Kiss of death

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“IT’S BEAUTIFUL,” Whitney said. “Even more spectacular than I expected.”

“Why not? The homes around here start at a cool mil.”

They were sitting in the Frio-Frio-cool, cool-bar at Corona del Mar. They’d checked into their hotel in Cancún, changed clothes and had driven out here in their rented Mazda.

It was so humid, the short skirt on Whitney’s sundress was plastered to her legs by the time she walked from the air-conditioned hotel to the car. Mexico’s beaches were popular tourist destinations in the winter, but by this time of year, the temperature skyrocketed and visitors tapered off. Their hotel was only half-full, as was the bar at this expensive development.

“This seems too…too sophisticated for Miranda,” she told Adam.

“That doesn’t mean she isn’t working here. Tips must be great. Better than in Cancún. If she visited here last December, she could have lined up a job.”

“Possibly. Should I ask our waitress?”

A woman wearing a wraparound skirt in the coral and azure tropical pattern of the resort was heading their way with double margaritas. Whitney had brought photographs of Miranda that she’d doctored on the computer at Speedy Press yesterday morning. It was the shot taken of Miranda on the beach last December. One picture showed her as a blonde while Whitney had altered the other to make her cousin have black hair.

“Give it a try. Use the blond photo first.”

The waitress put down their drinks with a smile, and Whitney said, “I think my sister visited here.” She showed the woman the photograph. “Does she look familiar?”

“Fam-lar?”

Whitney realized the waitress spoke some English but not enough to understand the question. “Do…you…know…her?” she said with deliberate slowness.

The waitress squinted at the photograph, then shook her head. Whitney was ready and whipped out the second photograph. “See…her?”

The woman’s dark eyes studied the second photograph. “No se.”

The waitress left the table, and Adam said, “Miranda might not come in here. We can’t expect to find her at the first place we try.”

“True.” She hated to think this was a wild-goose chase, but it was a definite possibility. After the terrifying incident last night, it had seemed imperative that they find Miranda as soon as possible.

Whitney was still a little disturbed from the shock of the incident, and numbness had replaced the lingering questions. She couldn’t decide if someone had mistaken her for Miranda-which meant they’d followed her from home-or if it had merely been a dangerous prank. She refused to dwell on it. If she did, a wave of fear broke over her.

They sipped the slushy margaritas and gazed out at the sea. The sun had slipped into the ocean, leaving shimmering streamers of crimson and gold on the water. It was a very romantic setting, she decided.

If the stress of the situation hadn’t been so intense, she could have appreciated it. She really needed things to calm down so she could evaluate her true feelings for Adam. There was no denying he was a great guy. Last night and after the fire, he’d been the one to comfort her.

Despite cautioning herself to take this slow so she’d have the time and space to truly get over Ryan and his betrayal, events hadn’t permitted Whitney that luxury. She’d been pressed into an intimate relationship. There was the obvious attraction factor, but if what seemed to be developing between herself and Adam was merely chemistry, she might have dealt with it more easily. What she was feeling went deeper, meant more.

Over Adam’s shoulder she noticed their waitress was talking to the bartender. They kept looking in Whitney’s direction. The young bartender came out from behind the bamboo bar and headed toward their table.

Whitney kept her voice low. “Looks like our waitress told the bartender we’re searching for someone.”

“Buenas noches,” said the dark-haired man as he came up to their table.

They told him good-evening in Spanish, then complimented him on the excellent margaritas.

“Cuervo Gold,” he replied, and Whitney decided he meant the expensive tequila gave the margaritas their smooth yet distinctive flavor.

“Looking for someone?” the man asked.

“Mi hermana,” Whitney told him. My sister. It was a fib but it sounded better if Miranda was her sister.

The bartender pulled out a chair and sat down. Whitney tried to catch Adam’s eye, but he was studying the younger man.

“You don’t have to practice your tourist Spanish on me,” he told them. “I’m Cuban. From Miami. My English is perfect. I just work here during the season. It’s back to the States next week.”

Whitney smiled and wondered how much to tell this guy. After the incident with the car and the fire, she wasn’t in a very trusting mood these days. On the fly, she came up with a story.

“My mother is very ill.” She leaned closer to the bartender as if divulging a secret. “Cancer. She and my sister haven’t…”

Adam got the drift. “They haven’t spoken in almost three years. We think she’s down here but we don’t know where.”

“We’d like to find her and bring her home before it’s too late.” Whitney managed to add a touch of tears to her voice. She handed him the photo of the blond Miranda.

The bartender shrugged. “She looks like a lot of blondes whose parents have places here.” He gazed at Whitney for a moment. “I can see you’re sisters.”

Whitney tried for a smile and pulled out the second photograph with dark hair. “She may have dyed her hair.”

His eyes shifted from the photograph to Whitney. “I don’t recognize her, but not everyone comes into the bar.” He stood up. “Sorry I couldn’t help.”

They thanked him and the bartender hustled back to his station to serve a couple who’d just arrived. Whitney took another sip of her drink.

