It took an hour to get there, going over the bridge from the mainland, Marquis driving on a thin strip of land now, water on both sides, windows down, a warm breeze blowing through the interior. The idea of coming here was triggered by a conversation with Diane after seeing a For Sale sign in the front yard. Marquis had wondered, was she in on the scam?—and he was still wondering. Called her, she said she was in Florida, and it all started to make sense.
His conclusion: her husband, caught in a terrorist attack, saw opportunity, faked his death, wife collected the life insurance. Marquis was thinking about the photos of Diane posing in the bikini at the rental house on Captiva Island and hearing Diane say “Captiva” when he’d asked where they had talked about retiring.
“Why did you have an affair?”
“I don’t know.”
Diane frowned. “Come on. What happened, were you tired of me?”
“It had nothing to do with you.”
She wanted to reach over and punch him. “If you loved me, if you were happy, you wouldn’t have done it.” She picked up her Coke and held it. “Who made the first move?”
“It wasn’t like that.” He had that guilty look on his face again.
“What was it like?”
“It just happened. I was at Ulysses. She walked by me, and we started talking, had a couple drinks, that was it. She told me where she worked, and a week or so later, I stopped in for lunch and saw her, and saw her again that night.”
“Is that code for you slept with her?”
“Why think about it?
“You didn’t think it was wrong, did you?”
The bartender put a fresh cocktail in front of Jack and grabbed his empty glass. Jack picked it up and took a drink.
“You don’t want to answer that one, huh?”
“I can’t explain why it happened. I don’t know. A good-looking girl came on to me. It made me feel good. It made me feel young.”
“Do you know why you cashed in most of our savings and stole money from one of your clients? Who are you?” He looked like Jack but didn’t sound like him. He glanced at the cocktail. Diane could see he wanted it and didn’t want to answer the question.
“Vicki was in serious debt, owed a loan shark a lot of money.”
“Why was that your problem?”
“I felt sorry for her.”
“She’s dead, so you can put her out of your mind. And now you can add Sculley to the list. They shot him in his apartment.” Diane paused. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
Jack didn’t want to answer that one either, picked up the drink, and brought it to his mouth, stopped, and looked at her. “I feel terrible.”
“I hope so. What do you feel for me?”
“The same as I always have.”
“What does that mean?”
“I love you,” he said, with no emotion behind it, and drank his drink.
She wanted to punch him, knock that stupid look off his face.
“Vicki didn’t mean anything to me.”
“That’s worse. You risked everything for something that didn’t mean anything?”
Jack wasn’t expecting that. “I don’t know.”
“Now you sound like a dumb-ass.”
“That’s what I am.”
“Why didn’t you call me? Why did you let me think you were dead?”
“I already told you.”
“Tell me again.”
“The whole thing got out of control. I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you involved.”
“You don’t think I was involved? You have no idea.”
“I know you were, and I’m sorry.” He put his hand over hers and she pulled away.
“Want me to go, I’ll go. Walk out of your life for good.”
“Didn’t you already do that?”
Jack finished his second drink. The bartender approached, Jack shook his head. “I told you, I didn’t have a choice.”
“Sure you did.”
“Okay, if that’s how you feel.”
“Don’t put this on me. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Jack slid off the bar stool, stood next to her, took a wad of bills out of his pocket, peeled off a ten and a twenty, and left them on the bar top. “I know you’re not going to believe this. I’ve missed you. You’re all I’ve thought about. But I don’t think that’s enough, is it? I don’t think there’s anything I can say or do that is.”
Hearing him confess, hearing him tell her that he had screwed up helped, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. Diane watched Jack walk out the door.
FORTY
Ruben’s stomach was making noises. He was so hungry, sitting in the dusty lot with the windows down, sweating, the afternoon sun turning the car into an oven. They were in Captiva, outside the hotel restaurant, waiting for Jack to appear, Cobb, fingertips drumming on the top of the steering wheel, singing some country tune.
Ruben’s head hurt from the music and the sound of Cobb’s voice, the Southern twang getting to him. He reached over, turned off the radio, and saw McCann come out of the restaurant, hand up shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun. “You see him?”
Cobb turned, looked through the windshield. “It’s McCann.”
“Before you do anything, wait till I get close. I’m gonna surprise him.” Ruben got out of the car and followed McCann, moving in a row, between cars, going through the parking lot, ducking behind a minivan.
McCann was forty feet away when Cobb, the idiot, backed out of the parking space, gunning it, speeding toward them, kicking up sand from the hard-packed lot. McCann saw the Caddy coming toward him and started running. Ruben chased him around the restaurant building, past the tennis courts and the pool, lounge chairs lined up, people lying in the sun, and people in the swimming pool. It was loud and hot, Ruben, sweating and short of breath, felt tightness in his legs, hoping McCann would get tired and slow down, but he didn’t and Ruben lost sight of him for a time, then picked him up running between two hotel buildings.
Ruben stopped, upper body bent forward, hands on his knees, sucking in air, taking long, deep breaths, been years since he done road work. When he could, he took out his cell phone, dialed Cobb, and told him the direction McCann was going.
