Page 85 of Sunburned

“Cute dogs,” I commented, sliding into the banquette across from him. “I love pugs. I had one growing up.”

“Oh,” he said, staring at the picture. “Oui. Merci. Mister and Sister. Faces only a mother loves.” He laughed. “But of course, I am the mother.”

“They have English names?” I asked.

“My partner, he is English,” Rémy said.

“Ah. Well, they’re adorable,” I said, racking my brain for why the hell I would know Rémy’s dogs when I hadn’t even known he had dogs until thirty seconds ago.

Suddenly it struck me. The dog shit. The pile I’d so unexpectedly stepped in on the helipad what felt like years ago but was actually mere hours ago. The woman who’d helped me had said there were two pugs here earlier.

It seemed like a stretch, but was so coincidental that I had to wonder whether the pugs that were here this morning could possibly be Rémy’s. But what on earth would they be doing on the boat? Could his partner be the person whose name Tyson had refused to divulge? That too seemed awfully coincidental.

I glanced at Rémy, but before I could ask him a follow-up question, Samira collapsed next to me on the banquette. She was no longer crying, but clutching the stem of her martini with a steel grip, as though it was all that was keeping her afloat. I noticed that her hand shook as she brought the glass to her lips and drained it. She looked so fragile.

In her current state it seemed implausible she could have killed her husband, but she certainly had a motive, and she was an actress.

Laurent slid in on the other side of me, while Gisèle claimed the chair next to Samira at the head of the table, never more than arm’s distance from her friend. Gisèle, who’d been there when Samira’s first husband died, too. Another coincidence?

“Should I go get Cody and Allison?” Jennifer asked, glancing toward the stairs that led up to the office as she hovered behind the seat next to Rémy.

No one answered, and she eventually sat.

White wine was already poured in our goblets and our plates brimmed with Lyonnaise salad, topped with bacon strips and a poached egg. I ripped off a piece of warm French bread, salivating as I coated it with salted butter.

“I’m starving,” Jennifer said, picking up a strip of bacon with her fingers. “I can’t wait for them.”

Samira simply stared at her food as the rest of us tore into our dinner like a pack of wild animals. It felt inappropriate to enjoy such delicious food at a time like this, but we had to eat, and it was impossible not to appreciate the taste of the chef’s efforts. I wondered whether Tyson would have rolled back his rules to dine with us tonight or sulked from his spot at the head of the table, disapproving of our vulgar appetites while he slurped his murky green concoction. What a tragedy that he’d had all this, and not been able to enjoy it.

I’d just finished my salad when Cody and Allison finally emerged from the office, looking spent.

“Everything okay?” Jennifer asked as Cody took his place at the head of the table.

Cody frowned at her as though she was speaking a language he didn’t understand. “Okay?” he echoed.

I liked Cody—had always liked Cody—and he certainly seemed broken up about his brother’s death, but I couldn’t help thinking of their fight this morning. Had Cody finally had enough of Tyson’s shit and snapped?

And what of Allison, whose perennial mask of impassivity made her so difficult to read? She reached for her wineglass as she settled next to Rémy, her sleeveless gray silk camisole showing off her toned arms. She was certainly strong enough to have killed Tyson, and quicker than any of us in the water. And she had cause, with Tyson standing between her and the money she needed. It wasn’t hard to imagine her taking him out.

Cody had just opened his mouth to speak when a handful of crew members emerged from the stairwell bearing a second course of cheese soufflés steaming in individual ramekins. He held his tongue as they set them before us. “We’ll let you know when we’re ready for the next course,” Cody said once they’d refilled our wineglasses. “Please, leave us until then.”

“There is a phone there.” One of the girls pointed to the wall. “Ring the kitchen when you are ready.”

Cody nodded, and they all filed down the stairs and out of sight.But he seemed to have thought better of whatever he had been about to say. Instead, he raised his wineglass in a toast. “To my brother, on his birthday.” His voice cracked. “Tyson always marched to the beat of his own drum. Yes, we all know he could be difficult, but he was also a genius—as he so often reminded us—and he did more good for the world than…than…” He broke off, choked up.

“To Tyson,” Allison finished for him, stoic. “A giant among men.”

Everyone raised their glass and drank, except Samira, who clasped her goblet to her chest, her tears splashing into her wine. Gisèle reached out to pat her on the back. “Have some bread,” she encouraged. “It’s still warm.”

Jennifer considered Samira from across the table, her head slightly tilted. After a moment, Samira looked up at her, not bothering to wipe the tears that cut tracks down her puffy face. “What?” she demanded.

Jennifer shook her head. “Nothing.”

“You are looking at me like that all evening,” Samira said. “If you have a problem with me, say it.”

“I don’t have a problem,” Jennifer said, raising her hands.

“We’re all upset tonight,” Cody said, rubbing his temples. “Let’s not—”

---