And from this vantage point, I see an opportunity.
I park the moped as though I am a tourist and I stand, looking out over the water. For a moment I am mesmerized by the sight: the bright pinks and oranges and purples of the sunset crashing across the sky, illuminating the water below. Something passes through me, a calmness, that sense that I felt when I first landed on the island that this was my home. A feeling I never even had in Paris, even those days when we were our happiest.
We were happy there. We left Miami with our fake passports in those days before 9/11 with little scrutiny. He was Paul and I was Amelie, and we slept and watched movies as we flew across an ocean to our new home. We were so young that we didn’t feel a sense of urgency, merely a sense of adventure. We were rich and we were in love. We were fugitives.
But that happiness didn’t last. There was no way it could.
I turn away from the sunset, away from my sense of safety, and look back at my house. Steve is still sweet-talking Reggie, but I know that Reggie will soon wonder why he is there.
I cross the road and the property line between my house and the house next door. The ground is soft under my sneakers. I speed up and skirt around the side of the house. I cannot see Steve or Reggie from here.
My bedroom is back here, and once before when I locked myself out of the house, I realized that the window closest to my dresser doesn’t lock properly. A few jimmies, and it slides up easily. I am happy that I had taken out the storm window the week before, to let in the cool spring air for better sleeping, because the screen is easy to maneuver, and soon it slides up as well.
I push my backpack through and hear it land. I follow it, shimmying through and land on the floor of my bedroom.
This should only take a few minutes.
I pick up the backpack, go over to the closet and open the door slowly. I never got around to oiling the hinges, and it squeaks. I almost jump with the sound, and freeze for a moment. But when it’s obvious no one has heard it but me, I go into the closet and stoop down. There is the shoe rack, neat as the proverbial pin as I had straightened it after the destruction. I push aside the rack, the shoes shimmying on the little metal rods. I close my eyes and touch the raised edge of the floorboard. I know everything is here, since I already checked, but I am still anxious that someone else has been there and I will find my hiding place empty.
I dig my fingernails into the crack and pull up the board. I reach inside. Relief rushes through me as I open the backpack, shoving aside the laptop before I begin stuffing the piles of money next to it.
TWENTY-FIVE
When I have filled the backpack, I feel around inside the floorboard until I find it. The small plastic bag. I yank it out and let the board drop back down, concealing the cash that won’t fit. Unless I find a way to get back in here and get the rest, it will have to stay. Maybe the next tenant or the police will discover it – or maybe not.
I crawl out of the closet, the backpack heavy. I am holding the plastic bag. Everything is still there. The passport, the driver’s license, the Social Security card. I take out the passport and open it in the little light that’s cast through the open window and see that face. The face of Tina Adler using the name Amelie Renaud to escape. The picture and name on the license match the passport. It was risky using the passport to come back, but I’d had no choice. I’d already said goodbye to Tracker and I had not set up any connections in Paris to get new documents quickly. I didn’t think I’d need to leave.
I thought about what Tracker told me about Ian. That he was found with his head blown off on our houseboat. Who was that dead man?
I shake off the thought. I have to get out of here.
I put the things back in the plastic bag and stuff it into the backpack. I go over to the window and drop the backpack to the ground, following it in one fluid movement. I carefully pull down the screen and then the window, shrug the backpack over my shoulders and make the climb back up to the moped, which is still parked where I left it.
I have no idea how much time has passed; it seems like hours but is probably only ten minutes, give or take.
As I put the helmet on and climb onto the moped, I see Steve is still talking to Reggie, but Reggie is backing away now. Clearly Steve has outstayed his welcome. I can almost hear him say, ‘I thought she was meeting me here. Really.’
I decide not to take my chances and drive past them, but go back up the hill and around the turn. I am still wearing the backpack and the weight of it vibrates against my back. I have no idea how much money I’ve managed to salvage. I can only hope it’s going to be enough.
I find myself coming up on the Bluffs. I slow down and pull in near the wooden staircase. I have such an urge to go down there, to sit on the rocks, feel the wind in my hair, against my face and watch the water. To hear it rush through the stones.
I get a catch in my throat when I think of the stones I’d so carefully collected through the years.
I shut down the engine, climb off and put the helmet in the basket. I push the moped to the side, hiding it amid the brush. I don’t have a lock, and I don’t want to run the risk of anyone stealing it.
With the backpack secure against my body, I begin the descent. With each step, I feel freer; I take deep breaths, tasting the salt in the air. The backpack becomes heavier, a burden I’m forced to carry, but a necessary one. I need this money. I cannot start a new life without it.
The tears spill down my cheeks as I finally reach the bottom. I don’t even bother to wipe them away. I make my way along the rocky beach to the sand until I find the spot where I can look up and see the majestic Bluffs hovering over me, their beauty overwhelming. Because it is twilight, they are dark shadows against the sky. I drop down onto the beach and cross my legs, settling in as the sky darkens further and the edge of the Bluffs disappears into the night. The wind whips around me as if in a frenzy; it fills my ears with a white noise.
