All About Evie (25 page)

“Shove it?” Milo looked over his shoulder, then back at Arch. “Over the years you've snowed thousands of people, from salesmen to sheiks, corporate presidents to seasoned cops. You're telling me you couldn't persuade one unstable lounge entertainer to get on a plane?”

“Piss off.”

“Fuck you.”

Arch checked the time. “Ready to dance?”

Summoning Vic's laid-back persona, he swept a hand toward the trail. “You lead.”

Arch, the arrogant bastard, smiled. “Always do.”

I
WAS DYING OF CURIOSITY
. Dying, I tell you. By the time Carol and I reunited with Vic and
Charles
the meeting was over. No sign of Gavin. No update from Arch. No telling hints from his expression or body language. I couldn't grill him because I couldn't get him alone.

We rejoined our tour group and returned to Charlotte Amalie via the crammed shuttle bus. Everyone was in a grand mood. Everyone but me. Well, and Carol, who bitched the whole way back about the limited beach time. If you ask me the hour had been fifty-nine minutes too long. An hour alone with Ms. Tall, Dark and Obnoxious was eternity. Not that we'd exchanged three words. Luckily, sunbathing was the ultimate silent sport.

Still, retaining Sugar's clueless, perpetually cheery attitude proved a major feat as the bus zipped back into the bustling port town. I had to know if the meeting went all right. Did Gavin pitch the ultimate deal or did Tex butt in and muck things up? Gavin had specified Dragonfly was hush-hush. Did he clam up when Arch didn't show up alone?

Arrrrgh!

It's not as though I could glean a clue from Arch's mood, because he was Charles. Not that it was easy to get a bead on Arch anyway. The man flatlined on emotions.

Imagine my frustration when he performed a song and dance, ditching me in downtown Charlotte Amalie in favor of shopping with
Vic.
To make matters worse, he told me to stick with
Carol
. My only solace was in knowing he wasn't going to send me packing, not today, anyway, because he'd told me to meet him back on the ship. But that didn't guarantee he wouldn't try to trick me into leaving tomorrow. Understanding his motivations was harder than working the
New York Times
crossword puzzle.

Amid the verbal shuffle, he'd told me he wanted to buy me something special. A
surprise.
I didn't argue. I couldn't argue. I was Sugar and Sugar would be over-the-moon ecstatic that her beloved
Charlie-baby
wanted to buy something special.

Man. I was really beginning to despise the free-spirited twit.

I needed an immediate distraction before I blew my top or horrors, cracked out of turn. Maybe shopping
was
the ticket. Main Street boasted designer shops like Ralph Lauren, Benetton and Gucci. Century-old warehouses converted into restored retail stores lined the waterfront. Leather, jewelry, perfume, cameras and exotic trinkets. You name it, Charlotte Amalie had it, and most of it was duty-free.

Just my luck. Stuck in the flipping “Shopping Mecca of the Caribbean” with Carol Parker.

Sugar, I decided, had limits. I turned to the leggy brunette and smiled. “I know our husbands told us to stick together, but, and please don't take this the wrong way, I could use some time alone.”

She surveyed the crowded street and narrow alleyways while clutching her tote and Gucci handbag close. “Safety in numbers.”

“I can take care of myself.” If only I had a glove, I'd challenge her with a haughty slap. Alas, I simply quirked one brow. “You?”

Her glossy lips curled into an amused smirk. “See you back on the ship…
Sugar.
”

I scooted off with a halfhearted wave. As much as I disliked her I found it impossible to be totally rude. My parents had drilled common courtesy and respect into my head. Along with suppressing dramatic emotions—bad and good—and the concept that violence is wrong and good girls don't complain. If I was
too soft,
then my parents were to blame. Except I know they had my best interests at heart and I truly did believe in most of their teachings. Maybe I just needed to find a healthy medium.

Maybe that was part of this perplexing change. Maybe the “snap” was me growing up into my own balance of beliefs. I didn't know whether to celebrate or to cry. I decided to spend some money. Who knows what tomorrow would bring and I really wanted to buy gifts for Nicole and Jayne. Maybe something for Mom and Dad. Something romantic. Something to remind them that they belong together. At least, I think they belong together. I'm not exactly an authority on happy marriages.

