Key West (29 page)

For eighteen years, Bo Quick had been the best thing that had ever happened to Roy. They ought to be taking each other for granted by now, but Bo made that tough when he kept showing one more way in which he was gentle and loyal.

“Okay,” Roy said, “but I’ve got to look after you. If I don’t, who knows who’ll take advantage of a good heart? Chris could be hours, and there’s no way we’ll get Sonnie to hang around for very long. Come on, we’ll both go check on Pep. She’s probably—”

“It’s slow and you know it. If she needs us, she’ll call us. I’m not leaving, and neither are you. I’ve got it; I’ve got it!” His smile showed off crooked white teeth that were part of his character, one more special part. “We fix her door so it won’t open. Then, when she wakes up and can’t get out, we make a big show of trying to rescue her, but we take forever.”

“That’s a nice shirt, Bo. You look good in green. Shows off your tan.”

“I don’t have a f—friggin’ tan. I never go outside.”

“I meant it shows off your eyes.”

“Yeah, right,” Bo said. “Chris is in a bad space. So is that lovely Sonnie. We gotta help them. And they’re good together. You said that, and I can see it, too.”

“You’re a romantic,” Roy said, and thought he heard a sound. “Lower your voice; she could be coming.”

Bo crossed his arms and bobbed on the balls of his feet, a sure sign of real agitation. He was older than Roy by several years, but looked younger. Small and thin, he had the manner of an enthusiastic teenager tempered—most of the time—by a wisdom that was a constant reminder of why Roy respected him so much.

Roy put a finger to his lips. She was definitely opening her door.

“Don’t mention
murder,”
Bo whispered.

Enveloped in Bo’s best white terry bathrobe, Sonnie emerged from the hallway. She’d brushed her hair back into a tail at her nape, and, discounting her expression, she looked about twelve.

“Good morning,” she said. “Afternoon, soon. I never lie in bed like that. What’s the word on the storm?”

“Looks like we’re lucking out again,” Bo said. “It’s getting weaker as it comes this way. You’re very tired. I’ll make you a little breakfast; then we want you back in bed. You’ve had too many shocks.”

Roy tried to catch Bo’s eye and send some warning to be careful what he said.

“It isn’t every day some mad magician gets murdered in your junk room. That Aiden Flynn is some detective. I bet he and Chris made one hell of a team, and...” At last he turned to Roy with something close to horror on his face. Roy shrugged.

Sonnie told herself that the time would come when she’d be able to think of what had happened on Truman Avenue and not shiver. She had a way to go on that. “I just came out to say good morning—which it’s not—and thank you very much for letting me stay again last night. I’m embarrassed. You’ve done way too much for someone who’s almost a stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Bo as good as yelled. He rubbed his hands together and started for the kitchen that stood open to the living room. “You’re one of our family now—just like Chris is. We want you both to be happy.”

Sonnie heard Roy groan and looked sharply at him. He smiled at her and said, “One of the family,” and she heard false cheer in his voice.

“I’ve got breakfast all planned,” Bo said. “In fact, Roy and I put off having ours so we could keep you company.”

Roy managed to swallow another groan. They’d eaten stacks of pancakes only a couple of hours earlier. “You sit yourself down, Sonnie,” he said. “C’mon, over here on the couch. Put your feet up and take it easy. Bo’s a great cook, and I’m no slouch. But I agree with Bo—you need more sleep.”

Her eyes were bright and clear. Although her face was pale, her mouth was determinedly set, and she was definitely a woman with action on her mind.

“A mimosa and a nice little fruit compote to start,” Bo said, walking backward and stepping sideways behind the kitchen island, “followed by bagels, cream cheese, lox, and more mimosas. And fragrant herbal tea—my own mix, and guaranteed to soothe you. Roy, the mimosas.”

Sonnie didn’t move from the middle of the living room, but Roy sprang into action. He took orange juice and a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator, and poured more of the latter than the former into a tall juice glass. He dropped in a maraschino cherry and slapped a slice of orange on the rim of the glass. “Voilà,” he said. “Quick and Talon’s perfect mimosa.”

If ever there was a woman who didn’t want what he was offering, it was Sonnie Giacano. Fortunately she was exceedingly polite and took the drink. Roy hovered over her as if watching for her reaction to a masterpiece. She took a sip and said, “Mmm,” before setting the glass down.

