Still Waters: The Island / Below the Surface

The older woman flushed slightly. “Thank you. Call Eduardo. Tell him that I suggested you speak to him. And if you go through with this, I will dance with his instructor, Mauricio. We will need to rehearse, of course. And if you wish your party to be a real success, you’ll need at least two male and two female instructors. I will work with them, of course.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

Maria laughed. “You will receive a bill.”

“Of course.”

“Truly, it will be my pleasure,” Maria said, inclining her head, something regal about the movement.

As Beth rose, Maria reached for her bag. “Give me a moment.... I have Eduardo’s card, and also my own, so that you may call me with details.”

Beth accepted the cards and reminded Maria that if she needed anything, to please let her know. As she left the table, she stopped Henry and told him that she would sign the tab for Maria’s lunch. Then she hurried back to Ashley.

“The fish was wonderful,” Ashley said.

Beth apologized swiftly. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—”

“There was Maria, who knew the Monocos, and you’re still obsessed with their disappearance, so...”

“Ashley, I saw a skull.”

“Beth, you’re not a cop.”

“So I should feel in my gut that a murder—no, murders—have taken place and just forget it?”

“The police are on it,” Ashley said.

“I hope so,” Beth said. “Anyway, I needed something special for the Summer Sizzler. Now I’ve got it.”

Ashley groaned, took a last sip of her iced tea and rose. “Jake and I will be at your Sizzler thing, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“God sometimes needs help looking after fools,” Ashley told her.

Beth grinned and waved as her friend left the dining room.

* * *

When Keith woke up the following morning, Brad and Sandy’s boat was gone.

Even though he’d been bothered by their presence, he found their absence alarming.

Once again, he headed out to dive the area where he was certain that Brad had cast something overboard, though he was aware that both Lee and Matt, back on the boat, were convinced he wouldn’t find anything.

He was close to shore, and there was a lot of seaweed in the area. Though the seas were relatively calm, the sand seemed to be rising; the area was murky.

A large grouper came quizzically toward him, stared at him, apparently found nothing of interest and moved on. A small horseshoe crab, sensing danger, dug more deeply into the sand. A tang, far from the reefs, shot by.

Hands clasped behind his back, fins barely moving, he went over and over the area, trying to follow a grid. He wasn’t deep, maybe twenty-five feet, so he could have stayed forever. But he began to wonder himself if he wasn’t crazy. Maybe Brad hadn’t really dumped anything. Or maybe the guy was a pot smoker and had tossed out his stash. Fish miles away could be chewing it up by now.

The sound of his own breathing was getting monotonous. He usually liked the sound. It was peaceful, just like diving, but now, he was aggravated, looking for what he couldn’t find—just as it seemed he had been doing day after day.

A clown fish darted past his mask. A small eel slithered up from the sand and made a hasty retreat.

Though it seemed pointless, he retraced the area for the tenth time, even as the water began to turn chilly.

Just when he was about to give up in total disgust, he saw it.

At first he wasn’t quite sure what he had found. He saw it in the sand. He reached out, dusted sand away, picked it up.

Stared.

Stopped breathing, the cardinal sin in diving.

Gulped in air again.

And knew what he had found.

* * *

In the morning, Beth drove out to the beach to keep an appointment with Eduardo Shea.

He was a striking man, not particularly tall, perhaps five-ten, no more. His eyes were a brilliant blue, and his hair seemed to be pitch-black. He was tanned, with fine bone structure and quirky, flyaway brows. He had a smile in place long before he reached her.

“Miss Anderson, welcome.”

“Mr. Shea,” she murmured.

“Come in, come in. We’ll talk in the office.”

She nodded, walked into his office and took the chair in front of his desk. The walls were lined with plaques, and the shelves held all kinds of trophies. Her heart quickened as she saw a large picture on the wall of Eduardo Shea shaking hands with Ted Monoco, Molly at her husband’s side, beaming.

“I see you like that picture,” Eduardo said.

“He must have been a very fine man,” she murmured.

Eduardo frowned. “He is a fine man, talented, and also a good businessman. You don’t always get the two together.”

“Very true,” she agreed, then changed the subject so he wouldn’t think she was unduly interested in the Monocos. “How long have you owned the studios?” she asked.

“Not quite a year. But we are doing very well. Ted Monoco established a legacy of excellence, and we do our best to preserve it,” Eduardo said proudly.

“I had a conversation with Maria Lopez yesterday, and she—”

“Yes, I’ve spoken to Maria. And I’m prepared to offer you an excellent deal.”

“Oh?”