The Betrayed_A Newport Murder Mystery Page 5

  James continued to pull tennis racquets down from shelves and rifle through duffle bags on the bench below.

  “Where the hell is it? Sally, Sally get in here. Jesus, woman, are you deaf?” James shouted as he turned towards a door that led to the kitchen.

  Sally entered with a sheepish smile on her face. “I’m here, Mr. Cooper.”

  “Finally. What did you do with my lucky racquet? I’m playing Johnson this morning and I need it.”

  “Would it be the Wilson BLX?”

  In two long steps James Cooper was towering over Sally’s face, his voice escalated to a bellow, “Of course it’s the Wilson BLX, you know it’s my lucky racquet and you know that you moved it!”

  Sally calmly replied, “I did not move your lucky racquet, Mr. Cooper.”

  James‘s left hand reached around to engulf Sally’s right buttock. “Damn it Sally you know I enjoy spending time with your sweet ass, but you can’t keep screwing with my stuff.”

  Sally looked up and locked eyes with James as she steadily stated, “I too enjoy our time together. I have never screwed with your stuff and I didn’t touch your lucky racquet. If you want to know where it is, go ask your wife. I saw her put it in her tennis bag yesterday.”

  James squeezed her lower cheek hard then gave her full backside a sharp smack as he sighed. “Well, I guess I’ll have to go track her down.”

  Sally crumpled her mouth and muttered, “If she just paid attention to the system I set up out here for the two of you we wouldn’t have this problem.”

  James snatched up Sally’s wrist and hissed, “Never, ever, speak of my wife in that tone again or it will be the last thing you say. Understand?”

  Sally swallowed hard as she nodded her head up and down. “Yes sir. Sorry sir.”

  James dropped her wrist. Sally scurried back toward the door that adjoined the kitchen to the athletic gear room, rubbing her red, sore wrist.

  ◆◆◆

  The door to the bedroom burst open as James strode into his wife’s dressing room. “Lolly darling, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  Lolly Barrows-Cooper looked at James through her vanity mirror, carefully set her hairbrush down and turned to face her husband. “Are you alright, my love? You look harried.”

  Despite having lived more than thirty years in the United States, the sixty-year-old Lolly had retained her British accent. James swept down and gave his wife a gentle kiss on top of her smooth, blonde hair.

  “Just getting ready for my match against Skipper Johnson and noticed my lucky racquet is missing from the gear room.”

  “Oh, I didn’t even know you had a lucky racquet, love,” Lolly answered with surprise. “Why don’t you check with Sally? She’s good at making sure things get put away in there.” Wealth and privilege were all Lolly had ever known which made it hard to tell if she was oblivious to other people’s problems, or just too selfish to care.

  “Yes, Darling, it is part of her job so I checked with her and she seems to think you had it yesterday in your tennis bag.”

  Lolly giggled. “Silly me. I might have, love. You know me, I just grab and go.”

  James gave her a placating smile. “Yes, Darling, I know. Now, where do you think you might have put your bag, dear?” James tenderly guided Lolly by the elbow as she rose from a tufted bench.

  James smiled down at her, transfixed by her impossibly crystal blue eyes. He had married Lolly to give his estate a financial transfusion. Her assets had provided funds for him to invest, thus boosting their fortune back into the billions. Over time he had grown to love his wife. He loved the way she glided through life, always upbeat, always beautiful, always supportive of him, and always aloof to his darker moods and desires.

  Lolly tapped a finger on her rosy lips. “Let’s see, after my match yesterday – oh, I came straight up to shower. I must have set the bag in here.”

  She walked from the vanity area into an adjacent room that held her vast collection of shoes, clothes, and jewels. James followed as she wandered in front of him poking at color-coded, dangling garments and peeking beneath them. Lolly seemed distracted by an emerald green dress. “This color looks so nice with my eyes. Don’t you agree, James?”

  “You look beautiful in all colors, darling. Perhaps you left it by the laundry room for Sally or Mary to take care of? I’ll go out and see.”

  “Of course! That’s exactly where I left it. James, you are truly the smartest man I have ever known. What would I do without you?”

  James kissed his wife on the cheek. “Fortunately, darling, you will never need to answer that question. I will see you tonight for dinner.”

  Lolly embraced James, stroking his thick salt and pepper hair away from his forehead. “Yes, my love, I will be anxious to hear all about your match with Skipper and who was lunching at the club. Good luck.”

  Lolly ran a perfectly manicured finger along a groove etched into the mahogany stair rail as she wound her way down to the first floor of her Newport castle. She peered through a leaded glass window in her private office and watched the waves break on the rocks before turning her attention to the task at hand. Time to address invitations, she thought.

  She pulled her ‘bible’ from a shelf. A notebook of names, dates, events, and notes detailing behaviors. This ‘bible’ contained crucial information for her to consult before addressing invitations to the Flowers in the Moonlight Ball. After all, it was the signature event of the social season.

