The Bloodstained Bride
Page 24
Dismissively, Leo said, “Cops blame PC-5 for everything.”
Vivian said, “Detective Francois did let me take photos of the body. Wanna see them?”
Moments later, Vivian was back at the table, showing Leo the image she’d captured of the dead man’s left heel. “That’s a brand.”
“Someone branded his heel?” Leo stared at the photo.
Vivian said. “I thought it was some kind of symbol but Sophie did some research. It’s actually a word written in ancient Greek. The brand on his foot is the word for ‘desire’.”
“Desire?” Leo chuckled slightly. “I don’t mean to laugh, but this story is crazy. The poor bastard gets killed and has his penis cut off and then he’s got “desire” on the bottom of his foot.”
“And Valentine’s Day is Friday,” said Vivian.
“Oh, thanks for reminding me,” said Leo, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
Vivian gave him a playful punch in the arm. “You better not forget.”
“So, these four letters spell desire?”
“Well, actually, the Greek word for desire is eros,“ said Vivian. “And you know what’s interesting. In Greek mythology, Eros was a companion of Aphrodite. She was born from the foam of a penis that was cut off and thrown into the sea and the dead guy’s penis was cut off and thrown in the ocean.”
Leo stared at her. “Wait, did you say Eros?”
“Yeah, why?” asked Vivian.
“I don’t know; it’s just …” Leo rubbed his jaw. “Hambone said that Mick Walters, the private investigator he hired, mentioned having some lead about Eros.”
“What was the lead?”
Leo shrugged. “Walters didn’t get to tell Hambone. He apparently disappeared before he could explain the Eros lead.”
“You think there might be some connection?”
“Between Walters’ lead about Eros and the word eros branded on the dead man’s heel?” Leo considered it.
“Guess it doesn’t seem likely,” said Vivian. “But that word, eros, it’s not a word commonly used so it seems strange that it would come up twice.”
“Could be a coincidence,” said Leo. “But, we don’t believe in coincidences.”
“No, we don’t,” agreed Vivian. “You don’t think that the dead guy missing his penis is Silas Hamilton, do you? Could that lead about Eros have been the brand on Silas’ heel?”
Worried, Leo picked up Vivian’s phone from the table. “You have photos of the dead guy, right?”
“Yeah, they’re before the photo of his heel,” said Vivian, leaning over to glance at the phone.
Quickly, Leo began to swipe the screen.
“That’s the dead guy,” said Vivian, pointing to the photo. “Is that Silas?”
Leo exhaled. “No, thank God, it’s not him. Silas is a few years younger than me. He’s short and slight. And blonde.”
Vivian said, “You know what I think we should do, Mr. Bronson?”
“What’s that, Mrs. Bronson?”
“We should talk with Mick Walters,” said Vivian. “We need to find out about his Eros lead considering that it might be connected to the eros brand on the dead guy’s heel. We should go over to the Queen Palm hotel and see if Mick Walters is around.”
“Hambone has been calling the hotel for three weeks and Walters hasn’t picked up the phone,” said Leo.
“We have contacts at the Queen Palm,” Vivian reminded him. “They can tell us if Mick Walters is still at the hotel.”
5
“Strange that the hotel staff hasn’t really seen Mick Walters since he checked into the hotel,” said Vivian, walking alongside Leo as they headed down the wide path leading from the main hotel to the enclave of private bungalows behind the golf course.
“The maids have been cleaning his bungalow,” said Leo. “But he’s never there when they come to service the rooms.”
Shivering from the late evening breeze wafting across the sloping tropical landscaping, Vivian reflected on the conversation with their contact Effie, the head of housekeeping. More than the security staff, Effie was in a unique position to have information about the comings and goings of guests. According to Effie, the maids reported that though Walters had unpacked his luggage, it seemed he never used the bed or the bathroom facilities.
Skirting the thirteenth hole, Vivian and Leo followed the meandering pathway to the palm-flanked entrance to the private bungalows. They passed a hedge of tall oleander trees and then crossed the manicured lawn to Mick Walters’ bungalow, #407.
Approaching the front door of the sprawling structure, they walked onto the large porch, dimly lit and surrounded by hibiscus bushes. Vivian knocked on the door.
“I don’t think he’s here,” said Leo.
“Let’s give him a minute,” said Vivian, knocking again, a bit louder. “Maybe he’s in the shower.”
“Let’s go around to the back patio,” said Leo. “We can see if any lights are on or if he’s sitting on the couch scratching his balls and ignoring us.”
“Good idea,” said Vivian, following Leo around the side of the bungalow. They walked along a narrow passageway between Walker’s bungalow, #407, and the next bungalow, #408. They passed the A/C unit and then made a sharp left. Behind bungalow #407, darkness shrouded the small patch of grass that functioned as a backyard, with two chaise lounges, a hot tub and a row of privacy hedges. As they walked onto the rear patio, Vivian glanced around, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“Viv, wait …” Leo whispered.
Behind her husband, Vivian stopped short, so she wouldn’t run into the back of him. “What is it?”
“The patio door is open …”
Her pulse jumped. “Can you see if anyone is inside?”
“Wait here,” said Leo. “I’m going to check.”
“No, I’m coming with you,” Vivian insisted.
“Figured you would say that,” said Leo, heading into the bungalow.
“Don’t forget,” said Vivian, on Leo’s heels as they entered the dark room. “I was on the trail of the most fearsome terroristic tribal warlord in Africa when—”
Glass shattered.
Leo stopped.
“What was that?” Vivian froze, her heart pounding. “Is someone in here?”
“I don’t know …” said Leo. “I’m going to try to find a lamp.”
