Whiskey Beach (41 page)

“Or it could be him, just making sure nobody’s here.” She shook her head when the faint ringing stopped. “We can’t hear from down here if the caller’s leaving a message.”

Moments later, the phone vibrated in Eli’s pocket.

“He’s on the move,” Sherrilyn told him. “Carrying a large duffel. He’s going to use his car. Just stay on the line a minute, let me see how he plays it.”

Eli repeated the statement in a whisper to Abra, and watching her eyes, saw them light with anticipation.

No fear, he thought. Just none.

“He’s using the drive of a rental cottage about an eighth of a mile from Bluff House. He’s out and heading toward you on foot.”

“We’re ready for him. Give him that fifteen after he’s in before you make the call.”

“You got it. You were right about this part of it, Eli. I hope you’re right about the rest. I’ll be seeing you.”

He turned his phone off, tucked it away. “You stay in here, as agreed.”

“All right, but—”

“No buts. We don’t have time to change the plan. Stay here, stay quiet and turn the light off.” He took a moment to lean down and kiss her.

“You just remember I have your back.”

“I’m counting on it.” And on her staying closed in and safe.

He slipped out, easing the panel closed behind him. He took his position behind the shelves, letting his eyes adjust to the dark.

He could just switch the camera to record, stay inside with Abra. But he needed to see, to hear, needed to have his hand all the way in and be right there to make any change if necessary.

He didn’t hear the back door open. He wasn’t sure if he heard footsteps or imagined them. But he heard the creak of the basement door, and the heavy footfalls on the narrow stairs.

Showtime, he thought, and switched the camera on.

He came in slowly, leading with the flashlight. Eli watched the wide beam sweep, sending its backwash from the generator room into the area beyond. Then the leading edge of it, into the old section, the man holding it no more than a shadow as the light painted over the walls, the floor, then lit over the shelves.

In the beats the beam crept over the shelves, the wall, Eli’s heart kicked. He braced, ready—maybe eager—to pursue, to fight.

But the beam passed on.

Secure now, Eli thought, as the work light flashed on. He saw Suskind clearly for the first time.

Dressed in black as he himself was, his hair clipped short now and streaked with blond. A new look, Eli decided, another way to blend into the vacation crowd.

He checked the viewfinder on the camera, adjusted it minutely as Suskind picked up the pickax. Those first hard thuds of blade striking ground rang satisfying to Eli.

Now you’re done, he thought. Now we’ve got you.

He had to strap down the part of him that wanted to step out, to confront. Not yet, he ordered himself. Not quite yet.

Because his ears were tuned for it, he heard the sirens—dim against the thick walls—and watched Suskind continue to hack and dig at the ground, watched the sweat of the effort bead and roll on his face despite the cool air.

When the sirens silenced, Eli counted it off, and watched Suskind freeze when footsteps sounded overhead.

Suskind gripped the pick like a weapon now, eased over—very slowly, eyes wheeling left, right—to switch off the work light.

Eli gave him ten seconds in the dark, gauged his location by the labored breathing. As he slipped out from behind the shelves, he aimed his own flashlight, switched it on.

Suskind flung up an arm to shield his eyes from the glare.

“You’re going to want to drop the pick, and switch the light back on.”

Suskind squinted, took a two-handed grip on the pick. Eli waited as Suskind rolled to the balls of his feet.

“Try it and I’ll shoot you. I’ve got the Colt .45, the Peacemaker, from the third-floor gun collection, aimed at you, center mass. You may not be familiar with it, but it’s loaded and it still works.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Try me. Please. And do it before the cops make it down here. You owe me blood for my grandmother, and I’m happy to take it.”

Feet pounded down the stairs; Suskind’s fingers whitened on the handle of the pick. “I’m entitled! This house is as much mine as yours. Everything in it’s as much mine. The dowry’s
more
mine.”

“You think?” Eli said easily, then called out, “Back here. Hit some lights. Suskind’s holding a pickax in a threatening manner.”

“I should have killed you,” Suskind said between his teeth. “I should have killed you after you murdered Lindsay.”

