by Lisa Jackson
She shivered as she made her way back to her open apartment door. Slipping inside, she locked the door behind her.
Whatever it was Odell had dug up or buried, it was none of her business. Though it was odd. And even a little chilling.
As she padded barefoot toward her bedroom she caught an unfamiliar scent in the air and slowed. Perfume? It smelled like…gardenias? Had someone been in her apartment? She’d foolishly left the door wide open and hadn’t been paying any attention during the time she’d been watching Odell.
Deeper into the apartment, the scent grew stronger then faded all together as if she’d only imagined it. Like she’d imagined the little boy’s face in the photo?
She stopped in the middle of her bedroom. Her pulse jumped, her heart leaping to her throat. Someone had been in her apartment. She hadn’t imagined the scent of gardenias and what she saw—or in this case didn’t see.
Her easel stood empty.
The painting she’d done of Landry Jones and the murder was gone.
Trembling, Willa removed the shade from the lamp on the table next to the bed and hefting the base, quickly searched the small apartment to make sure the thief wasn’t still there.
The apartment was small with few places to hide. Once she’d checked the bathroom and the closet and under the bed, that didn’t leave much of a hiding place.
But still she moved the couch out away from the wall to look behind it, feeling foolish. Why would someone be hiding in the apartment after taking the painting? But why would anyone come into her apartment and take an unfinished painting to begin with?
Once she was sure there was no one lurking in the apartment, she put the lamp back beside her bed, the shade on again and turned on all the lights.
Her stomach felt queasy and she remembered the sandwich Odell had given her. The supply boat wouldn’t be coming until tomorrow morning with her groceries.
She had bought a box of granola bars before she’d met Gator at the dock and several bottles of water. She took the water from her large purse, opened one and put the other in the fridge. Too antsy to sit, she ate the sandwich and one of the bars standing up.
She felt a bit better but still nervous as she listened to the sounds of the night and the creaks and groans of the old villa and thought of the story about the Santiago family. Overhead, she heard footfalls on the floor as if someone was creeping around up there, then silence.
On impulse, she checked the hole behind the couch. No light shone from the floor above. She slid the couch back, double-checked the door to make sure it was locked, then made sure all the windows were closed and locked before hooking a chair under the doorknob as an extra precaution before going to bed.
As exhausted as she was, she thought sleep would elude her, especially given that someone had taken the disturbing painting she’d planned to paint over in the morning. Who? And why? Alma Garcia? The same person who’d cut the tape on the painting supply box while it was on the dock? Maybe the poor old soul had a problem with taking things. Willa would have to keep her door locked. And keep an eye on the old woman.
And Odell. What had he buried? Or dug up? She knew she would have to find out. She thought about going out there now but suddenly she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Sleep dragged her down as if she’d been drugged.
She tried to fight it, suddenly afraid that Odell had put something in the sandwich. She felt as if she were underwater desperately trying to swim to the surface. She thought she heard a sound at her door then someone calling her name but then she went under and there was nothing but blackness.
In the dream the water was dark. She stood on the edge of the pool. There was something just below the surface. She could almost make out what it was. She leaned closer.
A face began to take shape. The face of a little boy like the one she’d seen in the photograph except the boy seemed to be fighting to save himself, as if he was being held under. There was terror in his eyes and he was gasping.
Suddenly the child’s face floated to the surface. Not the face of a little boy but the bloated, distended face of a monster, the decomposed skin slipping off, the face literally dissolving before her eyes.
Willa screamed and lurched backward but the child’s hand came out of the fetid water and grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the pool as if to drag her to the bottom with him.
Frantically she fought to free herself but the grip on her wrist was like a steel band. She screamed again as she was dragged to the lip of the pool, what was left of the child’s face grinning grotesquely up at her.
“Hey! It’s me!”
Suddenly her eyes flew open and she fell backward. Odell grabbed her and pulled her back from the edge of the pool. She struck out at him, still deep in the nightmare.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?”
He held her at arm’s length until her eyes focused on him, then he let go. She stumbled back from him, confused and shaking with terror.
“Are you all right?”
She blinked and looked around, memory of where she was slowly coming back to her. “How did I get down here?”
He shook his head. “Oh, man, were you sleepwalking?”
Her gaze flickered over the moonlit courtyard. Still in the grip of the dream, she stared at the dark water of the pool, until she finally pulled her gaze away and looked at Odell. He was wearing only pajama bottoms, his chest and feet bare, hair mussed as if he’d just woken up.
“I heard a scream and I came running out….” He was staring at her, looking almost as scared of her as she was of him. “That was really creepy. I’ve never seen anyone sleepwalking before. You were looking right at me and yet you didn’t seem to be seeing me at all. If I hadn’t grabbed you, you looked like you were going to fall into the deep end of the pool.”
She tried to make sense of what he was saying. “It was only a dream?”
He chuckled, looking relieved that she was no longer freaking. “More like a nightmare from the way you were screaming.”
