A Job to Kill For (12 page)

“Why would you be a suspect in her murder?” I asked.

Billy slowly rolled up his shirt sleeve and pointed to a skull-and-crossbones tattoo on his left bicep. He flexed the muscle a couple of times, and the tattoo seemed to jump out and stare down at the dragon that wound its way up his right arm.

“Tattooed biker dude with piercings, two drug arrests, and a bad ’tude,” said Billy. “Pin it on me and everybody’s happy.”

“Sure that’s not drug-induced paranoia?” I asked.

“I told you I’m not high,” he said irritably. The appealing gloss of charm had evaporated, and his soft, warm eyes now looked hard and angry.

“Did Roger know you and Cassie still saw each other?”

“Probably. When you’re a billionaire, you know everything. Or you think you do.”

I leaned back. “I’m sorry, Billy, you’ve got me confused. If Roger had been knocked off, I’d have you on my suspects list. On the other hand, I don’t see what you get out of having Cassie dead, except maybe ownership of a very nice boat—but you had that anyway.”

Billy looked relieved. “Yeah, maybe I’m overreacting.” He walked across the deck and took a pair of binoculars from under a seat. “You can usually see some dolphins and porpoises in the water. Occasionally a whale. Take a look, and I’ll go get the stuff we were talking about.”

I took the binoculars and leaned over the railing while Billy went back underneath. The setting sun loomed large on the horizon. Grant had once explained to me why the orange ball that warms our planet seems so much bigger at the end of the day—something about the angle of refraction of light. Or maybe it’s that at the end of the day everything looms larger: Small problems burn in importance and terror lurks in the darkening shadows.

Suddenly, the boat jerked, the bow lurching sharply to the left, and the sails began swinging wildly across the deck.

“Get down!” Billy called from underneath.

Before I could budge, the heavy boom smacked into the back of my shoulder.

“Oww!” I screamed, clamping a hand on the sore spot and ducking—but not far enough. The boom teetered back and forth and, gathering additional force in the wind, slammed terrifyingly into the back of my head.

“Help!” I yelled. My head reeling from the pain of the blow, I tottered forward and lost my footing. I tumbled over the railing, plunging through the air and…

Splat.

I landed in the water with such incredible force that it felt like I’d smacked into cement. Then the inexplicably hard surface gave way and I began sinking into the cold, dark ocean. Icy water pierced my clothes and covered my face. I hadn’t had time to close my mouth as I fell, and now I choked on a mouthful of brine, coughing madly as the salt water penetrated down to my lungs. I kicked hard to get to the surface, but being completely disoriented, I instead forced myself down deeper. My eyes burned, and holding my breath was out of the question, because all the air had been forced out of me on impact.

Was this how people drowned? I’d been swimming all my life, but that hardly mattered. Now the water had turned into an enemy, fighting my efforts to escape from its cold clutches. I clawed at the water, desperate to surface but getting nowhere. Something slimy brushed by my face, and I slapped at it in panic. A jellyfish? Used condom? Slippery side of an electric eel?

I flailed my arms, as out of control as Ashley used to be when she threw tantrums as a toddler. Back then, I’d hug her arms tightly to her sides to help her calm down.

Something I could try now.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and made myself stop kicking. I hoped to pop to the surface like a cork, but instead I hovered in the water. An image flashed in my head of the batches of brownies Jimmy and I made early every Saturday morning. Happy to be with him, I’d stopped counting calories and gained five pounds. If I sunk to the bottom and drowned now, the coroner could call it death by chocolate.

Wait a minute. Didn’t fat float? Instead of dying from not dieting, I could be saved by Betty Crocker.

Sure enough, as my body became slightly more relaxed, I began to bob toward the surface. At least I assumed it was the surface, because I saw little glimmers of light. I turned upward, and in a moment my face broke through to air.

I coughed and spluttered for oxygen.

“Help!” I called into the gathering darkness.

I started kicking again, but this time to keep myself above water. The flowing Escada skirt, now a sodden mess, pulled heavily against my legs. No time for modesty. I put my shaking fingers to the waistband, found the zipper, and tugged. In a moment, the wet fabric slipped off and floated away. My shoes had fallen off long ago, and now I could swim freely.

