There was a pause. While we’d been talking, the paramedics had lifted the girl onto the gurney and covered her with a sheet up to her chin. One of the cops was watching, while the other was walking around the crime scene dropping little markers here and there on the sand where he’d found something of interest. One by the bra, one by each shoe, one by the dress.
“Gotta wallet over here, Detective!” he called.
Fuentes lifted a finger and turned back to us. “You two can go. If I have any more questions, I know where to find you.”
I nodded. Ty hesitated, but after a second he nodded too.
“Are you OK?” I asked when we were outside the area roped off by the cops and well away from the action, where no one could hear us.
He glanced at me. “I guess. As OK as I have a right to be.”
Well, obviously. We were neither of us totally OK. But we were a lot more OK than the girl back there, who still hadn’t woken up.
“Why is she still unconscious, do you think?”
Ty shrugged. “Trauma? Her body shut down so her mind won’t have to deal with what happened? Or maybe someone gave her something. Spiked her drink or whatever.”
I shivered, in spite of the tropical heat. “This is scary. That’s why you took my glass away last night, isn’t it? Someone could have put something in it.”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
We walked a few steps in silence.
“Thank you,” I said. “If it hadn’t been for you, that could have been me, back there.”
“We don’t know that,” Ty answered. “But be careful from now on, OK?”
Oh, yes. I intended to be very, very careful. And tell both my friends to be, as well.
HE WALKED me back to the hotel again, and just like last night, stopped outside the front entrance. “Home, sweet home.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Again.”
“You’re welcome. Again.”
We stood for a second and looked at each other. I tried my very best not to let my eyes stray below his chin, but it wasn’t easy. He wasn’t glistening anymore, but that six-pack was still there and very much on display.
“What kind of sport do you do?”
He grinned and I blushed. He probably knew exactly why I’d asked, because he’d guessed exactly what I was thinking. God, what I wouldn’t give for just a little of Quinn’s sophistication.
He took pity on me. “None, really. I run and lift weights, but I haven’t played a sport since—”
He stopped.
“Since—?”
He looked at me again. “High school. I did track and field in high school.”
“Georgetown has a track and field team, don’t they?”
“Yeah. I’m just... busy.”
OK, then. “You probably want to get back to your own place and take a shower.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Ty said.
“I’d offer you the use of mine—” preferably after a round of mind-blowing devirginization, “but I assume you’ll just say no.”
He smiled. “You gotta be careful who you say stuff like that to, Cassie. Someone else might take you up on it.”
I didn’t want anyone else to take me up on it. I wanted him. So I wasn’t about to extend the invitation to anyone else. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about the fact that he seemed to think I would. “I’m not promiscuous, you know. I just... like you.”
“Thank you. I like you too.”
But not enough to sleep with me.
I didn’t say it, though. Just wished him a good day and headed upstairs to shower and change into my bikini, so I could spend some quality time by the pool, working on my tan. It seemed a nice, safe place to be, surrounded by people; a place where I could keep my drink in sight the whole time I was there, to make sure no one had a chance to tamper with it.
The morning passed slowly and lazily. I read, I dozed, and I admired the view. There was some prime USDA beef on display, and some of it did its best to attract attention. I’ve never seen so many muscles flexing.
A little after noon, the guy Mackenzie had been making out with last night showed up. He was alone, though, so either they hadn’t spent the night together, or they were trying to make it look like they hadn’t. I glanced around for Mackenzie, but she wasn’t there.
Mr. Tat peeled his T-shirt off and dropped it on an empty chaise. Then he made himself comfortable on the chaise next to it and put on a pair of sunglasses. He leaned back and acted like he was soaking up the sun, although he looked a whole lot less relaxed than I got the feeling he was trying to look like he was. I know his eyes weren’t closed, because when a couple girls stopped in front of him, the glasses came off before they spoke. He’d obviously been watching from behind the lenses.
