by Noreen Wald
“Your parents didn’t call you before they left for Russia?”
“No.” Sophie’s eyes grew darker. “They never got in touch with the cousin either. God, how she resented me. I got the hell out of there at sixteen, called myself S. J. and waitressed my way through Kent State. A guidance counselor helped me get a partial scholarship.”
Such a sad story. But was it true? “Then what?”
“I became a teacher in Cleveland, married a great guy, Mike Corbin. He and I traveled to the USSR years later to search for my parents, but they’d vanished. None of their relatives or old friends knew what had happened to them. Or where they’d gone.” She shrugged. “If they returned to the USSR, they lived far away from Moscow. Who knows? Maybe they never left Canada.”
“Oh, Sophie.”
“We never had any children. When Mike died, I moved down to Florida and became a Realtor. I’ve become very successful, Kate. Much of my money has been spent tracking down the victims of Kirk Island. Those who’d lost their parents in the nuclear explosion.”
Kate heard the anger in Sophie’s voice and thought about Bob Seeley’s parents. Their smiling faces in the black and white photographs. Their death certificates. “Why?”
“I’d discovered that two of the children and Rosie O’Grady had been tracking Uncle Weatherwise’s path for decades. They and I harbored a mutual hatred of Will Wager. We all wanted revenge. The bastard had been responsible for the explosion that killed the kids’ parents. And, by labeling my parents as evil incarnate, the weatherman had gotten away with murder.”
Hate. Revenge. Strong motives. Could Sophie be the killer?
Sophie smiled, a rueful, small one, but a smile. “If one of them hadn’t—finally—murdered him, I think I might have.”
“Yet you told Detective Parker about that summer. You wanted him to know about Kirk Island. If you believe Uncle Weatherwise got what he deserved, why did you want Parker to arrest his killer?”
“Don’t you see, Kate? I’m next. I’m only alive because I’m S. J. Corbin. Either Bob or Lucy, who both lost their parents, or Rosie, who lost her lover, want Sophie Provakov dead too. Revenge for what my parents did.”
“I wasn’t aware of Lucy’s connection to the island,” Kate said. She wasn’t surprised. “Are the survivors aware of each other? It’s strange how they all wound up living in Ocean Vista.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so. Rosie had been an adult, only coming to the island on weekends. The two children wouldn’t have known her. Lucy’s maiden name was Gordon. She’s a few years younger than Bob. They probably hadn’t known each other either.”
“One of them might have figured it out.” Kate wondered if that would make a difference. “The killer must have convinced Weatherwise to move here.”
Sophie, frowning, nodded. “I’ve followed their lives for years. Lucy’s parents died an agonizing death. She found them burned to a crisp. Once she tracked down Weatherwise in Miami, she tried to prosecute him. Even pretended to be his lover. She’d have framed him. Or perjured herself. Or whatever it took to get the bastard behind bars, but she was thwarted at every turn. If Lucy’s the killer, she had good reason.”
Weird. Her old friend sounded like the defense attorney for a murder suspect who might be planning to make Sophie her next victim.
“Bob Seeley watched his parents die in Kirk Island’s tiny hospital. He’d been badly burned himself. His groin area.” Sophie gulped. “For God’s sake, Kate, he was only twelve years old. And damaged for life. Bob, too, had started working on his revenge a long time ago, outsmarting both the weatherman and the SEC. I understand most of Weatherwise’s millions are now in Bob’s Swiss bank account.”
Kate nodded. “I know.”
“You always were a smart girl. Just watch out. You may be on the killer’s hit list.” Sophie chewed her lower lip. “Bob’s capable of murder. And he was an Army Ranger.”
“What about Rosie?”
“I like Rosie, but she’s our least likely suspect.”
Kate felt foolishly pleased that Sophie had said “our.”
“Sure, she’d romanced Albert Anastasia and swears Weatherwise had a part in his hit. But even though my father met Walt Wager in the Park Sheraton’s barbershop back then, why would that implicate the weatherman in a mob hit later?”
