Death of a Pirate King - lanyon Josh (читаем книги онлайн бесплатно .TXT) 📗

Heat washed through my body. I made myself focus as Paul said carefully, “But you see, I didn’t tell Jake the name of the PI. I told him I didn’t know it. In fact, I told him I wasn’t absolutely certain Porter had gone ahead and hired anyone. That it might have been nothing more than bluff.”

“But you do know the name of the PI?”

“Er…yes.”

I said, equally careful, “Why wouldn’t you tell Jake?”

He made a little sound of impatience as though I were being disappointingly slow. “In addition to being a very dear friend of mine, Porter was my business partner. I’m not in any way suggesting we would or should keep information from the politzia, but I should like to hear firsthand anything that’s liable to prove damaging -- rather than wait for the police to inform me.”

I was silent.

“I’ve shocked you, haven’t I?” He laughed but I could hear the unease.

“No,” I answered. “But if this investigator was hired to follow Jones’s wife, what potentially damaging information do you think he might have?”

“I don’t know, do I?” Kane said. “That’s why I’d like to hear whatever it is first.”

It’s not that I didn’t understand or sympathize, but no way was I going to be placed in that position.

“Look, Paul. I appreciate what you’re telling me, but I gave Jake my word. Not to mention the fact, he’d throw my ass in jail if he found out I tried to go around him.”

“He wouldn’t, you know,” he said. “Jake’s a pussycat.”

Yeah, just a big old saber-toothed tiger.

“Then you go talk to this PI,” I said shortly.

“I’m afraid that really would put a strain on our relationship,” Paul said, and I was pretty sure he didn’t mean his and mine. “Look, the bloke’s name is Roscoe Markopoulos. Markopoulos Investigations. He’s in the book. Just think about it. I won’t tell Jake for a day or two.”

Safe to say, few people ever told Paul Kane no. I said, “You might as well tell Jake now because I’m not going behind his back. Also, since we’re sort of on this topic, I don’t think Ally is your murderer. She admits she and Porter were having some problems, but she says that was all in the past.”

“Of course the stupid slag says that,” Paul said without any particular venom. “She married Porter for his money, and when she realized he wouldn’t put up with being cuckolded, she decided to play the devoted wife in hopes of keeping him from changing his will. She’s an actress, Adrien. Not a very good one, I admit, and I didn’t expect you to fall for the act. I tell you, that woman is evil.”

Cuckolded? Will?

I said, “Right, did you want me to focus on Ally to the exclusion of everyone else? Because, personally, I don’t see why she didn’t knock Porter off at home and in private, where there was less chance of the poisoned cocktail going astray.”

He said quickly, “No, no. I’m not trying to railroad the woman. I trust your instinct. You’re the expert here, after all. By all means you must keep talking to people -- with my blessing. Besides, perhaps someone will have seen something to prove Ally is guilty.”

He was so sure. What was it he hadn’t told me? And why wasn’t he telling me?

Into my silence, he said, “Why don’t you speak to Valarie?”

I was totally blanking on the name. “Valarie?”

“Valarie Rose?” He gave that attractive laugh. “She’s going to be directing Murder Will Out.”

“Oh God,” I said. “I remember. I do remember. Any particular reason you think I should talk to Valarie? I was thinking maybe I’d talk to Al January next.”

“Al?” Kane sounded wary. “Why?”

“He was a longtime friend of Porter’s, right?”

“Er…yes. But Al tries to stay removed from all of our little personal dramas.”

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t talk to Al?”

“No, of course not.” His amusement sounded perfectly natural -- but then he was an actor. “I’ll call Al and arrange a meeting.”

And I was apparently paranoid.

I said, “And if you could also set something up with Valarie, that would be terrific.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange,” Kane said -- again sounding amused.

* * * * *

Lisa was sipping a G&T in the brick courtyard behind the Villa Piacere restaurant. The broad pepper and willow trees shading the patio threw lacy shadows over the white canvas umbrellas, and the fountain in the rear alcove splashed soothingly.

“Sorry about lunch,” I told her, slipping into the chair opposite.

She fastened those wide Siamese blue eyes on me and gave me the maternal once-over. “Oh, darling,” she said in gentle dismay. “You look so tired.”

I beckoned to the waitress.

“You’re not drinking, are you?” Lisa protested.

“Not so far. The afternoon is young.”

She tittered. “Darling. I just get frightened with everything you’ve been through. And it’s not like you to forget our lunch date.”

“I know. I am sorry. I’m a little distracted right now.”

She waved this off as if it were of no consequence. The waitress appeared and I ordered apple juice for a change of pace.

“How’s Guy?” Lisa asked.

“He’s fine.” I pushed my sleeves up, and reflected I did need to get out in the sun more often. I’ve seen polar bears with more color.

Lisa seemed to be following my train of thought; she said, “What did the doctor say, darling?”

I hadn’t really thought she didn’t know the exact day and hour of my doctor appointment, had I?

“He says my lungs are clearing nicely,” I said. “But it’s not a pretty process, so I’m limiting my social engagements.”

“And you are feeling better?”

“Than I was a couple of weeks ago?” I laughed. “For starters, not having an oxygen tube rammed up my nose is a big improvement.”

She made a little moue of distaste at this reminder.

“You would tell me if you weren’t all right, wouldn’t you, Adrien?”

“Of course.” Would I? I’d have to. But in all honesty, I’d probably wait till the last possible moment.

Dark head bent, she nodded distractedly and traced a little circle in the white linen tablecloth with one pearl-colored nail. A pose I recognized only too well. Granted, she had always been overprotective, but something else was going on here. I said gently, “Come on, Lisa. What’s up?”

She looked at me. “You’ve changed your will.”

I stiffened. How the hell --?

Her mouth quivered, and there was a sheen in her eyes that might have been actual tears -- unlikely though that was. “You’ve made Em your sole beneficiary.”

As shocked as I was, I almost laughed. “Is that a problem? It’s not a secret that I don’t plan on getting married anytime soon.”

“You know what I’m talking about, Adrien. You’ve never given your will a thought in a dec --”

“How the hell did you find out I’d changed my will?” I interrupted.

For a split second she looked discomfited. “Mr. Gracen.”

What a pity Mr. Gracen was about a hundred and eighty years old and fragile as cracked porcelain because it would have done my nerves a world of good to be able to holler at someone without inflicting permanent damage. As it was, I wasn’t sure he’d even survive my firing him -- which I planned on doing before the afternoon was over.

I said, “Yes, I changed my will after the pneumonia. I’m fond of Em and I’ve got to leave the money to someone. I did it because it seemed like a practical thing to do, not because I’m not planning to be around for much longer.”

She looked unconvinced.

I said, “I’m okay, Lisa. Really. And even if I wasn’t…it’s my life. Understood?”

Understood?

Her jaw dropped. Just for a moment. She pulled herself together and said, “You never used to be like this, Adrien. So…hard.”

“Hard?” I blinked. Was I hard? In the space of a couple of days I’d been accused of being bitter, jealous, and hard. Funny, I still felt like me. Just…tireder.