then work your way out: family, ex-lovers, friends. We rarely get to strangers.”
It was happening again, that guilty thing. I knew I hadn’t done anything, but I could feel my heart racing, my face burning, and worst of all, I knew without looking just how intently Collazo was watching my reaction.
“You haven’t told me yet what you think of my little scenario, Miss Sullivan.”
I looked up, and over the detective’s shoulder I saw a familiar figure enter the bar. His sleek black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and backlit as he was, his white teeth glowed almost neon white against his brown skin. He walked around Collazo, ignoring him, and wrapped me up in his huge arms, squeezing me tight in a warm bear hug. A little shiver ran up my body as the tension left me, and I kissed B.J. just at the hairline on his neck. He held me at arm’s length. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I turned my head toward the detective. “Detective Collazo, this is B.J. Moana.”
B.J. extended his hand, smiling. Collazo took it reluctantly, squinting at the big Samoan.
Turning back to face me, B.J. said, “Sey, I’m so sorry.” He brushed fingers along the side of my head, attempting to tame some of my wilder hair. “We both know Neal would not go gentle. . . . I’m sure there’s reason to be positive, to hope.” He shook his head slowly, never taking his eyes off mine.
I closed my eyes for a few seconds and swallowed. “The detective here has certainly put his positive spin on things. He has just been telling me his theory about how I killed Neal and his girlfriend.”
B.J. turned to stare at the detective, inspecting him with those penetrating dark eyes. “A girl’s dead. That’s not something to joke about.”
Collazo held his stare longer than most can. “I’m not laughing.”
“You don’t seriously consider that a possibility, do you?”
Collazo looked up at B.J., at his six feet two inches of lean, surf-hardened muscle.