Kate shook her head.
Sophie smiled. “I think Rosie just enjoys spreading rumors about Weatherwise. Causing trouble, casting doubt trying to destroy his avuncular image any way she could. It’s true she lost a boyfriend on Kirk Island, but Rosie’s had hundreds of boyfriends. Both before and after the disaster. Would revenging one boyfriend’s death be a strong enough motive for two murders?”
A loud knock preempted Kate’s response. Maybe Marlene had surfaced. Kate, who’d been distracted by motives, now wondered where her sister-in-law had been all afternoon. She ran through the foyer and opened the door.
Rosie O’Grady, dressed in purple sweats, and carrying an ice bucket holding a bottle of Moët, barged in. “Let’s toast the hurricane, Kate. Igor could be our Katrina. The rain’s rolling in under my balcony door. And my favorite beach chair just sailed over the railing and out to sea.” A blast of thunder accompanied her words.
“Have you seen Marlene?” Kate asked.
“Listen to this,” Rosie said. “I just heard that Walt Weatherwise will have one of them serenity panels, a perpetual video with a shatterproof screen, implanted in his tombstone. While the sun shines, it’ll run for four hours nonstop, showing clips from his TV forecasts.”
Sophie laughed. “How predicable.”
“Oh, hi, S. J.,” Rosie said. “I didn’t see you lurking in the living room.”
“Rosie, have you seen Marlene?” Kate raised her voice.
“Yeah. Well, about a half hour ago. I saw her going into Bob Seeley’s apartment. Now how about getting us some glasses for the champagne?”
Thirty-Eight
“Call Bob Seeley. Ask to speak to Marlene,” Kate shouted to Sophie, then dashed out the door.
She reached the elevator, puffing hard, pressed the button, then tried to subdue her panic, taking deep breaths as she waited for it to arrive.
After what seemed like an eternity, she stepped in, willing the damn door to close. She pressed seven, suddenly remembering a long-ago elevator ride with her mother in Bloomingdale’s. Her thirteenth birthday. The day she’d shopped for her first bra. The day she’d had her first fight with Marlene.
What the hell was Marlene doing in Bob’s apartment? If he’d hurt her, Kate would kill him. For a second she believed she could. Was everyone capable of murder? Weren’t human beings made in the likeness of God? Could “the devil made me do it” be a real defense? An explanation for millennia of man’s inhumanity to man.
The elevator jerked to a stop. She ran down the corridor and banged on Bob’s door.
“Coming. Stop that racket.” She heard him before he jerked the door open.
“Where’s Marlene?”
“How should I know? First S. J. Corbin questioning me on the phone, now you.” He sounded weary. Almost too tired to be angry. His color ashen, his shoulders slumped.
“Rosie saw Marlene go into your apartment.”
“Well, she came and went. What’s the matter with you, Kate?”
“I don’t believe you.”
He tried to shut the door, but she pushed past him, yelling, “Marlene!”
“Have you gone mad, woman?” Bob staggered, then came up behind her and grabbed her left wrist. “Marlene dropped off some condo files for me to take when we evacuate, then left. Do you think I have her chained to the bedpost?”
Kate, whose scenario had been playing out exactly along those lines, hesitated.
“Get out!” Bob put both hands on her
shoulders and shoved her through the open door.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sophie running down the corridor. “Kate, it’s okay. Marlene just called. She was in the office gathering all the important documents and packing them in waterproof briefcases. Said your son, Peter, told her to do that.”
Kate’s heart fell back in place. With terror evaporating, annoyance took its place. “You’d think she might have let me know.”
“Here’s something else you should know. Igor is now officially a Category Five and he’s headed straight for Palmetto Beach.”
By ten minutes after five, Kate had packed her bags, including Ballou’s food, the papers that Jennifer had insisted she bring, and the baby doll, Emma. She’d also showered, washed her hair, and dressed in comfortable sweats, soft cotton socks, and sneakers.
