"Call them now." I point to the telephone on my desk. "Ask them if they carry anything like that."
I follow him to my desk, allowing him to keep his pistol targeted on me while he dials and talks to a sales clerk at Mayer's. Finally he says, "Thank you," and hangs up. Then he lowers his pistol.
"Put yours down too," I tell Arturo. He frowns at me but does as he's told. Casey Morton rushes over to stand next to Santos. He ignores her, keeps his eyes on me.
"They don't stock them anymore," Santos says. "But she said they sold quite a few pieces like I described over the past few years. She said she thought some of the other stores might still have a few. I think I might owe you an apology."
"I believe you do."
"I still want to see the receipt."
"I'll have Arturo bring it to you, but I won't let you keep it."
Santos nods.
Jeremy comes over, stands directly in front of the Cuban. "Mr. Santos, you know you could be arrested for this firearms display today," he says, pointing his long, bony finger at him. "Someone shot at Mr. DelaSangre earlier this week. Fortunately they missed. After your little demonstration today, I would say you're the most likely suspect. I think the police would agree. I strongly suggest you keep your distance from the DelaSangres and this office from now on. If you don't, we'll have you in court, or worse, do you understand?"
Santos looks at me. "For a shooting victim you look real healthy. Trust me, if I was the shooter, you'd be a corpse." The Cuban pauses, stares at Jeremy. "Tindall's your name, isn't it?"
Jeremy nods.
"Then Mr. Tindall, watch out who you fuck with." He pushes Jeremy out of his way, takes Casey Morton's hand and walks to the door with her. He stops there, looks back at Elizabeth and me.
"I don't know," he says, shakes his head. "I have this feeling about you two."
"Feeling or not, you're wrong. I wish you well, Mr. Santos."
"Why do I doubt that?" he says, forcing a grin, his tone false friendly. "Look, you don't have to sound so damned formal. I just held a gun to your head. I think Miss Manners would say that means we've achieved some degree of intimacy. Call me Jorge."
"And you can call me Peter," I say, my tone and smile equally insincere until I spit out my final words to him. "But I think from now on, you should consider that the warning you gave to Jeremy cuts both ways."
Jorge nods, says, "Message received and understood," and leaves.
Once enough time has lapsed for the couple to have walked down the corridor and caught the elevator, Tindall lets out a breath and says, "Good riddance."
"He isn't gone for good, Jeremy," I say. "I'd bet on it."
"He could be," Arturo says.
"No," I shake my head. "I don't want him hurt."
"Sorry," I mindspeak to Elizabeth. "But I need to take back your necklace for a little while."
She frowns, shakes her head. "Why are you bothering with all this?" Elizabeth asks. "He's nothing."
"Elizabeth, please, humor me. I enjoyed myself this morning, " I say, reaching for the chain. "It isn't often that I deal with humans who are willing to oppose me. I just want to see how this all plays out."
She glares at me, backs away. "Then humor me too. It's been a long time since I've tasted young flesh. I want to hunt tonight. I want us to find young prey."
I sigh, wonder if Mother had been this difficult for my father. I have no desire to go on such a hunt, but I see no other way to win my bride's cooperation. When I nod, she grins, steps closer, permits me to undo her necklace.
Handing the necklace to Arturo, I say, "I want you to get me a receipt for this from Mayer's, dated back to June."
"How?" he asks.
"I have no idea." I shrug. "Just get it and arrange to show it to Santos. And bring back Elizabeth's necklace soon. I like how it looks on her neck."
Elizabeth moves closer to me, so our bodies touch, then strokes her now bare neck with her right hand. "I like that you took it from his dead sister," she mindspeaks. Then my bride says aloud, for Arturo and Tindall to hear, "I like how it looks too."
Chapter 19
When I was much younger, I once asked my father why our people, who had the ability to shift our bodies into other shapes, were so locked in to our male and female identities. Couldn't we eliminate the need for opposing sexes and give ourselves a form capable of bringing its offspring into the world by its own solitary endeavors?
Father chuckled before he replied. "I suppose it could be possible, but it would be a dull world, " he said. "We already have so much power. We take what we want, feed when we wish. We have little reason to fear other beings. If we didn't have to confront the uncertainty and aggravation of romance, the constant ebb and flow of our relationships, how could we possibly avoid boredom?"
Life with Elizabeth is anything but dull. She rarely wakes before noon. But once she arises, she amazes me by managing to be in constant motion, sometimes gardening, other times roaming around the island or the house, borrowing the boat to race across the water, insisting on hunting each evening, demanding we make love afterward before we sleep.
Keeping her entertained remains a constant challenge. "Watching humans on TV only makes me hungry," she says. Elizabeth cares little for the books I read or the recordings of Mozart, Handel and Bach that I play. She dismisses all of it as "Human foolishness." But human-made goods, especially clothes, fascinate her and she asks me almost every day to take her to the mainland to go shopping.
Still busy getting the island in shape after my long absence, I try to channel her energy in more practical ways but, except for her garden, she remains aloof from all household chores. When I request her help in any type of housekeeping she sniffs, shakes her head and dismisses it by saying, "That's slave work," and punishes me with her silence.
By the time Arturo visits the island to return Elizabeth's necklace, almost a week after our confrontation with Jorge Santos, I welcome his presence. The Latin beams as he steps onto my dock and I greet him as if he were a long-missed, cherished friend. Elizabeth-also glad for the break in our solitary lifestyle, I suppose-joins us at the dock and acknowledges Gomez's presence with a smile before she takes the gold chain from his hands and fastens it around her neck. She stays by my side and listens as we begin to discuss Santos.
"All the man did was shrug when I showed him the receipt from Mayer's," Arturo tells me, handing me the receipt I told him to acquire. "I doubt he's convinced of anything."
"All the more reason for your associates to keep a watch on him and his girlfriend," I say.
Arturo grins. "They already are. The day after our meeting, Casey Morgan tried to sell her editor a story on your family and its businesses." He chuckles. "As soon as I heard about it, I called and had a long talk with the man. He turned her down. A few days later, he called to tell me he had her transferred to their Fort Lauderdale office, to write for the local news section up there."
"What about Santos?" Elizabeth asks. "Can't we arrange the same sort of thing for him?"
"It's not as easy," Arturo says. "He's a bartender at Joe's. I have enough influence to get a table there when I want. But I certainly can't get him transferred. We have to wait to see what he does and act when he gives us the right opportunity."
"And the white speedboat?" I ask.
"My people told me one was reported stolen from the Miami Beach Marina a few days before the shooting. It turned up, abandoned, in Eleuthra."
"And?"
Arturo holds up his hands and shrugs. "And that's all they know. I'd like to say it was Santos but this looks like it was contracted. I don't think he has the resources."