“I do know. I know a lot about him.”
“Then with all your spies, listening devices and drones, you realize I have other cases that need my attention. What’s he done? He’s a longtime friend, and I’d work pro bono for him. But I believe he has money flowing in, thanks to your leasing his Fountain of Youth water supply for your so-called health drink Youth Do, as well as the cosmetic firm Fresh Dew corporations.”
“I’m honored how closely you follow my career and my gifts to mankind through those excellent products. Now, Nick, sadly, my friend and yours, Haze Hazelton, is in dire straits.”
“Is he being sued for that phony water you use and promote? You have to know that spring his family has owned for years, though it may be worth megamillions, is bogus.”
“Nick, Nick. I’d have to sue you for slander and libel if you ever said that in public, but I need you to say just the opposite. I know you’ve kept your mouth shut for years since your friend believes in his sparkling waters. Worse, you simply must keep up with current events in your own backyard, so to speak. Our mutual friend Haze has something bigger to face. A dreadful murder occurred in Goodland yesterday, and he is the number one suspect, though the police haven’t arrested him yet.”
Nick sucked in a breath. “I—I didn’t know.”
“Quite simply, he’ll need you to defend him. I’m sure he’s been calling your office. He could be arrested any day now for, as they say on TV, murder one.”
“Who’s he accused of killing?”
Ames ignored that and went on, “And when you do defend him in the media or the public venue of the court, be sure to extol the virtues and the claim that the Goodland water’s curative and youth-giving powers are valid and that my products are not only health-giving but anti-aging. You see, the person he’s accused of killing said just the opposite.”
Nick snorted. Though he’d let Haze have his pipe dream, he’d always figured the miraculous water was all hype and lies. Scientists were on his side that the $292 billion global industry of turning back time in the human body was mostly smoke and mirrors. Desperate Americans were anti-aging crazy, and that was driving the sales of any new book, supplement, food or drink that held the promise of eternal health and life. And the government only controlled meds and food, so that meant the selling of water or cosmetic products that were mostly water was outside their jurisdiction.
Nick asked, “I repeat, he’s likely to be accused of killing whom?”
“I assume you’re familiar with that mouthy rebel Mark Stirling, owner-editor of the Marco Island newspaper, The Burrowing Owl, rag that it is. It’s been attacking Haze’s claim that the spring he owns is indeed Ponce de León’s fountain, instead of that one in St. Augustine. But, you see, that’s the same as attacking my company’s claims and my reputation. Before his sad demise, Stirling had even—let’s say—‘burrowed’ his way into probing my offshore profits from the Dew and Do corporations, just when they are starting to take off big-time with the huge Gen-X and millennial markets as well as the aging baby boomers.”
“Haze wouldn’t kill anyone. I’ve known him for years.”
“Precisely, and you can defend him well and get him to avoid a silly expose-the-false-advertising case. Keep your Markwood, Benton and Chase law firm going, but on this case you and your firm will really be working for me—as a priority. That way you and yours, as they say, won’t be endangered like the poor, vulnerable little fish sometimes eaten in my aquariums.”
Again, Nick had to fight to keep from vaulting out of his chair and pounding Ames. But he knew a guard would rush in, and Claire and Lexi would suffer too.
“So, do we have a deal?” Ames asked. “For the wedding and your loyalty to me in the Goodland case?” He extended his hand.
“Do I have a choice? But that’s how you play the game.”
“Nick, it’s not a game. I’m deadly, deadly serious.”
“Did one of your spies or hit men kill Stirling? I’ve always known you killed my father, but you operate through others now. You had everything to lose if this Stirling probed deeper and turned up your offshore accounts.”
“How insulting and outrageous. Although Haze hasn’t been arrested yet since Stirling had other enemies, I expect you and your clever little forensic psychologist bride can ferret out enough other suspects to muddy the police investigation waters. Meanwhile, after your nuptials, you might want to read the Naples Daily News online for today. I believe they’re dubbing Stirling’s sad demise the Mangrove Murder, since his battered body was wedged under mangrove roots not far from that precious ‘fountain of youth.’ Nick, win that case for your friend Haze Hazelton—and for me.”
Hating this man, hating himself and the trap he was in, Nick thrust out his hand and they shook on it. No contract, though Ames had earlier mentioned signing on the dotted line. He must have meant the marriage license.
* * *
When she heard Ames’s voice behind her, Claire finally turned away from gazing at Lexi. Nick followed him out onto the balcony, which another housemaid was already setting up for the wedding with a long, damask-covered buffet table and an arched trellis under which they’d take their vows. Unbelievable. She cared for Nick and he cared for her but not to this degree, at least not yet. They’d have to come to an understanding, to set some rules. How well did she really know the man she was expected to live with, sleep with? A forced marriage, a different sort of shotgun wedding.
“Boring business all concluded,” Ames said with a clap of his hands, and a tight smile. “I’m sure your intended will share with you later what we intend, Claire.” He chuckled at his play on words again. “And,” he went on, “I’ve just sent someone to bring Lexi over so we can move on to wedding plans.”
She noted a man in casual clothes, big-shouldered and tall, walking toward Lexi and the women, though she wasn’t sure where he’d emerged from. Not this house while she was standing here. Did Ames have this entire property surrounded by guards?
She squinted through the sinking sun to her right side, still trying to keep an eye on Lexi. At least they hadn’t locked her up or, from the looks of it, terrified her. The Disney world of princesses and fairies was still real to her at times, so why not a Cinderella fantasy that her mother would marry Prince Nick in a distant land called Grand Cayman?
“Good,” she finally said to Ames. “Nick, is everything decided?”
Ames answered for him. “It is, and he can explain it all to you later. We have only about an hour before the celebrant will be here to have you sign the special visitor’s marriage license to make things legal in the British territory. Needless to say, the Caymans are often a destination wedding site, and this lovely event is one of my gifts to you. The dresses and Nick’s suit are laid out in bedrooms on this level, and I’ll bring Lexi right in to see you, Claire. I’m sure both of you, bride and groom, will say the appropriate vows and answer any questions from the celebrant to his—and my—satisfaction. And that includes calling me Paul Kilcorse this evening, not Clayton Ames.”
Nick merely nodded. No wonder, Claire thought, Nick and his tech team hadn’t been able to trace or locate him here. In Grand Cayman, Clayton Ames didn’t exist.
“Jemma,” Ames said, turning to the woman who had silently watched Claire, “please escort the bride to her room. Oh, and I’m pleased to say, Nick, now that things are settled between us after all these years, I will stand as your best man this evening, while Lexi does double duty for Claire. After all, now that you are working for and answer to me, I am your best man.”
As he turned away, Ames again chuckled at his own lame joke. Nick shot Claire a quick look she couldn’t read. Did it say, I’m sorry or At least we’ll all survive this—or I do love you, despite everything?
As Nick followed Ames into the house, Claire