Key West (31 page)

If she could catch enough breath, she’d scream again. She glanced around and up, searching for where the man had fallen from. A crystal chandelier hung from the center of the domed skylight. The chandelier swung gently to and fro. Long, slender prisms glinted. Α little more motion and they’d tinkle.

She took another step, and another.

Blond hair, grown long, rested in curls against the floor. She couldn’t see a face.

In one hand was gripped a long-stemmed calla lily.

From the kitchen came Wimpy. He trailed a multicolored silk scarf from his teeth.

Shaking so violently she couldn’t keep her teeth together, Sonnie continued on down.

The lights went out, and she slipped.

Banging each step, she slid sideways and crumpled to the stairs. She hit every remaining tread on the way down until she lay on the cold slate tiles at the bottom. “Help,” she said, but knew no one heard. Softness passed over her face and hair. Silk.

But she wasn’t mad. Not feet from her lay a man who must have fallen from above, a man who had no right to be there at all.

“Hush little baby, don’t you cry....”

At last her voice returned and she cried aloud. Cried for help, cried for Chris. “Help,” she cried again and again. Her hair had come free of the band and hung, wet, in her face.

“Die. Go to your baby. You know you want to. It’s time, Sonnie. Go to your baby.”
The voice was faint, but clear.

The softness met her face again. She got to her feet, only to walk into hands, hands that pushed her, hands that caught her and pushed her back again, and hands that stroked her. Her face, her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. The hands evaded her futile attempts to ward them off. “Stop it. Please stop it.”

The last shreds of control spun away and she screamed afresh and turned in circles, punching at air and stamping her feet. She turned and turned until she thought she would be sick again. Laughter sounded. All around her, then gradually climbing as if it rose into the air.

“Stop it. Stop it, Sonnie.”

Another voice sent to torment her. She struck out again and met solid flesh and bone. “You won’t kill me,” she said. “You won’t because you’ll get caught this time. I’m not mad. I’m not.”

She was released.

The lights came on and she threw out her hands, ready to ward off the next attack. She stared at the middle of the hall floor.

“Gone,” she said. “No, no, he can’t be gone. I didn’t make him up.” She burst into tears. “He was there.” She pointed to the empty floor.

Strong hands grasped her elbows from behind and slammed her back against a solid body.

Sonnie felt her face crumple, her mind close down. She was falling.

Twenty-one

She fought him.

“Who?” he said. “Who was here?”

With her hair hanging in her face, Sonnie struggled until he had to let her go or hurt her.

The sounds that came from her throat had to be painful. She was wearing herself out while he watched. “Sonnie, it’s okay,” he told her. “Sonnie, be still. Look at me.”

She kept on coming. Her fists didn’t do any damage, except to their owner. He let her pummel his forearm. “Sonnie. It’s me, Chris. Look at me.”

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.”

“I know what I look like,” she said, angry that he should say such a thing. “I can’t change that.”

“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.