Castle Cay (23 page)

He wouldn’t let her take them to New York.
And David wouldn’t, either.
Oh, well, that problem is
solved,
she thought.
By the time David discovers they’re
missing, they’ll be sold to that anonymous buyer.

She smiled and slid them, one at a time, into
the crate, which was already addressed to Avram at his townhouse in
Boston.

Meeting Avram Solomon was the best thing that
ever happened to Susan; and it had happened at just the right time.
Her carefully balanced world was about to fall apart like a
toppling stack of blocks.

It had all started with her beautiful home.
The two-story, waterfront house in Old Town, near Southernmost
Point, was over one hundred years old. Two years ago, she’d put her
life savings into the historic home. The real estate bubble was
fully inflated at the time, and investors were buying property in
the Keys like the sand was twenty-four-karat gold dust.

Susan had known the owner of the house, an
old widow who was a regular visitor at the Sandpiper. When the
widow told Susan that she wanted to sell the dilapidated house and
move to St. Augustine to be near her daughter, Susan had
immediately made the widow an offer.

Susan’s plan had been to fix it up, and flip
it. The mortgage payment was high, but doable, and there was no
doubt in her mind that the house would sell quickly.

Unfortunately, everything had gone wrong. The
repairs were
much
more expensive than Susan had thought.
Just repairing the long dock had cost ten thousand! Susan didn’t
have enough furniture, and decorating was more costly than she’d
planned, too. Then the real estate bubble burst, and suddenly there
were a slew of houses for sale in Key West…and no
buyers
.

Meanwhile, the monthly payment on her
adjustable rate mortgage had doubled, as had her property taxes and
insurance.

Susan had been barely managing the situation
by using up the available credit on her cards. The only bright spot
was the increasing prices and demand for Marc Solomon’s paintings.
Fortunately, Marc had been prolific, and there was a backlog of his
work at the gallery that had been selling well.

But that stockpile of his art wouldn’t last
forever, and, due to his illness, Marc had been slowing down. To
make matters worse, they hadn’t been getting along. The run-up to
Marc’s Boston show was a disaster. They couldn’t agree on which
pieces to show, or pricing, or much of anything. He drove her
crazy.

Susan wanted to kill him!

And then she met Avram Solomon.

•

Susan first noticed Mr. Tall, Dark and
Handsome studying the Castle Cay paintings. He seemed so
intent…

“
Hi,” she said. “They’re very dramatic,
aren’t they? Do you like them?”

“
Oh. Ah…yes. Yes I do.”

“
I’m afraid those two aren’t for sale.
But, perhaps I could help you select something else. I’m Susan
Dwyer, Marc Solomon’s agent.”

He smiled at her and grasped her extended
hand in both of his.

“
It’s a distinct pleasure to meet you,
Susan,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I’m Marc’s brother, Avram
Solomon.”

“
My goodness!” she said. “I can’t believe
we haven’t met before this!”

Avram turned on his considerable charm,
and Susan basked in his attention. They walked around the gallery
together for at least a half hour, until she realized that she was
neglecting her job. She knew that Marc didn’t like his brother, and
she noticed him looking at her as if to say,
“
What are you
doing with HIM?”

“
I better get back to circulating,
Avram.”

“
How about after the show? I know a great
place for a late bite.”

“
Ooh, I don’t know,” she whispered. “I
should probably eat with Marc.”

“
C’mon, there’s a piano bar…it’ll be fun,”
he whispered back. “Make an excuse! Marc doesn’t have to
know.”

Susan was forty-six and lonely.

They slept together that same night in her
hotel room, although “slept” certainly didn’t describe it. Susan
was a big-boned, plain woman, who translated Avram’s voracious
sexual appetite as “desire”. He used her and abused her…and she
loved every minute of it.

Susan never felt so desirable in her
life.

He’d flown her up to Boston twice after that,
to spend the weekend with him at his townhouse. He overwhelmed her
with his wealth, showered her with attention..

