But Dodie was stern with her. “Concentrate on getting out.”
“I’m frightened of living, Dodie. Not of dying. I’ve never had to live with this kind of loss because I’ve never felt this kind of love before. I am not strong like you.” She brushed her fingers regretfully over Dodie’s bloody wrist. “I’m sorry, Dodie.”
“Don’t, Ella. You are stronger than you think. We have to get out of here. I am not going to die here. Not in a stinking boat. Not while Flynn is still drawing breath.”
“Dodie,” Ella murmured as she laid her head down on the table, “you deserve better.”
* * *
There was the sound of footsteps on deck. Dodie jerked awake. How long had she slept?
Minutes only. It was still light enough to see. The boat was rolling more under a rising wind and she could feel it pulling on its anchor. She nudged Ella.
“He’s back.”
Ella blinked but her eyes were dull as a figure clattered noisily down the ladder rungs and stumbled into the gloomy room with an oath.
“Tilly!” Ella exclaimed.
Dodie stared in disbelief. Relief swept through her and her fingers jittered with the sudden release of nerves.
“Thank God,” Ella whispered.
Dodie stood, her right arm in a spasm of fatigue. “Mrs. Latcham, your husband has imprisoned us here and . . .”
Only then did she realize Tilly was drunk. She was weaving sideways as she walked, holding on to the wall.
“Darlings,” Tilly said as she eased herself onto the bench opposite them, “how absolutely vile. You look terrible.”
Dodie sat down again to be on the same level as Tilly, but she could sense this was not right. Tilly was too brittle, too accepting of their plight. She should have screamed in horror and rushed to the toolbox.
“Mrs. Latcham.” Dodie spoke clearly and slowly. “Please fetch a chisel or a hammer from—”
“I’ve come to tell you something.”
Now Ella was aware of the oddness about her. “Tilly, please, this is serious.”
“So is this.”
“What is it, Mrs. Latcham? Tell us quickly. Mrs. Sanford needs attention.”
“I came to tell you, Dodie”—Tilly’s words were thick but her eyes were focused hard on Dodie’s—“that your friend Mr. Morrell should not have been so damn stupid that night in our car. If he hadn’t refused to tell me where he’d emptied the gold from the wretched ivory box he was carrying, I wouldn’t have had to stab him.”
“What? Tilly, no!”
“Hector recognized what the ivory box was and I persuaded Morrell into our car, but when he was so uncooperative about everything, I had to threaten him with a knife and . . . well, we struggled and . . . that was it.”
“My God, Tilly,” Ella gasped, “you must go to the police at once, tell them the truth. That it was an accident.”
Dodie put a hand on Ella. “Can’t you see? That’s what this is all about for Hector Latcham? Not just the land deal. It’s about protecting his wife.”
The boat creaked and lurched as the wind turned suddenly. Darkness in the islands fell fast and Dodie was certain that Tilly would want to leave quickly before the seas grew too rough for the rowboat.
“Mrs. Latcham.” Dodie strove to keep her voice calm and reasonable. “Ella is right. You must go to the police. You can’t let Flynn Hudson hang for a crime you committed. You have to tell them.”
“My dear Miss Wyatt, why on earth would I do that?”
This woman wants me to die.
The realization sent a shiver of revulsion through her and she glanced at Ella to see if she realized it too, but saw no signs.
“So why,” Dodie asked, “did you save me so dramatically from kidnap in the car in Nassau if . . . ?” She halted. Instinctively she drew back from the table, farther away from the lawyer’s wife, as if she were contagious. “Of course, I should have realized. You set it up in the first place, didn’t you, so that you could come riding in to save me.”
The scarlet slash of a mouth smiled, pleased with itself. “Cunning, wasn’t it? I hoped you would confide in me and tell me what dirty little secrets you know about where the gold is.” She shrugged. “It almost worked.” She popped open her leather bag, removed a cigarette case, and lit a Dunhill for herself. The hand that held the lighter was rock steady. She exhaled a plume of smoke that hung from the beams overhead like old cobwebs in the stagnant air.
