Key West

by Stella Cameron

  Chris mouthed Yes, then said, “You’re sure? He’s been beaten, and he’s got burns on his body. I’m supposed to relieve the cop who’s guarding him now.” He covered the mouthpiece and said, “Good job on the drill. I may have found the right hospital. From the way they’re behaving, they’ve got to have a patient under guard. At least they didn’t deny it.”

  He’d put the list of names on the counter and didn’t try to stop Sonnie from picking it up. She took the phone book Chris was no longer using and began flipping through pages and, where available, adding numbers beside names.

  “Still here,” Chris said into the mouthpiece. “That’s our man. What’s his condition? Yes. I do thank you for your time. Excuse me? I didn’t quite hear that. Oh, I see. You’re a gem, nurse. Make sure he’s taken good care of until I can get there.

  “I’m damned.” He hung up and said, “Cory Bledsoe. How about that? The only other person we’re going to tell about this is Flynn. Sonnie, things are going to get really dirty. You heard what happened to Bledsoe—can you believe he was trying to use Miller’s papers?”

  “I can believe anything,” she told him. “I’ll check again, but I think I’ve got all the listed numbers.”

  He took the list back from her and stuck it into a jacket pocket. “Cory Bledsoe had access to Edward Miller’s possessions. And he had to have time to search for what he wanted.”

  “So he’s been in this house, too,” Sonnie said. “He must have been because all of Edward’s things were here. I’m glad we’ve already found what we were looking for. Edward’s room gave me the creeps.”

  Chris drummed his finger on a counter.

  “Hey, Edward’s room’s empty,” Sonnie said.

  “You’ve got that right. And it shouldn’t be unless the police told Ena she could clean up in there. I want to get back to your house. And I want this drill.” He returned to the kitchen and grabbed the box containing bits. “I might need it.”

  “Why?” Sonnie asked. “What would you drill?”

  “Nothing if I find what I want quickly.” He could hope.

  The phone rang yet again. “Υeah,” Chris said. “F—frig it, Flynn. I don’t have time to appease my brother right now. I’ve got to deal with something over there, and fast.”

  He listened to Aiden again. “Okay, okay, I’m on my way right now. I’ll be setting down a drill and some bits by your shrubbery. Get them inside; then make yourself scarce again. By the way, the guy who tried to use Edward Miller’s documents is Cory Bledsoe. He’s the athletic director at the club, and…Yeah, well, I’m telling you now. Watch your back.”

  “Why are we going to Roy and Bo’s?” Sonnie asked.

  “You wouldn’t be if I could leave you here.” With the drill and box of bits in one arm he walked toward the door. “Come on, damn it. When we get there, you stay at the Nail. Got that? I’ll be at my place.”

  She didn’t agree or disagree, but she walked with him to the Harley and admired the nonchalant way he slid the drill and bits into some bushes. The items quickly disappeared. Chris glanced at her and said, “Let’s go.” In other words, he didn’t want her to ask more questions.

  They set off for Duval, passing a woman raking palm fronds a few houses from Sonnie’s. Chris yelled, “Hold on, I’m going back.”

  She clung to his jacket while he made a U-turn and came to a stop near the woman. “Hi,” he said. “Do you know of any property for sale around here?”

  “Depends what you want,” she said. “Nothing right here. Maybe farther out, I don’t know.”

  “Thanks anyway,” Chris said. “I thought you might have heard about something about to come on the market.”

  “No,” the woman said. “Best you go to the realtors. They know.”

  “Would they know about rental properties, too?”

  Sonnie had no idea what was on his mind.

  “Rentals are mostly word-of-mouth around here,” the woman said. “Any vacancies, they’re filled right away. That’s a rental”—she pointed to a house across the street—“and the one next to it.”

  “Nothing this side, though?”

  “No—oh, sure.” Her tanned skin gleamed and her gray hair was cut to a short buzz. “That one. Not next to me, but next to that. And there are lots of good boardinghouses.”

  Chris thanked her and set off again. “Εna’s renting,” Sonnie shouted. “Been renting a long time, I guess.”

  “Nothing to be lost by stopping at a realtor’s and seeing what we can find out.”

