Key West
Page 25
He hadn’t closed the front door completely. It blew open and leaves slid across the tiles.
“I will not give up,” Sonnie said, her voice hoarse but clear. She scuffed her bare feet backward, pushing her hair from her eyes as she went. Her short cotton nightie didn’t make her look any sturdier, but Chris surely found her appealing in simple, flimsy things.
He reached to push the door shut. “You won’t give up,” he said. “Nope. You will not give up, Sonnie. Neither will I.” Her eyes were closed.
“Its Chris,” he told her very clearly. “Sonnie, it’s me.” The roaring in Sonnie’s head faded. Chris. She opened her eyes. “Where were you?” That hadn’t been what she meant to say. “You weren’t here.” Not that, either.
“I thought you’d stay at Duval Street. Roy said he’d told you I wanted you there till I got back. Bo, too.”
“You said you agreed to my offer.” Her arms and legs ached and trembled inside. And she was so sore from falling on the stairs. “You would help me. That’s what you said.”
“Yeah, I did.”
Panic had receded a little but it inched back. “You changed your mind, didn’t you?”
“If I’d changed my mind, I wouldn’t be here. You need to sit down. Or lie down.”
“I don’t want to sit down.” Why did everyone insist on coddling her, telling her she was weak, trying to stop her from doing what she must do?
“You’re watching me,” she said. “Why are you watching me like that? Like there’s something wrong with me?”
He shook his head, and every few seconds he looked in a different direction.
She followed his gaze. “What are you looking for? Don’t you believe me?”
“Believe you? You haven’t told me anything new, have you?”
“They’ve been talking to you, haven’t they?”
Again he glanced from place to place in the entry; then he looked upward.
“Someone is trying to make me look crazy. They’re trying to drive me crazy, Chris.” Deep burning in her hip took her breath away.
“Tell me who you think I’ve talked to about you.”
If he had talked to Billy and Romano it would be dangerous to mention their names. He might tell them what she’d said and they’d say she was proving them right, that she needed help because she imagined they were against her. And they’d only be saying what they believed, but she’d lose Chris’s help. If they all got together they’d probably find a way to make her leave Key West.
“Sonnie,” Chris said, “will you explain what’s happened to you?”
“Why are you here now?” Suspicion mounted. “At this exact moment?”
He took a step toward her. Sonnie moved farther away.
“Okay, okay. We’ll stand here and talk in circles. Until your legs give out and you fall on those nice hard tiles. What’s with your foot? The right foot. It’s swollen.”
“Crushed,” she muttered. “The toes got crushed when they tried to kill me. They swell sometimes.”
His blank expression terrified her. “In the car,” she said, working for each breath. When I…” She spread her arms and looked down at herself. “All of it.”
“Let me hold you, Sonnie.”
Hold her. She wanted him to hold her, but she couldn’t relax until he understood what she needed him to understand. “And when I saw him”—she pointed to the floor—” I fell down the stairs. A black cape with sequins. It spread wide on the floor. And he had long curls. Blond curls. One of the scarves, a yellow one, was on his back. He’d been stabbed. The knife went through the yellow scarf.” The rooms that opened off the entry were in darkness. “He must have dragged himself somewhere.”
Chris held out a hand and she looked at it. “Ι want to hear all about it,” he said. “In the kitchen? I’ll pour us a drink.”
“You took so long to get here.”
“I really thought you’d stay at Roy’s.”
“You could have called to find out.”
“I got pretty involved. But I did call in the end. Then I came here.”
Such easy answers. “I kept looking outside for you. I listened for you. It was scary here. Wimpy brought one of Edward’s silk scarves and it wasn’t dirty. I don’t know where it came from. I cleaned, but there was soot everywhere. There’s still soot.”
He smiled. “I wield a mean scrub brush. Tomorrow I’ll help.”
“You don’t understand. I’m telling you the scarf wasn’t dirty. That means it was brought into the house after the fire, and after we’d been to Ena’s and seen Edward had them. They knew we’d seen them and it would frighten me. I’ll show you.”