“The fruit is fabulous this year,” Bo said, hurrying to place three bowls of fruit compote on the dining table. “Nothing like a few stewed prunes to keep you regular.”

While Roy decided to give up on Bo’s finding a shred of diplomacy, at least this morning, Sonnie sat at the table and waited for her hosts to join her.

“Keep her company,” Bo said, waving a bread knife. “Eat, eat. There’s plenty more fruit. I could whip up some eggs Benedict. You like eggs Benedict, Sonnie?”

“Er, no. That is, no, thank you, Bo. In fact I’m not hungry at all. I really need to get ready and go over to my house. I’ve got to see what the contractor’s up to, and whether the police are still holding court. I intend to move back in today.”

“Not a bit of it.” Bo rushed forward with a plate of bagels, cream cheese, and lox. The portion of lox was large enough to overhang the edges of the plate. “Chris said he’s going with you. He just ran out to do a few things. He’ll be back before we know it.”

Sonnie didn’t need a confession to figure out that these two were trying to keep her here. And she was pretty certain the idea had come from Chris. “What’s Chris doing?” she asked, not caring if it might be rude to pry. He’d brought her here last night, then left with Aiden Flynn. She hadn’t seen him since then. “Is Aiden with him?”

Bo rescued her mimosa from a ledge in the living room and put it beside her plate. “I didn’t see Aiden today. Chris only said he had things to clear up. Whatever that meant. Look after her, Roy. I’ll go back and make sure her bed’s comfy.”

“No,” Sonnie said. Chris had definitely placed the burden on Bo and Roy to make sure she didn’t leave. That made her angry. “You’re both off duty now. No more baby-sitting Sonnie. Not even if Chris has told you that’s what you ought to do. When did he say he might be back? He had to give you some idea.”

From the way Roy and Bo looked at each other, she doubted Chris had done any such thing.

“Aiden’s car’s still out back,” Roy said, and the uncertain way in which he tapped his fingertips together was out of character. “They were out together last night. At Captain Tony’s. Didn’t get back till late. They could be together now.”

Bo made two more mimosas and brought them to the table. “Okay, let’s come clean and throw ourselves on Sonnie’s mercy. All this pussyfooting around is wearing me out. Sit down and drink this, Roy. Back me up with Sonnie before she eats me alive.”

“If there are two people I won’t be eating alive, you’re it,” Sonnie said, but her temper was getting shorter by the second. “Just tell me what Chris said. Tell me where you think he is and why he wants me to
hang
around until he decides I can do something else.”

Both men shrugged. Bo said, “He told me he was going out to the airport and it might take a long time. That’s all. Honest. And you’re to wait for him because you’re not up to being out and about on your own.” His voice relaxed and she could tell he was warming to his topic. “Chris is protective of you. And that’s not his usual thing, is it, Roy?”

“Not his thing,” Roy agreed. “My brother’s a good man. He’s been through a lot, but we think he’s ready to join the rest of the world. You’re doing that for him. He needs you. And because of the kind of man he is, he needs to think he can give the orders. He…”

Roy met her eyes, and his lips remained parted while she saw him search for a way to rephrase what he’d just said.

“You mean he’s a chauvinist who hasn’t figured out how to pretend he’s not a chauvinist?” She clucked and shook her head, then left the table to go and get dressed. “Poor Chris. It’s time for him to learn a lesson, isn’t it? Thanks for giving it to me straight. You’ve got my permission to give it to him straight, too.’’

“Now see what you’ve done,” Roy said when Sonnie was out of earshot. “You said too much.”

“
I
said too much?” Never able to sustain annoyance, Bo lost control of his frown and laughed. “Who told her Chris needs to think he can give orders? You blew it and he’s going to give you hell.”

The carpenters hammered all afternoon. They had temporarily closed the hole in the roof, and framed the walls where charred wood had been removed. They assured Sonnie she didn’t have to worry about a thing. She’d be secure enough tonight, and tomorrow they’d continue to work.

Ena hadn’t put in an appearance. The curtains next door remained closed. When Sonnie arrived at the house there had been no sign of the police, and a call to the station rewarded her with a disinterested response.

“They don’t care if I’m here or not,” Sonnie told Wimpy. They were in the parlor, where Sonnie had taken a bucket of soapy water, a mop, and some sponges. “They’ve already forgotten about poor Edward.”

