Dead By Dusk (21 page)

“That's interesting,” Grant murmured. “I mean . . . isn't saying that something was done when it wasn't . . . illegal?”

Arturo shrugged. “Oh, the state authorities could try to make something of it, but . . . there would be such an outcry here that everyone intends just to let it all slip by. There were discussions and meetings last night, but . . . everyone is back in harmony. There was no wrong intended.” Arturo hesitated. “We are still a little superstitious here, you know? Some people are certain that if Lucretia was compelled to sever her daughter's head, there might be good cause.”

“Good cause!” Stephanie exclaimed, shocked.

“As I said, we're superstitious here.”

“Severing a dead child's head is taking superstition to extremes, don't you think?” Stephanie said.

Arturo shrugged. “Yes. It's also an insane act of someone in terrible pain. So . . . the priest said that no one must be made to suffer more for what happened, so . . . Maria will be buried, and life will go on.” He rose. “Excuse me. There is still a lot to be done today.”

Just as Arturo left the table, Clay Barton arrived with Liz, and the two took chairs at their customary table.

“Good morning,” Liz said. She looked at Stephanie. “Are you all right?”

“Of course,” Stephanie said, frowning.

“We heard you'd been at the funeral parlor last night,” Clay said.

At Stephanie's side, Grant had already stiffened. He did so the minute Clay Barton came near him, she knew. She didn't understand it. Clay was responsible, good at his work, and always polite. She couldn't believe that Grant was suddenly suffering a bout of low self-esteem, so she didn't think that he would dislike the man simply because he was so good-looking and macho-esque.

“We were there. It was sad. And it's over,” Grant said.

“Yes, the girl will be buried on Monday,” Clay said. “And whatever pain her mother might have been feeling, in her own mind, at least, her daughter will be at peace.”

Grant stared at him.

“We were there, too, last night. Before you, I imagine. We had actually intended to go back just to ask if there was anything we could do,” Liz said. “But then . . . we heard about what happened.”

“I ran into one of the cops on the beach this morning,” Clay explained.

“Yes, and of course, you speak Italian, so you probably understood much more than we possibly could,” Stephanie said.

Grant looked at her sharply.

“What happened when you ran into the cop this morning?” Grant asked Clay. His voice had an edge.

“Nothing. He told me that everything was fine now, and calm. Apparently, the townspeople are going to get together and buy an airline ticket for Lucretia—and send her to America to be with her sons,” Clay said.

“That's a wonderful idea,” Stephanie said. “Here . . . she would be forced to remember her daughter every single day.”

“Well,” Liz said, “we've decided that we'd take the day and go out and see the dig.”

“Really? Aren't you two exhausted? We heard that the partying went on very late here,” Grant said. “And Clay—you were out there the other day.”

“I came out—but that was when you found Maria. It wasn't a good time at all to see what has been uncovered,” Clay reminded him.

“That's right. You were there,” Grant said.

He wasn't quite rude, but close.

“Well, I'm anxious to get out there,” Liz said, trying to put a light note into the conversation.

“You're not exhausted? You didn't have a late night?” Grant was more courteous when he spoke to Liz. He might dislike Clay, but there was no reason at all not to like Liz.

“There was some partying, yes. We weren't part of it. And Grant, everyone walked someone to their cottage, just as they were supposed to do!” Liz said. “So, what are you two up to?”

“We're going to the dig, too,” Stephanie said.

“We can go together,” Liz said, as if pleasantly surprised that they'd planned the same day.

“Great,” Stephanie said.

“Well, we were going to head out right after brunch,” Grant said. He didn't want to be accompanied by the pair, Stephanie realized.

Too bad. She was pleased to have the company.

“That will work fine for us,” Clay assured her.

“Great. I'm going to get more eggs first,” Stephanie said. “Grant, if the waiter comes by, could you ask for more coffee, please.”

It was while she was standing at the omelette station that she saw Clay at the next table, helping himself to bacon. She frowned, thinking there was something wrong, but not sure what it was.

