Sylvie's Cowboy by Iris Chacon

Author:Iris Chacon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: murder, humor, cowboy, rancher, palm beach, faked death, inherit, clewiston, spoiled heroine, polo club

A couple hours east of the McGurk ranch, Dan Stern’s car sped southward on I-95 toward downtown Miami. Behind Stern’s car, a black limousine wove left and right, lane to lane until it reached a position just off Dan’s rear bumper.

The interstate was always crowded, and the entire commuter herd was stampeding at more than seventy miles per hour. The black limousine thumped the rear of Dan’s car.

Dan felt the jolt and reacted with a look in his mirror. His phone rang. He reached for the handset, looked nervously in the rearview mirror, then punched the speaker button instead. He spoke into the microphone on his sunvisor. “Hello?”

Hugo’s voice was unmistakable. It oozed from the speaker like oily black smoke. “We read the papers, Danny Boy. Your deal with the Nipponese fell apart. We want our money, Danny.”

The limo thumped his bumper again, nearly sending Dan into the traffic rushing by on either side of him on the multi-lane freeway.

Dan clutched the steering wheel for dear life. “Are you crazy? You’ll get us all killed!”

“Only one of us, Danny,” the smoky voice said.

“Look, I’m on my way right now to meet a guy and take him to look at the project. I’ll get the money.”

“You bet you will,” said Hugo. “And that’s one bet we’ll be happy to cover.”

The phone went dead. The limo swerved around Dan and swooped past him as if he were standing still. Dan wiped sweat from his face with trembling fingers.

…

Forty-five minutes later Leslye Larrimore stepped off the elevator at Pace-Larrimore-Stern, briefcase in hand, and crossed the lobby to her office.

Her secretary looked up from typing when Les entered. “Good morning, Ms. Larrimore.”

“Pardon? Oh. Morning.” Leslie fumbled for her new key then wrestled with the lock on her private office.

“I didn’t have a key,” Diane apologized. “I would have tidied up a little—”

“That’s all right,” Leslye interrupted. “It’s fine like it is.” The lock finally tumbled and Leslie pushed through the doorway.

“Are you all right?” asked Diane. Too late. Les was gone, closing the door behind her.

Leslye ignored the draped model of Pace Tower as she made a beeline for the desk, dropped her briefcase, and unlocked a drawer. She popped a pill and washed it down with a gulp from her silver flask. She finished with a breath spray then re-locked the drawer and finger-combed her hair.

Diane’s voice came over the intercom of the desk phone. “Ms. Larrimore? Would you like me to bring you some coffee?”

“No, thank you, Diane. Has Mr. Stern called?”

“He called from his car about forty minutes ago. He and Mr. McGurk should be here soon.”

“Good. Buzz me when they get here.” Leslye skirted her desk and approached the model table. When she removed the drape, she reacted with horror. The Pace Tower model was a shambles, as if someone had smashed it with a sledgehammer and then taken a blowtorch to it.

“Diane!” shouted Les.

Momentarily, Diane opened the door, alarmed. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Who’s been in here!?”

“No one, Ms. Larrimore. You have the only key.

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