Nate didn’t say anything.
I stopped and turned. He stood at the bottom of the steps, duffle bag in hand, with an odd look on his face.
“You coming?”
“Sure.” He glanced away, then moved towards the stairs.
My adrenalin depleted, I fell into bed around two. All systems shut down and I slept hard.
At five a.m. I slammed into wide awake with one thought in my brain: What had Stuart meant when he asked Troy why he was trying to collect payment for a murder he didn’t commit? If Troy didn’t kill Adam, who did?
Surely not Scott. He was capable of a great many things, but murder? I just couldn’t see it. Hiring someone else to do it, yes. But Troy was the hired killer. If there was another hit man on the island, we were over quota.
Definitely not Michael. Although, he was mad enough at Adam to punch him out less than twenty-four hours before Adam was murdered. Many people might consider he had a damn fine motive. Not going there. Will not think that thought.
I looked in on Nate. He was still sleeping soundly. He rested on his stomach, with a pillow clutched under his tanned bicep. The covers had slid down to just below his waist, revealing broad shoulders and a muscled back that narrowed where it met the coverlet. I watched him breathe, mesmerized. How was it that I had never stopped to appreciate how amazingly handsome Nate was? Because he was Scott’s brother? No, it wasn’t that. Merry’s words from a few nights before came back to me, Damn waste. You’re still pinning after Michael, aren’t you?
I shook myself. I had to get moving. I splashed cold water on my face, slid into my running clothes, and put my hair in a ponytail.
The morning was clear, the wind nearly calm. I sprinted up the beach and around North Point to the marina, then slowed as I headed across the dock. Stuart was on the forward deck of the Gypsy Wind, doing his stretches. He was facing the open ocean, but turned towards me as I approached.
“You couldn’t sleep, either,” he said. “Come aboard. I’ll make coffee.”
I didn’t move from the dock. “Who killed Adam?”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Here is what I know. Adam left on the ferry at seven Thursday evening and returned on the last ferry at nearly midnight. As he pulled out of the parking lot and up to the stoplight, someone in dark clothes and a ski mask forced Adam over to the passenger side at gunpoint.”
Stuart heaved a sigh. “The car turned down Marsh View Drive, followed pretty obviously by Troy Causby in a Honda. I ran after them, but by the time I caught up, the shooter was dragging Adam into the marsh. Troy drove on past, rubber-necking.”
I pondered that. The eastern sky was getting lighter. Three kingfishers sailed by, low to the water, looking for breakfast. “So you couldn’t tell who it was, but the only person you know it wasn’t is Troy.”
“It was dark.” Stuart closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “It was a smallish man. I could’ve followed the killer. But I went to see if there was any help for Adam. It was obvious he was gone. I should have called for help, but Adam was in the hands of a higher power, and I wasn’t ready to reveal myself.”
A small man. Not Scott.
And not Michael. I knew in my core Michael wasn’t a killer, but people who aren’t by nature killers do it every day of the week.
Then it hit me. A small man. Or a woman.
Deanna? She’d been acting way out of character all week. Had she snapped? Possibly. But there was a far more likely suspect. Marci the Schemer. I shuddered. Had my sociopathic cousin graduated to murder?
I felt my phone vibrate in my sports bra. I turned and discreetly pulled it out. I had a text from Blake: MC returning car now.
Mike Cooper was bringing my car home. I’d given Blake the code to the keyless entry pad the night before. I kept a spare key in the false bottom of the console for emergencies. Bless both their hearts. I needed my car.
When I turned back around, Colleen appeared on the side of the Gypsy Wind, legs dangling. “Morning sickness.” She yawned.
I squinted at her and thought back to Thursday morning. I’d been spying on Marci while she talked to Adam on the phone. Something made her throw up.
And Wednesday I’d passed her going into Dr. Lombard’s. An OB-GYN. Was she really pregnant now? When was the last time I’d seen her? Thursday morning. Adam was killed around midnight. She’d told Adam she was going to Savannah. Was that the truth? If so, when did she leave?