“The foolish man. He should have cooperated.”
Dodie did not want to hear Morrell called a foolish man.
Tilly shook her head with frustration. “He’d buried the coins somewhere on Sir Harry’s estate, but he wouldn’t reveal where.”
Dodie pictured the big bear of a man, Johnnie Morrell, bargaining desperately for his life, with a knife doing the arguing for the Latchams. It made her want to seize this pampered woman by the throat.
“That is why,” Tilly confided in a sudden rush of intimacy, “Sir Harry caught us digging in his grounds the other night and everything turned nasty.”
Ella stared at her, aghast. “You? Are you saying you are the one who shot Sir Harry?”
“Oh, Ella, it wasn’t meant to happen.”
“Tilly!”
“Well, the bloody man was going to hand us over to the police and I had to stop him. Poor old Hector had the devil’s own job covering it all up in that ghastly storm, what with Christie there as well. And he even scattered those stupid feathers on the body, for heaven’s sake.”
A low visceral moan issued from Ella and she rose menacingly to her feet.
“It was you. All this was because of you. You’re the reason Dan is dead on that beach out there. You. Not Hector.”
“How was I to know the stupid detective would get in the way, darling? That’s why I’ve come all the way out here to see you. I wanted to explain. I didn’t intend for him to die.” She pulled a face at Ella. “Anyway we’ve been good friends, you and I, and I wanted to say good-bye.”
“You are not my friend.”
“Darling, don’t be so rude. Hector was right. He told me not to come, but I insisted. He was even willing to row me out, but I wouldn’t let him. This moment is between just you and me, darling.” She blew a kiss to Ella.
Ella tried to seize Tilly, one-handed across the table, but despite the drink inside her, Tilly was faster. She withdrew a tiny pearl-handled pistol from her bag and flashed it in Ella’s face.
“My darling girl, don’t make me.”
Dodie leaped to her feet. “Mrs. Latcham, it’ll be dark soon. Fetch the tools immediately, please. We need to get out of here. Or do you have the key to the cuffs?”
Beside her, Ella was shaking with fury.
“No, I don’t have the key, I’m afraid. Such a shame. But I think I’ll give the tools a miss too.” She looked from Ella’s white face to Dodie’s, then at the fading light. Beneath them the boat rocked warningly. “I shall say good-bye to you, dear ladies.”
It was the work of a moment for Dodie. A quick smack with her free hand on the side of the gun. Tilly was not expecting it from Dodie, her eyes were watching Ella. Dodie had been calm and respectful, no threat, no smacker of guns, but Tilly was wrong. The pistol flew out of her hand onto the table, where Ella seized it in her right hand and aimed it straight at Tilly.
For ten seconds neither moved. But neither of them would back down. Then Tilly threw herself forward, hands reaching for the pistol.
“Give me the gun!”
Ella pulled the trigger. The noise of the shot exploded in the small space and gulls shrieked outside as they rose in alarm from their roosts on the yacht’s sleek deck. Tilly whimpered. A small sound. Nothing more. Blood oozed out in a dark burgundy stain across the stomach of her pale crepe dress and Tilly stared at it with surprise.
“Mrs. Latcham, listen to me.” Dodie spoke loudly to gain her attention. “We’ll help you. But you have to get something to free us.”
But Tilly continued to frown, bemused at the stain on her dress, then with a jerk she set herself in motion and staggered up the companionway ladder. Minutes later they heard the slap of oars on the water.
The wind was rising.
* * *
Dodie held the gun steady. She released her breath and pulled the trigger. The varnished teak of the boat’s wall splintered and the end of the brass rail broke away, so that they could slide the handcuffs down it and off the end.
“Freedom!” Dodie said, and shook the burning muscles of her arm. “Of a kind, anyway.”
