by Gibson, Jo
“What’s so funny?”
Michael’s words were slurred and Vera giggled. She hoped she hadn’t spiked his drinks with too much vodka. She had big plans for him later. She patted his back, and smiled up into his eyes. “I’m just happy, that’s all.”
“Me, too.” Michael gave her a silly grin. “The music’s stopped.”
“I know. Does it make any difference?”
“Not really.”
Michael pulled her a little closer, and Vera molded her body to his. The vodka didn’t seem to be affecting him where it counted, and she’d give him a little time to sober up, after they got inside the beach house. She’d worked out all the times with her older brother. He’d come crashing in the bedroom door at precisely three A.M., and he’d find them in a very compromising position. Michael’s parents would pay to keep it quiet. Vera was sure of that. Mr. and Mrs. Warden already had to live with the fact that Michael was a former mental patient. They certainly wouldn’t want him charged with rape, on top of everything else!
“It’s cold out here.” Vera smiled up at Michael and gave a little shiver. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm.”
Michael nodded. “Okay . . . whatever you say, Vera. Can we make coffee? My head’s spinning around in circles.”
“Of course we can.” Vera clamped her arm around Michael’s waist and led him to the staircase. “Come on, Michael. Climb the steps.”
“Right.”
Michael almost missed the first step, but Vera caught him before he fell. He was really whacked out of his mind. Maybe a little coffee was a good idea. She wanted him to remember making love to her so he could convince his parents that it had actually happened.
It took almost ten minutes to get Michael up the stairs, and Vera was panting by the time they reached the beach house. She guided Michael to the couch, and pushed him down on the soft cushions. “Wait right here, Michael. I’ll make the coffee and bring you a cup.”
Michael shook his head and tried to clear it. He felt awful, and he needed some air. Dimly, he remembered Vera telling him that she was going to the kitchen to make coffee. That was good. A cup of coffee might make him feel better.
Even though all he wanted to do was sink back against the couch cushions and go to sleep, Michael forced himself to get up. His head was throbbing painfully, and he wondered whether he was coming down with the flu. He’d felt just fine when he’d arrived at the party, but now he was as sick as a dog.
Maybe some air would help. Michael staggered out through the door, and stumbled to the railing overlooking the beach. The breeze blowing in from the ocean helped a little, and he took deep breaths of the cool night air.
The caterers had left the chairs and tables. They’d probably pick them up in the morning. They’d left the bar, too. Michael moistened his dry lips, and frowned slightly. He was terribly thirsty, and a fruit drink would taste good right now. Had they left the bottles of juice behind the bar?
There was only one way to find out. Michael took another deep breath and made his way to the staircase. The steps were steep and they seemed to stretch out for miles until they finally ended at the edge of the beach. Was it worth the effort? He wouldn’t know unless he tried to walk down them.
Cautiously, Michael walked down the first step. That wasn’t so bad. His hands gripped the rail as he climbed down another step, and then another. He didn’t think about how steep the staircase was, he just thought about the prize at the other end. A cold glass of pineapple juice, or maybe some orange and banana mixed together. The bartender had come up with all sorts of tasty combinations, and all of them had been wonderful.
It seemed to take forever, but at last Michael reached the bottom step. Then his feet hit the beach, and he smiled. He’d made it. The wet sand stuck to the side of his shoes, and he took them off to walk barefoot across the beach to the bar.
The bottles of juice were right where he’d expected them to be, in the tubs of ice behind the bar. Michael found a leftover bottle of orange juice and he swigged it down, right out of the bottle. The tangy juice made his taste buds tingle, and he searched through the watery ice for more. That was when he found it, a bottle of vodka that was almost empty.
Michael stared down at the bottle and frowned. Since almost everyone at the party had been underage, Vera had promised that no booze would be served. But here was a bottle of vodka, and it was almost gone. Someone had been drinking. But who?