The girls were pretty, but it was clear from his body language that he wasn’t interested. They did their best, but Mr. Tat shook his head. The girls tried again, cocking their hips and sticking their chests out. He kept shaking his head. Eventually they acknowledged defeat and slunk off, pouting. Mr. Tat leaned back and tried to make himself look relaxed again.
And then the door to the hotel opened and Mackenzie came out, and I saw him stiffen like a pointer.
He tried not to let it show, like he wasn’t watching every step she took toward him, but he was painfully obvious. I just hoped Mackenzie could see it.
He whisked the shirt off the empty chaise and she sat down. And after that I stopped watching, because it felt a little pervy to be staring at my best friend working on getting laid.
She liked him, I could tell. I just hoped he liked her for her, and not because she was Mackenzie Forbes, rich and famous.
It didn’t take them long to leave. I stayed by the pool, under an umbrella during the hottest part of the day. Quinn never showed up. I thought about calling her again to make sure she was OK, especially after what had happened this morning, but then I thought she might not appreciate it, so I didn’t.
Horrible, though, what had happened to that girl. Or what I assumed had happened to her, anyway. I didn’t really know the details, and I didn’t think I wanted to.
But also horrible to think it might have been me if Ty hadn’t taken my glass away last night.
I shivered in spite of the heat and sun. I wanted to get rid of my virginity, but I didn’t want to get rid of it that way.
The girl on the beach had had what looked like dried blood between her legs. Did that mean she’d been a virgin?
Had whoever raped her known that?
I suppressed another chill and glanced around. Time to go inside. I felt exposed out here. I knew I was just imagining things, but I felt like people were staring at me.
That guy on the other side of the pool, the jock in the red trunks with the crew cut... surely he was looking at me like he’d like to do something to me. Wasn’t he?
And the one in the pool, bobbing near my end... was he over here so he could look at me and fantasize about leaving me sprawled unconscious on the beach tomorrow morning?
I gathered my stuff and fled.
I PUT on jeans and a T-shirt to go out that night. No more short, clingy dresses for me. And no crazy heels. I made sure my shoes were sensible, because the last thing I wanted was to find myself in a situation I couldn’t run away from. Call it preventative measures. I know that wearing revealing clothes doesn’t mean you’re asking for it, but there was no sense in being stupid, either.
Both Mackenzie and Quinn were still MIA. Mackenzie was with Mr. Tat, probably. They’d looked pretty chummy when they left the pool in the afternoon. By now they’d probably had hot, sweaty sex at least twice, and were planning to go for broke. Or maybe they’d gone somewhere for dinner and to refuel. Or were having dinner in bed, courtesy of room service.
I had no idea where Quinn was. I hadn’t seen her since last night. But she seemed to be doing all right. I’d sent her a text asking if she wanted to come out with me, and had gotten a ‘thanks but no thanks,’ back. Not
now. Busy.
All righty, then.
I could have stuck around the hotel, I guess, and not ventured out into the town. It would have been safer, and perfectly acceptable. There were a couple of bars on the first and second levels, and they were hopping. But—I admit it—I was hoping to see Ty again, and Ty had been at Captain Crow’s on Duval.
So in the direction of Captain Crow’s on Duval I went.
It was a perfect evening for walking around. The temperature hovered around seventy degrees. Average high for Chicago this time of year was mid-forties, so Key West was a lot nicer. I could feel the air cool against my arms, but not in an uncomfortable way. And the knowledge that at home I’d be wearing a coat, went a long way toward making me feel better.
There were plenty of people out, and like last night, there were a lot of cops. Practically every block had a cop on it. It was hard to believe the Key West police force had so many officers, so maybe they’d called in the reserves for spring break. They probably had, because things were kind of crazy. Some people must have been drinking since they got up this morning, and they were staggering around squealing and giggling and cursing.
On a corner halfway to the bar, outside the Old Town cemetery, I saw one of the cops from this morning. At least I was pretty sure it was him. He must be pulling a double shift.
