Reggie noticed Louis staring at a painting of two panthers surrounded by fruit trees.
“Do you like it?” Reggie asked.
“Yeah, it’s very… colorful,” Louis said.
“It’s by Jean-Claude Paul,” Reggie said. “He’s Haitian. These are all Haitian. I’ve been collecting them for years.”
Mel was standing close to a painting of a nude, squinting. “Nice,” he said, turning back to Reggie.
Reggie shrugged. “People here wouldn’t be caught dead with this sort of thing on their walls. But I love them.” His eyes lingered on the panthers for a moment, then he smiled. “Let’s go out on the lanai, shall we?”
Reggie led the way out onto a small patio. It was surrounded by orange bougainvillea hedges and crowded with potted flowering plants. Over the top of one hedge, Louis could see a construction crane and the skeleton of a three-story mansion.
“What are they building over there, a bank?” Louis asked.
Reggie turned back from the buffet table, a pitcher of lemonade in his hand. “Oh, that,” he said. “It’s my new neighbors. I think they are Russian. They bought four lots, tore down the houses, and are putting up that monstrosity. What can you do? Some people have all the money but absolutely no taste.”
Louis thought that it didn’t look any worse than some of the other places he had seen on the south end of the island last night, but he kept quiet.
“What can I get you to drink?” Reggie asked.
“A beer?” Louis asked.
Reggie grimaced. “I’ll have to check. I might have-”
“Lemonade’s fine,” Louis said.
“Same here,” Mel said from the chaise in the corner where he had stretched out.
Reggie handed them each a slender tumbler, and they took seats near Mel. Louis took a drink of the lemonade. It was heavy with vodka.
Reggie’s mini-buffet was set up on the table between them. The centerpiece was a glass bowl set in ice and filled with what looked like mud. Also on the table were tiny cups of minced onion and chopped egg and a carefully arranged assortment of toast wedges.
“Please, help yourself,” Reggie said.
Mel sat forward and picked up one of the tiny pearl-handled spoons and began to heap some caviar onto a toast wedge. Louis watched him, surprised. Louis had never seen him eat anything but bloody steaks, grouper sandwiches, and tacos.
“Is this osetra?” Mel asked.
Reggie’s face reddened slightly. “Yes. I’m sorry, but beluga is a bit out of my price range these days.”
“Don’t apologize,” Mel said, helping himself to another toast wedge. “It’s good. Tastes like nuts.”
Reggie smiled. “I’m glad you like it. This one is from Iran. I first tasted it at a birthday party for-”
“Excuse me,” Louis interrupted. “If you two are done comparing culinary experiences, can we talk about the problem at hand?”
Reggie stared at him for a moment, tiny spoon in midair. “Yes, you’re right, of course,” he said. He carefully spread some caviar on a toast wedge. “Where do we start?”
Louis leaned forward. “We start, Mr. Kent, with you. You’re not exactly leveling with us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that we aren’t going to take your case if you don’t start telling us the truth.”
Louis felt Mel’s eyes on him but didn’t look at him. They hadn’t talked any more since yesterday in the cattle pen, and Louis had decided he needed to push Kent before he agreed to take this on.
Reggie looked at Mel, as if he expected him to intervene on his behalf.
“Louis is right, Reg,” Mel said. “I want to help you, but if you don’t tell us what we need to know, we’re out of here.”
Reggie sighed. “Okay, ask me what you must.”
“Let’s start with your relationship with Mark Durand and why you lied about that,” Louis said.
Reggie shifted in his chair, an unlit cigarette dangling from his fingers. “I didn’t really lie,” he said.
“Were you lovers or not?” Mel asked.
“We were,” Reggie said softly. “But it ended months ago.”
“How and when did it start?” Louis asked.
“I used to occasionally go to a club over in West Palm,” Reggie said. “I had been alone for quite some time, and when I saw Mark that night at Kashmir’s, I knew he was someone I could fall in love with.”
Reggie stared out at the ocean, a sad wistfulness in his eyes. Louis let him have a few more seconds, then prodded him.
“He felt the same?”
“No,” Reggie said. “Like I told you, he was a lot younger. And at the time he was seeing this rich lawyer from Fort Lauderdale. The man was married and used to drive up to West Palm looking for anonymous, one-night encounters. He was paying Mark money for seeing him on a regular basis.”
“So Durand was a prostitute,” Louis said.
Reggie cringed. “Well, he was arrested in Miami for that once,” he said. “But to me he was simply a beautiful young man in need of direction.”
“How did you convince him to leave the other guy and hook up with you? You’re not rich, are you?”
“Heavens no,” Reggie said. “In fact, I usually rent this place out during the season to make money.” When he saw the look on Louis’s face, he went on. “I rent it out, pocket twenty grand a month, and go live in someone’s guesthouse until Easter.”
Louis glanced at Mel, who shrugged.
“But when this whole thing hit the newspapers, my tenant backed out,” Reggie said. He looked around, shaking his head. “I mean, between the lawn man, the pool, the maid, the taxes, I have no idea how I’m going to get by if I don’t find someone-”
“Mr. Kent, please,” Louis said. “You were talking about how you and Durand got together.”
Reggie nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry. Well, Mark wanted to leave the lawyer, so I told him he could come stay with me. He was living in a ratty little efficiency by the turnpike, so you can imagine how excited he was when he saw Palm Beach.”
“So what went wrong?” Mel asked.
Reggie was silent for a long time. “The age thing, of course,” he said softly. “That, and Mark realized I wasn’t really rich. At least, not rich enough. But I didn’t want him to leave.” He gave a wry smile. “No fool like an old fool, they say.”
He drew deeply on the cigarette and blew out a slow stream of smoke. “I knew I couldn’t afford to keep him happy, and I had no illusions about him being faithful. So we struck a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” Louis asked when Reggie didn’t go on.
“I need a refill,” Reggie said. He rose, picking up his tumbler. “Anyone else?”
Mel held out his glass. Louis hadn’t touched his. Reggie went to the bar and returned with two more lemonades, handing one to Mel. Reggie sat down, staring glumly into his drink.
“What was the deal?” Louis pressed.
“This is so sordid,” Reggie muttered.
“So is prison,” Mel said.
Reggie took a big drink before he went on. “The deal was that if Mark stayed with me, I would leave him alone. And I would help him become a walker.”
“He agreed?”
“Not at first. But I was able to convince him it was an easy way for him to have the kind of lifestyle he wanted, and that he could be a great walker if he tried.”
“So you trained him?” Louis asked.
“You don’t train to be a walker,” Reggie said. “You either have it or you don’t. Mark was very handsome, and he had a certain avoir la gueule.” When he saw their blank looks, he added, “A certain animal appeal.”
He snuffed out the Gauloise. “All I did was help him round off the rough edges. I got him to a good tailor, taught him how to order wine. Then I started introducing him to my ladies. I was determined to transform him into the kind of gentleman who could escort the richest women in the world. I didn’t want him to have to depend on men to pay him for sex anymore.”
“You’re a regular Pygmalion, Reg,” Mel said.
Reggie’s gaze drifted out toward the ocean. The sunlight was making his eyes water and in them Louis could see both grief and love. But there was something else stewing in them, too. Betrayal?