Solomon's Compass

by Carol Kilgore

  Zia fingered several of the items on the nearest table, turning over a neon green tackle box as if looking for a price.

  “Hunter Markham, though, he died the next year. Damndest thing, too. Out at the golf course drunker’n a skunk. Golf ball hit him in the head, and he fell into a water hazard. They pulled him out, but he was a goner.”

  Taylor wondered who hit the ball. Zia moved to the next table, bent to look at something on the floor.

  “Well, that’s it. I mean there’s more, but this should start you out. You call me now you need any more help. Pleasure talking to you.”

  The room started to spin. Taylor’s hands shook, but she kept the phone to her ear as if she were listening. She backed toward the door. If she called 9-1-1 and kept the phone in her pocket, the police should send an officer to investigate the open line even if the dispatcher couldn’t hear her conversation with Zia.

  She took the phone from her ear to press the numbers.

  Zia stood, a big black semiautomatic in her hand, and walked toward her. “Give me your phone.”

  “No. I need it for the Coast Guard to contact me if I’m needed back.” Taylor pressed the numbers.

  “I don’t give a good, long, satisfying fuck what it’s for.” Zia wrested the phone from Taylor’s hand and tossed it to the back of the room. Taylor’s last means of communication lay on the floor between two tables, shattered into a hundred pieces.

  Taylor had vanished from Jake’s view for several seconds before parking in Rankin’s drive and going back in the shop.

  “I’ll spare you the boring details, big bro. But I needed data from two different state servers. Finally, finally the first one came up. While I searched that one, the other server popped back. If I had four hands, I could have done this half a minute quicker.”

  “I love you, Kelly Ja—”

  “Don’t. Say. It.”

  He laughed. “You have my word.”

  Zia’s car pulled into Taylor’s driveway, all the way up directly behind her car. His hackles rose. Zia got out and went inside. Hustle time. The only reason someone parked so close to another car, barring a space issue, was to keep them from having room to leave. He refastened his seatbelt. If he needed to write, Kelly would have to call back.

  “So I finally got the information on Nate Brady.”

  Taylor backed up half a step to keep from appearing confrontational. “Zia—”

  “Don’t Zia me.” Fire flashed in Zia’s eyes. “I’m looking for Jake, but I’ll find the bastard when I’ve finished with you.”

  “Put the gun down.” Taylor exercised every bit of control she could scare up to keep her voice low-pitched and her words clear. She wanted to scream and run away, but those actions would accomplish nothing except getting her wounded or killed.

  “Not happening.” Zia shook her head. “Tell me what Randy told you.”

  It would only take a flick of Zia’s thumb, but right now the safety was on. Maybe—a huge maybe—the extra half-second would give Taylor enough time to grab the gun, but action would be her last resort. She was better with words.

  “Randy didn’t tell me anything. I was in the middle of the Atlantic when he died.” She chose those words carefully, spoke in a soft voice, and purposely didn’t say when you killed him. This was the wrong time to reveal what she suspected. Antagonizing someone holding a loaded gun wasn’t smart. “I couldn’t come for his funeral. It’s been a year, and this is the first chance I’ve had.”

  “He left you all his fucking property. How could he not have told you anything?”

  “My cutter was part of a cadet cruise to Scandinavia and the Mediterranean. I didn’t know I inherited until Randy’s attorney contacted me.” Holy crap, this is hard. Don’t tell her you know Randy was murdered, Taylor. “He sent a registered letter I had to sign for, and we didn’t return until late August.”

  “Poor little girl. That’s what everyone thinks, isn’t it? Poor Taylor this. Poor Taylor that. You’re tiny and cute. People like you and do things for you.”

  “Is that what you think?” Taylor made herself breathe normally. In. Out.

  “You can’t say it’s not true. Jake licking your ass and drooling over you. Dan helping you day in and day out in this junk-filled dungeon. Then he and A.J. had the audacity to give you one of my paintings—in front of me, of all things. And A.J. even asked me to sign it.”

  Zia was losing it. Think, Taylor. Her mind just kept saying gun, gun. Her mouth was so dry she could barely swallow. Jake was right—it was different one on one. “That’s not at all the case. I can’t control what others do.”

