Since she didn’t have a current photo of Tia with her should she decide to go to the police, she took the engagement clipping from the desk in the living room and slipped it into her bag.
Letting herself out of the apartment, Carrie pocketed the spare key. She’d have to mail it to Robert Cochburn as soon as she got home. Somehow it didn’t seem right leaving it in Tia’s apartment even though the door had been left unlocked when Carrie first came. Still, she didn’t want to take a chance that someone else could wander inside and go through Tia’s personal belongings. Carrie knew how much she would hate that.
She surveyed the courtyard, her gaze moving from the murky pool, upward to the third-story windows and finally to the upstairs apartment. Everything about the place was creepy and oppressive, and she couldn’t deny that a part of her was relieved to be leaving. Here on Cape Diablo, the nightmares had found her again, and Carrie had a feeling they would be with her for a long time to come.
At the gate, she hesitated again. She had the strangest sensation that someone was watching her, and as she turned, her eyes went immediately to the pool house apartment. Even so early in the morning with sunlight flooding across the courtyard, the covered loggia lay in deep gloom.
Now’s your chance, a little voice prodded her. Go upstairs and knock on that door. Prove to yourself there’s nothing to be afraid of.
She even took a few steps toward the outside staircase, but then froze as that same intuition of danger seized her.
This was crazy, she tried to tell herself. She was standing out in the open in broad daylight. Nothing was going to happen to her if she climbed those stairs, knocked on the door and came face-to-face with the person inside the apartment.
But she couldn’t make herself do it. The fear was too strong. Whether she was afraid of the man or the place, she had no idea. But suddenly she couldn’t wait to be miles and miles from Cape Diablo.
As she whirled toward the gate, the scream of a hawk overhead made her blood go cold.
SHE EMERGED FROM the mangrove thicket a few minutes later and immediately spotted the supply boat tied up at the end of the pier. A man sat on the wooden planks dangling his feet over the water. When he saw her, he scrambled up and hurried over to meet her.
He was dressed in grungy jeans and an old Lynard Skynard T-shirt that was faded and misshapen from years of wear and tear. Tall and lanky, the new driver was younger than Pete Trawick, and judging by his easy smile, way more pleasant.
“Carrie Bishop?”
She nodded.
“I’m Lee Grady. I understand you need a ride back to the mainland.” He held out his hand for her bag.
“Yes, thank you.” She glanced around. “Where’s Nick? He said he would wait here to make sure you didn’t leave without me.”
The man glanced around. “I think he mentioned something about needing to get to work.”
Carrie wasn’t surprised exactly, but she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment that he hadn’t even stuck around long enough to say goodbye, especially after the way he’d kissed her last night.
Don’t be stupid, she scolded herself. Since when did one kiss mean anything? She might be inexperienced, but she wasn’t naive. She just wasn’t the type of woman a man like Nick Draco would go for.
Which was for the best because there was still something about him that she couldn’t quite bring herself to trust.
Behind that cold, relentless stare lay secrets. Perhaps even dark secrets. The last thing Carrie needed was a man with demons. She had too many of those lurking around in the dark as it was.
After Grady untied the moorings, he hopped down into the boat, stored her bag and then offered her a hand. “Watch your step now.”
Carrie climbed aboard and took a seat at the back of the boat. Once they’d cleared the end of the pier, Grady turned the prow into the sun.
Up ahead, as far as Carrie could see lay nothing but sparkling channels weaving through a vast labyrinth of lush green islands. And at the end of that maze was the mainland and home.
Carrie glanced over her shoulder for one last look at Cape Diablo. The island was beautiful in the morning sun, but she knew that a closer scrutiny would reveal the shadows of the past that grew as dark and thick as the lichen on the crumbling walls of the mansion.
The island had secrets, too, and as the boat moved into the open water, Carrie felt an almost intense sense of relief.
Then she saw Nick up on the roof, and even from a distance, she could feel their gazes connect. Her heart fluttered in awareness as she lifted her hand to wave goodbye. When he didn’t respond, she watched for a moment longer, then turned away.
So that was that.
NICK STARED AT THE BOAT until it was nothing but a tiny dot on the horizon before he went back to work. He’d done what he set out to do. He’d gotten Carrie away from Cape Diablo. So why did he feel like crap this morning?
Maybe he should just admit to himself that knowing about her past, what she’d been through, had gotten to him.
And, yeah, maybe the woman herself had gotten to him a little, too.
Her loyalty and determination were qualities he could admire, but they were also apt to get her in trouble if she wasn’t careful. Something wasn’t right about Tia Falcon’s disappearance. Nick had a bad feeling about the whole situation. It was starting to smell a little too much like a setup to him.
He didn’t believe in the superstitions surrounding Cape Diablo, but he sure as hell knew better than to ignore his instincts. Maybe it was high time he disregarded his orders and started a little investigation of his own.
THE FIRST THING CARRIE did when she got back to the mainland was check her voice mail. She’d left her car in a public lot at the tiny marina in Everglades City, and as she unlocked the trunk to stow her bag, she listened to her messages—two from the magazine and one from the next-door neighbor who’d offered to pick up her mail.