I slowed down and smiled. “Hi.”
He nodded.
“You were at the beach this morning, right?”
He hesitated, and in the silence I could hear the murmur of voices. He must have heard them too, because his eyes flickered left and right.
I’d wanted to ask about the girl, whether she’d woken up and said anything about what happened to her, but if he wasn’t even going to admit to having been there, I didn’t think he’d volunteer any information.
And then two people came out of the cemetery, and the opportunity passed. I trudged on, looking around.
Key West is a pretty interesting place, in a creepy, romantic sort of way.
Originally, it was called Bone Island, or Bone Key: Cayo Hueso in Spanish. After that, it was named Thompson’s Island for a while, after the Secretary of the Navy, but obviously that name didn’t stick. And then there are some who think it’s called Key West because it’s the westernmost of the Florida Keys.
Several presidents have spent time in Key West, and Harry Truman had his Winter White House here. After Truman left office, the house became the place where the presidents dealt with the Cold War, because of Key West’s proximity to Cuba. Truman’s Winter White House is a museum now; a big white house on Front Street, surrounded by palm trees.
Not too far from there is the house where Ernest Hemingway wrote To Have and Have Not back in the 1930s. That’s a museum now, as well. I should probably go check it out while I was here.
Sure, going to museums wasn’t what Mackenzie had planned for us when we came to Key West to relax and have fun, but after two days of sitting around doing nothing, I was beginning to get bored, to be honest. It was OK for Mackenzie: she’d found a guy to spend time with. And obviously Quinn had figured something out too. I was the only one at loose ends.
Unless you can convince Ty to keep you company.
Yeah. Because he’d been beating down my door so far.
Anyway, surely a museum would be safe? Nobody was likely to spike my drink in a museum.
So, decision made. Unless something good happened tonight—unless Ty decided to stop playing hard to get and decided to do something to relieve me of my virginity—I was going sightseeing tomorrow.
Halfway down the next block, a small group of tourists were gathered for what looked like a ghost tour, with a guide in nineteenth-century costume, with a tall, black hat and a white face. When I slowed down in passing, he smiled invitingly. “Care to join us?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know. How long is the tour?”
“The trolley tour is about two and a half hours. But we have walking tours, too.”
“But this is the trolley tour?”
He nodded, gesturing to a trolley rolling silently down the street toward us. It was black, with the name of the tour company in florescent letters on the side. And it wasn’t really a trolley—no tracks—just a bus or van of some kind made up to look like a trolley. As it came closer, I could see the pictures of ghostly apparitions decorating the front and sides. White ladies with flowing hair, pirates with eyepatches, evil-looking children.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
He grinned, wide enough to show canine teeth. “Scared?”
Not really scared. More afraid that I’d miss Ty, that he’d go to Captain Crow’s and then leave again—maybe with someone else—because I wasn’t there.
I took a step back. “Maybe tomorrow night. I don’t have enough time now.”
He nodded. “Hang on a sec.”
The trolley rolled up to the curb next to us and the tourists began climbing onboard. The driver was another dude in old clothes, with his hair in ringlets and Jack Sparrow eye makeup, I guess to make it look like his eye sockets were empty.
“Lucky thirteen,” the guy on the sidewalk told him.
I did a quick headcount as the tourist filed onboard, and yes, there were thirteen of them.
As the trolley pulled away from the curb, the driver began speaking. He must have a microphone clipped to his costume, because his voice was magnified enough that I could hear him as he drove down the street. “Good evening, ladies and gentleman. My name is Augustus G. Loomis, captain of the Gulf Stream Phantom—”
I turned to the guy who had stayed behind. “Augustus Loomis?”
His voice took on the cadences of a storyteller, all deep and mysterious. “A wrecker in old Key West. His ship, the Gulf Stream Phantom, ran aground near the Dry Tortugas in November of 1859. A few days later, old Augustus’s body washed up on the southern shore of Key West. It’s said he’s still haunting the Isle of Bones, scanning the horizon for any sign of his missing ship or crew.”