It had been so real. She shot a glance toward the stagnant water of the pool again and shuddered, hugging her bare arms. She glanced down and saw that her feet were bare and realized she was wearing only her nightshirt. Although it covered her from her shoulders to her knees, she felt half-naked in the hot humid night air with this man.
She remembered the sandwich and the feeling that she’d been drugged. Was it possible he’d put something in the sandwich to make her hallucinate? But why would he do that? If he’d been sent here to kill her, why not just drown her in the pool get it over with? Why save her?
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Odell asked.
She nodded, realizing that the last time she’d gotten even a little close to a stranger had colored her thinking. She used to be so trusting. But Landry Jones had changed all that.
Thoughts of what could have happened if she’d gotten into the car with Landry that night skittered past. Another shudder ran through her as she stepped farther away from Odell.
“If you’re all right, I’m going back to bed,” he said, seeing her move away from him. He seemed irritated. After all, according to him, he’d just saved her.
She nodded and stumbled backward to the stairs, groping with one hand behind her as if blind, even though an almost full moon and a canopy of stars now lit the courtyard.
Odell said nothing, just watched her until she disappeared up the steps and through the open door of her apartment. She closed the door, locked it and moved to the window to peer through the blinds down on the courtyard and the pool. Had it really only been a nightmare?
Odell was still standing by the pool looking up at her apartment.
She retreated from the window, letting the blind fall back into place. She couldn’t quit shaking. She hadn’t walked in her sleep since she was a child.
Shuddering again at the memory of the child’s face in the water, she hurried to turn on a lamp, sending the darkness skittering back to the far corners of the apartmen
t. But no light could take away the chill the nightmare had left behind. Or rid her of the feeling that it hadn’t been a dream at all.
The hand coming out of the pool had been Andres Santiago’s dead son grabbing her—
Almost as if still asleep, she slowly looked down at her left wrist, not realizing until that moment that she’d been rubbing it.
A stifled cry escaped her lips. The skin was chafed red where something—someone—had grabbed her wrist, the skin already starting to bruise.
CHAPTER SIX
Willa woke to the sound of a boat motor. She bolted upright in bed, momentarily confused. All the lights were on in her apartment and she realized she’d left them on all night. She was on top of the covers where she must have lain once she’d returned to her apartment last night.
Her memory was fuzzy. Had she dreamt all of it, including waking up by the pool? She looked down at her wrist, shocked again to see distinct bruises in the shape of fingertips. And calluses on her palms from shoveling.
She groaned. Some of it had definitely been real.
Last night she knew she wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep until she found out if Odell had buried something behind the villa.
She’d waited until his lights went out, and then giving another thirty minutes to make sure everything was quiet in the villa, she dressed and sneaked down.
As she passed the pool, she hadn’t dared look into the water as if it might cast a spell on her. Or even worse, that she might see the little boy and he might reach for her again as he’d done in the nightmare.
Past the pool, she’d slipped through the arch, just as Odell had done earlier. The moon had sent silver shafts of light down through the palms and dense vegetation close to the villa. Just as she’d suspected, Odell had left the shovel just outside the courtyard leaning against the wall.
Silently she took it and gazed into the darkness under the trees for the spot where she’d seen him digging. It was harder to find from this angle. But she was good with directions. It went with being raised in South Dakota. A person could get lost on the prairie with no trees or even a knoll to use as a marker.
A few yards from the villa, the darkness settled over her like a shroud. She stumbled to the spot and turned to look back at the villa.
No lights shone. Moonlight played along the edge of the back wall. She saw no dark figure watching her, heard nothing as she turned back to the spot and removed the palm fronds Odell had used to cover it.
The earth had obviously been turned here. She was more than having second thoughts as she took the shovel in her hands and began to dig. While she’d brought the penlight, she didn’t want to use it unless she absolutely had to, fearing that the light might be seen from the villa. The last thing she needed was an audience for what she suspected would be one of her more foolish acts.
She tried to imagine what her friends back in South Dakota would say if they could see her now. Worse, her mother. Better to think about that instead of what she might be digging up.
The blade struck something, making a ringing sound that seemed too loud. Everyone back at the villa had to have heard. Worse, she started to imagine all kinds of things buried down there. She shuddered and carefully turned over another shovelful then another.
Something glittered in the dim light. She put down the shovel and, taking a chance, turned on the penlight and shone it down into the hole, her nerves on end.
What the heck? She bent closer. It appeared to be a pint jar full of something. She cringed, not wanting to pick it up and yet how could she not? As if she could just cover it back up now…
Gingerly she bent down and cautiously picked up the jar wondering why Odell would have gone to the trouble to bury it. In the glow of the penlight, she could now see that it was a small mayonnaise jar and it was full of nails and tacks, all swimming in a yellowish liquid. Talk about odd.
She tilted the jar, the contents rattling softly. This made no sense. Putting down the penlight, she tried the lid. It unscrewed easily. Bracing herself, she took a whiff and recoiled at the smell. It couldn’t be! But she knew it was. The color. The smell.
