“A lighthouse may seem like a strange place for a museum,” Ace said after the Conch Train passed, “but there’s a lighthouse keeper’s cottage on the premises. The place is stuffed with historical goodies and a few priceless antiques.”
“Such as?”
“Models of old ships. War uniforms worn by military men of another age and time. I guess the things that interest me the most are artifacts from the battleship Maine and the mystery that surrounds that ship.”
“The first warship designed and constructed by Americans, right? A big player in the Spanish American War.”
Ace looked at me in surprise. “How did you happen to know that? I’m the one supposed to be giving the guided tour.”
I grinned up at him, refusing to tell him I’d read about both the lighthouse museum and the Lignum Vitae tree in a brochure I found on the Cummings’s bookcase last night. “Oh, I paid attention in history class now and then, but I can’t remember the events leading up to that war.”
“There’s still disagreement on that. That’s the mystery. In those days, the Cubans were rebelling against Spanish domination and the Spanish were set on maintaining their control. The Maine sailed into Havana harbor geared for war. It remained there peacefully for three weeks.”
“Then it mysteriously exploded,” I said. “Guess nobody ever figured out exactly why, But it sank in fifteen minutes.”
“And a few weeks later America was at war with Spain. But enough history. Let’s just enjoy looking at the artifacts.”
We passed Hemingway House Museum and crossed the street to the lighthouse. Outside on the grounds we saw various kinds of torpedoes, depth charges, and gun mounts.
“Will they just rust away?” I asked.
“Could be,” Ace said. “Everything down here rusts.”
We looked at a replica of a Japanese submarine that patriots had taken on a tour of the country, collecting money to raise the ships sunk at Pearl Harbor. Guess their fund drive didn’t pay off. I remember Dad saying he saw those ships still underwater when he took a vacation to Hawaii.
At the doorway to the lighthouse keeper’s cottage I pointed out a series of stakes joined with twine.
“Must be the spot the city has claimed for Phud’s landscaping project, his decorative plantings.”
“Could be,” Ace said. “Phud and I don’t have much in common.” Ace paid our admission, and we looked through the interior of the musty-smelling cottage at more naval artifacts and pictures of old-time ships and the heroes that sailed aboard them.
“Let’s go up,” Ace said, breaking into my sober thoughts which had gone back to Pearl Harbor where my great-uncle had died on the Arizona.
“How many steps?” I asked.
“Eighty-eight. But who’s counting?
“Me. I’ll be counting every step and breath.”
We began our ascent, gripping the black handrail while our shoes scraped and clanged against the iron of the circular staircase. We stopped every few moments to catch our breath and to enjoy the view both above and below. Overhead a small plane pulled a parasailor buckled into a Kelly green parachute. He dangled precariously above the sea and above a small run-about ready to rescue him, if needed. Thank goodness Ace hadn’t suggested we go parasailing! I might never feel up to trying that sport.
Below us we heard car horns honking. By peering through the branches of a Spanish Laurel we saw impatient drivers lined up behind a slow moving horse and buggy carrying six passengers. Some tourist attraction! I felt sorry for the horse.
At one rest stop we heard laughs and giggles punctuating the footsteps of a group descending the stairs. We pressed ourselves close to the railing so the group could pass us without mishap.
“What’s so funny?” I asked a chubby woman leading the group.
“We’re not telling,” one of the group said. “Big surprise in store for you in a few minutes.”
More giggles. “Oh, you’ll see it when you get up higher.”
After we climbed twenty more steps, we could look down onto the flat roof of a building near the lighthouse and see the scene that had instigated laughter. Below us nude sunbathers, all male, were lying on mats and chaise lounges catching the rays with no worries about their clothing creating unbecoming tan lines. I wished I knew how to keep from blushing.
“Oh, my.” I tried unsuccessfully to keep from staring at the scene below.
Playfully, Ace covered my eyes with his hand and urged me on up the steps. We were both panting when we reached the top and stepped onto the circular viewing platform that overlooked Key West and the harbor. When we had caught our breath, Ace looked down at me with an amused gaze.