“You’re hurt. You’ve got marks on your arms. We’d better be sure you haven’t broken anything.”
“Don’t change the subject.” He didn’t want to hear what she had to say. Well, that was too bad. “Somewhere in this house we’re going to find an injured man. A stabbed man. He fell from up there.” She pointed to the chandelier. “I heard the glass clinking, then the fall.”
“There’s no blood,” Chris pointed out. As far as he could tell there was no sign of any seriously injured man. A man who had fallen a long way from a…chandelier without pulling the thing down with him? “The police searched this house. All of it. From the attic down. Stay put. I’ll check.” He jogged from room to room, switching on lights, knowing he’d find nothing. When he returned, Sonnie hadn’t moved from her spot. “Nothing,” he told her. “If there was someone here, they’ve left.”
“I think he was dead,” she whispered, and went to the middle of the floor, immediately beneath the chandelier. “His legs and arms were twisted.”
He didn’t point out that a mortally wounded man should have left traces of blood. There were none.
“Okay.” She tucked her hair behind her ears, rubbed her hands over her face, and took a deep breath. “I’m feeling better now. I’m just going to tell you the whole thing. First there was the singing again, or whispering or whatever it is. Then the scarves. Wimpy brought one of them.” She bent to pick up random leaves and pieces of white gravel.
“He could have gotten it from Ena’s house.”
“He didn’t, I tell you. There wasn’t time. And Wimpy didn’t sing a song to my baby, or tell me to die, or put a man on my hall floor, then help him get away. He didn’t turn out the lights and push me, and…and touch me. And it was Frank who called, not Wimpy.”
Sonnie didn’t want Chris to narrow his eyes like that. As if he was deciding about something. “Frank called? Sonnie—”
“The man had a calla lily in his hand,” she said, remembering, and buying time before she’d have to talk about Frank’s call again. “When there’s singing, they sing ‘Hush little baby, don’t you cry.’ And it comes from high up. Up by the ceiling. It floats.”
“Up by the ceiling? Floats?”
She was too hot. “Yes.” Her skin flamed. She blinked her eyes because they stung. Rain tapped hard at the fanlight. “The doors in my bedroom are open. They just flew open on their own. They need to be closed. The rain will come in.”
“Sure. I’ll see to that.”
So why didn’t he move? “Do something,” she cried. “Don’t just stand there. Do something.”
She had no time to prepare before he lifted her into his arms and took the stairs a couple at a time.
Struggling would be useless.
“I went into Jacqueline’s room to rub ointment on Wimpy’s tummy. He’s got sores from being burned. But I went in there. I hadn’t been able to do that since my baby died—until tonight. Do you think I’m getting better?”
“I hope so. Bed; then I’ll get you that drink. I think we’re having a brandy moment.”
He took her into her bedroom and stood her on the floor while he turned back her covers.
“I’m not ready for bed,” she said. “I’ve got to show you some things.”
Chris took his arm from around her waist. “Look at yourself.”
“If you want to do something, brush your hair and wash your face. You’ll feel better.”
Embarrassed, she started toward the bathroom. “I know I’m a mess. Sorry.”
“I don’t care how much of a mess you are. I just want you to feel as good as you can. Hey.” He barely caught her before she hit the rug.
“Stupid,” she said. “I’m okay. My hip does that sometimes.”
“Sure it does. You’re exhausted and strung so tight it’s a wonder you don’t snap.”
“I’m okay.” The irritation she tried to muster was without conviction. “Let me get a robe. I’ll show you which bedroom’s yours. Where are your things?” Her next glance speared him. “You didn’t bring them, did you?”
He was so grateful to be able to give her a smug smile and say, “They’re on the Harley. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t changed your mind before I started moving stuff in. Are you sure you’re going to be comfortable with this? With me living here, more or less?”
“I asked you to, didn’t I? I don’t change my mind. Go get your stuff.”
