by Lisa Jackson
Willa rolled her eyes. The woman couldn’t have been more obvious if she tried. And Odell… What a chivalrous guy, Willa thought, watching the little scene. First he’d rescued Willa last night. Or so he’d said. And now he was playing knight in armor to what appeared to be their new neighbor, if the three matching red suitcases were any indication.
The breeze picked up a few notes from an old classic song and Willa turned to glance back at the deteriorated Spanish villa. On the third floor, the elderly woman looked out, then the curtain fall back into place. Willa would bet the woman smelled of gardenias.
“Odell Grady,” she heard Mr. Chivalrous say to the redhead. “Welcome to Cape Diablo.”
The woman gave him a demure nod as she stepped out of his arms, but not far. “Henrietta LaFrance, but my friends all call me Henri.” She favored Willa with a glance.
“This is Cara,” Odell said. “Or do you prefer Willie?”
Henrietta cocked her head. “You look more like a Willie not a Cara.”
So she’d heard. “Willie is fine.” She knew she would never remember to answer to Cara anyway and now wished she hadn’t mentioned the other name.
Odell hurried to tie up the boat and help unload all of the supplies, including the three large red suitcases and two large army-green duffel bags that apparently belonged to Goth Girl.
Mother and daughter? Henri didn’t look like the mother type. Nor had Willa seen the two women exchange even a look, let alone a word. So did this mean that they had come out to rent the remaining two apartments?
It seemed odd that when Willa had called, all the apartments had been vacant and now were rented. Maybe that was normal. Still, it made her a little anxious. At least the two new renters were women, though Willa couldn’t imagine what had brought either of them to Cape Diablo. Henri looked like a woman who would have been happier at Club Med. And Goth Girl didn’t look like she’d be happy anywhere.
“I’ll get that,” Odell said when Willa reached for the box of supplies with her apartment number on it.
“I’ve got it.” She softened her words. “Thanks, but it’s not heavy. Anyway, Henrietta needs your help more than I do.”
“Henri,” the redhead corrected. “Thanks,” she said as Odell attempted to carry all three of her heavy suitcases. Henri took the smaller one from him and they started toward the villa.
Goth Girl made a face at their backs, slung a duffel bag strap over each shoulder and followed at a distance.
Bull was watching Henri walk away. He hadn’t said a word but what he was thinking was all too evident in his expression, especially the slack jaw.
“Is this customary?” she asked him.
He looked up at her as if seeing her for the first time. “What?”
“This many tenants.”
He frowned. “People come and go. Right now they’re all coming. Don’t understand the attraction, though,” he said, glancing toward the old villa. “That one won’t stay long,” he said, no doubt meaning the redhead. “Few do. Nothing to do here even if the place wasn’t cursed.”
“Cursed?” she asked, curious if he would tell her something different from what Odell had.
He didn’t bother to look at her. “You really don’t know? Ask Odell. He’s writing a book about the place.”
She frowned. That might explain then why he knew so much about Cape Diablo and the Santiago family.
Willa forced Bull to redirect his attention for a few minutes as she paid for her supplies and placed her order for the next week.
“How was your first night on the island?” Bull asked, shading his eyes to study her.
“Fine,” she said a little too quickly.
He chuckled and pocketed her money and her list for next week’s supplies. “I guess those dark circles under your eyes could be from staying up all night with Odell.” He chuckled at his own joke. “He doesn’t seem your type, though.”
What did that mean?
Odell and Henri were headed back to the dock for the rest of the load.
“See you next week then.” Bull seemed to hesitate. “I guess Gator told you that if anything happens that you decide you don’t want to stay here, you can get Carlos, you know the old fisherman who lives in the boathouse, to take you to the mainland if you are in trouble. He’s okay.”
