The Deep Blue Alibi

Five minutes later, the three of them sat at a redwood picnic table on the wharf just outside the kitchen door. Victoria tried to calm down Delia with a sister-to-sister chat. Sure, Steve could be incredibly aggravating. Heaven knows, there had been many times she'd longed to brain him. 'But he speaks highly of you, Ms. Bustamante, and we're here on court business. So if you could just answer a few questions. .' But before Victoria could start her interrogation, Delia launched her own.

'That bump on the bastard's head, did you hit him with a frying pan?'

'I've been tempted to, but no.'

'Too bad. You sleeping with the puerco?'

'That ain't kosher,' Steve said, 'calling me a pig.'

'We're law partners,' Victoria said, 'and. .'

Just how should I put it? Lovers-for-now?

'C'mon, Delia,' Steve broke in. 'We're here on business. Leave the personal baggage out of it.'

Delia loosened the clip that held her hair back and shook her head. Long, dark tresses cascaded over her bare shoulders. She turned to Steve with a look as sharp as the meat cleaver. 'Is this tall, cold cerveza better in bed than I am?'

'Ah, Jeez,' Steve said. 'Why not ask what's better, stone crabs or filet mignon?'

'Because you said I was the best lover you ever had.'

'I think I said the 'loudest lover.' '

'You said the best! Tu eres el mejor amente que he tenido en toda mi vida.'

'That was before I met Victoria.'

'So she is better!'

'I didn't say that.'

You did to me, Victoria thought.

'Lighten up, Delia,' Steve continued. 'Making love isn't an Olympic contest. No judges give style points. It's physical and chemical and emotional and the feelings come from deep inside.'

'What would you know of feelings?' Delia demanded.

'All I'm saying is that in the moment, everyone is the best lover with the one they're with. In that moment, you can't imagine ever being with anyone else. But things change. People move on.'

Delia looked at Victoria with sympathy. 'Ay, he'll break your heart, too, chica.'

'Delia, I didn't break your heart.'

She pressed one hand to her ample bosom. 'I gave you everything.'

'You gave me mango flan. And what's with the theatrics?'

'Steve, why don't you go for a walk and let us girls talk?' Victoria suggested.

'Delia, be honest,' Steve blasted ahead. 'We just had fun. We never even said we loved each other.'

'When I made you bouillabaisse, was that not love?' Delia's eyes glistened.

'You make bouillabaisse for parties of eight.'

'Not with sourdough croutons I bake myself.'

'Okay,' Victoria interposed. 'Let's agree on something: Steve's an insensitive jerk.'

'No I'm not.'

'And look at you now,' Delia said, with disgust. 'Ass-licking lambioso! Doing Griffin's dirty work. Will you lie to the jury the way you lied to me?'

'I never lied to you,' Steve said. 'Not once.'

'You said you could eat my grilled pork chops forever and ever. Siempre y siempre.'

'I could. Your chops are delicious. That shallot glaze, I've never tasted anything like it.'

'So why did you leave me?'

'It was a long drive. We drifted apart.' He shrugged, as if searching for more. 'I started eating sushi.'

'Cabron! Bastard!'

Victoria wanted to steer the conversation out of Delia's kitchen and as far from her bedroom as possible. 'Ms. Bustamante, you're a potential witness in a murder case, and we really need to find out what you know.'

A pelican landed on the dock nearby and stared at them over its pouch.

'I know nothing except that your client harpooned that man from Washington,' Delia fired back.

'Really,' Steve said. 'You know what a good defense lawyer would say to that?'

Delia laughed without smiling. 'How would you know?'

'A good lawyer would say you had a helluva lot more reason to kill Ben Stubbs than Griffin did. Put that in your bouillabaisse.'

'Steve, be quiet,' Victoria ordered. Apparently, the painkillers were wearing off.

'If I were going to kill anyone, it would have been Griffin, not his government flunky,' Delia said. 'Griffin's the one who's going to destroy the reef and pollute the coastline. It's his casino that will steal grocery money from hardworking people.'

'It's all perfectly legal. Griffin was getting the permits and licenses.'

'A license to steal!'

'You were on Griffin's boat before it left the dock that day,' Victoria persisted.

'He fed me cheap champagne and soggy hors d'oeuvres. Then he tried to bribe me with a job at his hotel. A hundred thousand a year to do nothing except shut up. I told Griffin what he could do with his job and left the boat.'

'Where did you go?'

'You mean, do I have an alibi?' Delia smiled slyly. 'My lover met me at my home. We devoured each other all day. At midnight, we ate four dozen oysters and drank two pitchers of sangria, then made love the rest of the night.'

'Obviously, she's not talking about me,' Steve said to Victoria.

'We'll need his name and address,' Victoria told Delia, 'so we can interview him.'

'If he's not too exhausted,' Steve added.

'He is the greatest lover I've ever known.' Delia fanned herself with one hand. 'Sometimes I faint with ecstasy.'

'He's probably putting roofies in your sangria,' Steve suggested.

Victoria shot her partner a shut up look and said: 'Delia, do you know anyone who would have killed Ben Stubbs and tried to pin it on Hal Griffin?'

'No.'

Victoria slid a leaflet across the table. 'Have you ever seen one of these?'

'Of course. The Keys Alert flier about Oceania. I wrote it.'

'Any idea who would have tossed these flyers all over the bridge at Spanish Harbor Channel?'

'None of my friends. That would be littering.'

'How about somebody on a motorcycle who ran me off the road last night?' Steve asked.

Delia shrugged and seemed puzzled.

'My nephew was with me. He could have been killed.'

'Bobby?' Delia said. 'If you had half his humanity, Solomon, you'd be un santo. A saint. No one I know would threaten Bobby. Or you, no matter how rotten you are.'

Victoria took inventory of Delia Bustamante and immediately came to two conclusions. One: the woman seemed to be telling the truth. And two: She was still in love with Steve.

Just what is this effect he has on women?

'Hullo, luv!' A man came out the restaurant's kitchen door onto the wharf. He looked familiar, Victoria thought, and the British accent clinched it.

Clive Fowles.

Uncle Grif's seaplane pilot, boat captain, and dive master. Fowles wore a blue short-sleeve shirt with epaulets and chino safari shorts. His fair skin, which probably never took on a true tan, was scorched pink.

'Well, bugger me! It's the barristers. You all right, Solomon? They're talking about you on the radio.'

'I'm fine, Fowles.'