Sunday Morning Going Up

At breakfast the next morning she was obviously happy, humming to herself, even stopping to do a little dance move for my benefit. I was glad she wasn't feeling any guilt about our night together.

She gave me a self-satisfied smile. "So how does it feel to be out from under suspicion of your wife's death?" The look on my face must have caused her to realize how that sounded, and she began to apologize, but I stopped her.

"It's alright, Gina, I knew what you meant. But the truth is I'm still concerned about what really did happen out there. Sheriff McGee seemed so convinced that a crime had been committed, and I'm wondering if he was right."

"Oh, Andy, you can't let that eat away at you. It was just a tragic accident, like the Coast Guard report said."

"Maybe," I said, "but the fact remains that Don Cavendish stood to gain a lot of money from his wife's death. And it seems just a little too convenient that he had such a perfect alibi set up at just the right time with witnesses who weren't even in the same location."

"Do you realize how paranoid that sounds?" Gina asked impatiently. "The cameras at Don's office showed him arriving at the office and staying there until the conference call ended, well after the explosion."

"Do you know where that office building is located?" I asked. "I'd like to go take a look at it."

Gina rolled her eyes, but she agreed to drive me over there.

When we got to the address, I saw a nondescript two-story commercial structure that offered a series of office "suites" for rental. With Gina reluctantly in tow, I walked around the building. The place had only two entrances, one in the front and one in the rear. The two were connected by a long hallway. Fixed commercial windows provided light; there appeared to be no other point of egress.

We went back to the front entrance and entered the lobby. A display board showed that Don Cavendish and Assoc. had a suite at the rear of the back of the building.

Just then a security guard came out of one of the suites and approached us. "Can I help you folks?" he asked.

Gina started to speak, but I grabbed her hand. "My colleague and I are looking for office space. By any chance is there an unleased office we could look at to see if these would meet our needs? We'd really appreciate it."

"Sure," he said, "there's no one in 115. Come on, I'll let you in."

As we followed the guard down the hall, Gina gave me a sharp look, but I ignored it.

The friendly watchman unlocked the door and held it open for us. "Feel free to look around all you want. When you leave, the door will lock automatically." Then he went on to complete his rounds.

The office space was unremarkable, and Gina asked, "What are we looking for?"

"I don't know," I said. "I'll know it when I see it."

We walked through a small reception area back into one of the offices. It had a floor-to-ceiling window with blinds embedded between the panes of glass. I stepped over to the window and bent down to examine it more closely.

When I read the logo on the little decal I found on the lower right-hand corner of the window frame, I jumped up in excitement and turned back to Gina. "I know this manufacturer," I told her. "I've used their windows in one of my projects."

"So?" she replied. "What's the significance of that?"

I pointed at her purse. "Do you by chance have a pair of nail clippers?"

She did, and when she handed them to me I walked over to the window and pointed to a small opening in the lower left-hand corner. "The building superintendent will have a special key for this, but the manufacturer's rep showed me how to do this if you lose the key."

With that I bent down, inserted the nail file attachment of the clippers into the slot and twisted. When I heard a click, I stood up, put my hand on the edge of the side of the window and pushed. The window promptly pivoted open, one edge rotating outside the building, the other rotating into the office.

Gina gasped.

I smiled in triumph. "It's a called a center-pivot window. It allows the cleaning staff to wash both sides of the window without having to go outside, which is a real advantage for the upper floors. But it also makes it possible for someone on the main floor to slip out of the building without using the hallway."

I closed the window and relocked it. Handing her nail clippers back to her, I took her arm. "Come on, we've got to try to find the Sheriff!"

"Wait!" Gina shouted so abruptly that I froze. "Andy, think about what you're doing. What are you going to tell the Sheriff: that it would have been physically possible for Don Cavendish to leave this building without being seen? Okay, but you have no evidence that he actually did so. And you have no evidence that he somehow made it out to the boat and set off an explosion. In fact, you have no evidence that anything happened other than the terrible accident that the Coast Guard report shows."

