‘No one to blame but yourself.’
When I spun round the street was too thick with pedestrians to identify who had spoken. The air felt sticky and too thick to breathe. Holidaymakers elbowed past, shoulders jostling me from the sidewalk.
I went straight to the police station, but the young lieutenant shook his head. ‘We’ve interviewed everyone in the locality, Mr Brubaker. No one was seen entering your building. Burglars probably tried the safe then trashed the place and got out fast. I’ll send a patrol officer round tonight, but you should take extra security measures, in case they come back. Some housebreakers like to try again.’
I thanked him for his advice through gritted teeth. The police department might consider the matter unimportant, but the wanton destruction that occurred at my home seemed too intimate for a random attack. I stopped at a bar on Higgs Beach, even though the sea’s beauty no longer seduced me, its garish turquoise searing my retinas. I allowed myself a glass of wine and fifteen minutes of self-pity before deciding to track down the culprit myself. Key West was less than a mile long. Surely I could locate a single criminal?
I scribbled a list of suspects in my notebook, including the maintenance staff at my villa. Any one of them might be nursing a grudge against snowbirds like me, who were rich enough to live in luxury without working. It only took a little gentle persuasion for the employment agency to reveal that my helpers lived on Stock Island.
Affluence ended as soon as my car crossed the bridge, fields of trailers sprawling down to the beach. José, my gardener, sat on a folding chair beside his small cabin. His wife brought us coffee and we made halting conversation in pidgin Spanish. José’s welcome was so friendly, I couldn’t bring myself to interrogate him about the break-in. My cleaning lady’s greeting was more muted, but she answered my questions politely enough. Only the pool man was openly hostile. He replied in a low growl when I asked if he had seen anyone hanging around my property.
His girlfriend bustled out onto the porch. ‘The police already came by,’ she snapped. ‘Where do you get off, making accusations?’
I climbed back into my car before the situation could escalate. By the time I returned to Louisa Street, I had spoken to each of my acquaintances on Key West but found no proof whatsoever. Maybe the attack had been random after all, that afternoon’s whispered threat intended for someone else.
It was seven-thirty when Nicole reappeared. She looked as lovely as ever, in a silk dress that accentuated her slimness, but her smile was tentative.
‘My mother’s ill, Jeff. I have to fly home tomorrow.’
‘But you’ll come back?’
‘There’s no one else to care for her. Shall we have one last dinner?’
‘Sorry, I’m meeting an old friend.’
She floated a kiss across my cheek. ‘Come and see me soon, won’t you?’
I attempted a smile. Maine was two thousand miles away, much too far for a casual visit. In the hallway afterwards my shoulders slumped against the wall. My possessions were beyond repair, and Nicole’s departure would remove another piece of beauty from my landscape. An odd pain swelled behind my breastbone. I covered it with my hand, trying to rub it away.
Nicole’s departure hardened my determination to find my intruder. He might be foolish enough to pay me a second visit and try his luck with my safe again. This time I intended to give him the fright of his life. The handgun I normally hid in the glove compartment of my car was a cold weight in my pocket. I would use it to scare him senseless if he came calling, then turn him over to the police.
I left the house an hour later, jacket slung over my arm. If the intruder was watching, he would believe the house unoccupied. However, I circled at the end of the street, re-entering via the yard. Keeping the place in darkness, I settled on the living-room sofa.
Footsteps woke me just after ten. I crouched behind the door, gun trained on the middle of the room. A tang of paraffin hit the back of my throat, and two figures appeared in the half-dark, whispering to each other. When I hit the light switch Nicole was upending a kerosene can onto the floor, another woman cowering behind her.
When I finally managed to speak my voice was groggy with shock. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Put the gun down, Jeff. I can’t speak with it pointed straight at me.’
I gave a shaky laugh then put the revolver on the coffee table. Nicole perched on the sofa, her companion’s head bowed.
‘This is my daughter Helen,’ she said quietly.
