Sex in a Sidecar (18 page)

After Deanna had finished her treatment she slid onto a barstool. “All right, what's happening?”

I wiped the rim of a Margarita glass with lime and swirled it in salt. “No idea.”

“Tell me everything about Ethan.”

“I don't know anything.” I tumbled the glass over my wrist and landed it on the counter.

“That doesn't impress me anymore,” Deanna said. “Tell me.”

I pulsed the blender and then poured a Margarita. “Well,” I said and set the Margarita on a tray for Brad, another hot pool boy, to pick up.

“Why don't you ask Ethan yourself?”

“Tell me or I'll tell that obnoxious little man that you're drinking all the profits.”

“Julian? He's a drinker himself. He'd have recognized that in me in a heartbeat. Never hire a tender who drinks his own juice,” I advised her.

“Shut up, shut up. I'm sick to death of your tips on bar tending. If I'd wanted to know that shit I would have gone to bartending school instead of Smith.”

Well, so much for all friends together, and without talking about drinking, what did I have left for small talk? I was going to point this out to Deanna when I was distracted by the sight of Lester Cathers standing at the end of the bar with two buckets of ice. His pale eyes showed no irises, like one of the living dead on late night TV. Those cold orbs were fixed on Deanna. A chill wind blew through the bar.

“In here,” I said and opened the sliding door of the ice machine, trying to hold my body as far away from him as possible. The thought of touching him, even in the most casual way, was revolting. He poured the ice and gave Deanna a long look before silently going out with the empty pails. “That guy gives me the creeps,” Deanna said.

I put my finger to my lips. I went to the end of the bar and looked out into the hall. No Lester.

“That's one weird guy,” I said to Deanna.

“Bunny hated him,” she said and reached across the bar and helped herself to an olive speared on a plastic sword waiting to garnish a drink. “Why?” I asked.

“I don't know. Now, what about Ethan?” Deanna demanded.

“All right.” I gave a dramatic sigh and started making her Sidecar. “You've wrung it out of me. Ethan was seen with Bunny a lot and some of his personal things were found at her house. They were definitely doing the dirty but she seems to have thrown him out weeks before her death. Ethan is seeing Tanya.”

“The manicurist?

“Yeah.”

“Won't last. He'll be on the look out for someone with money. I know his kind, just like my husbands. All of my husbands married me for money, well, all except Arnie, my second. He really loved me but I drove him away before he could disappoint me. Clever of me, wasn't it?” I set her glass in front of her.

“Why was Bunny Lehre here?” Deanna asked. “Did she live here or was she just a stray like me?”

“She owned a condo out at Pelican Point, came here every year for the season. This year she came early for a little plastic surgery.”

“That's it? You don't know anything else about her?” I ticked off what I knew on my fingers. “She had a seasonal membership here. She was a miserable human being who had lots of enemies. Apparently she made several scenes when Ethan was too polite to other women and she cursed Lester out. Tried to get him fired. Now you know as much about her as I do. How come you didn't know her?”

“I did.”

Something on my face made her add, “Oh, come on don't give me that look.” She folded her hands and dropped her chin in them. “We hardly exchanged two words. And I didn't kill her.”

I went off to fill an order for drinks from a bridge table. Several people came in to the bar from the tennis courts for a late lunch and more orders came from the dining room and pool for drinks. Deanna hung around, preoccupied with her own thoughts, then disappeared for a while but was back about three just as I returned from the library with a tray of dirty glasses. She slid gracefully onto a stool and announced, “I've been considering suicide.”

She wasn't saying it to be dramatic. I set the tray down and waited.

“The problem is my insurance. It doesn't pay out on suicide. I just hate to pay out all that money over the years and then not be able to collect.”

“You wouldn't be collecting anyway,” I pointed out. “You'd be dead, remember.”

“Thank you for your concern,” she said. “My estate then, not that my rotten offspring need any more filthy lucre,” she sighed. “I guess I'm my father's child after all. Daddy was obsessed with money and used it to control us. Seems I'm much the same, just can't bear to let a penny slip through my fingers.”

This I'd already realized from the size of her tips, but I refrained from pointing it out.

She leaned forward on the bar, intent on following the logic of her argument. “But if I were murdered then they would have to pay up. Maybe even double because it wouldn't be natural causes. I'll have to check. Double something or other.”

I braced myself on the edge of the sink. “Look, perhaps you should get help…talk to someone.”

“I am, I'm talking to you.”

“I mean like a psychiatrist.”

“Spoken to dozens of them, I've been in therapy since my teens. I could probably pass the orals.”

“But this isn't a normal thing — to talk of killing yourself.”

