by B. J Daniels
The blade struck something, making a ringing sound that seemed too loud. Everyone back at the villa had to have heard. Worse, she started to imagine all kinds of things buried down there. She shuddered and carefully turned over another shovelful then another.
Something glittered in the dim light. She put down the shovel and, taking a chance, turned on the penlight and shone it down into the hole, her nerves on end.
What the heck? She bent closer. It appeared to be a pint jar full of something. She cringed, not wanting to pick it up and yet how could she not? As if she could just cover it back up now…
Gingerly she bent down and cautiously picked up the jar wondering why Odell would have gone to the trouble to bury it. In the glow of the penlight, she could now see that it was a small mayonnaise jar and it was full of nails and tacks, all swimming in a yellowish liquid. Talk about odd.
She tilted the jar, the contents rattling softly. This made no sense. Putting down the penlight, she tried the lid. It unscrewed easily. Bracing herself, she took a whiff and recoiled at the smell. It couldn't be! But she knew it was. The color. The smell.
She quickly screwed the lid back on and returned the jar to the hole. It didn't take long to rebury it. She tamped down the earth and then covered the spot with the palm fronds. Carrying the shovel, she walked back to the villa, watching to make sure no one had seen her. She felt like a fool.
After leaning the shovel against the wall where she'd found it, she returned to her apartment, washed her hands and changed back into her nightgown.
It wasn't until she climbed back into bed that she let herself think about what she'd discovered. Odell had filled a jar with sharp objects and urinated on them, then sealed up the jar and buried it outside the villa.
It was a talisman. Willa knew because of an old woman who lived down the road from her family's former farm when she was a kid. The woman lived alone and some people said she was a witch. She was always brewing up herbs and poultices. The one time Willa had been in the woman's house she'd seen books about spells and hexes—and ways to protect yourself against evil. One required burying ajar filled with sharp objects and urine in the backyard to keep you safe from anything—or anyone who might want to hurt you.
What did Odell Grady need to protect himself against? The evil of the house? Or the evil he was about to do?
Willa's head ached. She couldn't be sure if it was from a fitful night of sleep or being drugged. She'd been a fool to eat the sandwich, knowing that Odell Grady might be a hired killer who'd been sent to make sure she never testified against Landry Jones.
But would Landry Jones send someone to kill her? Or would he come himself?
The thought sent a shudder through her as she quickly dressed to meet the supply boat, reminding herself that if Odell was a hired killer, he certainly hadn't acted like one last night.
He could have drowned her. Or poisoned her. He had done neither. In fact, if he was telling the truth, he'd saved her from the pool. Wasn't it possible that she really had been walking in her sleep, dreaming about that torn-up photograph, thinking she saw a body at the bottom of the pool?
But that didn't explain why he'd buried a talisman against evil behind the villa. Hadn't Gator said people came to Cape Diablo because they were running from something? Maybe someone was after Odell Grady.
The sound of the boat motor grew louder. Hurriedly she opened her door on the beautiful Florida sunny day and took a deep breath of the salty air. On impulse, she decided to get rid of the trash on her way. She didn't want that stupid photograph in her apartment. The last thing she needed was another nightmare like last night.
But as she picked up the small trash basket, she saw with a start that it was empty. Had she taken it out last night?
Not that she remembered.
She glanced toward her empty easel. Had the scraps of photograph gone the way of the missing painting?
The boat motor grew even louder. She put down the trash basket, not even wanting to contemplate why whoever had taken her painting would have also taken the scraps of a photo of nothing more than a murky pool.
As she rushed down to the dock, the supply boat came into view. She was half hoping it was Gator. But as the boat came closer, she saw that the driver was a stranger and he wasn't alone. There were two others in the boat with him, both women. Visitors? Or new tenants?
"Good morning." Odell came up behind her, keeping a little distance between them as if wary of her after last night.
"Mornin'," she said, embarrassed. If he was telling the truth, he'd saved her from possibly drowning in that gross pool last night and she hadn't even thanked him. In fact, she'd been rude to him. "About last night…thanks."