They were still attached to each other. It was dark inside the boat now, so she couldn’t see Ella’s expression clearly, but she had sensed a deadness in her ever since she’d turned the gun on the woman who had been her friend.
“Let’s get out of here,” Dodie urged.
“Do you think she’ll be all right?”
“Of course she will. She’ll get to the hospital and they’ll patch her up. She was all right enough to row a boat, so it can’t be so bad.” But she heard Ella’s murmur of doubt and it echoed what lay hidden behind her own words. They had both seen Tilly’s face when the bullet hit her.
“Now,” Dodie said firmly, “let’s go. Before they come back.”
* * *
“I can’t.”
“You can, Ella.”
It was dark on deck. The vast stretch of blackness below them pitched and rolled as the ocean wheeled around the boat and rumbled underneath them. They could hear its boom and smell its salty breath. Out on deck the air was sharp and sweet after the heat below, but the moon had not yet risen and the stars were no more than faint pinpricks in the immense sweep of darkness above them.
“I’ll help you,” Dodie promised.
She had searched the deck for life belts but found none. She counted to three. They jumped.
Chapter 58
Ella
Ella panicked the moment her head plunged underwater.
Her arms and legs spun out in all directions, forcing her down, and she was dragging Dodie down with her. Her mind splintered. Which way was up? She had no idea.
Her eyes were wide open yet she was blind, totally blind. A wall of nothingness. Terror gripped her and her heart thundered in her chest. Not like this. She didn’t want to die like this with someone hauling on her arm, pulling her down to the depths where fish would eat out her tongue.
No. She kicked hard against it. Tried to breathe and felt water flood into her lungs. The shock of it made her go limp and she didn’t resist when she felt herself tugged down farther because she realized this was the end. But she had it all upside down. This way was upward and her head shot above water and air burst into her lungs, making her cough and retch as a hand held her chin above the waves.
“Dodie!”
“I’m here. You’re all right. Keep calm.”
“I almost drowned you.”
“Just remember what I told you.”
What had she told her? Ella had no idea. She was kicking with her legs to keep afloat, but already her muscles were tiring. She tried to suck in air but a wave smacked her in the face.
“Relax.” Dodie was at her side, though she could see no more than the outline of a dim head shape against the black waters. “Let me do the work.”
Things came back to Ella. Spiking into her mind. We’ll try swimming one-handed together, and I’ll tow you, and always Relax. Don’t tense up. The waves won’t be big.
But they were big. Massive rolling monsters that lifted her like a cork and flung her forward, tumbling her over and dragging her back again. But she started to swim. Dodie was as good as her word, pulling her onward over the swell of the waves, keeping her clear of the crests when they broke. Easy smooth strokes.
It was possible. For the first time it seemed possible they might reach the shore. But the swimming seemed to go on so long, as if they had somehow gotten lost, and it occurred to Ella to wonder whether Dodie had gotten it wrong in the darkness. Was she swimming out to sea instead of inland? Ella could feel her body growing colder. Her mind growing cloudy. The great black weight of night was heavy on her shoulders, pressing down on her, but Dodie calmly flipped them both on their backs so that she could support Ella’s head on her chest while she kicked with her legs.
But an idea started to fix itself in Ella’s mind. If she could reach down to the bottom, put her feet on the soft white sand far below, she would find a door she could open that would lead her to Dan. The idea grew so strong inside her head that she twisted herself so that she was upright in the water, closed her eyes, and felt her body drop like a stone. The black water enfolded her and this time she welcomed it.
Her arm dragged above her as she descended, then a foot suddenly kicked the side of her head and a hand yanked her under her arm. Again she was forced to the surface coughing foam from her lungs, with waves barreling down on top of her. But beside her Dodie was screaming. It took her a moment to realize it wasn’t at her. It was at a light flickering on and off in the blackness.