She ignored the ones from work. She wasn’t due back into the office until Monday, and she didn’t want to get drawn into a problem or some major project that would keep her busy through the weekend.
The message from her neighbor alarmed her, though, and as Carrie climbed into the car, she dialed Mrs. Petersen’s number.
“Hi, this is Carrie,” she said, when the older woman picked up the phone. “I just got your message.”
“Carrie! I was hoping you’d call today. I was getting a little concerned when I didn’t hear back from you.”
Carrie started the engine and rolled down the windows to allow the trapped heat to escape. “Sorry. I’ve been out of commission for a couple of days. Is something wrong?”
“I don’t think so. But I thought you might want to know that a policeman came by here looking for you yesterday. He wanted to ask you some questions about the break-in.”
That didn’t make much sense. She’d already told the responding officer everything she knew, which wasn’t much. She’d come home from work to find a broken latch on the sliding-glass door in her bedroom. Nothing had been missing that Carrie could determine, but the investigating officer seemed to think the culprit had been scared off by the neighbor’s dog.
“Was it Officer Kendal?” Carrie asked.
“No, I met him, too. This was someone different. A Detective Something-or-other. I have his name here somewhere….” Mrs. Petersen’s voice trailed off and Carrie could hear her rummaging through papers.
“You say he had more questions about the break-in?” Something about this didn’t sound right to Carrie. She didn’t like the idea of someone, even a cop, snooping around her apartment while she was away.
“He said there’d been a rash of break-ins in the neighborhood, and he just wanted to follow up on your report, make sure you hadn’t had any more problems. He also wanted to check the sliding door where the burglar came in.”
“You didn’t let him inside my apartment, did you?” Carrie asked sharply.
Her abrupt tone seemed to take Mrs.
Petersen aback. When she finally responded, she sounded a little hurt that Carrie would question her judgment. “No, of course I didn’t let him. I know better than that. But I’m sure he was on the up-and-up. He was a very pleasant man. Very polite. I know I have his name around here somewhere….”
“Don’t worry about it,” Carrie said, trying to make up for her curt tone. “I’m sure it’ll turn up. You can give it to me when I get home.”
“A MISSING PERSONS REPORT? You’ll need to talk to Deputy Malloy,” the redheaded receptionist at the Collier County Sheriff’s substation in Everglades City told Carrie a little while later. “He’s out on a call right now and there’s really no telling how long it’ll take him. You might want to check back in a couple of hours.”
“I don’t want to wait that long,” Carrie said. “I’m on my way back to Miami, and I want to make sure the report gets filed before I leave here. Isn’t there someone else I can talk to?”
“All the other deputies are out on patrol,” she said. “We’re a little shorthanded right now. You’ll need to wait for Deputy Malloy or else drive over to the Sheriff’s office in Naples and file your report.”
Just then a door to one of the back offices opened and a uniformed deputy stuck his head around the corner. “Annie, how’s about a cup of coffee? I’m drowning in paperwork back here. If I don’t get some caffeine down me, I’ll never make it through all these reports.” He saw Carrie then and tipped his head. “Something we can help you with, Miss?”
“She wants to file a missing persons report,” the redhead said over her shoulder. “I told her she needs to either talk to Malloy or drive over to Naples to see the sheriff.”
“This is ridiculous,” Carrie said. “This is a police station, isn’t it? There must be someone here I can talk to.”
The man gave her a nod. “Come on back. I’m Deputy Polk. Glen Polk,” he said shaking her hand. “Missing Persons isn’t exactly my specialty, but I can take your statement and pass it along to Malloy when he gets in.”
He held the door for Carrie and she walked into a tiny, cramped office littered with stacks of boxes and files. He cleared a chair across from his desk and motioned for her to sit.
“I’m usually involved in aerial surveillance,” he explained as he took a seat behind his desk. “Got myself an inner ear problem that’s grounded me for a couple of weeks so I’m stuck pushing pencils.” He shuffled aside a few papers on his desk before settling in. “Now, why don’t you tell me who’s missing and I’ll see what I can do to help you. Let’s start with a name.”
“Her name is Tia Falcon and she’s a friend of mine,” Carrie said. “She came down here about three weeks ago after leasing an apartment on Cape Diablo.”
“On Diablo?” A frown flickered across his brow. “Why there?”
“I assume she wanted a quiet place to spend the summer,” Carrie said with a shrug.
“We’ll need a description,” he said, grabbing a pencil to take notes.”
“She’s twenty-six and about my height…five feet five. She probably weighs around one fifteen and she has shoulder-length dark hair. I have a picture of her. It’s a newspaper clipping so it’s not very clear, but it’s the only one I have.” She dug the clipping out of her purse and passed it to Polk.
He studied it for a moment, then glanced up. “This is an engagement announcement. Is the man with her the husband?”
“Actually, no. They were supposed to get married a few weeks ago, right before Tia came down here. But she called off the ceremony at the last minute.”
Polk lifted one brow. “A runaway bride, huh?”