“Changed horses,” Colleen said.
“Why the hell you being cryptic again all of a sudden?” I shouted.
Stuart stared at me. “Liz, are you all right?” He stepped closer to the edge of the deck and peered down at me.
I looked up into those familiar brown eyes for a long moment. “Yes. I’m fine. Gotta run. Coffee tomorrow? You’re not leaving soon are you?”
“No. No longer any reason I must leave.”
Colleen faded out.
I smothered a curse.
FIFTY-FOUR
I had a strong suspicion Marci was on her way out of town, and the window of opportunity for confronting her was rapidly closing. Did Colleen plant that thought? I shook my head rapidly to clear it. It didn’t matter. I ran home and grabbed my purse. No time to change clothes. I hopped in the Escape and drove to Marci’s house.
What the hell had Colleen meant, changed horses? If Marci were pregnant, it gave her leverage with Michael. Since I’d inherited Gram’s land, Marci no longer had leverage with Adam. Had she decided to stick with the Devlin she was already married to, manipulate him into finishing the deal Adam started? Marci was nothing if not adaptable.
I pounded on the front door and repeatedly jabbed the doorbell. No Marci.
There was no sign of her from any of the windows.
I debated breaking a pane on the back door and letting myself in for a closer inspection of the premises, but instinct—or perhaps Colleen—told me she wasn’t there. I stood on tiptoe and peered into the garage. Her car was inside, but unless she was hiding in the trunk, she wasn’t there. If she’d gone to Savannah, she would’ve driven. If she’d left the island, she’d either gone by boat or she’d caught a ride with someone else.
If I were a scheming witch, where would I be? If I’d killed my brother-in-law/lover, I’d only run if I thought someone was on to me. Or maybe I’d slip out of town and play like I’d been elsewhere, maybe Savannah, when the murder went down. That sounded like Marci. Either way, the smart play would’ve been to leave right after she killed him. Ahh. The next ferry would’ve been at six Friday morning, and she couldn’t risk someone seeing her leave the morning after. She was depending on someone else to smuggle her out, either in an unfamiliar car or by boat.
David Morehead hadn’t been seen since Tuesday night. The only other party to the Devlin’s Point scheme unaccounted for was Scott.
Of course.
I climbed back into the Escape and zipped over to The Stella Maris Hotel. As I was pulling into the parking lot, Scott’s BMW came flying out.
Scott gaped and Marci scowled as I passed them. Scott turned right on Main Street and hit the accelerator. They were headed for the ferry dock.
I pulled a quick u-turn and sped after them. Why would Scott run from me? He couldn’t have known we were onto him. I understood why Marci was running, but why Scott? What had she told him? Abruptly, Scott turned right on Marsh View. The next ferry wouldn’t leave for another thirty minutes. They were making for the marina.
I fumbled in my purse for my iPhone. I tapped Blake’s name and waited. Voicemail. Damnation. I said, “Scott and Marci are headed to the marina. Marci killed Adam. I think.”
Then I tried the office. Nell answered on the third ring. “Stella Maris PD. How may we serve and protect you today?”
“Where’s Blake?” I yelled.
“Liz Talbot. Would your mamma approve of you yelling at folks on the telephone?”
“I need Blake now.”
“Well, your brother’s in his office talking to Mackie Sullivan. It’s barely six o’clock in the morning—”
“Put him on the phone,” I said urgently. “Please.”
The BMW screeched to a stop in the marina parking lot. Both doors popped open and Scott and Marci sprang out. They ran towards the dock. Did Scott have a boat docked on Stella Maris?
Nell harrumphed. “Fine. I’ll transfer your call, but—”
I parked beside Scott’s car. “Never mind. Tell him to get to the marina fast. Scott and Marci are escaping.”
There were no pockets in my running shorts. I stuffed my phone in my sports bra and grabbed Sig from my purse. Then I sprinted after Marci the Schemer and Scott the Scoundrel.