“You still don’t remember me, do you?”
In spite of his smile, I felt a frisson of unease. Now I saw a phoniness in that smile instead of bland amusement. “No. I don’t remember you. Should I? You mean we’ve met before?”
“Many years ago, Kitt. I’m glad you don’t remember me or the circumstances of our meeting. I owe you a belated apology.”
I wanted to back away from him, but I saw no place to retreat except over the safety rail or back down the steep stairs. “I have a hard time believing we’ve known each other in the past, Ace.”
“Let me start my apology by telling you I gave my pet snake to the zoo years ago when I began feeling sorry for all those white mice. I’m sorry now that I enticed you from your yard to watch me feed the snake, sorry I scared you, sent you screaming home to your mother.”
“Donald!” I spat the name at him, somehow managing to keep my composure when I felt the heat that flooded my face as I remembered when and where we’d met years ago.
“Right. Donald Brewster.”
In Key West I’d heard nobody say Ace’s full name. Ace was the only name I’d heard. Now I understood his strange smile, his knowing looks. Ace was the person who lay at the root of my nightmares. The textbook I’d been studying said that a person who enjoyed inflicting suffering on animals could be a person without a conscience. A sociopath. A person who could kill and feel no guilt.
I’d pegged the Donald of my childhood as a sociopath long ago, never thinking I’d meet him again under such terrifying circumstances. Had this man murdered Abra Barrie?
Chapter 21
Run!
I knew I had to run for my life even if it meant plunging down a steep flight of spiral steps. The only other escape would be to jump over the safety railing—to concrete below. Certain death. No. I began sweating at the thought of the impossible choices. Maybe I’d be faster on the stairs than Ace. Maybe I could phone 911 for help. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and started taking the stairs two steps at a time. It was my only chance to escape and live. I managed to key in 911, but before the dispatcher answered, I stubbed my toe and the phone flew from my hand and over the handrail. I heard it thunk on the ground below.
I kept running. Maybe I’d reach the bottom first—reach it in time to scream for help. But why wait to scream? The sound from my throat shrilled so loud and piercing, I could hardly believe I had produced it.
I clutched the stair railing, turned, and stumbled on down the steps, screaming as I ran. In my mind’s eye, I saw Ace’s glove in a plastic bag and heard Hella calling the glove an evil thing. I remembered Donald Brewster, the boy who had tortured mice. I heard Ace behind me, Ace Brewster, the man who had tortured Abra Barrie, the man who wanted to torture me?
“Stop!” Ace shouted. “What’s the matter with you, Kitt? Stop!”
When he almost grabbed my arm, I visualized my death. His fingernails had scratched my skin, but I escaped his grip. I heard him lunge at me. The steps spiraled in my mind like a multiplicity of iron traps and I imagined myself falling.
“Stop!” Ace shouted from close behind me. “Kitt, what’s the matter with you? Stop!”
I sensed his nearness. When I glanced over my shoulder to see if I had a chance of escaping, I stumbled and almost lost my footing, found it, lost it again, th
is time turning my right ankle. For a moment I floundered, my handhold on the railing the only thing that saved me for those few seconds—seconds that let Ace lessen the distance between us. My throat ached from screaming, from gasping for breath.
“Kitt!” Ace yelled at me again. “Stop running. I’m not chasing you. I’m not going to hurt you. Stop!”
Did he think he could trick me? I wasn’t about to stop and let him overtake me, try to make it appear to anyone watching that all was well between us, that we were playing games with each other. For a moment lack of breath forced me to slow down. I listened. My footsteps were the only ones I heard. But his ruse didn’t fool me. I guessed he was pausing, waiting for me to give up and let him overtake me. Adrenalin shot through my body like rocket fuel and I fled, unable to scream any longer.
“What’s going on here, lady? Better slow down before you kill yourself—or somebody else.”
Startled into even greater fear, I stared down into the brick-red face of an angry tourist. Fat man. Hawaiian shirt. Short shorts. Backpack. Camera slung over backpack. Where had this jerk come from! I hadn’t thought about other people trying to use these same stairs.
