Key West (38 page)

“I don’t. Aiden?”

“I’ve been polishing up my pilot’s license. Got to get in my annual hours.”

The expression on Chris’s face showed that he expected this announcement to have bearing on the case.

“Went up with a guy from Island City Flight Service. Nice folks. Casual but good. And helpful. The first guy I went up with didn’t respond to any of my hints. The second guy was full of information. Sure as hell doesn’t like the Giacano brothers. Said they were assholes—”

“Language,” Roy said predictably. “And you’re talking about Sonnie’s relatives.”

Aiden smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, Sonnie. This guy said he knew someone who was at the field the night you had the big bang up. Evidently there was a miniexodus afterward. Several guys left for various reasons, so there aren’t many people to talk to.”

“Come on, come on,” Chris said, beckoning with four fingers. “What about this guy who had all the information?”

“I’m getting to that. He said this other guy, the one who was at the field that night, said he couldn’t figure out why Romano went back to the airport after the accident—on foot—and rented a moped when he had that fancy Jag. Romano said he’d left the Jag where it was because the police didn’t want anything moved, but he had to get messages out to Sonnie’s family, and do a whole lot of other things.”

This time it was Chris’s turn to pour down some beer. “Unless the Jag was involved in the accident, there’d be no reason for it to be kept there. Romano would have to testify to what he saw, but that...well, maybe there’s something we don’t know. I’ll get out there and talk to the moped outfit. Could be something that’ll help. Where do I find the loudmouth? The guy who talked about Romano renting the moped?”

“We’re not having a lot of luck with witnesses,” Aiden said with that old frustrated sensation he knew so well. “Deep-sea fishing was his thing. Matter of days after Sonnie’s accident, the man drowned in high seas. They never found him.”

Every time the phone rang, or someone came through the door of the Nail, Sonnie jumped. Roy had insisted on opening the champagne and pouring each of them a glass. “To celebrate that they were alive and kicking,” he’d said. Sonnie was alive, but kicking might be out this evening.

Another customer walked out of the sultry evening, and Sonnie jumped yet again. She was still expecting Mr. T-Shirt to pop up again. He troubled her, and she knew he troubled Chris, too.

The man approached her directly and she rubbed her eyes. How could she have failed to recognize Romano immediately? “Hello, little Sonnie. How is my girl doing?”

“Fine.” Snapping back that she wasn’t his girl would be childish. “How are things at the club?”

He wrinkled his very straight nose. “Frankly overwhelming. Seems Cory Bledsoe has taken lessons from the previous golf pro and ducked out. Not a word. Just packed up his things, put them in his car, and left. Which means that since I have a sense of responsibility, I’m doing my poor best to fill his place, too, and I’m interviewing prospective replacements. I’m not having any luck. But that isn’t what I came here to talk about.”

I’m sure it wasn’t.
Sonnie was too tired. The day had been long and tense, and she didn’t like it that she couldn’t be sure where either Chris or Aiden had gone. Mostly she just didn’t like Chris being gone at all.

“Roy,” Romano said suddenly. “I am Romano Giacano. Sonnie’s brother-in-law.”

Dislike thinned Rοy’s mouth, and his expression turned flat. “Is that so?”

“Yes. We have been a very close family but we have suffered a great deal. Did Sonnie tell you that we have had word that my brother Frank—her husband—is dead?”

Roy made sympathetic noises.

“I haven’t spoken of it,” Sonnie said, disturbed at the realization. She hadn’t as much as considered telling Roy and Bo about Frank’s death. “There hasn’t been a right moment.”

“Αh, I see. But Chris did explain what happened—my call to him? You think highly of him, and I thought he would break the news kindly.”

“Yes.” She looked away. “He did.” Her mind revisited the upper hallway at the Truman Avenue house and she felt muddled.

Romano took something from his pocket and slid it across the counter toward her. “Would you wear this? It was Frank’s. But you know that. I know he would want you to have it.”

Frank’s medal. He never took it off. “Where did you get this?” she asked.

“I…” Romano fumbled to sit on a stool and closed his eyes. He propped his elbows and buried his face in his hands.

“Romano?” She no longer knew what to believe about him, whether he was friend or foe, but she knew he was suffering now. “This hurts so much, doesn’t it?”

