“Yeah! I wanted to find you today and tell you, Gideon. I wanted to tell you about the murder up at Ringling. I saw the cops up there this morning, investigating. I even saw the blood on the ground!”
“You did, did you?”
Vincent’s head bobbed, his mind running ahead. It was too bad the jewelry guy was killed, but there were other jewelers who would want to buy the ring.
Gideon sat down at the kitchen table and beckoned Vincent to take the wooden chair across from him. “Listen, son, I should have told you this sooner. I think we have to turn the ring over to the police.”
The boy’s face fell. “No way.”
“Yes,” the old man said firmly. “You have to give it to the cops, Vincent. It could help them figure out who that hand belongs to.”
“But they already know who it belongs to,” Vincent announced triumphantly. “I saw it on the news just now. It was some lady’s hand who lived right here in Sarasota.”
“Since when do you watch the news so much?” Gideon asked skeptically.
“Since yesterday. I wanted to see if they used my picture again. And they did, Gideon. They showed me again. And they had a picture of the lady. So you see? The police don’t need the ring. They already know whose hand it was.”
Gideon got up from the table and opened the refrigerator, considering what Vincent had told him as he poured himself a glass of iced tea from a plastic pitcher. “Want one?” he offered.
The boy’s face scrunched up. “Yuck. Besides, I got to get home. I have to watch my brother and my mom’s going to kill me. I’m late.”
Vincent wiggled uncomfortably in his chair. He knew he wouldn’t be able to wait until he got home. “I have to hit the can before I go.”
HE HAD parked the car a couple of doors down from the driveway that the Plymouth had pulled into and waited a few minutes while he considered how to go about what he needed to do. The old coot looked strong for someone his age, but he could definitely take him on. He patted the bulge in his pants pocket.
It was still daylight, but he didn’t think he had to wait until dark. Though the surrounding houses were relatively close together, there was lots of overgrown vegetation between them. He got out of the car and walked toward the house, turning with confidence into the driveway. If anyone was watching, it would only arouse suspicion if he looked like he was skulking.
A bike was propped against the side of the ranch, but he didn’t think anything of it. Through the screen door, he could see the old man sitting at the table with his back to the porch.
WHAT EXCUSE was he going to give his mother this time? Vincent wondered as he sat in the bathroom. He dreaded going home. He didn’t want to face his mother’s wrath and he didn’t want to spend another night with Mark and that awful pounding treatment. It wasn’t fair. Mom had already worked the lunch shift, and now she had to cover the evening shift, too. So he got stuck.
Resigned to facing his destiny, Vincent pulled at the roll of toilet paper. He was reaching for the toilet handle when he heard voices from the other side of the closed door.
“WHO ARE you? And what the hell do you want?” Gideon demanded, deliberately raising his voice, hoping that Vincent would hear him, praying the boy wouldn’t come out of the bathroom.
“Where is it? I want that ring.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Cut the crap, old man. You have the ring and I want it. Now.”
Gideon stared at the cold steel blade that was pointed in his direction. He should turn over the ring. It wasn’t worth getting killed for. He wanted to get this guy out of the house before Vincent came back. Gideon rose from his chair, cringing as he thought he heard the bathroom door open.
The intruder heard it, too.
In the split second that the intruder turned to look in the direction of the noise, Gideon lunged.
VINCENT SLAMMED and locked the bathroom door.
His heart pounding against his chest wall, he climbed into the bathtub and yanked desperately at the small window. The frame was stuck, swollen by the humidity.
Violent banging reverberated from the other side of the bathroom door.
With all his might, Vincent pushed at the window. It gave slightly.
Another push, and then another, as the pounding on the door grew louder.
FINALLY, THE door gave, crashing into the tiny bathroom.
The intruder pulled back the plastic shower curtain.
The window was open. But only enough for a child or a midget to slip through.
CHAPTER 38
In her room at the hotel, Cassie caught the local news broadcast. Quite a hopping city, Sarasota, she thought as she watched the opening story about the murder of the jeweler Leslie Sebastien.
“And we have a follow-up on the story we reported about the hand that was found on Siesta Beach yesterday,” continued the local anchorman. “Sheriff’s Department officials say that a fingerprint identifies the hand as that of twenty-five-year-old Merilee Quiñones of Sarasota. There are reports that Ms. Quiñones was a performer in adult entertainment videos. Police are continuing their investigation.”
Cassie’s mind instantly snapped back to the overheard conversation at the Ringling party. Merilee was not a common name. Was it possible that the missing Merilee those three at the bar were talking about last night, the Merilee who was claimed to have written the song being played by one of the biggest boy bands in the country, was the same woman whose hand had washed up on the beach? Now this was a story New York might be interested in. The porno angle was also intriguing. It was worth checking out. And what, if anything, did Merilee Quiñones and the murdered jeweler have to do with each other?
She listened to the rest of the local news, paying special attention to the weather report, followed by the half-hour network broadcast, watching with frustration as the closing credits of the KEY Evening Headlines finally rolled.