On a whim, I ducked into the foyer of an Italian bistro, out of the crush and cacophony of the main drag, and dug through my Lucy tote. I hadn't received an e-mail update from Christopher, so I decided to try Dad.
Why did you buy the Corner Tavern? Why can't you move back home? And, oh, by the way, remember when I was young and wanted to be a kick-butt crime fighter?

No signal. Darn. I hadn't been able to get a signal while at port in San Juan, either. If I did end up working for TCC—The Counterintelligence Corps?—I'd have to upgrade my long-distance plan. Maybe they had some kind of company phone, one with video, a tracking system and secret-gadget functions. Wouldn't that be cool?

“Sugar?”

Ack!
Startled out of my daydream, I spun to find Martha and her cronies exiting the dining area and heading toward me, their arms loaded with bags of duty-free booty. I mentally reviewed their names and relationships. Joyce and Earl—married fifty-two years. Ethel and Sid—second marriage, twenty-five years. All longtime friends of Martha and her husband, Bert, who'd long since passed. I thought about the inside man, the shark who gobbled up sweet, trusting seniors, and saw red.

“We thought it was you, honey,” Martha said. She gestured to one of her friends, the white-haired fellow with the big nose, the one who reminded me of Grandpa Munster sans the vampire cape. “Actually, Earl spied you. He keeps swearing he knows you from somewhere.”

“I just have one of those faces,” I said nonchalantly, slipping my phone back into my tote. Surely Earl hadn't seen my work in Atlantic City. Weren't they from the Carolinas? Of course, he could've been part of a junket.

Martha shoved her cat-eye glasses up her sunburned nose and peeked around my shoulder. “Where's Charles?”

“He's off shopping with Mr. Parker.” I smiled and conjured a blush. “He wanted to buy me something special.”

“Jewelry, I'll bet,” Joyce said. “Diamond International is around here somewhere. What was that other place we passed?”

“Diamond Palace,” Earl said. “If I was him I'd go for a bottle of one of those exotic fragrances we smelled in the Perfume Shoppe.”

“That's because you're cheap,” Joyce said.

“Well, you can't walk around on your own, dear,” Martha said. “Frankly, I'm surprised Charles allowed you to do so, especially after that dreadful incident last night.”

“I knew Fred was a lecher,” Joyce said with a righteous sniff. “Good for you for breaking his leg.”

“Oh, I didn't break his leg. It was just his—”

“I would have kneed him in the privates,” Ethel said.

Earl and Sid winced.

I suppressed a smile. “At any rate, it was sort of my fault for being so trusting.”

Martha patted my arm. “Another reason why you shouldn't stroll these streets without a chaperone. Safety in numbers.”

“So I've heard.”

Martha looped her arm through mine and steered me back out onto Main Street. “We can shop as we head toward the docks. We need to board the ship by four-thirty.”

“But—”

“Where did Charles say he'd meet up with you?”

“Back on the ship, but—”

“It's settled then,” Joyce said. “You're coming with us. Anything special you want to buy?”

They huddled around me, all smiley and protective. I craned my head around for sight of Arch. Despite his leaving me behind to do God-knows-what with Vic—I was convinced more than ever something was going on there—I was hesitant to leave the area. As if he might need me. Or I might miss something I was needed to do.

Oh, well. If nothing else maybe I could find out how these couples managed to stay happily married for so long and glean some insight on my parents' issues. Also, they were doing a pretty good job of keeping my mind off Arch and his mission. Resigned to a shopping spree with the golden girls and boys, I smiled. “I'd like to purchase a designer purse for one friend and a watch for another.”

“I know the perfect spot,” Ethel said.

“Maybe a camera for myself. Nothing too expensive or complicated. I left mine at home and, well, pictures would be nice.” Who knew if I'd ever get to the Caribbean again? Maybe I could even snap a picture of Arch to show Nicole and Jayne.

Martha squeezed my arm and smiled. “Let's go get your camera, dear.”

