The Deep Blue Alibi

Oh, hell, just say it, or at least think it.

If I were standing, my knees would have buckled by now.

Not to get overheated about it, but he was the closest thing to a Greek god she'd ever seen. A modern Adonis, who, if she remembered her course at Princeton, Fables and Myths, got it on with Aphrodite, notwithstanding the lady's marriage to somebody-or-other. Was she feeling a little like Aphrodite, the trampy goddess of passion, who also peeled grapes with Ares, Dionysus, and a few other guy-gods Victoria couldn't remember?

Jeez, am I so superficial that his looks, his luscious total maleness, turns me into mush?

No, of course not. It was just a healthy sexual fantasy, right? Like Steve studying the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue more closely than any appellate court decision. She wondered if Steve was picking up her vibes. Could he tell what she was thinking-and feeling-about Junior?

'Great margaritas,' Steve allowed, sipping at his drink.

Okay, she thought, maybe he wasn't tuned to her channel just now.

'Fresh-squeezed lime juice,' Junior explained. 'No matter what anyone tells you, don't go for the cheaper tequila just because you're mixing drinks. Arette's best. Blanco Suave, if you're willing to spend a hundred bucks a bottle. Now, if you're sipping tequila straight, go for Tres, Cuatro y Cinco, blue agave, but that will set you back four hundred bucks.'

'Seems like a lot of money for something that's gonna turn into piss in twenty minutes,' Steve countered. Mr. Savoir Vivre.

'Depends what's important to you, I guess,' Junior said.

What was important to Steve? she wondered. His nephew, Bobby, of course. His work. And her. But how important was she? Getting Steve to open up was a lot like opening a jar of martini olives. It helps if you bang on his lid a few times.

Steve's tongue flicked a salt crystal from the rim of the margarita glass. He had a faraway look, and Victoria knew he wasn't thinking about their relationship. Or the Florida Marlins. Or even Bobby. He was getting into the case, and his look told her something was bothering him.

'I still don't get it,' Steve said. 'A project as big as Oceania. How'd you keep it quiet?'

'Dad's good at keeping secrets,' Junior said, 'and not just about business.'

'Meaning what?'

'After Nelson passed away-'

'Committed suicide,' Victoria interrupted the Greek god, preferring plain English to euphemisms. 'My father committed suicide.'

That silenced both men for a moment. Victoria instantly regretted having altered everyone's mood, especially her own. But she was still furious at her father and probably always would be. The mention of his name, of his death, brought back the pain.

'After your father committed suicide,' Junior continued, looking at her with tenderness, 'I kept bugging Dad to tell me why he did it. The two of them were inseparable. Our mothers were best friends. You and I were, you know. .'

Destined to be a couple.

She had finished the sentence in her mind while sipping her drink. 'What did your father say?'

'Nothing. Except, 'I'm sure Nelson had his reasons.' '

'He didn't even leave a note,' Victoria said. 'I was twelve, and all these years I've hated him for not even leaving a note. Why couldn't he just write, 'My darling daughter, I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I always loved you.' '

Neither man had an answer. Steve dipped a chip into the guacamole. He wanted to talk about the case but seemed to realize he'd have to wait out the talk about family.

After a moment, Junior said, 'What did your mother tell you about it?'

'Not much. There was a Grand Jury investigation. Something about kickbacks and bribes in the construction industry. Dad got subpoenaed and committed suicide right before he was scheduled to testify.' Victoria drained the margarita quicker than she had intended. 'The Queen never would go into details. So I guess your father's not the only one to keep secrets.'

'My theory is that Dad put all the pressure on Nelson to take care of the legal problems,' Junior said. 'When they had some setbacks, it was too much for him. And ever since, Dad's felt guilty.'

'Is that why he stayed away all these years?' she asked.

'Dad didn't stay away. He sent all those checks.'

'What checks?'

Junior seemed surprised. 'I guess The Queen never told you. For a couple years, Dad sent her checks, but she didn't cash them.'

'Why? What'd she tell your father?'

'I don't think they spoke after the funeral. Not even once.'

'Maybe she had trouble reaching him. You guys moved out of the country. You disappeared from our lives.'

'He wrote her, Tori. Tried to call, too. But no response.'

Why? Victoria wondered. And why hadn't her mother told her? That was Irene Lord for you. Secrecy and stoicism were the currencies The Queen traded in. You don't go around whining about your husband's suicide. You don't examine it. You give it a handy label-'business pressures, your father cracked'-and you move on.

The Queen had stored away the memories in an attic trunk and kept the key from her only daughter. But Uncle Grif must know what's inside. Now Victoria had another mission, having nothing to do with the murder case. She would learn everything she could from Uncle Grif. This meant spending more time with him, getting to know him all over again. And while she was at it, that applied to Junior, too.

SOLOMON'S LAWS

5. 'Love' means taking a bullet for your beloved. Anything short of that is just 'like.'

Twelve

FOUR SUSPECTS

Maybe it was the tropical sun beating down on Steve or the potent Arette tequila that fogged him in, or the uncertainty-yeah, the arriere-pensee-triggered by Junior's muscular presence. Or did it start with Victoria refusing to have sex in the water, then insisting they split up the firm? Steve couldn't tell.

Wasted away again in Margaritaville, he was sprawled on a chaise lounge three feet away from the woman he loved. Three feet on the other side was the suntanned slab of beef who was obviously putting the moves on her. Even worse, she seemed receptive, her eyes shiny with anticipation, her body language open and inviting.

Maybe it was his own fault, Steve thought. Had he driven her away? But how? He didn't have a clue.

In the whole wide world, there were two people he cherished with his lifeblood. Victoria and Bobby. Meaning he'd take a bullet for either of them. Without hesitation, no questions asked. Given the cosmic choice-the voice of God claiming his life or theirs-Steve would sacrifice himself. Deep down, Steve believed he loved his pain-in-the-ass father, too. But giving up his life for the old man was a stretch.

'Another margarita?' Junior offered. 'Milagros can make a couple more pitchers.' A Spanish-speaking woman in a white uniform stood at a discreet distance on the deck, waiting for her master's instructions.

'No thanks,' Steve said. 'We've got work to do.'

'Anything I can do, just ask,' Junior volunteered.

Just how much should he tell Junior? Steve didn't describe how he always broke down a murder case into its