by B. J Daniels
The graphic artist who'd mentioned Cape Diablo had also been an avid photographer. Was it possible this was one of her photos? Or maybe that she'd even stayed in this very room?
The photograph began to take shape. Several of the edge pieces were missing but she was starting to see an image. What was it she was looking at?
She laid down the last piece and felt a jolt It was a photo of the pool in the courtyard, the water murky and dark.
Funny, but the face that had spurred her curiosity enough to put the photograph back together in the first place seemed to have disappeared.
That was strange.
Carefully she turned the pieces of the photograph a hundred and eighty degrees and gasped.
A boy of about four was lying on the bottom of the pool in the deep end, the dark water like a mask over his face. There was no doubt that the child was dead.
Chapter Five
Abruptly Willa shoved back her chair and stumbled to her feet. Odell had said Andres Santiago's only son had died here. Drowned in the pool? But that had been more than thirty years ago.
Her hands were shaking. How long had this photo been in the wall? If the shot had been taken by her friend, then it would have been just weeks ago.
Suddenly scared, Willa looked at the photograph again.
The body on the bottom of the pool was gone. So was the little boy's terrified face.
She stared down at the photograph. Had she just imagined seeing the little boy? Could it have been a trick of the light? Or just her imagination after the terrible story Odell had told her?
She glanced toward the hole in the wall. But if it had just been a photograph of the murky pool, then why had someone torn the photograph into tiny pieces then hidden them in the wall?
Unable to suppress a shudder, Willa thought of the woman on the third floor and the light that had bled down from overhead as the woman moved around up there. Alma Garcia. She'd been the child's nanny, Willa thought as her stomach knotted. Had she been caring for the little boy the day he drowned?
Willa glanced again at the photo, telling herself it was just a photograph of the pool. Nothing more.
Shivering from a nonexistent cold breeze that seemed to have crept into the room, Willa scooped up the pieces of photograph and dumped them into the trash can. She couldn't keep seeing death everywhere she looked.
The curtains billowed in at the window, startling her. The tropical breeze was warm. The chill gone from the room again.
She stepped to the window, surprised how quickly it had gotten dark. Through the palms, she could see the lights of a boat far out on the dark horizon. Below her, shadows moved restlessly across the courtyard. She could smell salt in the air coming in from the Gulf, hear the breeze rustling the palm fronds.
The music had stopped. She realized the voices she'd heard were coming from the other side of the villa behind her. Moving to the back of her small apartment, she opened the window as quietly as possible.
Two people were talking beneath the window in a low murmur. She couldn't make out their words. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could however make out two figures in the shadow of the house.
As they moved, Willa saw that one was wearing an old-fashioned white gown like she'd seen the nanny wearing earlier while dancing. The other figure was that of a man. He too was older, his voice sounding gravelly.
He appeared to be trying to persuade the woman to go with him somewhere. After a moment they parted, the woman slipping through an archway back into the villa. The elderly man faded into the darkness and vegetation of the island as if he'd never existed.
The man must have been Carlos Lazarro, she realized who, according to Odell, lived in the old boathouse.
Willa closed the window and started to close the blinds as well, when something caught her eye. Movement. The old man? Had he come back? She watched someone moving through the vegetation, but it was too dark to make out who it was. Not the old man. The person moved too easily. Almost catlike, making little sound, the movement fluid and hinting of power. Whoever it was headed for the back of the villa.
Landry Jones.
Willa shook off the thought. Landry couldn't have found her. It had to be Odell. She moved to the door, unlocked it and stepped out onto the long balcony over the courtyard. Below her, the pool was cloudy and bottomless. She stared down into it, seeing nothing and glad of it.
As she glanced across the courtyard toward Odell's apartment, she saw that a single light shone through the cracks between the blinds in what she assumed was his living room. The window was open. She listened for the clack of an old manual typewriter, but there was no sound coming from his apartment.
But behind the house she could hear the purr of a motor. The generator that supplied the electricity. They'd had a generator on the farm for when bad weather took out their power lines. She knew the sound well growing up on the South Dakota prairie.
She moved away from her open apartment door, sneaking as quietly as possible along the balcony to the back wall of the villa to gaze out through the thick foliage in the direction where she'd seen the person going. No one. Could it have been an animal? Whatever it had been it certainly moved like one.
Another rhythmic sound drew her attention. She moved along the back of the second-story walkway away from her apartment. Through the trees she spotted a figure bent over digging a hole in the ground. The sound of the steady scrape of a shovel blade through the soil drifted on the night breeze.
As the figure straightened, she saw that it was Odell. Of course that was who she'd seen from the window, she thought with a wave of relief. He turned up another shovelful of dirt, stopped and looked back toward the villa as if he'd heard something. Or sensed her watching him.
She melted back into the dark shadows along the wall, hoping he hadn't seen her spying on him. What could he be digging up? Or was he burying something?
