'You could quit now, leave the Island, start over somewhere, use your business skills in a more productive- and legal-way.'
'I will never leave. I was born on the Island, and I will die on the Island.' His eyes seemed to go away for a moment, then he said, 'Scott, may we talk privately?'
They stepped down the seawall then Benito stopped and said, 'Scott, this subpoena, it is a mistake.'
'Why?'
'Because the cartel is watching this closely. Do not bring them into it. Things could get ugly.'
'Is that a threat?'
'No. Just friendly advice. Like I told you, I do not do violence. But they do. They kill women, kids, dogs-they do not care. You bring them into this, you endanger your family.'
'I could send them home.'
'You cannot hide from the Muertos. They are here now, in America. And they are here to stay.'
How does a lawyer zealously represent his client pursuant to the rule of law when some people make their own rules?
'Do you deliver personally to Senator Armstrong's daughter?'
'You know about her?'
Scott nodded. 'And I know what happened to Trey's cocaine.'
'What?'
'Those construction workers down the street, they stole it.'
'You are sure?'
'They told Carlos.'
Benito gazed at the fireworks in the sky above them. 'He was my friend, and I did not trust him. I hope I did not get my friend killed.'
The next installment of 'Murder on the Beach' aired that night on the late news.
'This is Renee Ramirez live from Galveston. Rebecca Fenney might have less than three weeks of freedom left-her murder trial starts in fifteen days-but she seemed unconcerned tonight as she enjoyed the fireworks on the seawall.'
The picture cut to the Fenney family on the seawall.
'She taped us!' Rebecca said.
Scott, Rebecca, Bobby, and Karen were in the living room watching the TV.
Back to Renee Ramirez. 'And here she enjoyed something else. Or should I say, someone else.'
The picture went to a shadowy night scene on the beach. Two people strolling along the surf. A bare-chested man and a woman in a white bikini. The woman stopped and kissed the man. Then she skipped down the beach and removed her bikini and ran into the water. The man followed her and embraced her and they…
'Oh, my God,' Rebecca said.
'Uh-oh,' Bobby said.
'That's not you and…?' Karen said. 'Oh, boy.'
Renee Ramirez had secretly filmed them that night on the beach three weeks before. It was clearly Rebecca-her red hair glowed in the moonlight-but it was not clearly Scott. The tape ended, and the screen returned to Renee Ramirez.
'This was only ten days after Trey's death, and Rebecca Fenney was acting like a college girl on spring break. But I'm sure she loved Trey.'
A thought occurred to Scott.
'Rebecca, you said Renee did a profile of Trey… When?'
'A couple weeks before he…'
'Did you go with him to the studio?'
'No. I was shopping in Houston that day. But they didn't do the interview at the studio. They did it here.'
'Here where?'
'At the house.'
Scott stared down at his ex-wife.
'Renee Ramirez was in your house?'
THIRTY-SIX
With Renee Ramirez sipping a Mimosa in the foreground and the whitecaps of the waves washing ashore in the background, it was a chamber of commerce portrait of Galveston Island.
She was a stunningly beautiful Latina in a stunningly short skirt. She had shiny brown hair and smooth tan skin but her eyes were as blue as the summer sky. Her voluptuous body strained against her snug low-cut white top. She wore a turquoise-and-silver necklace and silver coyote earrings and no wedding band. She was young, beautiful, and perched on a high stool with her long bare legs crossed as if daring Scott-or any man within eyeball range of her-not to stare.
He stared.
Scott had called her station and set up a meeting at the open-air pool bar at the Hotel Galvez on the seawall for that Monday morning. Renee had arrived first and ordered the Mimosa. Scott had arrived with his blood pressure pumping, ready to give her a piece of his mind for putting his daughters on television. She attempted to preempt his fatherly anger by appealing to his manly vanity, as if that would work.
'Those football tapes, you were quite the stud in college, Scott. You look like you could still play.'
'Oh, thanks, I-' He caught himself. Damn, it almost worked. 'Don't put my girls on TV again.'
'Freedom of the press. You and Rebecca are news, you were in a public place, and they happened to be there with you. So how about an on-air interview?'
'No.'
She pushed her lips out. 'Odd. Most lawyers are begging to be on TV.' She sipped her Mimosa. 'Anyway, I was completely within the law.'
'Just because you can doesn't mean you should.'
'Should you and Rebecca have been groping each other like horny teenagers on a public beach that night?' She grinned. 'That was you, wasn't it? What was that about, for old time's sake?' She shrugged. 'I guess she is your ex. Screwing her is one thing, but why are you defending her?'
Scott got suspicious. He glanced around the bar for a hidden camera. He saw nothing, but he accused her anyway.
'Are you secretly taping our conversation?'
'You mean, like with a wire?'
'Or a tape recorder.'
Renee slid off the stool and stepped so close to Scott he could breathe in her perfume.
'You want to pat me down?'
Yes. Desperately.
'Doesn't look like you're hiding anything. Your clothes are so tight I doubt you could get a finger in between.'
'You could try.'
She winked at him then climbed aboard-her stool-and assumed her legs-crossed-I-dare-you-not-to-stare position.
'So why are you defending her?'
'She's the mother of my child.'
'But she cheated on you with the guy she killed!'
'She cheated with him, but she didn't kill him.'
'You just can't let her go.' She shook her beautiful head. 'Men. You know the best way to get over her? Cheat back.'