“What’s our next move?”

“Tonight, I think we should check the shops nearby on the off chance someone will recognize her. Then let’s get dinner and hit the sack early. Tomorrow we should come out here and speak to the sales office. They’ll have records of people who visited the resort to consider a purchase, and they may recognize Miranda.”

They chatted about Lyleen Foster, the pet concierge Whitney had asked to take care of her clients while she came here. Daniel had highly recommended the woman, but Whitney didn’t like giving her charges to someone she’d just met. She supposed they would be fine for a few days, but Lexi had taken off once already.

“I hope Lexi doesn’t try to run away again,” she told Adam.

“I’m sure she won’t.”

“I wish I felt as positive as you sound.”

“Look, I should-”

The bartender walked up and interrupted Adam. “You know, I’ve been thinking. This might be nothing, but…”

“But what?” Adam asked.

“Let me see the picture again. The one of the chick with black hair.”

Whitney produced the photograph and told herself not to get her hopes up.

The bartender squinted at the picture, then said, “She looks a little like Courtney Hampton but it’s hard to tell. Courtney’s hair is red and really short.”

Yes! Whitney silently screamed. Miranda’s hair was a sandy blond. It would be easier to conceal her roots if she kept it in one of the short, sassy cuts that were so popular.

“Courtney lives at the far end of the road. She and her husband came here last Christmas to look over the place. They purchased a villa not too long ago.”

Disappointment knotted inside her. It couldn’t be Miranda. She wouldn’t be with a husband.

“Her husband died. A sudden heart attack.” The bartender shook his head. “Not surprising. The dude was a lot older than Courtney.”

WHITNEY STOOD BESIDE ADAM at the door of the villa owned by the widow Courtney Hampton. It was located at the end of a cul-de-sac on a secluded cove. Apparently, the other owners had left for the season. The only lights in the area were on at this house.

Adam rang the bell and whispered in her ear, “Remember what I told you. Say as little as possible at first. Suspects often reveal much more if you just let them talk.”

It was a full minute before they heard anything. Muffled footsteps came through the arched wood door.

“Who is it?”

Whitney instantly recognized Miranda’s voice. She nodded enthusiastically at Adam, and he smiled.

“Miranda, it’s me, Whitney.”

Dead silence. For a moment, Whitney thought her cousin wasn’t going to open the door. Then it swung open. The woman before them had copper hair in a spiked pixie cut, but there was no mistaking Miranda Marshall.

“Whitney, I-I a-a-ah…”

Whitney barged in, followed by Adam. Miranda’s expression darkened with an unreadable emotion. A thousand questions pummeled Whitney’s brain but she waited to see what her cousin would say.

“W-what are you doing here?” Miranda asked.

Instead of responding, Whitney looked around. The interior was furnished in Key West mode with comfy-looking woven wicker chairs and a chaise lounge-style sofa in the living area just beyond the entry. There were no paintings or anything on the walls or accessories on the end tables. The only homey touch was a hint of cinnamon in the air that must have come from the candles flickering on the coffee table.

Whitney turned back to Miranda and glared at her. And waited.

“Why are you here?” Miranda repeated. “It isn’t even two weeks yet.”

Whitney realized Miranda was referring to her two-week “honeymoon.” Evidently, her cousin didn’t think anyone would miss her for at least two weeks. “Some honeymoon.”

Miranda reacted to the unbridled sarcasm in Whitney’s voice by wincing just slightly. “I know you must be upset, but I can explain.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

“Maybe we’d better sit down,” suggested Adam.

“Who are you?” asked Miranda.

“Adam Hunter.”

The air emptied from Miranda’s lungs in a rush. “Calvin’s nephew. Of course.”

She led them into a great room that faced the cove. The sun had set but there was still enough light to appreciate the fabulous view. Knowing Miranda was out here by herself, though, made it seem lonely and isolated. Whitney told herself not to feel sorry for her cousin until she knew more. Thanks to Miranda, she’d lost every possession she had-and was lucky to be alive.

Miranda took a chair while Adam and Whitney sat side by side on the sofa. Whitney let the silence lengthen.

Finally, Miranda spoke. “I didn’t want to lie to you, but…I needed to protect you.”

From what? Whitney wanted to scream, but Adam squeezed her hand to remind her to let Miranda talk.

“You see, I never expected you to appear on my doorstep, needing a place to stay. My plans were already in motion. I had to get out of town.” She waved her hand, gesturing to her surroundings. “We’d planned to come here. Everything was all set. I was just taking care of the final details when you surfaced out of nowhere.”

An uneasy hush followed her breathless explanation. Through the open doors that led outside, Whitney heard the soft purling of the surf on the sand.

“We?” prompted Adam.

Miranda studied Adam for a moment before saying, “Your uncle and I had been together for over two years. We planned to move here after-” she hesitated “-Cal stopped judging dog shows.”

