Storm Warnings

by Judi Lind

  Elisa cocked her head and listened. Sure enough, the intensity of the storm had increased. Heavy branches and metal debris buffeted the building. Clanging and crashing under the force of nature’s fury. Jake was moving closer.

  Miriam reached over and plucked at the sleeve of Elisa’s blouse. “Are you sure you’re okay, sweetie? Me and Hank feel just terrible about your slipping on those stairs. I just don’t understand it. We had the carpeting replaced just a few months ago, so I’m sure it’s tacked down all over.”

  Realizing the genial hotel owners were probably concerned about her pressing a lawsuit, Elisa hurriedly reassured them that the accident had been entirely her fault, and that she’d only suffered a few bruises.

  After expressing their relief that she hadn’t been seriously injured, the others returned to their game. Elisa glanced around the room. That niggling doubt in the back of her mind kept her wondering which one of them could have pushed her.

  Not one of the local restaurateurs, Betty and Mark Bowman. She’d never seen either of them before today, so surely they couldn’t harbor any animosity toward her.

  The same thing was true of Hank and Miriam Danziger.

  Her gaze flicked to the far corner by the bar, where Heather and Carey Howard, who owned a fleet of sport-fishing boats, were cozily sharing a love seat. They were chatting so animatedly, a casual observer would think they were old friends. Yet Heather had never mentioned him. If they’d just met, they’d certainly hit it off well.

  Still, Carey was a virtual stranger, with no reason to wish Elisa any harm.

  That left only Storm and David Welton.

  She glanced down, to where Storm was leaning against her leg, his tumbled chestnut hair tickling her slightly through her cotton slacks. As if completely unaware of her presence, he twisted his head, his unshaven cheek nuzzling her thigh. A slight tickle unfurled in the pit of her stomach, sending sweetly exhilarating shock waves through the lower half of her body.

  Elisa breathed shallowly, not wanting to disrupt the unexpected soft pleasure of his nearness. It wasn’t really him she was responding to, she reasoned. It was the artificial closeness people sometimes felt when they’d been through a crisis together. In the space of a single afternoon, she and Storm had weathered two frightening crises. No wonder she felt drawn to him. It was mere gratitude for his saving her life. When Hurricane Jake ran his course, she’d go back to the mainland and Storm would go on with his quiet life here on the island.

  Their paths wouldn’t cross again, but once in a while they’d think of each other and smile at having survived a dangerous experience together.

  Still, she couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe he had pushed her. Even if he hadn’t already saved her life, she couldn’t have believed him capable of such ruthlessness. But David Welton?

  She flicked her gaze to where he was standing alone, by the fireplace, taking no part in the party game. His coalblack hair and razor-sharp profile were book-cover perfect And yet…there was something aloof, cold, that made him unappealing.

  Of course, to make it in the lawyer-eat-lawyer world of Wall Street, David Welton had to be ruthless. In fact, Jay had once said that was his best character trait.

  Nor had David fully explained why he’d made the trek from Manhattan to North Carolina. He’d only remarked that he had some documents he needed to go over with her. When she asked what sort of documents, he’d put her off with a vague response, promising they’d get together alone in the morning to discuss it.

  She rubbed her temple; all this fretting and wondering was bringing back her headache. She had to let it go, at least for now.

  Determined not to give in to the anxiety welling up inside her, she forced herself to pay attention to the game.

  Betty Bowman was standing in front of them now, and she drew a slip of paper from a bowl on the coffee table. After studying it for a moment, she nodded. Moving her hand as if she were cranking an old movie camera, she conveyed that her charade was the title of a film.

  She held up two fingers.

  “Two words!” Heather shouted.

  Betty held up her forefinger. She was going to act out the first word. She reached into her pocket and extracted an imagined object, then held it in front of her and gave it a turn.

  “A key,” Elisa blurted, surprised at herself for taking part. She’d never played games before. Exercising and rehearsing had been her recreation.

  Betty touched the tip of her nose and pointed to Elisa, indicating that her answer had been correct. Then she held up two fingers again, to announce that she was going to act out the second word.

