Red House Blues (25 page)

“That creepy hippy?” said Suzan. “Why would
he do that?”

“Because he knows I have the notebooks,
that’s why. Or he suspects that I do. I came home early a few weeks
ago,” he said. “Nearly walked in on Ferlin searching my room. I
watched from the doorway while he pulled up some boards in the
closet floor and pulled out a packet of something.”

“Loose floorboards has got to be the
ultimate cliché,” said Claire.

“That’s what I thought too but that’s the
way it was,” he continued. “Before he could spot me I ducked back
around the corner. At the time I didn’t think he saw me. Now I’m
not so sure,” he said. “I figured whatever was in the packet didn’t
belong to Ferlin. Drugs sprang to mind considering what I knew
about the previous renter.”

“How did you get them?”

“
That was easy. A few days
later I waited until he’d left the house and returned the favor for
the search. Found the packet under his mattress. Not too
imaginative, but that’s Ferlin for you.”

“But it wasn’t drugs,” said Suzan.

“
No, it wasn’t
drugs.”

“Just out of curiosity, what would you have
done if it had been?”

“Probably not what you think. I’m not fool
enough to mess with that shit.”

“I didn’t mean . . .”

“That’s okay. Considering your prior
experiences with men who hide things it was a natural
conclusion.”

Suzan bridled at that crack but she had to
admit he had a point.

“So you found the notebooks in the
packet.”

“Right. Kind of a letdown. Just four small
beat-up spiral notebooks.”

“Weren’t you worried Ferlin would know right
away it was you who stole them?”

“Not really. I thought he’d suspect someone
else in the house. Alexis maybe,” he said. “Looks like I was wrong.
Who else but Ferlin would have cut my brakes?”

“But why try to kill you? Why not just steal
them back and burn them?”

“Way it looks to me, he knew I might have
read them by that time and known whatever Pike’s deep dark secret
was.”

“And had you read them?”

“I couldn’t get past the bad poetry.” He
took a gulp of Coke.

“But if as you say the notebooks were hidden
until a few weeks ago, they weren’t the reason Sean was killed.”
offered Claire.

“Obviously. The killer didn’t get the idea
Sean might have written something incriminating until Suzan started
snooping around.”

“So, you’re saying it’s all my fault that
you and I were attacked.”

“Technically.”

“Hold it, you two,” said Claire. “We have to
stay focused on the issues and not start slagging each other off.
Since everything keeps coming back to those notebooks we’d better
find out what’s in them. Where are the notebooks now, Nick?”

“Back in my room. It’s the last place Ferlin
would look for them.”

“They’re still in the house? Are you out of
your mind!” screamed Suzan.

“Where else was I supposed to put them,
Pike? Don’t worry, they’re well hidden.”

“Settle down,” said Claire. “Even if Ferlin
can’t find them, how are we going to retrieve them?”

“I still have a key to the house.”

“And somebody in it might have tried to kill
you,” said Claire. “You can’t show your face there even if you were
strong enough, which you aren’t. I’m the only one of us that’s not
walking wounded so that leaves me.”

“No,” said Suzan. “Absolutely not. You’ve
never even seen the house much less been inside. You wouldn’t find
them before someone caught you. For another thing, this isn’t your
fight, Claire.”

“I agree with Suzan, as much as I hate to
admit it,” said Nick. “You couldn’t find my room, never mind the
books. I’ll be healed up enough in a few days to retrieve
them.”

“Dream on, Nick,” said Suzan. “And Elvis is
coming back from the dead to give you a helping hand. I don’t think
so.”

The tiny plastic wastebasket beside the
television stand/desk/dresser was overflowing with food wrappers,
paper cups and a half-eaten burger. Suzan had taken her turn in the
bathroom, brushing her teeth and changing into blue flannel
pajamas. Unsexy, but under the circumstances it hardly mattered.
Even had she felt better and was interested, the man sharing her
room wasn’t going to be making any moves in his condition.

Before heading to her room, Claire helped
Nick walk to the facilities but he drew the line at letting her
assist once he got there. He preferred to fend for himself. Suzan
heard the toilet flush and wondered if she should offer to help him
back to his bed. But that would mean getting up, which seemed like
way too much work especially since her pain pills were starting to
kick in.