There was a name on the bottle, and Michael held it up to read it in the bright moonlight. It said, Michael Warden, and Michael was sure it was Vera’s handwriting. But he hadn’t brought any booze to the party. And he hadn’t had anything to drink, unless . . .
Michael groaned as his head throbbed again. Now he knew why he felt so sick. The bartender had been spiking his fruit drinks with vodka all night. Vera had deliberately tried to get him drunk, and he didn’t like that at all. No wonder he’d had trouble climbing down the staircase! He’d finished almost a whole bottle of vodka!
But why had Vera spiked his drinks? Michael frowned deeply. He was in no condition to think about it now. All he knew was that he didn’t want to be anywhere near Vera. If he’d been sober, he would have climbed in his car and gone straight home, but Michael knew he was in no shape to drive. Hell, he couldn’t even walk very well, or he’d seriously think about setting out on foot.
What to do? Michael’s mind spun in crazy circles. Carla had given him a perfect excuse to leave when she’d told him she’d had car trouble. Now he wished he’d insisted on driving her home, instead of staying here with Vera. Even though he was still suffering from the effects of the vodka, Michael knew one thing for sure. He certainly wasn’t going back to the beach house. Vera must have had some reason to spike his drinks, and there was no way he’d be a willing participant in whatever it was that she’d planned.
The bartender had left his jacket, and Michael slipped it on to stay warm. Then he found a stack of clean towels behind the bar, and he bunched them up for a pillow. As he curled up behind the bar on his makeshift bed, Michael gave a lopsided grin. Vera didn’t know where he was. She was probably still in the kitchen, making the coffee. He’d stay right here and sack out behind the bar until he was sober enough to drive home.
It took a long time to make the coffee. Vera had to search through the cupboards to find the coffee, and figure out how to use her aunt’s coffeemaker. It was the old-fashioned percolator type, and she stood at the kitchen counter for what seemed like hours, listening to the coffee perk, and waiting until it was strong enough.
Finally, the coffee was ready, and Vera poured out two cups. She set them on a tray, and carried them out to the living room.
“Here it is. I made you some nice, strong . . .“ Vera stopped in her tracks as she saw the empty couch. “Michael? Where are you?”
The bathroom. The minute Vera thought of it, she raced to the bathroom to look. But Michael wasn’t there. The room was deserted.
The bedroom? Vera climbed the steps to the second floor to check all three of the bedrooms, but they were empty. She even looked in the closets, but Michael was nowhere in the beach house.
“Oh, my God!” Vera’s face turned pale. Had Michael driven home? She rushed to the window to peer out and gave a deep sigh of relief as she saw Michael’s car. He was still here . . . somewhere. A glance at the clock told her she had over an hour to find him. There was no need to panic. He’d probably gone for a walk on the beach. But what if she couldn’t find him in time? She was counting on the money she’d get from Michael’s parents to pay for modeling school. All her plans would be ruined if her brother crashed through the bedroom door and Michael wasn’t in bed with her!
“Michael?” Vera tried to keep the panic out of her voice, as she ran out to check Michael’s car. Perhaps he’d climbed into the backseat and passed out. But Michael’s car was locked up tight and she could see that there was no one inside. He wasn’t inside her car, either, and that meant he had to be somewhere on
the beach.
Vera retraced her steps, and went out on the patio to survey the empty beach. There was no one in sight, but she could see two objects at the bottom of the steps. She ran down the staircase and began to smile as she saw what they were. Michael’s shoes. He’d kicked them off and gone for a walk. He’d probably be back any minute, but she couldn’t count on that. She had to find him . . . now!
Since the beach was private, it was fenced off all the way to the water line. But her aunt owned a half mile of beach front, and Michael could be anywhere inside the perimeter.
