by B. J Daniels
"Okay," Willa said, and with the gun still at her side started across the courtyard toward Odell's open doorway. She listened for the sound of a boat, praying that Landry would return before she reached Odell's apartment.
She saw no one, heard no boat motor. And Landry should have been back by now.
Willa glanced back. Henri now stood in her apartment doorway looking scared.
"Stay there," Willa said unnecessarily to Henri as she neared Odell's open doorway. "Odell?" she called. "Odell?"
At the door she stopped, took a breath and let it out slowly, her fingers tightening on the grip of the gun. With her free hand, she pushed the door open with one finger. It swung in.
The smell of blood hit her first.
The second thing was Odell lying on the floor, his typewriter next to his head. Henri was right. There was blood everywhere.
Willa stepped in trying to ignore the blood as she hurried to check Odell's wrist for a pulse. She could see that the side of his head had been smashed in and there was blood on the typewriter and the sheet of paper was sticking out of it. Like Henri, she fainted at the sight of blood under normal circumstances.
She had just touched his wrist and found what she'd expected—no pulse—when the typed words came into focus. She drew her hand back as she read the byline: Odell Grady, St. Petersburg Times Investigative Reporter.
Below it was the beginning of a newspaper story about her and Landry. No wonder Odell Grady had to have a paper every day. A news junkie, huh?
A sound startled her. She couldn't tell where it had come from. But it had sounded like hurried movement. Her gaze flicked to the cool shadows at the back of the apartment. The killer wouldn't be foolish enough to hide in here. After Henri had found Odell and come for help, the killer would have had plenty of time to get out. Unless, of course, he was waiting for Willa.
She heard the sound again, so close it made the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She swung around as a hand dropped to her shoulder. She screamed, her hand tightening on the gun, her finger going to the trigger.
"Easy, darlin', it's me," Landry said as he caught the gun before she could turn and fire.
He looked past her to where Odell Grady was sprawled on the floor, clearly dead. "Was it something he said?"
She buried her face in Landry's chest. He put his arms around her, holding her tight.
"I didn't hear the boat."
"My boat is gone and the old fisherman hasn't returned."
She drew back to stare in shock and fear at him.
"Not to worry. We're getting out of here," he said as he drew her out of Odell's apartment and into the courtyard. "Where are Henri and Blossom?"
"Henri's the one who found Odell. She's in her apartment. No one has seen Blossom since she was talking to Bull earlier." Willa seemed to choke on a sob. "Odell lied. He was a newspaper reporter. He was doing a story on us."
Landry heard the panic rising in her voice. "Okay," he said, sounding much calmer than he felt. "Let's go get Henri and see if we can find Blossom."
She nodded as he pocketed her gun and they started across the courtyard toward Henri's apartment.
"Her door's closed," Willa said, slowing. "When I left her it was open. She was standing in the doorway, waiting for me."
Landry felt his pulse jump.
"She said she fainted at the sight of blood."
He wondered why Willa hadn't. Because she could be strong when she had to be. He was counting on that.
There was no light coming from inside Henri's apartment and the storm had snuffed out the sun, filling the courtyard with a kind of ominous darkness.
Landry tapped at Henri's door, realizing he couldn't hear the power generator. The only light in any of the apartments was one on the third floor. An old oil lamp, he thought, watching the light flicker.
Someone had shut down the generator. Or forgot to refill it with gas. Either way, it didn't bode well, given that Odell Grady had been murdered and it appeared Henri was now missing. He didn't even want to think about what had happened to Blossom.
He tapped again. No answer.
"She wouldn't have left, Landry," Willa cried, grabbing his arm. "She was upset and scared and she said she would wait."
Right. Unless she killed Odell and Blossom.
He tried the knob. It was unlocked. Pushing open the door, he took the flashlight from his pocket and shone it into the room. "Henri?"
No answer but then he hadn't expected one.
The apartment was smaller than Willa's, the bath-room door standing open, the shower curtain pulled back exposing an empty shall. Henri was gone.
"Let's try Blossom's." He knew she wasn't going to answer the door but he could hope.
He knocked, then tried the knob. Also unlocked. He was starting to see a pattern here. He pushed open the door and shone the flashlight in. The light bobbed around the small apartment with the same results. Empty.
"Okay," he said seeing the fear in Willa's eyes. "Where is the disk?"
"In my pocket. I thought it would be safer on me."
He smiled down at her. "Good." As he glanced toward the third floor, he couldn't help but recall the noise he'd heard out in the woods. Someone had followed him back here.
Through the third-floor window he saw a shape cross in front of the lantern light. "I think we'd better pay a visit to the old gal upstairs," he said, and handed her back the gun he'd taken from her earlier. "Just in case."
Willa didn't like the stormy darkness that had settled over the villa. Or the fact that Landry had given her a weapon. She could see her own fears mirrored in his face as the wind whipped the tops of the palms in a low howl.
Landry thought Henri and Blossom were dead. She had seen it in his expression when he'd checked their apartments.
She glanced up the stairs. It was the last place she wanted to go. But she also knew that Landry wasn't about to leave her alone while he checked on the old woman. Look what had happened when she'd left Henri alone.
