Ron Base - Tree Callister 03 - Another Sanibel Sunset Detective (5 page)

“I love it here,” Miram Shah said as he settled into the chair. “I love the sunshine of course, but also the peace and serenity.”

“Does your own country not provide similar peace and serenity?” Tree asked, curious as to what Shah might reveal about where he came from.

Shah smiled vaguely and said, “Ah, here we go,” an instant before the houseman reappeared carrying a silver tray upon which was set a single tall glass of sparkling water. The houseman presented the glass to Tree, bowed slightly, and left. A breeze roused the wind chimes at the end of the porch.

Trembath leaned forward and said, “Mr. Shah has asked you here today, Mr. Callister, in regards to a matter requiring utmost discretion.”

He paused to give Tree a chance to reply. Tree had no idea what to say, so he just looked at Trembath who cleared his throat and sat back, his gaze turning to Shah—the signal for the old man to speak.

“It is my fiancée, Mr. Callister,” he said.

Tree said, “Yes,” as though everyone’s fiancée was a problem.

“Two days ago, she left the house, and hasn’t returned,” Trembath said. As he spoke, Shah looked pained, and seemed to grip his cane more firmly.

“Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” Tree looked at Shah when he asked the question.

Shah shook his head, but it was Trembath who said, “That’s what we would like you to find out.”

When Tree remained unexpectedly silent, Trembath added, “Discreetly of course. This is a highly embarrassing situation. Mr. Shah would not want it to be made public.”

Which begged the question why the public might be interested in Mr. Shah’s relationship problems. Instead of asking, Tree said, “Mr. Shah, why did your fiancée leave?”

“What difference does that make?” Trembath sounded cross.

“Well, if she left to get a loaf of bread and never came back, that’s one thing. If she left because she and Mr. Shah had a fight, then that’s something else again.”

Shah’s fist opened and closed on the handle of the cane, as if to express his tense emotional state. “There was a misunderstanding,” he said softly. “As a result of that misunderstanding, Elizabeth left.”

“Elizabeth?” Tree said.

“Elizabeth Traven,” Trembath said. “The woman in question is Elizabeth Traven.”

5

Is everything all right, Mr. Callister?” A concerned expression had popped onto Trembath’s placid face.

How could he answer that? Nothing was ever all right as far as Elizabeth Traven was concerned. She haunted his life, the darkly beautiful specter he could never quite shake, even on Useppa Island, talking to elderly Pakistani spies. Wherever he went, Elizabeth somehow managed to reinsert herself into his life. He was, as he usually was with her, at once appalled—and intrigued.

Tree managed to say, “You are engaged to marry Elizabeth Traven, Mr. Shah?”

Shah nodded and said, “Yes.”

Trembath studied Tree carefully before he said, “We understand you know Mrs. Traven.”

“I’ve done work for Elizabeth Traven.” An understatement if there ever was one.

The light lit Shah’s face. “Very satisfactory work, I understand. That is why Elizabeth recommended you.”

“She recommended that you hire me to find her?”

Shah allowed a tiny smile. “No, no, we were discussing you in connection with another matter. She thought you might be appropriate should we have needed to make certain inquiries.”

“What kind of inquiries?”

Shah seemed not to hear the question.

Trembath leaned further forward as if fearful he was being left out of the conversation. “It occurred to Mr. Shah and me that because you know Mrs. Traven, it might be appropriate for you to act as an intermediary.”

“In order to do what?”

“To find her, of course.” Trembath said this in a way that suggested you would have to be an idiot not to know that.

“And then what?” Tree addressed Shah: “You want me to convince her to come back?”

“Yes, give it a shot, old chap,” Trembath said, as if he was an officer in some British World War II adventure—Jack Hawkins sending the team of saboteurs off on an impossible mission.

“You must tell me, Mr. Callister, what are you rates?” Shah accompanied the question with a thin smile, as though talking about money pained him.

“I charge two hundred dollars a day, plus expenses.”

“Mr. Callister, it has been a great pleasure to meet you.” Shah abruptly gripped the cane with both hands to pull himself to his feet.

“Hold on, Mr. Shah,” Tree said.

“Yes?” Shah looked surprised anyone would attempt to interrupt his departure.

“Are you hiring me or is this your way of telling me the price is too high?”

Trembath frowned. “Your fee is not an issue, Mr. Callister.”

“Then if I am hired, I’m going to need more information.”

A frown similar to Trembath’s now crossed Miram Shah’s face. “What sort of information?”

“When was the last time you saw Elizabeth?”

He paused to consider this before he said, “One week ago.”

“Where did you last see her?”

“She was here.”

“And she seemed all right?”

“She seemed fine.”

“You said there was a misunderstanding. Did you have an argument, some sort of altercation? Something that would make her suddenly disappear?”

“No,” he said, uneasily, as if this topic of conversation was disturbing to him.

Trembath leaned forward again. “This is not easy for Mr. Shah. I can provide any further information you might require.”

Shah forced another tiny smile. “I am certain you will do a fine job for us, Mr. Callister. I will leave it to you and Mr. Trembath to conclude the agreement.”

Tree and Trembath stood together as Shah, leaning on his cane, hobbled away. Tree turned to Trembath and said, “What’s going on here?”

“I suggest we get something a little stronger, what do you say to that, old chap?”

As though that was his cue, the houseman in the white gloves reappeared. Trembath said, “Chandio, bring me the strongbox and a gin and tonic, like a good fellow.” It was not hard to imagine Trembath in uniform ordering the servants around during the British Raj. From the look on his face, Chandio didn’t have any trouble imagining it, either.

“What about you, Callister? Will you take something?”

“Nothing except the answer to my question.”

Trembath frowned. “What question was that?”