  Her involvement in charity work did not stem from empathy for the cause. It was simply what she was raised to do. Her real joy came from knowing she was at the top of the social ladder. The Flowers in the Moonlight Ball would be another opportunity to revel in the power of either giving a leg up to social climbers who pleased her or casting down ones who did not.

  SEVENTEEN

  Cosimo had to honor his uncle’s wishes with Bob, but it took every fiber of his being to not put the spoiled little prick in the ground. Every time he thought he had just cause to get rid of him, that damn cockroach would somehow manage to convince people, himself included, that he was worth keeping around. He had no respect for a thirty-two-year-old man whose only real skill in life was essentially begging. Cosimo DeCastellerri was old school. He believed you needed to earn a seat at the table. Bob was barely qualified to sit with the kids.

  Sponging off his mother’s ability to spread her legs and keep my uncle happy all those years is not something a true man would be proud of, Cosimo thought. He rubbed his eyes with his thick fingers, the more he thought about the freakin’ cockroach the angrier he got. He needed to get that idiot off his mind. He had bigger fish to fry.

  “Mikey!” Cosimo shouted out.

  Cosimo’s guard stood up and hulked around the desk to face Mr. D.

  “Make me a cappuccino,” Cosimo demanded.

  EIGHTEEN

  Like brushing her teeth, part of Maddie’s daily routine now included either texting or calling Winston. Today’s conversation would not be so natural. She certainly didn’t regret giving her number to Jared but after her experience with Joe, she needed Winston to know how important honesty and trust were to her. She had decided to explain her past with Joe to Winston. She wanted to be upfront about keeping the door open and dating other men, for now. She hoped Winston would understand and at a minimum they could stay friends, but she truly hoped they could move forward and see if they could be something more.

  Maddie hung up from the call as a few tears of relief seeped from her eyes. Winston had been so kind, he wasn’t ready to give up on her yet.

  ◆◆◆

  “Shit!” Winston flung his cell phone onto a bench along the side of his tennis court. Jared Diamond had just become a complication.

  “Well you’re in a foul mood,” James Cooper commented to his son as he picked up his racquet.

  “Yes, it seems a kink has developed in my plan to move forward with your potential daughter-in-law.”

  James eyed Winston ste
rnly. “Son, haven’t I taught you to have a backup plan?”

  Winston rolled his head to the side and sighed, “Yes, Father.”

  “But sometimes, son, a good plan just needs to,” James tossed a tennis ball high into the air and tracked it with his eyes, “have the kink knocked out.” His powerful swat smashed the ball into the next court.

  NINETEEN

  Ken shook the morning dew off his Ferragamo shoes as he dipped into his BMW. His flight didn’t leave for another three hours but he didn’t want to get caught in Monday traffic through Boston.

  Ken stretched his legs and looked up, ready for his favorite in-flight entertainment-- watching the frustration build on the faces of the people trying to squeeze past him through the aisle on their way to coach. He couldn’t even remember what it was like to fold up your legs and jam into the seats back there, as the one and only time he had not flown first class was when he was about eighteen and nothing else was available.

  ◆◆◆

  A balmy breeze rippled through the trees as he strolled up to the bank. Ken stared patiently at a young, bucktoothed customer service girl as she typed information into her computer and set up his new account. He studied her face, trying not to grimace. Ugly and slow, he thought.

  “Just a few more minutes Mr. Tate,” the girl drawled out.

  Stupid girl. His lips drew across into a tight line that passed as a smile as he lied. “Take your time.”

  TWENTY

  Bob spoke into his cell phone as he drove away from Newport along Indian Avenue, past enormous shingle style and brick homes.

  “Tell Mr. D that I will have his money tomorrow morning. I’m going to pick it up tonight. Right, by 10 a.m. I will be on The Hill in his office. Bye.”

  He had begged, he had promised, he had pleaded, he had practically prostrated himself on the floor and Bob had managed to convince Cosimo to give him a seventy-two-hour extension on the money he owed.

  He pulled his new Mustang around a circular driveway and parked his car. Bob opened his glove box, removed three Jack Daniels nips and sucked them all down to get ready for the pick-up. This was not the first time, hell not even the second time he had come here for money.

  He admired the ornately carved wood pediment over the doorway for a moment before he rang the bell of the stately brick, Federal style home.

  Mrs. Vanderbeck opened the door. Her eyes slowly moved from Bob’s slick, black hair down to his shoes. When her gaze met with his again, a smirk spread across her face. “Please come in,” she invited.

  Mrs. Vanderbeck turned and he followed this tall, slender woman with perfect posture inside to a well-appointed parlor.

  “What do you think of my latest acquisition?” she asked and gestured to a canvas hanging over a fireplace.

  Bob tilted his head to the right, the wavy dark lines and chunks of paint reminded him of something his grandmother’s cat used to cough up. Bob shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be.”

