Suspicion of Deceit (10 page)

Dixon took off his leather jacket, tossed it into the front seat, and got in. His truck tires squealed going around the corner. Rebecca disappeared under the walkway alongside the building.

"I think that must be the reason I never married."

The soft voice had come from behind her. Thomas Nolan. He made a slight shrug. "One can't help noticing. You would notice even more if you were around them. Did you come to speak to Lloyd Dixon or to me?"

"To you." Embarrassed to have been caught spying, Gail walked away from the window, Nolan following. "I don't suppose you listen to the local Spanish talk stations. Over the last few days a commentator on WRCL has been stirring up trouble."

"Yes, we've been talking about that. Everyone's sure it will blow over."

"No. Today my secretary heard him say that the opera had invited a man of communist sympathies to take the lead role in its next production."

That produced a little laugh from Thomas Nolan. "A man of . . . communist sympathies? Oh, my God. They can't mean
me
."

"It's a loose translation," Gail said. "If they mention your name, you might have some problems. Don't take any phone calls from people you don't know, and make sure nobody's in the parking lot before you walk out to your car alone."

Alarmed, Nolan said, "Is it that serious?"

"Just be careful, that's all."

"I've never sung in a bulletproof vest."

"Tom, could I ask you why Lloyd Dixon was here?"

"Sure. He wanted to tell me not to worry about being replaced. Maybe I shouldn't have been so happy to hear it."

"Is it official? No one told me."

"It's his opinion, but he seemed certain. What I have found, Gail, is that people who donate wads of money to the opera usually get their way." Tom pushed some blond hair behind his ear. "Lloyd Dixon also invited me and a couple of the others to sing at his house the weekend after next. He's having a dinner party for some business associates. They like opera, and I think he wants to make a good impression."

"Do you get paid for this?"

"Oh, no. Opera singers often do such favors for big donors like the Dixons." Nolan glanced toward the director. "I should go."

"One other thing. Lloyd said that you invited him to
Lucia di Lammermoor
in Germany. Did you know him already? I was just wondering."

After a moment in which he may have been deciding if this was any of Gail's business, he replied, "No. I knew the Miami Opera wanted to do
Don Giovanni.
My manager was trying to get me the job. I heard that the Dixons were taking an opera tour of Europe that fall, so I sent them tickets to
Lucia.
They came, we talked, and I got the part."

"And how did you happen to choose the Dixons to send tickets to?" Gail asked.

The smile reappeared. "Well... it helps to research who's who before you start lobbying."

Someone yelled across the room, "Tom! We're about to start."

Again the steady gaze from deeply set, placid blue eyes. "You could stay, but the director is funny about visitors."

Gail nodded.

At the door, letting it close very slowly, she locked back. Thomas Nolan was crossing the room, and once again she sensed something familiar about him. Born in Miami. He was only a year older than she. She wondered when he had moved away. They might have met, but she could remember no tall blond boys with a talent for singing.

Gail found Rebecca in the lobby checking brochures that the young woman behind the reception desk was preparing to label and mail. The Opera Guild was sponsoring a program of lectures designed to pull in more donors.

Rebecca noticed Gail, smiled quickly at her, then told the girl to take messages, she would be in conference with Ms. Connor. Rebecca herself disappeared for a moment, then came back putting on her long white sweater. She pulled her shoulder-length hair free of the collar.

"Come with me, Gail. I need some fresh air." She unfolded a pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses.

Once past the double glass doors at the entrance, Gail said, "I'm going to recommend that you hire a security guard to patrol the building." She explained the latest from WRCL. "If it means anything," she added, "I spoke to your husband in the rehearsal room. He said he had no objection."

Rebecca frowned. "Why didn't you just ask me? Lloyd doesn't have anything to do with running the opera."

"Well, I'm sorry," Gail said. "But what about the security guard?"

"I don't know. I don't think I have the authority to hire people."

"Of course you do," Gail said. "The executive committee has the power to take emergency action. You're the president."

"I could call Jeffrey Hopkins," Rebecca finally said. "I'll see what he thinks, but Jeffrey is so tight with money."