She quickly screwed the lid back on and returned the jar to the hole. It didn’t take long to rebury it. She tamped down the earth and then covered the spot with the palm fronds. Carrying the shovel, she walked back to the villa, watching to make sure no one had seen her. She felt like a fool.
After leaning the shovel against the wall where she’d found it, she returned to her apartment, washed her hands and changed back into her nightgown.
It wasn’t until she climbed back into bed that she let herself think about what she’d discovered. Odell had filled a jar with sharp objects and urinated on them, then sealed up the jar and buried it outside the villa.
It was a talisman. Willa knew because of an old woman who lived down the road from her family’s former farm when she was a kid. The woman lived alone and some people said she was a witch. She was always brewing up herbs and poultices. The one time Willa had been in the woman’s house she’d seen books about spells and hexes—and ways to protect yourself against evil. One required burying a jar filled with sharp objects and urine in the backyard to keep you safe from anything—or anyone who might want to hurt you.
What did Odell Grady need to protect himself against? The evil of the house? Or the evil he was about to do?
Willa’s head ached. She couldn’t be sure if it was from a fitful night of sleep or being drugged. She’d been a fool to eat the sandwich, knowing that Odell Grady might be a hired killer who’d been sent to make sure she never testified against Landry Jones.
But would Landry Jones send someone to kill her? Or would he come himself?
The thought sent a shudder through her as she quickly dressed to meet the supply boat, reminding herself that if Odell was a hired killer, he certainly hadn’t acted like one last night.
He could have drowned her. Or poisoned her. He had done neither. In fact, if he was telling the truth, he’d saved her from the pool. Wasn’t it possible that she really had been walking in her sleep, dreaming about that torn-up photograph, thinking she saw a body at the bottom of the pool?
But that didn’t explain why he’d buried a talisman against evil behind the villa. Hadn’t Gator said people came to Cape Diablo because they were running from something? Maybe someone was after Odell Grady.
The sound of the boat motor grew louder. Hurriedly she opened her door on the beautiful Florida sunny day and took a deep breath of the salty air. On impulse, she decided to get rid of the trash on her way. She didn’t want that stupid photograph in her apartment. The last thing she needed was another nightmare like last night.
But as she picked up the small trash basket, she saw with a start that it was empty. Had she taken it out last night?
Not that she remembered.
She glanced toward her empty easel. Had the scraps of photograph gone the way of the missing painting?
The boat motor grew even louder. She put down the trash basket, not even wanting to contemplate why whoever had taken her painting would have also taken the scraps of a photo of nothing more than a murky pool.
As she rushed down to the dock, the supply boat came into view. She was half hoping it was Gator. But as the boat came closer, she saw that the driver was a stranger and he wasn’t alone. There were two others in the boat with him, both women. Visitors? Or new tenants?
“Good morning.” Odell came up behind her, keeping a little distance between them as if wary of her after last night.
“Mornin’,” she said, embarrassed. If he was telling the truth, he’d saved her from possibly drowning in that gross pool last night and she hadn’t even thanked him. In fact, she’d been rude to him. “About last night…thanks.”
“No problem.”
At the memory she looked down at her wrist and saw the bruises where fingers had pressed into her flesh.
“Oh no. I hurt you,” Odell said, sounding horrified as he grabbed her ha
nd and turned her hand palm up to look at the bruises on her wrist. He grimaced. “I’m sorry. You were just pulling so hard. I couldn’t let go and let you fall into that pool. In the state you were in I was afraid you would have drowned or at least died of something after being in that putrid water.”
She had to smile. “I appreciate you not letting that happen.” But the suspicious part of her mind still wondered if he was telling the truth.
“I’m just glad you were there,” she said, reverting to the manners she’d been taught. “Thank you. I was so upset last night. I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful.”
He smiled. “I’m glad I could be of help. It must have been some nightmare.”
She nodded.
Odell looked past her, his expression brightening. “Wow.”
Just then the supply boat banged into the dock. Odell righted her as the dock rocked, then grabbed the bow of the boat to steady it. “Good morning,” he said with much more enthusiasm than he’d shown her.
The greeting, she saw wasn’t for the supply boat driver, who must be Bull. He was a younger version of Gator, although just as weather-beaten and no more friendly.
No, what had brightened Odell was the tall redheaded woman in short shorts and an even snugger red halter top. Thirty-something, the redhead could have been a model. The other passenger in the boat was apparently a teenager. The girl had the sullen Goth look going: her eyes rimmed with black, her nose, eyebrow and lower lip pierced, along with her ears, and her dyed black hair stringy and in her eyes. She wore black jeans and a black crocheted top that revealed a lot of sunless white skin and a black bra.
Willa’s first thought was that the girl must be roasting in this heat dressed like that. She had a bored, annoyed expression as she ignored Odell’s offer of a hand out and agilely stepped to the dock.
“You have got to be kidding,” the teenager said as she looked toward the villa with disdain.
Meanwhile, the redhead smiled up at Odell as she took his hand and awkwardly stepped from the boat. The redhead stumbled into Odell. He caught her, his arms coming around her waist to steady her.