"Look," she went on, "the Sheriff didn't arrest you because the circumstantial evidence wasn't strong enough. He's certainly not going to arrest a prominent business leader from Ocala on even weaker evidence."

She took my arm. "Andy, I know you're upset about your wife and resentful of the accusations made about you. But you're going to look even worse if you go off half-cocked about a murder. It was an accident – just let it go."

I knew there was a lot of truth in what she was saying, but my gut kept telling me I wasn't wrong. I looked up at Gina. "Alright, I'll stay away from Sheriff McGee for now, but I want to go talk to Cavendish and hear what he has to say."

Gina looked down at the floor. "You can't do that, Andy," she said quietly.

"Why not?" I demanded.

"Because he's left town," she said. "I tried to reach him to get some information," she explained, "and his office told me he'd left Ocala and would be gone indefinitely."

"You see," I shouted, "I knew he had something to hide!"

She looked at me sadly. "Andy, go back to Orlando. Take care of your business, try to restart your life. If you'll just accept the fact that Felicia died in a tragic accident, you'll be a lot happier." Then she came up to me and kissed me gently. "Please, Andy. I really care about you. I don't want to see you waste your life consumed by conspiracy theories."

As I drove back toward Orlando, my mind was still churning. Despite what Gina had said, it seemed to me there were way too many coincidences for this to have been an accident. Cavendish just happened to have had a conference call that prevented him from going out on the boat. But the call was with colleagues out of town who could only confirm he was on the call, not that he was in his office. And then there were those jerry cans of gasoline. Don just happened to pick up the beer cooler so I'd have to carry the cans and get my fingerprints all over them. And Mia had just happened to keep me going all night so that I was exhausted the next day. No, wait, that couldn't be right – that would mean Mia had been involved in her own death.

I shook my head wearily. I just couldn't put all the pieces together. Maybe Gina was right, maybe I just needed to let it go.

I threw myself into my work the next week. I had a lot to do anyway, but I also hoped that focusing on my business would get my mind off what had happened. To an extent, it worked, but at night I'd find myself drawing diagrams and plotting timelines, trying to come up with a reasonable scenario.

I was just finishing up a project late on Thursday afternoon when I heard someone come into my office. Looking up, I was astonished to see Gina standing there in a pretty dress, holding something behind her back. "Gina," I said, "what are you doing here?"

She brought her hand in front of her to reveal a bottle of champagne. "I'm here to celebrate with you," she said with a smile. "The Sheriff formally closed his investigation on the explosion. It's officially considered an accident at sea. You're off the hook, Andy."

I came around the desk to stand beside her. "That's good news, Gina. I really appreciate all you've done for me."

Then I took the champagne bottle out of her hands and set it on my desk. Taking her hands in mine, I looked at her carefully. "What's going on, Gina? Why are you really here?"

The too-cheerful smile dropped from her face to be replaced by a more serious expression. "I wanted to see you again, Andy. Don't worry – I'm not in love with you. But the two of us have a lot in common. We're lonely, we've both lost loved ones," – she looked up at me with a shy smile – "and we're both horny. I'll leave if you want me to, but I thought we could help each other out, just for a night."

I thought about what she'd said and realized that she was right. I wasn't going to fall in love with her, especially not so soon after losing Felicia. But I really didn't have anyone to help me get through the loneliness and, if I were honest with myself, I was horny.

I smiled at her. "I have an idea. Why don't you come to my place and I'll fix dinner for the two of us."

Her happy smile made me glad I'd made the offer.

While Gina wandered around my condo sipping champagne, I set to work preparing dinner. I'm not a great chef but I make a mean shrimp in garlic sauce with black beans and rice. I had some peeled shrimp in the refrigerator that I butterflied while the grill heated up. Gina helped me by mashing the garlic into a paste for the mojo. I cheated on the black beans, opening a can from the store, but with the spices, onions and peppers they still tasted fine.

By the time everything was ready, we were both really hungry, and we made short work of the meal. I deliberately kept the conversation away from the events that had brought us together in the first place, especially avoiding mentioning my suspicions about Don Cavendish. That would only set off an argument, and I didn't want any conflicts.

