Skinny Dip - Страница 35

Recalling that surreal scene-cowering like a trespasser in what was once her own bedroom, eavesdropping on the lustful exclamations of a man who was, until only a week ago, her own husband and partner- Joey had felt degraded and lonely and pathetic. She'd gotten up and quietly made her way to the living room, where Mick Stranahan was asleep on the couch. Gently she had squeezed beside him, telling herself at the time that all she wanted was a sympathy snuggle; somebody strong to hold her for a little while.

But once she had pressed herself against him and fell into the easy rhythm of his breathing, she'd realized that sweet platonic hugging wasn't going to cut it. She needed more.

"I'm so lame," she said, and splashed her face with cold water.

When she went outside, he was sitting on the seawall, talking on the cell phone. After he hung up, he asked her to sit down.

"You look about eighteen years old this morning," he said.

"Nice try, Mick."

"It's true." He whistled for Strom, who was nose-to-nose with a grumpy pelican.

"We should talk about last night," Joey said.

"I was dog-tired. I did my best."

"That's not what I meant. You were wonderful," she said, "but I think we ought to clarify a few things."

He patted her hand. "That's the last thing on earth we ought to do. Trust me."

Joey pulled away. "Don't make fun. I'm being serious."

"Me, too," he said. "I've had more of these morning-after chats than you have, and not one has ever resulted in clarity, inner peace or mutual understanding. Let's go eat some breakfast."

"But I'm afraid it was a grudge fuck," Joey said. "That's what Rose would call it."

"Ah. More worldly wisdom from the book group."

"Well? What if I jumped your bones just because I was furious at Chaz?"

"Then I owe him one," Stranahan said. "Bless his lying, murderous, cheating, burnt cinder of a soul. Aren't you getting hungry?"

"No!"

He pulled her close and held her there, Strom nuzzling the back of her neck. "Last night you were gloating, remember? Telling me how Chaz got stuck in neutral," Stranahan said, "how his cannon had jammed, all because he smelled your perfume. You said it was priceless- that was your word. Priceless, knowing he was crippled by the thought of you."

Joey had to smile. "It -was a moment. I heard him tell her that he couldn't feel a thing. He was numb from the waist down."

"Well, there you go," Stranahan said. "That's a hundred times better than a routine grudge fuck, even saucy Rose would agree. Now, if I don't get some black coffee in my veins-"

"Mick, hold on."

"Hush." He held a finger to her lips. "Honestly, I don't want an explanation of what happened last night. Allow me the middle-aged illusion that you were overcome by my stoic, virile charms."

Joey slumped playfully against his shoulder. "Okay, cowboy, I give up."

"That's my girl."

"Was that Chaz you were calling?"

"It was," Stranahan said. "We're on for midnight."

"And what are we demanding, blackmailwise?"

"Good question. I was hoping for one of your famous lists," he said. "Meanwhile, I expect Detective Rolvaag to visit our young widower soon. There's been a surprising development in the investigation of your disappearance."

"Do tell."

"Shocking is the word for it," Stranahan said. "Simply shocking."

Karl Rolvaag turned the place upside down.

Two entire pythons, fourteen and a half linear feet of muscle, yet somehow they'd disappeared like fleas inside his puny apartment.

Incredible, Rolvaag thought. Where could they be?

The previous night he'd forgotten to latch the lid of the tank after refilling the water bowl. It had happened twice in the past, but his slug-

gish pets never noticed. Now it was springtime, when snakes become active, and the prowling pythons had taken advantage of his carelessness.

Rolvaag searched beneath the furniture, above the bookcases, behind and inside the major appliances-nothing. When he got to the bedroom, he experienced a ripple of apprehension, for he saw that he'd left a window open. Had the snakes escaped outdoors? The detective gazed seven stories down at the grid of shuffleboard courts that was the social and geographic hub of the Sawgrass Grove Condominium. Along a line of bedraggled hibiscus bushes, Nellie Shulman was walking her precious Petunia, a foul-tempered cur that appeared to be a cross between a chinchilla and a wolverine. Several of Mrs. Shulman's neighbors were occupied by the same ritual, attached by dancing leashes to manic balls of fluff. From his vantage Rolvaag counted five dogs, all of them edibly sized for a python. The detective understood the urgency of finding his missing pets before they got hungry again.

First, though, he had to nail Charles Perrone.

