The Far Side of the Sun

by Kate Furnivall

  Ella had no answer to that. So she said briskly, “He’s a busy man.”

  Instead of heading for the stylish but expensive jewelry shops on Bay Street where she would usually go looking, he took her to one she’d never heard of in a street she didn’t know. At first sight it didn’t look as promising as she’d hoped. The street was slightly run-down, not somewhere you’d come to choose a special anniversary present, but when he pointed out the jewelry shop to her, even from the outside she could see that the interior was lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “How exciting.” She laughed and gave Calder a teasing look. “Is this where you always come to buy jewelry?”

  But he was slow to join in her laughter. “No, but I have been inside a number of times when trying to trace stolen goods and I was impressed. I found the owners helpful as well. I’m sure you will too.” His tone was scrupulously polite. “I’ll wait in the car.”

  For a moment she’d hoped he might come in with her, but knew that was foolish. She left the car and entered the shop alone. It was small inside but felt larger because of all the mirrors and the array of bright light reflected in them. The heat hit her, as did the smell of coffee, and she noticed an exquisite Royal Crown Derby cup sitting on one corner of a counter with steam rising from it.

  “May I help you, madam?”

  At first glance Ella thought it was a man, the ginger hair was so short and the voice so deep, but she realized her mistake when she saw the nail varnish and the pearls. The woman bobbed up from a low seat behind the counter, abandoning a copy of Moby-Dick beside her coffee.

  “I hope so,” Ella said. “I’m looking for something special, an anniversary gift from my husband. I was thinking of maybe a gold ring.”

  The woman smiled. “Certainly, madam. We have a good selection.” Within seconds she had spread out on the counter a variety of high-quality gold rings and was watching her customer try them on. “That’s a beautiful emerald you are wearing, may I say,” she commented silkily.

  Ella glanced down at the engagement ring on her finger, a large square emerald set in a cradle of diamonds, a showy ring that Reggie had a goldsmith design especially for her. She hadn’t chosen that one herself.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  The woman was scrutinizing Ella carefully, taking her time and unconsciously rippling her fingers, so that her numerous rings brushed against each other, singing a soft metallic chorus that she clearly enjoyed.

  “I think,” she said with no preamble, “that I have exactly what you want.”

  She disappeared, and Ella thought of Detective Calder outside in the car, waiting for her. It unsettled her, though she wasn’t sure why, and she pushed the rings away impatiently. He was right about the shop and he was right about Reggie. Why on earth shouldn’t her husband choose her anniversary gift himself? Just because he hated setting foot inside a shop of any sort, it was no excuse. She had grown too accustomed to doing his shopping for him.

  With a little huff of annoyance she turned to leave, just when the woman reappeared with an object on a black velvet cushion. It was a bracelet.

  “Here we are, madam. This is perfect for you.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s eighteen-karat rose gold, a gate bracelet design from the end of the last century.” She smiled at it, almost purring. “It’s Russian.”

  At its center gleamed a vibrant sapphire and two diamonds. Ella knew instantly that it was the right choice. Reggie would love it on her.

  “I’ll take it.”

  “Don’t you want to try it on?”

  “No need.”

  “I’ll wrap it for you, then.”

  “Thank you.”

  You see Reggie. It’s not hard.

  The woman vanished behind a bead curtain at the back of the shop. There was a murmur of voices, then a black man emerged and smiled warmly.

  “Good day to you, madam.”

  “Good day. You have a lovely shop here.”

  “Thank you. We like it.”

  He ambled over, holding something on the palm of his hand, and as he came closer Ella saw that it was a coin.

  “May I see that?”

  He closed his hand immediately, unwilling to give it up. “It’s just a coin.”

  “May I see? It looks similar to one that I have.”

  Reluctantly his fingers unfolded and he handed it over. “It’s gold,” he told her. “French.”

  “What is it called?”

  “A napoleon.”

  “Is it for sale?”

  He started to shake his head, but the ginger-haired woman breezed through the bead curtain and said, “Of course it’s for sale.”

  “I’ll take it.” Ella closed her hand over it before the man could snatch it back.

  * * *

  “Happy?”

  Ella slid back into her seat in the car, surprised by the question.

  “Yes.”

  “Did you find what you wanted?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Thank you for bringing me to this shop.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  Something in the way he said it made her turn to look at him. He was smiling at her, a smile with real warmth, not his polite bodyguard one.

  “Why is it your pleasure?” she asked.

  “I was rude earlier and I regret it because I hurt you. I would never mean to do that. So I’m glad to make up for my mistake by finding this shop for you now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Happy?”

  “Yes.”

  Chapter 26

  Dodie

  Ten o’clock. Darkness had swallowed the city as Dodie walked out of the Arcadia. Her shift wasn’t due to finish until eleven, but business was still sluggish and Olive Quinn had sent her off early. She inhaled the night air, full of rich and exotic scents, and decided she needed a detour to the ocean.

  She felt tired. Harold Christie had set up too many vibrations in her head. But she walked quickly through the deserted streets, keeping to the well-lit thoroughfares, her footsteps echoing, and headed in the direction of the beach. She ached to see the ocean, to hear its voice, to feel its cool breeze on her skin, and when she finally stepped onto the sand, the noises in her head at last ceased.

