Клео Коул - Murder Most Frothy

Is this it? I half wondered whether he was going to throw me overboard now.

“I’m not trying to menace you,” he said softly. Then the ex-SEAL stared straight ahead, into the dark water, as if thinking something over. He rubbed his clean-shaven chin. There was a faint scent of citrus and soap about him. Now that his stubble was gone, I could see his jawline was magnificent. Sharp angles chiseled from marble. Twenty years ago, I would have been itching to sketch it.

He abruptly turned to face me, caught me staring.

“You ready to watch me work?” he asked.

“Does it involve firearms?”

“No guns, Clare. Just shooting.”

Rand suited up in the cabin below, exchanging his blue jeans and button-down for a black wet suit. His camera was an impressive piece of equipment, waterproof with an incredible zoom lens. It pained me to realize it, but his body was an even more impressive piece of equipment. The wet suit was skintight, revealing every lean muscle.

It’s official. The man’s a Greek statue.

“Here. This is for you,” he said, handing me yesterday’s newspaper. It was a popular paper, widely read on this part of Long Island.

“What’s this?”

“Page one. Read the photo credit.”

The front page was dominated by a spectacular shot of fireworks taking place above Bay Bar in Southampton. Everything that was wonderful about a Hamptons Fourth was in the shot. Beautiful yachts docked next to a popular watering hole. Attractive couples embracing, gazing up at the explosions of color high above them. The photo credit read Jim Rand.

“This is some shot. How did you get it?”

“From the water. I was in the water, that is. But the real question you should be asking me, detective, was when did I get it. See the date on the paper.”

“I see. You shot this July Fourth. They published it on the fifth.”

“You can see I was in Southampton at the time of the fireworks over Bay Bar. Right? You following?”

I nodded, understanding what he was showing me. “It’s your alibi. The police know the time of death for Treat Mazzelli. You were nowhere near David Mintzer’s mansion at that time.”

“That’s right, Clare. Like I told you. All of my shots at Mintzer’s were before sunset. That’s why I gave you all of the photos I took. Do you believe me now? Or do you want to see the complete set of digital shots I took in Southampton? There are only about a hundred or so that put me there from the beginning of the display to the end.”

“Mr. Rand, please understand, someone is trying to hurt my friend.”

“I hear you. But I’m not your man…” He smiled, one eyebrow arching. “At least, not when it comes to your criminal investigation.”

The flirtation was hard to miss. My reaction was visceral. I ignored it. “Did the police ask you if you saw anything suspicious that night, while you were on David’s beach?”

“Yes, of course. And, no, I’m sorry to tell you that I didn’t. Look…we’ll talk when I get back, okay? I just didn’t want to leave the boat here and find you’d lost your nerve with me, motored away, and left me to fend for myself in the Atlantic.”

I couldn’t help laughing. “You know I had that same scenario down for me. I was half convinced you were about to throw me overboard.”

“Trust is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”

Dammit, Rand, don’t make me like you.

The ex-SEAL moved to gather the rest of his gear, an oxygen tank, and goggles. He strapped on an impressive-looking dive watch. Then he picked up a pair of binoculars, handed them to me, and pointed.

I scanned the shoreline. There were a few mansions lit up. One was having a big party on the beach. “I guess that party’s your destination?”

“You guessed right.”

I watched him jump off the stern. A chill went through me as he disappeared into the dark waves. The moonlight cast a silver hue to the ocean surface, but Jim Rand had disappeared completely beneath the black glass.

I watched patiently through the binoculars, waiting for him to emerge again. Finally, I saw him on the beach. I didn’t even notice him come out of the water.

Shadows kept him invisible. Then he used topiaries and scrub grass to keep himself camouflaged. He stayed there for a good forty minutes. The party guests moving in and out of the mansion, never seeing him, never suspecting. Couples and groups moved into his frame without knowing it, then out again. Eventually, he moved. With smooth stealth he was back in the water again. Soon, he was back on the boat.

“Still here, I see,” he quipped after removing his goggles and oxygen mouthpiece.

“Still here for good reason.”

“You finally trust me?”

“I don’t know how to start the engine on this tub.”

Jim smiled. “Give me a chance to change and maybe I’ll give you a lesson.”

Ten minutes later, he was topside again. “You want to see some of my shots? They turned out great.”

“You have the pictures already?”

“It’s digital media. Come on down.”

In the cabin below the open deck, Jim had set up a laptop and printer on a bolted down table. On the screen were thumbnails of the photos he’d just taken. He sat me down in a folding deck chair, then he leaned over my shoulder, and clicked on a few to show me the results.

I shook my head in amazement.

Jim noticed. “You can’t get over the technology, can you?”

“I can’t get over how many parties Keith Judd gets invited to on this tiny strip of land.”

“Keith Judd? Oh, yes, there he is in the background, surrounded by pretty young jail bait, as usual. My focus wasn’t on him for that shot. See here—that’s Radio Brenner, the baseball star. He’s got his arm around Gina Sanchez, the pop diva. In March they started their relationship. But nobody’s gotten a photo of them together this summer. Now my client does.”

“I see.”

Rand heard the stiffness in my voice. He turned his gaze away from the laptop’s screen to look at me. “You see but you don’t approve.”

“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove. It’s your living…”

“But?”

“But why don’t you just do the kind of photos you did at Bay Bar? Why don’t you just do legit stuff?”

“I do legit stuff. My partner, Kenny, does too. He even does accident scene photos for the police around here. You’d be surprised how many traffic smash-ups there are during the season.”

“After driving around here this summer with the displaced, impatient Manhattan elites, no, I actually wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Well, those jobs don’t pay enough. And I want my own boat by the end of summer. I want to make enough to retire on before I’m too old and too fatigued to dive anymore. Life’s short, Clare. I’ve witnessed that first hand, I can tell you.” He shrugged. “You’ve got to make the most of it while you can.”

“Like I said…it’s your business…it’s just creepy, invading people’s privacy.”

“Oh? You mean, like when you invaded my privacy today?”

He wasn’t wrong. I’d justified breaking and entering, telling myself it was for a higher cause. But it was still an invasion of his privacy. It was still breaking the law.

Jim rose, unfolding himself so high, his head nearly brushed the cabin’s ceiling. “Clare, the places I’ve been…the things I’ve seen, the poverty, the suffering…fuck it. If the worst thing that ever happens to these filthy rich people is that they have their candid photo put in a magazine, I’d say they’re still coming up winners on the global lottery…You want a drink?”

I nodded, surprising myself. But I suddenly needed something to sooth my nerves, my feelings of guilt about being a voyeur. And from the look on his face, so did Jim Rand.