If Looks Could Kill. Heather Pozzessere Graham
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Kyle had been doing no more than sipping his beer. Watching Madison, he suddenly downed the rest, then nodded as a bronzed blond waitress in short-shorts came by to silently query him about a refill.
Madison had been his stepsister. She’d often made him smile with her tart comments on her world, observations that were far too wise for her years. Yet he wondered suddenly if it wasn’t the fact that she was such a dead ringer for Lainie that had really kept him at arm’s length all these years. Was she like Lainie? Lainie’s death had been terrible and tragic, true, but Lainie had also been capable of being one hell of a bitch, heedless of whose life she played with—or destroyed.
Madison was speaking now. “Welcome, folks, to A Tavern. It’s my dad’s place, for those of you who don’t know, and I’m always happy to be here. There’s something special about Key West. Everybody’s kind of free to be themselves down here, and we take pride in taking the time to smell the flowers—and the sea air and dead fish, of course.” Her patter was casual, as the band members tuned up their instruments. She flashed a quick smile at the young man, Joey King, who had introduced the group, and he smiled back. “Anyway,” she added, adjusting her mike on its stand, “we’re about to get started with one of Joey’s ballads, just fit for the island. It’s called, “Love’s on the Rocks, So I Just Swim in My Beer.” Chime on in with the refrain anytime you so desire.”
She flashed another of her brilliant smiles. The musicians were suddenly all tuned up, and Madison was swaying with the beat.
She had a great voice. Fluid, solid, husky. The song had a Jimmy Buffett quality to it, which seemed natural, considering the time and place. The tavern grew crowded as the music wafted out to the street; the crowd laughed with the lyrics, clapped appropriately and sang along as invited. By the time the music ended, the place was so full that Kyle wouldn’t have been able to see the musicians if they hadn’t been standing on a raised stage. The waiters and waitresses, proving themselves to be contortionists, nimbly slid and slithered through the crowd, delivering pitchers of beer, margaritas, and soda, along with food and various outlandish concoctions in souvenir glasses.
The band did another number, a Top 40 rock hit. Then they played another original, this one a softer ballad called “Getting On with You Gone.” Another Top 40 hit, another original, this one about a no-good son of a gun. A few more songs, and then Madison announced the last number before their break. Again it was slow. People were dancing in the limited floor space between the tables and the stage. Toward the end of that final song, Madison looked his way at last.
She might be nerve-rackingly psychic, but he could tell that she hadn’t known that he was there. She stared at him, and she suddenly fell silent. Madison could be one tough, sophisticated cookie, but she was staring at him then like a deer caught in headlights. Well, he must have been quite a surprise. They hadn’t seen each other in one hell of a long time. He’d stayed away, and in his healing process, he’d realized somewhere along the line that just because she’d somehow known what was going on in his life, he’d maybe tried to blame her for it. And even now, he’d come here for work, not exactly to make peace. Still, he was ready to admit to the ill manners he’d demonstrated in his grief. Yeah, he was ready. But maybe, he thought with an inner shrug, life didn’t work that way. The way Madison was looking at him, he felt as if he’d been hanging on to a rope—that she’d just cut clean through. Well, what the hell. They both had their own lives. Maybe there was no reason to make amends.
He lifted his beer glass to her. “Sing,” he mouthed.
Her fellow band members were staring at her, nimbly covering, playing the same beat and chords over and over. Madison seemed to give herself a mental shake, and her eyes left his.
She flashed the audience that pure-charm smile of hers and picked up again, singing her heart out.
Then the music ended, to a burst of applause, and Madison promising that the group would be back.
Kyle thought she might just ignore the fact that he was there. He was somewhat surprised that no one had told her he was coming.
Maybe everyone had just assumed that she’d know he was coming down to Miami to work. Hell, Jimmy should have told her. Her father should have told her. But maybe Jordan Adair had thought it wouldn’t mean anything to her, one way or the other.
And maybe it didn’t, though the look she’d given him suggested otherwise.
But she didn’t ignore him. She threaded her way through the crowd, acknowledging those who stopped her to speak or compliment her and the band, until she reached his table. By that point he’d moved his legs from the chair where he’d been resting them, but he was still wearing his dark glasses and baseball cap, so she couldn’t have seen much of his features in the darkening shadows of the coming night.
She stood in front of the table, looking down at him with her perfect features composed in a cold and aloof expression. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Hello, Madison. It’s great to see you, too.”
“Right. What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, smiling. Lifted his hands. “Drinking beer. Listening to music.”
“What are you doing here, in Key West? In my father’s place?”
“I’m in the Keys on business. I’m here because your father invited me.”
He heard a whistling sound as she sucked in her breath with involuntary surprise.
He used his foot to push out the chair opposite from him. “Have a seat, Madison.”
She sat. Not because she wanted to be with him, he thought, but because she was so shaken.
“Want a drink?” he asked.
She shook her head, blue eyes intently on him. “I’m still working. So…when did this all come about?”
He shrugged. “I was told last week I was coming down to give some assistance on a local investigation. Your father invited me here for the weekend.”
“You’re staying at my father’s house?”
He nodded, wondering why her blunt hostility was so disturbing to him. He ignored that question and instead said, “Your band is good.”
“Yeah,” she said, still just staring at him.
“I heard about your divorce. I’m sorry about that. I thought you kids were good together.”
“It’s all been over quite a while now. You needn’t be concerned.”
“Look, Madison, I’m really sorry if you have a problem with this. Your dad invited me down. I didn’t know you’d be here, and it wouldn’t have occurred to me that it would upset you even if I had known you were here.”
“I’m not upset,” she snapped quickly.
“Angry,” he said.
“Surprised, is all.”
“I can’t imagine why your father didn’t mention it to you.”
Her lashes lowered. Maybe she knew why, he thought. Maybe she and Jordan weren’t getting along. They were both temperamental, and sometimes argued passionately, though they loved one another dearly.
“Have you talked to your dad this week?”
Madison didn’t answer. The waitress was hovering near, watching her. “Did you want a soda, Madison? Some mineral water?”
Madison kept staring at Kyle. “No, I’ll have a draft.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“A draft, please,” Madison repeated.
“But—” the waitress began. Madison looked at her, and the other woman shrugged and walked away.
Kyle grinned. “I was trying to buy you a drink. Let me put it on my tab.”