A full day of shooting and all that aired on the program was twenty seconds of video showing shoppers pulling bottled water and supplies off the grocery store shelves. The anchorwoman, Eliza Blake, voiced over the footage, explaining to the audience only that Floridians in the western part of the state were preparing for Giselle. What a waste of a day’s work.
She dialed her home in Virginia and got Jim’s voice on the answering machine.
“Hi, it’s me. Just checking in to see how you are up there. Love and miss you, Hannah.” With a melancholy feeling, she hung up the phone. Where were they? Out for a little dinner with Mrs. Cox?
Cassie pulled back the drapes from the windowed wall and looked over to the marina. There were at least two hours until the sun set, yet the sky was darkening ominously over the Gulf. The leaves of the palm trees rustled in the stiffening breeze. Boats were rocking in the water.
Leroy had blown off her suggestion to shoot at the marina today, but tomorrow she was going to insist they go and interview Jerry Dean and any owners that were over there worrying about their boats. She had to get more assertive and, yes, demanding with Leroy. She was the correspondent, after all. It was her face and name that went on the product, not his. But Cassie had felt so beaten down over these past months that she hadn’t had the energy or the inclination to set him straight. In fact, she had been relieved to let him call the shots. That couldn’t go on.
Resolved, Cassie turned from the window to call her producer, but the phone rang before she could pick up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Miss Sheridan?”
“Speaking.”
“There’s a young man down here in the lobby who would like to speak with you. His name is Vincent Bayler.”
Cassie’s interest was piqued. He was a little devil, that one. What did he want?
“Tell him I’ll be right down.” It was safer to meet him in the lobby than run the risk of someone calling foul if she had the boy come up to her room.
CHAPTER 39
Charles and Etta Chambers wante
d to be prepared, and they were doing everything the manual told them to do. Charles had packed up all their important papers and wrapped Etta’s jewelry, storing it in the empty oven. He had moved the lounge chairs from the lanai into the living room while Etta packed a duffel bag with dry clothes and covered the computer and lamps with plastic bags. They would wait until the evacuation order actually came before covering the television. Until then the TV was their lifeline.
“Honey, you should be taking it easy after your surgery. I can do this,” said Charles.
“I’m fine and it’s all done.” She patted the sofa cushion beside her. “Come, sit and watch the news with me.”
“I don’t think I have enough money. I’m going to the ATM,” Charles declared, suddenly remembering one of the hurricane preparation instructions.
“Not now, dear. You can go in the morning.”
“In the morning they might be out of money. I’ll be right back.”
Alone, Etta waited for the news to begin. She leaned forward at the opening story. That poor Mr. Sebastien. It was so sad.
But the follow-up report upset her even more. The hand that the cute boy had found on the beach yesterday morning belonged to a pornography actress.
Oh, my, she thought. Wait until I tell Charles. Etta went to the kitchen to pour herself a drink, really questioning their decision to move down here.
CHAPTER 40
Vincent paced up and down, keeping a darting watch between the elevator doors and his bike outside the lobby window. He had pedaled as fast as he could from Gideon’s to the hotel, and his face was flushed and grimy.
He didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t want to go to his mother. She would be furious with him, he was sure of it. If he had turned over the ring in the first place, none of this would have happened.
The child was terrified.
He had gone too far this time, he thought, the anxiety mushrooming in his thin chest. Was Gideon all right? He should’ve stopped and called an ambulance or something, but he’d just ridden as fast and hard as he could to get away, coming here to the lady reporter from big-time television. She’d know what to do far better than his mother would.
Trust your instincts, Cassie had said this morning. He hoped his instincts were right in coming here.
As the elevator doors slid open, Vincent suddenly remembered. Mark. He was supposed to be watching Mark.
THE 7-ELEVEN had a telephone book, and the killer flipped through its worn pages. Barnes, Bates, Baxter . . . Bayler. He ripped out the page and closed the phone book.
Though he had pulled apart the old guy’s ramshackle house, he hadn’t found what he was looking for. Maybe the kid had the ring. The kid on the news who was identified as Vincent Bayler. And maybe that same kid had been the one hiding in the bathroom.
Suddenly ravenous, he grabbed a blueberry muffin from the display case, poured himself a cherry Slurpee, and made his way to the checkout counter. He drew out his wallet to pay.
“How do I get to Calle de Peru?” he asked, pulling at his expertly applied beard.
“CALM DOWN. Calm down, Vincent,” urged Cassie. “The first thing we have to do is call the police.”
He didn’t even try to talk her out of it. He knew she was right. Tears stung his eyes as he thought of poor Gideon, imagining his friend lying on the kitchen floor. He pictured a pool of blood surrounding a dead body, just like on television. But this wasn’t make-believe, or even a bad dream.
