“What is it?”
She stiffened. “Something’s under my foot.”
Vincent picked up her foot, pulled a bloody human hand out of the sand. “The driver, I guess.”
“Oh my God!” Her face froze. “Where’s the rest of him?”
““All over. We’d better get going before the police come.”
“The police? It’ll take them hours, if they show up at all.”
He checked the jeep for damage, looked down the beach, and pulled his .45 automatic out of his backpack. “Shot must’ve come from those caves—come on.” He started the engine.
“I don’t know if we should go there.” She stared at his pistol.
“I want some answers.”
They stopped at the base of the rocks where sand and water met.
“The tide’ll be up soon,” Amelia said. “Better hurry, grab a flashlight.”
Halfway up the rocks, Vincent pointed the light into a small opening. “Too small—even for a Japanese soldier.”
“Try over there, by the cliff’s edge.”
He flashed the beam at a large cave. Something glittered in the dirt. He picked up a casing fragment. “Whoever it was, had a grenade rifle, American, too.”
“The Naval Station?”
“I don’t know.”
“Listen...” She turned to the shrill sound. “That’s the police.”
“I don’t want any cops.” He backed out of the cave.
Amelia gazed into the darkness, saw flashing lights in the distance. “Hurry.”
Vincent jumped from one volcanic rock to another, but slipped when he hit a wet one and fell against sharp-edged coral.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
He felt his leg, pulled himself up. “I’m okay.”
They jumped into the jeep, roared out of the sand in the opposite direction of the sirens.
Just outside Chalan Kanoa, they passed through a well-lighted intersection. Vincent had been quiet since leaving the beach.
Amelia turned to him. “Your shorts—they’re all bloody!”
He felt his thigh, pulled back his hand, and saw the sticky blood on his fingers.
“Those rocks, when you fell.”
“It’s not serious, just painful.” He slowed to a stop.
“Let me roll up your shorts.” Her face paled at the puncture. “Got to stop the bleeding.” She wrapped the Army blanket around his thigh. “Press hard here, till we get to the hospital. Keep your hand on tight so it’ll clot.”
“No hospital, just take me home.”
Joaquina bounced up from the porch swing when she saw blood seeping through the blanket around Vincent’s leg. “What happened now?”
She opened the screen door.
“He fell on some rocks.” Amelia helped him inside.
Joaquina ushered him toward the bedroom. “Let’s have a look.”
“It’s nothing.” Vincent winced.
“I’ll be the judge of that. Now strip.”
He sat on the bed, rolled the makeshift bandage up just enough to expose the wound.
“My, aren’t we modest.” Joaquina poked her face near his leg. “I’ll get some gauze and antiseptic.”
“More blood than anything.” He wiped his leg.
“Be careful, you can get a bad infection from volcanic rocks.” She applied more pressure with a gauze pad.
He made a face. “Maybe I should’ve gone to the hospital.”
“Cut’s pretty deep, but I think you’ll live.” She removed her finger. “There, the bleeding’s almost stopped. This aloe vera will help.”
“May I use the bathroom, now?” Vincent stood up.
“I better help,” Amelia said. “You might reopen the cut.”
Joaquina stopped her. “No need.”
Vincent emerged from the bathroom wearing only his undershorts. Large red welts covered his arms, legs, and chest.
“Now look at you,” Joaquina said.
“Hives, must be allergic to wool—really itches.”
“Take off those shorts and get into my tub. You need to soak in baking soda.”
Amelia moved closer for a better view.
Joaquina waved her away. “Amelia, you wait in the other room.”
“What about my wound?” Vincent asked.
“We’ll keep that leg out of the water for now,” she said. “It might start bleeding again.”
Naked, he turned on the warm water and stepped into the chipped, white bathtub mounted on lion paws. Joaquina walked in and checked the water. A meek grin crossed his face; he covered his groin with both hands.
“Oh, you have something other men don’t, eh? This water’s too hot” She turned on the cold faucet, poured a large box of baking soda under the running water. “Now, cover your eyes and I’ll stir this up.”
Vincent raised his hands to both eyes. Joaquina threw up her arms, laughed. He spread his fingers, gave her a stupid look.
“I’ve seen plenty naked men before.” She churned the water. “Let me help you put that bad leg over the side.” She eased him into the tub.
Amelia settled onto the couch in the living room. She read a newspaper while Vincent soaked in the tub. After reading a few pages, she became sleepy.
The telephone rang, once, twice. It jarred her. Focusing, she picked up the receiver. “Hello . . .” No one spoke. She heard music in the background. “Who is this?”
“Come to Harry’s.” It was a female voice, low, unsteady. “They’re after...” The phone clicked dead.
Amelia listened to the dial tone for a few seconds. Did she detect a slight accent? Should she go alone? Tell Vincent about the call? If Harry was there, what would she do? The bastard hadn’t helped her in Brisbane. He was in with gunrunners, might have killed her. She put the receiver down. Better tell Vincent, make him think she wanted him to go.
Amelia peeked through the crack in the bathroom doorway. “Everything okay in there?” She tried to sound casual.