  She gazed out over the ocean that lay like a shining sheet of steel in front of her. The moon hung bloated and overbright in the black sky, its tissue-thin light spilling onto the surface of the waves. Dodie could feel its pale fingers reaching inside her, drawing her forward the way it drew the tides.

  * * *

  Dodie kicked off her shoes, tucked up her dress, and waded out into the water. Even at this hour it was warm and exhilarating. The inky waves billowed around her, buffing her edges as smooth as the sand. Somewhere close she could hear the call of a nightjar and the stirrings of a sultry breeze in the trees, and gradually the tensions of the day started to fade in her mind, so that when she finally emerged from the ocean she could feel her thoughts clean and refreshed. She had a clearer sense of what needed to be done. She knew that there were questions she had to ask, and the first person she needed to question was Flynn.

  Would he arrive with breakfast tomorrow? She wanted to believe it. With shirtsleeves rolled up, his long legs striding up the dusty street, a string bag full of crabmeat and bananas swinging at his side, and a look in his eyes that told her he didn’t intend to miss her this time. Dodie smiled as she walked back up the beach in the moonlight and it was only when she reached the spot where she had left her shoes that she experienced the first trickle of unease. Her black shoes were gone.

  Her eyes scanned the dark dips and hollows of the beach. No sign of them. Her unease shifted to alarm. Twenty feet away rose the black line of palm trees and in front of them stood two
male figures, indistinct in the darkness. But one held his arm stretched out toward her, something dangling from his hand before he let it fall to become a black stain on the sand. She had no doubt what it was. Her shoes.

  Fear, sharp as an ice pick, pricked at her throat. She heard a low laugh that rolled toward her under the cover of darkness.

  With the last dregs of moisture in her mouth, she spat on the sand. Not this. Not again. She fought down panic and tried to think lucidly. She could run. Her lungs started to pump in readiness. The men would give chase through the shadows but there was a chance she might be faster than they were.

  “Just leave my shoes and go.”

  Her words sounded angry in the silence of the empty night. Only the sea whispered encouragement and heaved itself closer. The men moved a pace or two away from the shoes and the moon spiked a gleam on the spectacles of the shorter, stockier one. She could feel their gaze raking over her.

  “Come over here and get them,” one shouted out, and the two men laughed.

  They backed off another few steps to tempt her.

  “We won’t hurt you,” the other called.

  Like a cat won’t tear the wings off a bird.

  “We just lookin’, that’s all. No harm in that, is there? You a good-lookin’ lady in this moonlight.”

  His accent was Bahamian.

  The short one laughed. “Be nice, lady.”

  “You be nice,” she answered back. “Throw me my shoes and get the hell away from me.”

  “That ain’t no way to talk.”

  The Bahamian bent down to the sand, a slow deliberate movement, and scooped up the shoes. He tossed them in a loop toward her and they settled on the sand like a pair of blackbirds. They now lay midway between her and them. Dodie’s only thought was escape. She glanced off to the side. The sand up the slope was soft and slithery and would suck at her feet like wet cement. They would easily catch her there. Behind her lay the solid slab of darkness that was the sea.

  She spun around and started racing toward the water, her knees as unsteady as rubber under her. Both men came tearing after her, yelling and shouting, frightened of losing her, and the tall Bahamian was fast. Too fast. His gasps snaked behind her and moonlight skidded under her feet as she plowed into the sea up to her knees. She forced herself to pause. To think. To glance behind. Both men were at the water’s edge, stepping back from the surf, hesitating. Shouting to each other.

  “Come on,” she jeered, kicking out at the waves and sending spray leaping toward the two men. She was tempting them in, using herself as bait. “Don’t be shy. The water too cold for you?”

  With a curse the Bahamian yanked off his shoes and lurched forward into the sea. She stood her ground. Waited with her heart burrowing into her ribs until both men had their legs partially immersed, and when they hesitated, uncomfortable and wet, she laughed at them.

  “Scared?” she jeered.

  That did it. They launched themselves forward, charging straight for her, but she didn’t wait around. She was off, darting to her left, knees lifted high above the water like a hurdler. She skimmed over the waves and looped around the men to the shore. Too late they realized their mistake. But by then Dodie was haring up the beach to the trees. Frantic, she snatched up her shoes and vanished into the black shadows where even moonlight failed to find her.

  She could still hear them. Their shouts. Their curses. Their threats. She kept weaving stealthily through the trees, keeping ahead of them, but only just. They scoured the area, poking into shadows, calling out and tramping through the undergrowth. It was when they fell silent that Dodie’s legs almost failed her.

  * * *

  Dodie was in her shoes and running up the hill, heading toward Bain Town. Not far now, she kept telling herself. She should be able to make it there easily. Don’t panic now. They’re far behind you, but still she shook.

