Skinny Dip - Страница 53

Corbett Wheeler held up the mug-shot album and asked, "Who are these people?" His expression was that of an anthropologist who had stumbled upon evidence of a lost tribe.

"Known burglars," Rolvaag replied.

"That's amazing. These are only the known ones?"

"Just the ones who work the beaches. We've got four more volumes that cover the rest of the county."

Corbett Wheeler closed the album. "That lady I was talking to earlier-is her son's picture in here?"

"If it's not, it will be."

"Lord. How do you do this every day without going mad?"

"Actually, I'm moving back to Minnesota."

"Good for you. And they've got no crime up there?"

"Sure, but it's seasonal," Rolvaag said. "Breaking and entering is hard work when it's twenty below. The crowbar tends to freeze to your fingers."

He laid the two wills side by side on the desktop, so that Joey's brother could examine the signatures. "I'm no expert," Corbett Wheeler said, "but yours looks like a trace job."

"A pretty good one, if it is."

"Well, Chaz Perrone has had plenty of opportunity to practice." Corbett Wheeler was well aware that the fake will had been drawn up by Mick Stranahan's shyster brother-in-law, then signed by Stranahan with deliberate though subtle imperfections. Corbett had a role to play, as Stranahan did.

"Joey wouldn't leave a penny to Chaz. Take my word for it."

"I wish I could," the detective said.

"Meaning you haven't got enough to arrest him."

"Correct."

Corbett Wheeler shrugged. "Too bad. But you know something? I'm a firm believer that what goes around comes around."

Rolvaag thought of Chaz's dicey status with Red Hammernut, but he said nothing. "Would you mind if I came to the service?"

"Noon tomorrow. Be my guest." Corbett Wheeler leaned closer. "The bereaved widower will be delivering a eulogy."

"I can hardly wait."

Joey's brother stood up and shook Rolvaag's hand solidly. "Thanks for trying."

"It's been a tough case, unfortunately."

"What happened on that cruise ship was no accident, believe me. That low-life yuppie turdhopper shoved my little sister overboard."

Rolvaag said, "That's what I think, too. Proving it is the pisser."

He accompanied Corbett Wheeler to the waiting area, which had been taken over by a troop of visiting Boy Scouts. Rolvaag himself had been a Scout when he was a teenager, back in the Twin Cities. His most enduring memory was of the day he'd nearly sliced off his thumb while whittling a miniature totem pole.

"They do any sheep farming up in Minnesota?" Corbett Wheeler asked.

"Yes, I believe they do."

"You should give it a try, Karl, if you ever burn out on police work. The lamb is a universal symbol of innocence, you know."

With that, Joey Perrone's brother raised his burl walking stick, pushed open the door and walked out.

After sleeping with Mick Stranahan, Joey concluded that her physical relationship with Chaz Perrone had not been as exceptional as she'd thought. While Mick wasn't as robotically durable as her husband, he was far more attentive, tender and enterprising. For Joey it was something of a revelation. With Mick, there was no furtive peeking at his own clenched buttocks in the mirror, no collegial exhorting of his manhood, no self-congratulatory rodeo yells when he was finished. In Chaz's embrace Joey had often felt like a pornographic accessory, one of those rubber mail-order vaginas. With Mick, she was an actual participant; a lover. The orgasms had been quake-like with Chaz, but then he would immediately demand to hear all about them; he was always more interested in the reviews than in the intimacies. With Mick, the climax was no less intense, but the aftermath was sweeter, because he never broke the mood by asking her to grade his performance. It wasn't only because he was older and less egocentric than Chaz Perrone. No, Mick had manners. He knew how to stay in the moment.

Joey lay her head on his chest. "It sure was nice of Corbett to leave us alone for the afternoon."

"A gentleman and a scholar," Stranahan murmured sleepily.

Corbett Wheeler had taken the Boston Whaler up to Virginia Key. From there a car service was supposed to ferry him to Fort Lauderdale for a meeting with Detective Rolvaag. Joey had offered Corbett the keys to the Suburban, which was parked in Coconut Grove, but he'd said no thanks. He feared that he might maim or murder somebody in a traffic altercation.

As soon as the skiff had slipped out of sight, Joey and Mick jumped into bed and camped there. They remained comfortably entwined even when a squall blew across the bay, banging the warped wooden shutters of the house and whipping rain through the window screens.

"I could live out here forever," she said later, when the sun peeked out, "not that I'm inviting myself."