“It was delivered to my room at the club. Can you imagine that? They must have been afraid it would be traced if they shipped it to me. It was on the floor outside the door. Just like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Sonnie said, and she was sorry for his pain. “I’m sorry for both of us,” Romano said. “We both loved him. How will we go on?”

Guilt made an ugly companion. “I wish I could say something to make you feel better.”

“You make me feel better just by caring. Wear his medallion, Sonnie.”

Sonnie picked up the heavy gold chain with a religious medal attached. Frank had been his own god. Just touching the gold sickened her, but to let her true feelings show might be very unwise. Keeping her eyes lowered, she put the chain over her head. She was careful to wear it on top of her cotton shirt rather than against her skin. “Thank you,” she said. After all, Romano would expect her to find his gesture touching. “I’ll look after it.”

“He may come back, Sonnie.”

“You’re the one who said he’s dead.” He could only be speaking his longing aloud, and she pitied him.

“I had to report what I’d been told—and what that medal signifies. But in my heart”—he looked up and beat his chest—“I feel my brother is still alive. You and I need to talk. You are the closest I shall ever come to having a sister of my own, and I need you. Will you help me through this? As I will help you?”

“If I can,” she said without thinking. “Yes, of course I will.”

“Thank you.” He bowed his head again. “Thank you, my dear sister. I haven’t always been as understanding as I should. Forgive me for that, please.”

“Forget it.” The least she could do was comfort him. “I’ll never forget how kind you were to me at the hospital. We’ve got to put the past behind us.”

He nodded slowly, but his face remained strained. “Will these gentlemen allow you to leave for a few hours? I need you, Sonnie.”

The thought of Romano smothering her with his emotional outpourings terrified her. “Ι’m working.”

“Roy,” Romano said promptly. “I should like to take Sonnie with me and to have an opportunity to talk things through with her. Would that be agreeable?”

Roy and Bo glanced at each other. “Sonnie,” Roy said. “You know what Chris said.”

Sonnie looked from Roy to Romano, who clung to the edge of the bar and pleaded with his eyes.

“We’d better see if we can get Chris,” Bo said. “Make sure he isn’t coming back for you like he said he might.” The lie didn’t sound comfortable on the man’s lips.

“Of course,” Romano said. “You have other arrangements. Forgive me for intruding.”

She felt trapped. But perhaps she could turn the time into something useful. She’d talk to Romano about the night she’d been injured. He’d explain about his reason for walking back to the airport—and he might well tell her other things that would be useful. “I’ll come, but only for an hour or so,” she told him. “Roy, if Chris calls, tell him I’m with Romano and we’ll be back in two hours at the outside. Will that do?” she asked Romano.

“A great deal can be accomplished in two hours, my dear.”

The last prop plane from Miami set down late after its twenty-five-minute flight to Key West. It arrived just before midnight. Chris was aboard. Zipped into the inside pockets of his jean jacket were sheets of papers, copies of documents. He’d sweet-talked a medical records clerk out of them at the hospital in Miami where Sonnie had fought her way back to life.

He ran down the rickety metal steps from the plane and hurried to the arrivals and departures building, where an illuminated sign announced that he was back in “The Conch Republic.”

He barely made it inside one of the doors when Billy Keith popped in front of him. “Hi,” she said, showing a lot of white teeth, and a lot of other things. “Isn’t this great? I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw your Harley out there.”

His Harley wasn’t where the casual onlooker would stumble over it. “Hi to you, Billy.” He made to move on. His bike was inside the tall wire fence at a separate area of the airport, an area used by the passengers and crews of light planes.

Billy showed no sign of going on her way. “I came out to pick up an Airborne shipment.” She brandished a pack as proof. “But you’re a big bonus.”

Moments when Chris became aware of a woman looking him over—the way Billy Keith looked him over—were rare.
Sizing him up
was the right term. The sensation wasn’t flattering. “Nice to run into you, Billy,” he said. “I’d better go bail out my bike.”

