Free Cold Case Squad by Edna Buchanan Page B

sink.
    "Keep this locked at all times. Promise me, please, Gran. When I
come on Saturday I'll install a better lock, an inch-and-a-half dead
bolt. Promise me."
     

CHAPTER SIX
    "Now, this is what a Florida house should look like," Nazario said.
The elevated Key West-style home, with spacious verandas and multiple
sets of French doors, was long and rambling. Pale yellow, with white
trim, it stood alone on several acres with a dramatic view of the wide
bay.
    "Looks like the widow lives large," Burch said.
    A big green landscaping truck and several cars were parked in the
driveway but no one was in sight. They climbed the wide front stairs
and rang several times before a uniformed maid came to the door. She
was in her thirties with dark hair tied back in a ponytail. Her rubber
gloves were yellow, her expression impatient.
    She scrutinized Nazario's business card. The lady of the house was
home, she said in guarded, heavily accented English, but busy at the
moment.
    "You can tell her we're here," he said politely.
    "No me." She looked amused as she wagged her head.
    He persisted until she replied in Cuban-accented Spanish that they
could tell her themselves and directed them to a cabana area behind the
house. She smirked as she closed the door.
    They followed the wraparound veranda, past comfortable white wicker
porch furniture, to a wide back staircase descending to the waterfront
pool, cabanas, and dock area.
    The
Natasha
, a graceful three-masted sailboat, was moored
at the dock.
    No one was in sight.
    The bay was magnificent, sea birds studding the sky where clouds and
water converged. A splendid day, despite a forecast of thunderstorms.
    "Think she sent us back here on a wild-goose chase?"
    "No, Sarge. Listen. You hear what I'm hearing?"
    Burch paused, then slowly grinned. "Sounds like Stone beat us here."
    The rhythmic unmistakable sounds of passionate sex in progress came
from behind the louvered doors of the largest of three cabanas.
    Burch rapped loudly on the polished wooden door. "Police Department."
    The rhythm stopped, replaced by scrambling sounds and angry mutters.
    "We're looking for Mrs. Streeter," Burch called out loudly, and
rapped again.
    "Been years since I did this," he said sotto voce to Nazario.
    After several more moments, the door abruptly swung open.
    "It's Ross now, Mrs. Milo Ross."
    She stood on one impossibly high-heeled sandal. The other was in her
hand. Lush shiny black hair tumbled long around her sleek bare
shoulders. Her strapless bikini was a brilliant peacock blue. A sheer
wraparound skirt in the same peacock color was tied like a sarong
around the suit's minuscule bottom.
    A thin gold chain glittered around her slender waist.
    "You looking for me?" The green eyes were cool and inquisitive,
despite the scarlet flush coloring her chiseled cheekbones.
    Embarrassment or passion? Nazario wondered.
    "Please." She reached a crimson-tipped, well-manicured hand out to
Burch for support, though Nazario stood closer. Clinging to his arm for
balance, she attempted to slide the Manolo Blahnik sandal onto her
slim, bare foot.
    Burch was impressed. She'd sized them up instantly, instinctively
sensing which man was in charge. She's good, he thought. Very good.
    She slowly wriggled her polished toes into the strappy shoe,
exposing her tanned legs longer than necessary, then clung to his arm
for a few more beats.
    "Ross?" Burch asked. "You've remarried."
    "Is that a crime?" she asked lightly.
    "In many cases it should be." He smiled back at her.
    Nazario was focused on the man in the cabana. He was no Milo Ross.
    The first clue was the name nelson stitched over the grass-stained
pocket of the landscaping company work shirt he was hastily buttoning
with thick, fumbling fingers.
    Tall, dark, and shaggy haired, he was handsome in a savage way, his
current expression sullen.
    "This is Nelson," Natasha Ross said, "and you are…"
    The detectives introduced themselves.
    "We can continue to discuss the new plantings