  Holding her arms wide, as if to encompass the room, Betty invited their guesses.

  “Room,” Heather guessed, incorrectly.

  “Large,” Storm said, and Betty nodded, then made a stretching motion with her hands, the clue that his answer was close but not exact. “Large key. Key large,” Storm said thoughtfully. “Oh, of course, Key Largo!”

  The small gathering broke into mild applause.

  “I don’t get it,” Heather said, her lips puckered in a small pout. “What kind of movie is that?”

  “Oh, sweetie—” Miriam clucked “—you are a young thing. I can’t believe you never heard of Key Largo. Bogie and Bacall?”

  David pushed his long, lean body from the fireplace wall and addressed Heather in an authoritative courtroom voice. “My dear, you’ve been watching too much ’Beavis and Butt-head.’ Key Largo is a classic, and a highly appropriate choice for our situation.”

  Her color high with embarrassment, Heather puffed up her chest. “Since you seem to be the fountain from which all knowledge flows, David, why don’t you enlighten me?”

  Smiling archly, the attorney replied, “I’d be delighted. Key Largo takes place on an island, where the remaining inhabitants are trapped in an inn during a tropical storm. Sound familiar? There are also some unsavory characters lurking about, making trouble for our hero, Humphrey Bogart.”

  Heather jumped up. “Exactly who are you calling an unsavory character?”

  David raised his hands and shrugged, as if bewildered by her attitude. “Why, Heather, darling, I wasn’t referring to anyone. Did I strike a nerve?”

  Heather’s mouth worked furiously for a few seconds, but she couldn’t seem to verbalize her anger. Flapping her arms at her sides, she stormed out of the room.

  Carey Howard, who’d been quiet during the exchange, jumped to his feet. His face was a brilliant scarlet, and the muscles along his cheeks clenched furiously, as if his pentup rage was fighting for release. Thrusting his chin at David, he muttered between tightly clamped teeth, “You’re a jerk, Welton. A rude, obnoxious jerk. But I’m sure you already knew that, Counselor, since you have such a vast store of knowledge. Must make you feel big to belittle someone else. But you know what? You’re just about the smallest person I’ve ever met.”

  Turning on his heel, he stalked out behind Heather.

  A stunned silence flooded the room, but Elisa felt like applauding Carey Howard. She was glad he’d jumped to Heather’s defense, and she couldn’t help wondering why David was impelled to snap at Heather at every opportunity. It was almost as if they shared some disturbing history. What else could explain their overt hostility?

  Not appearing even slightly embarrassed, David stepped forward and gave a mock bow to the silent onlookers. “Heather and her friend seemed to take my joking comments to heart. Sorry if I’ve offended anyone else.”

  With that, he lazily strolled out of the room.

  No one spoke for several long moments. Then Betty cast a quick glance at her husband, and they stood up. “Guess it’s time to call it a night,” Mark Bowman said. “See everyone in the morning.”

  Their departure left the Danzigers alone with Storm and Elisa.

  Miriam also heaved to her feet. “My word, that was peculiar, wasn’t it?”

  Hank reached up and patted her ample backside. “Now, hon, you know these storms bring out the
worst in folks. They’re just worried and a little afraid, that’s all. Had to release all that steam somewhere.”

  “Well, in my day, people didn’t air their grievances in public. If you ask me, there’s more going on between those two than meets the eye.” Miriam turned to Elisa. “You know, I think him askin’ for you was just a cover-up. I think it was that other girl he really came to see.”

  Elisa had been thinking along those same lines, but, feeling disloyal to her friend, she merely said, “I think Hank’s right. Just a little pressure boiling over.”

  “Maybe so,” Miriam agreed in a grudging tone. “But I’ve got more to do than worry about a couple of silly fools. Hank, you’ve still got to get the plywood nailed up on those top-floor windows, and I need to get things ready for breakfast.”

  “Okay, you nagging old woman,” Hank muttered as he rose to stand beside his wife. His adoring grin gave the lie to his less-than-complimentary words.