Still she didn’t move. Her gray linen dress might be minimalist, but it was perfectly cut—for a perfect figure. He was no sartorial expert, but the lady knew how to put herself together. Low-heeled gray sandals showed off bright red toenails that matched her lips and fingernails. She’d pulled her hair away from her face into some sort of sleek thing at the back of her head.

Yep, Billy Keith was a showstopper, but Chris avoided women he couldn’t like.

He looked past her toward the street side of the building. “Well, nice to see you, Billy. I’d better get on.”

The big smile disappeared. “Running into you like this is a sign. I’ve got to talk to you and I can’t put it off any longer.”

Chris wanted to get back to Sonnie, and he wanted to make some plans with Flynn. “It’s late, Billy. Don’t think me rude, but I’ve got to get some sleep before I try to make sense talking to anyone.”

She pushed a hand behind his left biceps and held on. “I’ve got to throw myself on your pity.” Leaning, she raised her face to his. From his angle he was presented with one too many scenic choices. Keeping his attention on her face took restraint.

“Chris?” she said, her voice husky. “I don’t care how tired you are. Listen to me, will you, please? Just come to the club and listen to me.”

All systems went on red alert. “The club?” he said, and felt like an ass.

“I’ve got a beautiful room there. You can stretch out and relax, and just listen until you’re ready to say what you think.”

He’d been offered a lot of dessert trays. This one was higher class than most, but he wasn’t tempted—much. “It’s too late.” He checked his watch. “I really have to get back, but thanks for the offer.”

Anger hung at the back of those very dark eyes. “It’s about Sonnie,” she said. “There’s a lot you don’t know. If you’re going to do your best for her, you’ve got to have all the parts of the puzzle.”

He hesitated. “Tell me now. Here.”

“Don’t be a fool.” She clamped her lips together and he heard the breath she drew into her nose. “You know we can’t discuss something like this in public. My room is private. We won’t be disturbed.”

Chris walked and she had no choice but to let go of his arm, or trail along with him. She trailed. “I’m partial to the cafe here,” Chris said. “it’s dead this time of night. Come on.”

He led the way past the ticket counters and into a hallway that led to the neon-lit cafe. Billy had to run to keep up.

The odd mechanic or pilot had staked claim to a varnished table. The windows were filmed with condensation, and a jungle of green plants showed their appreciation for the growing conditions. Chris led his sulking companion to a table beneath a wall-mounted propeller—the real kind.

“Cute,” she said, turning down the corners of her mouth. “I bet they think Grand Marnier’s a ski run in the Alps.”

“Which Alps?”

She ignored him and snapped her fingers at the woman tending the bar that occupied a good percentage of the room. Chris got up and ordered, and used the time while the drinks were made to prepare himself for whatever was likely to come. He had plenty of reasons to be very careful with Billy Keith.

He returned to the table, put a Grand Marnier in front of her, and sat down with a cup of coffee. “Okay, fire away.”

Sipping the Grand Marnier she appeared to be deciding if the drink would do. “I can rub people the wrong way,” she said. “I do it all the time. It’s a hazard I have to live with. That’s my way of apologizing if you think I come on too strong, or say the wrong things, or whatever. I’m sorry. My main reason for waiting around for you was to thank you for everything you’ve been doing for Sonnie. Obviously you’re a very kind man.”

And what, he wondered, did she really mean by that? “Sonnie’s special.”

“I know.” Billy flashed another smile. “She’s a sweet little thing. Always has been. As long as I can remember she’s attracted strong people who want to take care of her. Of course, with all the scars and the limp and so on, well, she’s pathetic, but in a very appealing way. I still don’t think a lot of men like you would spend time on her. You’re different.”

Never having been a high school girl, he hadn’t learned what it was that could make some women so openly catty. The woman who sat beside him was a perfect example of a high school Miss Popularity who’d never grown up.

“Sonnie is a brave woman,” he said, choosing to study his coffee rather than his companion. “She’s been through so much, but she never complains. And she’s always more interested in what she can do for other people than what other people can do for her.” He glanced up in time to see Billy grimace.

She recovered at once and said, “You’re right. I’ve got an idea, Chris”—she put a hand on top of his—”and I want you to at least think about it I’ve known Sonnie since she was born. I know
all
about her. You’re trying to help her find peace with what’s happened to her, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” The waters were getting very muddy.