Read Online Fifth Victim by Zoe Sharp - Free Book Online Page B

Dempsey had briefly proved the bane of my life, trying to protect her old-monied family from threats largely manufactured by their own wilful teenage daughter. Caroline Willner’s fears for Dina, by comparison, were mild and unjustified.
    I jerked my head towards the limo. ‘I see you’ve progressed from sneaking out over the castle wall at night.’
    ‘Yeah, my trust fund finally kicked in.’
    I nodded slowly. ‘How is your father these days?’
    ‘He’s dead,’ she said with a ripe satisfaction, and when that failed to elicit the expected response, she added reluctantly, ‘Natural causes, I’m sorry to say. The old bastard had a stroke.’
    Well, you’ve been doing your best to bring that on since you were fourteen .
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘Don’t be,’ she said with spirit that held more than a touch of bravado. ‘I’m not.’
    Benedict made an impatient noise in his throat. ‘Sorry to break up the touching reunion,’ he said acidly, ‘but are we gonna stand around here all night, or are we getting on the damned boat?’
    Torquil jerked out of stasis. ‘Yeah, uh, let’s go aboard.’ He brushed past me without eye contact and shook his head briefly to the two gorillas. They shrugged and turned away. Manda determinedly took Dina’s arm again.
    With Torquil in the lead, we followed him along the network of jetties, through another security gate, and approached what must have been the largest and most luxurious vessel in the place. I let out a low whistle under my breath. With an unblemished dark-blue hull, white upper decks and tinted glass, the superyacht’s huge superstructure was raked back so that it seemed to be moving at high speed even lying graceful at its berth. It screamed of money and class.
    The yacht must have been the best part of three hundred feet long. It was wider than a house. I counted about four separate deck levels, plus a helicopter pad. Every deck had big sliding glass doors that opened out onto private balconies, and most had a jacuzzi or a hot tub. Even by Long Island standards, the whole thing was a monstrous display of wealth.
    As we neared it, the yacht suddenly lit up, underwater neon turning the surrounding water into an ice-blue glow and sending any aquatic life scattering. Deck lights blazed. There was an audible intake of breath from those approaching, and Torquil turned to catch the reaction. It must have been all he hoped for, because he treated us to a wide smile, the first sign of genuine pleasure he’d shown all evening.
    Short of grappling hooks, the only way to scale the endless smooth sides of the yacht was via the lower deck area at the stern, presumably for diving or swimming – although why you’d want to get into the nasty old sea when there were so many private swimming pools on board was anybody’s guess.
    Two crewmen wearing an approximation of naval officers’ white dress uniform were standing by to help us along the short gangplank. A gently curving staircase led to the next level, a pool deck, with yet more discreet neon under the water and flanked by sunloungers. I took one look at the acres of teak decking on view and was glad my evening shoes did not have the kind of spiked heels that would leave a trail of damage. Nobody else seemed to bother.
    More crew appeared with trays of canapés and drinks, their faces carefully blank to the revelry winding itself into full swing around them. The yacht boasted a sound system with external speakers that must have had half the harbour reverberating to the beat. After about ten minutes, I began to wish I’d brought the ear defenders I normally reserved for visits to the gun range.
    It was the kind of party where several people were bound to end up flinging themselves, shrieking, into one of the pools before the night was out – either fully clothed or completely naked, take your pick.
    Nobody seemed to bother much about that, either.
    I tried to keep a careful eye on Dina without gluing myself to her