Yikes.
I cleared my throat. “Um... I have heard that Key West is called the Isle of Bones, but I don’t know why.”
“Ah.” He smiled. “It’s because of the bones, lass.”
Lass? Were we Scottish now? “What bones?”
“The bones that were littered all over the ground when the settlers arrived.”
I blinked. “Where did they all come from?”
The guy shrugged. “Who knows? Pirates? Native Americans? Voodoo?”
“And... um... who are you supposed to be?”
He whipped off his hat and bowed. “Talbott Jehosephat Windsor, at your service.”
“Nice to meet you.” Not. “Um... who was Talbott Jehosephat Windsor?”
“I,” Mr. Windsor said, with emphasis, “drove a hearse for a local funerary establishment during the yellow fever epidemic in the late 1800s. When I died, my bone cart was displayed in the East Martello Fort, now a museum. I haunt the place looking for it.”
Ah. “That’s... interesting.”
He smiled, going back to normal. Or whatever passed for normal around here. “We’re all real people.”
Right. Too bad I wasn’t sure whether the real people he was referring to were the dead ones, or the ones he and the others had been born as.
“Do you have a brochure? Maybe I can come back tomorrow.”
He dug one out of his pocket. I folded it up small and stuck it in mine. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “Be careful tonight, lass. There’s evil in the air. I can smell it.”
His nostrils flared as if he actually could. I don’t think it’s possible to smell evil—unless it smells like sulfur, the way my dad says—but I smiled politely. “I’ll do that.”
By the time I got to the corner and turned around, he was still standing there staring after me.
Captain Crow’s was hopping, just like the night before. I had to go sideways through the door to get inside and over to the bar.
The same b
artender was on duty as yesterday, and I ordered a Sprite while I looked around for anyone I knew.
There was no sign of Quinn, not that I had expected there to be. This really wasn’t her kind of scene, any more than it was mine. Or Mackenzie’s, for that matter, for all that she tried to pretend to be comfortable with it.
Anyway, Ivy League Dude was missing too. He was a good-looking guy, with dark, curly hair and blue eyes, and if he’d been there, I think I would have noticed. So maybe he and Quinn were together.
It just figured, didn’t it? Everyone was getting lucky but me.
I had a quick glance around for Ty, but didn’t see him.
Ivy League Dude’s friends were here, though. Four or five of them, at a table by the wall. They were doing shots of Tequila again, and judging from the way they hooted and hollered, they’d already had a few.
I tilted my head and contemplated them. Good-looking guys. Well-dressed. Obviously wealthy. Expensive haircuts. Even their casual clothes had brand name logos. Money no object. They were probably used to getting whatever they wanted.
If one of them wanted a girl and she said no, was he the kind of guy who’d rape her and leave her unconscious on the beach?
Nasty thought, but... maybe. If he was used to skating. If he was used to Daddy’s money getting him out of whatever scrapes he got himself into.
Then yes, maybe.
The bartender put my glass of Sprite in front of me, and jerked me back to reality.
“Thanks,” I said, dipping my fingers into my pocket for money to pay him. No purse for me tonight. I’d stuffed everything in my pockets. “Have you seen Ty?”
His eyes turned flat. “Who?”
“The guy I was talking to yesterday. Sort of dark blond, light brown hair. Wore a blue T-shirt with an FBI logo on it.”
“There were a lot of people in here yesterday,” the bartender said and walked off.
Huh. I put the money I owed him on the bar and swiveled the stool to further survey the room.
Was Ty right that the girl on the beach had been here last night?
A blonde in a pink dress.
I’d been a blonde in a pink dress yesterday. I tried to remember whether I’d seen another, but I couldn’t. If I’d come face to face with a replica of myself, it hadn’t registered.
Before You: Sex on the Beach Page 3