“Define normal.” She laughed at my worried face, enjoying my discomfort. “Relax, Sherri. I'm not going to do it right here in front of you. I'm much too well brought up for that. I have a better idea.” Her smile was beautiful, her manner light. “Why don't I just cozy up to that lovely fella, Ethan? Celibacy is not my normal state. I'm due for an outing and it sounds like he's looking for a new bank account to dip into. ”

“This is crazy. You heard what Styles said. That guy might be a murderer.”

“Kinda neat, don't you think?” She smiled and said, “Instead of a murderer looking for a victim, I'll be the victim looking for her murderer.” “Don't say that!”

“Worse ways to die: like old and alone.”

“You don't want to die, that's plain silly.”

“Is it? Only from your perspective: for me, a little fun, a little frolic — and then goodnight. It sounds like a perfect way to end it. And it may even save someone else's life. If he's doing me, someone else will be safe.”

“Very public-spirited of you, weird but thoughtful.”

“Look, don't look so worried. Ethan may not be the murderer. In that case he'll have kept me from dying a while longer. He'll either save my life or take it. An interesting gamble, don't you think?”

And so it began. In between mixing Slings, Sloe Gin Fizzes and Tom Collins, I watched the slow swirl, the moving away and coming back together.

By the end of the day, before Ethan had started to stack the beach lounges and bring in the umbrellas so the sunset would shine into the bar, before he'd set the tables around the pool for dinner, Deanna had signaled her willingness and he had responded. She took him home with her that very night.

Styles came back. This time he interviewed Ethan up in the office where I couldn't listen. After, Ethan walked into the bar like a zombie, as white as his trainers. “Ethan, you all right?” I asked. He didn't answer.

I poured him a glass of water and he took it from me, his shaking hands spilling water over the rim. “He's going to pin this on me, Sherri.”

I remembered the fear Detective Styles had caused me. After a session with Styles I could almost believe I'd murdered Jimmy the way Styles had said I had. Ethan was right to be afraid.

When Clay called I told him, “They're all crazy out there.”

“It can't be any worse than the Sunset.”

“Oh yeah? It's a lot worse.”

“How so?”

“Well, like tonight when I was closing, I witnessed a touching little scene between two of Jacaranda's most upright citizens; although neither was upright at the time. I opened the door to Terry's office just before closing and there was this big white moon ass staring at me from the desk.” I left out the bit about what I was doing in Terry's office. “Honest to god, it was so big it should have been flying over a golf course taking pictures for TSN. I can't figure out how in hell he was able to get his pants down with both of them in there and the door closed.”

“Need finds a way,” Clay said. “Who was it?”

“The man has to be a contortionist. Your condo has closets bigger than that office. The desk takes up most of the floor space and the only filing system is clipboards hanging from the walls.”

“Who did the moon belong to?”

“I didn't see his face, but if I ever see that ass again, I'll know him for sure.” I didn't tell him I'd recognized the startled face of his partner, peering around the man with the big snare drum behind. I'd had dinner with her and her skinny husband at the only black tie charity event Clay had been stupid enough to drag me to. It hadn't been a success and we hadn't repeated it. “The horrible little cave has no windows, no ventilation of any kind, it's just dank and nasty. Surely they could have found someplace better.”

Knowing what had taken place there didn't improve the atmosphere when I went back later. I'd brought plastic gloves from the kitchen to use in my search. Not something I wanted to share with Clay.

“And guess what? I saw Chuck Heasley pat his ex's ass when he came off the tennis court and passed her in the hall.” Clay knew most of the people at the B&T, either by doing business with them or playing golf with them, so gossiping with him was always fun.

“That man's just plain dumb,” Clay said. “Heather will make sure the new wife hears.”

“And word is Jack and Marlyn Yost are finished,” I added.

“If they're breaking up, their house might come on the market,” said Clay. “How would you like a house on the beach?”

“No thanks.” It came out sharp. “I can't believe you're looking to gain out of this.”

“Life happens. If they need a buyer it might as well be me.”

“But you know them!”

“I know most of the people I deal with. You can't let your emotions interfere with business.” “Which explains why I'll never be rich.”

I told him all the minor things about the club, about friends of Dr. Travis's and their reaction to seeing me there. “I bet their cell phones were out before they even finished their drink. They'll love to tell Bernice that her low-life daughter-in-law has moved upscale and is now behind the bar of the most exclusive private club in the county. I hope she's impressed.”

“No,” Clay said. “It won't happen.”

“Why?”

“No cell phones in the bar, dining room or pool. That's the rule. Hopefully they'll forget all about you by the time they get home.”

