One of the men snickered and he felt anger touch him and grow and he turned away quickly. Frye was walking like a bantam gamecock across the hard, weedy sand toward the row of little cabins by the beach. The last rays of the sun made long, slanting patterns of shadow through the tired palms and the smell of frying fish was overpowering when they came around the back entrance of the main house. He knew the other men were following, but he didn't look back at them.
Frye said casually: "How is John Ashton?"
"He's all right."
"No trouble there? With Ashton, I mean, not this babe's husband."
"No trouble," Sam said.
"But you've been looking for it, haven't you?"
Sam said: "Keep out of it, Hank. Ellen says you were asking her about me. Leave her, alone. And me, too."
"I can't help bein' curious, boy. You ain't satisfied about the way your brother Charley killed himself and I'm wonderin' why, is all. If you know something about it that I don't, you ought to tell me. After all, that's my job." Frye squinted at him. "You think us cops slipped up somewheres?"
"You know damned well you did," Sam said. "And I'm going to prove it."
"How do you mean?"
Sam didn't answer. He thought Frye was looking for an argument and he didn't want to get into trouble here. Then they paused in front of one of the little cabins.
"Here it is," Frye said. "She owes Capp a bill. Nobody's paid for the cabin."
"Don't worry about that. Where did this Hennessey go?"
"Back to Miami."
"For good?"
"He said his wife came down from Long Island to spend the rest of the winter with him. He told us that before he left. Don't let Johnny Capp fool you, boy. Hennessey left here mighty early."
"Let's get her out of here," Sam said.
The cabin was the last one in the row. Frye had the key and Sam wondered about that, but he didn't mention it. He waited while the deputy got the door open and then he moved in quickly. The smell of spilled liquor came out of the shadowed darkness, mingled with perfume and stale heat. Sam paused on the threshold with Frye behind him and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He saw that the cabin was one of Capp's typically dreary places, sparsely furnished with cheap cypress furniture, a straw throw rug over the cement floor and an old-fashioned iron bedstead by the window that faced the sea. The blinds were tightly drawn and the window was shut. Several bottles glinted glassily in the shadows on the window sill. They were all empty. Scattered about the room were items of Mona Somerset's apparel-her crumpled linen skirt and orange bolero jacket, a pair of nylons, a pair of high-heeled snakeskin shoes.
He suddenly realized he was carrying Mona's handbag that he had found on the convertible seat and he put it down on a table just inside the door. Frye bumped into him trying to get by and Sam put up an arm and barred his way.
"I'll take care of her," he said
Something in his voice made the deputy stop pushing. Sam could see the girl now, sprawled on the rumpled bed, her dark hair spread on the pillow, her legs scissored against the white sheet. Perspiration made a shiny highlight on her high, delicately modeled cheekbones. She wore only a thin nylon slip.
Frye said: "That's really something, all right. And she's got money, besides. I heard tell her pappy left her-"
"Get out," Sam said.
"Look here, boy-"
Sam turned and closed the door in the deputy's round face. He felt the sweat start out of him and there was a bitter taste in his mouth when he turned to look at the sleeping girl. He thought he was going to be sick.
"Mona," he said.
She didn't move or answer.
"Mrs. Somerset," he said grimly.
There was no reply. He picked up her garments and moved toward her, wanting to look at her and deliberately not doing so, trying not to think of her helplessness before him. His hands shook. He looked for some liquor in the bottles, but they had all been drained. There was water in a pitcher, the residue from a supply of ice cubes and he took that and wetted his handkerchief and wiped the girl's face with it. She moaned and pushed at his hand. He got an arm under her shoulders and brought her to a sitting position, then slapped her face lightly, hating to do it.
"Mona, I've come to take you home. Come on now, behave."
She opened her eyes and looked at him without recognition. "Tim?"
"No, it isn't Tim. Mr. Hennessey has gone. He's gone back to his wife in Miami." Sam couldn't help himself. "I've come to take you home, Mona."
She looked blank. "Are you Sam?"
"That's right. I'm Sam."