“The question that went like this: what’s going on here?”

“Simple enough, old chap. Mr. Shah would like you to locate his fiancée, Elizabeth Traven, find out what the situation is, and persuade her to come back.”

“Persuade her to come back to Shah?”

“If it’s possible, yes.”

“Why would you think I have any chance of persuading Elizabeth to do anything?”

“Well, I don’t have to think, do I? It’s Mr. Shah who has to do that, and for whatever reason, he apparently believes your previous association with Mrs. Traven can be of assistance. What’s more, he’s going to pay you enough money so that you will think so, too.”

“I know something of his background,” Tree said.

“Do you?” Trembath sounded surprised.

“Miram Shah either is or was the deputy head of Pakistani security. I gather he has spent a fair amount of time in Washington interacting with the CIA. But you don’t sound like CIA to me, Mr. Trembath.”

He barked out a laugh. “No, no, definitely not CIA. British Intelligence a world ago. MI-6.”

“That’s what? Britain’s external intelligence service?”

“Correct. More formally known as the Secret Intelligence Service. I was assigned to Islamabad ten years ago, liaising with the then-deputy chief’s staff. That’s how I got to know Miram. When he retired, he persuaded me to go along with him and provide security.”

“And help find lost girlfriends?”

Trembath took the jibe in stride. “Let’s just say the job comes with unexpected demands.”

“What’s he doing on Useppa Island?”

“Why, this is where he lives, Mr. Callister. He’s fallen in love with your wonderful country, and one of your wondrous women, and now you can help him find her.”

“What do you think, Mr. Trembath? Any idea what’s happened to Elizabeth?”

“I’m afraid I don’t, old chap. I’ve been pretty much kept out of the loop on this whole matter.”

Chandio re-emerged from the house, carrying the gin and tonic in one white gloved hand and a gray-metal strongbox in the other. He handed the gin to Trembath and then placed the box on the glass-topped table. “Ah, here we are,” Trembath said, taking a long sip from his drink.

Chandio stepped away, standing casually at attention as Trembath opened the strong box to reveal stacks of hundred dollar bills that looked as though Chandio had just run them off a printing press in the house. Trembath grabbed at a wad of bills as if he planned to disperse them to the egrets flying past. Instead, he quickly counted out a pile of hundreds and offered them to Tree. “There’s three thousand dollars to get you started.”

Tree looked at the money in Trembath’s hand and said, “I’m not sure what I can do.”

Trembath just smiled. “Why don’t we find out?”

Tree took the money. He noticed Chandio. His sober face was devoid of expression. His black eyes, however, filled with a combination of fire and disdain for these duplicitous westerners.

6

On the trip back, Tree kept his eyes focused on Captain Jim’s back, while marveling how he once again had allowed himself to be talked into getting tangled up with Elizabeth Traven.

A former journalist before she married the now-deceased media mogul Brand Traven, Elizabeth had written biographies of Lenin and Trotsky. But inside the writer, beat the heart of a conniving, manipulative liar who could never, never be trusted.

The mask of her beauty allowed Elizabeth to get away with, literally, in Freddie’s estimation, murder. She accused Tree of being like most of the men Elizabeth encountered, totally infatuated, and thus blind to her devious nature.

Tree hotly denied this, even as he knew that as part of Elizabeth’s seemingly endless campaign to twist him around her little finger, she had once awkwardly attempted to seduce him. The memory of that night lingered, no question, but that did not stop him from protesting loudly that he was not attracted to Elizabeth Traven—he loved his wife too much—and even if he was, he was too smart to ever get mixed up with her again.

Yet try as he might he could not—or would not—resist the temptation. Was it the money? That’s what he would tell himself. But maybe something else as well, a strange alchemy that inevitably drew him to her. Plain curiosity, too, he supposed—what the devil was Elizabeth up to now?

He drove south away from the South Seas Island Resort after Captain Jim dropped him off, deciding that since Elizabeth’s house on Captiva Drive was nearby, he would stop by for a visit, and perhaps get some understanding of what this was all about.

Was she really planning to marry the former head of Pakistani security? With a former spy from MI-6 as best man? It didn’t seem very likely; there had to be something else at play here.

But what?

The great stone Captiva Drive monstrosity that was Elizabeth Traven’s sun-splashed lair stood behind a high wall and locked gates, giving no hint anyone ever lived there. It seemed to be on perfect permanent display, evidence of what the American dream, Florida division, might provide the outsized dreamer.

He tried the intercom. No one answered. So much for a quick end to this case, a fast resolution of innate curiosity. He had already taken Miram Shah’s money. He would have to find Elizabeth Traven.

Now how was he going to do that?

________

The house Freddie and Tree had purchased on Andy Rosse Lane was mounted on stilts, protection against the hurricanes that always threatened paradise. The house was their pride and joy. Freddie’s car was already parked in the drive. He found her in the kitchen, having changed from work clothes into her evening uniform— shorts and a T-shirt—pouring the one glass of chardonnay she allowed herself after work.

“You’re home early,” he said kissing her.

She finished pouring the wine and said, “Come on, let’s sit outside.”

“Is everything all right?”

“I’m not sure,” she said.

They sat on the terrace as they did most evenings. Not far away he could hear the pleasurable yelps from tourists gathered outside the Mucky Duck for the daily ritual of the setting sun, the tourists praying to the gods for cheaper beer and better weather. The gods usually acted on the weather; not so much on the cheap beer.

Freddie stretched her wonderfully long legs and issued a deep sigh before she said, “I met with Vera this afternoon.” Ever since they returned from Paris, Ray Dayton’s widow had been keeping everyone up in the air as to her intentions for the five Dayton’s supermarkets located throughout the Lee and Collier County area, including the store on Sanibel Island.