They walked to the corner to cross four lanes of Biscayne Boulevard, then took one of the smaller streets that led toward the bay. The sky was blue and cloudless. A front had come through last night, leaving temperatures close to fifty. In the wool suit she had worn to court this morning, with a scarf at her neck, Gail was warm enough. The wind sailed a scrap of newspaper along the sidewalk. She was on the point of mentioning the investigation of Thomas Nolan when Rebecca spoke.

"Gail, I need some advice. Legal advice. Please don't tell anyone. Not even Anthony."

"As long as it doesn't involve him—"

"It's about Lloyd. Do you . . . handle divorces?"

"Oh, Rebecca. I'm so sorry. Are you sure?"

"I've been thinking about it for a while." The wind whirled Rebecca's hair across her face.

Gail said, "I do primarily commercial litigation. I could handle a divorce, but for this marriage, I'd recommend an expert. Isn't there any way you and Lloyd could work it out?"

The bright sunlight accented her sharp features— the thin nose and small pointed chin. "We aren't suited. We never were."

"You must have loved him at one time," Gail said.

A weary laugh came from Rebecca Dixon. "I'm going to say some things that I hope you will keep private. Do you know why I married him, Gail? Because I couldn't take care of myself. That's the truth. My first marriage failed because . . . well, I got into a little problem with pills. Nobody knew, because I man-
_}
aged to keep up appearances, but I felt like I was getting hollow, and that any minute I'd cave in. I carded but I didn't. It's hard to explain. Anyway, Lloyd came along. And Arthur? Well, he pretended to be shattered, and then he was gone. I really can't blame him. Lloyd took me to a clinic in England."

Gail remembered the story her mother had told her. It had been more than slightly inaccurate. "If you divorced Lloyd, what would you do?"

"Get out of Florida. Live in a small house. Read books and tend a garden."

Acorn caps crunched underfoot. They walked along a sidewalk that curved north, Miami Beach lying to the east, a causeway ahead of them. Small apartment buildings lined the inland side of the street.

"Rebecca, that sounds peaceful, but it isn't much of a life. You'd be bored in a week."

"I'd find something. I'm certainly not part of Lloyd's life. Except for music, we have nothing in common. We went to the opera in Moscow, and he left me in the hotel for three days. When he got back he had a cracked rib and a huge lump on his head. Lloyd just laughed about it and told me not to worry. He's out there having himself a grand old time. I can't deal with it anymore."

Gail let out a breath. "I see. Well, I'm going to give you the name of a friend who's an expert in marital law—"

"No, not yet. Let me think what I want to do. I'm not sure." She suddenly put a hand to her forehead, laughing at herself. "Listen to me. I can't make up my mind about anything. Seth keeps

telling me, Becky, leave him. You're in a swamp, get out. It's like someone shouting to you in a dream. It's impossible to move." The dark glasses turned toward Gail. "Seth and I have been friends for a long time. You know that, don't you? He said he talked to you.

"Yes." Gail let it go at that. Seth Greer had denied they were romantically involved, but she preferred not to ask. "Let me know what you decide to do. I'll help if I can."

They walked for a while, then Gail said, "I wanted to bring you up to date on Tom Nolan." She repeated what Nolan had told her about his trip to Cuba, and said that she didn't really believe it. The issue was beginning to hit the talk stations, and the opera had to know the truth.

"You can expect that soon the
Miami Herald
and the TV stations are going to come around asking for an interview. It would be embarrassing if our facts were wrong. That's why I'd like to hire an investigator. We should make Jeffrey Hopkins aware, so I'll be calling him in New York, with your approval."

"An investigator? I doubt Jeffrey would pay for it."

"No, Anthony's paying. He says it's his gift to the opera."

"Well, hurrah," said Rebecca. "I thought he was deserting us entirely. Go ahead, then. Is Anthony finding somebody, or do we have to?"

Gail looked at her. "Didn't you talk to him? He said he would call you."

"I got a message yesterday and called back, but we've been missing each other. If he wanted to ask about the investigator, it's all right. Go ahead."

