Storm Warnings

by Judi Lind

  David sighed, a loud expression of disgust. “Wonderful. Trapped in Dogpatch. Exactly how I’ve always wanted to spend my free time.”

  Heather reached over and snagged a glass of wine from a tray Hank Danziger was passing around. “You could always swim back to the mainland. I’m sure you know how to dog-paddle, don’t you?”

  In a transparent effort to forestall further biting comment, Elisa moved toward the doorway. “Let’s postpone the argument while Mrs. Danziger shows us to our rooms, otherwise dinner won’t be ready on time. And I’m starved.”

  Storm couldn’t help admiring Elisa’s pluck. Her weariness was painted on her face, in the dark circles ringing her even darker eyes. She stood off kilter. Obviously, her injured ankle was tormenting her. What had happened to the lovely ballerina? Would she ever dance again? It would be a tragedy indeed if the world had lost the talents of such a gifted performer.

  Yet, despite her pain and weariness, she kept smiling and nodding in an effort to ease the obvious friction between her friends. Recognizing her attempt to defuse the increasingly volatile atmosphere, Storm followed her into the foyer. “Which room did you put me in, Miriam?”

  Heather and David gave up their squabbling and fell into line at the bottom of the staircase, where the Bowmans were waiting with Miriam. Even Carey Howard had given up his solitary post and was waiting with the others for room assignments.

  All the luggage was in a jumbled pile at the foot of the stairs. One by one, the morose group picked up their gear and waited for further direction.

  Miriam climbed three stairs in order to be seen and heard by everyone. Consulting a scrap of paper, she read off the numbers of the rooms that she’d assigned to each of them.

  “Now listen up,” she said loudly. “That’s a hurricane outside—not just a summer squall. Before the night’s over, we’ll be lucky if the only thing we lose is the electricity. Which also means the pump on the well won’t work. Water’s at a premium. We’ve filled all the tubs, for sponge baths and quick washups only. Until we tell you different, I’m afraid there’ll be no baths or showers. Everybody understand that?”

  Instead of the complaints Storm expected to follow Miriam’s announcement, there was only a shocked silence from the small group. One look at their faces told him they finally understood the seriousness of their situation.

  Until this moment, Heather and David had been behaving like spoiled children at a birthday party. Expecting to be thrilled and entertained by the approaching storm, much as those spoiled youngsters would anticipate a magician “sawing” one of them in half.

  But Hurricane Jake wasn’t a show or an illusion. It was real life, harsh and relentless. Storm only hoped Elisa’s friends were up to the challenge.

  Miriam gave the newcomers to the island a reassuring smile and beckoned to everyone to follow her up the stairs. Moving in a tight bunch, the docile group quietly ascended the wide staircase.

  They were just approaching the second-floor landing when the overhead light flickered.

  “Don’t worry,” Miriam hastened to reassure them. “There are kerosene lanterns and candles in every room. We also have our own backup generator that can be used sparingly.”

  Storm glanced at Elisa, who was huddled against the rail, her dark eyes intent on the oscillating fixture. As if she had somehow willed it to happen, the lights flickered once more. Then they were abruptly plunged into darkness.

  The small troop broke into collective nervous chatter, and Storm sensed a sudden movement on his left.

  The next sound was a frightened scream, right beside him. Elisa!

  Chapter Four

  “What is it? What’s happened?” Heather’s voice climbed above the others.

  “Elisa’s fallen,” Storm snapped. “Who has a flashlight? Quick!”

  “Here.” Miriam’s voice was clear as she switched on a penlight and handed it down to him.

  He swept the funnel of light down the staircase until it stopped on the crumpled body at the bottom. “Elisa! Are you all right?”

  The only response was an ominous silence.

  Pushing past the Bowmans and Carey Howard, Storm hurried down the steps and knelt beside her. Holding the small flashlight between his teeth, he quickly felt for her pulse.

  She was still alive. Her pulse was strong and steady, though she’d lost consciousness.