“We’re getting along just fine.” Joaquina patted soda water over Vincent’s upper body.
“I’m going to Harry’s Place tonight,” Amelia said, “listen to some music. You feel up to it, Vincent?”
“He doesn’t,” Joaquina said. “You’ll have to go alone.”
“No, wait,” Vincent raised his hand.
“I won’t be long.” Amelia headed down the hall.
Vincent stretched his body toward the door.
“Don’t you worry,” Joaquina said. “Amelia’s a big girl, she can take care of herself. You’re still too woozy.”
“Does Harry always run that bar?” He splashed water on his face.
“When he’s around.”
“Is he there, now?” He wiped the water out of his eyes.
“Yes, he came back a few days before you and Amelia arrived.”
“I’m going with her.” Vincent rose in the tub.
Joaquina pushed him back down. “I said you weren’t going anyplace tonight.”
He met her eyes head on. She did not flinch and clamped her hands on his shoulders. He scratched at his welts, sank deeper into the cool water.
At the house next to Joaquina’s, a small car without lights turned on coasted to a stop in the driveway. The driver cupped his hands around his mouth, lit a cigarette, and waited.
Amelia returned to the living room, picked up her purse off a low end table. When she straightened up, she felt a shiver across her shoulders and glanced outside. The wind blew harder, casting crawling shadows, from the neighbor’s lighted torches, on the palms. Amelia stared into the menacing night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Amelia, frozen in her empty gaze for a few moments, twisted her purse straps around her fingers until a shutter banged against the house. She twitched, focused her eyes.
Outside, the wind propelled heavy dark clouds across the moon. Amelia backed the jeep out of the yard, turned north toward Tanapag Harbor.
After she started down the ro
ad, a pair of headlights flicked on the parked car in the neighbor’s driveway. The engine turned over and the car followed her.
When Amelia turned into the harbor parking area, the first drops of rain let loose. She jumped out of the jeep, dashed for Harry’s Place.
Inside the swinging doors, she scanned the smoky room. The air was thick, moist. Noisy talk and music filled her ears.
Harry saw her, finished serving a customer at the bar, and walked over. “Well, well, I see you’ve recovered from our little misunderstanding in Brisbane.” His lips twisted into a half-smile.
“It wasn’t funny, Harry. I should have you arrested.”
“A little late, my pretty. You’re in my territory, now”
“Yes, but I know exactly who you are—what you do.”
“So, is that why you’re here?”
“We have unfinished business.”
“We do?”
“You knew Vincent didn’t kill Dad when you sent me to Brisbane.”
“He’s involved more than you know. My friends want him out.”
“Your friends, huh? They’re real tough when it’s a woman they’re knocking around. Vincent’s a little harder to handle.”
His eyes narrowed. “We’ll see.”
“You can’t hurt us anymore.” She glanced around the room.
“Us?” Harry moved closer, extended a hand. “You and I had something once.”
She backed away. “That was a long time ago.”
“I’m still around. We could pick right up.”
Amelia looked at his favorite table. Four young Oriental girls chatted and drank from tall glasses. “Same old Harry, I see. Might be a little crowded.”
“Them? They know their place.”
“And I know how to deal with you.” She turned but Harry clutched her arm. She pulled away. “Harry . . .”
He took a swallow from his drink. “How can you forget those moments we had?”
“Easy. They were just moments, long ago.”
“It could’ve been more. My father liked you. He thought we—”
“Your father’s just like you. He likes too many women.”
“That’s not the reason. Your Steven was the reason. A Japanese wasn’t good enough for you.”
“I’ve heard enough.” She whirled around, bumped into a native woman dressed in black with a tattered scarf on her head. “Sorry.” Amelia caught her. “Are you all right? Oh, Mrs. Garcia?”
She hid part of her face with the scarf. “I’m all right.” She regained her balance, met Harry’s piercing gaze, and gripped Amelia’s arm. “I called...”
Amelia felt the woman shake. “Let’s sit here.”
Mrs. Garcia looked at Harry again. “No, not here.” She walked away.
Harry grabbed Amelia’s arm. “Don’t listen to anything she says.”
“What are you talking about, Harry?”
“She’s a old snoop with nothing better to do.”
Amelia relaxed. “I think I know her.”
Harry stood still, watched the hunched-over woman exit the front swinging doors.
“She knows nothing.”
“I’ll bet she’s like my mother, knows everything that goes on around this island.”
He thumped his fingers on his glass. “We’ll see . . .”
Amelia saw the ruthless look in his eyes. A shudder of rawness cut through her. “I’m leaving.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She turned. “No.”
Harry bowed. “As you wish.” A caustic smile spread across his lips.
Outside, Amelia ducked under an awning. Rain beat against the canvas like a machine gun spitting death. She looked for Mrs. Garcia down the walkway but did not see her. Did the downpour swallow her? Stamping feet on the wooden planks made Amelia turn.
The old woman poked her head around the building’s corner. “They’ve got Antonio.”
“Where?”
“At the Grotto.”
“How do you know?”