“I guess you could call her that. I haven’t heard from her in over two weeks, not since she first came down here. And now she’s missing from her apartment. Her clothes are still in the closet and her refrigerator’s well stocked, but there’s no sign of Tia anywhere. And no one on Cape Diablo seems to know what happened to her. It’s a small island, Deputy. No one saw her leave. No one remembers the last time they saw her. It’s all very strange.”
“Does she have a history of taking off without telling anyone?”
Carrie hesitated. A couple of times in high school, Tia had run away from home, but that was years ago.
“I take it by your silence that she has. Let me ask you something,” he said slowly. “How did she call off the wedding?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was it planned or an impulse? In other words, did she leave the groom standing at the altar?”
“What difference does that make?” Carrie said impatiently.
He sat back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “This kind of thing happens more frequently than people realize. A bride gets cold feet and can’t go through with the ceremony. But she can’t face her family and friends so she takes off. You see where I’m going with this, don’t you? If your friend was impulsive enough to leave her groom at the altar, she’s probably impulsive enough to take off from Cape Diablo without telling anyone.”
“So what you’re saying is that you’re not going to do anything about this,” Carrie said angrily.
“I didn’t say that at all. We’ll file a report and we’ll keep an eye out for her, but if you ask me, you’re working yourself up over nothing. My guess is, she and her fiancé had a fight the night before the wedding and she took off to teach him a lesson. When she thinks he’s suffered long enough, she’ll turn up. They may even go ahead with the ceremony.”
“You don’t know how much I wish that were true,” Carrie said. “But, unfortunately, I think you’re dead wrong, Deputy.”
ERMA PETERSEN WAS a New Jersey snowbird who’d come south for the winter twenty years ago and never left. She was a tiny, white-haired dynamo who kept fit and tanned by playing eighteen holes of golf every day, rain or shine, but knee surgery had left her housebound for the past two months and she’d become something of a busybody in the apartment complex.
However, she meant well, and since Carrie didn’t really know any of her other neighbors well enough to ask for favors, she was glad to have someone nearby who didn’t seem to mind picking up her mail and keeping an eye on her place while she was away.
“I found it,” Mrs. Petersen said in triumph when she opened the door to Carrie a little while later. She waved a piece of paper through the air. “I found the name of that policeman right after you hung up. It was there on the table where I put it, but I’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached. His name is Davis.” She handed the note to Carrie. “Detective Raymond Davis. See?”
Carrie glanced at the scribbled name. “He didn’t give you a card?” she asked suspiciously.
“He said he left them in another jacket.”
“Did you ask to see his identification?”
Mrs. Petersen gave her an affronted look. “Well, of course, dear. I’m not completely stupid, contrary to what some people around here seem to think.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you were,” Carrie said contritely. “I’m just a little anxious about the break-in.” She paused, trying once again to soothe the older woman’s ruffled feathers. “What did he look like?”
“Tall, thin, clean-cut.” Mrs. Petersen gave her a knowing look. “Quite attractive really. And very charming. I’d even say charismatic.”
Carrie thought instantly of Trey Hollinger. She fished out the engagement picture she’d shown Deputy Polk. He’d made a copy before she left the office and given her back the original. “Is this the man?” she asked anxiously.
Mrs. Petersen took the picture and gave it a quick perusal. “No, I don’t think so.” She took a second look, then glanced up at Carrie. “You certainly seem suspicious, Carrie. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“I just find it odd that he didn’t have a card. And I don’t know what more the police could want from me because I’ve already told them everything I know.”
“I didn’t let him into your apartment if you’re still worrying abou
t that,” Mrs. Petersen said primly.
“I know. And I’m sorry that I snapped at you on the phone. Like I said, all this business has me a little nervous.”
Mrs. Petersen accepted the explanation and nodded as she reached for the stack of mail on the hallway table. “That’s understandable. I’ve been a little on edge myself lately. Milo’s dog has been barking at all hours, and I keep imaging that someone’s outside snooping around. I haven’t been able to sleep a wink. It gives me the chills thinking about some creep skulking about the complex while we lie sleeping in our beds.” She shuddered. “Lots of crazies out there these days. A woman can’t be too careful.”
You have no idea, Carrie thought as she took her mail and said goodbye.
Letting herself into her apartment, she closed and locked the door, then stood looking around for a moment. She’d only been gone since Tuesday, but already her apartment had that funny, abandoned smell that came when all the doors and windows had been shut up too long.
Crossing over to her desk, she dumped the mail in a drawer, then picked up the phone and called the police department.
“I’d like to speak to Detective Raymond Davis,” she said, when her call was finally answered.
She half expected to be told that there was no one at the station by that name, but after a few seconds, the line clicked and a masculine voice said gruffly, “This is Davis.”
“Detective Raymond Davis?” Carrie asked in surprise.
“One and the same.”
“My name is Carrie Bishop. I live in the Brook Hollow apartments on Sea Crest Boulevard. My next-door neighbor said you came by looking for me yesterday.”
“Hold on.”
She heard him rifle through papers, then he said, “Right. You reported a break-in at your apartment on the sixteenth of this month.”
“Yes, I did. Do you have news about the case?” Carrie asked anxiously.
Secrets of His Own Page 12
