“I’ll dry. Let’s worry about you first.” In the bathroom, he lowered me to the padded bench beside the garden tub. I’d used it as a towel holder before, never as a seat.
“I’ll draw a hot bath,” Braden said. My teeth chattered. I’ll sink in hot water up to my neck. Heaven.
I smelled lilac. He’d added drops of the bath oil I kept on the ledge for guests. A mist rose from the tub. He took off my shoes and socks and rubbed my feet to massage warmth back into them. “Um, do you need any help undressing?”
“Of course not. I’m fine.” My voice sounded shaky, even to me. “Leave me and get some dry clothes for yourself.”
He looked unconvinced. I made a half-hearted shooing motion and tried to unbutton the top button on my blouse. My fingers felt like icicles, cold and unbending. Braden stood his ground. I fumbled a minute more.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, don’t be so stubborn. Let me help.”
He knelt before me and gently nudged one pearl button from its nest. His clever fingers dropped lower and the second button relinquished its hold. Hot water cascaded from the faucets. Steam began to fill the room. My blouse was undone.
Tenderly he lifted it away and slid it down my arms. He reached behind me and unhooked my bra. His hands grazed the sides of my breasts as he pulled the fabric forward.
God, how I want to run a finger down his cheek, pull his mouth to my breast.
“Can you stand? Lean on me.”
He put my arms on his shoulders and pulled me up. My nipples hardened as they touched the cool fabric of his shirt. I can’t let this continue. I’ll do something foolish. He’s being kind and I’m imagining scenes from Sex in the City.
I didn’t have much willpower left in the tank, but used it all. I smiled at Braden and gave him a gentle shove toward the door. “I’m feeling a lot better. There are some things a girl just needs to do for herself.”
“You sure?” He was trying to be a gentleman, staring into my eyes, not letting his gaze wander below my chin.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Okay, but I’m leaving the door open a crack so I can hear you if you need help.”
Once he left, I wriggled out of my pants and slid into the soothing water. I felt warm and liquid. Steam from the hot water misted the mirror. But with the door ajar, it began to defog. In one clear patch, I could see Braden in the bedroom. He’d stripped off his wet clothes. He was nude and erect. My breath caught. God, he’s beautiful.
He looked toward the bathroom and our eyes met in the mirror. Neither of us looked away. The doorbell rang.
“Goddammit,” Braden swore. He pulled a clean pair of trousers from his duffle bag, and ran to answer the door.
Janie’s voice floated down the hall. “I saw lights on. Thought I’d check to see if Marley was ready to go to breakfast.”
Braden gave her a quick update and tried to get rid of her. Fat chance.
Your timing sucketh, Janie my dear. Well, maybe not. Maybe you saved me from acting like an idiot. What if Braden’s just a horny bugger? Maybe he’d have reacted the same if he’d seen any naked broad. Doesn’t mean he wants ME.
Janie barged in before I could finish my mental debate. She looked down at me with her hands on her hips. “Are you playing with a full deck, girl? You’re gonna trot out your women’s lib card once too often. Wandering in the dark with a murderer on the loose. I swear.”
The irony prompted a smile. A variation on my lecture to the Cuthbert twins and their preteen playmates. But I was a grown-up. In theory, I was able to take care of myself—and trained to protect others. A responsibility I’d failed. A vicious killer had been inches away, and I hadn’t even managed to see his face.
“You need hot coffee and breakfast,” Janie said. “Don’t stay in that bath too long. It’ll cool and you’ll catch your death.”
Maybe I daydreamed or nodded off. It seemed only a moment before Janie was back, ordering me to towel off. After helping me from the tub, she handed over my flannel nightie and a floor-length velour robe. She eyed the robe’s shiny caboose with obvious disgust.
“This is a disgrace. When did you shop last? The 1980s? Boy, do you need lingerie. Couldn’t find slippers, but I guess these’ll do.” She tossed a pair of wooly knee-highs on the toilet lid. “They sort of complement your ensemble.”
Her diatribe earned an eye roll. “You mentioned breakfast. I can’t believe you cooked. What d’you do, nuke the last piece of lasagna?”