"No problem."
At the memory she looked down at her wrist and saw the bruises where fingers had pressed into her flesh.
"Oh no. I hurt you," Odell said, sounding horrified as he grabbed her hand and turned her hand palm up to look at the bruises on her wrist. He grimaced. "I'm sorry. You were just pulling so hard. I couldn't let go and let you fall into that pool. In the state you were in I was afraid you would have drowned or at least died of something after being in that putrid water."
She had to smile. "I appreciate you not letting that happen." But the suspicious part of her mind still wondered if he was telling the truth.
"I'm just glad you were there," she said, reverting to the manners she'd been taught. "Thank you. I was so upset last night. I'm sorry if I seemed ungrateful."
He smiled. "I'm glad I could be of help. It must have been some nightmare."
She nodded.
Odell looked past her, his expression brightening. "Wow."
Just then the supply boat banged into the dock. Odell righted her as the dock rocked, then grabbed the bow of the boat to steady it. "Good morning," he said with much more enthusiasm than he'd shown her.
The greeting, she saw wasn't for the supply boat driver, who must be Bull. He was a younger version of Gator, although just as weather-beaten and no more friendly.
No, what had brightened Odell was the tall redheaded woman in short shorts and an even snugger red halter top. Thirty-something, the redhead could have been a model. The other passenger in the boat was apparently a teenager. The girl had the sullen Goth look going: her eyes rimmed with black, her nose, eyebrow and lower lip pierced, along with her ears, and her dyed black hair stringy and in her eyes. She wore black jeans and a black crocheted top that revealed a lot of sunless white skin and a black bra.
Willa's first thought was that the girl must be roasting in this heat dressed like that. She had a bored, annoyed expression as she ignored Odell's offer of a hand out and agilely stepped to the dock.
"You have got to be kidding," the teenager said as she looked toward the villa with disdain.
Meanwhile, the redhead smiled up at Odell as she took his hand and awkwardly stepped from the boat. The redhead stumbled into Odell. He caught her, his arms coming around her waist to steady her.
Willa rolled her eyes. The woman couldn't have been more obvious if she tried. And Odell… What a chivalrous guy, Willa thought, watching the little scene. First he'd rescued Willa last night. Or so he'd said. And now he was playing knight in armor to what appeared to be their new neighbor, if the three matching red suitcases were any indication.
The breeze picked up a few notes from an old classic song and Willa turned to glance back at the deteriorated Spanish villa. On the third floor, the elderly woman looked out, then the curtain fall back into place. Willa would bet the woman smelled of gardenias.
"Odell Grady," she heard Mr. Chivalrous say to the redhead. "Welcome to Cape Diablo."
The woman gave him a demure nod as she stepped out of his arms, but not far. "Henrietta LaFrance, but my friends all call me Henri." She favored Willa with a glance.
"This is Cara," Odell said. "Or do you prefer Willie?"
Henrietta cocked her head. "You look more like a Willie not a Cara."
So she'd he
ard. "Willie is fine." She knew she would never remember to answer to Cara anyway and now wished she hadn't mentioned the other name.
Odell hurried to tie up the boat and help unload all of the supplies, including the three large red suitcases and two large army-green duffel bags that apparently belonged to Goth Girl.
Mother and daughter? Henri didn't look like the mother type. Nor had Willa seen the two women exchange even a look, let alone a word. So did this mean that they had come out to rent the remaining two apartments?
It seemed odd that when Willa had called, all the apartments had been vacant and now were rented. Maybe that was normal. Still, it made her a little anxious. At least the two new renters were women, though Willa couldn't imagine what had brought either of them to Cape Diablo. Henri looked like a woman who would have been happier at Club Med. And Goth Girl didn't look like she'd be happy anywhere.
"I'll get that," Odell said when Willa reached for the box of supplies with her apartment number on it.