  As he flicked the light over her, he noticed that she’d landed with her duffel bag beneath her head. Somehow she’d managed to hang on to it while tumbling down the staircase. The canvas bag filled with clothing must have broken her fall, protecting her from serious injury. At least he hoped so. As long as they were stuck on this island, he was the only avenue of medical treatment. And his skills were rusty—very rusty. Not to mention the fact that he had no equipment and no access to medication.

  Dredging up fragments of memory from his rotation in the ER, he carefully ran his hands down her limbs, checking for obvious fractures. Finding none, he refocused the penlight and raised each eyelid with his fingertip. Her pupils were equal, and reactive to the light. Relief poured through him. It was unlikely she’d suffered brain damage. But there was no way to tell if she’d sustained a neck or spinal injury without moving her, and any movement could exacerbate her injuries.

  While he was trying to think of what else he could do, she moaned and stirred slightly.

  He leaned over and touched her soft face. “Elisa? Can you hear me?”

  “Mmm. Wh-what happened?” she mumbled as her eyes fluttered open. She blinked rapidly, and he moved the beam from her face.

  “You fell down the stairs.”

  “N-no. No, I didn’t fall.” She lifted her head and struggled to rise.

  Mental confusion and disorientation were often symptomatic of concussion, and Storm made a mental note to watch for further signs. Right now, he needed to keep her still until the extent of her injuries could be determined.

  “Here, lie back down. Just rest for a few minutes.”

  “I don’t want to rest on the floor. How about if I just go upstairs and lie down?”

  He tossed his head. “Not yet. I don’t want you to move until we can be sure everything’s okay.”

  She rubbed her temple. “I must’ve conked my head on something. It hurts like the devil.”

  Storm gently palpated the knot forming at her hairline. “Whoo…” He whistled. “That’s another fine trophy you’ve collected. Do you hurt anyplace else?”

  As if mentally checking her body for injury, she hesitated for a moment. “No. My ankle throbs, but it does most of the time anyway. But my head feels like I downed an entire bottle of Jose Cuervo by myself.”

  Relieved that her injuries appeared minor, and that her mental confusion seemed to be clearing, Storm chuckled in relief. “So how much experience have you had? Drinking entire bottles of tequila, I mean.”

  She raised up on her right elbow. “None. But I have a good imagination and a rotten headache.”

  Since it appeared she’d escaped serious injury, Storm relaxed enough to sense the others descending the staircase. He raised a hand, forgetting for a moment that no one could see it. “Stay back. She needs air.”

  Only Heather ignored him to inch forward. “Elisa? Honey, are you okay? Did you have another episode and get dizzy again?”

  Storm felt like throttling her for exposing Elisa’s medical disorder to the others. Didn’t Heather have a spark of concern for her friend’s feelings? And exactly what were these “episodes” she kept referring to? He wondered if Elisa suffered from epilepsy; that would explain a lot.

  As if she, too, were irritated by the tone of Heather’s query, Elisa didn’t answer, but grabbed Storm’s hand in an effort to sit up.

  “Are you sure you feel up to it?” he asked.

  “No. But I can’t lie on the floor forever.”

  She tugged on his hand again. Realizing that further arguing would be futile, he helped her to a sitting position. “Any more dizzine
ss?” he asked. “You took a heck of a blow to the head.”

  She laughed grimly. “My poor head’s getting used to being battered. First the car wreck, then my dip in the ocean, and now an unplanned leap down the stairs.” She looked up sharply. “I’m beginning to wonder if someone’s trying to kill me.”

  Storm was still considering the serious tone of her last remark when Miriam pushed her way through the crowd and bent over his shoulder.

  She patted Elisa’s cheek. “Honey, you just stay still and I’ll get you some water. Or would you rather have brandy?”

  “No, water will be fine. Thanks.”

  Miriam’s ample frame nudged Storm aside as she hurried past. No sooner had she disappeared than the lights flickered again as the distant hum of the generator motor whined into action. Hank must have found his way to the basement, Storm reflected. A few seconds later, the hall and staircase were flooded with light, revealing a semicircle of pale, concerned faces looking over their shoulders.

