Risky Business Read Free

filter. “Jerry liked palm trees.”
    “His business? His work?”
    With a half laugh Jonas ground the smoldering filter underfoot. Sunlight danced in diamonds on the water. “Jerry liked to call himself a free-lancer. He was a drifter.” And he’d brought complications to Jonas’s life as often as he’d brought pleasure. Jonas stared hard at the water, remembering shared lives, diverse opinions. “For Jerry, it was always the next town and the next deal. The last I heard—two weeks ago—he was giving diving lessons to tourists.”
    “The Black Coral Dive Shop,” Moralas confirmed. “Elizabeth Palmer hired him on a part-time basis.”
    “Palmer.” Jonas’s attention shifted away from the water. “That’s the woman he was living with.”
    “Miss Palmer rented your brother a room,” Moralas corrected, abruptly proper. “She was also among the group to discover your brother’s body. She’s given my department her complete cooperation.”
    Jonas’s mouth thinned. How had Jerry described this Liz Palmer in their brief phone conversation weeks before? A sexy little number who made great tortillas. She sounded like another one of Jerry’s tough ladies on the lookout for a good time and the main chance. “I’ll need her address.” At the captain’s quiet look he only raised a brow. “I assume my brother’s things are still there.”
    “They are. I have some of your brother’s personal effects, those that he had on him, in my office. You’re welcome to collect them and what remains at Miss Palmer’s. We’ve already been through them.”
    Jonas felt the rage build again and smothered it. “When can I take my brother home?”
    “I’ll do my best to complete the paperwork today. I’ll need you to make a statement. Of course, there are forms.” Helooked at Jonas’s set profile and felt a new tug of pity. “Again, I’m sorry.”
    He only nodded. “Let’s get it done.”
     
    Liz let herself into the house. While the door slammed behind her, she flicked switches, sending two ceiling fans whirling. The sound, for the moment, was company enough. The headache she’d lived with for over twenty-four hours was a dull, nagging thud just under her right temple. Going into the bathroom, she washed down two aspirin before turning on the shower.
    She’d taken the glass bottom out again. Though it was off season, she’d had to turn a dozen people away. It wasn’t every day a body was found off the coast, and the curious had come in force. Morbid, she thought, then stripped and stepped under the cold spray of the shower. How long would it take, she wondered, before she stopped seeing Jerry on the sand beneath the water?
    True, she’d barely known him, but he’d been fun and interesting and good company. He’d slept in her daughter’s bed and eaten in her kitchen. Closing her eyes, she let the water sluice over her, willing the headache away. She’d be better, she thought, when the police finished the investigation. It had been hard, very hard, when they’d come to her house and searched through Jerry’s things. And the questions.
    How much had she known about Jerry Sharpe? He’d been American, an operator, a womanizer. She’d been able to use all three to her benefit when he’d given diving lessons or acted as mate on one of her boats. She’d thought him harmless—sexy, attractive and basically lazy. He’d boasted of making it big, of wheeling a deal that would set him up in style. Liz had considered it so much hot air. As far as she was concerned, nothing set you up in style but years of hard work—or inherited wealth.
    But Jerry’s eyes had lit up when he’d talked of it, and his grin had been appealing. If she’d been a woman who allowed herself dreams, she would have believed him. But dreams were for the young and foolish. With a little tug of regret, she realized Jerry Sharpe had been both.
    Now he was gone, and what he had left was still scattered in her daughter’s room. She’d