P. Parrish - The Little Death

Yuba returned and set a glass votive before him. She smiled when she saw him watching the blonde but said nothing. She pulled a purple Bic from her vest pocket. Her black eyes danced with the flare of the candle.

“Where’s your friend?” she asked.

His mind was still on Joe, and for a second, he thought Yuba meant her.

“The tall fellow with the yellow glasses,” she said.

“Asleep,” Louis said. “Thanks for the tip about the hotel.”

“You guys didn’t seem like the Brazilian Court types,” she said.

He had the feeling she knew exactly who he and Mel were and why they were on the island. He wondered if she lived here, but he had a feeling that, just like the gardeners and the maids he saw standing at the bus stop, she traveled back across the bridge at night.

“You’re here to help Reggie, aren’t you?” Yuba said.

“Yes,” Louis said.

She grabbed a towel and ran it across the already spotless bar. She was looking for an excuse to linger, Louis realized, but was this about Reggie-or him?

Yuba nodded at his glass. “You want another one?” she asked.

“Yeah, thanks.”

After she had brought the refill and made the rounds of the other customers, Yuba drifted back.

Joe was still there, cluttering his thoughts. He knew beer alone wasn’t going to make her go away long enough for him to sleep tonight. He suddenly wanted a reason to keep Yuba in front of him, wanted the distraction of her lovely face, if only for the next hour.

“I’m glad you’re helping Reggie,” Yuba said, lowering her voice. “Reggie’s a good guy. He’s real. That’s not easy to find in this town.”

“I’m beginning to understand that. How well do you know him?”

She shrugged. “He comes in here almost every night. I’ve been here two years. We’re not friends or anything, but in this business, you get a pretty good feel for people.”

Louis looked at her skeptically over the rim of the glass.

“I went to a party at his place once,” she said. “He has a nice house up on the north end.” When Louis didn’t respond, she added, “That’s where the real people live.”

“Ah,” Louis said.

Someone called to her. Yuba waved to the customer to wait. “Reggie wouldn’t hurt a fly,” she said.

“You sure about that?” Louis asked.

She gave him a hard stare, then left to serve the guy at the other end of the bar.

The second beer went down more quickly than the first, and he suddenly wanted a third badly. But the bar was now three-deep, and he couldn’t get Yuba’s attention. He kept his eyes trained on her back, willing her to turn. No dice. That’s when he felt the weight of someone’s gaze and turned.

It was hard to miss her, even in the crowd. Turquoise silk. Milk-white skin. Carrot-red hair that could never be natural. And eyes below the soft sweep of her bangs that were trained on him like lasers.

A bare hint of a smile, and then it disappeared behind the rim of her martini glass.

Suddenly, Yuba stepped in, blocking his view. She set a frosty glass of beer in front of him. “From the lady in blue,” she said with a half-smirk before leaving.

Louis found the redhead’s eyes again, raised his glass in a salute, and took a drink.

The woman smiled back. Then she touched the arm of the man sitting next to her to draw his attention away from the conversation he was having with another couple seated nearby. She whispered something, and he gave her a quick peck on the cheek and turned away. She slid off the stool and picked up her drink and purse. Louis watched as she made her way toward him.

There was no vacant stool, so she wedged herself between him and the bar. She was tall, her body lush in the silky dress. A necklace of twisty turquoise glowed against her skin. Her face was taut, but as she smiled, a fine spray of lines at the edges of her eyes sprang into relief.

He couldn’t guess her age. He couldn’t even think of anything to say.

She leaned toward him and extended a perfectly manicured pink-nailed finger to the wet surface of the bar. She traced something in the spilled beer, a question mark that quickly faded.

The laser eyes found his.

“Louis,” he said.

She traced another question mark.

“Scorpio,” he said.

She smiled and traced another question mark.

“Democrat?”

She laughed. “I’m Sam.”

The man sitting next to Louis tossed a fifty onto the bar and left. Sam slid onto the stool.

“Thank you,” he said, raising his glass. “For the beer.”

“You looked like a man in need,” she said. When she crossed her bare legs, the front of the silk dress parted, revealing her thighs. Louis struggled to keep his eyes on her face.

“You’re the detective I’ve been hearing so much about,” she said.

“Word gets around quick here,” Louis said.

“How’s the investigation going?”

The last thing Louis wanted to do was talk about Reggie right now. He wanted-what? To take away the sting of Joe’s words? He glanced over the redhead’s shoulder and caught Yuba’s eye. There was something in her expression, like she could read his mind, and for a second he thought of settling his tab and going back to the hotel.

He looked back to the redhead, looked right into her eyes. “I can’t talk about it,” he said. “Client privilege, code of ethics, and all that.”

The redhead smiled, then caught Yuba’s eye and motioned for a refill on her martini before she turned back to Louis.

“Do you know Reggie Kent?” Louis asked.

“Of course. I live here.”

He wanted to ask her if Reggie had ever been her escort but then realized it might insinuate that she was, what? Desperate? Alone? Or, worse, old? Reggie had said he never lacked for the company of widows. Up close, he could see she was maybe in her late forties. Beautiful, for sure, but not young. He snuck a glance at her left hand. She was wearing a wedding band of diamonds.

He allowed himself a small, wry smile.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Nothing. It’s just not my night.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Again, he met those eyes. They were dark, maybe blue. He couldn’t tell in this light.

Yuba brought the fresh martini. Sam plucked out the toothpick and ate the olive, her eyes never leaving his. Then she picked up the martini and, with one quick flourish, drained it.

She slid off the stool, taking her purse. When she leaned close to Louis, he caught the scent of her perfume for the first time-cloves and something smoky.

“My Jag is parked in front of Tiffany’s,” she whispered. “Wait ten minutes before you come.”

She left, swallowed up in the crush of bodies. He was so stunned it was a full minute before he finally took a drink. He sat there, staring at the yellow fish swimming in the aquarium behind the bar as he finished the beer.

Yuba wandered over and ran a towel over the bar in front of him. There were questions in her eyes, but Louis understood suddenly that she wasn’t going to ask them. Palm Beach’s weird code of discretion extended even to bartenders, maybe especially to bartenders. It was okay for a married woman to pick up a stranger in a bar. It wasn’t okay for anyone to notice it had actually happened.

“Last call. Another beer?” Yuba asked.

Louis hesitated. Until this moment, he hadn’t decided what he was going to do.

“No, just the check, please.”

Outside, a cool breeze was blowing in from the ocean. The street was deserted. Louis paused, then headed away from South County Road. There was a black Jag idling in front of Tiffany’s. As he approached the passenger side, the tinted window whirred down.

Sam leaned over. “That was fifteen minutes.”