"Why didn't Bill come for me?"
"He couldn't. Lundy suggested I might do it. Good neighbor policy. Or maybe he thought it might be fun."
"Poor Sam," she said and laughed.
"Get dressed." His voice was harsh. "You weren't really asleep, were you?"
"No, darling."
"Then get dressed. And don't call me darling."
"Are you angry with me?"
"Why should I be? You're not my worry."
"But you are."
"All right," he said heavily. "I am."
"And I'm so ashamed."
"Sure," he said. "Ashamed."
"Why did Lundy have to suggest you?"
"I don't know. I'll wait for you outside," he said.
The girl sat up and her voice sharpened. "No. Wait in here. I'll only be a minute. Is there any liquor left?"
"No."
"It's funny, but I feel pretty good. No hangover. As if I didn't have very much to drink at all."
"Very amusing."
"I don't understand it. I'm not sure what happened to me." She sounded genuinely puzzled. "Tim Hennessey brought me here and we were only going to stay for a drink: or two. He said he wanted to talk to Johnny Capp. But that deputy sheriff was here and-"
She paused and looked at Sam, still puzzled.
"Frye was here last night?" Sam asked.
"I think so. I seem to remember his talking to Tim. They were talking about me, I think. I'm not sure." She sounded tired. "But I must have slept all day. I suppose now it will be in the newspapers and everything."
"Not yet. Not if you hurry."
"Sam, you poor darling, you mustn't think I'm so bad. Really, Sam. I wish I could tell you-"
"Just get dressed," he said again.
He turned away to the window and took the empty bottles off the sill and raised the green blind. The sun was gone. His throat ached. The sea looked dark purple. He heard the girl moving about, humming a tuneless little song. His sympathy turned to hate. He thought he ought to get out of here and leave her alone. It would be good riddance. It would cure this thing that was wrong with him, this way he felt about her that was making all his plans go awry. It wasn't love. He thought he knew what love was or what it ought to be. And no man could be in love with a rich tramp like Mona. No man could look at a woman the way he had, seen her as he had just seen her and still love her. He didn't know what he felt toward her. Deliberately, he made himself turn around and look at her again.
She had put on her skirt and was stepping into the high-heeled snakeskin shoes. Her long black hair shimmered on the tan smoothness of her shoulders. She was tall and proud, with a mature figure that made a pulse tick in his throat. Her face was delicately modeled, with dark eyes and long brows that swooped upward in a perpetually inquiring, amused expression. Her mouth was full, her teeth very white, gleaming between her pouting lips. She looked up suddenly and saw Sam watching her and she started to smile and then the smile slowly faded.
"Please," she whispered.
"Are you sober?"
"Much too sober," she said. "It doesn't make sense. I wish I-don't look at me, Sam. I'm not worth looking at. I'm no good. I've been no good ever since I came here. Ever since I met-" She paused, and for a moment she looked like a confused child. "I haven't done anything wrong. Not really. Bill's all right. It's Ashton. Am I making sense?"
"Not
much," he said.
She nodded to the door. "I suppose they're all laughing at me out there."
"Can you blame them?"
"No. But I hate them for it. Just as you hate me."
He didn't reply to that. "Finish dressing," he said.
"I can't. I need a drink."
"There isn't any. You'll have to get along without one."
"Get me a drink, Sam. Please."
He took pleasure in being stubborn. "No. Let's get out of this fleabag." When he looked at her next, she was combing her long dark hair. In the evening light that came off the sea, she looked beautiful. He didn't try to understand how she could look like that after what she had just done. She was in her early twenties and looked like a kid. She was like a disheveled angel, he thought, and then he moved across the hot cabin to the door and picked up her handbag. "Come along."
Her hand rested on his arm. "Thank you, Sam, for coming after me. I'm glad it wasn't Bill. And I knew Ashton wouldn't bother."
