The Tangled Web: an international web of intrigue, murder and romance (4 page)

“So, how long have you owned this lovely cottage?” Lauren asked, settling in for the interview.

“Good question,” Logan hesitated, still painfully shy of her recorder. “I inherited it when my father passed away. That was about six years ago. My great-grandfather built it. It’s been our mountain getaway forever. Vale Verde was the family home.”

Lauren could hardly believe her luck. He had unwittingly led her to the trough. “Your sister lives there doesn’t she?” she asked, hardly able to contain her excitement.

Logan gave her a curious look. “You’re well informed I see. Yes my sister Virginia and her husband live there now.”

“That’s Gordon Matthews, am I correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“You’re on the board of Port Development, Inc., if I have my facts right. Are you and Mr. Matthews business associates as well as brothers-in-law?”

Logan’s eyes became guarded. There was obviously more to this interview than he had been led to believe. “No,” he answered carefully. Deftly avoiding her ambush, he continued, “If you’re interested in meeting my sister and her husband, they’re having a party soon. I’m sure there’s nothing my sister would like better than to have some press coverage.” Oblivious to his smooth escape, Lauren pounced on the opportunity. “That would probably be a very nice piece for our Features section,” she said, hoping she didn’t appear too eager. “Thank you for suggesting it.”

Logan wasted no time taking advantage of the brief distraction. “I’m glad I have a chance to speak to you in person,” he confessed. “I was reading a news report on the disappearance of the McGuire boat. I noticed you wrote it.” He studied her astutely as he went on, “I was wondering if you know anything more. As the reporter on that story, you might have information that hasn’t been published yet?”

Lauren couldn’t help being impressed by the masterful maneuver. The man had actually turned the tables on her. She took a deliberately slow sip of her coffee as she met his gaze. “I could become irrelevant if I gave you such information, Mr. Armstrong. After all, it’s my business to get the news out before anybody else.” She paused to give emphasis to her next statement. “But if I share what I know, it’s off the record, right?”

Logan chuckled. “Strictly off the record, Miss Anderson.”

“I don’t know much more than has already been published,” she said, crossing her legs before throwing him a carefully selected bone. “However, I visited Fisherman’s Key two days ago and spoke to a few fishermen. One reported seeing cigarette boats moored off the Key on that day.”

“I don’t think cigarette boats out at Fisherman’s Key are unusual. Where is this leading?”

It was apparent the bone was not quite big enough. “There’s one more thing,” she said in a deliberately confidential tone. “Two fishermen I spoke with say they saw a seaplane hovering around the Key at that time.”

Logan regarded her impassively, though he found the presence of a seaplane at the Key on that day significant. “That’s all you have?” he asked casually.

“I’m afraid so. If I find out more, I’ll let you know. May I ask why you have a particular interest in this case?”

“Aside from knowing the McGuires, let’s just say I’m a concerned citizen.

“Were the McGuires friends of yours?”

“No, they were acquaintances. However, I’m deeply concerned by the escalating violence in this country. Please don’t quote me on that,” he added quickly.

Lauren had a strong suspicion there was more to his curiosity than he was letting on, but she left it at that. His body language told her she had already gone as far as she dared. She didn’t wish to put the interview at risk. Ostensibly, that was what she was there for. The smile accompanying her next question was calculated to break the thickest ice. “Have you ever been married?”

“Yes, I was married once,” Logan answered stiffly.

Lauren gave him another congenial smile as she prodded, “When was that?”

“When I lived in London. That was some time ago.”

Lauren’s question brought back vivid memories, though Logan chose not to share them with her. The first time he set eyes on Theresa had been at a movie opening at a West End theater in London. He remembered glimpsing the blaze of auburn hair disappearing into the crowd as it snaked its way into the auditorium. He had looked around for her before the lights dimmed. She was almost within arm’s reach, two rows in front of him on his right. He had thought that was the last he would ever see of her.

