A Widow in Paradise & Suburban Secrets Page 6

  “No?”

  Dannie wondered if she should keep her mouth shut, but then she thought screw it. She didn’t owe Wiser-Crenshaw an ounce of loyalty. They’d done nothing for her, nothing at all, since Roger’s death.

  “Roger used to tell me stories about some of the clients,” Dannie said. “How the firm would help them launder money. Their biggest client was Jimmy Duke. You know him?”

  “I’ve heard of him.”

  “Then you know what kind of a ‘businessman’ he is.”

  Guy shrugged. “I guess.”

  Dannie nodded. “Well, some of the things the firm was doing didn’t sit well with Roger. He was an honest man.”

  “Except when it came to being faithful to you,” Guy pointed out.

  “Thanks.” Tears stung behind her eyes.

  “Sorry. Listen, I…”

  Just then the band came back from their break, and started off the set with a Jerry Lee Lewis number. The waitress returned, too, bringing a club soda and a Cuatro colada, along with a plate of skinless chicken, vegetables and fresh fruit for Guy.

  “Don’t you let yourself have any fun?” Dannie asked, taking a big bite of tamale and washing it down with a slug of colada.

  “I have plenty of fun,” Guy said. “I just believe you should treat your body like a temple, not an amusement park.”

  “Wow. Mr. Excitement. No wonder your wife left you. You never let her go on the rides.”

  Guy shook his head. “I suppose your sex life was great?”

  Okay. Was this really an appropriate conversation to be having with the husband of the woman Roger had cheated with?

  Maybe not. But she couldn’t think straight. In fact, everything had gone a little fuzzy around the edges.

  Guy was staring at her.

  Dannie pointed to her plate. “Why do you think I eat all this crap? I replaced sex with food years ago, when Roger started treating my body more like a fast-food drive-through than an amusement park.”

  Guy gave her a strange look.

  “What? Too much information?”

  “No. It’s just a damned shame. I mean, you’re a beautiful woman. You’ve got great skin, great hair, a killer body for someone…”

  “Go ahead. Say it. Someone as old as me.” She took another bite of her tamale.

  “I was going to say ‘for someone who spends so little time working on it.’” He reached over and tucked a curl behind her ear.

  She swallowed. “I exercise.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure. I lift kids, I run to the grocery store, I chase the dog.”

  “Do you dance?”

  “Dance?”

  “Yes, dance.” Guy stood up and held out a hand.

  Dannie gave Lyle a desperate look. Completely ineffective, seeing as he was still facedown on the table. She gave him a kick, but he only moaned.

  “He’s not going to save you this time,” Guy said. “Come on.”

  Dannie gave in and took Guy’s hand. He led her to the dance floor in front of the band, which was already packed with people doing the merengue.

  “Now, this is good exercise,” Guy shouted over the music.

  “Where did you learn to dance like this?” Dannie shouted back.

  “My mother was a dance instructor. I spent every Saturday in her studio from the time I was three until I was seventeen.”

  “No kidding? My grandfather worked for Arthur Murray. He gave me lessons whenever we visited.”

  “Really? Then you should be familiar with this move.”

  He dropped her into a dip so low, her hair brushed the dance floor. His eyes were inches from hers, and for an instant she felt as if they were completely alone, moving in slow motion at the bottom of the sea. Then he pulled her up and took her hands, and for the next half hour they danced as she hadn’t danced since those afternoons with her grandfather.

  They did the jitterbug, the twist, the swing and the fox-trot before the band slowed things down, launching into the Spanish version of “Unchained Melody.” Dannie headed off the dance floor, but Guy spun her back into his arms.

  The smell of his cologne, something fresh and beachy, like an ocean mist, enveloped her. His arms closed to form a barrier between her and the other couples on the dance floor, most of whom did little more than stagger to the beat.

  Dannie felt woozy from the heat and the lights and the spinning. And, okay, if she was going to be completely honest, from Guy’s muscles.