“Not till I see you settled.” He remembered something she’d said and looked over his shoulder.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t do that to me.” She braced her feet apart and took breaths through her mouth. “It is something. Tell me.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Guess the doors must have blown shut again.” They weren’t standing wide open to the weather as she’d said they were.
“They didn’t blow shut.” Her eyes shifted toward the doors, then away again. “What can I be thinking of? Of course they did. I got a bit confused, that’s all.”
“Sure you did.”
Sonnie didn’t need him to spell out that he didn’t believe her.
He went to the doors, caught hold of a handle, and pushed. He rattled it and tried again. It didn’t budge. Bending over, he pulled up a long bolt that fitted into a hole in the threshold. A second bolt fitted into the wooden frame above. When he’d freed them both, he opened the door and walked onto the balcony.
They were setting her up. His mind would be made up. She was a freak, a crazy. The body she’d told him about was gone.
Now the doors she’d insisted were open were not only closed, but locked.
Make light of it. Don’t protest. You’ll only make yourself seem more troubled.
Chris came in and bolted the door again. “No sign of anyone now.” He didn’t meet her eyes. “They had plenty of time to get away.”
“You’re humoring me.” There was no stopping the tears that sprang to her eyes, or the sore tightness in her throat. “You think I’m…You know what you think. Well, you’re wrong. I don’t know what’s going on, or why, but what I told you is true.” She shouldn’t have said that.
“I don’t know what’s true or not true,” he told her. “That’s the honest truth, Sonnie. You can’t blame me for wondering. You said Frank called, but you didn’t mean Frank, did you?”
She knew what she must do. “No, of course I didn’t. I meant Romano.” She turned from him and went to lock herself inside the bathroom.
The sound of running water reached Chris. He sprinted from the bedroom and downstairs. Outside he retrieved the saddlebags from the Harley and carried them inside. In the kitchen he located a bottle of brandy and two glasses and turned to carry them upstairs.
The ugly little dog from next door eyed him from beneath the oak table. “Hey, Wimpy,” he said, snapping his fingers.
The dog yawned and made chomping sounds with small, prominent teeth.
“Oh, you are a beauty, aren’t you?” Chris said, grinning at the pop-eyed face. “Where do you think you’re spending the night? You’d better go outside.”
“Chris?” Sonnie sounded as if she was standing on the stairs. “Are you talking to Wimpy?”
“I am. He’s ignoring me.”
“Maybe he’s got good taste.”
He grimaced. “Thanks. I’m going to put him out for the night.”
“No! What are you talking about? He can come up here.”
Wimpy grinned, definitely grinned. Chris curled his lip at him.
“Do you hear me?” Sonnie said.
“I hear you.”
“Chris?” Halting uncertainty loaded that word.
“Yeah.’
“On the counter there’s a scarf. Α green silk scarf. Bring it up, would you?”
“Okay,” he said, although—as he’d figured—he didn’t see any scarves.
He didn’t know how he’d tell her there wasn’t one thing to substantiate what she’d told him, and yet still convince her he believed in her. The damnable thing was that he did believe in her—even if he was being forced toward thinking she was a sick woman. What he believed was that she was right when she said someone was backing her into a corner where she could easily be painted as insane.
Later he’d wrestle with what it would take to pull off such a thing.
He hadn’t taken two steps toward the entry hall before Wimpy dashed ahead and led the way upstairs. He nosed his way into Sonnie’s bedroom and stood there, looking back as if waiting for Chris to catch up.
With her fingers laced together, Sonnie hovered near a chair. “Where is it?” she said, craning her head forward.
“No green scarf,” he said. “We’ve got our hands full, but people who play this kind of number always leave tracks. We’ll find ‘em, kid. Into bed with you.”
“I want to help you look for clues.”
“Not now, you won’t. Do as I ask you.”
She shook her head, and started when Wimpy took a leap onto the bottom of the bed, where he sat displaying his prominent teeth and panting.