Then she knew.

He was in a sleeveless shirt. She saw his arms. Both arms. Neither showed the least bit of irritation. They just looked tanned, sleek, and well-muscled.

That was amazing. Just the other day, when they'd dragged the boy from the surf, he had looked as if he'd suffered third-degree burns!

And now . . .

There was nothing. Nothing at all. It appeared as if he had never suffered the least injury to his flesh.

Clay Barton turned, aware she was staring at him.

She flushed. “Sorry. I can't believe the way your arm healed!” she told him.

“Oh, that!” he said. “I told you—it was just an irritation. Rises, and goes back down. That's all.”

“That's all! Medical science would surely pay you a bundle. I've never seen anyone heal like that.”

“That's because what you saw looked a whole lot worse than it was,” he assured her. He pointed behind the table where the chef was working.

“What I saw was bad! And actually, I was not a particularly good director, come to think of it. I should have asked how you were doing, but I honestly forgot. You've been wearing longsleeved shirts.”

“Stephanie, I told you that I'd be fine. I am. Hey, your omelette is ready.”

“Oh! Thanks!” She turned back, and thanked the man who had cooked her omelette. But even as she accepted it, she marveled that it seemed impossible that he could have healed so completely in such a short period of time.

As they walked back to the table, she saw that Grant was watching her with dark, pensive eyes. He had been watching the conversation. She had no intention of telling him what it had been about. It would only add to his hostility against Clay.

As they sat, Liz smiled at Stephanie. “I was just telling Grant how anxious I've been to get out to the dig. And I haven't had a chance to go. Now, it will really be a lot nicer—Grant will be almost like having an expert guide.”

“I'm not an expert at all,” Grant protested.

“He has a keen interest in archeology and ancient cultures,” Stephanie said. She shrugged. “Carlo said you were quite an asset,” she reminded.

“Anyone who sat there for hours dusting bones with a paint brush would be considered an asset,” Grant said. “But Carlo will be there,” he told Liz, “and he is an expert.”

Suzette came in then, sitting down with just a cup of coffee. She looked exhausted.

“Hey,” she said.

“Good morning,” Stephanie said.

Suzette groaned and leaned her head on the table. “No, it's not a good morning,” she assured them.

“Too much partying, hum?” Liz said sympathetically.

Suzette shrugged. “I didn't realize it, but I guess so. Thank God that it's a day off!”

“We're going out to the dig,” Stephanie told her. “Do you want to come?”

Suzette grimaced ruefully. “I want to drown in this coffee right now. I'm going to try food, and see if that improves anything. Then I'm going to spend the day on the beach. I'll get Lena back out with me, hopefully. I tried knocking on both Doug's door and Drew's. Neither one of them stumbled down to answer. And they're not in here, so . . . besides, I've been to the dig. The only thing I saw there of real interest was Grant, and turns out the two of you are . . . old friends.
C'est la vie
! Anyway, I'm too dragged out this morning to get in a car and drive anywhere.” She shook her head and her eyes widened. “I wouldn't even want to go shopping today!”

Clay touched her forehead, causing Suzette to turn and gaze at him strangely. “You don't think you've caught a bit of Lena's flu, do you?”

“I've no idea. But I think a day of doing nothing but lying in the sun is going to help. Have a good time, though.”

“We were just going to leave,” Stephanie said. “Want us to wait until you've had breakfast?”

“No, no, I'm fine here. Besides, the boys will appear eventually. Go, have a great day. Damn, I really didn't know I drank so much!”

“Dreams keeping you awake?” Clay asked.

It was such a casual question. But so right on the mark, Stephanie saw, as Suzette lowered her head and flushed.

“Too much of a good thing. Sorry, Steph, but boy, you have a cast full of kids! We were like a college group last night, celebrating graduation or something. Please, all of you, get going. My coffee cup and I are going to bond.”