* * *
He held her. By the light of the flashlight Ella knelt weakly on the sand and watched Flynn Hudson hold Dodie as if he would stop breathing if he let her go. The pair didn’t speak, just rested their dark heads together and let their hands touch, their skins reconnect. He released her with reluctance only when she stopped shaking.
Flynn carried Ella on his back up through the trees to a car that was parked on the road. No one mentioned that the car was Dan’s or that the keys to it must have come from Dan’s pocket.
“I’ll telephone the police,” Flynn said with a close look at Ella on the backseat.
He’d wrapped her in his jacket and Dodie sat next to her, chafing her hands. Flynn had opened the handcuffs in seconds with a set of picks in his pocket and Ella was shocked to find she missed the cuffs when they were gone. She felt disconnected. Cut adrift. Out on the black waves again, but this time on her own. Each part of her hurt in a way she’d never known was possible as grief clawed its way through every vein, leaving dead white shreds behind.
Ella didn’t close her eyes.
The headlights of Dan’s car were cutting bright yellow holes in the blackness of the outside world and she wanted to crawl into one to him.
Chapter 59
Dodie
The car swerved to a halt.
“What is it?” Dodie asked instantly.
“Something back there. Under the trees.”
Flynn threw the car into reverse and shot backward to a spot where there was a gap between two banks of trees. It was another car. Its parking lights were on but no headlamps.
“Wait here,” he said, and opened his door.
“I’m coming.” She checked on Ella on the rear seat, then slipped out of the car.
“Stay, Dodie,” Flynn said. “You’re wet and cold.”
But she tucked her arm tight under his and was glad when he didn’t argue further. The wind was high, whipping the palm fronds into a frenzy and carrying with it a strong tang of the ocean. She could taste the salt on her tongue and feel the staghorn ferns lick around her ankles as she approached the big black Buick.
“Stop right there!”
It was Hector Latcham’s voice. But it sounded as if someone had a wire around his throat. Flynn immediately stepped in front of Dodie, but over his shoulder she could see the car no more than six feet away. Their own car’s headlights picked it out of the surrounding night, strange shadows writhing across its bonnet as the wind lashed the tree branches. But on the ground with his legs stretched out in front of him sat Hector, leaning back against the running board of his car. On his lap lay Tilly.
“Stay away or I’ll sho
ot.”
Dodie locked a hand around Flynn’s arm. “Leave him,” she whispered.
But Flynn couldn’t let it go. He had too much history with this man. On the drive from Portman Cay she had given him a quick account of what had happened on the boat and she had felt his anger in the car.
When would this end?
In the strange yellow light, Hector looked sick. His usual neatness was gone, his hair raked by the wind, his skin the color of tallow, and his pale blue shirt streaked with what looked like purple stains. In his hand sat a gun.
“What now?” Flynn demanded, his gaze on the inert figure of Tilly. “What are you doing here?”
Hector’s arm was curled around his wife, supporting her against his chest, his chin tucked against the dark waves of her hair. She looked like a tired doll, because there was a slackness to her limbs that turned Dodie’s stomach. His jacket was draped over her middle and tears were running down his cheeks.
“She’s dead,” he said.
“Mr. Latcham, I . . .” Dodie tried to step forward but Flynn didn’t let her move. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but she brought it on herself.”
He nodded, heedlessly, everything about him a pale travesty of the ruthless man who had threatened her earlier that morning and left them to die on the boat.
“Tilly insisted,” he said, “on going out to see you both on the yacht. I tried to stop her but . . . She was too drunk to be behind a wheel, so I drove her to Portman Cay but she refused to let me row her out. I begged her. I warned her. But she wanted to face Ella on her own. She was angry about the death of the policeman and we had a quarrel.” His voice broke and he tenderly kissed his wife’s head.
“Mr. Latcham, we’ll go and telephone for an ambulance immediately.”
“She loved him, you know.”
The yellow bubble of light distorted Hector’s thin face, so that he looked like a wraith, already separated from life, a part of the shadows behind.
The Far Side of the Sun Page 35