She knew she should be
feeling guilty.
If not for me, he’d be in
the capable hands of medical professionals. Instead, he’s sharing a
hotel room with a practically useless woman who is about to drift
away on Vicodin.

She turned off the bedside lamp and
attempted to find a pain-free position. From the bathroom came the
sound of water splashing and a stream of muffled expletives as
Nick, despite stitches and bandages, struggled to get ready for
bed. Yes, if she had an ounce of empathy she should have been
helping him. No handy excuses sprang to mind.

She burrowed into her
pillow. At long last she heard the bathroom door open. Making his
way across the floor to the bed Nick stumbled against the
nightstand, swearing under his breath. For one insane instant Suzan
wanted to whisper “Goodnight, John-boy”.
Must be the drugs.
She smiled and
let herself sleep.

* * *

So warm. Sun beating down on my bare back.
The rough wood of the swim raft smelling of salt and cedar against
my cheek, rivulets of sweat worming through my hair. How familiar
and comforting it is to doze soaking in the heat, feeling the soft
sway of water beneath the worn boards. Primal, soothing. Have I
fallen asleep? Never mind, don’t want to open my eyes. Way too soon
I have to swim back to the dock, walk the gritty shell path up to
the house.

I shiver as a whisper of breeze trails
across my shoulders. Is the tide changing? Must have been out too
long. Shouldn’t do that. Don’t need to burn. A shadow slides over
my closed lids . . . what? There is something unsettling,
disturbing about this.

Reluctantly I open my eyes. Black clouds are
swallowing the sky, rolling in from the breakwater. Storm. Have to
get to shore before it hits. A sitting duck for lightning on a raft
in open water. Look toward the dock. Far away. How will I swim it
in time? Slipping over the side, I gasp as the frigid water engulfs
me. Thrash to the surface - kick away from the raft. Stroking hard
in the numbing black waves with every bit of strength. Knowing it
won’t be enough.

And I’m caught. A vice clamps to my ankle,
spring steel digging into my flesh - leg trap. Teeth. No, fingers,
nails biting deep into my skin. A hand grips my ankle, pulls me
under. I kick, twist to loosen the hold. It tightens, pulling me
toward the bottom. How long will I be able to hold my breath? How
long before . . . don’t dare form the words. No time. I double
over, clawing at the hand, clawing toward where a face must surely
be, kicking. If only I can break the hold long enough to
surface.

Stop fighting, Suzan, says the voice. Not my
voice. Sean’s voice. I hear him. Please don’t fight me, Suzan. Come
with me. Be with me. His voice. A remembered inflection. How can it
be that I hear him through the water? Can’t see through the murky
water. Wait, yes - something indistinct - floating. I think I see
it there, a thing blotchy white and swollen - a hollow mouth hole,
eye sockets - parts of a face disintegrating into the salt stream.
Not Sean. Can’t be Sean. Suzan, come back to me, says the voice.
You son of a bitch I yell, I kick at him but I’m moving in slow
motion. He swirls away like kelp. My ankle pulls free. I scissor
toward the light. He’s right behind me as I break the surface and
gulp air. I’m ready, a fist clenched at he touches my arm - this is
my one chance and I put everything I have into it - swing around
toward him aiming for his face - smashing my fist into his gaping
face. And I connect! I feel the bones shatter under my hand, hear a
satisfying crack as my knuckles break through his nose and cheek.
I’ve done it! I’m free. He’s gone.

Sorry, Suzan my love, it’s not that easy,
says the voice. Not easy at all. As the rotting remains trail away
into the depths an algae-green stain spreads in spirals through the
water, looping around me like tentacles - and a terror steals over
me as I feel the first strands eating into my skin like acid. I
will be consumed there in the roiling tide. I try to scream as it
closes over my mouth.

* * *

Suzan is pinned to the ocean floor, sand
clogging her mouth. She is drowning. There is no escape.

She hears screaming. How can that be? On the
ocean floor?

“Damn it, shut up!”

Sean? Is it Sean? No, that can’t be. Someone
else.

“Damn it, wake up!” said the voice. “You’ll
have the cops breaking down the door.”