He resumed his digging but she stayed hidden, afraid he would look over his shoulder again and see her. The shoveling stopped, then resumed again.
She took a peek. He seemed to be covering up the hole now. She watched as he patted down the disturbed ground then covered it with several palm fronds.
As he started toward the villa, she flattened herself against the wall, not daring to move. She feared he would see her even in the dark shadows because of the light-colored nightshirt she wore. But he didn't look up in her direction. He seemed intent on hurrying back to his apartment.
She watched him come through an archway almost hidden by vegetation and keep to the shadows, not making a sound as he entered his apartment. He no longer had the shovel. Nor was he carrying anything she could see.
Willa stood there until he'd closed his apartment door. Another light came on deeper in the apartment, then went out. What was all that about?
Did she even want to know? For just an instant, she thought about sneaking down there and finding out. Wouldn't she sleep better if she did?
Yeah, right.
She shivered as she made her way back to her open apartment door. Slipping inside, she locked the door behind her.
Whatever it was Odell had dug up or buried, it was none of her business. Though it was odd. And even a little chilling.
As she padded barefoot toward her bedroom she caught an unfamiliar scent in the air and slowed. Perfume? It smelled like…gardenias? Had someone been in her apartment? She'd foolishly left the door wide open and hadn't been paying any attention during the time she'd been watching Odell.
Deeper into the apartment, the scent grew stronger then faded all together as if she'd only imagined it. Like she'd imagined the little boy's face in the photo?
She stopped in the middle of her bedroom. Her pulse jumped, her heart leaping to her throat. Someone had been in her apartment. She hadn't imagined the scent of gardenias and what she saw—or in this case didn't see.
Her easel stood empty.
The painting she'd done of Landry Jones and the murder was gone.
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br /> Trembling, Willa removed the shade from the lamp on the table next to the bed and hefting the base, quickly searched the small apartment to make sure the thief wasn't still there.
The apartment was small with few places to hide. Once she'd checked the bathroom and the closet and under the bed, that didn't leave much of a hiding place.
But still she moved the couch out away from the wall to look behind it, feeling foolish. Why would someone be hiding in the apartment after taking the painting? But why would anyone come into her apartment and take an unfinished painting to begin with?
Once she was sure there was no one lurking in the apartment, she put the lamp back beside her bed, the shade on again and turned on all the lights.
Her stomach felt queasy and she remembered the sandwich Odell had given her. The supply boat wouldn't be coming until tomorrow morning with her groceries.
She had bought a box of granola bars before she'd met Gator at the dock and several bottles of water. She took the water from her large purse, opened one and put the other in the fridge. Too antsy to sit, she ate the sandwich and one of the bars standing up.
She felt a bit better but still nervous as she listened to the sounds of the night and the creaks and groans of the old villa and thought of the story about the Santiago family. Overhead, she heard footfalls on the floor as if someone was creeping around up there, then silence.
On impulse, she checked the hole behind the couch. No light shone from the floor above. She slid the couch back, double-checked the door to make sure it was locked, then made sure all the windows were closed and locked before hooking a chair under the doorknob as an extra precaution before going to bed.
As exhausted as she was, she thought sleep would elude her, especially given that someone had taken the disturbing painting she'd planned to paint over in the morning. Who? And why? Alma Garcia? The same person who'd cut the tape on the painting supply box while it was on the dock? Maybe the poor old soul had a problem with taking things. Willa would have to keep her door locked. And keep an eye on the old woman.
And Odell. What had he buried? Or dug up? She knew she would have to find out. She thought about going out there now but suddenly she couldn't keep her eyes open. Sleep dragged her down as if she'd been drugged.
She tried to fight it, suddenly afraid that Odell had put something in the sandwich. She felt as if she were underwater desperately trying to swim to the surface. She thought she heard a sound at her door then someone calling her name but then she went under and there was nothing but blackness.
In the dream the water was dark. She stood on the edge of the pool. There was something just below the surface. She could almost make out what it was. She leaned closer.
A face began to take shape. The face of a little boy like the one she'd seen in the photograph except the boy seemed to be fighting to save himself, as if he was being held under. There was terror in his eyes and he was gasping.
Suddenly the child's face floated to the surface. Not the face of a little boy but the bloated, distended face of a monster, the decomposed skin slipping off, the face literally dissolving before her eyes.
Willa screamed and lurched backward but the child's hand came out of the fetid water and grabbed her wrist, pulling her toward the pool as if to drag her to the bottom with him.
Frantically she fought to free herself but the grip on her wrist was like a steel band. She screamed again as she was dragged to the lip of the pool, what was left of the child's face grinning grotesquely up at her.
"Hey! It's me!"
Suddenly her eyes flew open and she fell backward. Odell grabbed her and pulled her back from the edge of the pool. She struck out at him, still deep in the nightmare.
"Hey, what's wrong with you?"
He held her at arm's length until her eyes focused on him, then he let go. She stumbled back from him, confused and shaking with terror.
"Are you all right?"