Whitney waited, expecting Miranda to say more, but the only sound in the room was the waves on the shore, bringing a trace of salt into the cinnamon-scented room. Out of the corner of her eye, Whitney glanced at Adam and saw he was studying Miranda.

Finally, Whitney couldn’t stand the tension any longer. “Why would someone want you dead so badly that they would firebomb your house and nearly kill me?”

The thick lashes shadowing Miranda’s cheeks flew up. “What? Someone…”

“You heard me. Someone firebombed the cottage. By the grace of God, I wasn’t home at the time.”

Miranda stared at Whitney, her face stricken with horror. “What? I can’t imagine-” She jumped to her feet and rushed to the open doors that led out to the patio. Miranda faced the sea for a moment, then slowly returned to her chair. “I-I’m sorry-so sorry. I never thought it would come to this.” She frowned. “So soon. I didn’t expect anything to happen so soon.”

“Why don’t you explain it to us?” Adam asked, his voice sympathetic.

He must be playing the good cop, Whitney decided. He almost seemed like a stranger with no stake in these events. She was ready to scream at her cousin for not warning her about impending trouble.

“I-it’s a long story. I don’t know where to begin.”

“We have all night.” Adam glanced at Whitney. “Whitney nearly died. She’s lost everything she has-”

“Was Lexi killed?”

Whitney shook her head. “No. The dogs were with me, but the pipe bomb thrown into the cottage caused a fire. I lost everything but what I was wearing.”

“Oh my God.” Miranda closed her eyes for a moment, then directed her response to Adam. “I’d been living in the cottage awhile before I really got to know your uncle. He was away judging dog shows overseas most of the time. Then we started seeing more and more of each other. We fell in love.”

Whitney tried to imagine Miranda in love. Her cousin always had guys trailing after her, but she’d seemed older and more sophisticated than they were. Miranda had never been serious about any of them. Whitney could understand why an older, more worldly man would appeal to her cousin.

“Cal didn’t want me to work so hard. He began giving me money.”

“We know you were stripping at Saffron Blue,” Adam told her.

Miranda’s eyes flew in Whitney’s direction. A hint of crimson seemed to flower beneath her tan. “I did some stripping,” she replied apologetically.

“My uncle didn’t like that. Did he?”

A flicker of a smile brightened Miranda’s face. “No. Cal was old-fashioned in many ways. He insisted I quit.”

“He gave you three thousand dollars in cash at the beginning of every month, right?”

How did Adam know this? Whitney wondered, an uneasy feeling creeping through her.

Miranda nodded. “Yes. It wasn’t as much as I was making at Saffron Blue, but I didn’t need more.”

“What did you do with the insurance money you received from your parents’ death?” Whitney asked.

“I invested most of it in the stock market. Tech stocks were hot back then and I thought I would make a killing. At first, I did-on paper. Then I lost every penny. Luckily I’d kept some to live on, so I was able to help your mother when she needed it. That was the last of my money.”

A twinge of guilt passed through Whitney. She hadn’t known Miranda at all. She’d never considered her cousin to be the type who would risk money in the market, but she was wrong. It touched her that Miranda had used what little she’d had left to help Whitney’s mother.

“Last year Cal brought me down here,” continued Miranda. “I thought it was just a trip so he could fish.” She gazed wistfully out toward the ocean for a moment. “He adored fishing. He could spend hours bobbing up and down in a fishing boat waiting for a bite. I never saw the attraction. But what did it matter? I hung out on the beach, worked on my tan and read a book until sunset when the fishing boats came in.”

“Your passport doesn’t show any record of a visit here,” Adam said.

“Cal leased a jet. We took off from a private airport and landed on a private strip constructed especially for this development. I had my passport with me, but no one bothered to stamp it.”

Adam replied, “Private airfields are notoriously lax.”

“Turns out Cal wasn’t just interested in the fishing at Corona del Mar. He wanted to buy a place. He picked out this villa because of the view. He loved looking out at the ocean. You can see it from here, the kitchen and the master bedroom.” She drew in a slow, deliberate breath and tears welled up in her eyes. “Too bad he didn’t live to enjoy it.”

Adam stared at Miranda, his gaze intense. “How did my uncle die?”

“Early in the evening, Cal complained of chest pain. He’d never had heartburn, but he claimed that’s what it was.” Miranda flung out her hands in simple despair. “If only I’d taken him to the hospital, but I believed him. Later, we were in the office, checking the computer for the Cancún weather report, and he gasped.” She cast a pleading look at Adam, a lone tear dribbling down her cheek. “A loud gasp like nothing I’ve ever heard. It seemed as if Cal wanted to scream but couldn’t, then he slumped over in his chair. I tried to get a pulse. Nothing. I immediately dialed 911.”

“Why did you leave?” asked Adam. “No one was around when the paramedics arrived.”

“Cal always insisted we be very careful. He didn’t want anyone to know we were involved.” Her eyes darkened with fear. “In the days before he died, Cal said his life was in danger. I was afraid I might be killed.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Whitney cried.