Pier Pressure (26 page)

I eased from the bow to the passenger seat, leaning a bit to the right to keep the boat in trim. The pain around my ribs reminded me of the ordeal I'd rather have forgotten. Under most other circumstances this trip might have been a romantic boat ride on a moonlit sea. Instead, I felt cold and wet, grubby and dirty, and itchy. I knew I must smell like dead fish.

Punt secured the boat in its slip, helped me over the gunwale, then took my arm as we headed toward his car. I thought it must be almost morning, but my watch said only a little after eight o'clock.

“Let's go to my place first,” Punt said. “You know your grandmother'll be watching for you. You don't want her to see you looking like…”

“Okay. You're right, I don't, and I don't want to be responsible for staining the interior of your car.”

“I suppose we could walk home.” Punt grinned as he looked down at his slimy shoes and then at mine. “I keep some old beach towels in the trunk. We can spread them over the seats and the floor. I'm fond of that upholstery and carpet.”

I helped Punt arrange the towels, saving a couple of them to wrap around our shoulders, to ward off the chill.

Punt drove to his private entrance at Ashford Mansion
and we climbed the stairs to his apartment, our wet feet in wet shoes squish-squishing at every step. We both kicked off our shoes at the door, and the white tile floor inside the apartment felt warm to my cold feet.

Punt's apartment consisted of one large white-walled room with white wicker furniture dividing the space into living-dining room, bedroom, and kitchen. Dive flags, boat flags, and flags I didn't recognize decorated the walls, giving the apartment a nautical look without the usual clichés of rope-framed seascapes, life preservers, and fishing nets. An open door led past the bedroom into the bathroom.

“So how about a shower?” Punt invited. “You can use this one and I'll use the one in Jass's laundry room.”

“I won't argue showers with you. I can hardly wait to get cleaned up.”

“Want some help? I'm good at backs and also at the other two thousand body places available for a scrub-down.” Punt grinned and his smile barely missed being a leer.

“I'll manage on my own, thanks, if you'll only lend me towel, soap, and some dry clothes.”

“Okay, but you're missing a good thing. I never share my shower with just anyone.”

Punt supplied towels and soap and I stepped into the shower stall. After adjusting the temperature to hot, I let the needle-like spray sluice over my body. Heaven. No other word would do. I lathered and rinsed twice. By the time I finished the second time I'd also lathered and rinsed my hair. The in-shower time washed away many of my aches and pains. My ribs felt sore, but I doubted they were broken.

Punt had left a slinky robe and some strappy sandals on a low stool beside the sink. Who had those belonged to? Jass? Much too small for Jass. I really didn't want to know who Punt might have entertained. Gratefully, I slipped into the robe, feeling it glide over my body before I took his hair dryer from a wall rack and dried my hair.

When I stepped from the bathroom, Punt was sitting in clean fresh clothes at the coffee table where he had arranged a tray of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a dish of macadamia nuts. A bottle of Chardonnay and a bottle of Coke sat near two frosted glasses, and he poured our drinks.

Twenty-Five

PUNT PLACED THE frosted wine glass in my hand, clinked his glass against it, and offered a toast. “To us, Keely. A happy celebration of good times past and many more good times to come.”

We drank to that and I liked both the taste of the Chardonnay and the smooth feel of the cool liquid in my mouth.

“You're smiling.” Punt offered me a sandwich. “I hope that means you're pleased with me as well as with the toast.”

I smiled at him. “There's something touching about a sophisticated man-about-town offering a sentimental toast, enjoying peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and washing them down with a cola.”

“When we were kids, Mom made the sandwiches for us and we washed them down with lemonade. Remember those days?”

“I remember a lot of good times at this house with you and Jass, your parents. Sometimes I wish we could turn the clock back and start over again.”

“Maybe we can draw on those memories and move on. People in-the-know say the good old days were often more old than good.” Punt left his chair, joined me on the couch, and eased close. “I've been in love with you since high school days. You know that, don't you, Keely?”

I eased away from him, suddenly uncomfortable. “I remember that for a while you were very much in love with cocaine and you had the money to support your habit. I couldn't get through to you.”