Stranahan said, "Consider yourself invited. But think about it first."

"You don't want me?"

"More than anything I do. There's just not much to do around here. Some people find they need more than a sea breeze and a Kodak sunset."

"Some women, you mean," Joey said.

"Hell, I don't even have a dish for the TV."

"Then that's it, buddy. We're through!"

Stranahan tugged her close and kissed the bridge of her nose. He said, "Think about it first. Please?"

"Geezer."

"Hey, I meant to tell you. That was a brave thing you did, getting back on that ship the other day."

Joey told him not to change the subject. "But, I admit, you looked damn sexy in the blue blazer."

"An historic moment," he said, "never to be repeated."

"Well, I appreciate the sacrifice."

"You looked pretty hot yourself in that silky little number."

"Dirty old man," Joey said.

Boarding the Sun Duchess again had been nerve-racking and eerie. The deck was lower than the one from which Chaz had tossed her, but the view staring down was the same-terrifying. Joey was still amazed that she'd survived her plunge to the sea. She had never been a religious person, but ever since that night the concept of a beneficent and all-seeing God seemed not so implausible.

"Sometimes I can still feel Chaz's hands around my ankles."

"I wish I could make you forget," Stranahan said.

"They were so cold, like he'd held them in a bucket of ice," she said. "Mick, is this brilliant plan of ours really going to work? Because I'm not so sure anymore."

"It's not too late to pull the plug. From what I saw of Chaz in the canoe, he's pretty much off the rails already." Gently, Stranahan rolled Joey over onto her back. He propped himself on one elbow and looked down at her. "We could go see that detective tomorrow morning. Take our chances in court."

She shook her head. "I can't risk it. Chaz is way too slick."

"He could've fooled me."

"Get a couple of women on the jury and watch out," she said. "He's got a way of working on the fairer sex. I'm living proof-barely living proof."

Stranahan said, "Okay. Then we go ahead like we planned."

"Right."

But Joey was queasy with doubt. What would her husband do when she surprised him? Try to bullshit his way out of it? Run away? Break down and blubber like a baby? Keel over from cardiac arrest?

Attack her?

Chaz's reaction was impossible to predict, but Joey knew exactly what she intended to say; the questions had been gnawing at her since that long night at sea. She had come to believe that rage was what had kept her afloat all those hours, kept her clinging to the bale of pot- furious at Chaz, furious at herself for marrying such a beast.

"Did I tell you about the poem?" she asked Stranahan. "It was the night he proposed. We were doing dinner at my apartment. He brought me a love poem that he swore he'd written himself. And me, the classic airhead blonde, I believed him."

Stranahan said, "Let me guess where he stole it. Shelley? Keats?"

"Get serious, Mick."

"Shakespeare would be so obvious."

"Try Neil Diamond," Joey said.

Stranahan froze in mock horror.

"Oh, Chaz was clever," she said. "He knew I was too young to be a fan."

Laughing, Stranahan fell back on the pillow. "Which song? No, let me guess: 'I Am, I Said.' That's pure Chaz."

"No, believe it or not, this one was called 'Deep Inside of You,' " Joey reported ruefully. " 'Let me be the man who'… blah, blah, whatever. God help me, I thought it was sort of sweet at the time. He wrote out the lines on the back of a wine label that he'd saved from our very first date. Unbelievable."

She turned on her side and Mick tucked against her.

"A few months later I was talking to the bookkeeper at my parents' casino," she said, "a great old broad, as they say. She wanted to know all about my new husband, so I told her how romantic he was, how he'd written poetry for the night we got engaged. And Inez-that was her name-says to me, 'Doll baby, I'd love to hear it.' So I took the wine label out of the drawer where I kept all the mushy stuff Chaz gave me, and I read the verses aloud over the phone. And naturally Inez busts out laughing, just like you, and proceeds to give me the scoop on fabulous Neil, whom she'd seen no less than a dozen times in concert. Needless to say, she knew every damn song by heart."

"So, what did Chaz say when you busted him?" Stranahan asked.

"I didn't."

"Aw, Joey."

"I couldn't," she said. "The deed was done, we were already married. So I convinced myself that it showed how much he loved me, going to all the trouble of plagiarizing from some old pop star. I told myself he probably went through a hundred songs before he found just the right one. Hey, it's the thought that counts-just because he ripped off the lyrics doesn't mean he's not sincere. And that's how I rationalized keeping quiet."