WOKE UP THE following morning, Brad and Sandy’s boat was gone.
Even though he’d been bothered by their presence, he found their absence alarming.
Once again, he headed out to dive the area where he was certain that Brad had cast something overboard, though he was aware that both Lee and Matt, back on the boat, were convinced he wouldn’t find anything.
He was close to shore, and there was a lot of seaweed in the area. Though the seas were relatively calm, the sand seemed to be rising; the area was murky.
A large grouper came quizzically toward him, stared at him, apparently found nothing of interest and moved on. A small horseshoe crab, sensing danger, dug more deeply into the sand. A tang, far from the reefs, shot by.
Hands clasped behind his back, fins barely moving, he went over and over the area, trying to follow a grid. He wasn’t deep, maybe twenty-five feet, so he could have stayed forever. But he began to wonder himself if he wasn’t crazy. Maybe Brad hadn’t really dumped anything. Or maybe the guy was a pot smoker and had tossed out his stash. Fish miles away could be chewing it up by now.
The sound of his own breathing was getting monotonous. He usually liked the sound. It was peaceful, just like diving, but now, he was aggravated, looking for what he couldn’t find—just as it seemed he had been doing day after day.
A clown fish darted past his mask. A small eel slithered up from the sand and made a hasty retreat.
Though it seemed pointless, he retraced the area for the tenth time, even as the water began to turn chilly.
Just when he was about to give up in total disgust, he saw it.
At first he wasn’t quite sure what he had found. He saw it in the sand. He reached out, dusted sand away, picked it up.
Stared.
Stopped breathing, the cardinal sin in diving.
Gulped in air again.
And knew what he had found.
IN THE MORNING, BETH DROVE out to the beach to keep an appointment with Eduardo Shea.
He was a striking man, not particularly tall, perhaps five-ten, no more. His eyes were a brilliant blue, and his hair seemed to be pitch-black. He was tanned, with fine bone structure and quirky, flyaway brows. He had a smile in place long before he reached her.
“Miss Anderson, welcome.”
“Mr. Shea,” she murmured.
“Come in, come in. We’ll talk in the office.”
She nodded, walked into his office and took the chair in front of his desk. The walls were lined with plaques, and the shelves held all kinds of trophies. Her heart quickened as she saw a large picture on the wall of Eduardo Shea shaking hands with Ted Monoco, Molly at her husband’s side, beaming.
“I see you like that picture,” Eduardo said.
“He must have been a very fine man,” she murmured.
Eduardo frowned. “He is a fine man, talented, and also a good businessman. You don’t always get the two together.”
“Very true,” she agreed, then changed the subject so he wouldn’t think she was unduly interested in the Monocos. “How long have you owned the studios?” she asked.
“Not quite a year. But we are doing very well. Ted Monoco established a legacy of excellence, and we do our best to preserve it,” Eduardo said proudly.
“I had a conversation with Maria Lopez yesterday, and she—”
“Yes, I’ve spoken to Maria. And I’m prepared to offer you an excellent deal.”
“Oh?”
“Maria will dance with Mauricio, though she says she won’t teach. But I know Maria—she won’t be able to stop herself. We’ll send four more teachers. As to the music, I must approve the band, because if the beat isn’t right…”
“Perhaps you’ll suggest a band,” Beth said diplomatically.
“I’ll be happy to. Now, as to the cost…”
He laid out a rate scale that was more than fair. She thanked him, a little curious that he was willing to let his teachers work so cheaply.
“I have faith in their abilities. Your people will be coming to the studio to go on with their lessons, I promise you.”
“I hope so,” she murmured, finding herself looking at the wall again.
“You know the Monocos?” he asked.
“I’ve seen them,” she said vaguely.
“They were so excited to be off on their boat. Ted loved two things—dancing and his boat. After Molly, of course. They’re a great couple, still in love, after so many years. So few people mean ‘till death do us part’ anymore.”
“Some people do,” she said.
“Ah, a dreamer. Well, I like dreamers. Though dreams won’t come true if people don’t create them. Think of Ted. With nothing but his talent, he built up this business—and a fine retirement income.”
“Were you friends before you bought the business?” she asked politely.
“Of course. I bought the business because I learned from Ted,” Eduardo said. He glanced at his watch. “I have a lesson coming up. I’m delighted we’ll be doing business together. In fact, I’ll teach you myself on the night of your party. Next thing you know, you’ll be taking lessons yourself.”
She smiled. He and Maria seemed to have the same cheerful confidence. Nice.
“We’ll see. I’ll talk with you about final arrangements,” she told him.
As she rose, he walked around the desk and in an old-fashioned manner, kissed her hand. She tried to decide if he was sincere or just slick.
On the way out, she paused, looking again at the pictures on the office walls. They had all evidently been taken at various competitions. The men were in tuxes. The women wore ball gowns, elegant, formfitting, beautiful.
And in one of the pictures, smiling at the camera, looking her most devastating, was Amanda Mason.
Beth scanned the rest of the pictures. Yes…there, in one, Amanda’s father, Roger. And in another, Hank and a lovely young blond woman. Even Gerald, though he was merely in a group shot where a trophy was being handed to a woman.
“Are you interested in competitive dance?” he asked her. Before she could answer, he said, “Of course. You know the Masons. They’re boaters.”
“Yes, I know them. They belong to the club.”
“Well, they won’t be needing any basic instruction.”
“I hope they’ll enjoy the evening especially, since they already dance,” Beth said. “Thank you again, and we’ll speak soon.”
She hurried out, her mind spinning.
What did it mean?
She groaned aloud. It meant that the Masons enjoyed dancing. Big deal.
She shook her head, wondering what she was doing, what she had accomplished. Eduardo Shea didn’t seem worried about the Monocos. Eduardo had known them. The Masons had undoubtedly known them.
So?
She could meet a dozen people associated with the Monocos.
Those who had known them, worked with them, sailed with them, liked them.
And it all came back to…so?
None of it was bringing her any closer to the truth.
THE MONORAIL TOOK AMBER to school and home again.