  Betty Bowman was the first to speak. “Is she okay, Storm? Is there anything we can do to help?”

  Reassured by the alert expression on Elisa’s face, he shook his head. “Everything’s under control. Why don’t you all go on to your rooms? Ms. Montoya will be fine by dinner, although she might welcome an aspirin or two, if anybody has some.”

  “I do.” Heather raised her hand like a schoolgirl and raced back up the stairs. A moment later, she returned and shook two tablets into Elisa’s outstretched hand. Miriam appeared with a glass of water, and Elisa gratefully swallowed the pills.

  “Okay.” She nodded to Storm. “Guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Heave-ho!”

  As gently as possible, he helped her up, then draped a securing arm around her waist when she wobbled a bit. “Take your time, don’t rush it,” he cautioned. Once again showing that fierce determination that had so intrigued him, Elisa ignored his warning and stepped away from his steadying grasp.

  “I’m fine,” she whispered. Then, as if gathering strength, she repeated herself in a stronger voice. “I’m fine, everybody. Thanks for your concern.”

  Everyone except Heather murmured their sympathies and headed upstairs, to the second-floor bedrooms.

  Heather marched beside Elisa and replaced Storm’s grasp with her own. “Well, I, for one, am concerned. I think we need to get you upstairs right away. I’ll have Mrs. Danziger prepare a tray for your dinner.”

  “Heather, I’m not an invalid, you know,” Elisa gently chided. “Sometimes I think you’d be happier if I was in a full body cast, locked up in a glass case.”

  Heather’s hands flew to her own waist as she thrust out a hip in an indignant stance. “Well, blame a friend for trying! Elisa, sometimes you’re just too independent for your own good. You can keep ignoring this whole string of ’accidents’ that you’ve been having, but I can’t. You haven’t given yourself time to recover from your surgery.”

  Storm frowned. Once again, with just a few well-chosen words, Heather had managed to dump the entire responsibility for Elisa’s problems right back in her lap. As if, by not allowing herself time to properly recuperate, Elisa had somehow brought on these other incidents.

  On the other hand, were Heather’s crude accusations the truth? Was Elisa suffering from some psychosis that caused her to injure herself?

  And why did he keep sticking his nose into Elisa Montoya’s problems? She had nothing to do with him. He was emotionally shut off from everything and everyone—remember?

  Ignoring Elisa’s attempt to shrug off his helping hand, Storm took her arm, while Heather continued to hold on to her waist. Together, they made their way upstairs, to the room Mrs. Danziger had assigned Elisa.

  Heather pulled back the coverlet on the bed, and they eased the former dancer between the crisp white sheets.

  “I wish you two mother hens would stop hovering over me,” she grumbled as Storm slipped off her Reeboks.

  “No problem,” he muttered. “I’d be glad to leave you alone, Princess, if you’d stop hurling yourself into the sea or down the stairs.”

  “I already told you—I didn’t fall!”

  He tucked the coverlet under her chin and feathered a silky strand of ebony hair from her eyes. “Okay, you didn’t fall. Now lay back, I want to check you over.”

  “Are you sure you’re a doctor?” she asked, her eyelids slitted suspiciously.

  “No. I’m really a pervert who hangs around deserted beaches looking for drowning women to molest.”

  “I thought so,” she muttered as she fell against the pillow and closed her eyes, clearly fighting her headache.

  When she opened them a moment later, she focused on Heather, who was standing behind Storm, her blue eyes wide and anxious. “I’m sorry, Heather. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I just feel…kind of vulnerable right now.”

  “No problem, ’Leese. Why don’t you get some rest like the good doctor ordered?”

  “I will. Promise. But would you be a dear and go get my duffel? I want to change out of these damp clothes.”

  “Oh, that’s right. All your stuff is still downstairs. I’ll be right back.” Heather grinned and bolted for the door, as if relieved to have some minor chore to attend to.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, Elisa grabbed his wrist. “I don’t want to worry Heather, but I was serious, Storm. I didn’t fall.”

  A gut-wrenching tightness constricted his gut. Not wanting to hear her response, he nevertheless found himself asking, “Then what did happen?”