Vera had thought it was great when her aunt had bought the expensive beach house. It just proved that there were lots of gullible people who were eager to part with their money. Aunt Luba, who didn’t have a drop of Gypsy blood in her, had set herself up as a Gypsy psychic. She’d raked in the cash for giving readings, healing all sorts of ailments, and putting people in touch with their dead loved ones. Of course Aunt Luba was a fake, but only Vera’s family knew that.
Right now Vera wished that her aunt hadn’t made quite so much money, or bought such a big beach front property. If Aunt Luba had settled for a little bungalow in Van Nuys, Vera could have found Michael in no time flat.
“Michael?” Vera started off on her walk along the shore, calling out softly. “Michael? Where are you?”
But there was no answer, and Vera sighed. He’d probably passed out somewhere, and she’d have to look behind every bush and palm tree to find him.
Vera had been searching for almost ten minutes, when she heard it. There was a rustling sound that seemed to be coming from a huge clump of sea grass behind her. She turned and started back, intending to part the grass and see if Michael was there. But the rustling stopped abruptly as she approached.
The breeze blowing off the ocean was chilling. Vera shivered a little as she arrived at the edge of the tall sea grass. There had been something very ominous about that rustling noise, something that made her want to turn and run back to the safety of the beach house.
Vera told herself to stop being silly. There was nothing frightening out here at the beach. There were no wild animals, and the sea birds couldn’t hurt her. She had just started to search the grass, when the wind picked up, and blew a gust of salty spray directly into her face.
“Damn!” Vera turned away from the spray, and wiped her eyes on the edge of her skirt. When she opened her eyes again, she realized that the night had grown much darker. A bank of clouds had moved to cover the moon, and she could no longer see the gentle waves lapping up against the sand.
As Vera parted the tall grass, she began to shiver. It was scary, out here at night. A moment ago, the waves had been gentle, sliding into the wet sand like a soft caress. But now that the wind had picked up, the ocean was becoming turbulent, and the waves were rolling in much faster.
There was a crash, and Vera almost screamed. But it was only the waves, beating against a large rock at the ocean’s edge. As Vera stood there, they pelted the shore in a staccato burst of sound, crashing and slapping against the rocks lining the shore. There was no doubt about it. A storm was blowing in. Ocean gales came up quite suddenly in the summer, and it sounded as if they were in for some nasty weather.
Vera knew she should turn around and go back to the beach house. She had to make sure the shutters were fastened, and the windows were tightly closed. But Michael might be sleeping out here in the open. She had to find him before the rain started pelting down.
As she knelt down to part the sea grass again, the wind whipped and howled around her face. That was when she heard it, a high eerie voice that called out to her. Vera . . . come closer, Vera. I need you.
Vera jumped back, startled. And then she laughed. For a moment the voice had sounded like Judy, but it must have been her imagination. Judy was dead, and Vera wasn’t the least bit superstitious. She’d only said she believed in Judy’s ghost as part of her plan to lure Michael away from Carla.
She was about to part the sea grass again, when she saw a dark shape loom up behind her, and a hand touched her shoulder. Michael was back. Thank goodness for that! There was still time to put her plan into effect. All she had to do was get him inside the house and lure him to bed.
“Michael! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
Vera stood up and dusted off her skirt. Then she turned, a welcoming smile on her face. But Vera’s smile quickly turned into an expression of terror as her eyes were drawn to the glittering shape of an arrow.
“No!” Vera screamed once, but her cry was lost in the howling wind. She kicked out as hard as she could, and the heel of her sandal connected solidly. But before she could whirl and run, something big and heavy crashed down on her head, plunging her into eternal darkness.
Fifteen
It was eleven o’clock on Monday morning when Carla turned into the driveway of the beach house again. Almost twelve hours had passed since she’d left the party, and the parking area was still crowded with cars. Vera’s old Honda was still there, right next to Michael’s Lincoln, but with the exception of a pickup truck she didn’t recognize, all the rest of the cars belonged to the police.
Carla parked behind Michael’s Lincoln, and got out of her car. Yellow tape with black lettering blocked off the path around the side of the house. It was printed with the legend, DO NOT ENTER—POLlCE CRIME SCENE.