“You’re a fool. And that’s really the least of it.”

He stepped back, just a little, when the first light spilled into the far edge of the area, and shifted his gaze—again just a little—to meet Abra’s eyes.

He’d heard her slip out behind him, out of safety.

Corbett, Vinnie and another uniformed deputy stepped in, fanned out, weapons drawn.

“Drop it,” Corbett ordered. “Drop it now. There’s no way out, Suskind.”

“I have every right to be here!”

“Drop it. Put your hands up, and do it
now
.”

“Every right!” Suskind tossed the pick aside. “He’s the thief. He’s the murderer.”

“Just one thing,” Eli said easily as he stepped forward, and between the police and Suskind.

“I want you to step back, Mr. Landon,” Corbett ordered.

“Yeah, I got it.” But first. He waited until Suskind met his eyes, until he was certain they
saw
each other. Then he punched his fist into Suskind’s face with all the rage, all the pain, all the misery of the last year behind it.

When Suskind fell against the wall, Eli stepped back, lifted his hands to show he was done. “You owed me blood,” he said, lowering one hand to show the smear of it over his knuckles.

“You’ll pay for that. You’ll pay for it all.”

He didn’t think as Suskind reached behind his back, just acted. The second blow knocked Suskind to the ground, had the gun he’d pulled clattering to the floor.

“I’m done paying.”

“Hands where I can see them,” Corbett snapped when Suskind moved. “You put your hands in the air, now! Stay back, Mr. Landon,” Corbett warned him, using his foot to kick the gun out of reach. He nodded at Vinnie. “Deputy.”

“Yes, sir.” Vinnie pulled Suskind to his feet, pushed him to face the wall to check for other weapons. He removed the holster secured at the small of Suskind’s back, passed it to the other deputy. “You’re under arrest for breaking and entering, trespassing, destruction of private property,” he began as he cuffed Suskind’s wrists. “Additional charges include two counts of assault. Looks like we get to add concealing a dangerous weapon and intent to injure onto that.”

“Read him his rights,” Corbett ordered. “Take him in.”

“You got that.” Vinnie gave Eli a subtle thumbs-up before he and the other deputy gripped Suskind’s arms and pulled him out of the room.

Corbett holstered his weapon. “That was a stupid move. You could’ve gotten yourself shot.”

“I didn’t.” Once again, Eli looked at his blood-smeared hand. “He owed me.”

“Yeah, I guess he did. You set this up. You set him up.”

“Did I?”

“I get a call from your investigator saying she just observed Justin Suskind breaking into Bluff House, and believes he might be armed. She’s concerned for your safety.”

“That sounds reasonable, and responsible, especially since he did break in, and he was armed.”

“And the two of you just happened to be down here, on the spot?”

“We were . . . exploring the passages.” Abra tucked her arm through Eli’s, added a wicked smile. “You know, a little Pirate and Wench. We heard the noises in here. I didn’t want Eli to come out, but he felt he had to. I was going to go up, call the police, but we heard you coming.”

“Handy. Where’s the dog?”

“Having a sleepover at a friend’s,” Eli said equably.

“Setup.” Corbett shook his head. “You could’ve trusted me.”

“I did. I do. My house, my grandmother, my life. My woman. But I trust you, and that’s why I’d like to tell you a story before you interview Suskind. Some of the story plays into more recent events. I know who killed Lindsay, or I’m damn near close to knowing.”

“You’ve got my attention.”

“I’ll tell you, but I want to observe the interview. I want to be there.”

“If you have information or evidence regarding a homicide, you don’t bargain.”

“I have a story, and I have a theory. I think you’ll like both. I think even Detective Wolfe will be interested. I want to observe, Detective. It’s a good bargain for both of us.”

“You can ride in with me, we’ll talk about it.”

“We’ll get ourselves there.”

Corbett hissed out a breath. “Get your investigator there, too.”

“No problem.”

“Setup,” Corbett repeated under his breath, and headed back through the passage to the stairs.

“You didn’t stay inside,” Eli said to Abra.

“Please, if you thought I would, you may love me but you don’t know me.”