  “About Ena’s house? Why would we do that?”

  “To see if she’s been in touch with them about leaving.” He stopped at the first realty office they came to. “You want to come?”

  “No. You’ll be quicker without me.”

  “Okay.” She heard his relief and smiled. He wasn’t used to toting a civilian along when he was working.

  He ran through a door plastered with ads.

  Someone tapped her arm and she spun around.

  “Don’t scream.” The man from the Nail, the one who’d threatened her, stood there. Today he wore a neat, button-down shirt—navy blue with a red stripe around each sleeve.

  Sonnie glanced toward the realty office.

  “No, no,” the man said. “Don’t be scared. I just wanted to see you, that’s all.”

  Another psychopath. “Get away,” she told him. “Come any closer and I’ll scream so loud you’ll be buried in people.”

  He was clean shaven and she noticed his well-pressed pants and brown loafers. And his wedding ring.

  “What is it with you?” Sonnie said. “Are you sick? Other than the kind of sick we already know about?”

  He shook his head and said, “Please keep your voice down. I just want to ask you a favor. That’s what I’ve been trying to do for days.”

  Sonnie prayed for Chris to come back.

  “Look,” the man said, and he pulled a photo from his pocket. “This is my wife. If she knew I got drunk the way I did, I don’t know what she’d do to me.”

  Sonnie gave the photo of a dark-haired woman a cursory glance.

  “I’m really sorry I was such an ass—I mean, so rude to you. I’d gone out with a group of the boys. Convention. You know how it is.”

  She didn’t. And she didn’t care.

  “Margie’s arriving this afternoon. For our second honeymoon. Will you promise not to…Well, if you did see her…”

  “Don’t worry,” she told him, with an urge to laugh. “But you’d better go away before my friend gets back. He’s bigger than me.”

  “Thank you.” The man sighed and wiped sweat from his brow. He backed away. “Oh, thank you.” He backed up until he bumped into a police barrier, and turned to hurry away.

  Sonnie didn’t know whether or not she felt relieved. She’d believed him. So now she’d checked off one vague suspect. Big deal.

  When there was time, she’d tell Chris.

  Ten minutes passed before he reappeared. He carried a sheaf of pamphlets. When he reached Sonnie he seemed about to say something. Instead he pushed the pamphlets into a saddlebag and mounted the bike.

  “Chris,” she said, indignant. “Are you going to tell me what they said in there?”

  “Εna’s place is owned by a woman who moved to Atlanta to live with her daughter. That was last year. I said I’d be interested in renting the property. The agent took out the file on the place. He said he thought the lease on it was coming up in a month or so.” Chris turned until he could look at Sonnie. “The house was rented by Ena Fishbine. She used a P.O. box in Miami. Good references. She’s paid up for two more months. She moved in a few days before you arrived. Didn’t you tell me she talked about seeing you and Frank when you lived here together?”

  “Yes. Roy was there. But…There was always a woman next door. I saw her She…She kept to herself. I didn’t meet her.” A woman who parked her car at the foot of the front steps while she carried in her groceries. “A blond woman. Like
Ena.”

  “But not Ena,” Chris said.

  Sonnie thought back. “I didn’t take much notice. Chris, it doesn’t make sense that Ena would be mixed up in this, does it?”

  He faced forward again. “It may not make sense, but she’s involved. That woman is a newcomer to Key West. Why should she lie about that?”

  The sun had brought out throngs of tourists and other members of the aimless. They wandered, eating out of bags, looking in windows, overflowing the curbs on narrow Duval Street. And everywhere the music played. A serpentine of tie-dye-clad teens forced Chris to a halt. They danced across the street to the strains of their leader’s boom box.

  But it took only a couple more minutes to reach the alley at the back of the Nail. “Please go tell Roy I’m out here,” Chris said. “I’ve got to get to the computer.”

  Sonnie ran to the back door and let herself into the bar. She grabbed Roy’s arm, said, “I’m borrowing him, Bo,” and dragged Roy outside. “Chris is getting on his computer. Evidently it’s very important. I don’t know why.”

  “About one more hour, Sonnie, girl, and I’d have rounded up a posse to hunt the pair of you down.”

