Death Storms the Shore (A Kate Kennedy Mystery Book 4) (17 page)

Thirty-Eight

“Call Bob Seeley. Ask to speak to Marlene,” Kate shouted to Sophie, then dashed out the door.

She reached the elevator, puffing hard, pressed the button, then tried to subdue her panic, taking deep breaths as she waited for it to arrive.

After what seemed like an eternity, she stepped in, willing the damn door to close. She pressed seven, suddenly remembering a long-ago elevator ride with her mother in Bloomingdale’s. Her thirteenth birthday. The day she’d shopped for her first bra. The day she’d had her first fight with Marlene.

What the hell was Marlene doing in Bob’s apartment? If he’d hurt her, Kate would kill him. For a second she believed she could. Was everyone capable of murder? Weren’t human beings made in the likeness of God? Could “the devil made me do it” be a real defense? An explanation for millennia of man’s inhumanity to man.

The elevator jerked to a stop. She ran down the corridor and banged on Bob’s door.

“Coming. Stop that racket.” She heard him before he jerked the door open.

“Where’s Marlene?”

“How should I know? First S. J. Corbin questioning me on the phone, now you.” He sounded weary. Almost too tired to be angry. His color ashen, his shoulders slumped.

“Rosie saw Marlene go into your apartment.”

“Well, she came and went. What’s the matter with you, Kate?”

“I don’t believe you.”

He tried to shut the door, but she pushed past him, yelling, “Marlene!”

“Have you gone mad, woman?” Bob staggered, then came up behind her and grabbed her left wrist. “Marlene dropped off some condo files for me to take when we evacuate, then left. Do you think I have her chained to the bedpost?”

Kate, whose scenario had been playing out exactly along those lines, hesitated.

“Get out!” Bob put both hands on her shoulders and shoved her through the open door.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sophie running down the corridor. “Kate, it’s okay. Marlene just called. She was in the office gathering all the important documents and packing them in waterproof briefcases. Said your son, Peter, told her to do that.”

Kate’s heart fell back in place. With terror evaporating, annoyance took its place. “You’d think she might have let me know.”

“Here’s something else you should know. Igor is now officially a Category Five and he’s headed straight for Palmetto Beach.”

By ten minutes
after five, Kate had packed her bags, including Ballou’s food, the papers that Jennifer had insisted she bring, and the baby doll, Emma. She’d also showered, washed her hair, and dressed in comfortable sweats, soft cotton socks, and sneakers.

She’d be damned if she’d evacuate without making a Thermos of hot tea, putting on some lipstick and blush, and walking the Westie. She speed-dialed Marlene. “Believe it or not, Kate, I’m ready to rock and roll.”

“Okay. Good. Now, I need a favor. I have to take Ballou for a walk. Please get down to the lobby before five thirty. Make sure Mary Frances—and the two dolls that I told her she could bring—are on the first bus out.” She saw no need to mention to Marlene that Kate herself would be toting Emma.

“Listen, I have to drag that misanthrope next door to you down to the lobby. I want her on the first bus before she changes her mind again and decides to go down with the condo.”

“You listen. Mary Frances doesn’t want to leave either. You need to see that she does. If necessary, ride along with her and my crazy neighbor. I’ll try to be down by six. If Ballou and I have to take a later bus, that’s fine.”

“But Rosie just called. They’re already lined up three deep, clamoring to be on the first bus.”

“You’re the condo president. Pull rank. Just get Mary Frances on board.”

“Okay. Okay. Hurry up, Kate.”

“See you soon. That’s a promise.”

Thirty-Nine

She heard
the wind howl as she stepped out into the pool area. A reluctant Ballou, his ears drooping, followed her. Driving rain pelted her face and the Westie’s back; he’d hidden his face under her slicker.

“I don’t like this weather any better than you do, Ballou. But we can’t have a puddle on the bus, so let’s get going.” She tugged on his leash. He looked and behaved like an abused and neglected little dog whose cruel mistress wouldn’t bring him home.

They crossed to the sand, then turned north toward the pier. The beach was deserted and the dark gray ocean’s whitecaps appeared to be a mile high.

Frightened by the thunder, the Westie clung to her side, matching her pace, somehow managing to keep his head covered. A bolt of lightning, on the heels of yet another blast of thunder, made them both jump.

“Hurry up, Ballou.” Kate, completely soaked despite the slicker, wondered how the gathering storm, heralded by such wild weather, could be coming ashore in this ninety-degree heat.

To her delight, Ballou did his business, and they headed home.

“Kate!” a deep voice shouted into the wind. “Over here.”