Diane, standing just inside the door, had seen everything. She ran to her car and got in. Cobb, in the white Cadillac, was parked on the other side of the small dusty lot. She didn’t think he’d seen her. If he did, he wasn’t doing anything about it.
She went left on Captiva Drive, heading north, sure Jack would go this way, and just beyond the ’Tween Waters Inn property line, he appeared, running toward the road on the hard-packed sand. She hit the brake and lowered her window as he approached. “You better get in.”
“I’m okay,” Jack said, standing next to the car, leaning with his hands on the door sill, breathing hard.
“You’re not going to be for long.” Diane glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the white Cadillac in the distance coming after them.
Now Jack looked and saw them. He opened the door and got in. The tires spun on the hard sand and squealed, making contact with the blacktop.
“Why’re you doing this?”
“I don’t know.” Even after all he had done, she didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. The Caddy was down the road a couple hundred yards and closing fast. She was going fifty, twenty over the speed limit.
Up ahead the road jogged right ninety degrees, going from the ocean to the gulf side of the island, and then a sharp left turn as the road curved again.
She went right on South Seas Plantation Road. Now they were on a narrow strip of land with water on both sides, the aquamarine ocean to the left with beach houses tucked behind walls of foliage and stands of palm trees, and to the right the deep blue gulf, pelicans gliding through the thermals high above.
Jack said, “You see them?”
Diane, glancing in the rearview mirror, said no.
“Maybe we
lost them.”
She gave him a questioning look.
“Take the next left and we’ll find out.”
Diane slowed down and turned onto a hard-packed sand path barely wide enough for a car, drove thirty yards, kicking up a trail of dust, and took another left, now seeing glimpses of beach houses set back from the ocean behind sea grape, dogwoods, and coco plum. She stopped behind a sand berm that ran parallel to the road. A white Cadillac zoomed by and Diane thought they were safe, till she saw brake lights.
The Caddy turned around. She floored it and they took off. “There’s a turnaround up here that’ll take us back to the main road.”
She went left around the circle and then up a short rise to the road. Diane glanced in the rearview mirror; all she saw was a wake of dust behind them, no sign of Cobb and Ruben, and she felt relieved. “I think we should go to the police.”
“And say what?” Jack paused. “I’d rather have you drop me off, and take my chances.”
“Drop you off where?”
“The beach house.”
“I called and asked if you had rented a place. They said no.”
“I did under a different name.”
“That’s right; you’re a fugitive. Who’re you pretending to be?”
“Richard Alan Keefer.”
“Come on? All the names, that’s the one you pick?”
“I didn’t have a chance to consult with you.”
“That’s the first thing you’ve said that sounds like you. I was starting to wonder.”
Diane glanced in the rearview mirror. There was a silver SUV maybe a hundred yards behind them. “You’ve had a lot of time to think. What’s your plan? What’re you going to do with the rest of your life—aside from running away from your problems?”
She glanced at Jack. He was clearly annoyed, or angry. That’s how he reacted when he didn’t get his way, like there was a boy still inside of him. He didn’t say anything else till Diane pulled up in front of the beach house. She had a lot of good memories staying here.
“Want to come in?”
Diane pictured them sitting on the deck, drinking wine, watching the sun set. They were in love then. Their life together was perfect and she couldn’t imagine it ever changing.
“I don’t want you to leave like this,” Jack said.
“What did you think was going to happen?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think I would ever see you again, and here you are.” Jack was laying it on heavy. “You can even stay with me if you want.”
“And forget everything else?”
“Why not?”
“I can think of a few reasons.”
“Why don’t you see how it goes. You never know, you might be surprised.” Jack, used to getting what he wanted in life, was selling hard now.
“I don’t think so.” She didn’t know what else to say.
He opened the door, got out, and hesitated. “You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
Diane watched him walk to the front door and go inside.
FORTY-ONE
Jack was positive she was going to follow him to the house they’d rented on their last Captiva vacation. He left the door unlocked, grabbed a beer, and sat on the deck, looking out at the ocean fifty yards away.
Thirty minutes later, Jack knew he was kidding himself. Diane wasn’t coming. She’d had enough. He didn’t blame her for taking off. He was the one who’d screwed everything up. He’d been through it enough times and decided not to beat himself up anymore. He tried. There was nothing more he could do.
The sun was resting on the horizon when Jack started down the beach, walking on the hard, wet sand along the water’s edge, carrying his sandals and a can of beer. There was a warm breeze coming off the ocean. The beach was deserted except for joggers and dog walkers. He was thinking about Ruben and Cobb. No way they’d find him on this secluded part of the island. No way anyone could see the house from the road. You had to know where you were going to find it.
Jack had the beach house for a week. After that, he was going to pack up and head north across the Florida Panhandle, through stretches of Alabama and Mississippi into Louisiana, stop in New Orleans for a couple days, eat oysters, redfish, and étouffée. From there, he didn’t know where he was going or what he was going to do. Ahead he could see the outlines of buildings in the ’Tween complex, picturing two football fields end to end, thinking that’s how far away it looked.