Before Mrs. Garcia could answer, the bar doors swung open. She pulled Amelia into the deluge. “That’s all I can tell you.” Fumbling with keys, she hurried to her car, and sped off.
Amelia almost fell on the slippery asphalt but reached the jeep, jammed the key into the ignition. Nothing happened. She pumped the throttle, turned the key on and off. She pounded the steering wheel with both fists until they hurt, then tried the starter several more times. Wet and exhausted, she slumped against the wheel.
“Having a little problem?”
Amelia jumped at the voice. “Who...”
Harry, holding an umbrella, stood on the passenger side of the jeep. He put his right hand on the windshield and leaned toward her.
“Damn car won’t start,” she said, “and I’m drenched.” Lights from the bar shined on her.
He stared at her soaked blouse. “You should know you can depend on me.”
“Then let me use your car.”
“Only I drive my Mercedes.”
“I should have remembered.”
“Seems you forgot many things.”
She hit the starter again. “Damn. I’ve got to go.”
“This jeep’s dead. You’re going with me.”
“No.”
“I said you’re going. Get out of the rain.” He pulled her out of the jeep, locked his hand on her arm. “This way—get under the umbrella.”
She resisted, planted her feet, but he dragged her toward his car. “All right, all right, take me to the Grotto.”
* * * *
Vincent sat in the tub, stirred water around his welt-covered body. “This baking soda isn’t working. I’m gonna buy some antihistamines.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Joaquina said. “How many times do I have to tell you?”
He scratched the rash. “I appreciate all you’ve done, but I can’t sit here all night itching.”
“Hush up and eat.” She pulled a sandwich off the tray she had carried in. “This pork sandwich will make you feel much better. You’re not fooling me, you’re just worried about Amelia.”
“She’s been gone a long time.”
“But you’re not upset, huh?”
He looked at her like a child whose mother told him not to take any of her freshly baked cookies.
“Enough said.” Joaquina patted him on the back.
“You’re right, I don’t like her around that Harry. I know they were very close.”
“It’s true, but not anymore.”
“How do you know?”
“Harry got involved in things.”
Vincent’s eyes widened. “What kind of things?”
“Evil things—money, guns, power.”
“How did he get into that?”
Joaquina sat on the tub’s edge. “It’s a long story. A young Japanese man came here before the war. They said he was detached from the Navy. He had powerful influence. He left in 1940, I think. When he reappeared after the war, I found out he was Harry’s father.”
“Is this the same guy Antonio told me about?” Vincent changed his position, stirred the water again.
“Old Antonio will tell you anything.”
“Was he skinny—handsome?”
“I suppose you could call him nice-looking, but we were afraid of him.”
Vincent scratched his welts. “What did he do?”
“It was like he had a special position. The military even left him alone.”
“Did he ever question anyone about Amelia Earhart?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I was young then, too. I didn’t know about her until I went to Guam—where I met my husband.”
Vincent saw she was getting antsy. He wanted more. “So what happened after the war?”
She took a breath. “He had money, lots of it, bought property. The dollar jeeps wouldn’t do, not for him. He only had nice cars.”
“Did Stan know him then?”
“Yes, my dear Stan knew of him.”
Her voice softened. “He and Antonio heard things about him and Amelia Earhart.”
“From who, the natives?”
“Some must have seen her.”
“So that’s how Stan got involved.”
Joaquina’s face saddened. “That woman still haunts me. She took my man.” She picked up the food tray, left the room.
Vincent rose from the water and grabbed a towel.
* * * *
The black Mercedes rounded Lagua Lichan Point on the northern end of the island. Ahead, red and blue lights flashed through the blinding rain.
“Hurry,” Amelia said, “they’re at the Grotto.”
“I can hardly see.” Harry squinted through the foggy windshield. “Why are we up here on this kind of night?” He wiped the back of his hand across the glass.
Amelia shot him a cold look. “I think you already know.”
When they neared the Grotto, a huge sunken pool connected to the ocean by two underwater passages, a truck pulled away from the steep bank towing a twisted, muddy jeep. Two police cars followed. Harry stopped his car.
Amelia jumped out and ran down the road after them.
“It’s his!” She halted. Wind whipped rain against her face. At the bank where the jeep plunged over, she peered at the rough water surging in and out to the Pacific. “Antonio—why?” The forceful wind almost swept her over the edge. She caught herself, braced against the rain.
Harry sat in his car, watched her until she almost toppled over the embankment. He raced to her side, touched her on the shoulders.
She jumped, spun into his arms. “Oh, it’s you!”
“Who did you think it was?”
“You scared me.” She moved backward. “That was Antonio’s jeep.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw the rear end, that old propeller he had wired on.”
“He could’ve sold it.”
“Mrs. Garcia said he’d be here.”
Harry looked past her into the blackness just above the gushing water. “Don’t make him your concern anymore. He was a old man with little purpose.”
“The killers must have thought he had a purpose.” She gazed at Harry’s thin outline in the streaming rain.
Harry turned his back to her. “This is nonsense, we don’t—”
“You’re still one of them, aren’t you?”
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