I think about the driver’s license and passport. Neither of them would be particularly useful, because their expiration dates are long past. But I might be able to get the license past a rental car employee, especially if they are distracted by something. I was always good at distraction.
I know I’ll need a credit card to rent a car or catch a plane. But I’m lucky. Amelie Renaud is a real person with a real credit card, and the credit card number is just a few keystrokes away. I don’t look much like Amelie, not anymore, but if I take off my glasses and straighten my hair, I can say that I’ve cut it and that’s why my face looks a little fuller in the picture. A haircut can change everything.
While before my actions were frivolous, I need to do this now to survive. I do not want to get caught. I have lasted this long, and I would like to live the rest of my life being free. I don’t like thinking what this means. That I will disappear off this island as I once disappeared from Miami, leaving people behind who I love.
Zeke should never have followed me.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, my fingers touching the soft stones at my feet. I scoop a couple up and stick them in the front pocket of the backpack. Wherever I am going, they will go in a jar so I can remember.
Finally, the sky is black, the only light from the bright moon that’s risen over the horizon. Stars speckle the sky, winking at me, telling me it’s time to go.
I stand up and wobble a little. My feet have fallen asleep. I shake them out and make my way tentatively back to the stairs. My eyes are adjusted to the dark, so I can make out shadows, which is how I see an odd-looking shape beyond the stairs on the other side. It does not look like an animal, but something else. Something familiar, but my brain isn’t registering it as anything in particular.
Until I get up close and I almost trip over it.
It is a bicycle.
The frame is bent and broken, as though it has been tossed from the stairs. I look up, half expecting to see the person who has done such a thing, but there is no one there. I lean down and touch the
metal, then pull my hand back as though it is on fire. It may be dark, but I know this bike.
It’s mine.
I cannot grasp why someone would do this. Why steal the bike and then destroy it? They had already destroyed my belongings. Why not just damage it at my house and leave it there for me to find? Granted, someone was bound to find the bike here. This is a highlight of the island; everyone comes here, tourists and residents alike. The police would be alerted, and I would eventually find out – yet another way to hurt me.
I lift up the broken frame and carry it over to the stairs, where I lean it up against the railing. It is mangled beyond repair. A sob catches in my throat as I step around it to go back up, but before the tears can come the moon moves out from behind a cloud and illuminates the beach in front of me.
The bike is not the only thing left abandoned here.
I am afraid to move toward the body that lies just beyond the path I took to come back.
I wait for it to move, but it doesn’t. It just lies there. The moon slips behind a cloud again, and it’s darker.
I take a step. And then another. By the time I reach it, the moon is peeking out again and I can see his face.
I take a gulp of air, unaware that I’d been holding my breath.
Carmine Loffredo looks peaceful. His eyes are open, as if he is admiring the stars above him. He does not move his head. He does not see me. He is clearly dead, although how, I’m not entirely sure. It’s too dark, even with the moon shining, to tell. And I am not about to poke around the body to find out.
It surprises me a little that I am not panicking, but I chalk that up to the fact that I know what kind of man he was and that this was probably the only way he would meet his end. I am merely relieved that he is gone and is no longer a threat to me or my friends.
Somehow I know that Ian is responsible for this, but he is still among the missing. Like me.
I can’t stay here any longer. I have to put as much distance between me and Carmine Loffredo as I can. I take the steps two at a time – not even the heaviness of the backpack can slow me down. I have never left the Bluffs so quickly before.
The moped is where I have left it, still hidden and untouched. I slip on the helmet, tightening it around my chin before climbing on and starting the engine. I take one last look down toward the water, the bike, Carmine, and while my first instinct is to go to Steve’s, I begin to worry that it’s not a good idea. Carmine might be out of the picture, but there is no guarantee that he is the only one here with an agenda. And I cannot forget that Frank Cooper is looking for me.
The only place I can think of to go is Pete’s. No one would think of looking for me there after hours. I can return the moped and call Steve from there. Pete will be home now, but I have a key. Pete gave it to me when I started my early morning tours.
Even though I feel as though I am hidden enough by the helmet and the darkness, I am still on alert, but I see no police cars on my way. A few people are out taking walks, enjoying a brisk May evening. I might be doing the same under other circumstances.
When I arrive at the bike and moped shop, I am careful to pull around the back. I let myself in, not taking off the helmet until I am safely inside. My eyes adjust to the darkness; it is a different dark than outside. I take in the scent of gasoline and rubber and make my way to the counter, where I find Pete’s small lamp and turn it on. A yellow glow casts itself across the room, and I keep it on only long enough to dial Steve’s number on the old rotary phone.
‘Where have you been?’ Steve asks irritably when I identify myself.
‘I went to the Bluffs. I didn’t mean to stay so long.’ I am not lying. ‘I found my bike.’
‘Where?’
‘At the bottom of the steps at the Bluffs. It’s all mangled. Like someone threw it over the side.’ I think about the impact against the stones, and I’m glad I couldn’t see the full damage in the darkness.
‘But why?’
‘Beats me.’ I pause. ‘It’s not the only thing I found. There’s a body.’