“Let me past!” I shouted. “You son of a witch! Give me room! Let me by! Stop Ace. Stop the guy behind me. Please. Please. He’s trying to kill me.” I continued hurtling downward.
Open-mouthed, the man jammed his pudgy body against the handrail, stopped climbing long enough to let me by. I felt the heat from his stomach press against my hip. He didn’t try to stop me or to slow me down. Lucky for me! His presence did slow Ace’s pursuit.
“Stop that woman!” Ace shouted at him. “Catch her! Stop her before she kills herself!”
“Are you two out of your minds?” the man yelled. Then he must have realized we weren’t teenagers playing games. He shouted. “Security! Security! We need some help up here! Stop these two crazies! Security!”
But no security person responded. Why would an old lighthouse have need of a security guard?
“Out of my way!” Ace ordered. “Mister, let me past.”
“I’m going to report you,” the man said. “You haven’t heard the last of this. I’ve got a cell phone. I’m going to…”
His voice trailed into the distance and I continued catapulting downward, but I knew the man had let Ace pass him. My toe caught in the grillwork of the next step, and, again, I almost fell, but I regained my balance, clung tighter to the handrail and continued my descent.
When I rounded the next spiral, I felt Ace clutching at my shirt. The sleeve ripped and dangled against my lower arm, threatening to loosen my grip by falling between my fingers and the handrail. I yanked my arm free from Ace’s clutch and kept running, my shirt sleeve dangling, flapping in the breeze like a flag of defeat. At last, the bottom of the steps came into sight. For an instant I considered jumping the rest of the way down. But no. The shock of landing on my fanny would make it impossible to rise quickly and run again.
“Stop, Kitt,” Ace called. “Please stop and let me talk to you. Listen to me!”
“No way!”
“You’ve nothing to be afraid of from me, Kitt. You’re being your own worst enemy. Stop. Please.”
I stopped running for a moment. Right. He was no longer chasing me. Good. I’d use this break to reach the ground, moving at a safer pace. But once I started down the steps again, Ace was a bloodhound narrowing the gap between us.
When he grabbed my arm, I knew my life was over. I couldn’t jerk loose from his grip. He pushed. He clawed. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to hold me back or push me on to the ground. My mind spiraled with my steps and I felt myself losing my balance. Using my last bit of strength, I clutched the handrail again and broke from his grip. When my feet touched ground, both ankles were wobbling, but I steadied myself and turned to face him, thrusting out my hand to strong-arm him and keep distance between us..
“Stay where you are, Ace. Stay there or I’ll call the police.”
“You dropped your phone, remember?”
I heard a taunt in his tone.
“But forget the phone. You don’t need the police.”
Right, I had no phone, but I’d call the police the minute I reached the safety of the caretaker’s cottage. There had to be a phone there, right? Maybe the hostess, the ticket seller, would make the call for me. I felt too winded to talk.
“Kitt, chill out.” Ace took a step toward me and I backed off, ready to run again the minute I caught my breath.
“What do you plan to tell the police, Kitt? Consider that. Think. I don’t know what you’re imagining, but you have no reason to be running from me, or to be afraid of me. I tried to stop you before you fell and killed yourself. You’ll make a fool of yourself and of Janell and Rex if you call for police help.”
The horrible truth of Ace’s words bruised my eardrums. He was right. What could I tell the police? He hadn’t harmed me—yet. Of course, he’d accosted me and I had a torn shirt to prove that. Yes, I’d call the police. Maybe the call would help get Rex off the hook the police seemed to have him hanging from. In spite of Janell’s and my investigation that seemed to prove otherwise, maybe Ace was the person, the sociopath, who had murdered Abra Barrie. Or maybe my mind had snapped. My mind. What was wrong with my mind?
I didn’t run again. I couldn’t. But I walked at a brisk pace around a corner and toward the caretaker’s cottage—and right into Phud. This couldn’t be happening. I wasn’t up to it. I wanted to kick his shins—or something higher.
“Kitt!” Phud took one look at me and pulled me into his arms. “What’s happened to you?”