She turned toward the sound. Lucy Diamond, her wet hair plastered to her head, stood on her first-floor balcony, less than a foot above the sand. “I have to talk to you.”

“Now?” Kate heard a bus pull into the parking lot. “They’re about to start the evacuation.”

“Just for a minute.” A crash of thunder drowned out Lucy’s next few words. Then Kate heard her say, “S. J. Corbin’s here. It’s about Kirk Island.”

Lucy ran inside, closing the balcony door behind her.

Damn. “Come on Ballou, we’re taking a detour.”

The first left off the condo’s rear hallway led to Lucy’s corridor. Her unit was next to Marlene’s. As Kate turned into the empty corridor, she could hear the turmoil in the lobby as the exodus began. If she’d still been in the hallway, she’d have run into the vanguard of evacuees scurrying to the back door.

Lucy was all smiles as she greeted Kate. “Come in, please.” She handed Kate a towel. “For Ballou.”

Kate thought Lucy, still drenched from standing on her balcony, could use a towel too.

“Let me take your slicker.”

“I won’t be here long.” Kate dried the Westie, wiping off the damp sand stuck to his paws. Unlike so many of Ocean Vista’s residents, Lucy had decorated in primary colors. The striped sofa resembled the U.S. flag. “Where’s S.J.?” She’d almost slipped and said “Sophie.”

“In the bathroom. Please sit for a moment.” Though the words were polite, Lucy’s voice had a hard edge.

Kate handed over her slicker, then she and Ballou followed Lucy into the immaculate living room.

Black and white framed photographs, mostly beach scenes from the forties, filled every inch of space on all of the tables and the piano. A model sailboat stood on the coffee table next to one of the larger photographs. Kate, squinting at the hull, read the sloop’s name: LUCY KAT
.
And her home port: KIRK ISLAND
.

The wind whipped against the balcony door and Lucy wept, wailing louder than the wind.

Startled, Kate looked up.

“My parents died from radiation poisoning, but you knew that, didn’t you, Kate?” She’d stopped crying, and her strident voice had become childlike, but there was a gun in her right hand.

Kate felt torn between pity and terror.

“You and S. J. Corbin, AKA Sophie Provakov, underestimated me, Kate. I’m a former federal prosecutor. I bugged your apartment.” She gestured to the right. “Walk down th
e hall. You can wait out the hurricane evacuation with your old friend and fellow traitor.”

Ballou stayed at Kate’s side, watching Lucy, seeming to focus on the gun, which Lucy had just switched to her left hand.

With her right hand, Lucy used a key to open the door to the guest bathroom. “Get in there.” She poked Kate with the barrel of the gun.

Sophie lay on the tile floor, bleeding from a gash in her forehead.

Lucy pulled the door shut and Kate heard the key turn in the lock.

Kate grabbed a couple towels, placing one under Sophie’s head and holding the other against her forehead. Sophie didn’t move, but she was breathing.

Double damn. Kate’s cell phone was packed away in her tote bag, along with all those important papers that no longer mattered.

Marlene had probably left on the first bus, believing Kate would be right behind her. But Kate was locked in Lucy’s bathroom with shocking pink flamingos cavorting on the wallpaper.

Sophie stirred.

“That’s a good boy, Ballou.” Kate petted the Westie, who nuzzled against her, then sat near the shower.

Kate stuck a pink plastic glass under the cold water, then held it to Sophie’s lips. The head wound was still bleeding. Kate rummaged around in the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of peroxide and a box of Band-Aids.

She knelt next to her patient, applying the peroxide with the corner of a clean towel. “This may smart a bit.”

Sophie groaned, then yelled, “Stop.”

“Hold still, Humpty Dumpty
, I want to tape you back together.”

“Very funny,” Sophie said, but she stopped squirming.

“Okay. That should control the bleeding.” Kate stood up.

“Can I sit up?”

“If you’re not too dizzy.” Kate spoke with more assurance than she felt. It had been decades since she played nurse. “What happened?”

“I objected to being locked in the bathroom. Lucy used the butt of her gun to convince me.”

“No windows in the guest bathroom.” Kate wanted to cry. “No way to escape.”

“I guess we’ll ride out the hurricane here.”

Kate sank to the floor, sitting next to Sophie. By the time Marlene realized that they hadn’t made it to the shelter, it would probably be too late for anyone to come back to ground zero.

Forty

The room rocked her awake. Good God, the building was swaying!

How long had she been dozing? Ballou, tucked in her arm, licked her hand, comforting Kate, but not making any noise. Sophie slept, her head propped up on three bath towels. Two beach towels covered her shoulders and chest. Lucy had a well-stocked linen closet.