“Hell, no. I’m servin’ up omelets, pancakes, and sausage. I do takeout well. Called over to the 19th Hole and bribed that waitress, Arlene, to run food over. You gave her a real nice tip by the way. Didn’t have my purse on me.”
I laughed. Janie’s levity put welcome space between the night’s horrors and the day’s promise. Sun streamed through the bedroom window, and the lagoon behind my house sparkled crimson and gold.
“Did Braden leave?” God, how I hoped he was still here.
“No, honey. He’s a man, isn’t he? We’re talking food. Let’s head to the kitchen.”
The table in my breakfast nook brimmed with our catered feast. Braden stood and pulled out a chair for me. The deputy didn’t look me in the eye. Was he embarrassed?
“I feel terrible,” he said. “I never should have let you go to the marina alone.”
“Hey, it’s my job.” I tried to smile. “As the chief said, I’m a tough bird.”
I figured I’d drink a cup of coffee and choke down a couple of bites to humor Janie. My stomach was on tilt, and I was sleepy, not hungry.
I sat down, accepted the proffered hot mug, and sniffed. “What d’you lace it with, Janie?”
“A wee bit o’ the Irish, me lass.” Her South Carolina drawl overwhelmed her sorry attempt at brogue. Even Braden chuckled. Suddenly I was famished. I regularly lose many things—car keys, my temper, brain cells—but not even attempted murder could vanquish my appetite.
After we scarfed down every morsel, Braden seemed more relaxed. His eyes met mine and held. He grinned.
“Looks like you’re feeling better, the way you attacked your food. Remind me to go Dutch when we go out to dinner. Are you up to talking a bit before you get some sleep?”
Braden turned a policeman’s stony stare on Janie. The one that says: “Why don’t you leave before I toss you out?” My friend refused to take the hint.
“Might as well let Janie stay,” I said. “She’ll find out everything in an hour tops.”
My neighbor kept her chair. When Braden and I replayed the evening’s nightmares—first Bea’s grisly death and then my flirtation with the afterlife—Janie gasped on cue and interrupted with the occasional question.
For background, I recounted my possible afternoon sighting of Underling at the marina, and my earlier, very strange encounter with the man’s Polish boss on Hilton Head.
“Does his name ring a bell?” I asked Janie. “Know of any link between this Kain Dzandrek and Hogsback Island? Has Gator ever mentioned him?”
“Nope. The MacIsaac family owned Hogsback. They’re Scottish, not Polish. Can’t see a connection. This is the first I’ve heard of the guy. And I’d remember a wealthy Polish émigré. I’m an equal-opportunity gold digger.”
Next we reconstructed our visit to the Caldwell household. When I got to Teddy’s sobbing report of Bea’s conversation, Janie shook her head. “You’re right, there’s no Spate family on Dear Island or any employees by that name.”
A light bulb flickered in my brain, but I wasn’t quick enough to decode the message. I tried to focus, but the thought was gone. As the adrenaline rush dissipated, my eyelids slid closed.
Braden offered to clean my waterlogged weapon, and my mind wandered as I watched him disassemble the piece. I dozed as Janie catalogued Bea’s personality disorders for the detective. Somehow my unlikely wardens half walked, half carried me to bed. For the next four hours, I was dead to the world—a much better proposition than being dead.
NINE
<
br /> What triggered the nightmares? Maybe I heard voices. Maybe my brain needed to sift through the night’s terror.
Back on the dock again—this time on my knees, my hands lead weights. A crowd of people stared at me. Upfront Stew held hands with Bea, while Hugh yelled at the Cuthbert twins. Janie gossiped with a black stranger. Behind them, the Polish thug glared at me. And little Teddy ran in circles, yelling “Adam.” Braden shouldered through the assembly to reach me. He grabbed my arm…
Janie shook my forearm like a terrier with a bone. “Wake up. Your boss, the sheriff and Braden are in the living room. I hunted up some clothes for you.”
“What time is it? Why aren’t you at work?” I tugged on jeans and pulled a sweatshirt over my head. I’d been cocooned in a down comforter, and it was hard to leave my warm nest. My sweatshirt seemed too thin to keep the ocean’s chill from seeping back into my bones.
