Read Online The Little Death by P.J. Parrish - Free Book Online Page A

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 hereyes. “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 fishswimming 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.”
    “My watch runs slow,” Louis said.
    “Get in,” she said.
    He slid into the cocoon of leather and orange dash lights. The door shut with a soft
shood
sound, and the tinted window went up. It was quiet, the outside world gone.
    “Where are we going?” Louis asked.
    “For a ride,” Sam said.
    The Jag pulled away from the curb. A couple of turns and a detour through a residential area, and they were on the road that ran along the beach, heading south.
    The condominiums soon gave way to mansionsset on sweeping lawns on one side of the road, private beaches on the other. The farther south they went, the bigger and more isolated the huge estates seemed to become. Greek temples gleaming white in the moonlight, mini–Versailles palaces, sprawling Spanish villas glowering behind gates.
    Louis strained to look back as they passed a huge place that looked for all the world like that onion-domed cathedral in Russia.
    “So, where are you from?” Sam asked finally.
    “I live on Captiva,” Louis said.
    “Really? Do you know where Marco Island is?”
    “Over by Naples.”
    “I have a little