Everything seemed to be going well until after dinner when I made the mistake of asking Gina how her law practice was going. Her face fell, and I realized belatedly that getting away from the office was probably one of the reasons that she'd driven all the way to Orlando. She tearfully told me that the work she'd been getting from the resort had dried up and that she was having trouble making ends meet. I also suspected that she hadn't heard from her boyfriend, and their relationship -- or lack thereof -- was taking a toll on her.

There wasn't much I could say to encourage her but I held her and tried to be supportive. After a while she looked up and gave me a little kiss of gratitude. A moment later I saw another emotion rise in her eyes, and she kissed me again, this time with real passion. Then she squirmed around to straddle my lap, kissing me frantically as she started to pant.

Her excitement was infectious and I found myself responding in similar fashion. I picked her up and carried her into my bedroom, where we both began to pull at each other's clothes. Just like the last time, sex between us was hurried, needy and ultimately very satisfying.

We both drifted off to sleep and didn't awaken until the early morning hours. Once again she pulled me to her, and I was happy to oblige. I might not be in love with her, but she was a sweet and sexy woman. I couldn't help but care about her.

As we lay there in bed afterwards, she sat up and got a serious look on her face. "There's something I have to tell you," she said, and I tensed, wondering what was coming. She looked almost embarrassed.

"I think I know where Don Cavendish is," she said.

"Where?" I demanded, sitting up in bed, my heart rate accelerating.

"I went over to the resort to see if they had any work for me, and in the office I spotted a package in the outgoing mail with Don's name on it. The address was in Lake Tahoe. I wrote it down for you."

I started to get out of bed, but she grabbed my arm. "There's something else," she said, "but I'm not sure what it means. I found out that Don's business is a major investor in the Paradiso."

I started getting dressed. "I don't know the significance either, but I do know that I'm going to Tahoe. I have to get to Cavendish and find out what really happened."

"Wait," Gina said, "I want to come with you."

"No!" I said sharply. "This is my concern, not yours. Besides, if what I suspect is right, it could get dangerous. You need to go back to Inverness. I'll let you know what I find out."

She reluctantly agreed and soon left. I called my office to let them know I wouldn't be in, then started checking flights to Lake Tahoe. My best bet was a Southwest flight to Reno that left at mid-morning. I hurried to get to the airport on time.

When my flight finally arrived at Reno-Tahoe International, I discovered that I'd made one strategic oversight: I'd failed to check the weather. An early snowstorm had blanketed the entire area. For a guy who had lived his whole life in sunny Florida, this was a real problem. Nevertheless, I vowed that I wouldn't be intimidated. Lots of other people had adapted to the snow; I'd just have to do it too.

Luckily I was able to rent a four-wheel-drive vehicle at the airport, and paid the extra for a set of chains. Then I set out to do a little shopping in Reno. When I finished my errands it was getting pretty late, so I found an inexpensive motel and settled in with some take-out food. I figured it would be smarter to set out for Lake Tahoe in the morning light.

After breakfast I headed south on I 580, then turned west on Nevada 431. The roads had been plowed and the traffic had melted most of the remaining snow, so I made pretty good time. When I came to Galena Creek Park, I pulled in and put the chains on the tires because the snow was getting thicker on the road as the elevation increased

Mount Rose Highway was a nightmare: heavy snow, sharp turns and a constant climb. I wondered about all the tall red poles along the side of the highway until I realized they were there to guide the snowplows. "My God," I thought, "does the snow really get that deep?"

Finally I began to make the descent down to Lake Tahoe. In some ways the downhill drive was even scarier because I knew that if I lost traction there were many stretches where I could wind up in the icy lake. But finally I pulled safely into South Lake Tahoe in the early afternoon. It had taken me three hours to drive 40 miles! I was worn out, so I pulled into the MontBleu, one of the first major casino-hotels I came to.

Once I had checked into a room and rested for a bit, I took my rental SUV and drove out to scout the address Gina had given me for Cavendish's place. The GPS system led me up a hillside road until I came to a Swiss-style chalet with a spectacular view of the lake. My builder's eye told me the place had to be almost 10,000 square feet, which made it the largest chalet I'd ever seen.