  Elisa reached down and tapped Storm’s shoulder. “Oh, my gosh! I completely forgot—you were going to secure your own house and never got the chance. Can we still get over there? Or do you think the roads are already washed out? I’d be glad to help.”

  Silent until now, Storm lazily unfurled his long legs and stood up. He swiped an errant strand of hair from his forehead and gave her a lopsided grin. “Hank and I went over and boarded up my place while you were snoring away, Sleeping Beauty. Since it looks like we’ll be stuck here a day or so, thought you all might appreciate it if I picked up some clean clothes.”

  Elisa laughed, then stopped suddenly when he continued in a more serious vein. “Needed my medical supplies, anyway.”

  Her breath caught. “You sound like you’re expecting more…accidents.”

  He cocked his head, and gave her an oddly assessing glance. “No, I certainly hope not. But with debris flying all around us, it’s better to be prepared.”

  “Makes sense,” Elisa replied, embarrassed that she’d automatically thought he agreed with Heather in thinking she was accident-prone. Lately it seemed she looked for hidden meanings in everything. Paranoid? Or laudably wary?

  Storm stood up. “Right now, I’m going to return the favor and give Hank a hand boarding his upstairs windows. Why don’t you go on to bed? The rest will do you good.”

  She shook her head, then stopped abruptly when the sudden movement caused a furious pounding in her temple. “If I go to bed now, I’ll be up all night. Miriam, can I help you in the kitchen?”

  The older woman patted her shoulder. “Why, that’s just sweet of you, honey, but like this old man I’m married to will tell you—Miriam Danziger doesn’t allow anyone to mess around in her kitchen. Besides, I just need to slice some melons and take a sack of muffins out of the freezer. Won’t take me a minute.”

  Feeling like a small child who’s been told to stay out of the way, Elisa was thankful when Hank made a suggestion. “You know what you can do, Miz Montoya? You could monitor that shortwave radio over there for a hurricane update. Sure would like to know if ol’ Jake is going to hit us during the night.”

  Elisa crossed the room to where an ancient radio, about the size of a packing crate, rested on a scarred oak table. “Can you show me how to work it?”

  Hank fiddled with a few knobs and, as if by magic, the static was replaced by a flurry of voices. “Stay on this band. This is where the Coast Guard and weather bureau will post their updates.”

  Glad to have something, anything, to do to pass the time, Elisa settled in the worn rocker. At first it was hard to pick out individual voices from the muddle, but after a few minutes of careful listening, she was finally able to follow the chaotic dialogue.

  When she looked up, she was surprised to find that the others had already left to attend to their chores.

  While she waited for the updated weather report, she thought back over the disturbing events of the evening. Miriam and Hank were doing their best to make their guests comfortable, and keep their minds off the danger of their situation. But despite the outwardly jovial atmosphere, Elisa felt weighted down by a sense of impending doom.

  Was it the rapidly approaching hurricane that had her nerves on edge? Or was it something else, something…sinister, emanating from her fellow guests?

  Chapter Five

  The constant drone of voices, intermingled with long periods of white noise, was like a sedative, luring Elisa toward slumber. Time and again her eyes drifted closed and she almost fell asleep, but her deeply ingrained sense of duty kept forcing her awake. Finally, the radio chatter ceased as the peremptory voice of the Coast Guard announcer broke in. Adjusting the dial slightly, she waited breathlessly.

  “This just in from the National Weather Service. Hurricane Jake, with winds reported in the hundred-mile-perhour range, has taken another detour. Jake appears to be stalled approximately six hundred miles off the North Carolina coast. Repeat—Hurricane Jake is currently stalled six hundred miles from Cape Hatteras, North Carolina. Should the hurricane continue its expected westward route, it should be hitting the barrier islands sometime late tomorrow. Stay tuned to this radio band for updates every half hour. The hurricane warning is still in effect. U.S. Coast Guard, over and out.”

  She sat for a few moments, trying to make sense of the report. He’d said Jake was stalled. That meant not moving, didn’t it? At least temporarily, the storm was no longer headed their way!