Door? In the sea?
Ridiculous. If only she could see something through the murk. So
dark.
Of course. The hotel. I’m in a hotel
room. And I am trapped.

“Oopf,” she mumbled through the hand
covering her face.

“What?”

The hand released her mouth.

“Get off of me,” she said. “Please.”

“Are you going to be quiet?”

“Yes,” she lied, fully intending to scream
her lungs out as soon as her captor let her go.

“Okay, Pike. Just let me turn on the
light.”

Light flooded the room.

“Nick? God, what happened to you?” Blood
smeared his face and tee shirt.

“You popped me a good one in the nose, crazy
woman,” said Nick. “You’re not going to hit me again, are you?”

He grabbed a fist full of sheet and held it
against his nose as he slumped down beside her on the bed.

“My god, you’re really hurt! Here, let me
help.”

He mumbled something through the sheet that
might have been “Don’t help me.” She couldn’t blame him. So far she
had nearly gotten him killed, then punched him in the face. Still,
Suzan couldn’t just let him bleed. He looked like he could pass out
any second. Even without a bloody nose the man belonged in a
hospital.

Suzan located her shoes, grabbed her jacket
off the chair, stuffed the room key in one pocket and went in
search of ice.

If the hotel had video surveillance, the
picture would have shown a beat up, blood spattered woman wearing a
loden green L. L. Bean barn coat over striped pajamas, flapping
down the hall with her Nike laces flying. Suzan wouldn’t have been
surprised to find a SWAT team waiting for her when she got back to
their room.

Nick hadn’t moved but his eyes were open,
wary. She retrieved a towel from the bathroom, damped it and filled
it with the cup of ice from the machine in the elevator bay.

The bed was a mess, blood
spatters everywhere.
We’ll owe the
housekeeping staff a humungous tip
. No
telling what the talk would be in the housekeeping break room. She
plumped the pillows behind Nick’s head and handed him the ice
pack.

“Thanks. I think it’s stopping,” he said,
holding the ice to the bridge of his nose.

“I really am sorry, Nick. I was having a
nightmare.”

“That would explain it, I suppose. You have
those a lot?”

“Not before Sean died. Lately it’s getting
worse and worse. It’s one of the reasons I can’t . . . I can’t let
go of this thing. I don’t know if I’ll ever get a restful night’s
sleep until I can put it behind me.”

“That’s understandable. You’re under a
boat-load of stress. Not fun for someone sleeping with you
though.”

“What are you doing in my bed anyway?”

“I was trying to keep you from waking the
whole hotel,” he said. “Must have been an impressive nightmare
judging from all the screaming. Jeeze, Pike, you must be a real
thrill in the romance department. Remind me not to sign up.”

“I’m a little busy staying alive to think
about romance right now. And don’t call me Pike.”

“Okay well, in that case would you mind if I
stayed where I am for tonight? I don’t think I’m up to moving to
the other bed. You can have mine. It’s blood free.” He used the
towel to mop his face, then closed his eyes before she could
respond.

“Scoot over,” she said, slipping between the
sheets next to him. She couldn’t bear to be alone just then. The
dream lingered like the scent of decay on the fringes of her
memory.

“Lose the jammies, Pike.”

“What?” Surely he couldn’t be suggesting . .
.

“Those are the ugliest damn pajamas I’ve
ever seen. Where’d you get them, anyway, Goodwill?”

“Suddenly you’re the fashion police?”

“I’m just saying . . . “

“My dad’s closet, if you must know.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll have to throw
them out anyway. No way will I ever get all these blood stains
out.”

“At least something good came out of this,”
he said. “g’night, Pike.”

“Don’t call me Pike. Good night, Nick.”

It had been years since she had fallen
asleep next to a man. Suzan had forgotten how it felt. Or maybe it
had never felt quite like this before. She thought she might be
able to doze off after all. It was kind of nice. At least it was
until Nick yelped in pain as she unthinkingly snuggled against his
broken ribs.

Chapter 24

No doubt about it, Nick felt as if he’d been
thrown under a truck. An apt description, of course, since that was
pretty much what had befallen his sorry ass, a thought that brought
a painful chuckle which he muffled against the pillow so as not to
wake the woman sleeping by his side.