"I've got it." She softened her words. "Thanks, but it's not heavy. Anyway, Henrietta needs your help more than I do."
"Henri," the redhead corrected. "Thanks," she said as Odell attempted to carry all three of her heavy suitcases. Henri took the smaller one from him and they started toward the villa.
Goth Girl made a face at their backs, slung a duffel bag strap over each shoulder and followed at a distance.
Bull was watching Henri walk away. He hadn't said a word but what he was thinking was all too evident in his expression, especially the slack jaw.
"Is this customary?" she asked him.
He looked up at her as if seeing her for the first time. "What?"
"This many tenants."
He frowned. "People come and go. Right now they're all coming. Don't understand the attraction, though," he said, glancing toward the old villa. "That one won't stay long," he said, no doubt meaning the redhead. "Few do. Nothing to do here even if the place wasn't cursed."
"Cursed?" she asked, curious if he would tell her something different from what Odell had.
He didn't bother to look at her. "You really don't know? Ask Odell. He's writing a book about the place."
She frowned. That might explain then why he knew so much about Cape Diablo and the Santiago family.
Willa forced Bull to redirect his attention for a few minutes as she paid for her supplies and placed her order for the next week.
"How was your first night on the island?" Bull asked, shading his eyes to study her.
"Fine," she said a little too quickly.
He chuckled and pocketed her money and her list for next week's supplies. "I guess those dark circles under your eyes could be from staying up all night with Odell." He chuckled at his own joke. "He doesn't seem your type, though."
What did that mean?
Odell and Henri were headed back to the dock for the rest of the load.
"See you next week then." Bull seemed to hesitate. "I guess Gator told you that if anything happens that you decide you don't want to stay here, you can get Carlos, you know the old fisherman who lives in the boathouse, to take you to the mainland if you are in trouble. He's okay."
She wanted to ask him more, like what kind of "trouble" he might be referring to, and if Carlos was "okay," was Odell not? But Henri and Odell had returned to pick up the supply boxes. "Thanks" was all she said to Bull. At least there was a way off the island in a hurry if she needed it. And for some reason, both Bull and Gator seemed to think she might need it.
Feeling uneasy, she watched Bull take off in the boat. Both men seemed worried about her—and neither even knew just how much trouble she was in. Within seconds the boat disappeared into the line of green mangrove islands and was gone.
Henri and Odell came back down to the dock to help with the rest of the supply boxes. Both were talking as if they were old friends. Maybe they were, Willa thought. Maybe nothing was as it seemed. Was Odell writing a book about Cape Diablo and what had happened here? If so, why didn't he just say so? She watched Henri and Odell, both lost in conversation, pick up the remainder of their items from the dock and leave. Willa waited as she saw Goth Girl coming back down. The girl looked surlier than before, if that was possible.
"Hi, I'm Willie," Willa said, catching herself before she blurted out her real name. She held out her hand.
The girl just stared at it, but mumbled the word "Blossom." Goth Girl had one of those young faces that made it hard to gauge her age. The eyes had an old look, as if the girl had seen way too much during her short lifetime, Willa thought. Willa's heart went out to her. She knew firsthand what it was like to age almost overnight after witnessing something horrendous.
"Blossom. That's a unique name," Willa said, trying to be friendly and at the same time wondering what the girl was doing here. Blossom obviously wasn't pleased to be here.
"Blossom is my stage name," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Don't tell me you've never heard of me."
Willa wouldn't dare. She understood stage names. Like Cara was hers.
"You've never heard of me," Blossom accused with obvious contempt. "I've only like done a ton of films, plays and commercials. Are you one of those freaks who doesn't watch TV?"
"I've been too busy to watch much TV," Willa said, deciding befriending this girl had been a mistake. "So what brings you to Cape Diablo?"
Blossom made a face. "My agent, the bitch. She thinks I need a break. She just can't stand the idea of me having any fun. I'm just supposed to make money for her and my parents. They're in on it, too, the parasites. They all think my friends are dragging me down."
