78 Keys

by Kristin Marra

  “I’m bleeding,” she gasped.

  “I know. Let’s get downstairs.” I grabbed her purse off the floor. If she was walking, she was okay enough to get somewhere away from the wheezing assailant and all that blood collecting around his head. When we left the room, I vaguely noted the blended smell of blood and coffee and thought what a rare mixture that was.

  There was no way Laura’s color could have gotten whiter. Luckily, the restroom was located a few feet from the stairs that led to the car decks. We passed one startled mom and her kid on their way to the bathroom.

  “They’re out of order,” I said to them. “Use the one on the other side.” I hoped she didn’t hear the hysteria in my voice. I also hoped she didn’t know that there was no women’s restroom on the other side. I just wanted them away from the danger and mess on that bathroom floor.

  We stumbled down the stairs but stopped at the upper car deck. It was a ferry mezzanine harboring only cars. It overlooked the lower deck of vehicles that included cars, trucks of all sizes, and towed vehicles. My car was on the lower deck sandwiched between a pickup truck and an SUV towing a small speedboat. We could see the faint reflection off the sunroof of my car. From our vantage point, nobody was near it. In fact, there were no people moving on any of the upper or lower car decks. Either the passengers were enjoying ferry amenities, or they had stayed in their vehicles for privacy.

  “Is it safe to go back to your car?” Laura was talking just loud enough for me to hear her over the engine rumble and blasting sea wind. Her hair was batting into my face, and I noticed that some of it was bloodied. I felt my cheek to find it was wet with Laura’s blood.

  “It’s not safe anywhere on this boat. Let me look at your neck.” I peeled the paper towel away from her throat and inspected the cut. “It’s not that bad, really. It’s already coagulating. We probably should get a bandage on it just to keep you from looking like you’ve been in a slasher film.”

  “I am in a slasher film. I…I don’t think…” She started choking sobs.

  “Hey, hey, now’s not the time. I promise you can melt down all you want later. For now, we need to hide out and get ourselves to Tranquility.” I was cupping her uninjured cheek. She looked into my eyes and I could physically sense her trust. I felt like a major schlamozel, a luckless loser. She was the most captivating woman I’d ever met, and it was my fate that she was my client’s target.

  “That guy wasn’t dead, Dev. He’s either going to blow the whistle on us or come after us, with vengeance as an added motive.” She leaned her head into my hand.

  “For the moment, he won’t bother us. He’s hurt and he’s in a women’s bathroom. The ferry personnel may suspect him of some perverted foul play. At least that’s what I hope.” I turned and peered at my car. He would look for us there if he were able-bodied, but we needed that car.

  My watch read 1:05 p.m. We’d be at the Lopez dock in fifteen minutes. I glanced at Laura and found her slumping over the railing. She needed rest and probably something for pain.

  “It won’t be long now, Laura. Can you make it down one more flight of stairs?”

  She nodded, and I wrapped my arm around her waist. “Just lean into me. I’ll give you support. When we get to the bottom of the steps, wait while I check things at the car. If he comes down the stairs, start screaming and get to the car as fast as you can.” She was swaying against and away from me. I had to get her to a safe location.

  We tottered down the last flight of stairs. “Hold on to this railing, Laura. Wait here. I’ll be right back to get you. Don’t step onto the car deck until I come to get you or unless he comes after you. Okay?” I left without looking back because I was not willing to see fear etched on her face. There was part of me that was laughing at Dev Rosten pretending to be brave, and another part of me was, in reality, fearless. I didn’t need the fearless me derailed by Laura’s terror.

  Crouching low enough to keep my head below car roofs, I inched my way toward my car. It was parked two rows over and about six cars back. I peeked through car and truck windows looking for anyone tampering with my Lexus. Nobody was near the car as far as I could tell. I wended my way back to Laura.

  We shuffled to the car. Just as we got there, the loudspeaker proclaimed we were docking on Lopez Island. “All passengers with Lopez Island as their destination must return to their vehicles.”