But where to go? The current moved faster than I expected, and small waves splashed over my chilled skin. I could see the outline of Billy’s boat, moving steadily away from me in the gentle evening breeze. I looked around frantically, but no other boat came into view. Where was the Coast Guard at a time like this? Or even a cruise ship. If I had to eat seafood buffets and play shuffleboard to be saved, I’d do it.

“Woman overboard!” I shouted.

Maybe I could flash an SOS. Though come to think of it, I’d heard that Morse code had been dropped on the high seas. Not that I knew it in the first place.

“Bill-eeeee!”
I yelled. My voice was muffled by the waves but unexpectedly, the boat turned and began to head back toward me.

Now a new panic set in. Had Billy deliberately knocked the boom in my direction to send me into the water? If so, I didn’t want to get anywhere near him. As the boat approached, I turned and started to swim fast in the opposite direction. Then I stopped. Not a wise decision. Did I really want to spend the night swimming desperately toward a shore I couldn’t see?

“Lacy,
La-cee,
” called a voice from the boat that was overtaking me now.

“I’m here,” I shouted back to Billy.

He hadn’t lowered the sails, but the grinding roar of the motor came closer. Then I heard a splash as a life preserver landed twenty yards away. I started swimming toward it, but Billy reeled it back in.

“Another try!” he called, and I saw him on the edge of the boat, hurling the ring again. This time, it plopped down ten feet in front of me.

“Nice throw,” I said lunging for the round orange ring.

“Grab it and hang on,” he directed.

I did exactly that, and in a minute I was riding the waves, being pulled gently back to the boat.

And back toward the spinning blades of the motor.

“Turn that off!” I screamed, over the roaring noise.

Billy must have complied, because a sudden stillness came over the water. Relief flooded through me as I passed inches from the motor, now mercifully stopped. Billy hung a metal staircase on the stern of the boat and drew me close enough to reach it. Anxiously, I put one foot on the cold metal and hefted myself up. When I got to the second step, Billy reached down, put his arms around my waist and lifted me into the boat.

“Are you okay?” he asked as I sat down shivering on the bottom of the boat.

I nodded dumbly.

“What happened?” he asked.

“You tell me,” I said.

He reached down to the deck and came up with a dirty green towel that he bundled around my shoulders.

“You’re shaking. You’ve got to get out of those wet clothes.”

“I’m out of most of them,” I said. I wrapped my arms around my bare, goosebump-covered legs and rubbed them to warm up. My hands quickly turned black and oily. I shuddered, not wanting to think about what had been with me in the drink.

“Jeez, what a weird accident,” he said. “Good thing you can swim. I probably should have made you put on a life vest before we went out, but I didn’t think of it.”

“Do you even have them?” I asked, looking around the boat for the requisite orange jackets.

“Of course. It’s the law.”

I nodded, trying to convince myself that Billy Mann cared about following laws.

“You’re right, I’d like to get into something dry,” I said, unable to stop trembling. “Do you have anything I can borrow?”

Billy eyed me carefully. “Probably,” he said. “Let’s look.”

He helped me stand up again, and with an arm steadying me at the elbow he led me belowdeck, past a tiny galley kitchen and a bathroom with a real shower—and into a full-size sleeping cabin. A big bed filled most of the area, tucked into the V-shaped front of the boat and expanding back. Pale peach sheets and a chenille blanket lay tangled over the mattress, though there’d been some effort to straighten up—the pillows were piled neatly, and a folded duvet rested along the edge. A small chest had been built into the opposite wall. One of the drawers stood partly open, and a hairbrush and travel-size tube of toothpaste rested on the bureau top. That they hadn’t fallen suggested it had been a calmer ride belowdeck than above.

Billy reached to the far side of the bed and pulled up a bright yellow dress clumped into a ball. He shook it out. “You can wear this,” he said, handing it to me. “In fact, you can have it.”

I’d had my share of surprises today. I’d ridden a motorcycle, risked drowning, and ripped off my clothes in front of a man I barely knew. But nothing quite prepared me to see a vintage Nina Ricci couture cocktail dress with a wrapped bodice and delicate hand-sewn beading. It had to be worth thousands of dollars. I’d expect to see it on the red carpet at the Golden Globes, but not balled up under a bed.