For a moment Gail hung on the edge of letting Anthony explain, but decided it didn't matter. "He told me about the trip to Nicaragua in 1978." Into the pause, Rebecca nodded. "The investigator is Felix Castillo. You met him there. He went back to Cuba, then came to Miami in 1980 in the Mariel boatlift. Anthony has used him on many criminal investigations. He's supposed to be quite good, and he still has contacts in Havana, so I have no doubt—"

She noticed that Rebecca had drifted to a stop.

"No doubt he can do the job. Rebecca?"

White-faced, Rebecca took hold of Gail's arm.

"Rebecca, are you all right?"

"Yes." She took several deep breaths. "I'm fine."

"I don't think so," Gail said.

"Really, I am. Let's go."

The street would curve around and come back out on the boulevard, so they kept walking. A gust of wind sent leaves and dust flying along the street. The debris whirled into a vortex, then vanished. Rebecca had recovered her firm, steady stride. Gail said, "Before I call the general director, I need to ask if you approve of Castillo. He'll want your opinion."

"Approve?" There was a hesitation. "I don't want to see Felix Castillo or hear from him. Otherwise . . . all right. Call Jeffrey. Tell him it's necessary."

"Look, if there's some problem with Castillo, what is it? If I'm going to be working with him, give me a clue."

Rebecca made a dismissive wave of her hand. "Felix is all right. I just don't like being reminded."

"Of what?"

That brought a smile. The wind blew from behind them, and her hair danced around her face. "Oh, this is priceless. He hasn't told you a damn thing, has he? Felix was in Nicaragua with us."

"I know."

"Oh, you do. Have you ever seen a bloated body lying in the open? I have. It was horrible. We got out of there as soon as we could. It was hard because we had no transportation. Try hitchhiking in a situation like that. You just don't know who's going to pick you up. You should have seen us. We looked like guerrillas! Picture me—right?—in men's cutoff army pants and a filthy T-shirt with my hair cut short. Anthony spoke Spanish fluently, so he managed to steal or beg food. We slept anywhere we could. On the ground if we had to. And God, the rain! I was so exhausted. We all were, and sick of each other, but Anthony said he would leave us if we stopped. And he would have, too.

"Seth and I don't talk about it anymore, but in a strange way, it holds us together. When I was in that clinic in England, I told Lloyd about it. I wish I hadn't. I would like to forget it ever happened. Anyway. There we all were again last Friday, Seth and Anthony and me in the same room—I didn't sleep at all that night. The bones were rising from the earth." She tossed her hair back from her face and laughed again. "In a manner of speaking."

Stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, they looked at each other.

"Gail, your eyes are as big as saucers." Before Gail could respond, Rebecca spun around and headed up the sidewalk. "Come on. Let's go back. I have things to do."

As they pushed open the glass door, Gail heard the excited babble of voices. The receptionist was bent over her knees on the sofa, red-faced and crying. Irene was trying to calm her down, and two other women argued back and forth about whether or not to call the police. The girl said this was too much, she was scared, she wanted to go home.

"What happened?" Gail said to Irene.

"Another phone call. The third one in the last fifteen minutes."

Rushing to the sofa, Rebecca sat down in a whirl
of white cashmere and took the girl's hands. "What did they say? Tell me."
      

"It was in Spanish. He's going to kill me, kill all of us. We should die!" From the reception desk the phone started ringing, and the girl jumped.
"No quiero contestarlo.
Somebody else answer it. I can't."

"Bastards," Gail muttered. "Bastards!" On the next ring she grabbed for it, her heart thudding. "Miami Opera ... Just a moment, please." She released a breath, then held the receiver out to her mother. "It's for you, returning your call about the tour for the high school."

Irene said she would take it in the other room. Her blue eyes snapped with anger, and she marched off, business as usual, her little pumps pounding on the tile floor.

Gail took Rebecca aside. "We were discussing a security guard. You might consider changing your mind."

Wearily Rebecca nodded, then asked the other women to answer the phones while she got some estimates from security companies. She said to the receptionist, "We'll have someone here from now on, just in case. You can come back tomorrow if you want, and I'll make sure you get paid for today."

The young woman said she was all right now. She returned to her chair and began stamping envelopes where she had left off.

CHAPTER NINE