  “Perfect timing,” I said as we settled back into our seats. I shoved the bloody tire iron under the seat.

  “Dev, would you recognize a bomb if you saw one?” Laura had her head on the seat back.

  “Do I really want to know why you ask?”

  “Well, don’t people like him use explosives? You probably think I’m being melodramatic, but taking out this car would be simple for him.” Beneath her fear, I detected exhaustion, pain, and resignation.

  “I’ll look, but I have no idea what to look for.” I opened my door. She was right. I had to at least look. I crawled out of the car and got on my hands and knees on the gritty deck. My first thought was of all the men that had spit right where my hands were placed. Then I figured dried spit was the least of my worries.

  My knees didn’t like the unforgiving deck floor, but I took my time and inspected the underside of the car from several different angles. I looked into the tire wells. Several people groused over and around me trying to get to their own vehicles. I was glad they were there because their presence gave me a sense of security.

  My unskilled eye didn’t detect anything foreign. I opened the hood and looked at the alien territory known as a car engine. Every gizmo in there looked like a bomb. So I closed it and whispered a prayer to any entity that cared.

  “We have to check your car, ma’am.” A woman came from behind. I spun around and was face-to-face with a short, stocky ferry security official. She wasn’t the same security guard I’d met here on Monday. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun that stuck through the opening of her ball cap. She had an official security badge and a firearm hanging off her belt.

  “Why? What have I done?” I’m sure I looked like I’d done it, whatever “it” was.

  “We have reason to believe someone is injured on this ship. You will need to consent to a search, or we will have to detain you.” She was one of those women who probably guzzled a beer and swore like a trooper just before she threw her husband into a wall. I wasn’t going to argue.

  “Officer, my friend is recuperating from an accident. See the bandages? Does she have to move?”

  The little Attila went to Laura’s door and opened it. She bent, took note of Laura’s cast and bruises, and clicked the door shut. I willed myself not to sweat or shiver.

  “Have you seen anyone pass by with immediate injuries, maybe bleeding?” She was inspecting my face for any sign of deception.

  “No! Uh…no. I was just checking my car. I’ve been having some trouble with it.” I patted the car hood. “It seems okay, though.”

  The guard nodded and without a word, moved to the next car.

  “They’ve found the blood in the bathroom, but they haven’t found him,” I told Laura when I got in.

  She had zipped her coat over the slice on her neck to hide it from the security guard. “That means he’s still after us. Shouldn’t we just tell her?” she said.

  I reached across the seat and clutched her good hand for a few moments. “I wish we could. But the power of Stratton’s people is widespread. We can’t trust the police yet. But we’ll make it out of this. I promise.”

  Her eyes were glazed with pain and fatigue. “Do you? What makes you so sure, psychic woman? Does your crystal vision make room for the kind of people who annihilate innocent people just to kill the one person they want dead?”

  I had nothing to say to that, so I sat back and waited for the signal to start my engine and vacate the ferry. Soon I saw the traffic officer in his orange jacket wave us out of the ferry. Both Laura and I were looking in several directions to catch sight of the attacker. We w
ere just leaving the car deck when a jarring crunch rocked our car.

  We flinched, fearing an explosion. A hand splatted on the windshield and bloody fingers splayed. A crimson face, upside down, lurched into my line of sight. It was him. The gash from my tire iron had torn open his forehead. Blood oozed from it and onto the windshield in rivulets.

  He smiled a sickening upside-down demon’s grin. His teeth were tainted with blood. His other hand appeared and pounded the windshield in front of Laura. Blood spattered on Laura’s side of the windshield. He looked insane. The glass in front of Laura spidered. His hands and face disappeared. A squeaking of damp skin pulled across car metal filled our ears.

  In my rearview mirror, I saw the rugged security lady had pulled him off our car. He was rolling on the ferry deck, and she had her gun aimed at him.