“Carla! Wait up!”
Carla turned to see Andy pulling into the driveway. Linda was with him, and she was frowning as she jumped out of the van. “Isn’t it awful? Andy says they found another arrow!”
“I know.” Carla nodded. “Andy told me when he called. But why do the police want to see us?”
Andy came up just in time to hear her question. “My uncle needs to interview everyone who was at the party. He’s in charge now, and he’s the one who decided to do the interviews here.”
“But, why?” Carla was curious.
“He thought that bringing everyone to the scene of the party might jog our memories about what happened last night.”
“They don’t think Michael had anything to do with it, do they?” Carla held her breath as she waited for Andy to answer.
“I don’t know. My uncle didn’t tell me much on the phone. He just said to call everyone and tell them to come here. That’s all I know, Carla . . . really.”
When they knocked on the front door, a young rookie answered. They gave him their names, and he checked them off on a list. Then he motioned to them to follow him. “Right this way. They’re meeting in the living room.”
The living room was large, and there were several couches and chairs. Carla felt her eyes fill with tears as she saw Michael sitting alone on a couch. He looked pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
“Carla?”
Michael looked up and met her eyes. He didn’t say any more, but Carla knew exactly what he wanted. She sat down next to him, and gave him a big hug. And then she motioned for Andy and Linda to join them. Michael needed his friends around him.
Just then Detective Davis came out of the dining room, and motioned to a stranger who was sitting in a chair across the room. The stranger got up to follow Detective Davis, and the door closed behind them.
The minute they were gone, Linda turned to Michael. “Who was that? I didn’t notice him at the party.”
“That was Vera’s brother. He got here at three a.m. He’s the one who found Vera and called the police. I didn’t even know there was anything wrong until I heard the sirens and woke up.”
“Woke up where?” Carla held her breath. She hoped it wasn’t where she thought it was.
“Out on the beach. I went to sleep behind the bar. I guess Vera came out to look for me, because her brother found her about fifty yards away.”
“But why were you sleeping outside?” Linda was clearly puzzled. “There was a storm last night.”
“That’s what they told me. But I slept through it. Actually, I was . . . uh . . . it’s kind of embarrassing, but
I guess I was passed out cold.”
“The vodka.” Andy nodded. “You drank a lot of it. Vera told the bartender to spike your drinks. I tried to warn you, but you were too drunk to listen to me.”
“I wish I had!”
Carla nodded. She wished the same thing. But it was too late to think about that. Michael hadn’t listened, and now he was in big trouble.
“Let me get this straight.” Andy began to add up the facts. “You were passed out behind the bar, and Vera went out to look for you. But the Cupid Killer found her and killed her. And then her brother just happened to come out here at three in the morning, looking for her?”
Michael nodded. “That’s what he said.”
“There’s something strange going on.” Andy looked very serious. “Did you tell Vera you’d spend the night with her?”
“That’s right. I promised her I’d stay after the party.”
“Then why did she have to spike your drinks to keep you here? And why did her brother show up at three o’clock? It just doesn’t make sense unless . . . wait a second! Think carefully, Michael. Do you think Vera was setting you up for the badger game?”
“The what?” Michael frowned.
“The badger game. A girl gets a guy in bed with her, and then her husband, or some other member of her family catches them. It’s all set up ahead of time, but the guy doesn’t know that. He’s scared, so he pays them off. That would explain why Vera spiked your drinks.”
“Huh?” Michael winced and held his head. “Sorry. I’m not thinking very well right now. You’d better explain it again.”
“Let me put this another way. What would you have said if Vera had asked you to go to bed with her? Be honest.”
Michael frowned. “I would have told her thanks, but no thanks. Vera was a nice girl, but I wasn’t interested in her that way. When I promised I’d stay the night with her, I made it very clear that nothing was going to happen between us.”