“It’s one-thirty. I wasn’t about to leave you alone. Besides, Gator isn’t in today. Sally said she could hold the fort. I offered to help with Bea’s funeral arrangements but Gator said he’d handle it himself.”
I slid into a rocker beside the crackling fire. Sun streaming in the windows proclaimed it to be a beautiful day, not cool enough to justify a fire. But Janie must have sensed my craving for warmth. The dancing flames gave me a moment’s pause though, as I remembered how close I’d been to becoming a Roman candle. Janie didn’t join my inquisitors, though I bet she remained within earshot.
The sheriff inquired about my physical well being while the trio of lawmen surreptitiously evaluated my mental health. Impatient with the Miss Manners ritual, I testily urged them to get on with it. I retold my story twice, but nothing new sprang to mind as I relived the nightmare. I never saw the man, not even his retreating silhouette. His one-word curse wasn’t enough to diagnose an accent. The only smell I remembered was gasoline.
When they finished repeating their questions, I had my own. “Did the marina yield any clues? How about the missing boat’s registration?”
“Dead ends.” The chief shrugged. “The guy rented the slip by phone. Called in a stolen credit card and boat registration number. Folks at the marina were too busy with the ferry to check itinerant boats. Especially since everybody’d prepaid.”
“What about Kain Dzandrek?”
“Yeah, Braden told us about your run-in…that you thought you’d seen some Polish thug at Dear’s marina,” the sheriff replied. “As a courtesy, a Beaufort County deputy accompanied one of our men on a visit to Dzandrek’s place. The man’s smooth. Said his lunch mate was a stranger, someone he’d heard speaking Polish and invited to join him on a whim.”
“Bull hockey. The man works for Dzandrek. I’d bet my life on it. What a crock,” I protested.
“Well, it’s a crock we have to accept. Dzandrek doesn’t have a sheet. There’s no proof he’s guilty of anything but a fat bank account. Lots of rich expatriates have a soft spot for Hilton Head.”
“Did your deputy ask Dzandrek about Hogsback Island or Hugh?” I prodded.
The sheriff rolled his eyes. “Look, we have no call to grill the guy. You overheard some Polish, and you admit you’re not one hundred percent on the translation. You didn’t like the guy’s manners or his sidekick. Doesn’t make him a killer.”
The chief interrupted. “Are you thinking these Polish wankers might be friendly with Hugh Wells? If so, they didn’t visit Hugh-boy on Dear last night. When Bev Collins got off the morning ferry, she gave me an earful about her sleepless night. Said Hugh and the twins were in an adjacent suite at the Beaufort Inn and had the TV blaring till the wee hours.
“That reminds me, our bridge is kaput. Engineers say it’ll take at least two weeks to make even temporary repairs. Meanwhile, we can send golf carts over in emergencies—say, porting folks to an ambulance. Otherwise, everybody’s stuck with the ferry.”
“You still shorthanded?” I asked.
“Not too bad. I talked most of our crew into bunking here for the duration. Bud’s the only one who balked. His wife’s due with their first baby. Can’t blame him.”
Sheriff Conroy stood and stretched. “We’re going to beef up our Dear presence, too. Braden’ll stay until we catch this killer—or we’re certain he’s moved on. Two more deputies come on board this afternoon. They’ll rotate shifts so there’s always a deputy on duty. The resort’s springing for a villa for our guys.”
The news triggered a pang of regret. I’d hoped the handsome deputy would need my extended hospitality. Was Braden disappointed, too? His eyes fastened on his boss. The sheriff’s decree didn’t provoke so much as an eyelash twitch.
Okay, he’s fine with the sleeping arrangements. What’s your problem? You hardly know the man. Are you that lonely? You can take care of yourself.
Sure as hell, I’d watch my back—literally. I reached behind me to rub the tender stunner contact points.
“You think the killer will return?” I asked.
“Nah, I doubt it,” the chief said. “No time soon anyways. He’d have to come by water, and he knows we’ll be watching the marina. Too risky.”
Risky, how? If I was wrong to suspect Underling, the homicidal maniac could be anyone. Without a clue as to the killer’s identity, how would we ever know if he returned?