  Jumping to her feet, she skipped up the stairs to tell Storm and Hank the good news. When she reached the rarely used third floor, she noticed that the noise generated by the hurricane was much louder than below. She checked each door as she passed, but Hank and Storm had been busy; the windows in each were covered with plywood sheets.

  When she opened the last door at the end of the corridor, the tempest’s full fury was all too evident. Broken tree branches slammed against the partly boarded window, the sound punctuated by the metallic clang of some object that was never meant to fly smashing into the brick building. Elisa had to remind herself that they were three floors off the ground and this was an old structure with lofty ceilings. Metallic objects weren’t supposed to leap more than three stories in the air. Surely the laws of gravity had taken the night off.

  They were at the window, Storm holding the heavy plywood panel in place while Hank hammered it into the frame. But because the protective board wasn’t fully secure, the ferocious wind was howling its outrage around the edges of the oversize window.

  Until this moment, Elisa had harbored no real fear of the hurricane. While they were buffeted by the gusts and driving rain on their way to the hotel, she’d somehow held on to her belief that the epicenter would never reach them. Now she shivered with fear, understanding at last the potential violence of a force-four hurricane.

  Newsreel images of Jake’s ancestors flashed through her mind: Hurricane Andrew stampeding through Florida, and Iniki all but destroying the island of Kauai. Entire roofs flying through the air like toy planes. Houses crushed beneath the tremendous pressure. Even hotels and immense government structures leveled by the raging bursts of energy.

  This was no little rainstorm, to be celebrated by a “hurricane party” or simple games. Their lives were in mortal danger. Suddenly the overwhelming loss she’d felt when her ballet career ended no longer felt so tragic. She’d find another way to make a living. And her mother would always be proud of her, no matter what path she took. How foolish she’d been to think Elisa Montoya was only important when she donned a tutu and whirled across the stage.

  Elisa Montoya, prima ballerina, had missed out on a lot of things others took for granted: home, family, husband, children. Stability.

  Now that she’d been given this new awareness of the value of life, she wasn’t ever again going to define herself by her work. If she survived to have a second chance at her life.

  Feeling renewed and empowered by her realization, she hurried to help the men. It took only a few more minutes for them to finish covering the large window
. When the fever pitch of the raging storm was muffled by the board, it would be easy to allow herself to be lulled into a false sense of security. But she knew better. They wouldn’t be safe until Jake either changed direction or spent his fury.

  Completely exhausted by their efforts, Hank dropped to the floor, while Storm leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Even in the near darkness, she could see the sheen of exertion glistening on his forehead. His thick goldenbrown hair was damp, and his glorious green eyes were rimmed with red, the only evidence of his fatigue.

  Elisa leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder as if he were an old and trusted friend. Somehow, tonight, he was. “Are you guys up to hearing some news?”

  “Only if it’s good news,” Storm muttered.

  “Amen to that,” Hank added.

  Happy to ease their worries, if only temporarily, she repeated the last weather report.

  “Now that is good news!” Hank pushed himself upright. “I hope that dumed old Jake spins in a circle till he plumb wears hisself out.”

  Storm chuckled. “I’ll second that motion, Hank. Elisa, I always knew you were an angel. Thanks for the good tidings.”

  She ducked her eyes, unaccountably embarrassed by the teasing praise.

  Hank gently poked her with his elbow. “Did you tell that worrisome wife of mine what the radio said?”

  “No, I ran straight upstairs.”

  Hank strolled across the room, pausing in the doorway. “Reckon I’d better go on and tell her before she worries herself into a tizzy.” He paused and tossed Storm his flashlight. “You’d better hang on to this—I’m fixing to shut off the generator. See you folks in the morning. Thanks for the help, Storm.”

  “Don’t mention it. Good night.”

  When they heard Hank’s slow tread on the stairs, Storm and Elisa looked at each other. The very idea of the staunch, unflappable Miriam Danziger worrying herself into a “tizzy” was so outlandish that they broke into laughter. Storm was the first to recover. “Yeah, Miriam needs to be calmed down. Like Newt Gingrich needs to be more outspoken.”