He had often wondered if there was such a thing as fate. Perhaps there was, because their paths would never have crossed had it not been for the party. It hadn’t been a large one, just his usual London crowd. When he arrived, she was playing court to a circle of admirers who appeared to be hanging on to her every word. Though he ventured to surmise scintillating conversation was not exactly what they were after, but rather the same thing that had entered his mind as he became aware of the stirring within himself as his eyes met hers across the room. He could still visualize those emerald eyes, her sense of humor dancing beneath the surface.

Their relationship had been a volatile one. Up one day, down the next with a lot of good sex in between. The swings were endurable as long as the passion lasted. You could always make a truce in bed and wake up with the resolve to make the whole thing work. That was how it was in the beginning. As time went on, it seemed the relationship wasn’t about much more than having another body in the house, that’s when he was home at all. By then his business had taken off. It had eventually got to the stage where his interest in his business surpassed any in Theresa. Perhaps they should have tried to work it out, but it seemed to him there had never been much of a meeting of the minds. They were essentially as different as two people could be and the whole thing had eventually fallen apart. It was just the way it turned out. Did he have any regrets? Not really. He felt each person, each experience brought value to one’s life. He hoped she felt the same.

“Mr. Armstrong, are you still with me?” he heard Lauren asking.

“I’m sorry,” he answered coming back to the present. “My mind seemed to have drifted off for a minute. What was that you were saying?”

“I was asking where you went to school.”

“I went to school here, and after to public school – high school – in England.”

Logan confided he hadn’t been in boarding school a year before he was expelled for his lucrative trade in cigarettes and girly magazines. “Business had become so brisk there was quite a waiting list for my merchandise. I don’t know how it leaked, but I finally got busted.”

“You didn’t really do that,” Lauren exclaimed with mock sobriety.

“I certainly did. I was a brat,” he grinned. “Drove my father crazy. Can’t say I blame him. I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that kind of thing.”

Changing to a more serious note, Lauren asked, “Do you have any regrets?”

“None. None at all. When you get to my age, you can see how all the pieces of the tapestry of your life fit together, how each experience led you to another you would never have had without the experiences before it. Maybe it’s only in hindsight that we see how things we perceived to be mistakes were simply an opening of the door to situations we would never have imagined possible.”

Lauren considered what he had said for a minute before moving on. “Tell me how you started off in the media business,” she asked.

As he spoke, occasionally shifting in his chair, it occurred to her articles like the one she was about to write seldom showed the human side of the story. The successes of the successful and the rewards of success tended to overshadow the failures and pain and disappointments that very often preceded them. Here was Logan Armstrong telling her that it hadn’t been an easy start for him.

“I worked my butt off, I still do, but it was tough in the beginning. There were times when I was hard put to pay my bills.”

Lauren was surprised. “In view of your family’s resources, I would have thought you were well set from the start,” she said.

“My family was totally opposed to what I was doing. They just didn’t understand. I have to confess there were times I had serious doubts myself.” He shrugged with a half smile. “But I suppose it was meant to turn out the way it did. After a few not so good years, I managed to get a bunch of investors together and bought a small TV station in Akron, Ohio.” He laughed. “At the time, I didn’t even know where Akron was on the map.”

He became animated when he talked about business, his soft-spoken voice fired with energy as he recalled various events: the start-up of his corporate headquarters in New York, his offices in Los Angeles and London, and the launch of his pet project, a Caribbean version of CNN, broadcasting news of the region throughout the islands.

“How did you come up with the idea of a Caribbean broadcasting system?” Lauren asked with interest.

“I simply recognized a need and filled it. And I think it creates a cohesive climate when we see what’s happening in the other islands on a daily basis, don’t you?”

It was some time before Lauren switched off her recorder, signaling the interview was over. “Well, you’ve told me enough to fill our entire Sunday Magazine. You’ve led a very interesting life, Mr. Armstrong.”

His hazel eyes warmed. “I have to confess it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be – the interview, I mean.”

She smiled and stood. “I’d like to get a few shots of you before I leave. Perhaps we could take some by the river. Would that be all right?”

“I’m fully prepared for an intrusion by the camera, Miss Anderson. Besides, I always enjoy the river. It will calm me down while you’re clicking away. Come, let’s go and see it,” he said leading the way.