“Where’d you get this?” I asked, holding the gown up to my shoulders. Whoever wore the dress before had been taller and thinner than me—and probably tanner, too. “Are you sneaking into Renee Zellweger’s closet? Making deals with Reese Witherspoon’s stylist?”

He shrugged. “Someone left it here.” Then, changing the subject rapidly, he said, “At least it’s something to wear home. Get you out of the wet clothes.” He tugged at the half-open bureau drawer and produced a cashmere wrap in the same shade of yellow. “This goes with it. A little warmer. Get dressed and I’ll come back.”

He left again, and I slowly peeled off my wet shirt and lace La Mystere cleavage-enhancing bra. The padded push-up cups had absorbed the ocean water like sponges, thrusting my chest up toward my chin. When I unhooked the now-heavy bra, my breasts sagged but my spirit soared. I pondered the matching panties for a moment, and then stepped casually out of them. It felt strange, but I’d read about all the celebrities going commando—i.e., wearing only a bikini wax under their clothes—so I could give it a try. Though frankly, the expression seemed odd. “Going commando” had a vaguely military sound, as if army corporals defending America’s freedom tossed their Calvins before aiming their guns.

I pulled the dress on over my bare skin. It didn’t hang badly, but I couldn’t reach the tiny corsetlike fasteners in the back.

“I can help,” Billy said, coming back in.

I turned around and let him tug the dress into place.

“Don’t worry,” I said, when he couldn’t get the fabric to close at the waist. “Nobody will see.” I wrapped the warm shawl around me.

“You look good,” Billy said, stepping back.

“I don’t need to look good. I just need to get home.”

“Yeah, the boat’s set on course back. We’ll be at the slip soon.”

A few minutes later, he docked the boat and helped me onto the pier. I called a taxi to drive me back to the shop so I could retrieve my car. No way I’d get back on the motorcycle.

“Let’s walk a little to keep you warm until the taxi gets here,” Billy said. He tucked his hand into my elbow and we strolled to the end of the pier and back, then down the next pier. A couple of boat owners waved to him, and he called out
hello
s to several others.

“You know a lot of people here,” I said.

“Small community. See a lot of people, but I don’t really know them.”

We walked in silence. The expensive dress rustled at my knees, and as I brushed against the soft fabric, my mind whirled, trying to put tonight into context.

“Billy, about the dress I’m wearing. You said someone had left it on the boat. Was it Cassie?”

He shrugged. “Probably. I mean, I think so.”

He thought so? Billy Mann might have a lot of women on his boat, but I couldn’t imagine that many of them arrived in yellow beaded couture gowns.

The cab pulled up and Billy opened the door for me.

“Listen, I’m sorry about what happened. And in all the confusion, I didn’t get to show you those e-mails. You have to come back.”

“Sure,” I said.

I’d almost forgotten about the e-mails, because now my mind was busy with something else. As we pulled away, I looked back at Billy, standing and waving at the retreating cab as if his true love were inside.

His true love in an unmistakable yellow gown.

Chapter Eight

B
y the time I got home to our house in Pacific Palisades, the grandfather clock in the front hall had struck eleven and all seemed quiet. Slipping into our bedroom, I found Dan already asleep. Bless the man, he never even snored. He’d also thoughtfully left on a light—my favorite one, as it happened. For a bedside lamp, I’d made a shade out of an antique copper urn I’d found in a cluttered store on Third Avenue and had it refitted to sit on a round, gold-plated base. The combination of materials gave off a gently soothing glow.

Right now, I needed to be soothed. I quickly took off the elegant Nina Ricci and stuck it in the back of my closet. For some reason, I thought of Monica Lewinsky tucking away her blue dress. Could this frock also turn into evidence?

I heard a soft knock on the bedroom door and quickly pulled on a cotton bathrobe.

“Hi, sweetie,” I whispered, opening the door to Grant and then stepping into the hall so we wouldn’t wake Dan. “Did you have a good night?”

“Sure, but how about you? Everything cool? It’s late.” He glanced at his watch, and I could tell he’d been concerned. Funny how roles reversed.

“I got busy. A little over my head,” I said, making a joke that only I would get.

“Solving the Cassie case?” Grant asked as we walked into his room.