  She couldn’t help it. Something about well-formed biceps and a solid wall of chest to lean on appealed to her on a purely animalistic level. Guy might have been the exact opposite of her idea of the perfect man, but he was right on the money as her perfect fantasy—a straight man who liked to talk hair and makeup, could dance like Fred Astaire and looked like the quarterback of her college football team.

  He held her close, swaying in time with the music, lulling her into a false sense of security before he said, “So what was the name of the fishing charter Roger hired?”

  She pulled away. “I don’t believe it. You don’t give up, do you?”

  He dragged her back into his arms. “It was just a question.”

  “He isn’t alive, Guy. I know—I knew my husband. He wasn’t capable of what you’re suggesting.”

  “Well, you’re lucky, then. I thought I knew what Lisa was capable of, but obviously I didn’t.”

  Dannie softened in Guy’s arms, suddenly feeling very sorry for him. It couldn’t have been easy to lose his wife and his dream at the same time.

  “You’ll find her,” Dannie said. “You’ll get your money back.”

  “I better. Time is running out.”

  “What do you mean? What time?”

  Guy shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  The song ended, but just as they were about to leave the dance floor, the hotel’s activities director—Majorca, according to her name tag—took the microphone.

  “Everyone, please stay right where you are. We’re about to start our Dirty Dancing contest!”

  The crowd on the dance floor hooted and yowled.

  “Oh, no,” Dannie said, heading toward the table. “This is my stop.”

  “Come on.” Guy laughed. “It’ll be fun.”

  He grabbed her elbow and pulled her back onto the floor.

  “We have some great prizes,” Majorca shouted. “All you gotta do is show us what you got. Be sex-y-y-y!”

  The band broke out into The Contours’ “Do You Love Me?” and the couples on the dance floor started bumping and grinding. Guy grabbed Dannie’s hips and pulled her to him. Her bare belly brushed the buttons of his now-damp shirt. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tightening her grip as he swung her backward.

  Everything around her faded to a blur as she and Guy danced. He drew her closer, fitting himself into her curves, rubbing his body against hers and leaving her senses raw and on edge. Every brush of his skin set her nerves on fire.

  Guy slid his hands down her back and over her rear end to the back of her thigh, hoisting her knee up to his hip as he gyrated his pelvis against hers. A bead of sweat trickled down her neck and into her bra. She closed her eyes.

  Los Cangrejos worked their way through the Dirty Dancing soundtrack as couples all around them were tapped out of the competition. Dannie hardly noticed. She was Baby Houseman and Guy was Johnny Castle, and he had taken her out of the corner and was showing her the time of her life.

  She and Guy were so lost in their own world that when the music stopped and Majorca announced the winners of the competition, they were still dancing. It wasn’t until the activities director waved an envelope between them that they finally realized the competition was over. And they had won.

  “Congratulations!” Majorca shouted into the mike, handing the envelope to Dannie. “As our Dirty Dancing champions, you’ve both won a free stay at El Pelícano!”

  All around them, the other guests clapped and whistled. A couple at a table near t
he dance floor stared at Dannie as if they knew exactly what had been going through her mind while she’d danced with Guy.

  Dannie’s face burned. She looked toward her own table, but Lyle was gone. Then she saw him out of the corner of her eye, heading for the door of the club.

  Just then, the lights went out.

  “Here.” She shoved the envelope at Guy. “I have to go.”

  She pushed her way through the crush of people, most of whom felt compelled to either congratulate her or grab her butt. By the time she made it out into the hotel lobby, it was too dark to see where Lyle had gone.

  Chapter Seven

  A few minutes later, the emergency generators kicked in, lighting emergency lights in the lobby and hallways.

  The elevators were down, of course, so Dannie took the stairs three floors to Lyle’s room—just a few doors down from her own. In the near darkness, with all the hotel windows covered with plywood and the wind and rain picking up, the place was downright spooky.