She wanted to ask him more, like what kind of “trouble” he might be referring to, and if Carlos was “okay,” was Odell not? But Henri and Odell had returned to pick up the supply boxes. “Thanks” was all she said to Bull. At least there was a way off the island in a hurry if she needed it. And for some reason, both Bull and Gator seemed to think she might need it.
Feeling uneasy, she watched Bull take off in the boat. Both men seemed worried about her—and neither even knew just how much trouble she was in. Within seconds the boat disappeared into the line of green mangrove islands and was gone.
Henri and Odell came back down to the dock to help with the rest of the supply boxes. Both were talking as if they were old friends. Maybe they were, Willa thought. Maybe nothing was as it seemed. Was Odell writing a book about Cape Diablo and what had happened here? If so, why didn’t he just say so? She watched Henri and Odell, both lost in conversation, pick up the remainder of their items from the dock and leave. Willa waited as she saw Goth Girl coming back down. The girl looked surlier than before, if that was possible.
“Hi, I’m Willie,” Willa said, catching herself before she blurted out her real name. She held out her hand.
The girl just stared at it, but mumbled the word “Blossom.” Goth Girl had one of those young faces that made it hard to gauge her age. The eyes had an old look, as if the girl had seen way too much during her short lifetime, Willa thought. Willa’s heart went out to her. She knew firsthand what it was like to age almost overnight after witnessing something horrendous.
“Blossom. That’s a unique name,” Willa said, trying to be friendly and at the same time wondering what the girl was doing here. Blossom obviously wasn’t pleased to be here.
“Blossom is my stage name,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of me.”
Willa wouldn’t dare. She understood stage names. Like Cara was hers.
“You’ve never heard of me,” Blossom accused with obvious contempt. “I’ve only like done a ton of films, plays and commercials. Are you one of those freaks who doesn’t watch TV?”
“I’ve been too busy to watch much TV,” Willa said, deciding befriending this girl had been a mistake. “So what brings you to Cape Diablo?”
Blossom made a face. “My agent, the bitch. She thinks I need a break. She just can’t stand the idea of me having any fun. I’m just supposed to make money for her and my parents. They’re in on it, too, the parasites. They all think my friends are dragging me down.” The girl looked even younger as tears welled in her eyes. “A week. I have to spend a frigging week here. It’s blackmail. I should have them arrested. I can’t wait until I’m old enough to dump them all.”
Still feeling the effects of the headache she’d awakened with, Willa couldn’t think of a thing to say as the girl spun around, picked up her supply box and headed for the villa.
After a moment, Willa picked up her own supply box from the dock again and followed. Avoiding the sour girl wouldn’t be difficult and now that Odell had Henri to talk to, Willa wouldn’t have anyone to bother her. She hurried back to her apartment, anxious to have some breakfast and start painting.
As she climbed the stairs, she could hear Henri’s and Odell’s voices in the apartment below her but couldn’t make out the words. Blossom disappeared into a small apartment at the end under Willa’s bedroom. Willa realized there were two small studios under her larger apartment. She’d been lucky to get the rental, it appeared.
After unpacking her food supplies, she made herself breakfast and went right to work painting. It surprised her sometimes how the paintings came to her. She worked furiously caught up in the process, hardly
paying any attention to what began to appear on the canvas.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard voices in the courtyard. She stepped back from the easel to stare at what she’d painted. The villa, the walls cloaked in what appeared to be a bright red spray of bougainvillea. She stared at the painting, disturbed by the feeling it gave her.
Leaving the painting and the uneasy feeling it gave her, her thoughts returned to what Bull had said about Cape Diablo being cursed—and Odell writing a book about it. Unconsciously she massaged the bruises on her wrist.
She could still hear Odell downstairs with Henri. Glancing out the window, she saw that he’d left his door open. She could see a small desk with a typewriter right by the door. This might be her only chance.
Shocked by what she was about to do, Willa slipped out of her apartment and sneaked down the stairs and across the courtyard. She didn’t look into the depths of the pool as she passed it. Nor did she turn to glance back until she reached the pool house and Odell’s apartment.