His popping brown eyes glistening, Wimpy followed Sonnie’s every move. He’d been waiting on the veranda when Sonnie opened the door.

The smoke had left every surface in the house filmed with smelly black grime. The fire department had done a good job with ozone spray, but the mess was everywhere. “The insurance company would pay for this to be done,” Sonnie told her perfect listener. “But it’s good for me, isn’t it? Keeps me busy and gives me exercise.” In fact she was achy and should probably stop.

Footsteps clattered on the stairs. One of the carpenters popped his head around the door and said, “That’s it for today, Mrs. Giacano. It’s tight up there. Nothing to worry about. We’ll be back tomorrow.”

Sοnnie smiled and nodded. It wouldn’t do to say she didn’t want to be left alone. The front door slammed and she hurried out to make sure it was locked.

Outside it was growing dark. The latest hurricane might be blowing itself out, but the wind was strong enough to bend the palms, and rain fell at last.

Not a word from Chris.

Devoid of enthusiasm for food, she nevertheless went to the kitchen and took an apple from the refrigerator. She poured a cup of the black coffee she’d brewed after she arrived. It was thick and tasted burned, but she drank it anyway.

The phone rang. In her hurry to pick up the receiver she almost dropped her mug. “Hello.”

“Sonnie? It’s Billy.”

She slumped onto a chair. Feeling disappointed at the sound of her own sister’s voice might be a disgrace if that sister hadn’t been so cruel. And she was disappointed not to hear Chris on the phone. “Hi, Billy.” She made sure to sound cheerful. “Having a good time?”

“Wonderful.” Sarcasm dripped. “This club just hops. Even Jim’s getting tired of relaxing. How long are you going to hold out on us?”

Same stuff. “I’m in my home and I’m staying here. The question is, how long do
you
intend to hold out?”

“I’ll ignore that. Jim wants to know if you’ll let him talk to you.”

In other words, Jim Lesley was missing his professional life and wanted to keep in practice by grilling her. “He’s a very nice man. I’m glad you’ve found each other. I’d be delighted to talk to him. When I’ve got some time. At the moment I’m busy cleaning off soot.”

“Yuck,” Billy said. “I’d offer to help, but the smell would make me sick.”

The work would make her sick, Sonnie thought. “Thanks anyway,” she said. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Did Romano get back? I bet if you ask nicely he’ll give you a private lesson on the courts.”

Billy hung up.

What hurt Sonnie so deeply was knowing that Billy really did find her disgusting to look at, that her injuries represented the thing Billy feared most—loss of physical beauty.

Wimpy whined and Sonnie turned to see him come into the kitchen. From his teeth trailed a long green silk scarf. Sweat popped out on Sonnie’s brow. She dropped to her knees and scratched the little dog’s head while she gently removed the scarf. It was the kind she’d seen in Edward’s room. He must have had this one with him when he got into her house. “You’re not supposed to go in that room,” she said, and felt cold at the thought of the darkness at the top of the stairs and in the destroyed room. The police had stripped it of everything, but they couldn’t take away the atmosphere that remained.

Sonnie turned the scarf over. It was smooth, pristine. It couldn’t have been in that filthy room.

Where else had Edward gone when he had sneaked in here? Where had he dropped the scarf? Why would he carry silk scarves with him?

Wimpy whined some more and Sonnie stroked him. With a small thud, the dog flopped to his side and rolled over until all four stubby legs stuck into the air. “Oh, no,” Sonnie said. “No wonder you’re crying. Your poor tummy’s a mess.” Where he’d been burned, sores suppurated. They needed to be cleaned and have something soothing applied. “I’ll take care of you, baby. Don’t turn me in to the SPCA. I was having some troubles, honestly I was. And I forgot I should check you.”

Wimpy stared up at her with adoring eyes, and Sonnie scooped him into her arms. “Poor baby. Upstairs we go.” She couldn’t avoid going up there again forever.

Where was Chris?

The darkness was becoming deeper. Maybe he’d had enough and retreated back to his original stance with her. She didn’t want to be left alone. She didn’t want to be without him.

“Please come,” she murmured, and looked at the phone. She could call Roy and Bo and ask if they’d heard from him. They’d be relieved to hear her voice.

She couldn’t call them.

The entrance hall lights were low. With her arms full of little Wimpy, she didn’t try to turn them up.

“Hush little baby, don’t you cry....”