Willa had seen someone upstairs—just a dark shape silhouetted against the lantern light for an instant. The old woman? Was it possible Henri had gone up there? Maybe Blossom, too.
As she started up the stairs, Willa couldn't shake the feeling that going up there was a mistake. Someone could be waiting for them. What if it was the old woman? With all that digging for treasure, Alma could be stronger than any of them suspected. Strong enough to lift an ancient manual typewriter and kill Odell.
At Alma's door, Landry tapped softly. No answer. He tapped again. Willa thought she could hear music playing faintly inside the apartment.
Landry tried the knob. The door swung open and Willa was hit with an old musty smell. But what surprised her were the furnishings. It was as if time had stopped in this room thirty years ago.
"Alma?" Landry called. No answer. Willa felt her stomach clench as she and Landry moved through the living room deeper into the apartment toward the sound of the music. Alma must be in the area over Willa's apartment. She could see a closed door at the end of the room. The music seemed to be coming from behind there.
"Wait," Landry whispered.
She had reached for the knob on the closed door, but when she turned she saw that Landry had stopped in front of a painting on the wall.
Her unfinished painting! The one stolen from her apartment.
Landry was frowning at the painting, no doubt rocketed back to the night he killed his partner, Zeke Hartung.
Willa closed her hand over the knob to the closed door just before she heard the rustle of fabric off to her right and swung her head in the direction of the archway into the kitchen.
Alma Garcia came flying out of the kitchen, a butcher knife clutched in her fist, her eyes wide and wild.
Willa had just enough time to jump to the side as the woman rushed her. She caught a glimpse of Landry's surprise as the woman spun on her heel, more agile than Willa would have expected, given her apparent age.
Alma lu
nged for Willa again, but Willa managed to get one of the living room chairs between her and the knife-wielding woman. She could see that the older woman's hands were shaking, the knife blade flickering in the light from the oil lamp.
Landry grabbed Alma from behind. He said something to Alma in Spanish. The knife fell to the floor and he kicked it toward Willa who quickly picked it up, her heart in her throat.
The older woman's eyes filled with tears. She shook her head and answered him in English. "I will never leave you. Kill me so mat my spirit might remain here always."
Landry spoke again in Spanish, cajoling. Anna began to cry. He let go of the older woman.
"Come on. We'll have to leave her," he said. "Henri and Blossom aren't here."
Willa moved to the door, keeping an eye on the woman and vice versa. She put the knife down as she went out the door, the scent of another time wafting out as Landry closed the door.
They went back down to Willa's apartment. Landry checked to make sure they were alone before he locked the door.
"You don't think Alma killed…"
He shook his head.
She saw something in his expression and felt her stomach lurch. "What aren't you telling me?"
"I found that crocheted black top of Blossom's floating in the water by the old fisherman's shack."
Willa covered her mouth with her hand. "Henri?"
"At this point, I'd say there's a good chance she's our killer."
Willa shivered. Outside her window, the wind howled, the palm trees slapping the side of the house, the air inside the apartment seeming too thick to breathe. They were on an island, trapped with a killer. "What do we do now?" she asked in a whisper.
He cocked his head and went to the window, opening it. The wind blew in, making the blinds flap. "That sounds like the old fisherman's boat motor."
"I don't hear anything," she said, trying to listen over the wind.
"Carlos didn't come in at the boathouse. The wind is carrying the sound from the cove. With the storm getting worse, he would be smart enough not to try to get back around the island by boat."
Fear jolted through her. "But that's exactly what you're planning to do. Let me go with you."
He shook his head, grinning. "Me and boats are like that," he said, crossing his fingers and holding them in front of her. "Not to worry, I'll be back before you know it."
She looked at Landry, suddenly even more afraid because she knew what he was thinking. "Henri will be waiting for us knowing, we're trying to get off the island. That's why you won't let me go with you."
He brushed cool fingers over her cheek, his gaze locked with hers. "I want you to stay here. Lock the door. And if anyone, and I mean anyone tries to get in, shoot them." He released her hands to pick up the gun from where she'd set it down, and he pressed it into her palm.
"Landry—"
He cut her words off with a kiss. Pulling back he gave her a grin. "I'll be back. I can't bear the thought of all those other men competing with me if I don't."
She couldn't help but smile. She leaned into him, aching for him. Right now she just wanted him to hold her and never let her go but she was smart enough to know their only chance was to get off the island. Everyone was dead except a killer, a crazy old woman and a possibly equally demented old fisherman. Neither would be of any help.
She and Landry were on their own against— That was just it. They had no idea what they were up against.
Landry let go of her and moved to the door. He checked out the window first. The sky was dark with the storm. She could hear the roar of the Gulf as he opened the door. Past him, darkness pooled in the corners of the courtyard.
Henri could be out there anywhere.
Landry glanced back at her. What she saw in his eyes tore at her heart. But before she could say a word, he was out the door, locking it behind him.
She stood in the middle of the room feeling bereft, listening for…what? Gunfire? That pop she'd become so familiar with? A grunt? A cry?
She could hear nothing over the wind as it rattled the windows and rain began to pelt the glass. Overhead she heard the squeak of floorboards and froze.