  Sonnie knocked on Chris’s door, but walked in without being invited. Roy overtook her and stood behind his brother.

  “Who’s that?” Roy asked. Sonnie couldn’t see the screen.

  “Friend of Flynn’s in Tampa went looking for names to match an address I found,” Chris said. “I don’t know who they are. Mitchell and Annette Roberts. Doesn’t ring any bells, but their address was in Ena’s attic. I’m sure it wouldn’t have been if we hadn’t showed up last night.

  “Here’s an attached file from our helper.”

  Sonnie edged behind the two men to stand on the other side of Chris. “Mitchell and Annette Roberts,” she said. “Why would they mean anything to us? Who knows where the furniture in that attic came from? Could have been a garage sale or something.”

  “You’re right,” Chris said. “But Annette’s got a record. She’s done time—more than once. That’s why we’re about to see a mug shot.”

  “What did she do?” Sonnie asked.

  “Stalker,” Chris replied. “Malicious mischief. Harassment. And here she is.”

  The unflattering shot was of Ena. Dark haired, younger, but still Ena.

  Thirty-three

  Chris looked sideways at Sonnie. She walked with more difficulty than usual.

  “I know it isn’t far to your house, but I still think we should take my bike,” he said. “Or use Roy’s car.”

  “Walking does me good. I haven’t exercised enough lately. And it probably takes about the same length of time anyway.”

  Even in the short time they’d been at Roy and Bo’s, the crowds had swelled. They passed the brilliant white facade of St. Paul’s Church and heard organ music. Sonnie pressed Chris’s arm and climbed to the forecourt. She peered in through the open doors and saw a man playing a grand piano in the center of the nave. “Come on,” she called to Chris, urging him to join her. “Listen. ‘Greensleeves.’ Visions of cool English brooks and butterflies, gentle sunshine and peace. Think I might be stressed?”

  “Have you been to England?”

  She shook her head no. “But I’d like to. Frank…Frank went there lots of times, of course.”

  “But he never took you.”

  Sonnie knew Chris wasn’t asking a question. “It’s still there, and there’s still time.”

  He smiled. “We’re both overdue some hours in quiet places, Sonnie.” Sliding an arm around her shoulders, he whispered in her ear, “We’re going to make it happen, darlin’. You and me and the kind of life we both need.”

  When she looked at him, her features were sharp, her expression searching. “What does that mean?”

  What does it mean? “I want you and me to be together. For as long as our forever turns out to be. Does that explain enough?”

  She pulled him into the shade. “Look at me, Chris. You’re sorry for me. You’d like to fix me. But maybe I’m not fixable.”

  “We both know better than that. You became the center of some kind of plot. I admit it’s more complicated than I thought, but it’s starting to show all of its faces. I want you because I want you. The whole package. How about you?”

  She closed her eyes and rested her brow on his chest. “After you left this morning, I went to take a nap. I woke up because Frank’s old rocking chair was banging against the windows. It wasn’t even there before. More voices. More noises. A baby sobbing as if her heart was broken. I went into Jacqueline’s room and saw what I thought was a baby moving in the bassinet. It was a battery-operated doll I bought for when Jacqueline got older. Then I fell apart. But it’s all explainable. I could have put that doll in the bed. I could have moved the rocking chair.

  “Chris, I may be mentally ill. You can’t tie yourself to an insane woman.”

  He held one of her elbows and jerked her toward him. “Don’t you ever say that again. Will you marry me, Sonnie?” She began to cry. She couldn’t help it.

  Chris bent to kiss away the tears. “Answer me. Will you throw your lot in with a wreck like me?”

  “Now whose putting himself down?”

  He kissed the side of her neck. “I’d like to try to have children of our own. I’d take very good care of you. We’d make sure everything went fine.”

  “Christian Talon, you’re deliberately making me cry. I’d love to marry you. And I’d love us to try to have children. But I’m up to my teeth in uncertainties. We’ve got to get past those first.’’

  “All right. Good enough. We have a tentative agreement. Now we’re going to move so fast there’ll be some people who don’t know what slugged ‘em.”