Vivian stood still, trying to discern shapes in the dark room as Leo stepped away from her. A dull thud, somewhere to her right, made Vivian jump. Turning in the direction of the sound, she—
Light flooded the room.
Disoriented and startled by the sudden brightness, Vivian stumbled back as something sailed across the room toward her. Screaming, she ducked and dived toward a large couch against the wall. Tumbling onto the cushions, Vivian flipped over and sat up.
She screamed again, staring in shock and terror at the shadowy figure standing behind Leo.
“Leo! Oh my God!” Jumping up from the couch, Vivian scanned the living room for a weapon. “Behind you!”
Small and thin, the person was dressed from head to toe in black. A woman, Vivian realized, noticing the breasts and hips.
Leo spun around, lunged toward the woman, and—
The woman raised an arm and sprayed something toward Leo’s face. Swearing, Leo dropped to one knee, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. The woman lifted her leg and kicked it toward Leo’s chest but he grabbed the woman’s ankle and pulled, trying to take her down. Grunting, the woman twisted away from him, managing to stay on her feet.
Vivian sprinted into the foyer toward a console table where a vase of flowers sat on the surface. Grabbing the vase, Vivian tossed the flowers and she rushed the woman, slamming the vase against the back of the woman’s head.
With a loud gasp, the woman faced Vivian and went for her throat. The vase slipped from Vivian’s grasp. Glass crashed against the hardwood floor as the woman grabbed Vivian around the neck. Clamping her hands around t
he woman’s wrists, Vivian struggled to pull the woman’s hands away from her throat. The woman held firm, determined to choke her to death. Her heart pounding and terror racing through her veins, Vivian balled her right hand into a fist and slugged the woman. The hold around her neck loosened. Vivian hit the woman again, grabbing at the black nylon stocking covering the woman’s face. Pulling at the mask, Vivian ripped a hole in the fabric near the eye area. She jammed a finger into the hole and poked the woman’s eyeball.
The woman screamed, kicked Vivian in the shin and then spun away.
Crying out in pain, Vivian staggered, trying to stay on her feet. Leo called for the woman to stop and then started to run after her but he stumbled, lost his footing, and fell. Vivian watched in defeat as the woman sprinted to the foyer, flung open the door, and dashed out into the night.
“Viv … you okay?”
Facing Leo, Vivian ran to her husband. Still on his knees, Leo struggled to stand. “Oh, God, Leo! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did she mace you?”
Leo groaned as he got to his feet. “Not sure what the hell she sprayed at me.”
“Are your eyes burning?” Pained for her husband, Vivian guided Leo to the couch, and they sat. “We need to call an ambulance.”
“No, no ambulance. I feel a bit groggy, but I’ll be fine,” Leo said, grunting as he leaned back against the couch. “My eyes aren’t burning. I turned my head as she sprayed me so she didn’t get me directly in the face. Whatever it was, I don’t think it was mace or pepper spray.”
“I would like a doctor to tell us what it was,” said Vivian, studying the blue eyes she loved to stare into for hours. “We need to go to the emergency room, just in case. Please. Whatever she sprayed at you could have a delayed adverse effect.”
Nodding, Leo asked, “Who the hell was she, anyway? What was she doing in here?”
Vivian glanced around the living room. The tasteful West Indian furnishings were in disarray. Chairs were overturned and end tables upended. Standing, Vivian ventured from the living room and into the bedroom. Drawers were yanked from the dressers. The mattress was overturned. A broken lamp was on the floor.
“Looks like the place has been tossed,” said Leo, behind her.
“We should probably get out of here,” Vivian said. “And call the police.”
“We’ll call them on our way home from my burner,” said Leo as they walked back into the living room. “I’m not really up to answering any questions about what we were doing in Mick Walters’ bungalow.”
“I just wish that bitch hadn’t gotten away,” Vivian said.
“She may have gotten away,” Leo said. “But she left something very interesting behind.”
“What?” Vivian asked.
“An ankle chain.” Leo stopped and opened his hand. “I must have snapped the links when I grabbed her foot when she tried to kick me. Take a look at the charm and tell me if it looks familiar.”
Curious, Vivian stared at the dainty chain coiled like a shiny gold snake in Leo’s palm. Near the broken clasp lay a small charm. Lifting it from her husband’s opened hand, Vivian stared at the tiny Greek letters fused together: ἔρως.
Continue reading …
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Also by Rachel Woods
PALMCHAT ISLANDS MYSTERIES
Married journalists, Vivian and Leo, manage the island newspaper while solving crimes as they chase leads for their next story.
THE PRODIGAL CAPTIVE
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THE SHAMEFUL ACCUSER
MURDER IN PARADISE SERIES
Stand-alone romantic mystery novels all set in the fictional Palmchat Islands.
THE UNWORTHY WIFE
THE PERFECT LIAR
THE SILENT ENEMY
SPENCER & SIONE SERIES
Gripping romantic suspense series with steamy romance, unpredictable plot twists and devastating consequences of deceit.
FLAWLESS MISTAKE
FLAWLESS DANGER
FLAWLESS BETRAYAL
About the Author
Rachel Woods studied journalism and graduated from the University of Houston where she published articles in the Daily Cougar. She is a legal assistant by day and a freelance writer and blogger with a penchant for melodrama by night. Many of her stories take place on the islands, which she has visited around the world. Rachel resides in Houston, Texas with her three sock monkeys.
For more information:
www.therachelwoods.com
rachel@therachelwoods.com
About the Publisher
BonzaiMoon Books is a family-run, artisanal publishing company created in the summer of 2014. We publish works of fiction in various genres. Our passion and focus is working with authors who write the books you want to read, and giving those authors the opportunity to have more direct input in the publishing of their work.
For more information:
www.bonzaimoonbooks.com
info@bonzaimoonbooks.com