Chapter 33

Julie sat in a comfortable swivel chair at the kitchen bar, admiring David’s expertise as he prepared dinner. They were sharing some Brie and crackers and sipping Chardonnay, when she commented on the wine. David sat down next to her, took a sip, and began explaining the process that produced such a smooth, buttery taste.

Julie had no doubts about David but, now that he was sitting down instead of moving confidently around the kitchen, she couldn’t help noticing some classic signs of concealment.

David’s ankles were locked tight, even though he was passionate about wine and loved talking about it. He was markedly less animated …except for one odd gesture: He kept raising his hand to his mouth, like someone plagued with dental problems or shyness…neither of which applied.

Julie decided that he was literally “holding his tongue”. There was something he was afraid to talk about.

“David, why didn’t you tell me about Holiday Cruise Lines offer to buy the island?” she asked.

“Castle Cay? Why?” A puzzled frown settled on his face. “I don’t have anything to do with the island. I’ve never even been there. What does that have to do with me? Especially now?”

Well, that’s not his big secret, thought Julie. She couldn’t help smiling. I hope you don’t play poker, David.

I don’t know,” she said, her mind returning to the sale. “It’s just a lot of money…and because the sale coincides with Marc’s death. Didn’t you think it was odd?”

“No, I didn’t, really,” he said. “Marc wanted to sell it. He said that no one ever used it.” His expression turned sympathetic.

“Marc told me what happened to you there, Julie. I felt so bad when I heard it; that was a horrible thing.”

“Yes. It was,” she said, pausing. “Neither of us had any reason to like the place. I was surprised when I heard the two of you were planning a trip there.

“So…you didn’t go.”

“No. Marc wanted to see the island again before it was sold. He wanted me to see it, too, but we never had the chance.”

“I’m sorry, David. I know how terribly you miss him. I do, too.”

David set down his wine glass, leaned over and hugged her.

“It’s hard to be alone,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He was a sweet man. Julie wished he would confide in her.

The doorbell rang.

“That must be Rolly. I invited him for dinner.”

“I’ll get it,” said Julie, going to the door.

Rolly Archer was a handsome guy with brown hair that brushed his collar, a little taller and more muscular than David. He wore a rose-colored silk shirt, pale linen slacks and boat shoes. He looked like a model, the clothes hanging comfortably on his frame.

“Hi, Rolly. C’mon in,” she said. “David’s up to his old tricks in the kitchen.”

But David was out of the kitchen. He met Rolly halfway there and tearfully hugged him tight.

David’s eyes briefly caught hers.

“Come sit down, I’ll get you a glass of wine,” he said quickly to Rolly, leading the way over to the bar.

The three of them stayed seated there for an informal dinner. In tacit agreement, they didn’t mention Marc’s death during their meal. Instead, they talked about the breezy weather, the local art scene and the Sandpiper Gallery, which was owned by Marc and his agent, Susan Dwyer.

Julie noted that the guarded behavior David had displayed earlier had disappeared in Rolly’s company. Instead, he was subtly preening: tugging at his collar one minute and running his hands through his hair the next.

So that was your secret, David, thought Julie. Rolly is your lover. For how long, I wonder?

They were enjoying the strawberry shortcake when the doorbell rang. David went to answer it.

Suddenly, he was confronted with video cams and police.

“David Harris? You’re under arrest for the murder of Marcus Solomon.”

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