  Dropping her voice even more, she whispered, “Someone pushed me.”

  “What!”

  She tightened her grip on his wrist, as if she could force him to believe her. “I’m not mistaken or joking. At first I thought it was Heather hovering over me like she does. But then…those hands pressed against my back. Hard. Then…” She paused and sucked in a lungful of breath. “Then whoever it was pushed me and I lost my balance.”

  The clenched feeling in his stomach tightened like a vise. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, he couldn’t believe that Elisa was imagining this. Her face was too earnest, her voice filled with fear and pleading. The woman was frightened, possibly with good cause.

  But they were a small group, and she was a virtual stranger to the island. Who would want to kill her?

  Did they have a homicidal maniac running amok in the hotel?

  As if in answer, the wind suddenly picked up its tempo, shrieking like a tortured banshee.

  TWO HOURS LATER, after changing into dry clothing and wolfing down a bowl of Miriam’s savory corn chowder, accompanied by a chunk of homemade bread smeared with butter, Elisa felt well enough to go downstairs and join the others.

  She emptied her duffel, stowing the few pieces of clothing she’d brought in the huge mahogany wardrobe adjacent to the ornately carved bed. Carrying her toothbrush and cosmetics into the adjoining bathroom, she came back in the bedroom and frowned at the rumpled bedcovers.

  A vision of her mother’s disapproving gaze prompted her to action. Hurriedly she yanked up the coverlet and headed for the door. Pausing to see if she’d forgotten anything, she giggled at the haphazard way she’d made the bed. She’d forgotten about the extra pillow she’d propped under her leg. With the thin blanket pulled over it, the lumpy form resembled a sleeping body.

  Oh, well, she’d straighten it later. Mom wasn’t here to see it anyway.

  When she reached the staircase, she paused, recalling her earlier tumble. Her headache had faded to a dull throb and, thankfully, her ankle hadn’t been reinjured. All things considered, Elisa decided, she’d come through the accident pretty much unscathed. Still, she couldn’t forget the feel of those hands against her back. Pressing. Pushing. Then, finally, shoving.

  Why would someone want to hurt her? It couldn’t have been an accident. Could it? Had she somehow misinterpreted the incident? Perhaps she had stepped away from those hands and, in the darkness, moved too close to the edge of th
e step, causing her own fall.

  Earlier, when she was talking to Storm, everything had seemed so clear. So certain. But now…now she was filled with self-doubt. After all, as Heather often pointed out, Elisa had been under a terrible strain, both emotional and physical, these past few weeks.

  It wouldn’t be unusual for someone in her condition to experience confusion, even misunderstand certain events.

  Placing her right hand firmly on the railing, she slowly began descending the stairs. As much as she hated to admit to any sort of mental weakness, that explanation made far more sense than believing someone was trying to harm her. After all, she’d been alone on the beach. As for the car crash…well, no amount of effort could bring back all the pieces of that night. She simply couldn’t remember anything after walking into Jay’s office shortly after 5:00 p.m.

  When she reached the first-floor landing, Elisa followed the sound of festive voices into the parlor. When she stepped into the inviting room, with its flickering light and comfy furniture, she saw that the others were playing charades. Storm was the first to notice her arrival, and he jumped to his feet.

  “Elisa! You must be feeling better—I didn’t expect to see you again tonight. Here, sit down.”

  He pointed to the corner of the sofa where he’d been sitting.

  “Thanks,” she murmured, gratefully accepting his offer. It was amazing how wobbly she felt after merely walking downstairs. “What’s all the laughing about?” she asked as Storm lowered himself to. the floor beside her feet.

  “We’re having a hurricane party,” Miriam offered.

  “Local custom,” Hank added.

  Elisa realized that was the first time she’d actually heard him speak. Though apparently a man of few words, he surprised her by continuing, “Get you a drink?”

  “No, thanks. I’m just fine. You all go ahead with whatever you were doing.”

  Betty Bowman shook her short blond curls. “Oh, honey, we’re just playing a silly game. Trying to drown out that horrid noise.”