They were out to dinner at an exclusive
restaurant when he began to talk about Marc having AIDS, about how
he would certainly die soon, and what a terribly painful end that
would be for him. Then he moved on to how devastating Marc’s
illness would be for her and the gallery, too.

“
And, Susan, you know how much I care for
you…I think I might be falling in love with you…and because of
that, I did some investigating. I hope you don’t mind that I did.
It’s the way things are done in my circle, when one is serious and
contemplating marriage.”

Susan had caught her breath.

“
Oh, no! I understand, Avram!”

“
Good, I’m glad. Now…I know that you have
some liquidity problems because of the current real estate market.
Heaven knows how many people have gotten caught in this downturn!
Anyway, it seems that you have a problem, and so do I.

“
You see, I can’t bear for my brother to
have a long and painful death; I would prefer that he pass
painlessly in his sleep. And I was thinking, my dear, that if you
were to help me with this, perhaps I could help you by buying your
home. In the long run, it would be a good investment. And, who
knows? We may be married one day, anyway.”

The turn Avram’s proposal had taken and the
audacity of it, stunned Susan. And it showed in her face.

“
I hope I haven’t upset you!” he said,
taking her hand, looking earnestly into her eyes. “I would never
want to do that, my dear! It’s just that…well, I’m a practical
man…and this seemed like a better way for all concerned…don’t you
agree?”

Susan said nothing. She was speechless.

“
Well, I’ll give you time to consider my
proposal,” said Avram, skillfully and deliberately using the word
‘proposal’ once again.

“
Let me know when you get home. I’d like
to make some plans for our future! But whatever you decide, dear, I
hope you’ll save those two paintings for me when Marc does pass
away. I presume you’d have them then, wouldn’t you? I’d still be
willing to pay fifty thousand for the pair.”

At last, she found her voice.

“
I
…
I’ll think about it,
Avram.”

Susan could think of nothing else as she flew
home to Key West. Avram had certainly done his homework. To make
such a daring proposal, he had to know all about her. Part of her
was wounded…but part of her found it exciting. Avram took what he
wanted! Susan felt a thrill, connecting his ruthless proposal to
his rough command in bed. And then she weighed her situation with
Marc against her relationship with Avram.

She shouldn’t kid herself about Marc. He
didn’t know the first thing about promoting himself or his work.
Without her, he’d be nowhere. But Marc felt no loyalty toward her,
and now that he was becoming “known”, what was to prevent him from
dumping her?

Nothing.

And if Marc were gone…a suicide, say…the
value of his work would double, perhaps triple. She owned a number
of pieces, herself. And she would probably retain the contract to
sell the others. And she would get the gallery, too. And Avram
could buy the house.

Susan had come to the conclusion that Avram
was right…

It was “better for all concerned”.

•

Susan shoved the crated paintings into her
large walk-in pantry to get them out of the way, and closed the
door. She began picking up all the loose Styrofoam on the trestle
table in her kitchen, where she often worked. She was about to
frame the other oil she’d taken from Marc’s studio that was
actually going to the Herzog Gallery in New York.

It was a small jewel of a painting; a
sailboat against a vibrant sunset, the pure white spinnaker dead
center.

Dead.

She really had to stop thinking about it!
What was the point? It wasn’t like she could change anything now.
But, try as she might, she couldn’t stop remembering. If only Marc
had
been dead…

•

David invited Susan over for a dinner of
braised short ribs, after she teased him about how she had missed
his cooking. She acted surprised and pleased at the subsequent
invitation and offered to bring the wine. David, always an eager
host, said he’d invite Rolly, too, and the four of them would “make
a night of it”.

She arrived at their house on Gulf Wind Drive
about seven.

“
I hope you boys like this Cabernet,” she
said, handing it to Marc. “It’s called ‘Chateau Very Expensive’! I
poured two bottles into this decanter because the guy at the liquor
store said it should ‘breathe’.”

They all laughed.