The girl looked even younger as tears welled in her eyes. "A week. I have to spend a frigging week here. It's blackmail. I should have them arrested. I can't wait until I'm old enough to dump them all."
Still feeling the effects of the headache she'd awakened with, Willa couldn't think of a thing to say as the girl spun around, picked up her supply box and headed for the villa.
After a moment, Willa picked up her own supply box from the dock again and followed. Avoiding the sour girl wouldn't be difficult and now that Odell had Henri to talk to, Willa wouldn't have anyone to bother her. She hurried back to her apartment, anxious to have some breakfast and start painting.
As she climbed the stairs, she could hear Henri's and Odell's voices in the apartment below her but couldn't make out the words. Blossom disappeared into a small apartment at the end under Willa's bedroom. Willa realized there were two small studios under her larger apartment. She'd been lucky to get the rental, it appeared.
After unpacking her food supplies, she made herself breakfast and went right to work painting. It surprised her sometimes how the paintings came to her. She worked furiously caught up in the process, hardly paying any attention to what began to appear on the canvas.
She wasn't sure how much time had passed when she heard voices in the courtyard. She stepped back from the easel to stare at what she'd painted. The villa, the walls cloaked in what appeared to be a bright red spray of bougainvillea. She stared at the painting, disturbed by the feeling it gave her.
Leaving the painting and the uneasy feeling it gave her, her thoughts returned to what Bull had said about Cape Diablo being cursed—and Odell writing a book about it. Unconsciously she massaged the bruises on her wrist.
She could still hear Odell downstairs with Henri. Glancing out the window, she saw that he'd left his door open. She could see a small desk with a typewriter right by the door. This might be her only chance.
Shocked by what she was about to do, Willa slipped out of her apartment and sneaked down the stairs and across the courtyard. She didn't look into the depths of the pool as she passed it. Nor did she turn to glance back until she reached the pool house and Odell's apartment.
The blinds in Henri's apartment were drawn. Willa could hear Henri laughing, as if she found Odell highly amusing. Which made Willa suspicious. But then she was suspicious of everyone, wasn't she?
; Taking another quick look back at Henri's apartment to make sure no one had come out or was watching through the blinds, Willa stepped through Odell's open doorway.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust in the cool darkness inside the apartment. She moved to the desk. Next to the old-fashioned manual typewriter was a ream of white paper that had yet to be opened. On the other side was a stack of newspapers.
Her heart jumped as she saw the newspapers. Some were yellowed with age and felt brittle in her fingers.
She read the headline on the top one. Entire Family Disappears From Cape Diablo.
So Bull had been right apparently.
As she set the newspaper gingerly back down, she saw a more recent headline on a paper below it.
All breath rushed from her. She lifted the older newspaper and pulled out the more recent one and gasped.
Next to the headline, Key Witness Missing In Murder Of Undercover Cop: Hunt On Following Safe House Attack, was her photo.
Chapter Seven
Willa grabbed the edge of the desk, her knees going weak as she stared at the photograph of her escaping the safe house. How had anyone gotten this? But she knew. It had to have been taken from one of the media helicopters.
She remembered one of the officers guarding her had called for backup just a few seconds after the safe house was attacked. The media must have picked up the call on the scanner.
She stared at the photo, her heart sinking. Vaguely she recalled looking up and seeing a helicopter overhead as she was running away. She'd thought it was the police and had kept running, acutely aware that the police couldn't protect her from the likes of Landry Jones or the men he worked for.
The shot of her had been blown up, the picture grainy, but even with her hair no longer long and straight and blond, she had no trouble recognizing herself.
Had Odell recognized her?
She tried not to panic. On impulse she took the section with her photo and the story about Zeke Hartung's murder, quickly folded it and stuffed it under the waistband of her shorts, covering it with her shirt.
The rest of the paper she would leave. She started to slide it back into the spot where she'd found it then noticed there was a laptop computer under his desk. Was the old manual typewriter just for show?