“Phud! What are you doing here?” I tried to jerk free, but Phud held me tight for a moment. Even when he relaxed his grip, he still trapped me in the circle of his embrace, keeping his arm around my waist, letting me know that although I had escaped from Ace, I now stood in his power. For a moment I stiffened, glaring at him both in fear and amazement. What was he doing here? Had he been suspicious of Ace all along? Had he come to save me from Ace? Or were he and Ace working together? Were they both after me? At that moment Ace rounded the corner of the caretaker’s cottage, stopped for a moment and stared.
“I heard someone screaming.” Phud looked down into my eyes, holding my gaze. Seconds passed before I could look away. “Can you speak? What’s the problem, Kitt? Has Ace been bothering you?”
Now Phud’s eyes held a knowing look, a threatening look. For me? For Ace? Ace stepped forward, then stopped a few feet from us.
“Okay, Phud,” Ace said. “Buzz off. Kitt and I were having a private argument when…”
“Private! You’re joking.”
I looked around us. Strangers stood gawking. Some began to push closer to us. I felt vulnerable, but I tried to will calmness into my being. I needed the safety in numbers. The safety of witnesses.
“Explanation, please.” Ace took a step closer to Phud. “How do you happen to be here?”
Phud dropped his arm from my waist and grabbed my hand as he pulled himself to his full height and glared at Ace. “I happen to be working here for a few days. You got a problem with that? Care to explain what you and Kitt were doing that resulted in this?” Phud lifted my torn sleeve then let it drop again.
“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.” Ace’s voice turned into a growl, low and deadly, and when he tried to pull my hand from Phud’s, I jerked free from both of them and turned toward the door of the caretaker’s cottage.
“Hold it, Kitt!” Ace’s command renewed my determination to escape. I dashed to the cottage door at the same moment the door opened and Mama G stood, arms akimbo, glaring at me.
“Holla!” She blocked the doorway. “Holla!”
“Let me in! Let me in! These men…”
Mama G’s eyes widened when she saw the three of us. She yanked me inside the cottage and stepped in front of me, shielding my body with hers.
“Lucky for you this be my lighthouse day for to clean.” Then eyein
g the crowd that was gathering, she shouted. “Vaminos. Begone. All of you! Stop your gawking!”
Her words failed to deter the onlookers.
She plunked me onto a chair then returned to block the doorway. In those few minutes while she ranted at Ace and Phud, I thought about my situation. Were both Phud and Ace after me? Out to do me harm? Could there be two murderers at large in the Keys, two men intent to kill and dismember women? Ace had apologized to me, told me he’d given his snake to a zoo. Said he’d felt sorry for the doomed mice. Sociopaths never felt sorry—unless it involved feeling sorry for themselves. And Phud? I remembered his lies, but Janell and Rex trusted Phud, counted him as a friend. Maybe I’d been looking for trouble where none existed.
The crowd outside began to disperse. Mama G glared at people. “Away with you! Move on! Stop your gawking. Move on!”
When the sidewalk began to clear, she turned and faced Ace and Phud again. “Explain. Explain yourselves. Both of you. Explain muy pronto. Why you cause Kitt to run from you?”
The crowd had obeyed Mama G’s orders, but Ace and Phud, having been exposed to her invectives on a daily basis, ignored her. Phud stepped around her, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me back outside where he headed for his Chevy parked a few feet distant in a metered slot. Ace tried to dash after him, but Mama G blocked his way with her stout body, tripped him with a thick ankle, and sent him floundering for balance once he regained his footing.
“Follow me into in the car.” Phud shouted at me and grabbed my wrist.
“No!” I dug my heels in and pulled back, but he flung the car door open and jumped inside onto the passenger seat, yanking me after him. I banged my head on the door frame and slumped for a moment, stunned while Phud slid over to the driver’s seat, pulled me after him, reached across me to slam the car door. He started the motor.
I felt my forehead. No blood. Where would he take me? I had to get out of that car, but when I grabbed the door handle, dizziness sent my world spinning, forcing me to hang onto the car seat for support.
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