It had been the longest night of Kate’s life. Watching the clock, finally accepting that the last bus must have left Ocean Vista. Wondering if Lucy would reappear. Wishing Sophie wasn’t in so much pain. Waiting for the hurricane to hit.

Even in this windowless prison, she could hear the howling wind and torrential rain. Pounding. Crashing. Like standing on the tarmac next to a 747 ready for takeoff. She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes to seven. Igor had arrived ahead of schedule.

The bathroom listed to the left. Bottles of shampoo and body lotion flew off the shelf next to the sink. Water seeped in under the door. Oh God, they were going to drown in here.

Sophie woke up screaming.

The lights on either side of the mirror went off, leaving them in the dark.

Something heavy slammed against the outside of the building. Maybe Ocean Vista would collapse and they’d be crushed to death. Which would be the easier way to die?

Ballou barked, scratching at the door.

Kate banged on the door, shouted, “Lucy, let us out!” To her surprise, the lock turned, and Lucy opened the door.

“Come with me.” A very wet Lucy pointed the gun at Ballou’s head.

Kate helped Sophie up. “Can you walk?”

Staggering, Sophie nodded.

The water in the dark hall came up to Kate’s shins.

“Get in front of me, go into the living room. I’ll shoot the dog if you don’t do what I say.” Lucy slurred
say
—it sounded like “chay.”

Great. Crazy and drunk.

As they entered the living room, a huge wave crashed through the wide open space where the balcony door used to be.

“It’s your turn to die, Sophie,” Lucy cried.

Ballou darted from Kate’s side and bit Lucy’s leg, drawing blood. She aimed the gun at Ballou and, as a screaming Kate ran toward the Westie, pulled the trigger, but missed the moving target.

The ocean rolled in; waves flooded the living room, knocking Lucy to her knees.

Kate watched in horror as Lucy was swept away, her body flying out onto the water-covered beach.

She grabbed Ballou and yelled to Sophie, “Run to the front door. As soon as we get out, slam it shut.”

They dashed through the corridor, the ocean on their heels. Kate yanked open the steel door to the stairwell, dragged Sophie in, and closed the door behind them.

“We have to get to the top floor.”

“I can’t, Kate.”

“You can and you will. Ocean Vista was built in the sixties. This stairwell is solid cement. If we can climb up high enough, we’ll survive.”

Panting, they fumbled their way up seven flights of stairs.

Channel Eight’s new weatherman was aboard the helicopter that rescued them from the roof that evening.

Epilogue

Three Days Later

The sun sparkling on the now calm Atlantic reminded Kate why they’d migrated to South Florida. As Herb served a second round of drinks on the Neptune Inn’s deck, she felt relaxed, almost festive.

Mary Frances raised her wineglass. ’To surviving Hurricane Igor.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Marlene held up her martini. “But with considerably less enthusiasm.”

Most of the damage to Ocean Vista had been minimal, but Marlene’s condo, right next to Lucy’s, had been totally trashed by the storm. She’d moved in with Kate.

“We’ll go shopping,” Kate said, trying to sound positive. Marlene had lost all her treasures, along with all her clutter. “As soon as the contractors finish up, we’ll have fun redecorating.”

“I guess,” Marlene said. “I’m just glad I brought all three of my wedding albums with me.”

“Thank God my dolls were spared.” Mary Frances looked up toward heaven.

Kate nudged Marlene’s knee, nonverbally begging her not to comment.

“You gotta get a life, Mary Frances,” Rosie said. “Then you gotta get a guy in your life. I tell you what. You teach the tango in my dance class and I’ll find you a boyfriend.” The former nun blushed, but nodded.

Not wanting to talk about romance, Kate changed the subject. “Can you believe Bob never came back from the shelter?”

“I wonder how he’ll like living in Switzerland.” Marlene laughed. “The winters will be a lot colder.”

“He’ll have his millions to keep him warm.” Rosie turned to Kate. “Where’s S. J. Corbin? Ain’t she coming back to Ocean Vista? Weatherwise’s apartment is high and dry. She could move in.”

Another subject Kate didn’t want to address. “S. J.’s retiring. She left the hospital yesterday, packed a few things, and flew to California to check out Carmel.” Sophie had told Kate her quest was over. That she needed to make a new start, and finally put the past behind her. She’d advised Kate to do the same, then kissed her goodbye.

“What did Nick Carbone say, Kate?” Mary Frances asked. “Did he read you the riot act for playing Miss Marple…
again
?”

Kate sighed. “Yes. And no. He called and gave me hell, then asked me out to dinner.”