Diane sat in the car for a few minutes not sure what to do. Was she really going to let him go? It sounded like a song. She drove to the south end of the island, took the bridge to Sanibel, pulled into the public beach parking lot, and looked at herself in the rearview mirror. What was she doing? This was it, the moment of truth. She either went back and worked things out with Jack, or she’d never see him again.
Of course there were other issues. Could she ever trust him after what he had done? But how would she ever know for sure unless she tried? If things didn’t work out, would she be any worse off than she was now? Probably not. The most important question: Did she still love him?
Jack moved through the alley behind the ’Tween complex used by the maintenance staff. He stood at the edge of a building, scanning the parking lot. It was dark now, incoming headlights making it difficult to focus on anything or anyone. He moved closer, stood in shadow along the side of the building, the sound of rock music coming from unseen speakers, people everywhere. He had a good angle now, saw his rental car where he’d left it earlier. Didn’t see a white Caddy, but that didn’t mean anything. His gut told him Cobb and Diaz were still around. They’d expended considerable effort to find him, and he didn’t think they would give up that easy. Not with this much money at stake.
He needed his car and thought this would be a good time to get it. Jack walked behind the building, crossed the complex, and came out on the opposite side of the parking lot, standing behind the tall smooth trunk of a palm tree. He watched for a while and moved through a row of cars to his, got in, turned the key, and put it in gear, creeping through the lot with the lights off.
Jack waited till he was on the road before he turned his lights on, checking the rearview mirror. He drove past where he was staying, went down another mile or so. He could see headlights in the rearview mirror. He pulled over on the side of the road, let the car pass. It was an SUV. He made a U-turn and drove to the beach house.
He unlocked the door and turned on a couple lights, feeling relieved. Cobb and Ruben hadn’t caught him, and now they weren’t gonna. He cracked a beer, opened the sliding door, felt the breeze, heard waves breaking on shore. He walked down to the beach, drinking a beer, staring out at the water for a while, then went back to the cottage and sat at a table on the deck.
Earlier Cobb had boosted a Mazda MDX in a strip mall parking lot. Jack had made the Caddy, so they didn’t have a choice. Scanning the cool interior, thinking the Japs had really got their shit together. Cobb was checking out the instrument cluster when Ruben surprised him, saying, “You want him? He has to go back to the restaurant to get his car.”
First time ever Ruben had suggested something Cobb hadn’t already thought of. Well, Jesus H. Christ, mark this day on the calendar with a fucking star.
Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting in the dusty lot, watching the sun go over the motel buildings, watching cars pull in, watching people go in the restaurant. Ruben telling him he should come down to Puerto Rico. “Man, beautiful women, beautiful beaches, great food, gambling, fishing. The place is alive.”
“What do you think, we’re gonna hang out?” Cobb pictured them walking around Old San Juan, Ruben introducing him to his greaser buddies. “This is my American friend, Duane.”
Cobb saw someone moving on the other side of the parking lot, car lights illuminating him. Looked like he was sneaking around, didn’t want to be seen. Then he was hiding behind a palm tree.
“See him over there?” Cobb pointed.
“I don’t see nothing.”
There were cars pulling into the lot one after another. “Keep watching.”
A few minutes later, McCann appeared moving through the parking lot, ducking behind cars.
“Yeah, there he is,” Ruben said.
FORTY-TWO
Diane walked around to the back of the beach house, felt the wind coming off the water. Jack, with a can of beer in his hand, was sitting at the small round table. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Diane said, walking up the steps to the deck.
“We’ll find out.” Jack paused. “How about a drink?”
“Bourbon would be good, on the rocks.”
“I’ll be right back.” He got up, slid the screen door open, looked back at her. “I’m glad you’re here.” And went inside.
Diane wasn’t so sure. She leaned against the railing, looking out at the ocean. Five minutes later, when he wasn’t back, she wondered what he was up to.
Diane stepped into the room and saw Duane Cobb pointing a shotgun at Jack. Ruben came behind her, grabbed her biceps, pushed her deeper into the room, closed the door, and locked it.
Cobb said, “Where’s our money at?”
Jack said, “You didn’t see what happened on nine-eleven?”
Cobb said, “The hell’s that mean?”
“The cashier’s check was in my sport coat.”
“Uh-huh.”
“The coat’s gone, blown to dust.”
“Oh, okay,” Cobb said. “Well, thanks anyway. I guess we’ll be going.” Cobb jabbed Jack’s chest with the shotgun. “Let’s try it again, Slick. Where’s our money at?”
Jack said, “You set me up, didn’t you? Why’d you pick me?”
“You picked yourself. Vicki was the bait, and you went after her like a hungry dog,” Cobb said, glancing at Diane. “You can’t blame Jack—everyone wanted her.”
Diane shrugged. “You’re defending him now?”
“I’m just saying,” Cobb said.
Unknown Remains Page 22