The woman beside her slowly lifted her face and the picture came into focus. The family resemblance was what had made Nicole seem familiar to me when I first met her. Her daughter had reacted badly to surgery; her facial nerves were damaged, and my corrective procedures had failed. I had been lucky that the medical examiner recorded a verdict of clinical error, not negligence.
‘She’s been a recluse ever since,’ Nicole said.
‘Why did you follow me here?’
‘To hurt you, of course.’ Her voice was brittle with anger.
Suddenly Helen’s maimed face leered close to mine, her mouth grossly misshapen, one eye skewed much too wide. There was an explosion as a bullet flashed past, shattering the window, then a fierce pain as my gun clattered to the floor. I managed to grab it, blood splashing from my cheek as I leaned down to seize the weapon. My gaze fell on the girl’s broken features again as she yelled my name, cursing, before Nicole dragged her away.
The future repositioned itself when the door finally clicked shut behind them. The house was ruined now, and so was the island. I would return to New York, sacrificing the comfort of winter sunshine. After stumbling to the bathroom I studied my wounded cheek with concern; the livid gash would require a skin graft. My hands shook so badly it took a long time to apply tape and surgical dressing. When I finally stepped back into the living room there was a flicker of orange, before the heat registered. The sight in front of me was hard to comprehend. The floor was on fire, paint bubbling from the walls and ceiling. Thoughts jittered through my mind as flames licked at my shoes. They must have thrown a lit match through the window, the room already an inferno, leaving me no exit route.
The smoke overpowered me in seconds. There was no way to quell the flames, breath choking from my lungs. I had fooled myself all along: the snowbird is a non-existent species. Strip away the wings, feathers and dreams, and all you have left is a human being, too pale and spineless to sense danger, even when it’s right in front of his eyes.
The Repentance Wood
Martin Edwards
‘Would you do me a favour?’ a soft voice asked. A female voice, quite young, the accent faintly American.
Jeremy was lost in thought, still trying to master his disappointment over Elaine’s departure, just at a time when everything had seemed to be going so well.
Glancing over his shoulder, he said, with casual gallantry, ‘Of course; if I can.’
The woman was young and slender, with short, fluffy blonde hair and gamine features. She handed him her smartphone. ‘Could you take a photo of me, please?’
‘Gladly.’
Her pink top was skimpy, her white shorts very short. He was tempted to offer a compliment on her looks, but checked himself just in time. She was young enough to be his daughter, and her looks had an innocence, a delicacy, that made it seem almost indecent for a man of his age to flirt with her, however harmlessly.
Taking a couple of dainty steps backwards, she posed with her spine against the safety rail, squinting to keep the harsh sunlight out of her eyes. Behind her, on the other side of the broad creek, the towers of Dubai shimmered, a modern mirage of steel and glass.
He took one shot, and considered the result. She was a pretty kid, but he hadn’t done her justice.
‘Let me take another one for luck.’
The second photo was a marginal improvement. She’d relaxed a little, and her smile seemed more natural.
He thrust the smartphone into her small hand. ‘S
ee what you think. I’m no David Bailey.’
She glanced at the pictures, and flashed him a quick smile. Her teeth were very white, her skin lightly tanned. ‘Thanks so much.’
He felt tempted to linger and start a conversation. But it would be a mistake. Someone her age had probably never even heard of David Bailey. Giving an affable nod, he continued along the curving path that led between the lawn and the hotel pool and entered the air-conditioned lobby, which offered sanctuary from the sweltering heat.
At that moment, a lift door opened and Elaine Klein stepped out. Her sundress had been designed with a younger woman in mind, but she had the poise to carry it off. A diaphanous silk scarf disguised the wrinkles around her neck. Her wristwatch was a diamond Rolex, her Globe-Trotter suitcase the colour of her favourite champagne.
‘I came to say goodbye,’ he said as she approached.
She extended her hand, the gold wrist bangles tinkling. ‘It was so nice knowing you, Jeremy.’