It was still early, but a few fishermen puttered around boats. Hank Johnson loosened the tie-off lines on his Boston Whaler. I was closing the distance to Scott and Marci when Scott waved a gun at Hank. He raised both hands and froze. Scott shouted something at Hank. He stepped gingerly out of the boat.
Scott spun on me. “Stop right there, Liz.”
I stopped. I was also armed, but hoped Scott couldn’t see that. I didn’t want Hank in the middle of a shootout. I kept my arms at my side and slipped my right hand behind my leg. “What did she tell you, Scott? Why are you doing this?”
“Get in the boat, Marci,” Scott said. “Liz, if you move, I shoot the old man. Got it?”
I nodded. “It’s okay, Hank. They’re leaving.”
Hank looked from Scott to me. He kept his arms up.
Marci climbed into the boat. For once she didn’t have that sardonic grin on her face. She was trying to murder me with her eyes, though.
Scott stepped onto the Boston Whaler. The engine was already idling. He loosened the remaining line and pulled the bumper into the boat. He sat down in the driver’s seat. Then he turned back to face me. “I did not kill Adam Devlin. I am guilty of nothing more than pursing a legitimate business deal. But I’m not going to stay here in podunk and let your Deputy-Dog brother railroad me.” He kept the gun pointed at Hank as he pulled away from the dock.
“Is that what she said? Scott, no one thinks you killed Adam.” Well, I didn’t think that anyway.
“Sorry, kitten. I fell for your act once this week already.”
Ignoring the no-wake signs, Scott pushed the throttle all the way down and the boat darted away from the marina.
Hank put down his hands. “They won’t get far,” he said. “Dang gas gauge is broke. I fill ’er up before I take ’er out. Was just about to do that.”
I nodded. “Good to know.”
I called Blake’s cell. Surely he was on the way by now.
“The hell is going on?” he said without greeting.
“Where are you?”
“Leaving the station.”
“The key to the jet ski still in the console by the door?”
Blake had a jet ski tied up to his houseboat, which was at the next dock over. I was already moving in that direction.
“Why?”
“Scott stole Hank Johnson’s boat.”
“Do not—”
“Gotta go.” I stuffed the iPhone back in my sports bra, and Sig in the back of my shorts. Thank God for Spandex.
I sprinted towards the houseboat. The rail was an easy vault—no time to fiddle with the gate. The key was in the console. I slipped the bracelet attached to the safety key over my wrist and grabbed a life vest from under the seat. Blake’s Waverunner was tied off the bow end of the boat. I buckled the life vest as I dashed up the deck. I climbed over the rail and slid onto the jet ski.
I started the engine and eased away from the houseboat. As soon as I cleared the end of the dock, I leaned forward and went full throttle. Scott and Marci rounded North Point and raced towards Charleston. I was fast on their wake. I bounced across the waves, closing the gap. I wasn’t about to let those two disappear into the Charleston area waterfront.
Scott focused on driving the boat. From her seat beside him, Marci watched me pull within a hundred feet of them. Then she leaned in to Scott. He pushed her away and shouted something. She grabbed the gun he’d stuffed in his waistband and moved to the back of the boat.
Marci planted her feet in a wide stance, struggling for balance in the bouncing boat. Then she gave that up and knelt near the motor. She braced her arms on the side of the boat and fired.
If she hit me, it would be by accident. But I still tucked myself tighter to the jet ski.
Marci fired again. The Waverunner took the bullet on the nose.
Hell fire! Blake would be pissed about that.
I pulled next to them. Marci swiveled and aimed.
I pulled a little ahead and slid my left leg over the seat. The timing had to be perfect. In one motion, I let go of the handgrips, and catapulted from the jet ski into the Whaler.
Marci got off three shots before my feet hit the deck.
I landed in a crouch, unhit.
“What the fuck!” Scott yelled.
Marci sat down in the boat and pointed the gun at me. The Whaler hit a wave and jumped. I slammed into Marci before she could regain her balance. She dropped the gun. I grabbed it and slipped it through the strap on my life vest. “That the gun you used to kill Adam?”
“Bitch,” she screamed.