  Never before had this happened to her on a beach. So why now? What was going on? Her life seemed to have been slit open from top to bottom ever since that night she helped Morrell. What were you up to, Mr. Morrell? For heaven’s sake, give me a clue, make it easy for me. Her lungs were pumping, sweat under her dress. She was running past a row of down-at-heel houses and a huge tamarind tree loomed out of the night sky. No street lamps here. Just moonlight and rats.

  Yet she didn’t hear them. They came at her from behind, the same two men. How had they found her? One hand seized her hair, wrenching back her head, the other caught the belt of her dress and lifted her off her feet.

  “Bitch.”

  She tumbled to her knees and opened her mouth to scream but a blow to the back of her head shut it for her and her teeth clamped down on her tongue. She tasted blood and saw splinters of light streak across the tamarind branches.

  “Did you think you’d got away from us?” A grip like a vise twisted her hair. “Did you?” Ripping it out. “Did you, Miss Wyatt? You thought you’d lost us?”

  Dodie lashed out. With her feet and fists she fought them, terror giving her strength. It was the short one, the white one, the bastard one, who was tearing her head off. How they’d trailed her from the beach she had no idea, she’d been so careful. She tried to shout, to scream for help, but a hand clamped over her mouth. She bit it hard, right to the bone.

  A screech. Then a fist landed hard in her throat and she couldn’t breathe. She kicked out, stabbed fingers at eyes and raked nails down a cheek, but the big Bahamian turned her like a toy, flung her facedown in the road.

  “No!”

  His heavy hands held her down. Her mouth pinned to the gravel.

  “No!”

  They started to beat her back with their fists, pounding and thumping, pain scouring through her body until, with no warning at all, her mind abandoned her. It stepped away. Abandoned her to the beating. It looked down at her from somewhere high up in the tamarind tree and watched two thugs knock the hell out of her to their heart’s content and it told her again and again that she was a fool.

  Fool.

  To think you could have it your way. Look what they did to Morrell.

  But a shout of anger suddenly exploded in her ears in a voice she recognized.

  “Get your fucking hands off her!”

  There was a crack, followed by a scream, and the hands released her. Just like that. No argument. She was free.

  Her head instantly rolled to one side. She grabbed air into her lungs and spotted the small man, the vicious white one, rolling in the gutter. He was clutching his leg, which seemed to belong to someone else because it was sticking out at an odd angle. And the big man with blood cascading from his nose was rearing up like a great bear to attack a tall slender figure in front of him.

  But the newcomer didn’t wait for the attack. There was a flash of movement, a hard leather shoe connected with the big man’s groin. He doubled over with a grunt that took the air out of him, and the slender figure moved behind him, drilling punch after punch into his kidneys. Then an elbow to the side of the head sent the Bahamian toppling to the ground.

  The tamarind tree seemed to shake and Dodie could feel the vibration of it under her as she struggled to sit up. A dog barked and a light flared in a nearby house. Voices sounded in the street. The figure who had saved her was bending over her, saying something, touching her face, lifting her to her feet. Yet all she could see was the concern in his eyes and all she could hear was the rage hammering in her ears.

  Chapter 27

  Flynn

  “Tell me.”

  “Tell you what?” Flynn asked. As if he didn’t know. As if he couldn’t see.

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “You should rest.”

  They were sitting on the mattress in the shack in Bain Town. It was thin and lumpy on the floor and smelled of other people’s bodies. He had carried her here from the street where she was at
tacked and was carefully bathing dried blood from her chin. He wished he could bathe the memory of the beating from her mind and it worried him that her skin was cold despite the oppressive heat in the shack. She wasn’t shaking anymore but the delicate bones of her face were looking flimsy, brittle as eggshell, as if they might break at his touch. In the halfhearted glow of the candle her eyes had taken on the color of tiger’s eye with small fires burning fiercely within them. They were fixed on his face, not letting him go.

  “It’s not my blood,” she told him. “It’s from the bite.”

  “Bite? You bit him?”

  “Yes. His hand.”

  He looked at her jaw. At the amount of blood. “That must have been some bite.”

  Gently she wrapped her fingers around his hand that held the cloth and pulled it down on to her lap. “With luck he’ll get rabies.”

  He laughed. He wouldn’t have thought it possible right then, but it burst up from somewhere and seemed to startle them both.

  “Tell me what’s going on?” she said.

  Flynn knew only too well what it was that he was looking at. It was a controlled calmness. The kind that disguises acute fear. She had every right to be fearful. Every right to demand the truth. Every right to know. But the truth was buried so deep down in him that the words were hard to reach even when he wanted to give them to her. So he deliberately misinterpreted her question.

  “I came to find you,” he said. “I came to the Arcadia tonight at eleven o’clock to walk you back to Bain Town after work.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t like the way you wander the streets alone at night.”

  She made a sound. Then she lifted his hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. It was a thank-you, open and honest, one that shocked him profoundly. He hadn’t expected it. That kind of trust. He was too used to a world of deceit and lies. He wanted to touch her, to smooth her hair, which was wild and disordered, as though by doing so he could quiet the wild-eyed creature within her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  Something had changed in her since the beating. As if the blows she received had broken open the shell behind which she’d sheltered for so long and now there was a frankness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. It put its hand down his throat and started to drag the words up from the dark places where they were hiding.