She was so nervous, but it was really easy.
Since she never drank because of her diabetes, nobody expected her
to drink the wine. David commented at one point that it had “an
interesting finish”, but no one else said anything about the
taste.

Susan could tell as the night wore on that
the alprazolam was working. All three of them were yawning…so she
pretended to yawn, too.

“
Well, it’s time for me to go home, boys,”
she said, rising and retrieving the empty Waterford decanter.
“Thank you so much for a wonderful dinner, David.”

“
I should go, too,” said Rolly, yawning
again. “I have to be at work early tomorrow.”

Susan hoped Rolly wouldn’t fall asleep at the
wheel and have an accident. Marc and David walked them to the door,
and they all air-kissed and said goodbye.

She returned an hour later and parked her car
down the street. The lights were out, but to her surprise, Rolly’s
old Toyota was back in the driveway. She almost ran back to her
car! But then she realized that there was no chance he’d be with
Marc. He’d be on the other end of the house, just as drugged as
David.

She ducked down below the level of the
windows and circled around to the rear of the house.

She was dismayed to see that the light in the
pool was lighting the whole damn patio. And Marc’s vertical blinds
on the sliding glass doors weren’t closed all the way, either…

To hell with it, she thought. If I get caught
I’ll say I needed to get an extra painting to replace one I sold at
the gallery. I’ll say I forgot to ask Marc for it after dinner, and
I didn’t want to wake anybody. It was HIS idea to give me a
key.

Susan quickly crossed the patio and paused on
the outside stairs to the loft. There was no activity that she
could see in Marc’s room through the blinds. She climbed the stairs
to the little deck and started to unlock the studio door, fumbling
with the key. The latex gloves made it difficult to hold on to; she
was afraid of dropping it.

Finally, she got the key in and the door
opened. She closed it behind her, crossed the room and headed for
the stairs that led down into the kitchen. She paused on every
other step, listening for any sounds in the house. There were none;
it was quiet. The luminous pool outside cast a dim light through
the glass doors into the house, and as her eyes adjusted, she found
that she could see quite well. She turned left at the bottom of the
staircase and went straight down the short hall to Marc’s bedroom.
She put her ear to the bedroom door and listened for a minute or
two.

Snoring.

Damn. He wasn’t dead.

Susan had hoped that the combination of
Marc’s multiple HIV drugs and an overload of alprazolam would be
lethal. However, she had always known that there was a chance it
might not be enough.

No matter. If it wasn’t enough to kill
him, she knew the overdose would
certainly
knock him out.
Unfortunately - and besides being ineffectual - that could create
another problem. What if Marc slipped into a coma? She certainly
couldn’t have
that!
So, if need be, she had come prepared to
quickly finish the job and leave.

She removed the syringe from the small purse
strapped to her waist, turned the levered handle down and pushed
open the door. The squeaking hinge sounded like a burglar alarm and
she froze, holding her breath, halfway into the room.

No movement. He was still snoring.

She exhaled with relief, taking in the scene.
Marc was sprawled on his back, naked and slick with sweat, despite
the coolness of the room. Moonlight sliced through the partially
open verticals, casting a striped pattern of light across his body.
The ceiling fan made a low, hypnotic sound and was spinning so fast
its blades were invisible. The weighted bottoms of the vertical
cloth slats moved silently in the breeze. Within reach on the
nightstand, a plethora of prescription drugs stood ready to aid
sleep or relieve pain. Surprisingly, the needle slipped right into
the vein on the first try.

If there’s a hell, I’m going there.

Marc’s eyes fluttered open.

“
Susan?”

Then they closed.

* * * * *

“
S
usan?”

Julie knocked again on the windowed kitchen
door. She could see Susan standing by an oak table which held a
small painting on an easel. She seemed to be staring into
space.

“Susan?” she said, a little louder.

Susan turned and saw her. She was surprised,
as Julie had assumed she would be, but she smiled and opened the
door.

“Well, hello!” she said. “Come on in.”