  How was Nate Brady involved? Somehow he had to be.

  Zia’s arm jerked out from her side and swept the peanut can, buckle, and shirt to the floor. “What were you trying to do with these? You couldn’t have thought I’d actually acknowledge them.”

  Jake had been right again. Taylor had been naïve.

  Zia held out her hand. “Give me the watch.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll rip it off your arm if you don’t give it to me. It’s mine.”

  “It’s not yours.”

  Zia picked up the buckle and shirt and placed them back on the counter, all the while keeping her blue stare and her gun locked on Taylor. “These are mine, too. Where are the other buckles?”

  Maybe Zia had talked Brady into doing her dirty work. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Zia stepped forward and slapped her, the smack vibrating in the silence.

  Tears sprang to Taylor’s eyes, but her jaw clenched. The gun frightened her. But the slap made her angry and steeled her resolve. Taylor would spare no mercy. Nobody touched her. Nobody.

  She needed to convince Zia to leave the shop. Once they were outside, she had a better chance of surviving anything Zia might try.

  “Stop lying. You know about the buckles because I put them in the fucking peanut can myself. Now I want all the buckles and Randy’s belt.”

  Taylor’s cheek throbbed, and the coppery taste of blood oozed into her mouth from where a tooth had bitten into her flesh, but she squared her chin. Zia was the murderer. “No.”

  “Did Randy or Jake tell you about my daddy?”

  “Who is your father, Zia?” This must be the man Jake’s dad thought was the killer.

  “Don’t play Little Miss I-Don’t-Know with me.”

  “Did Randy figure out you killed his friends?”

  Zia’s lips pursed, and she breathed loudly through her nose. “Randy knew he was next. I wanted him to know it was me. I wanted all of them to understand they would die because they killed my daddy.”

  Should she ask Zia again about her father? Before Taylor had time to think further, Zia continued.

  “No matter what I did, Randy didn’t get it. I sent him the buckles. I left the shirt so he would know Nate and I were a team and would come after him. Bastard was too far gone to figure it out. Finally I came out here and drove him to my house. I took him upstairs. We had a few drinks and a good fuck. He might’ve been crazy, but he hadn’t forgotten how to please a woman.”

  Taylor didn’t want to hear those things about Randy, though she realized Zia was deliberately seeking to rattle her cage. But poor Randy. He hadn’t been able to resist Zia when she poured on the charm and the liquor. She wanted to claw out Zia’s eyes. But Zia held the gun.

  “Afterward, Randy saw the belts. He ripped them off the wall and ran out. Finally he put everything together, but he violated my home. Those belts were mine! I let him go—it was still daylight.”

  Taylor scrunched up enough courage to speak. “So what happened then, Zia? Did you lurk in the dark like a coward?”

  Zia shook her hair back. “I’m far from a coward. I’ve killed three men, and the stupid daughter of one of them. The bitch thought she could outwit me.”

  Jake’s dad was right.

  Zia licked her lips. “You can’t imagine the high. Better than any fuck. Even Randy.”r />
  Randy hadn’t stood a chance. Taylor imagined the others hadn’t either. Would Jake have fallen for Zia’s act, too? Taylor didn’t know.

  “When your crazy motherfucking uncle left, I called Nate and told him to get Randy out in his boat however he had to do it.”

  “Nate Brady?”

  “Of course Nate Brady. I told him to get Randy drunk and to stay on the bay until I called. I had to get my belts back.”

  “You found them?”

  “Lying on his kitchen table. What a shithole. But no buckles. No shirt. Even out on the boat when he knew he was dead, the cocksucker wouldn’t tell me where they were.”

  Good for you, Uncle Randy.

  “I’ve looked dozens of times in the house and out here for them.”

  “What happened to Randy on the boat?” Taylor didn’t want to hear how Randy died, but she had to know. Like knowing not to bite down on a sore tooth.

  “Nate anchored by that old pier. Randy was too drunk to talk, but he dove off and started swimming. I followed him to shore. Cocky bastard waited for me. Told me I wouldn’t get away with it.”

