A Clandestine Affair

Pulling her feet into the overstuffed chair, she rummaged through the stack of old newspaper reports until she found the article on the accidental drowning of Andres Santiago’s only son. The boy had been four years old, but reportedly a good swimmer.

The investigation had been less than what would be routinely expected in a drowning of that sort. Two cops had come over from Everglades City. They’d questioned the child’s stepmother, Medina Santiago, and apparently bought her story that the boy, who was just getting over measles had been weaker than usual and must have passed out while swimming in the deep end of the pool.

A notation at the end of the report said that the nanny, Alma Garcia, had discovered the body, and that Andres Santiago had not been home at the time of the drowning.

Jaci was certain the investigating cops would have known Santiago was a powerful drug smuggler, one who outsmarted them at every turn. They’d never been able to curtail his operations, much less stop them. Was that why they’d exerted so little energy on investigating the son’s drowning, or the later disappearance of the rest of the family?

Leaving her notes, Jaci crossed the room and grabbed her navy jacket from the back of a wicker chair where she’d left it. The wind always seemed to pick up when the sun went down. She started toward the pool, but stopped when she caught sight of Alma slipping through the courtyard gate in a flowing white dress.

Jaci hurried to the gate and followed at a distance. The woman’s bare feet seemed almost to float across the sand, and her skirt caught the wind, billowing about her legs. She didn’t stop until she reached the water’s edge.

Jaci thought at first she was going to walk right into the surf, but instead she began to twirl like a ballerina, gliding over the sand, laughing as if she were listening to a private and very humorous conversation.

Jaci continued to watch, hypnotized by the graceful movements and the silver streaks of moonlight that illuminated the lone figure. Watching Alma now, it was difficult to believe she was the same white-haired woman who stared from the third-floor window.

The twirling stopped as suddenly as it began, and Alma stood very still, her arms open as if she were waiting for a lover to step into them. Perhaps this was some kind of ritual, Jaci decided, or maybe Alma Garcia had experienced the isolation of Cape Diablo for too many years.

And then the lover arrived, albeit invisible. When Alma began to dance again, it was a waltz, and it was clear she was dancing with an imaginary partner.

The mesmerizing scene was sweetly romantic, yet somehow disturbing at the same time. In fact, Jaci had the uneasy feeling that someone was watching her watching Alma.

She scanned the beach, but didn’t see any sign of Carlos, and the three of them were the only people on the island.

She turned away from Alma and walked back to the courtyard. Her mind still on the older woman and her bizarre dance, Jaci walked to the edge of the pool and stared into the murky water.

It hit her again how strange it was that the nanny, who’d once found the body of a boy she was paid to tend floating in this very pool, still lived here. In the same house where the Santiago daughters who’d been in her care had lived before the bloody night they’d disappeared with their parents, never to be heard from again.

Jaci shivered. And then she saw a new shadow mingling with hers, one that she was certain did not belong to Carlos or Alma Garcia.

Chapter Three

Startled, Jaci stared accusingly at the man who’d appeared from nowhere. “Who are you?”

“Sorry if I frightened you. My name’s Raoul, and you must be Jaci.”

“How do you know that?”

“Took a wild guess.”

“That’s not funny.”

“Carlos said there was a woman named Jaci staying in one of the pool house apartments. He failed to warn me you were territorial.”

Okay, so she’d come on a little strong. Still… “You could have let me know you’d walked up behind me.”

“I wasn’t exactly tiptoeing around. You were just so fascinated by whatever you were staring at, you didn’t hear me. Besides, the courtyard is a common area, or at least it used to be.”

“It still is,” she said, feeling unjustly chastened. “But I thought I was the only tenant on the island.”

“Technically, you are. I’m here visiting my uncle— Carlos.”

For some reason, she’d assumed Carlos Lazario had no relatives, probably because none had ever been mentioned in the police or newspaper reports. Which was why a good criminologist could never trust assumptions.

“So now that I’ve established I’m not a pirate from the high seas here to rape and plunder, why don’t we start over?” The stranger stepped closer and extended his right hand. “Pleased to meet you, Jaci.”

She shook it, more amiable now that she knew he was Carlos’s nephew. Maybe befriending Raoul would be the way into the old man’s heart, or more specifically, into his boathouse and villa.

It was hard to tell much about Raoul’s features in the dim courtyard lighting, but she did note a slight resemblance to Carlos. Something about the mouth and the shape of the eyes, she thought. But Raoul was much younger, thirty something, she’d guess. And way sexier.

“It’s a nice night,” he said, “cooler than this afternoon.”

“Very nice. Do you visit Cape Diablo often?”

“I try to check on Carlos when I can.”

“I’m sure he’s glad for the company. He must get lonely out here.”

“You’ll never get him to admit that.”

“Guess he likes isolation.”

“That and he’s incredibly hardheaded, just like my grandfather. Actually, Carlos is my great-uncle. He and my grandfather were brothers.”

“I suppose the hardheaded trait missed you,” Jaci said, finally managing a smile.

“You got it. I’m a rational, thinking man, and I’ll butt heads with anyone who says differently.” Raoul propped a foot on the rim of a clay flower pot full of blooming verbenas, and looked into the murky water. “I hope your room’s in better shape than the pool.”

“It’s clean, and the bed is comfortable.”

“This pool is disgusting.”

“I asked your uncle about it. Apparently it hasn’t been used in a very long time.”

“Try three decades. It should have been filled in years ago.”

“Or at least drained and cleaned,” she agreed. “Is there a reason why it’s been left like this?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but it’s a waste of time wondering how or why my uncle and Alma Garcia do anything on Cape Diablo. I gave up years ago.”

So he’d been coming to the island for a long time, maybe all his life. He might have even known the Santiago children, though he’d have been so young, Jaci doubted he’d remember much about them.

Raoul stooped to fish a plastic cup from the algae-filled pool. Jaci took the opportunity to study him more closely.

He was lean and fit, as if he worked out or engaged in physical activity on a regular basis. Dressed in denim cutoffs and a short-sleeved knit shirt open at the neck, even though she found the night wind cool. Dark hair. Probably dark eyes as well, though she couldn’t tell in this light.

Not classically handsome, but with a rugged sexual appeal that seemed to stem as much from his self-confident manner as his looks.

“So what brings you to Cape Diablo?” he asked, once he’d tossed the cup in a nearby trash basket.