He took a handful of her hair, tugged it. “Actually, it played out pretty much the way I figured.”

“Let me see that hand.” She lifted it, gently kissed his bruised knuckles. “This must hurt.”

“Yeah, it does.” He laughed a little, winced a little as he flexed his fingers. “But in a good, satisfying way.”

“I’m strongly nonviolent, except in the case of defending self or others. But you were right. He owed you that.” She kissed his hand again. “And, I confess, I liked watching you punch the bastard.”

“That doesn’t sound nonviolent.”

“I know. Shame on me. What I’d like to mention, now that we’re alone? You had a gun. That wasn’t part of the plan we discussed.”

“It was a kind of amendment.”

“Where is it? I turned off the camera,” she added, “as soon as the cops came in.”

Saying nothing, Eli walked over, took the gun he’d put back on the shelf. “Because I think I do know you, and I figured you wouldn’t stay back, I wasn’t going to take any chances. Not with you.”

“Big cowboy gun,” she added. “Would you have used it?”

He’d asked himself the same question when he took it from the locked case, when he loaded it. He looked at her now, into what she was, what she meant to him.

“Yeah. If I had to, if I thought he’d get past me to you. But as I said, it played out the way I thought it would.”

“You think you’re smart.”

“Except for a relatively short span of time when I shut down, I’ve always been smart.” He hooked an arm around her, drew her in to press his lips to the top of her head.

I’ve got you, don’t I? he thought. That makes me pretty damn smart.

“I need to contact Sherrilyn, have her meet us at the station. And I need to put this back where it belongs.”

“Then I’ll get the camera and call Maureen, let them know it’s all clear. Teamwork.”

“I like the sound of it.”

Corbett sat across from Suskind, took a good, long study. He hadn’t asked for a lawyer—yet—which Corbett deemed stupid. But stupid often made his job easier so he wouldn’t argue about it. He had Vinnie standing inside the door. He liked the deputy’s rhythm, and felt he’d be an asset in the room.

But he concentrated on Suskind, on the nervous tics—the way the man’s fingers flexed and unflexed on the table, the jerk of a muscle in his jaw—his bruised and swollen jaw. And on the hard, stubborn line of his mouth, which sported a split lip.

Nervous, yes, Corbett decided, but absolutely dug in on his own sense of right.

“So . . . that’s a pretty big hole in the basement at Bluff House,” Corbett began. “A lot of work, a lot of time involved. Did you have some help?”

Suskind stared back, said nothing.

“I figure not. It strikes me like this was your job, your mission, not something to share. Your . . . you said ‘right,’ didn’t you?”

“It is my right.”

Shaking his head, Corbett tipped back in his chair. “You’re going to have to explain that one. All I see is the guy who got caught sleeping with Landon’s wife breaking into Landon’s house to dig a big hole in his basement.”

“It’s as much my house as his.”

“How do you figure?”

“I’m a direct descendant of Violeta Landon.”

“Sorry, I’m not real familiar with the Landon family tree.” He glanced at Vinnie now. “Are you more up on that, Deputy?”

“Sure. She’s the one who supposedly rescued the seaman who survived the wreck of the
Calypso
way back when. Nursed him back to health. Some versions have them bumping hips, and getting caught at it.”

“It wasn’t a seaman, but the captain. Captain Nathanial Broome.” Suskind tapped his fist on the table now. “He didn’t just survive, he survived with Esmeralda’s Dowry.”

“Well, there’s a lot of theories and stories about that,” Vinnie began.

Suskind smashed his fist on the table. “I know the truth. Edwin Landon killed Nathanial Broome because he wanted the dowry, then he put his own sister out of the house, convinced his father to disown her. She was carrying Broome’s child, his son.”

“That sounds like bad luck for her,” Corbett commented. “But it was a long time ago.”

“She was pregnant with Broome’s child!” Suskind repeated. “And when she was dying, suffering in poverty, and that child, then a grown man, pleaded with Landon to help his sister, to let her come home, he did
nothing
. That’s who the Landons are, and I have every right to take what’s mine, what was hers, what was Broome’s.”