  The only other person in the hallway was a woman in a sarong and a big straw hat, carrying a drink in a coconut shell. She looked familiar, but Dannie couldn’t place her. She supposed she’d seen her in the lounge. Just about everyone in the hotel had been there.

  The woman disappeared into the stairwell.

  Dannie knocked on Lyle’s door, the sound echoing in the empty hallway.

  “Lyle?”

  No answer.

  She knocked again. “Lyle? Are you in there?”

  She pressed her ear to the door. She could hear him moving around.

  “I know you’re in there. Come on. Open up.”

  The security chain rattled, and the door opened a crack.

  “Hey,” Dannie said. “Can I come in?”

  “I’m trying to sleep—”

  “You just took a two-hour nap at the bar,” she joked.

  Apparently Lyle didn’t think it was funny.

  “What were you doing with Guy? I mean, I open my eyes, and you’re practically climbing on him on the dance floor.”

  “It was a Dirty Dancing contest.”

  “I could see that.”

  “Come on, Lyle. Let me in.”

  He hesitated, then the door swung open. And there he stood in a pair of light blue boxer shorts. His legs practically glowed.

  This was a man who desperately needed a tan. Too bad the beach was currently being pummeled by ninety-mile-an-hour winds.

  Dannie followed him into the room, leaving the door open for light. “The activities director announced that Cuatro Blanco is only supposed to catch the edge of the storm. It should all be over by midnight or so. Still, it would be safest if we waited it out in the lounge.”

  “I’m not going back there.” His voice held a bitter edge.

  “Lyle, nothing happened between me and Guy. You know I can’t stand him.”

  “That’s not what it looked like.”

  That wasn’t what it felt like, either.

  She sat on the edge of the queen-size bed, smoothing the yellow bedspread with her palm. “I guess I’ve had a little too much to drink, and I just got carried away with the dancing. It’s been a long time since I’ve been out dancing with a man.”

  “I’ll take you dancing,” he said, his words still a little bit slurred.

  She sighed. “You don’t have to do that.”

  He sat down beside her and grabbed her hand. “I don’t feel like I have to do things for you. I want to do them. Roger would have wanted me to take care of you, Dano.”

  Dannie shook her head. “I know you and Roger were close, but you’re not responsible for my happiness.”

  “But—”

  “Lyle, really. I appreciate everything you do for me. But I think it’s time I stood on my own two feet. Roger’s been gone for eight and a half months, and it’s time I got on with things.”

  “This is about the kiss, isn’t it?” He sounded miserable.

  “No, it’s not about the kiss. It’s about me taking charge of my life.”

  Outside, the driving rain sounded like marbles hitting the side of the hotel. The wind moaned against the plywood-covered windows.

  Lyle looked down at their hands, and unlaced his fingers from hers. “Can I still help you while we’re here? I’d like to know myself how Roger died. And I’d like to make sure you go home with that death certificate.”

  She smiled. “Of course you can help me. I’m counting on it.”

  “Good.” He got up, went to the minifridge and took out a Coke. “You want one?”

  “Why don’t we go have one in the lounge? I promise we won’t go anywhere near Guy Loughran.”

  She and Lyle went back down to the bar, standing in a corner by the door, listening to the band—which had reverted to acoustic—and sipping Cokes until Majorca announced that it was safe for them all to return to their rooms.

  “Call me when you wake up tomorrow, okay?” Lyle said when they stopped at his room.

  “Okay.” She gave him a peck on the cheek. “Get some sleep.”

  Dannie rooted through her handbag for her room key. The lady with the hat and the coconut drink was still wandering up and down the hall. Dannie finally placed her as the woman she’d spoken to in the line at the airport back home. The one who told her to have a good time in Cuatro Blanco.

  Fat chance.

  Dannie gave her a little wave as she opened the door to her own room and went inside, not exactly eager to face a night alone, filled with darkness and wind and rain.

  AS IT TURNED OUT, the weather wasn’t what kept Dannie up half the night. It was Guy Loughran.