“I'm clean now. Been clean for three years, and I intend to stay clean forever. Cocaine and booze have no part of my life now.”

“I want to believe that, Punt. Everyone wants to believe that.”

Punt took my hand and inched closer to me. “I tried to put you out of my mind the second time I came out of rehab. I tried to accept the fact that you were married, that you had chosen Jude Cardell. Believe me I really hated that low blow. Jude Cardell!”

“Let's not talk about Jude. Not tonight. I've had enough of him for today—for today and forever.”

Again Punt inched closer and dropped his arm around my shoulder. I took a sip of wine, lifting my glass in a way that kept us a bit apart.

“Keely, could we start over? Could we begin a new relationship, take up where we left off ten years ago? Now that I'm older, I feel much wiser.”

The warm touch of Punt's arm around my shoulder made me want to ease closer to him, to relax against his lean body. The temptation to say yes to his invitation played on the tip of my tongue, but I forced myself to pull away. In my mind's eye I saw him lounging on the beach, hanging out at Sloppy's,
scooping the loop in the Karmann Ghia with a variety of girls at his side. I wondered whose robe I wore right at the moment.

“I think we've drifted too far apart, Punt. I'll always be your friend, but during the past ten years I've grown up. I've a horrible marriage behind me, one I need to forget completely. I can do that only by concentrating on my career. For a while I doubted I had the strength to make it go. I've worked hard to create a niche for myself.”

Ignoring my words, Punt pulled me close and stopped my words with his lips. The wine, his nearness, the touch of his mouth against mine dissolved my resistance. Warmth spread throughout my body, and I welcomed his kiss and the next one—and the next. When at last I eased away from him, I felt a great reluctance.

“Please take me home now, Punt.”

“You want to stay, don't you? Please tell me you want to stay, to spend the night here with me.”

I hedged. “A person can't always have what she wants.”

“But you can. You can have what you want as long as what you want is me.”

“If it were only that easy.” I laughed and forced myself to stand and to pretend as if I really wanted to go home.

Punt saw through my amateur acting and he covered my hand with both of his. “Got a really comfortable bed over there.” He nodded toward the bedroom area where a circular bed with a white plush spread invited occupants.

I avoided looking overhead at the mirrored ceiling, tried not to wonder who else might have shared his bed. “No thanks, Punt. After tonight's ordeal, I'm totally exhausted.”

Punt stood and grinned down at me. “Well, I can't guarantee you much sleep if you stay here.”

“So please take me home.”

“Okay. Your call—this time.”

Punt brought me my clothes which he had put through the washer while I showered and the dryer while we talked. I stepped back into the bathroom to slip from the robe and into my own jeans and shirt. It was after eleven o'clock by the time we reached my apartment and Punt stopped at the back door where Gram was less likely to hear us, especially if she'd put her ear plugs in for the night. He got out and saw me to the door, waited until I unlocked it, opened it before he gave me a lingering goodnight kiss.

“See you tomorrow, Keely. Keep me in your dreams.”

“See ya.” I made no promises about my dreams.

I thought I'd fall into a profound sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, but no. I squirmed and tossed on the bed as crazy garbled scenes played through my mind like reruns on late-night TV. One minute I stood back on
The Vitamin Sea
with Jude swearing and threatening me, slapping me, hurting me, and the next moment I sat in Punt's apartment lost in his deep kiss and wondering why it tasted of Chardonnay-flavored peanut butter and jelly.

At first, the rapping on my door reminded me of thunder and hurricane warnings. Then Gram's voice brought the early morning into sharper focus. Wednesday. No today was Thursday. That's right. Thursday.

“Keely! Keely! Open door. I bring news.”

Flinging back the covers, I finger combed my hair, thrust my arms into a robe, and padded barefoot to the door.

“Come in, Gram.” I stepped back. “What time is it?” I glanced at my watch. “Gram! It's only seven o'clock.”

“Dress quickly, child. Mr. Moore come here last night. I tell him you out. Although you no tell me where you be. None of his business where you be.”