He followed her outside. Deputy Frye, Johnny Capp and some of the other men were standing around the bar veranda waiting for their reappearance. Their faces turned as one to stare at Mona and Sam slid a quick look at her as they crossed the packed dirt area toward the car. She was magnificent about it, he thought. There was a pallor under her tan, but her chin was high and proud and she looked neither to right nor left, acting as unaware of the sudden laugh that came from the knot of men nearby. He felt the impact of that single burst of laughter as if he had been hit physically, but Mona gave no sign of hearing it. The walk to the car seemed endless.
They were almost there when Capp stepped off the porch and came toward them. Sam opened the car door and said quietly: "Get in. I'll drive." Then he turned to face Capp. "What is it?"
The little Irishman grinned. "I ain't been paid for the cabin yet, Sam. The lady's escort didn't settle the tab."
"All right. How much is it?"
"Fifty dollars," Capp said quietly.
Sam kept his face expressionless. "For overnight?"
"It's not the time, it's the service. Quiet place I run-no reporters, no noise, no publicity. It costs a lot, sometimes. Fifty dollars, Sam. No arguments."
He had to delve into Mona's purse for the money, because he didn't have that amount with him. There was a lot of currency in the girl's wallet. He counted out two twenties and a ten and handed the bills into Capp's horny hand. Capp grinned and turned to Mona.
"Come again soon, Mrs. Somerset," he smirked.
Sam hit him. It was not what he intended to do, but he couldn't help it. He had to wipe the grin off Capp's face, to smash the innuendo down the man's scrawny throat. His knuckles slammed against Capp's teeth and he found exultation in the pain that shot up through his wrist. Capp made a squawking sound and sat down hard in the dusty driveway. Blood ran darkly over his lip and chin. He made a spitting noise and started to get up, his hair a screen over furious eyes and Sam stood waiting, anxious for Capp to get up so he could hit the man again.
Somebody grabbed his arm from behind and twisted it quickly up his back. Somebody else drove a fist into his ribs. He saw it was Deputy Frye behind him and he twisted his hand free, catching Frye on the side of the head and breaking the deputy's grip.
Frye said: "Take it easy, all of you." The little fat man was breathing hard. His eyes were hot and filled with fury as he turned to Sam. "Always looking for trouble, hey? You want a brawl? You want the newspapers to write this up?"
Sam paused. He wanted to strike out at something, anything, to rid himself of the devil that tormented him. There was nothing to strike at, nothing to accept his fury. None of them wanted to tangle with him. The moment was gone. He saw Capp carefully count the fifty dollars and put them in his trouser pocket and then the proprietor walked bandy-legged back to the bar. Frye was still waiting for Sam to go on with it. Frye was almost hoping he would and Sam saw that he would be playing into the deputy's hand if he made a big thing out of this. And he heard Mona call him.
"Please, Sam. Let's go."
4
He slid behind the wheel of the big Cadillac and nobody tried to stop him, the way he looked. A moment later the car was floating smoothly over the sand road and then they were on the main highway heading west with a full moon rising over the purple sea behind them.
He drove slowly now, resisting the impulse to get the trip over with as fast as possible. The big convertible purred. Free of the mangroves that surrounded Capp's place, the air felt cooler and cleaner, beating around the wind wings and making Mona's dark hair stream back. Her face was pale. The evening darkness came quickly, but he could see her quite well. She sat with her feet tucked under her, her shoulder just touching his. A troubled, unhappy angel, he thought-slightly soiled and hung over.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
"Physically? Fine. Otherwise, awful."
"You sound awful, if I may say so."
"You can say anything you please, Sam. You don't owe me anything-it's I who owe you. Bill always talks about your brother, Charles, and the winters he used to spend with you when Isla Honda was yours. It's almost an obsession with him, especially since you showed up again. Did you talk to him tonight?"
"A little."
"Did he say he was trying to find out something for you?"
"He implied that. But he didn't make much sense." Sam paused. "Are you hungry?"
"I don't know. I need a drink."
"Maybe it can be arranged," he relented "Are you in a hurry to get back to the island?"
"I don't care if I never go back there," she said, suddenly vehement. "But I thought you wanted to get rid of me."
"I did," he said. "But not now."