“Back atcha.” I balled up my fist and punched her in the mouth.
I shook the pain out of my hand.
“Well, well.” Marci rubbed her face. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”
The Whaler’s engine started to sputter.
Scott banged on the steering wheel. “Motherfucker.”
The engine died.
Scott turned on me in a rage, as if it were somehow my fault he’d stolen a boat with a broken gas gauge. He came at me.
I braced, spun at the waist, and delivered a roundhouse kick to his sternum. He obliged me by falling into the Atlantic.
I pivoted to Marci. “Want to go for a swim?”
She glared at me but didn’t move.
I glanced over the side of the boat. Scott treaded water a few feet away. I tossed him a lifejacket. “Wouldn’t want you to drown and miss your day in court.”
He seemed to be having a hard time catching his breath.
I reached under my lifejacket and pulled out Sig.
I gestured at Marci. “Why’d you kill Adam? Just between us girls?”
She deepened her sneer and rolled her eyes.
“Okay, okay.” I nodded. “Hypothetically speaking, if you were screwing your brother-in-law, and expected him to divorce his wife and marry you—or at least keep you up—and you found out that wasn’t in his plans, that’d piss you off, am I right?”
She narrowed her eyes. The left corner of her mouth crept up.
“That’s what I thought.”
Scott recovered from having the breath kicked out of him. “You bitch. You said everyone thought I killed Adam.”
I bent my right arm and raised Sig, pointing it harmlessly at the sky to my left. “Marci, are you pregnant?”
She laughed. An ugly, sick laugh. “Why, yes, as a matter of fact, I am.”
“You were going to try to force Michael to fill in for Adam, get the resort built, and collect on Adam’s share, right?” I moved the puzzle pieces around in my brain.
“Please.” She drew back her head and scowled. “Why would I tell you anything?”
I stared at her for a moment. No, Marci was done with Michael. She’d tried to barter him. That failed, and she’d arranged for him to catch her in adultery. She’d changed horses, all right, put Adam down. But Mic
hael was just another discarded stud.
I cocked my head at her. “You tried to frame Michael for Adam’s murder. You hid that wallet under the bed so Michael would find it and confront Adam. Were you hoping for a public scene, Marci? Set Michael up as a suspect?” The thought had crossed even my mind. “You and Scott didn’t need Adam or Michael anymore, did you? You thought all you had to do was sit back and wait for Kate to deed the land to that phony nonprofit. The two of you would’ve been the only remaining directors.”
Marci set her jaw and looked away.
Scott was fast figuring his way out. He’s bright, I’ll give him that.
“That may have been her plan. I had nothing to do with Adam’s murder, though she did want him out of the way. Tried to sweet-talk me into arranging it for her. I have proof. That’s all I’m saying until I talk to a lawyer.”
“What proof?” Marci snarled.
“I have several of our conversations on tape.”
“Do tell.” I smiled.
“Bastard.” Marci spat.
“Sorry, darlin’, but I’ve seen your work.” Scott bobbed up and down as a wave rolled by. “Best to have anti-venom on hand if you pick up a snake.”
Words failed me. I stared open-mouthed at him, thinking about pots and kettles. Finally, I said, “It’s too bad, really.”
“What?” asked Scott.
“If you hadn’t let her con you into stealing a boat for her big escape, you might have walked away with no more than a few conspiracy and blackmail charges. Oh, and that murder-for-hire thing.”
“I never hired anyone to kill anybody,” he said.
“Tell it to the jury,” I said.
Then I sat down in the driver’s seat and waited for Blake.
FIFTY-FIVE
With a flick of my wrist, I sent the Frisbee flying down the beach for the hundredth time. Rhett jumped improbably high in the air and caught it between his teeth with all the skill and grace an experienced outfielder employs to rob a batter of a homerun. I was walking off Mamma’s fried chicken and biscuits with gravy, immersing myself in the sound of salt water on sand and the Sunday afternoon sun. Rhett raced back up the beach to deliver the Frisbee. “Good boy.” I ruffled the fur on his head.
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