Landry moved through the rain and stormy darkness, quiet as a cat. If he didn't make it back to the villa he feared Willa wouldn't stand a chance. Whoever had killed the others would wait her out. The supply boat wasn't scheduled to come back for days. There would be no one on the island who could help her because unless Landry missed his guess, the old fisherman and his boat would disappear, as well.
The wind groaned in the trees overhead, the canopy swaying above him. He could hear the rain hitting the leaves, but couldn't feel it except through the occasional hole in the canopy. It was dark under the storm and trees, the air thick and humid, buzzing with mosquitoes.
He tried to see ahead, to listen for the sound of a killer stalking him. He could hear nothing but the storm and see nothing in the darkness that lay ahead.
Moving swiftly, he ran along the trail, his gun drawn. He was surprised when he reached the cove and saw that the boat was pulled up on the beach. No sign of Carlos.
Landry made a run through the driving rain to the boat, he pushed it out, jumped in and started the motor.
Carlos appeared out of the dense vegetation. He seemed confused. He didn't go for a gun. Nor did anyone else appear. No bullets whizzed past as Landry turned the boat out into the huge waves that now swelled in the cove. It would be a rough trip around to the pier. An even rougher trip up the coast once he had Willa.
And the disk.
For a while, he'd almost forgotten about it.
Rain soaked him, the driving wind chilled him. He hit a large wave and spray cascaded over him, salty and cold. He rounded the end of the island and looked back.
He could see no one as he pointed the boat toward the first channel marker. Getting the boat had almost seemed too easy. So why hadn't Henri tried to stop him? His fear spiked at the obvious answer.
Because Henri had her sights set on someone else.
The person who had the disk. Willa.
Chapter Fifteen
The floor overhead groaned. Willa could hear someone moving around on the floor above her. She stared upward, her heart pounding.
Something was different. When Alma had been up there moving around, the floor hadn't groaned like this.
Willa stumbled over to the table where she'd put down the gun. She picked it up, holding it in front of her as she stared at the ceiling.
Someone was up there. Not the old woman. Someone heavier. The floor groaned. She could hear the footfalls reverse their path across the floor and then there was silence.
Willa jumped as something crashed into the door behind her. She heard a cry then the faint words, "Help me."
Her heart leapt to her throat as she moved to the door. "Who's there?"
"Help me."
She reached for the doorknob, remembering Landry's admonition not to open the door no matter what.
Hurrying to the window, she looked out. Blossom lay at her door. She was soaked to the skin, wearing nothing but a black bra and black jeans, barefoot, holding her hand to her side, bleeding. The gun bumped against the window.
Blossom looked up at her, pleading in her gaze as she mouthed, "Help me."
Willa looked past Blossom at the storm-whipped courtyard, the rain sheeting down, and made the only decision she could. She put down the gun and hurriedly opened the door.
Blossom hadn't moved, her eyes closed and for one horrible moment, Willa thought the girl was dead.
"Blossom!" She knelt at the girl's side, glancing at the balcony, afraid Henri would appear out of the rain.
Blossom's eyes fluttered. Willa grabbed Blossom by the feet and pulled her into the apartment, slamming the door and locking it behind them.
"Henri," Blossom said, her voice faint.
Willa knelt again beside the girl. "How badly are you hurt?"
"Stabbed," she whispered, and Willa saw that
Blossom had both of her hands clutching her side.
"I'll get the first-aid kit." Willa ran into the bathroom and found the kit where Landry had used it. It was a small metal six-inch square can her mother had sent with her when she'd left home. Her mother had personally stocked it with items she feared her daughter might someday need.
As she turned, she heard a sound as if Blossom had bumped into the kitchen table. The table where Willa had left the gun.
On impulse, she slipped the disk from her pocket and hid it in the bathroom in a small hole behind the toilet.
Then she turned and stepped out of the bathroom, the first-aid kit in her hands.
Blossom stood at the table, the gun in her hands. A red stain ran down her bare skin where the stab wound should have been.
Willa looked from the woman's white unmarked skin to the gun pointing at her and finally met Blossom's gaze.
It was the first time she'd seen those eyes without the black coils of hair covering most of her face.
She was older than she had appeared before and the hand holding the gun was strong and sure.
"Where is Henri?" Willa asked, fear making her throat tight and dry. She was still holding the first-aid kit.
Blossom didn't seem to notice. Nor did she seem to hear Willa's question. She appeared to be listening, as if she heard—
Willa froze as she picked up the sound of a boat motor. Landry! He was headed for the dock.
"What do you want?"
Blossom focused on her and smiled. "Don't screw with me. I want the disk."
Willa looked down at the first-aid kit in her hands. She could hear the boat motor growing louder. She couldn't let Landry walk into a trap. Nor could she give up the disk.
"So all of that stuff about you being a star was just bunk?" she asked as she stepped a little closer to Blossom.
Goth Girl smiled. "Gotta admit I am one hell of an actress."
"You work for Freddy Delgado?"
Blossom laughed. "Yeah, right."
Willa was close enough that she could have gone for the gun. If she'd been crazy. "Well, you're not a cop."