She blinked and looked around, memory of where she was slowly coming back to her. "How did I get down here?"
He shook his head. "Oh, man, were you sleepwalking?"
Her gaze flickered over the moonlit courtyard. Still in the grip of the dream, she stared at the dark water of the pool, until she finally pulled her gaze away and looked at Odell. He was wearing only pajama bottoms, his chest and feet bare, hair mussed as if he'd just woken up.
"I heard a scream and I came running out…" He was staring at her, looking almost as scared of her as she was of him. "That was really creepy. I've never seen anyone sleepwalking before. You were looking right at me and yet you didn't seem to be seeing me at all. If I hadn't grabbed you, you looked like you were going to fall into the deep end of the pool."
She tried to make sense of what he was saying. "It was only a dream?"
He chuckled, looking relieved that she was no longer freaking. "More like a nightmare from the way you were screaming."
It had been so real. She shot a glance toward the stagnant water of the pool again and shuddered, hugging her bare arms. She glanced down and saw that her feet were bare and realized she was wearing only her nightshirt. Although it covered her from her shoulders to her knees, she felt half-naked in the hot humid night air with this man.
She remembered the sandwich and the feeling that she'd been drugged. Was it possible he'd put something in the sandwich to make her hallucinate? But why would he do that? If he'd been sent here to kill her, why not just drown her in the pool get it over with? Why save her?
"Are you sure you're all right?" Odell asked.
She nodded, realizing that the last time she'd gotten even a little close to a stranger had colored her thinking. She used to be so trusting. But Landry Jones had changed all that.
Thoughts of what could have happened if she'd gotten into the car with Landry that night skittered past. Another shudder ran through her as she stepped farther away from Odell.
"If you're all right, I'm going back to bed," he said, seeing her move away from him. He seemed irritated. After all, according to him, he'd just saved her.
She nodded and stumbled backward to the stairs, groping with one hand behind her as if blind, even though an almost full moon and a canopy of stars now lit the courtyard.
Odell said nothing, just watched her until she disappeared up the steps and through the open door of her apartment. She closed the door, locked it and moved to the window to peer through the blinds down on the courtyard and the pool. Had it really only been a nightmare?
Odell was still standing by the pool looking up at her apartment.
She retreated from the window, letting the blind fall back into place. She couldn't quit shaking. She hadn't walked in her sleep since she was a child.
Shuddering again at the memory of the child's face in the water, she hurried to turn on a lamp, sending the darkness skittering back to the far corners of the apartment. But no light could take away the chill the nightmare had left behind. Or rid her of the feeling that it hadn't been a dream at all.
The hand coming out of the pool had been Andres Santiago's dead son grabbing her—
Almost as if still asleep, she slowly looked down at her left wrist, not realizing until that moment that she'd been rubbing it.
A stifled cry escaped her lips. The skin was chafed red where something—someone—had grabbed her wrist, the skin already starting to bruise.
Chapter Six
Willa woke to the sound of a boat motor. She bolted upright in bed, momentarily confused. All the lights were on in her apartment and she realized she'd left them on all night. She was on top of the covers where she must have lain once she'd returned to her apartment last night.
Her memory was fuzzy. Had she dreamt all of it, including waking up by the pool? She looked down at her wrist, shocked again to see distinct bruises in the shape of fingertips. And calluses on her palms from shoveling.
She groaned. Some of it had definitely been real.
Last night she knew she wouldn't be able to get back
to sleep until she found out if Odell had buried something behind the villa.
She'd waited until his lights went out, and then giving another thirty minutes to make sure everything was quiet in the villa, she dressed and sneaked down.
As she passed the pool, she hadn't dared look into the water as if it might cast a spell on her. Or even worse, that she might see the little boy and he might reach for her again as he'd done in the nightmare.
Past the pool, she'd slipped through the arch, just as Odell had done earlier. The moon had sent silver shafts of light down through the palms and dense vegetation close to the villa. Just as she'd suspected, Odell had left the shovel just outside the courtyard leaning against the wall.
Silently she took it and gazed into the darkness under the trees for the spot where she'd seen him digging. It was harder to find from this angle. But she was good with directions. It went with being raised in South Dakota. A person could get lost on the prairie with no trees or even a knoll to use as a marker.
A few yards from the villa, the darkness settled over her like a shroud. She stumbled to the spot and turned to look back at the villa.
No lights shone. Moonlight played along the edge of the back wall. She saw no dark figure watching her, heard nothing as she turned back to the spot and removed the palm fronds Odell had used to cover it.
The earth had obviously been turned here. She was more than having second thoughts as she took the shovel in her hands and began to dig. While she'd brought the penlight, she didn't want to use it unless she absolutely had to, fearing that the light might be seen from the villa. The last thing she needed was an audience for what she suspected would be one of her more foolish acts.
She tried to imagine what her friends back in South Dakota would say if they could see her now. Worse, her mother. Better to think about that instead of what she might be digging up.