Lauren could hear it rushing through the gorge as they strolled across the lawn. They made their way over to a shaded overlook with two benches. “If you sit over there on one of those benches, I’ll take a picture of you,” she suggested.

He planted himself on a bench stiffly.

Lauren took out her camera and aimed. Realizing he was camera-shy, she said, “Smile for me. We’re friends now, remember?” She clicked at the very moment he laughed.

“Would you mind if I take one with the cottage in the background?” she asked.

He complied without objection and they moved a little way from the overlook. She had him stand in three different places while she fussed over getting the best angle. When she was satisfied with what she had, she returned the camera to her tote. As she was about to take her leave, he said unexpectedly, “If you aren’t in a hurry, would you like to sit by the river for a bit?”

Lauren hesitated. Was this some kind of an advance, she wondered. But, she reasoned, he had given no prior indication such a thing had entered his mind. Yes, the interview had been relaxed to the point of being friendly, but interviews of that kind often were.

Seeing her uncertainty, Logan said, “I just thought you might like to take a ten minute break before dashing off to your next interview.”

Lauren couldn’t help laughing at his smoothness. “Okay,” she agreed, “I’d love to take a short break. I could use it. It’s been a hectic week.”

Logan glanced at her furtively as she gazed at the river. He was enjoying sitting there with her, not needing to fill the time with talk for the sake of talk. He was comfortable in her company. In fact, he had begun toying with the idea of inviting her to stay for dinner. But soon he thought better of it. She was a newspaper person, one with an agenda that wasn’t yet clear. And she was a master at gleaning information. He had discovered that quickly enough. He couldn’t be careful enough of her. He had no sooner decided that an invitation to dinner was unwise than she abruptly rose to leave.

“I’m enjoying this very much, Mr. Armstrong,” she said hurriedly, “But I really have to go.”

It was Logan’s turn to be taken aback. He followed her to her car, wondering why the sudden rush.

As Lauren got into the car, she looked up at him. “Thank you very much, Mr. Armstrong,” she smiled politely. “It’s been a pleasure interviewing you.”

Logan watched her drive away until she disappeared around the bend. Then he turned and strolled thoughtfully back to the cottage. He had to admit he found Lauren interesting, but nothing could be allowed to divert his attention from the plan. He decided if there were the slightest chance of getting to know Lauren Anderson better, it would have to wait for another time. Right now, there was too much at stake.

SIX

The harbor was like glass, not a ripple wrinkling the serenity of a surface gently washed in the indigo hues of early dawn. Behind it, the mountains peaked majestically into a sky awaiting the full arrival of the sun. The detective working undercover as a Customs inspector stepped out of the Customs building onto the wharf to witness the beginning of another day. Detective Irvine Wallace had always held this hour in something akin to reverence. It was the hour when few things stirred the silence of creation and a man could claim the earth for himself.

Waiting at the mouth of the harbor for the pilot to escort her in, sat the first freighter of the day, her cargo contraband originating in Colombia. The cargo listed in the ship’s manifest soon to be checked by the detective was coffee, ostensibly taken on in Nicaragua.

The trumpeting of the pilot’s horn broke through the early morning stillness as Detective Wallace stood on the wharf, eyes searching the expanse of harbor for signs of the incoming ship. He could see her now, her port and starboard lights bright against the wash of blue where sea and sky were still one. Like other Customs officers on duty when the special cargo from Nicaragua arrived, he had been bribed to sign off on the manifest without inspection, or questions. This morning would be different. On orders of his real superior, the head of the Criminal Investigation Department, there would be an inspection. Wallace was apprehensive, and with good reason.

The detective played idly with his wedding ring wondering if this were the day he would nail his evidence. For months, he had been trying to find proof that cocaine was being transshipped through the port. He paced the dock, working out his next strategy. He eyed a group of stevedores waiting for the Nicaraguan ship to dock. It was a long shot, but maybe they might know something. Or they may have seen something. It was worth a try. Wallace could hear their raucous laughter resounding down the dock from where they stood huddled near a freighter. That ship, one of the Indies Shipping fleet, had been in port for two days now. The regularity with which the two vessels met had become a suspicious pattern.