Nothing in her tone suggested any change of mind. For forty-eight hours, they’d come together, strangers in a strange land who met in a bar and ended up in bed together. Now their brief encounter was over. She was returning to her apartment in Manhattan, and he was staying in Dubai. She’d told him she didn’t plan to keep in touch, though she’d always be glad that they’d spent time together. At first he’d had her eating out of his hand. Why had she changed her tune so abruptly? Irrationally, he felt as if he’d been used. He was seized by a sudden urge to catch hold of her and make a scene, but they were in a public place, with guests and porters milling around. He had to let her go.
‘Safe travels.’
A uniformed flunkey carried her luggage out to the waiting taxi, and Elaine followed without a second glance.
He decided to drown his sorrows with a drink under the shade of the poolside bar. The temperature had risen above ninety, and dismay had drained him of energy. He wasn’t in the mood for sight-seeing. Far less to attend any of the sessions in the conference centre.
He was drinking a piña colada when the young woman he’d photographed strolled up to the bar. She’d been swimming; a towel was slung over her thin shoulder and her hair was damp. She sat down a couple of bar stools away and ordered a lemonade.
‘Another beautiful day,’ he said.
‘It’s scorching already. How do people bear the endless sun?’ she said. ‘I don’t mind a bit of rain myself. Then again, I grew up in Seattle, so I’m used to it. Where are you from?’
‘Lancaster, originally. The north-west of England. But I’ve lived in Sussex for years. A quiet cottage tucked away on the Downs, miles from anywhere.’
‘Sounds idyllic.’
‘It’s very peaceful. I always prefer a house that’s off the beaten track. The one downside is that commuting into the office in London is a nightmare; there’s no quick route. But I don’t go in every day, thank goodness. One of the benefits of being my own boss is that I can pick and choose my hours.’
‘You’re on vacation?’
‘Yes and no. A publishing conference is taking place, you may have seen the banners by the indoor waterfall. It’s my reason for being here, at least officially.’
A faint smile. ‘And unofficially?’
‘I’ve never been to the Emirates. I suppose I was curious about the place. So it’s a bit of a junket, really.’ He put a finger to his lips. ‘Don’t snitch to the taxman, will you?’
‘My lips are sealed,’ she said. ‘So you’re a publisher?’
‘Sort of. It’s a small company, almost a hobby, really.’
‘Sounds great. Maybe I ought to read one of your books.’
‘I’m afraid my business is very specialised. Get ready to stifle a yawn.’ He returned her smile. ‘We produce fine limited editions of copyright-free non-fiction books on medical and scientific topics.’
‘Maybe I’ll stick to my trashy thrillers.’
He took another sip of piña colada. ‘You’re on holiday?’
‘For a week, yes. A spur-of-the-moment decision. The weather at home was even lousier than usual, and I’d nothing better to do. So I thought, why not?’
‘You’re here on your own?’
She gave him a direct look, and for a moment she no longer resembled a fragile teenager. ‘In case you’re wondering if I should still be at school or college or something, I ought to say I’m twenty-six in May, believe it or not.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.’ Women didn’t often fluster Jeremy, but most of those he knew were his own age or older. ‘Independent travelling; I’m a great believer in it myself.’
She turned her attention to her lemonade and the photos on her smartphone.
Still brooding about Elaine, he gazed out across the water towards the shiny pinnacles of downtown Dubai. As he finished his cocktail, the bartender came over, and Jeremy found himself asking the young woman if she’d care for another lemonade.
‘OK, thanks.’ She flashed a shy smile. ‘I hope I didn’t sound tetchy. It’s a fault of mine, my mother always used to say so.’
‘Well, parents can be hard work themselves, can’t they? Mine were sticklers, much as I loved them.’
‘They’re dead?’
He nodded. ‘Quite a long time ago. Remember next time yours fuss too much – it’s only because they care for you.’
She shrugged. ‘It’ll never happen, I’m afraid. My mother and father were both killed the winter before last. Car crash.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Must have been a terrible blow to you and your family.’