“Want some toast or something?” Grant asked her.

“You know, that would be great,” Suzette said.

He left the table and brought her back a plate of toast. She smiled her thanks, then said, “Go, please! You're making me feel guilty.”

“We'll be back by dark,” Clay said.

Stephanie wasn't sure why, but his words sounded ominous. She rose along with the others and they exited by the front.

“Shall I drive?” Clay suggested.

“We'll take mine,” Grant said.

Yep, he even feels he has to drive!
Stephanie thought.

But he continued with, “I've driven out there almost every day. I can probably get us out there the fastest.”

That made sense.
She still had the feeling that Grant wasn't
't
about to let Clay have control in any way.

“Great,” Clay said.

Grant had rented a Jeep. They piled into it, and started out of town.

 

 

Suzette had been on the beach for nearly an hour by the time Drew showed up.

She knew that someone was standing over her, because she was suddenly shaded from the sun. Opening her eyes and moving her sunglasses down her nose, she saw Drew.

“So, look what the cat dragged in—or out, as the case may be,” she said.

He grunted, threw down a towel, and took a seat next to her. “Damn, I feel like hell—mouth like a trash can,” he said.

“It was too much, huh?” Suzette said.

“Well, it was worth it, though, huh? What a night. I felt on top of the world.”

“So did I. I think I passed out, though. The minute I walked in the cottage.”

“Yeah . . . I woke up on the floor,” Drew admitted. He was quiet a few minutes. “Had a crazy dream, though.”

“Oh?” Suzette said, her interest seriously piqued.

“Yeah . . .”

“Oh, come on, Drew! Tell me about it.”

“Well, I
think
it was a dream. Or a fantasy brought on by an alcoholic stupor.”

“Drew, really, you can tell me,” Suzette said. “Oh, come on, please. If you can't tell me . . . we've gotten to be good friends, haven't we?”

He shrugged. “All right. I dreamed that Gema was here, that she came to my door, and wanted to have hot, wild sex with me.”

“With you!” Suzette exclaimed.

“Hey,” he said, hurt. “I thought we agreed the other day that I was cute. Adorable.”

“Drew, you
are
adorable,” Suzette assured him quickly. “It's just that . . . you're talking about Gema. And she didn't like anything about any of us. Neither Lena nor I was worldly or sophisticated, and she could understand how
we
were willing to play a two-bit town. And she made it rather clear that she didn't think that either you or Doug was . . . was . . . sexy enough for her. Sorry—that's not a personal opinion, it's just the way Gema was with us.”

“Yeah, it was a bizarre dream, huh?”

“Did you have sex with her—in the dream?” Suzette asked.

Drew grinned. “No, I was so cool, you would have loved it. I told her where to get off.”

“You know . . .” Suzette began.

“What?”

“It's just funny. Really strange.”

“What's funny?”

They both looked up. Doug had come out. He, too, was wearing sunglasses. He had on a long-sleeved shirt. It wasn't buttoned, but he was holding it closed.

He looked the worst of the three of them, Suzette decided.

Drew let out a long sigh. “Suzette is putting me in a sane frame of mind.”

“Oh? How?” Doug sat down at the end of Drew's towel.

“She's reminding me that Gema just about thought I was a red-headed eunuch.”

“Gema?” Doug said.

Drew let out a dry laugh. “I had a liquor-enhanced fantasy dream that Gema came to my door and nearly ripped her clothes off, just trying to get in. But I told her . . . well, I think I basically told her she was a bitch and we didn't want to see her. I didn't let her get past my front door. Weird, huh?”

Doug flushed. Odd—he looked red, because he had looked so pale. “Weird—you bet, weird.”

“Thanks—so you think she'd as soon sleep with a spitting camel as me, too, huh?”

Doug shook his head. “I had the same dream—only I did let her in the front door.”

“What?” Suzette exploded.

“Well, she didn't come to the front door,” Doug explained.

“She fell down from heaven?” Drew said sarcastically.