But with more snow falling and the light fading fast, I didn't want to risk making a mistake in the dark and getting discovered – or worse – so I headed back to the MontBleu. Once there, I went to The Zone and had a burger and beer while watching football on the big screen tv. They were showing the Miami game, and it gave me a good feeling to see the Hurricanes whip up on an SEC rival.

After the game I decided to check out the casino before going up to my room. Despite the weather there were lots of people there. As I walked through the area, I glanced over at the blackjack table and nearly gasped out loud. There was Don Cavendish, and from the size of the stack of chips in front of him, he seemed to be doing pretty well. For that matter, judging by the tall long-haired blonde standing behind him, he was doing pretty well in that area as well. She was hot enough to be a hooker, but you never know: guys with his kind of money seem to attract attractive women like sugar attracts ants.

I didn't want to confront him there so I stepped behind a group of people and watched. After awhile he scooped up his winnings and he and his companion headed for the cashier's window. "Stick to the plan," I told myself. "Wait till tomorrow."

With that I headed back upstairs to my room, but sleep didn't come easily. Actually seeing Cavendish again brought back a swarm of painful memories. At the same time, I kept wondering what tomorrow might bring. I'm not sure when I drifted off to sleep, but I know it was late.

After grabbing a quick breakfast the next morning, I went back up to my room to prepare for the encounter. In Reno I'd gone to a sporting goods store and bought a combination of skiing and climbing gear that the salesman swore would keep me warm. I figured I'd need all of it.

The other thing I'd done in Reno was to visit a gun show I'd learned about on the Internet. When he found out I was from Florida, the small gun dealer I met at the show told me I'd have to place an order and wait to get the automatic I wanted to buy. But I told him I was eager to do some target shooting that weekend, and an extra $100 persuaded him to ignore the requirement. He even threw in a box of ammunition.

With the automatic in my pocket, I packed my bags and checked out of my room. I figured that I wouldn't be coming back to the casino, one way or another.

I'd been in a somber mood as I was getting ready. When I went outside and saw how much snow had fallen overnight, my mood got even darker.

I carefully drove back up to where Cavendish's aerie was perched, thankful for the chains on my tires. I decided to park down around a bend in the road so he wouldn't spot my SUV. I didn't see any tire tracks on the road; assuming Cavendish had gone home last night, he must still be there. The smoke I spotted rising from his chimney gave me even more confidence that my timing was good.

Despite being only a hundred yards, the hike up the hill to his house was difficult in the snow. I was panting by the time I reached his place and crouched behind some trees.

The house's security system looked like a good one, but after working in construction, I knew something about how they're installed and how to breach them without triggering an alarm. It only took me a couple of minutes' work with the pry bar and screwdriver I'd brought along. Then I took a deep breath. It was time.

The window that I'd jimmied opened into what appeared to be an unoccupied guest bedroom. Even better, the carpet on the floor muffled my footsteps. I eased open the door and looked out into a long hallway. Light came from one end, so I headed in that direction.

As I neared the end of the carpeted hallway, I spotted Cavendish sitting at the dining room table going over some papers. But as I stepped into the greatroom, the floorboard creaked and his head shot up. He sprang to his feet, but I leveled the automatic at him and ordered him to stay where he was.

When I got close enough for him to see me clearly, his face relaxed into an insolent grin. "Well, well, Andy Salazar. You're the last person I'd expect to see here."

"Give it up, Cavendish," I snarled at him. "I know you blew the boat up, and I know how you did it."

He just stared at me, so I pressed on, trying to shake his confidence. "The conference call was easy: with a cellphone you could have taken that call from anywhere and your colleagues would never know."

"Figuring out how you spoofed the video from the office building was trickier until I went over there and saw the center pivot windows. Not many people realize how easy they are to open if you know the trick."

I saw a flicker in his eyes and I thought I might be getting to him. "Getting out to the yacht must have been a cinch. You probably had a motorboat waiting for you."

"No," he said arrogantly, "it was a Ski-doo – even faster and easier to conceal. And since I had on a wetsuit, no one recognized me."