She’d be damned if she’d evacuate without making a Thermos of hot tea, putting on some lipstick and blush, and walking the Westie. She speed-dialed Marlene. “Believe it or not, Kate, I’m ready to rock and roll.”
“Okay. Good. Now, I need a favor. I have to take Ballou for a walk. Please get down to the lobby before five thirty. Make sure Mary Frances—and the two dolls that I told her she could bring—are on the first bus out.” She saw no need to mention to Marlene that Kate herself would be toting Emma.
“Listen, I have to drag that misanthrope next door to you down to the lobby. I want her on the first bus before she changes her mind again and decides to go down with the condo.”
“You listen. Mary Frances doesn’t want to leave either. You need to see that she does. If necessary, ride along with her and my crazy neighbor. I’ll try to be down by six. If Ballou and I have to take a later bus, that’s fine.”
“But Rosie just called. They’re already lined up three deep, clamoring to be on the first bus.”
“You’re the condo president. Pull rank. Just get Mary Frances on board.”
“Okay. Okay. Hurry up, Kate.”
“See you soon. That’s a promise.”
Thirty-Nine
She heard the wind howl as she stepped out into the pool area. A reluctant Ballou, his ears drooping, followed her. Driving rain pelted her face and the Westie’s back; he’d hidden his face under her slicker.
“I don’t like this weather any better than you do, Ballou. But we can’t have a puddle on the bus, so let’s get going.” She tugged on his leash. He looked and behaved like an abused and neglected little dog whose cruel mistress wouldn’t bring him home.
They crossed to the sand, then turned north toward the pier. The beach was deserted and the dark gray ocean’s whitecaps appeared to be a mile high.
Frightened by the thunder, the Westie clung to her side, matching her pace, somehow managing to keep his head covered. A bolt of lightning, on the heels of yet another blast of thunder, made them both jump.
“Hurry up, Ballou.” Kate, completely soaked despite the slicker, wondered how the gathering storm, heralded by such wild weather, could be coming ashore in this ninety-degree heat.
To her delight, Ballou did his business, and they headed home.
“Kate!” a deep voice shouted into the wind. “Over here.”
She turned toward the sound. Lucy Diamond, her wet hair plastered to her head, stood on her first-floor balcony, less than a foot above the sand. “I have to talk to you.”
“Now?” Kate heard a bus pull into the parking lot. “They’re about to start the evacuation.”
“Just for a minute.” A crash of thunder drowned out Lucy’s next few words. Then Kate heard her say, “S. J. Corbin’s here. It’s about Kirk Island.”
Lucy ran inside, closing the balcony door behind her.
Damn. “Come on Ballou, we’re taking a detour.”
The first left off the condo’s rear hallway led to Lucy’s corridor. Her unit was next to Marlene’s. As Kate turned into the empty corridor, she could hear the turmoil in the lobby as the exodus began. If she’d still been in the hallway, she’d have run into the vanguard of evacuees scurrying to the back door.
Lucy was all smiles as she greeted Kate. “Come in, please.” She handed Kate a towel. “For Ballou.”
Kate thought Lucy, still drenched from standing on her balcony, could use a towel too.
“Let me take your slicker.”
“I won’t be here long.” Kate dried the Westie, wiping off the damp sand stuck to his paws. Unlike so many of Ocean Vista’s residents, Lucy had decorated in primary colors. The striped sofa resembled the U.S. flag. “Where’s S.J.?” She’d almost slipped and said “Sophie.”
“In the bathroom. Please sit for a moment.” Though the words were polite, Lucy’s voice had a hard edge.
Kate handed over her slicker, then she and Ballou followed Lucy into the immaculate living room.
Black and white framed photographs, mostly beach scenes from the forties, filled every inch of space on all of the tables and the piano. A model sailboat stood on the coffee table next to one of the larger photographs. Kate, squinting at the hull, read the sloop’s name: LUCY KAT. And her home port: KIRK ISLAND.