I hear Steve take a short intake of breath. ‘What? Who?’
I know he is thinking about Ian, so I quickly say, ‘It’s a guy named Carmine Loffredo. He works for Tony DeMarco. He was here to find me. I think he’s the one who broke into my house and trashed it.’
‘Why would he want your place trashed?’
‘We stole money from Tony DeMarco. His was one of the accounts we stole from. He wants his money back. He wants to get even.’
Steve is silent for a few seconds, then he asks, ‘Do you have it, Nicole? Is that what you needed to get at your house?’
‘It’s my money. Money from the bike tours. Pete pays me in cash.’ I realize he has never known how I have managed financially. ‘I don’t have a bank account,’ I explain. ‘When I have to pay bills, I go to the bank and get a bank check, like when I’m paying rent or for my phone.’
‘You don’t have a driver’s license, either,’ he says, ‘do you?’
‘No. Not really.’
‘What do you mean, not really?’
‘I have a license, but it’s expired. It’s got a different name on it. I didn’t want to risk using it for anything when I got back. I didn’t want to use the same name. That’s why I became Nicole.’ I pause. ‘It was in the house, too. I had to go back and get it, because if they found it, they might be able to trace it back. You know, to what I did.’
‘Why keep it in the first place?’
‘A quick escape. Just in case.’
‘Why couldn’t you just get another one?’
‘Because I only knew one way to get another one, and I couldn’t run the risk of anyone finding out where I was.’
‘So you’ve been hiding here on the island. In plain sight.’
‘Until Ian found me.’
The words sit between us for a few seconds, then he asks, ‘Where is he?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Do you think he’s responsible for that man’s death at the Bluffs?’
‘Maybe. Probably.’
‘So when you got there, you didn’t see the body? Or your bike?’
A small chill begins at the base of my spine and moves slowly to my neck. ‘No.’ We both know what that means. That the bike and Carmine happened while I was on the beach.
‘You didn’t hear anything?’ Steve asks.
‘It was windy. You know how the wind is over there. You can’t even hear yourself think.’ I hope it is a good enough excuse, so I am not also accused of more than stealing.
‘Where are you, anyway? You know, Frank Cooper came by a little while ago. I told him I’d have you call him when I saw you.’
‘Then it’s a good thing I called you, because you haven’t seen me.’ I pause, knowing that Steve is aware I have not answered his question. ‘He knows, doesn’t he?’ I ask. Steve knows what I mean. Whether Frank knows that I am Tina Adler.
‘Yes, I think he does.’
It is as I suspected. ‘So is he camped out on your doorstep waiting for me?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I think he wants me to do the right thing. He wants you to do the right thing,’ Steve says. ‘He also knows that you can’t leave the island without anyone seeing you.’
I think about how he must have people watching at the ferry and the airport and the marinas. ‘I have to figure out how to get past him,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to leave any more than you want me to, but I guess I was stupid to think that I could stay here forever and no one would ever find me.’
‘I asked you something not long ago,’ Steve says, his voice cracking a little. He clears his throat and continues. ‘Marry me.’
‘Oh, Steve,’ is all I can think to say.
‘I’m serious. You’ve told me everything, I think, and a husband can’t testify against a wife. If we get married, I can protect you.’
He doesn’t know that I cannot be protected. Not at all. Not anymore.
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‘Jeanine saw what I was doing earlier,’ I say.
‘She doesn’t really know, though. She didn’t understand what was going on.’
I feel bad about that, but it’s the best way. I remember the computer running the password scan. I wonder if it has finished, if the password to get through the firewall has been uncovered. Tracker had already found it, but I need it. One last time. For something I don’t want him involved in.
‘You didn’t tell me where you are,’ Steve says.
‘You can’t know.’
‘I won’t tell Frank.’
I know that he would rather die than give me up, but I can’t risk it.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks.
I look around the bike shop. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Call me in the morning. We can meet somewhere. I need to know you’re OK.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say again. But then I promise to call. I hang up the phone. I realize I am exhausted and I need to sit down, lay down for a little while and think about what I’m going to do next.
Pete has a couch and a small refrigerator in the back room. This room has no windows, so I turn on the lamp next to the couch and find a six-pack of beer and some crackers in the fridge. I want a shower in the worst way; I’ve been wearing the same jeans and T-shirt for two days now. I go into the bathroom, which is the size of a closet with just a toilet and a sink, and I rinse my face with cold water, blotting it dry with the hard paper towels from the dispenser.
I go back out to the couch and take a beer and some crackers. What I would give for a burger and onion rings at Club Soda.
I weigh my options, now that Frank Cooper knows.
I could call in an anonymous report about Carmine’s body and my bike at the Bluffs, and while the island’s law enforcement is distracted by that, I could go to the dock and hop on the next ferry to the mainland and disappear. It would be easier over there. More people, more cars, more ways to blend in. But I would need more there, too. I’d need a current driver’s license, a bank account, a credit card. Amelie Renaud won’t take me very far. I was foolish to think I could use her. That had been a desperate thought, and there is nothing more dangerous than desperation.
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