But Doug didn't smile or laugh. “She came to my back doors . . . you know, the loft glass doors.” His color deepened. “The next thing I knew . . .” He glanced at Suzette, then shrugged again. “She was in my boxers.”

“Wow,” Drew murmured. “I wonder which was the bigger fantasy—me kicking her out, or you actually getting it on with her!”

“It wasn't a good dream,” Doug murmured. “It was weird, and I woke up feeling . . . weird. Headache. Like I hadn't slept at all, and I was . . .”

“You were what?” Suzette demanded, nearly pouncing on him.

“Nothing. Forget I said that,” Doug said quickly.

“I will
not
forget!”

“Suzette, I'm not about to say—”

“Listen,” she said, “and maybe this will make you feel better. I've been having these really, really weird sexual fantasy things going on here, too. I dream about this guy . . . and in the dream, I know him, know I shouldn't be fooling around with him, but he looks at me, and does things to me and . . . they're like the most erotic things ever. When I wake up, it's like it happened, but I can't remember who I was meeting . . . or who came to the door, or just appeared, or whatever. I keep thinking the guy is Italian, but maybe he's not. So . . . dammit, Doug, what?”

“I woke up with my boxers knotted around my ankles,” he said.

Drew burst out laughing.

“Hey!” Doug protested in a growing fury. “Like you really would have thrown Gema out—no matter what a bitch she might be—if she'd gotten that close to you. A piece of ass is a piece of ass, right?”

“Doug!” Suzette said primly.

“Sorry, we're talking about Gema. Who
is
a bitch. And would sleep with the right guy to get ahead. She might have invented the damn casting couch,” Doug said. “I said it from the beginning. The whole thing was . . . weird!”

“Um, well, it gets weirder,” Suzette said. They both stared at her. “I could have sworn that Gema was here last night.”

“What?” Drew said hoarsely.

“I didn't talk to her or anything, and I could have been wrong. I was on stage, looking toward the rear of the café. I thought I saw her, standing at the doorway between the café door and the little hallway into the lobby of the resort. I told Stephanie, but she never met Gema, so even if she'd still been there, Stephanie couldn't have said, hell, yes, that's Gema.”

Drew looked at Doug. “Do you think she could have really been here?”

Doug shook his head. “No . . . when I woke up, it was all too vague. It was a dream. It had to have been!”

“How the hell did we both have the same dream?” Drew demanded.

“Well, we didn't. You threw her out, I had sex,” Doug reminded him.

“But what if she
was
here?” Suzette mused.

“Then Doug definitely had a better night with her than I did,” Drew said. “Hell, and I was laughing at you, Doug.”

Doug stared out at the water, not smiling. He shuddered, almost imperceptibly. “No . . . there was something . . . not right about it.”

“What the hell do you think all this means?” Suzette asked. “You both dreaming about Gema—and she couldn't have been here. We didn't see her after the show. Arturo didn't see her—he would have mentioned it. But you both dream about sex with her—”

“Hot, wet, steamy, luscious sex,” Doug corrected lightly.

“Okay, okay, don't get carried away,” Suzette said. “While I have these fantasies about a passionate Adonis who . . . I don't know how he gets there, either, but he's in my room. Anyway, a good doctor would probably have a heyday with us. What do you think it means?”

Doug and Drew looked at one another, and suddenly grinned.

“What?” Suzette demanded.

“Shall I?” Drew asked Doug.

“Yep, you go ahead.”

Drew stared at Suzette. “It means we're sex-starved. We're wonderful, healthy adults with raging sex drives, and they're sadly going to waste. It means, Suzette, that you need to invite us over—both of us. One at a time—we don't need to get kinky or anything.”

She stared at him, and realized he was teasing her. She managed a smile. Then she got the cap off her water bottle and squirted him with it.

“Hey!”

“Weird. You two are weird, all right! In your dreams!” she said.

But then, they all stared at one another.

It was all in their dreams.