 

A
FTER DISAPPEARING
into a maze of shops, Milo phoned Woody, asking him to e-mail specific information to his secured account. Meanwhile Arch purchased a few items for show, and soon after they made their way back to the ship.

They maintained casual banter, two friendly acquaintances retiring to Dupont's suite for drinks and smokes while awaiting the return of their spendthrift wives. Once inside, they dropped the ruse and got down to business.

Arch retrieved his laptop out of the safe, placed it on the desk and fired it up.

Milo grabbed two beers out of the minifridge, tossing one to Arch after he typed in his password. “Fucking hot out there.”

“Better than freezing your balls off in Alaska, yeah?”

“Not so sure.” He noted Arch's fat suit and prosthetics with a raised brow. “You gotta be dying in that getup.”

“Suffer for my art, yeah?” The Scot slugged back a quarter of his beer then started shedding layers. He angled his head toward the computer. “Go ahead. I want to peel off a few years, wash my face. I'll be right
oot
.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and Milo settled in a chair to access his secured account. He pressed the cool green bottle against his flushed cheek as he waited for files to download. He still couldn't believe his good fortune. He'd planned to hang back when they'd entered the Coconut Shack. After spying Gavin King, Charles had begged off cocktails with Vic, claiming he owed Gavin a drink for escorting Sugar safely to their cabin after the Fred fiasco. But King had insisted Vic join them. Said he'd heard the Texan was keen on investments and since the Duponts and Parkers were friends…

“Figured he'd double his score,” Milo said to himself. The man's pitch had been scripted and sparse in detail. If they were interested, and they were, he'd introduce them to the man with his finger on the pulse of Dragonfly Cruises. The man with the inside scoop on this exclusive business opportunity—Mr. Simon Lamont. King had cleared his throat throughout, a nervous tell. Not the smoothest roper Milo had ever encountered.

Nursing his beer, he opened the first file and read. “You're right,” he said as Arch exited the bathroom, drying his face with a towel. “King's not a pro.” He angled the screen when the man pulled a chair in alongside him. “Been with Fiesta Cruises for ten years. Passed over twice for promotion. The last time, this past year. Looks like you had him pegged, Arch. Disgruntled employee.”

“Sticking it to the company by bilking its customers, yeah?”

“Word will eventually get around,” Milo said. “Fiesta's reputation will take a hit. By that time King will be long gone, his bank account well padded.”

“
Dinnae
know
aboot
the padded account,” Arch said. “Look at these financial statements. Our boy's in serious debt.”

“Gambling problem. Special fondness for cards,” Milo said, reading on. He glanced at Arch. “Explains the location of tomorrow's meet.” The Coco Casino. King would meet them there and make the introductions to Lamont—a man he'd described as a wealthy entrepreneur who routinely spearheaded hospitality resorts, including but not limited to the Coco Casino.
Imagine if you will,
he'd said,
an international Donald Trump.

“I
dinnae
like going into the Coco blind. We need a floor plan.”

“Woody's working on it.”

“Step ahead of me, yeah?”

Milo smiled. “Whenever possible.”

Arch lit a cigarette. “Plenty of casinos in the Dominican Republic, legit and otherwise. Odds are the Coco Casino is a sucker gambling house. Lamont either owns a piece of it or he rented a meeting room to use as the big store.”

Milo nodded, his thoughts traveling a similar path. “If Lamont frequents the casino, he could've run into King at the tables, learned his story and reeled him in as a roper. Our friendly cruise director could be using his cut to feed his habit.”

“Or maybe he lost a wad to Lamont and/or his casino cohorts,” Arch said. “Maybe he's working off debts. Doesn't matter. Gavin King's vengeful, greedy, and in deep.”

“He's also the least of our problems.”

Arch blew out a stream of smoke, chugged more beer. “I
cannae
send her away now. Not after King mentioned he'd bragged
aboot
Sugar and how Lamont's looking forward to meeting her.
She's
the reason Dupont wants to purchase this dream residential cabin. Like it or not, Evie has become vital to the sting.”