What I didn't tell Clay was any of the really interesting stuff. I didn't tell him that Ethan might be a murderer, or that Deanna was out to die at the hands of a murderer. I also didn't tell him how gorgeous Isaak was or how he made my insides feel. I only said he was a fantastic chef and how great it would be if he moved over to the Sunset when it re-opened.

I told myself there was no use in telling Clay anything upsetting, but secrets were starting to pile up between us. What was he keeping from me? Hopefully, it was nothing as delicious as Isaak or as scary as Ethan being a killer.

“Well, look at you,” I said as Deanna climbed onto the stool.

Her perpetual smile took more years off her face than plastic surgery ever could and I hoped her black dogs had left her.

“That guy knows how to work it.” She wiggled her behind, settling into the cushion. “He has a natural talent and a true interest in his work.”

“Honey, I'm too young for the details, spare me.” Her orange linen dress eased above her knee as she crossed her tanned legs and turned sideways to show them to their very best advantage. She grinned and with a really bad southern drawl asked, “Why, ya'al aren't jealous, are you?”

“Oh probably, my life's about as interesting as afternoon reruns. But never mind the sex, get to the good stuff. What does he say about Bunny Lehre?”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “She was a nice woman…she treated him well. Blah, blah, blah.”

“It isn't true,” I protested. “Gina said Bunny Lehre was a bitch.”

“Maybe, but Ethan doesn't remember it that way. You live down here in Jimmy Buffettland long enough and your brain is bound to melt.”

“His brain has definitely melted. Brad says Bunny Lehre threw Ethan out and nearly got him fired from the B&T.”

“What does it matter?” Her voice rose. “He's with me now.” The words were possessive and final. Something more than a fling was happening here. I wanted to ask if she was starting to care for Ethan, but I'm not that stupid; she didn't like the staff to get personal, well, at least not the female staff.

“So you don't think he has anything to do with Bunny's death?” I asked as I set the last glass on a tray for an order.

“He hasn't let anything slip. In fact he nearly fell to pieces when I asked about her. He's a very sensitive man. That's what makes him such a great lover.”

“Well, there goes your plan for extinction.”

“Nice choice of words, Ms. Travis. Don't bother taking up diplomacy as a profession. And no, I haven't given up hope yet. If he isn't the murderer, I shall have to find out who is.”

I stopped hanging up glasses to look at her. “You're not still thinking of…,” I paused, making circles in the air with my hand, trying to find a nice way to put it. “Suicide, the word is suicide,” she said.

“Surely not!”

She gave a soft laugh. “I don't know yet but it gives me something to think about.” “You've got to get a better hobby.”

Brad breezed in. He helped himself to peanuts and tried to chat up Deanna while I finished his order, but Deanna froze him out.

When Brad left, I went back to my questions. “Where's Ethan from? What's his background?”

“Who do you think I am, Nancy Drew?”

“Who?”

“Nancy Drew! Come on, you aren't that young!” Youth was the one thing Deanna couldn't buy. One takes joy where one can. “Tell me everything you can about Ethan.”

“Well,” she thought for a moment. “He was born in Ohio, Dayton. Tried college, didn't work out. Pretty traumatic, I think. Wanted to be an actor. Went to New York. That didn't work out, went home to his mother. He says she was his best friend by the way. He never knew his father.”

“Sounds pretty normal.”

Her face clouded with uncertainty. “He liked to look after his mother. Perhaps they were a little too close. He talks about her all the time, how when she came home from work he'd fill the tub for her and he cooked and cleaned. I keep telling him that's why I have a daily but he still picks up after me, still hangs up towels and night clothes. I think he likes it. He'd make someone a lovely wife.” “But is he a murderer?”

She shrugged. “He's a weak man who needs a strong woman, needs someone to look after him.”

“Don't we all?”

“Not like him. Detective Styles knocked on my door last night and pulled him out. Ethan came back in tears, wept in my arms.”

The thought of anyone being allowed to cry all over Deanna's silk was a conversation stopper. I wouldn't have thought anyone would penetrate her hard shell that much. Ethan must be better than pretty good at what he did to get that far inside her defenses.

She frowned, something she normally didn't do for fear of wrinkles. “I'd swear that Bunny Lehre's death devastated him. No, I don't think he killed her.”

“He could still have some warped little core in him that leads to murder. You be careful.” She smiled. “That is the plan, remember?”

Perched on the edge of the stool, one elegant hand artistically holding a cocktail glass, she was an advertisement for gracious living. But, I was seeing something quite different, something hard and dangerous. If she really wanted to die she wouldn't mind destroying Ethan or anyone else to get her own way. She was even capable of pushing Ethan to murder and smart enough to know where his buttons were. Suddenly I felt sorry for Ethan Eames.