  Ferry personnel were signaling for us to stop. Instead, I pressed the windshield spray mist and turned on the wipers. The diluted blood was pushed away, leaving our view cleared of the vile red. Lots of it lingered where the wipers couldn’t reach. I punched the gas, cut off a pickup just about to take the exit ramp, and tore my car out of there. I made a commitment to myself to buy that security toughie a drink someday.

  “I know his name. I know who he is,” Laura said while gingerly unzipping her jacket away from her neck.

  “Why didn’t you say so before? Who is he?” I had to keep my eyes on the road, which was a good thing because I was annoyed that Laura had held back information.

  “Look, I’ve been injured…a head injury. They’ve put me on scads of drugs, and I’m running for my life. Excuse me if my lucidity is compromised.”

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m more than fartootst here. So help me with my confusion, because if we know his name, we can learn something about him.” I felt guilty at sounding aggravated with Laura, but I was confused and scared.

  Laura let out a tired breath. “His name is Tom Dwight. Last I knew about him, he worked for Jerry Greenfield.”

  “Why am I not shocked? How do you know this Dwight guy worked for Greenfield?” We were taking the road south that bisected most of the island, passing through the fields and woods that blanketed the terrain. It was raining again, enough that I turned my wipers to intermittent. Tom Dwight’s blood left the windshield in pink, watery rivulets.

  “Years ago, when Elizabeth and I broke up, I followed her romance with Greenfield in the newspapers. Dwight was occasionally with Greenfield in press photographs. They would refer to him as Greenfield’s bodyguard. He was scary even back then, although in recent years I’ve seen no sign of him in the Greenfield press coverage.” She was cradling her wrist again.

  “Do you need more medication? We’ll be at my place soon.”

  “Believe it or not, the pain is better. Maybe it’s because of the adrenaline. Right now, I just want to check my neck and see how bad it is.”

  “There’s a mirror on your sun visor. Check it out. I think your neck got very lucky today.” I was keeping my eyes open for anyone following us. No sign of any cars.

  “Lucky? Are you going to wish me mazel tov?” She was dabbing at the cut with a tissue.

  “Very funny. Listen, that guy knows people who will get him out of whatever little scrape he’s into with the ferry security. He’s delayed, but he’ll be back and probably with a few friends. Do you know anything else about him?”

  “I think one article said that he was a former soldier of fortune and he found God. He joined up with Jerry Greenfield as a bodyguard, I guess. Looks like he’s gone back to his old profession.”

  “I doubt he ever left it. ‘Found God’ my ass.” I pulled the car onto a dirt turn-around, parked but left the engine running. “Keep an eye out for anything. I have to do some communicating.” First I texted Fitch asking for an update. Then I called my island security company, letting them know I’d be around for a few days. I also asked them to send their patrol car down the road to Tranquility several times a day. They quoted the extra fee, and I agreed. Lots of well-heeled people had homes on Lopez. Security was expensive but worth it given the isolation of some homes and the expensive belongings within them.

  Before I could pull back onto the road, my phone buzzed signaling a text message from Fitch. “Situ wrs than thot. Whr r u? need 2 tlk.” The third grade teacher still residing within me winced at the text spelling. I worried that people would carry those spelling habits into their formal writing.

  I sent a return message, correctly spelled but with challenged punctuation, that I would call her in a few hours. I also texted two more words: “tom dwight.” That was all Fitch would need.

  We continued down Center Road past Lopez School and eventually took the turns that led us to Hunter Bay Road. When we reached the long driveway that led to my home, I pressed my key fob to open the security gate, then drove the car through and closed the gate with the fob.

  The night Stratton had visited me, my world was different. That gate had been left open, a result of my naïve belief that island life was safe. I was never going to make that mistake again. I looked at Laura. Her profile exuded determination even though the circles under her eyes denoted fatigue. Maybe the event that called Laura into my life couldn’t be designated a mistake.