The blinds in Henri’s apartment were drawn. Willa could hear Henri laughing, as if she found Odell highly amusing. Which made Willa suspicious. But then she was suspicious of everyone, wasn’t she?
Taking another quick look back at Henri’s apartment to make sure no one had come out or was watching through the blinds, Willa stepped through Odell’s open doorway.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust in the cool darkness inside the apartment. She moved to the desk. Next to the old-fashioned manual typewriter was a ream of white paper that had yet to be opened. On the other side was a stack of newspapers.
Her heart jumped as she saw the newspapers. Some were yellowed with age and felt brittle in her fingers. She read the headline on the top one. Entire Family Disappears From Cape Diablo.
So Bull had been right apparently.
As she set the newspaper gingerly back down, she saw a more recent headline on a paper below it.
All breath rushed from her. She lifted the older newspaper and pulled out the more recent one and gasped.
Next to the headline, Key Witness Missing In Murder Of Undercover Cop: Hunt On Following Safe House Attack, was her photo.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Willa grabbed the edge of the desk, her knees going weak as she stared at the photograph of her escaping the safe house. How had anyone gotten this? But she knew. It had to have been taken from one of the media helicopters.
She remembered one of the officers guarding her had called for backup just a few seconds after the safe house was attacked. The media must have picked up the call on the scanner.
She stared at the photo, her heart sinking. Vaguely she recalled looking up and seeing a helicopter overhead as she was running away. She’d thought it was the police and had kept running, acutely aware that the police couldn’t protect her from the likes of Landry Jones or the men he worked for.
The shot of her had been blown up, the picture grainy, but even with her hair no longer long and straight and blond, she had no trouble recognizing herself.
Had Odell recognized her?
She tried not to panic. On impulse she took the section with her photo and the story about Zeke Hartung’s murder, quickly folded it and stuffed it under the waistband of her shorts, covering it with her shirt.
The rest of the paper she would leave. She started to slide it back into the spot where she’d found it then noticed there was a laptop computer under his desk. Was the old manual typewriter just for show?
“You a news junkie, too?” Odell asked from his apartment doorway.
She jumped and spun around to face him, the newspaper still in her hands, her mind racing for an explanation for being in his apartment.
“The door was open,” she managed to say. She’d left it open on purpose so she would hear him coming. But she’d been so upset and busy trying to get the newspaper back in the right place that she hadn’t heard him. How long had he been standing there watching her? Had he seen her take the front page and hide it under her shirt?
“I can do without a lot but not the news,” Odell said, leaning against the doorjamb watching her. “I have to know what’s happening back on the mainland. You’re welcome to read that paper if you’d like. I’m finished with it.”
She looked down at the newspaper in her hand and said the first thing that came to mind. “I was just checking my horoscope.”
He smiled. “You do that, too? It’s silly but I can’t help myself. When I spill salt, I have to toss some of it over my left shoulder.” He smiled. “I even knock on wood. Silly, huh?”
“No. We all have our own superstitions,” she said, remembering what he’d buried behind the villa. “If you don’t mind, I will take the newspaper. Might as well read ‘Dear Abby’ while I’m at it.”
He wasn’t looking at her but at his typewriter now. She hadn’t noticed that there was a sheet of white paper sticking out of it. When she’d seen the ream of unopened paper she’d assumed he hadn’t been writing yet.
She could almost read what he’d typed—
He stepped to her, blocking her view of the typewriter. “I’m glad you were just after the newspaper and not trying to read what I’d written on my book.” His smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes now.
She smiled, hers even more strained. “Okay, you caught me. I was curious. Bull said you were writing a book on Cape Diablo.”
Odell laughed. “I should have known he would blab. Okay, now you know. I’m fictionalizing it since no one knows what really happened, except maybe that old woman upstairs or her boyfriend, the Ancient Mariner, as I call him. But neither of them is talking. At least not to anyone but themselves,” he added, and laughed at his own joke.