The wind whipped against the balcony door and Lucy wept, wailing louder than the wind.
Startled, Kate looked up.
“My parents died from radiation poisoning, but you knew that, didn’t you, Kate?” She’d stopped crying, and her strident voice had become childlike, but there was a gun in her right hand.
Kate felt torn between pity and terror.
“You and S. J. Corbin, AKA Sophie Provakov, underestimated me, Kate. I’m a former federal prosecutor. I bugged your apartment.” She gestured to the right. “Walk down the hall. You can wait out the hurricane evacuation with your old friend and fellow traitor.”
Ballou stayed at Kate’s side, watching Lucy, seeming to focus on the gun, which Lucy had just switched to her left hand.
With her right hand, Lucy used a key to open the door to the guest bathroom. “Get in there.” She poked Kate with the barrel of the gun.
Sophie lay on the tile floor, bleeding from a gash in her forehead.
Lucy pulled the door shut and Kate heard the key turn in the lock.
Kate grabbed a couple towels, placing one under Sophie’s head and holding the other against her forehead. Sophie didn’t move, but she was breathing.
Double damn. Kate’s cell phone was packed away in her tote bag, along with all those important papers that no longer mattered.
Marlene had probably left on the first bus, believing Kate would be right behind her. But Kate was locked in Lucy’s bathroom with shocking pink flamingos cavorting on the wallpaper.
Sophie stirred.
“That’s a good boy, Ballou.” Kate petted the Westie, who nuzzled against her, then sat near the shower.
Kate stuck a pink plastic glass under the cold water, then held it to Sophie’s lips. The head wound was still bleeding. Kate rummaged around in the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of peroxide and a box of Band-Aids.
She knelt next to her patient, applying the peroxide with the corner of a clean towel. “This may smart a bit.”
Sophie groaned, then yelled, “Stop.”
“Hold still, Humpty Dumpty, I want to tape you back together.”
“Very funny,” Sophie said, but she stopped squirming.
“Okay. That should control the bleeding.” Kate stood up.
“Can I sit up?”
“If you’re not too dizzy.” Kate spoke with more assurance than she felt. It had been decades since she played nurse. “What happened?”
“I objected to being locked in the bathroom. Lucy used the butt of her gun to convince me.”
“No windows in the guest bathroom.” Kate wanted to cry. “No way to escape.”
“I guess we’ll ride out the hurricane he
re.”
Kate sank to the floor, sitting next to Sophie. By the time Marlene realized that they hadn’t made it to the shelter, it would probably be too late for anyone to come back to ground zero.
Forty
The room rocked her awake. Good God, the building was swaying!
How long had she been dozing? Ballou, tucked in her arm, licked her hand, comforting Kate, but not making any noise. Sophie slept, her head propped up on three bath towels. Two beach towels covered her shoulders and chest. Lucy had a well-stocked linen closet.
It had been the longest night of Kate’s life. Watching the clock, finally accepting that the last bus must have left Ocean Vista. Wondering if Lucy would reappear. Wishing Sophie wasn’t in so much pain. Waiting for the hurricane to hit.
Even in this windowless prison, she could hear the howling wind and torrential rain. Pounding. Crashing. Like standing on the tarmac next to a 747 ready for takeoff. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes to seven. Igor had arrived ahead of schedule.
The bathroom listed to the left. Bottles of shampoo and body lotion flew off the shelf next to the sink. Water seeped in under the door. Oh God, they were going to drown in here.
Sophie woke up screaming.
The lights on either side of the mirror went off, leaving them in the dark.
Something heavy slammed against the outside of the building. Maybe Ocean Vista would collapse and they’d be crushed to death. Which would be the easier way to die?
Ballou barked, scratching at the door.
Kate banged on the door, shouted, “Lucy, let us out!” To her surprise, the lock turned, and Lucy opened the door.
“Come with me.” A very wet Lucy pointed the gun at Ballou’s head.
Kate helped Sophie up. “Can you walk?”