  Or rather, thoughts of him.

  Every time Dannie closed her eyes, Technicolor visions of Guy’s blue-green eyes and sexy, crooked nose filled the darkness, and she imagined the hard muscles of his chest and belly pressed against hers as they danced.

  The bed spun.

  By two o’clock she realized she wasn’t going to get a moment of sleep. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and sat in bed, listening to the storm.

  By three, the wind and rain had died down, along with the thoughts of her dancing partner. Dannie drifted off to sleep.

  Now, just a few hours later, she was wide awake, looking forward to accomplishing what she’d come here for and getting back home to her kids. She hopped into the shower, which was ice-cold, and then realized she had no way to dry her hair. It was not going to be a pretty sight. She found a scarf in her purse and tied it around her head.

  She waited until seven to knock on Lyle’s door.

  “Time to get moving,” she said through the door. Lyle grunted in response. She heard him clump to the bathroom.

  He had to be hurting. He wasn’t much of a drinker to begin with, and the Cuatro coladas had packed a wicked punch. Dannie still suffered a dull throb in her temples, even after a couple of aspirin and a bottle of orange juice from the minibar.

  She returned to her room and paged through the Vanity Fair she’d bought at the airport while she waited for Lyle. She wondered what Guy was doing.

  Would he find Lisa? And if so, what would he do? Would he ask her to come back to the States with him? Would he beg her?

  She felt a pang of sympathy for Guy. It must be hard to feel abandoned. Unwanted. Duped.

  A knock on the door roused her from her thoughts, and she grabbed her purse. Time to get to work.

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, nothing is running?”

  “I’m sorry, señora. The storm has disrupted all transportation on the island. No taxis, no ferries, no buses.”

  “But I thought it wasn’t that bad.”

  The concierge shrugged. “Not too bad. The main road is flooded, and the ferry broke loose and hit something. Got a big hole in the side.”

  “What did it hit?”

  “The other ferry.”

  Dannie bit her lip.

  “How are we supposed to get to El Cuello?” Lyle’s face was turning red again.

  The concierge
smiled. “You could walk.”

  “How far is it?” asked Dannie.

  “About nine kilometers.”

  “Six miles?” Lyle said. “We can’t walk that far in this heat.”

  “Why don’t you take it easy, amigos?” The concierge looked down at Lyle’s pale legs. “You should check out the beach. It’s all cleaned up, and the staff is serving Cuatro coladas.”

  Lyle looked ill. “No, thanks.”

  “I’m going to go down there,” Dannie said. “Check it out. See if I can find anyone who could get us to El Cuello.”

  She left Lyle in the lobby and followed a set of narrow stone steps through a rocky outcropping and down to the beach. The sun was bright and, aside from a few stray palm fronds and sticks, the beach was beautiful. White sand, wispy clouds, blue waters. Well, almost blue. More like the color of Guy’s eyes—

  “Dannie?”

  Think of the devil. He lay there on a hotel towel in the sand, in pink swim trunks and black T-shirt, zinc oxide covering his crooked nose.

  “Guy. How are you?”

  “I’d be better if I could get something accomplished.”

  “I know. I just came down to see if I could find someone with a boat who’d be willing to take us to the other side of the island.”

  “To El Cuello?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, then clammed up.

  “It was just a question, Dannie. Don’t read anything into it.”

  She sat down beside him and stretched out her legs. The warmth of the sand seeped into the backs of her calves. “Roger chartered the fishing boat in El Cuello. I was going to go talk to the owner of the boat, and try to get the authorities to issue a death certificate while I’m here.”

  “Good luck.”

  She gave him a look.

  “What? I just meant because everything moves so slowly here.”

  She leaned back on her elbows. “I guess it doesn’t matter, anyway. We’re not going anywhere today. Both ferries are out of commission, and the main road is flooded.”

  They stared out over the water for a few minutes.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Guy said.