On the way to work he called his source at the phone company, who without much grousing agreed to help. Time was running out, and Rolvaag needed to catch Perrone in a lie that couldn't be discounted as a misread wristwatch or some other innocent mistake. Rolvaag's man at the phone company promptly called back with numbers and names, only one of which was important to the detective.

Ricca Spillman opened the door as soon as he flashed his badge. She looked as if she'd spent the night in the trunk of a car.

"Are you all right?" Rolvaag asked.

"Soon as I make some coffee."

Rolvaag noticed at least half a dozen empty beer bottles in the trash, and no sign of company. He said, "I'm investigating a missing-person case. I believe you know her-Joey Perrone."

Ricca appeared to wobble. Rolvaag helped her navigate toward an armchair.

"I wasn't even there," she said.

"Where?"

"On that cruise."

"I know you weren't," said Rolvaag, perplexed.

"Why are you here?" She laughed abjectly. "Somebody put my face on a milk carton, or what? Suddenly I'm Miss Popularity."

The detective said that he'd watched Charles Perrone make a call from a pay phone in a Fort Lauderdale hotel. "It was Saturday evening, the day after Mrs. Perrone disappeared. The number that Mr. Perrone called was yours. When I asked him who he was talking to, he gave the name Ricca."

She sagged. "What else did he say? No, wait, I want to call a lawyer."

Rolvaag pulled up another chair. "You don't need a lawyer, Miss Spillman. I just want to ask a few questions about Mr. Perrone's relationship with his wife. Your personal impressions and observations."

"Observations?"

"You know-did they seem happy? Did they argue a lot?"

Ricca eyed him sullenly. "Mr. Perrone and I didn't spend a whole lotta time talking about Mrs. Perrone."

"But did you notice anything… any unusual signs of tension when the two of them were together?"

"I was never with the two of them together" Ricca said sharply. "I was only with Chaz."

"Joey wasn't ever home when you were there?"

Ricca seemed genuinely insulted. "I don't know what Chaz told you, but I'm not into threesomes, okay? Not my scene."

The detective frowned. "I'm very sorry. I believe Mr. Perrone might've misrepresented the nature of your association."

"You're damn right he did."

"He said you were their cleaning lady."

"Come again?" Ricca sat forward.

"That night in the hotel lobby, he told me he was calling to give you the alarm code so you could get in to do the house."

"The cleaning lady." Ricca's voice was like wet gravel.

Rolvaag flipped through the back pages of his notebook. "Here it is-Mr. Perrone said you were the cleaning lady and I could check it out myself. He said your first name was Ricca, but he couldn't remember your last name."

Ricca swallowed hard, working her jaw.

"So I got it off the toll records from the phone company," the detective said.

Ricca rose, rubbing her eyes with a wrinkled pajama sleeve. "Listen, I gotta get ready for work."

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" Rolvaag asked.

"Yeah. I don't do houses, I do hair," she said. "And Chaz's burglar alarm was broke, so the code didn't matter anyway. You can check it out."

Not exactly a smoking gun, Rolvaag thought, but it's better than nothing.

Back at the office, he rushed to tell Captain Gallo everything that Ricca Spillman had said. Gallo shrugged.

"So, Perrone lied."

"Again," Rolvaag said.

"So, he had a secret squeeze. Doesn't make him a killer," the captain said. "Of course he lied about the phone call. What'd you expect him to say-'Yes, Officer, I was just chatting with my girlfriend. She was all broken up to hear about my wife falling overboard and drowning on our anniversary cruise.' Come on, Karl. Sometimes a lie isn't a clue to anything. It's just a reflex."

On that subject, Rolvaag could not dispute Gallo's insight. The detective pleaded for a few more days to lean on Ricca. "She's highly pissed off at Perrone. She might give us something useful."

Gallo shook his head. "If she's not wearin' a diamond engagement ring from your prime suspect, I ain't interested. We need a motive, Karl. Something more reliable than the word of a sulking bimbo- unless she was in on it, too."

"Not likely," Rolvaag said.

A courier appeared with a plain cardboard envelope zippered in plastic. Gallo automatically reached for it, but the courier said it was addressed to Rolvaag. Surprised, the detective opened the envelope and removed a legal-size document.

Gallo cracked, "What's that, a paternity suit?"

Rolvaag was so engrossed in the contents that he wasn't listening.