"Then you're not disappointed in me?"
"I'm sorry for you," he said. "I think you're sick."
"So are you."
"Me?"
"I'd like to think it was because of me and the things I've done, but I know it isn't. You've watched us from your bungalow and I've watched you, too. I'm sorry for you. I can guess how you feel about me; you think I'm a tramp. You're disgusted with me, because I let that man get me drunk and take me to that place last night. I'm all mixed up about that. I don't remember anything about it. But even so, it was better than staying at that house."
He said: "What's wrong with Isla Honda?"
"I don't know. I suppose it sounds silly, but there's something evil about any place where Bill's uncle stays. I do wish you would be careful, Sam. I have a feeling something bad is going to happen to you. Maybe to me, too. I almost wish you'd give up whatever you're trying to do about Ashton. You're not doing yourself any good. Stop looking for whatever it is that's bothering you. Go back to wherever you came from before you returned to Isla Honda."
"You're not making much sense. You don't know anything about it."
"You think not? Stick around and you'll learn."
"Do you want me to go away?" he asked.
"No, of course not."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm selfish and I need you, Sam. You're the only person I know who can help me. I'm doing awful things to you, but I can't help it and I need you terribly."
He laughed and then he felt sick and stopped laughing.
"It's true," she insisted. "But I guess it's funny, too."
"No, it's not funny at all."
They were halfway to Isla Honda when he pulled into Cap'n Joe Tydings' place beside the highway. The bar and cafe supported a colony of cabins occupied by art students, with Cap'n Joe their tutor and mentor during the winter on the keys. Mona remained in the car when Sam went in to order hamburgers. The place was rustic and cool, with its draped fishnets and oil paintings on every inch of wall space. There was a noisily talking crowd of art students at one end and Sam turned the other way toward the grill. He ordered two bottles of beer to go with the hamburgers and then Cap'n Joe detached himself from the others at the opposite end of the room and stood beside him.
"How are you, boy?"
/>
"Fine," Sam said.
"Good to see you back."
"Thanks."
Cap'n Joe Tydings looked at him myopically. He was a big man in a twisted yachting cap and a gaudy Hawaiian shirt and duck pants held up by a four-inch wide leather belt studded with semi-precious stones.
"You know Benny Suarez?" Tydings asked. "Used to be Charley's secretary. Got a shrimp boat now."
"What about him?"
"Looking for you. Said he'd stop by later."
Sam nodded. "Thanks again. Tell him I'll be in town tonight."
He took the hamburgers when they were ready and returned to the parked car. Mona looked distastefully at the beer he had brought, but her appetite seemed unimpaired. Sam took one bite of his hamburger and threw it away. He couldn't eat. He finished the beer, smoked a cigarette and waited for Mona to be through. She ate slowly and mechanically. When she was finished, she delved in the purse he had brought along for fresh lipstick.
He spoke to her while staring out at the dark, silent sea.
"What made you pick him?"
"Hennessey?" she asked.
"Yes, Hennessey."
"Tim is a pig," she said. "But it had to be someone. Not you, Sam. I couldn't, with you. But I won't see Hennessey again."
He said: "Then it will be someone else next time. Anyone."
She didn't answer. Her face was a dim oval in the moonlit night. Several cars rushed along the highway behind them, headlights flaring, the sound of their motors drumming away into the distance. A neon sign flickered on and off over the entrance to Cap'n Joe's place. They were alone in the little parking lot.
Presently Sam realized that she was crying.
She made no sound, but the burden of her pain was in the shape of her shoulders, in the lines of her face. He saw the tears shining in the moonlight. His anger melted. He wanted to comfort her and he put his arm around her and she clung to him, a desperate strength in her fingers that dug into his flesh.
"Don't," he said. "Don't cry."
He felt her whole body convulsed by sobs. He held her tighter and then he kissed her. He wondered how long a man could go on without pride. It didn't matter. She was tormented and unhappy and he wanted to help her. He didn't know if he were in love with her or not He knew she did not love him and that didn't matter either.
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