‘I don’t really have a family,’ she said. ‘I’m footloose and fancy-free. No sisters, no brothers, no nothing, really. That’s why I was able to come out here at a moment’s notice. I suppose I’m impulsive. Just like Mom used to say.’
He smiled. ‘Impulsive enough to accept an invitation to dinner from a complete stranger?’
‘Sure.’ She drained her glass. ‘What time?’
Her name was Georgia. As they browsed the menu in the Skysplorer Revolving Restaurant, they exchanged memories of places they’d visited around the world. She’d been born in England, so they had something in common. Her parents had emigrated to Canada before her first birthday, and had moved around North America over the years as her father built up a software business.
‘Sold his stake three months before he died, poor man,’ Georgia said. ‘He and Mom had decided they wanted to live a bit. So he fulfilled a lifetime’s ambition and bought a Ferrari. That’s the car he wrapped around a tree when he skidded on a patch of ice.’
Jeremy said all the right things, and before long Georgia’s questions elicited from him the fact that his wife had died at much the same time as her parents.
‘A week after her fortieth birthday,’ he said. ‘No age at all, really.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Georgia said. ‘Cancer?’
‘Heart attack.’
‘Tell me about her.’
Pushing a slice of lobster around his plate, he said, ‘You don’t want to listen to a maudlin old widower harp on about his late wife.’
‘You don’t seem old to me,’ she said. ‘But I think you’re sad. When I asked you to take my photo, that’s what struck me. You seemed unhappy.’
He gave a rueful smile. While Elaine’s decision to bring their brief fling to an end had disheartened him, he didn’t want Georgia to gain the impression that he was a loser. He’d never thought of himself like that. For a minute or two he concentrated on his food. The lobster was wonderful, just like the ever-changing views of the twenty-first-century city rising out of the desert. Almost worth the extortionate price, he reflected.
‘Sorry,’ Georgia said suddenly. ‘I didn’t mean to be intrusive. I can tell that you value your privacy.’
‘Please, there’s no need to apologise. It’s just that Val and I were together for seven years. It’s taken ages for me to come to terms with what happened.’
‘Seven years is a long time,’ s
he said. ‘To lose someone like that out of the blue…’
‘Val’s father was a publisher,’ Jeremy said. ‘We met shortly after his death. She was still grieving, I was drifting from job to job. I had a not-very-good degree in science from a not-very-good university. As a boy, I wanted to be a doctor, but I wasn’t studious enough. Val helped me buckle down and set up in publishing. We were partners in the business as well as in life.’
‘You had no children?’
He shook his head. ‘Val was quite a maternal type, but we just never got round to it. I’m sure she’d have made a marvellous mother. She had a younger brother she used to fuss over endlessly before we were married. He was a neurotic rich kid, really, but she was always too tender-hearted for her own good. Saw the best in everyone.’
Georgia put down her knife and fork, and stared out through the vast glass windows at the city lights forty floors below them. The restaurant kept moving, almost imperceptibly, and a laser show played over the waterfront. Finally the gaudy colours danced out of sight, giving way to a panorama of light under the night sky and the darkness in the distance beyond the city limits.
‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ he said, almost to himself. ‘Think of all the money they’ve spent.’
‘And think of how things used to be,’ she murmured.
‘I don’t care to look back,’ he said. ‘The Emiratis have the right idea. They always look to the future.’
Georgia took another sip of Chablis Grand Cru, and he topped up their glasses. Without knowing why, he felt uncomfortable. He probably shouldn’t have harped on about Valerie, but the girl had asked, hadn’t she? Her short, low-cut black dress clung to her boyish figure and revealed plenty of flesh. His taste usually ran to mature curves, but for the first time in their brief acquaintance, he was conscious of a stirring of physical excitement.
‘I mustn’t keep droning about myself,’ he said. ‘Tell me about you.’
Mystery Tour Page 15