  We made our slow way down the graveled road to Tranquility. When I was within one thousand feet, I pressed another button on my fob and deactivated the house’s security system. After passing through a few hundred feet of wooded area, we entered into the wild grass hillocks that comprised the yard of Tranquility.

  “Oh, wow,” Laura said when she caught sight of the contemporary architectural beauty of the house. “That’s an awe-inspiring house, Dev. I was expecting some little rustic cabin with an outdoor toilet and kerosene lamps. This is anything but rustic.”

  “It took lots of planning, phone calls, schlepping, and a few tears, but I got it built. And everything is as green and sustainable as one can make it on an island. Plus, it has a world-class security system. We will be safe here until we can decide what our next move will be.” The garage door purred open and we parked the Lexus with its cracked windshield and a few dabs of blood near the edge of the glass. “I’ll call someone to come out and fix the windshield. We’ll have to wash off Dwight’s blood first. Nasty.” I fought a nauseating revulsion.

  “You really think he’ll still come after us?”

  “Probably. With reinforcements. Listen, when we get into the house and activate the security system, I’ll make us something to eat. I have some food in the freezer and possibly a few potatoes. I’ll need to make some calls too. And you’ll need to get some rest. When we’re fed and rested, we’ll have a strategy session. Think you’ll be up to it?”

  Laura looked at me with a small glower. “We’ve gotten this far. But remember that my jury is still out on whether I can trust you or not.” She crawled out of the car and slammed the door.

  Something about her anger and resolve fueled in me an intense craving for her. I had always assumed it was impossible for me to feel craving toward anyone. I was having misgivings about being alone with Laura Bishop in my home. Somehow, I had to reconcile my assignment from Elizabeth Stratton with my feelings for Laura Bishop.

  One Jewish saying kept grinding through my mind. “A half-truth is a whole lie.” I had to tell Laura everything. But how?

  Chapter Twelve

  We finally ensconced ourselves in Tranquility with the security system activated. I told Laura to make herself comfortable in the living room while I got dinner prepared. I left her to wander around checking out my art collection.

  There were some flank steaks in the freezer that I quick-thawed in the microwave. After they were browned in a pan, I covered them with a can of diced tomatoes, browned onions, garlic, and water. I left the steaks to cook for a while. I threw a couple potatoes in the toaster oven to roast. I opened a bottle of cabernet and dumped a cup of it into the simmering steak dish. I poured two fragrant glasses of the wine and lamented to myself that it hadn�
��t had time to breathe.

  “Oh, well,” I said. I carried the two glasses into the living room and set them on the same coffee table that held Elizabeth Stratton’s check in the drawer. Laura was lying on the couch, her shoes off and a decorative pillow under her head.

  “Antonin Prevot,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Antonin Prevot. You have ten pieces by one of the most collectable artists of our generation. Granted, they’re not like his usual work, but they’re spectacular. They appear to have been made specifically for you. They’re tarot themes, aren’t they?”

  I glanced at the mixed media pieces that graced the room’s walls. I sat on the end of the couch near her feet. She scootched toward me a little and rested her feet on my lap.

  “I’d buy you another Prevot if you’d just massage my feet now. I’ll sign an I.O.U.”

  “No need to go into debt. If this helps you feel better, then it’s my pleasure.” I started working the pad of her foot through her sock.

  “Who are you, Dev? How can you afford art like that?” Her eyes were closed, but her brows were pinched in concentration.

  “I told you I’m one of a kind. I help a lot of people. They pay me a lot of money if they can afford it. If not, then we work out a trade.”

  “And Prevot traded his art for your services.”

  “Pretty much. But that’s all I can tell you, and even that is confidential, Counselor. Can you maintain your lawyerly discretion?”

  “What paintings?” She was smiling. I had rarely seen her do that. It felt good.

  For a while, we stayed silent while I worked her feet. A couple of times she groaned when I hit a particularly satisfying spot. I glanced at her face and saw her looking at me, her chest visibly moving up and down with each breath. As if remembering where she was, she lurched upright and swung her feet off my lap and onto the floor.