Vincent gave Cassie Gideon’s street address and listened as she made the call on the lobby phone. He couldn’t imagine his mother talking to the police as matter-of-factly and calmly as Cassie did. As she held the phone to her ear, she mimed writing on a piece of paper and pointed to the front desk. Vincent went over and retrieved a pen and pad from the receptionist.
The reporter in Cassie scribbled down the name of the sheriff’s deputy she spoke to and made a notation of the time. Next she picked up the house phone and punched a three-digit number. “Leroy, it’s Cassie. I want to use the crew car.”
SHE WAS already over an hour late, and Wendy couldn’t wait any longer. The boss had called three times, finally threatening that if she didn’t get her tail in there, she could look for another job. “Mark, honey, I’m sure Vincent will be home in a few minutes.” She tried to keep her voice calm, although she wanted to wring Vincent’s neck. “You’ll be okay by yourself for just a little while, won’t you?”
The child looked up from his half-eaten plate of macaroni and cheese and nodded solemnly.
“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll lock the doors, and don’t open them unless you are sure it’s Vincent. I’ll call you from work, but if anyone else calls, don’t tell them you’re here alone. Just tell them that your mother is in the shower and she’ll call back when she gets out. Promise?”
“Promise, Mom.”
Wendy gathered her purse and freshly washed apron and kissed Mark on top of the head. “Be a good boy.”
“I will, Mommy.”
Wendy pulled the front door firmly behind her and rattled the knob to make sure it was locked. Then she took off at a trot in the direction of The Old Salty Dog.
She didn’t notice the polished car that was parked just down the street.
CASSIE AND Vincent loaded the bike into the back of the Jeep.
“My mother is going to kill me. I’m supposed to be watching my little brother while she goes to work. The last time she brought Mark to work she almost lost her job. He was coughing all over the place and grossing out the customers.”
“Maybe you should call her.” Cassie fished her cell phone out of her bag.
He didn’t want to call, but he took the phone and counted the four rings until Mark picked up. “Mark. It’s me, Vincent. Let me talk to Mom.”
“She’s in the shower. She’ll call you back,” the five-year-old answered, true to his promise.
“Okay, good,” Vincent answered with relief. “Tell her I’m on my way home. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”
MARK WASN’T sure exactly how long ten minutes was, but it must have been fast because there was a knock on the door just a little while after he had hung up the phone.
“Vincent?” he called through the door.
“Police. Please, open the door.”
His mother had told him that he should trust the police and always do what they said. The only experience Mark had had with the police was that nice man who came when he had the bad coughing attack. He wondered if it was the same policeman now.
His small hands fumbled with the button on the doorknob.
CHAPTER 41
“I’ll come in with you, if you want,” Cassie offered as they pulled up in front of the Baylers’ house.
“Yeah, that would be good.” Vincent didn’t like admitting it, but after what had happened at Gideon’s, there was no way he wanted to be left alone in his house to watch his little brother. He led the way up the walk. The front door was unlocked. What was the matter with Mark, anyway? He should know better. Mom was always lecturing them about keeping the door locked when she was gone.
“Mark, I’m home,” called Vincent as he and Cassie entered the tiny living room. Cassie took in the tired surroundings, comparing them with her beautiful home in Alexandria. Hannah didn’t know how good she had it.
The door off the living room was ajar, cool air from the bedroom escaping.
“Mark, you dope, you’re supposed to keep the door closed,” said Vincent with exasperation as he walked into the bedroom. The television was on. A half-empty glass of apple juice sat beside a coloring book and crayons spread on the floor. The beds were unmade and empty.
Vincent turned and muttered, “He must be in the bathroom.” But only the sound of the faucet dripping into the worn tub filled the vacant room.
“Oh brother, I’m in big trouble now. My mother must have taken him to work with her. The last time she had to do that, I couldn’t sit down for a week.”
Hannah had nev
er had a hand raised in her direction, Cassie thought as she looked at Vincent’s worried face. Maybe Cassie hadn’t been there as much as many mothers were, but Hannah was never left by herself, and when she was there Cassie had tried to make up for it, making sure the child had everything. Maybe that was the mistake. Too many things, not enough uninterrupted time together. Letting sullen moods and tantrums go unchallenged. Making excuses for her daughter’s behavior because of her own guilt about being away from home so much. “I’m sure your mother will understand when you explain everything.”
“I doubt it,” Vincent said glumly.
Cassie ached to put her arms around the boy, but she held back. “Would you like me to go with you and help explain things to her?”
Vincent’s expression turned hopeful. “You’d do that?”
“Sure. Come on. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 42
“You don’t look like a policeman.”
“Not all policemen wear uniforms.”
Mark digested the information.
“This doesn’t look like a police car.”
“Well, it is.”
“Does it have one of those lights?”
“No. It’s an undercover car.”
Mark looked out the window. “Hey, you said my mom wanted you to take me to her work,” protested the little boy. “You were supposed to turn way back there.”
The driver reached down and pushed the button that locked all the doors.
CHAPTER 43
Nobody Knows Page 12