“I’m sure the book will be a bestseller.”
“You think?” He seemed to relax a little.
She nodded, still smiling. She wanted to ask him what had him so scared that he was worried about evil curses. She wanted to go back to her apartment. She could feel the newspaper article under her shirt growing damp against her bare skin.
“Well, thanks for the newspaper,” she said, holding it against her chest. She started to step away and heard the crinkle of the newspaper article she’d hidden under her T-shirt.
“Hey,” Odell said.
She froze.
“You’d better watch the sun as fair as your skin is,” he said, eyeing her. “You look flushed and a little unsteady on your feet. The sun and heat on this island will do a fair-skinned girl like you right in.”
Or something would, she thought.
“You’re obviously not from Florida,” he said. “Some place up north?”
She could feel him studying her. Had he seen the resemblance to the page one photo of her? She hadn’t had time to read the story and see if it mentioned her name or that she was from South Dakota. No doubt the police had been forced to be forthcoming after two of their officers had been gunned down at the safe house and the media had photos.
“No, actually I was born and raised here,” she lied. “I just avoid the sun.”
“Probably a good idea,” he agreed, sounding like he knew she was lying. “You must have gone to a good college. No Floridian accent like most of us. But some accent I haven’t been able to place yet.” He was no longer smiling.
“I think I’ll lie down for a while.” She started for the stairs, feeling his gaze drilling into her back as she hugged the newspaper to her stomach and practically ran to get away.
“If you’re really interested in the book I’m working on, maybe we could get together and talk about the ghosts that haunt this island,” he called after her.
“What ghosts?” Henri said, sticking her head out the open door of her apartment as Willa ran up the stairs.
“Cape Diablo ghosts,” Odell said with a chuckle. “Has to be told over a good bottle of wine, though.”
“I have the wine,” Henri offered. “What do you say, Willie?”
Willa had reached her apartmen
t, opened the door and was almost safely inside. Just not quick enough. She thought of several reasons to decline as she looked down and saw Odell watching her, waiting.
“That is unless Willie is too scared,” he said, as if trying to make it sound as if he was joking. His gaze met hers.
“I’m not afraid of ghosts,” she said, meeting his eyes.
Odell lifted a brow. “Great. Later I’ll get the barbecue grill going. We’ll make it a party.”
“You got yourself a date,” Henri said.
“Sounds great,” Willa agreed, just to be agreeable. She would come up with an excuse later.
She closed her door, heard the music coming from the third floor again and shivered as she remembered her stolen artwork and the smell of gardenias. Odell might be right about one thing. The elderly woman living in the tower did appear to be in her own world. What had she done with the painting she’d taken? Probably put it up on a wall. At least no one would see it.
Pulling the newspaper from under her shirt, she dropped it and the rest of the paper on the table before glancing out the window. She caught a glimpse of Alma Garcia standing at her window overlooking the courtyard. Had she been listening to the conversation about ghosts? Apparently she had since she looked upset.
Willa followed the older woman’s gaze. Alma seemed to be glaring down not at Odell and Henri who were talking by the pool but at Blossom, who was partially hidden from view where she stood in the shade along the back wall of the villa.
The girl looked as if she was eavesdropping on Odell’s and Henri’s conversation. Blossom looked up. Her piercing gaze seemed to meet Willa’s, almost daring her.
Willa dropped the blind back into place and picked up the newspaper article she’d taken from Odell’s room and turned it over.
All the breath rushed out of her. Earlier she’d been so shocked to see her own photo in the paper that she hadn’t even noticed a second story—and photograph.
This one was of a younger Landry Jones.
He was wearing a police uniform!
Dropping in a chair, her gaze flew to the headline. Undercover Officer Wanted For Murder Of Partner: Manhunt Continues For Killer Cop—And Only Witness.