Chris smiled. “We’ve got one happy customer present. He likes us.”
“I can’t keep still,” Sonnie said. “I feel as if things are crawling around under my skin. Jumpy.”
If he suggested they got her something to calm her down she’d never forgive him. “Me, too,” he lied. He held up the bottle and glasses. “Talon’s fix-all. Now I don’t want you thinking I spend a lot of time drinking my worries away.” And that wasn’t a complete truth, either. He’d cut himself off from the booze when it had looked like it was becoming a problem, but not before a few mornings when the hangover made him wish he didn’t have a head—and what he remembered of the night before was unclear or nonexistent.
Sonnie whipped past him so quickly, so unexpectedly, that he didn’t have time to try to stop her. She limped rapidly along the hallway, turned past the room where the fire had occurred, and went into a room on the other side. “Come on,” she called. “This is yours.”
He took the time to pour two brandies and leave them on her bedside table before following.
“What kind of beans did you have for dinner?” he asked. It wasn’t fumy, but it was the best he could do.
“No beans,” she said. “No dinner.”
“I meant because you’re jumping all over the place. This is great. Bedroom, sitting room, bathroom. Suite fit for a king..”
“Nothing would be too good for you.” She colored. “I mean, I wish it was cozier. This was the first place I cleaned, though. The sheets have been changed and everything’s vacuumed. Where’s your stuff?”
She frowned so deeply, he flexed his hands to stop himself from reaching for her. “Downstairs,” he told her. “Won’t be a minute.”
Sonnie looked from the balcony into the entryway while Chris ran down the stairs and out of sight, to return with the leather saddlebags from his motorcycle over one shoulder. In his denim shirt and jeans, with his lean, tanned face turned up to hers, he reminded her of a cowboy. Not that she’d ever seen a real cowboy.
“Do you ride horses?” she asked. If he didn’t already think she was bizarre, he wasn’t too observant. “I mean—”<
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“It’s the saddlebags.” He grinned. “Hopalong Talon comes to town. I like to ride but I don’t get a lot of opportunities.” He dropped the bags at the top of the stairs and extended a hand to Sonnie. She came to him slowly and he led her back into her bedroom, where Wimpy waited patiently.
“In you go,” he told Sonnie, propping up her pillows. When she did as he’d asked, he gave her a glass of brandy. “Sip that slowly. It’ll relax you and help you sleep.”
She sipped obediently, then pointed past him.
Wimpy turned circles on the bottom of the bed and finally flopped down. He arranged a paw over his stubby nose and studied them with his shiny eyes.
“Guard dog,” Chris said. “Or just an opportunist, is more likely.”
“Sit with me,” Sonnie said. “I’ve got to do something to prove I’m not losing it. I’m not, Chris. Really, I’m not.”
Tipping up his own glass bought a little time to think. “Whoa, that sterilizes the tonsils.” He coughed. “You don’t want to talk now, sweetheart. Sleep. We’ll go over everything in the morning. Meanwhile, remember I’m going to be near enough to hear you breathe. And I’m a rough, tough guy. You don’t have a thing to worry about.”
“You talk a good story, but you’re not rough and tough.” She swallowed more brandy and he actually saw her face start to relax. He mustn’t forget that she didn’t weigh much. A little strong liquor would go a long way with her.
“I’m tough,” he told her. “If you don’t believe me, I can find a bunch of people to convince you.” Not that he was proud of that—not anymore.
“I’m not ready to go to sleep yet. Talk to me.”
Talking was something they needed to do, but he wouldn’t take out any bets that she’d want to touch the subject he had in mind.
“Sit here.” She patted the bed beside her.
Uh-uh, Chris. Pack up the hormones and sit in a chair while you still can. Without commenting, he got a chair and sat close, but not too close. The cotton nightie gave his imagination a boost. His fascination with Sonnie’s small breasts didn’t make much sense when he thought about his supposed taste in women. Not that there had been anything wrong with the women he’d known before her. No, sir, not a thing wrong with them.