  Mrs. Vanderbeck snickered. “It’s contemporary art. It’s an abstract representation of this era’s struggle to prop up the waning middle class and the wide disparity forming between the very wealthy and the very poor.”

  Bob’s mind reeled at how she even came to that interpretation. “Wow. I was way off.”

  Mrs. Vanderbeck gave Bob a condescending grin. “Drink?” she asked.

  “Ah, yeah, you got, ah, whiskey?”

  Mrs. Vanderbeck smiled. “Ice?”

  “No, no thanks.” Bob didn’t want to dilute his liquid courage.

  Mrs. Vanderbeck sauntered back to where Bob was still standing, drink in one hand, manila envelope in the other. Bob took the glass and reached for the envelope. Mrs. Vanderbeck snatched it up over her head.

  “Tisk, tisk, just wanted to show you I included some extra, since you did such a good job last time.” She turned and glided back to the bar, her lavender silk robe billowing out behind her. She propped the envelope up against a bottle of vodka then took a seat on a long, green brocade couch. “Please, join me.”

  Bob downed his whiskey in two gulps then slowly moved toward the couch. Mrs. Vanderbeck ran a hand through her trim silver and white hair. As he approached, she unfastened the sash around her robe. He was standing over her now. She allowed her garment to slide from her shoulders. Bob looked at the pale, crepe skin draped over her form, like a tissue you had stored in your pocket then tried to smooth out before using—soft, but not what it once was. Bob held her face and gave her an almost dry kiss.

  “Mmm. That’s nice,” she remarked, “but you know where I want to be kissed.”

  Bob took a deep breath then lowered his body down the couch.

  ◆◆◆

  The encounter with his cougar with cash had paid off. The money in the envelope covered his debt to Mr. D and then some. Now he needed to feel young and very numb. He was on his way to the clubs in Newport to use the bonus money he had just earned.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Kelly and Maddie arrived while the band still was setting up, so they were able to score a couple seats at the bar. Like all the other bars and clubs in Newport, once the band played, seating would be at a premium as the entire room transformed into a dance floor. Movement would be limited to a shake and shimmy as people crammed the space. Kelly and Maddie continually scanned the crowd as they sipped their chardonnays and leaned into one another’s ear to be heard over the boisterous music.

  “Oh my, look at this clown!” Kelly exclaimed.

  Maddie turned her head to see a man gyrating his way through the crowd toward them. His slick hair, partially unbuttoned shirt, and thick gold chain around his neck caused him to stand out against the typically preppy guys that frequented the Newport scene.

  “Good evening, ladies, how you all doin’ tonight?”

  Maddie tried to be polite but Kelly openly laughed at his line.

  “Could I perhaps buy you lovely girls a drink?”

  Kelly rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

  “No thanks,” said Maddie “I’m all set for now.”

  But Bob Lackey wasn’t going anywhere. He called out to the bartender in a husky baritone voice. “Scuse me, can I get another beer here?” Which sounded like, “Can I get anoth-ah bee-ah he-ah.”

  Bob’s pursuit of Maddie was tenacious. She had to admit he was a pretty good-looking guy, even if his corporal expressiveness and fashion style bordered on the comical. There was something about the intensity of his stare mixed with his humor that made for an alluring combination.

  A couple drinks later, Maddie’s wall of doubt had crumbled. Despite the warning faces Kelly had made, Maddie gave Bob her phone number.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Watching Sally’s young supple ass shake as he thrust into her, James Cooper felt compelled to give it a sharp strike with the full palm of his hand. Her pillow muffled yelp was exactly what he needed to hear. He leaned forward grabbed her hair, flipped her over and drove his member into her mouth.

  “Harder, harder,” he demanded followed by a deep groan as he released into her throat.

  Initially, his encounters with Sally had helped to satisfy his desires. She was enjoyable and very convenient, but lately, he felt himself wanting something even more… forbidden.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Bob would not be slipping in shit today. He had made a date. Not just with some broad but with a fine young lady, Maddie Marcelle.

  Mr. D’s guard opened the door to the office.

  “You got the money?” Cosimo barked from behind a heavy, dark mahogany desk.

  Bob was already vehemently nodding his head. “Yes sir, I do.”

  “Sit down. I gotta take this call,” ordered Cosimo.

  Cosimo picked up one of three cell phones on his desk. “Just the man I was waiting to hear from. Everything set-up? Good, well I don’t have to go all the way to the islands for hot weather. Yeah, hot as balls up here. I’ll see you when you get back.”

  Cosimo was no
w visibly happier than when Bob had first walked in. “Mikey, make Bob and me a cappuccino, actually make mine iced. You want iced?” Cosimo pointed at Bob.

  “Sure, iced is good.” Bob could almost hear the jingling as he landed in gold.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  “Perfect beach day,” Winston commented as he held open the passenger door of a polished, black Range Rover for Maddie to climb in.