  He hurried, but sensed when he was going too fast. Without ceremony, he hauled Sonnie onto a wall, turned, and wrapped his arms under her legs. “Piggyback time. Hold on tight.”

  Alternately jogging and executing unlikely dance steps, he got them to Sonnie’s place in record time. The pink Mustang had gone, the front door was closed, and there was still no sign of activity next door.

  “Just let me do my thing, okay?” he said. “I want you to wait in your bedroom and don’t ask any questions until I come to you.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t sound enthusiastic.

  Chris urged her into her room and shut the door. Immediately he retrieved the drill and bits from the parlor where Flynn had left them and returned upstairs as quietly as he could.

  He found a trapdoor into the attic in a spare bedroom closet. The trap had a recessed ring, and by standing on a stool he was able to slide the trap open. An obviously new length of rope with a knot in the end dropped down. A tug on this produced steps that glided noiselessly downward. All very well designed and oiled—and new. The police had been here before him. They’d searched the attic after Edward’s murder. But what Chris was hoping to find might not be evident to anyone who wasn’t looking for it.

  The flashlight he’d brought was powerful. If there were visitors before he’d finished, and his theory was correct, he might have to turn off the heavy-duty flashlight. Then he’d have to rely on a small pocket light.

  Once at the top of the steps, he hauled them up, closed the trap, and put on the flashlight. Wide wooden slats had been laid between beams. A man might praise his luck for having his job made so much easier and safer, only in this case, Chris knew the extra care had been taken for others.

  The idea of coming up here had started to form when he’d been in the attic next door. That and the way Romano had looked upward when he spoke of what Sonnie insisted she’d heard. This attic wouldn’t allow anyone but a child to stand upright. He crawled forward on hands and knees, examining everything around him as he went.

  Α sharp turn took him into a wider space. Chris got close to the ductwork that ran the length of the area and curved around and out of sight toward whatever was beyond this place. He took the small flashlight from his pocket and move
d slowly along, examining the air-conditioning ducts. When he reached the farthest end of the space he’d drawn a blank, but then he saw a large, dark kit bag that closed with a drawstring.

  The police wouldn’t have missed it.

  He pulled it open and lifted some of the contents into the beam of his light. Top hats, wigs, cloaks, glittery things…silk scarves. Edward’s theatrical gear.

  The police hadn’t missed it because it hadn’t been there immediately after the fire. Someone had brought it later, used it later.

  He took out the Glock and checked it, then replaced it in the holster. He preferred to stick his weapon in the waist of his pants, but he was running into too many situations when he needed to be sure the piece couldn’t fall.

  The sharp turn took him along another narrow corridor, then into one more spacious area. There was another bag there, a grip. This contained cans of food and blankets, and tools—including a drill. So much for hunting down the one next door.

  Some hours ago Chris had begun to see that there could be two parallel operations under way against Sonnie. Cory Bledsoe was the player who didn’t fit. Calls to several of the women on the list hadn’t provided much, except for the fact that they’d all worked at the club and they’d left because of harassment. They didn’t want to explain, but he got a marked reaction to the mention of Cory’s name. One woman still worked at the club, and she was frightened for her job. She had a small child and no husband and didn’t want Mr. Bledsoe to think she’d talked about him. Chris told her she wouldn’t have to worry about Mr. Bledsoe anymore because the man was opting to leave the club himself. Then the dam broke and he learned more about the sexual excesses of Cory than he wanted to know.

  Why didn’t the woman report her boss? No one would believe what she said. It was too weird. He used to make her strip and lie on his bed, and if she moved, he hit her. He would roll up her paycheck and insert it into her vagina, then use it to make her climax. More recently he’d wanted her to masturbate in front of him. Sometimes he’d want sex with her, but he never climaxed. And she had to be careful not to let him get her alone when she was working because if she had a full tray in her hands, he’d pull her skirt up to her waist and she’d have to all but drop the tray to cover herself. She didn’t want to say any more, but the golf pro who supposedly left with a married woman had decided he couldn’t work for Bledsoe. This happened after the pro was invited for drinks with Cory, only to find himself expected to take part in having sex with a number of women while Cory watched.