The Deep Blue Alibi by Paul Levine

Author:Paul Levine [Levine, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Mystery, Miami (Fla.), Fiction, Mystery Fiction, Legal, Thrillers, General, Mystery & Detective, Legal Stories, Suspense Fiction, Legal Ethics, Man-Woman Relationships, Trials (Murder), Humour, Florida, Thriller
ISBN: 9780440242741
Google: R1tRnswWgYAC
Amazon: 0440242746
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2006-01-31T05:00:00+00:00

Twenty-seven

TO SNOOP OR NOT

TO SNOOP

Standing in the galley of his houseboat, Herbert Solomon crushed fresh mint leaves while he peppered Steve with questions. “Did you know Billy Wahoo’s been talking about you on the radio?”

“Billy Wahoo’s a moron.”

“A caller asked why you didn’t get eaten by sharks when you went into the channel, and Billy said it had to be professional courtesy.”

“A moron who needs new material.”

It was the day after the visit to Havana Viejo and Steve’s brain trust—his father and his nephew—were dispensing their opinions. As he talked, Herbert used a handpress to squeeze a stalk of sugarcane, dribbling sweet guarapo into a glass filled with ice cubes. “Billy asked his listeners if they thought you had an accident or if someone was out to get you because of Griffin’s case.”

“Yeah?”

“Majority think you’re just another lousy driver from Miami.” Herbert poured a healthy portion of rum into the glass, added some fresh lime juice, a splash of club soda, and mint leaves. “So did that Cuban gal have something to do with attacking you?”

“No way,” Steve said.

“No way, José,” Bobby agreed.

“Delia’s emotional but she wouldn’t resort to violence.”

Herbert tasted his concoction, nodded his approval. “What’s Victoria think?”

“She says any number of women would like to run me off the road.”

“That why she didn’t stay here last night?”

“Vic sleeps better in the hotel.”

“Uh-huh. How long’s it been?”

“What?”

“Since you two humped?”

“Jeez, Dad. There’s a child present.”

“Steve humps Victoria,” Bobby said. “Wanna see what I can do with that?”

“Don’t do it, Bobby. No dirty anagrams today.”

“HIS STUMP OVERACTIVE!” Bobby rearranging the letters almost as fast as Steve told him not to.

“He wishes.” Herbert took a pull on his drink and turned to Steve. “When ah was your age, your mom and ah did it every day. Some men sneak out for nooners with their mistresses. Ah’d go home for lunch and have a quickie with mah wife.”

“If it’s okay with you, Dad, I’d rather not picture you and Mom in the bedroom.”

“Wasn’t time for the bedroom. We’d do it standing up in the kitchen.” Herbert polished off the mojito. “Son, you be careful you don’t lose that gal.”

Sitting at the galley table, working on his laptop computer, Bobby pretended not to listen. He had found a website with live satellite photos of the Florida Keys and was looking for nude beaches. Steve was sprawled on a love seat. His headache had gone from a roaring avalanche to a dull thud. Overhead, a paddle fan stirred the moist air.

“You told me Pinky Luber had some scary friends,” Steve said. “Any of them ride Harleys?”

“You’re digging in the wrong pea patch,” Herbert said. “Pinky would never jeopardize a child.”

“Meaning me, Uncle Steve. Not you.” Bobby clicked the mouse, zoomed on a satellite photo. “Look, I got a shot of Pirates Cove. You can see the top deck of Gramps’ houseboat.”

For a moment, Steve wondered if Bobby could get a photo of the Pier House, peer into the windows of Victoria’s room, look into the deepest corners of her heart.

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