  “How did you make him lay there when the tide came in? There were no marks, no bruises on his body.”

  “I’m smart. Smarter than Randy. Smarter than the police. A hell of a lot smarter than those stupid doctors. And smarter than you. I talked to him. Let him try to convince me not to kill him. Told him how sleepy he was, let him put his head in my lap. He was asleep in about two minutes. The tide was coming in. I moved so his head was on the sand. When the water reached his face, I lay between him and the bay. Kissed him awake. Aroused him. As soon as the water was high enough, I stopped playing with his hair and held his head under. He fought some, but he was too drunk. I’m strong.”

  Poor Randy. Any bruising would have been hidden beneath his hair.

  “I’m going to kill you, too.” Zia rocked from one foot to the other. “Where did you find the buckles?”

  Her last words came fast and without emotion. Taylor had to strain to make sense of them because the sounds all ran together.

  “I said where did you find them?” Zia screamed the words.

  Taylor shook her head and tried to smile. “Not telling.” She concentrated on the gun. The safety was still on.

  Zia took a deep breath. And another. Then she brushed her hair back with her free hand and smiled. “So where are my buckles?” Her voice sounded normal.

  A chill ran up Taylor’s spine, and her ears rang. “I don’t know where the buckles are, Zia.”

  Zia’s maniacal laughter bounced off the walls. “Oh, you’re good. Really good. Better than those fucking doctors. I’ll tell you what I whispered in Randy’s ear while he was dying. My daddy was Hamblen Norberg. The sons of bitches of Solomon’s Compass killed him. Every last one of them. On Jake Solomon’s orders. I’m paying them back.”

  “What about Brady?” Jake slammed the gear lever into reverse, but two pickups were stopped behind him waiting on traffic.

  “He’s half of your puzzle. The other half is Zia Grant Markham.”

  And Zia was with Taylor. One truck pulled into the street giving him room to back out.

  “Zia accompanied Brady to Denver last year. She told everyone she was going to Aruba.”

  “The affair was still on.”

  “Right. Long-term. Currently widow and widower. So why the secrecy? I figured it couldn’t be good.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I got confirmation of a rumor right before I called. Zia Grant was born Lucia Catherine Norberg. She’s Hamblen Norberg’s daughter.”

  “Son of a bitch.” The damned truck wouldn’t move. His wrist jerked on the steering wheel—two clicks up, one down. Like his dad’s. “So Dad had it wrong. Fallon isn’t involved.”

  “Looks that way. I find no connection. After Ham committed suicide, his wife petitioned the court for a name change. Her sister was a nun, an uncle a priest. She didn’t want to bear shame on them. Blah, blah. It’s a long document. The judge sanctioned the name change and sealed the records.”

  “Un-fucking-believable. I kept telling Dad to call you in.”

  “Don’t dwell on it, bro. Best I can tell, she started going by Zia at Ohio State. This followed a few years in therapy, including a brief in-patient stint right after Daddy did himself in. Mommy died several years later. Sibs scattered. Once I had her name, tracking her wasn’t a problem. She lived in Chicago and Nashville before moving to Atlanta, where she met and married Ross Markham and they moved to Rock Harbor.”

  He had a lot of questions, but they’d keep. Right now he had to get to Rankin’s.

  “No more now, Kelly. Tell me later. I gotta go.”

  He keyed in 9-1-1, told the dispatcher someone broke into Rankin’s store and was inside, and said he’d already passed by so they wouldn’t keep his line open. The second truck pulled out, but by the time he got to the street, he had to wait on a string of semis lumbering past. He called Upchurch and pounded the steering wheel. “Come on, you slow bastards.”

  The call rolled to voicemail. “Get over to Rankin’s. It’s going down.”

  The last semi passed, and Jake bolted out of the lot. In all his scenarios, he hadn’t ruled out Zia, but nothing had sent her to the top of his list.

  “Fuck!” The leather tiebacks in Zia’s bedroom. They were the Solomon’s Compass belts, most likely the ones belonging to Ed and Kyle. Her father’s belt would be in an honored location, brought out only for celebration and worship.