I ignored the guilt trip Gram tried to lay on me. “Mr. Moore? Oh, my. What did he want?” I could think of a lot of things he might want, but I hoped Gram could be specific.

“He no tell me what he want.”

Sometimes Gram likes to be begged for information. I begged, hoping it would delay her from asking where I'd been last night. Usually I kept little from Gram, but right now I wasn't ready to tell her anything about Punt—or my encounter with Jude. I wanted to know what Mr. Moore had said. Did he blame me for burning down his house?

“Did he seem angry and upset?” I asked.

“You decide for yourself.”

Sometimes I think Gram deliberately tries to irritate me as another part of her guilt trip syndrome. “How can I decide anything about his mood or his feelings when I didn't see him?”

“He return soon. He tell me that. He say he return early morning. Get dressed. Pronto.”

“Sit down, Gram. We'll talk while I'm dressing.” I picked up the jeans and shirt I'd worn yesterday, then shoved them aside as they brought back too many memories of Jude—and Punt. Besides, I wore khaki jumpsuits for work and a Thursday meant a workday. I found fresh underwear, a clean jumpsuit, and slipped them on, and as I sat giving my tangled hair another comb, the phone rang.

“Maybe Mr. Moore call you,” Gram said.

“Miss Moreno?” a familiar voice asked. “Gladys Blackburn here.”

“Yes, Miss Blackburn. How may I help you?”

“I'm calling to cancel my morning appointment. Have to make an…an unexpected trip to Miami. I hate to foul up your schedule like this. I would have called you sooner, but…”

“Don't worry about it, Miss Blackburn. Emergencies come up now and then. Would you like to reschedule?”

For a moment the line hummed, then Miss Blackburn cleared her throat and the line hummed again before she spoke. “I'd rather not reschedule right at this time. May I call you for a make-up appointment later?”

“That'll be fine. Thanks for letting me know your change of plans.” I hung up, knowing I'd probably face a lot of cancellations. People dislike being associated with suspects in a murder case.

I rammed my feet into sandals as another knock sounded.

“Mr. Moore. There he be, Keely. I stay here. Want to know what he say about house fire.”

I didn't argue, but when I opened the door, Punt smiled down at me, dangling my chain and ring on his forefinger. “Found this in my car. Didn't want you to worry about it and I knew you'd be concerned once you missed it.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you. I hadn't missed it yet, but I would have. And soon. Come on in.”

Punt stepped inside. “Morning, Celia.” He nodded to Gram. “You closed today, or can I get some espresso?”

“No be closed. Plenty of espresso. Come with me.”

As Gram started to leave, we all drew in quick breaths when we saw Detective Curry standing on the sidewalk ready to knock on the door. He stepped inside without invitation and Gram, Punt, and I backed up and stood staring at him. Something inside me shriveled and died each time I encountered this man. After all my problems with Jude, I doubted I could ever feel at ease with police authorities. Did this detective plan to haul me in for questioning—again? If so, what for this time?

“Won't you come in?” I asked at last, although he already stood inside.

“Have you heard the news?” His laser-beam gaze cut directly toward me.

“Gram's told me that Mr. Moore's in town and plans to see me this morning. Is that the news you mean?”

“No. It…is…not.”

Let's not play guessing games. I wanted to shout those words at him, but I choked them back. No point in irritating the police unnecessarily.

For a moment the four of us stood waiting in a suffocating silence I could hardly bear. Then Detective Curry spoke again.

“Jude Cardell died last night.”

Twenty-Six

THAT'S ALL HE said, and his words hung in the room like time bombs sizzling and ready to explode. Shock sent my mind, my body into standby mode, and faraway sounds crept in, momentarily blotting out Curry's words and his message. A rooster crowed. My refrigerator hummed. The rooster crowed again. Seconds passed before I could make myself speak.

“What happened to him?” I asked.

“When did you see him last?”

Curry's gaze bored directly into me as he hurled his question, and my heart plunged to my toes. I knew I had to reply. He'd already told me his questions were informal and that I could always refuse to answer. Hah! We both knew I could refuse to reply only if I wanted to heap suspicion upon myself.