Love, Art, and Murder – Mystery Romance - Page 74

“Yes.” He gulped some of his wine. “Not many people even knew she lived on the property, only a few of the servants, her nurse, and her guards.”

“But if she had guards around her, how did she get free to kill those women?”

“My security director and Dayanara’s nurse were a married couple who snuck moments together early in the morning when most people slept. The director would turn off the camera and go to the living area where they did whatever they did while Dayanara escaped. The police detective and I are still unsure of how she left her quarters, but we assume Reece helped.”

“How are you sure Reece and your mother were even involved?”

“My investigator found blood drops and hair matching both victims in Reece’s living quarters, and then the victim’s. . . body parts were uncovered in Dayanara’s room, with me right there.” He finished the glass and reached for the wine bottle with trembling fingers.

“No. Don’t drink anymore.” I took his glass out of his hand and moved his other one away from the bottle. “I know you went through a whole lot, but you don’t want to start drowning yourself in liquor. You’ll find that it’s easy to do, but by the time you realize it could start to be a problem, you’re already over that cliff.”

My father sleeping on the couch in urine-soaked clothes flashed in my mind. Life had battered him with hard moment after hard moment. Each time bad situations slammed and shoved him to the floor, he reached for a bottle. I didn’t want that to happen to Alvarez. “Come here.”

He scooted my way and sank into my open arms.

“Let’s not talk about any of this stuff anymore.” I rubbed his back. “I’m just so sorry you had to deal with all of that or even see what you saw tonight.”

“At least this is all over, finally.”

“Yes.”

The limo stopped. I peered out the window. A sign greeted my eyes with the words Ocean Drive. A voice sounded over the intercom. “Mr. Castillo, we’re approaching a traffic jam and will be five minutes late for the reservations. I will call ahead to notify them.”

Letting go of me, Alvarez pressed a button next to him. “Go ahead and cancel the reservations. I would like to take my lovely date for a walk around Ocean Drive. I’ll have security call you with our pick up location when we’re done.”

“Okay, sir.”

Alvarez hit his forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even ask you if strolling the drive was something you would like to do. I’m so used to being by myself and doing whatever I want.”

“No.” Anticipation surged through me. “Let’s go out there and have fun. No stress. No family problems. Only us and South Beach.”

“I love that.” He pressed his lips against mine and drew me into a long, succulent kiss that didn’t stop until the driver opened the door to let us out. It didn’t matter how many drinks Alvarez had devoured. He still possessed that one thing that triggered a scorching heat inside of my core. Everything warmed so badly that when I stepped out, my legs tingled and I swayed back.

“Are you okay?” Alvarez held me to him until I could get my balance.

“I’m fine.”

“Then welcome to Miami.”

Ocean Drive resembled a carnival of pleasure, one that propped up all desires and hung price tags on each need.

The canopies looked like tents and came in various shades. Crystal chandeliers hung from their centers in different shapes and sizes—teardrops, bulbs, cones, squares, and triangles. They glowed in bright tones from blushing pink to orange, ginger to violet, and draped the chatting patrons with light. The aroma of grilled fish and simmering sauces saturated the tents. And in the pathway of the carnival, people performed. Half-naked men and women strummed guitars, shook maracas, pounded on hourglass shaped drums, and sang out Spanish lyrics about love, revolution, and sex cloaked in metaphors of blossoming buds and erect sugarcane sticks.

The audience breathed it in. Men and women lounged at the tables in swimsuits or evening wear. Some clanked their drinks together. Others stared at the people who walked by.

“We’ve extended happy hour until nine.” One hostess blocked our way with ample cleavage. She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulders and winked at Alvarez. “You should really try us. I guarantee you’ll have an awesome time.”

“No thank you.” Alvarez guided me around her.

“Drinks are two for one and all entrees are half off tonight.” Another hostess from the restaurant farther down tapped my arm. I waved her away.

Chatter rose in the air and merged with piano music from high-end restaurants and salsa-infused techno songs from bars. And the sales pitches continued on and on, until we passed all of the main restaurants and entered the section with hotel lounges. Next came department stores full of mannequins that boasted double D wooden breasts and the tiniest shorts I’d ever seen. With every four or five blocks of business, a different faceless guy of any color loitered within the shadows and whispered, “Kush.”

Tags: Kenya Wright Mystery
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