  “What do you mean all of them killed him? Your father committed suicide, Zia. Let’s sit over here and talk.” The two camp stools she and Dan had used earlier were still open.

  “No.” Zia shook her head. “Not sitting. Daddy hanged himself, but they forced him.”

  Taylor didn’t have the right training for this situation, but if she kept Zia talking, she might latch onto something she could use to calm her. As long as Zia kept the safety on, the gun wouldn’t fire.

  “How did they force him, Zia? Were they there?” Ideas for Zia to think about.

  Zia tried scrunching her face, but it barely moved. Botox—had to be.

  “No, they weren’t there. Daddy would’ve told me they were coming.” Zia licked her lips. “Vietnam. He couldn’t live with what happened. I was born after he got back. He was always sick. No one would help him. Daddy loved those men as if they were his own flesh and blood brothers. He wore that damned belt every day, but when he reached out to them, no one would help him. No one.”

  “You’re wrong, Zia.”

  Jake!

  Both Taylor and Zia turned toward the door. With her attention focused on Zia, Taylor hadn’t heard the door open or even noticed more light in the space.

  Zia took a step toward him. “You! I couldn’t believe you came to me that night on the sidewalk. You’re the worst one. Daddy went with you to Bangkok. If you hadn’t gone on leave, Daddy would still be alive. That’s why I saved you until last. So you could realize the others were dead because of you, and you would have to live with their blood on your hands until I killed you.”

  Jake didn’t move from the doorway. “What did Ham tell you happened in Bangkok?”

  “The truth. I don’t care what you say.”

  “He killed two men, Zia.”

  “For you. They were trying to kill you. He killed them to keep them from killing you.”

  Zia’s voice became louder and more strident with each word. Taylor slid a short distance toward the kayak paddle to see if Zia paid attention. She didn’t, so Taylor took another step.

  “Not true, Zia. I was with him, yes, but he was drunk. We both were. His quick temper and the booze produced a bad combination. He went off on those men with a length of pipe.”

  “No. He did everything for you, because you asked, you fucking lying bastard.”

  From her vantage point, Taylor saw Zia’s thumb flip off the safety. Jake couldn’t have seen it. Her heart already beat in double-tim
e, but it sped up.

  “I told you the truth, Zia. Believe me. I’m sorry you lost your dad. I’m sorry I lost a friend. Four friends. I don’t understand why you thought Kyle, Ed, and Randy had to die.”

  Taylor moved her hand to the kayak paddle and brought it slowly to her side. For too brief a moment, her gaze collided with Jake’s.

  “Why? Are you that stupid? Because they took your precious belts. And they wore them. Like Daddy. Like you. You think you’re so smart. You don’t even know I killed Lorna Easley.”

  Jake’s face hardened. Zia was sick, but she’d killed four innocent people. Taylor wouldn’t allow her to kill more.

  “Zia—” Jake took a step forward.

  Taylor gripped the paddle with both hands—

  “Stop Zia-ing me!” She screamed the words at Jake and extended her arms in a shooter’s stance.

  —and swung at Zia’s neck.

  The gun went off at the same time the edge of the paddle made contact with the back of Zia’s head.

  Zia fired again and turned toward Taylor. This time the kayak blade sliced into the bridge of her nose.

  Zia screeched. Blood flew everywhere. She swiped at her face with her free hand, smearing blood into her eyes.

  Taylor bent and swung at Zia’s midsection. Glass shattered behind Taylor from a third bullet.

  She backed up and swung at Zia’s gun hand.

  The gun hit the floor.

  Taylor cringed.

  It slid down and across the aisle but didn’t fire.

  Zia’s nose still bled, and she cradled her right wrist with her left hand. Taylor reached for the gun, but two arms wrapped themselves around her and pulled her close. Thank God Jake was safe.

  “Taylor, I almost had a heart attack. You’re okay?”

  Dan!

  “The gun. I have to get the gun.” She shoved at his arms.

  Zia was rushing for it.

  Dan released her, and she charged for the gun. Zia grabbed it. She pointed it toward Taylor with her good left hand and glared. “You sneaking, sly, two-faced, fucking bitch.”