“Wish we could lure the sucker back,” Sheriff Conroy lamented. “If only Marley had seen the guy’s face. ’Course we could lie—say she did.” He gave me a speculative look. “We could let it out that Marley hit her head rolling off that dock, that we’re hoping her temporary amnesia will clear so she can provide a positive ID. That might interest him.”
“Yeah, and get Marley killed,” Braden objected. He took a deep breath. “But we could use a decoy, hide Marley off island. With a wig and the right clothes, Ed could pass for Marley. He’s slim and the right height.”
Oh, great. He suggests a man for my understudy. And what’s with the protect-the-little-woman nonsense? I was seriously insulted.
“Hello, I’m here. How about including me in this conversation? The killer knows who I am. It wouldn’t take him two minutes to detect a decoy. If you want a trap to work, I’m the bait.”
“Don’t be crazy,” Braden said. “You’re retired. No one’s paying you to dodge bullets.”
The retired reference stung.
Think I’m over the hill, do you?
“I’ve already earned a permanent spot on this psycho’s hit list. Think he’ll shrug off a botched job? I don’t. If you don’t catch him, I’ll be looking over my shoulder a long time.”
Janie waltzed into the room and took up a guard dog position by my chair. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay with you, Marley. No way he could take on the two of us.”
Janie was someone you pigeonholed at your own risk. She purred like a kitten with real estate prospects but unsheathed razor-sharp claws if anyone challenged office oligarchy. The woman refused to pump her own gas—“not something a lady should be expected to do.” Yet she carried condoms in a jeweled Daughters of the American Revolution case. My neighbor played life by her own rules. Rule number one: a fierce allegiance to friends.
“Forget it, Janie. I won’t put you in danger,” I said.
“Fine.” She agreed much too quickly. “Then you stay here, Braden. You need a bed anyway. Sheriff, if you’re going to dangle Marley’s ass out there with a ‘come and get it’ sign, the least you can do is provide round-the-clock protection.”
I caught Janie’s sly smile. Lord, help me. She’s using murder to find me a live-in beau.
“Not a bad idea,” the chief agreed. “Marley and Braden can work the same shifts.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
I didn’t want to be foisted on Braden. My secret fear? I’d do something goofy and inappropriate. My mind wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. My emotions seemed to be calling too many shots. “I can take care of myself.”
“Don’t argue,” the sheriff said. “Your friend’s right. If we p
ut you on the line, we protect you. Either Braden stays in your house or we take you off the island. Your choice.”
Braden turned toward me. “You’d be doing me a favor,” he cajoled. “Otherwise I bunk with Dan, who plays that god-awful rap.”
“Okay, you win.”
Or was I the winner? I was afraid to examine my feelings, especially given his naked cameo appearance in my dream. Not to mention the melt down when I saw him nude in living color. Why had Braden’s suggestion of a transvestite doppelganger smarted? The answer was as plain as the bruises on my wrists. I wanted the deputy to prefer me as a roommate for reasons other than a fondness for elevator music.
He’s too young. I scolded myself. Another part of my mind replied, Who cares?
Maybe I had hit my head on a piling when I rolled off that dock.
After testy negotiations about my freedom to come and go as I pleased, we reached détente. It was Wednesday afternoon. Officially I was off duty until Saturday night though I’d continue to serve as island liaison for Braden’s investigation.
I won grudging permission for one off-island excursion—a standing once-a-month lunch date with Beaufort friends. The sheriff balked at first, but finally conceded that a killer wasn’t likely to try a hit in broad daylight at a trendy waterfront café. On one point, however, they stood firm. After sunset, I would never be alone.
Never alone at night? I pictured Braden in my room. Undressing. Sliding between cool sheets. His tan skin a stark contrast to the pale linens. I’d given my houseguest the master bedroom. Now I wanted it back. Wanted to share that big bed.
TEN
The men appeared eager to leave: the sheriff to arrange a press conference, Braden to pack for an extended stay and return before sundown, Chief Dixon to meet with Sally.
Janie gave Dixon a pitying look. “She’s gonna go batty if you fellas don’t offer damage control. Two murders and a busted bridge have reporters salivating. Tomorrow’s tabloids are gonna shout Killer Stalks Marooned Islanders. Sally’s freaked. We can’t afford to scare off potential buyers right before Easter.”
Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries) Page 11
