The Island

by Heather Graham

  “Yes.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “Oh, Aunt Beth, you’re not going to believe this.”

  “What?”

  “Kim broke up with me.”

  For several seconds Beth stared at the phone blankly, wondering if she had heard correctly. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “It was unbelievable. She was here, having a great night. Then, right before she left, she said that she had to talk to me. We came out here—it was all right, Ashley and Jake were nearby—and she told me that it wasn’t me, it was her. But we had to break up.”

  Beth was silent for several long moments. The conversation was definitely startling. She wanted to shout at Amber that she was worried sick about her life and not petty problems, but she couldn’t do that. She tried to focus on what her niece was saying, and that was even more confusing. “Um, was there something more to this relationship than I knew about?” she asked after a moment.

  “No,” Amber protested, and then laughed, the sound a little hysterical. “I mean, that’s what makes it so bad. Have you ever heard of a friend breaking up with a friend? Like…don’t even talk to me in the halls at school? I didn’t believe her. I started laughing, at first. But she was serious. I told Ashley after Kim left, and she thinks it’s bizarre, too.”

  Beth could still hear the tears in her niece’s voice. “Where’s your father?”

  “I don’t know. Oh, Aunt Beth, I know that this is your big party, but…can…can you come out here? Can I go home with you?”

  “I’ve been staying at Ashley’s.”

  “Can I come to Ashley’s?”

  “If it’s all right with her.”

  “I can’t go home with Dad tonight. I just can’t try to explain this to him. Oh, Aunt Beth, I don’t believe this. I’m so upset.”

  “Honey, I’m right here…where are you?”

  “To the left of the canopy.”

  “I’m over on the right. I’m coming. We’ll find your dad…actually, he’s not really happy with me right now. I’ll have Jake talk to him. Tell Ashley that we need them to convince your father it’s all right.” She was walking as she talked. She still felt a slight sense of panic, she was so anxious to see Amber. Then, at last, she saw her. She breathed more easily, convinced she was creating demons where there were none.

  She hurried over to the bench where Amber and Ashley were sitting. Ashley was looking lost and helpless. She stared at Beth with an I’m-trying-but-I-don’t-really-knowhow-to-handle-this-one look.

  Amber looked absolutely stricken.

  Beth reached down, pulling Amber into her arms. “We’ll sort it out.”

  Amber looked up at her, her cheeks tearstained. She threw her arms around Beth.

  “Have you ever heard of such a thing?” she whispered.

  “It may be no big deal,” Beth assured her. “She could change her mind tomorrow.” She was trying to give Amber the attention she needed while looking around suspiciously. The three of them seemed to be alone in the driveway. No, they weren’t. She could see the big cop down at the other end of the driveway, lighting a cigarette.

  “No, it’s serious, it’s over,” Amber said.

  “But, honey, you weren’t dating…you were friends. Friends don’t have to have just one friend. Even if you’re a little off right now…well, it can’t be that bad.”

  “It is that bad. It’s humiliating.”

  “You have other friends.”

  “We have all the same friends.”

  She squeezed Amber’s hand. “We’re going to have to see what happens, I guess. Remember, I love you. All my friends think you’re the prettiest, most talented creature in the whole world. Honestly, honey, it will be all right. Someday you’ll get to realize that most things that happen in high school aren’t worth a crock of beans.”

  “That’s true,” Ashley told Amber, touching her cheek gently. “You’re gorgeous, and you’re talented, and we’re all going to live our lives vicariously through you.”

  Amber stared at her, trying to smile, clearly not believing a word.

  “Listen, honey, you know that I have to finish up here,” Beth said. “I shouldn’t be out here now, but—”

  Amber let out a snuffle and a low wail. “I’m so sorry, Aunt Beth.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s all right. I’d ditch the job in two seconds for you, you know that.”

  “But I wouldn’t want you to,” Amber said softly.

  “I know. So we’re going to work this out.”

  “You go back in,” Ashley said to Beth. “I can stay here with Amber for now.”

  “I just need to hang around the entrance, say good-night to people,” Beth said. “They should start heading out fairly soon.”

  “Can we go to the locker room, Ashley?” Amber asked. “I’ve got to fix my face.” She was trying to put on a brave smile.

  “Absolutely. Meet you inside, Beth,” Ashley told her.

  KEITH HEADED BACK IN JUST IN time to see Eduardo Shea getting a beer from the same waiter—and handing something to the man. The waiter slipped an envelope into his jacket pocket and looked up. He had a black mustache, pitch-dark hair and appeared to be Latino. But there was something about him…

  “Hey,” Keith said, striding through the club. The waiter looked at him, then started hurrying through the crowd. “Stop him.”

  To his disgust, people just stared at him curiously but did nothing. Keith started to run after the man, who disappeared behind one of the bars and a huge arrangement of tropical flowers. Keith ran after him and nearly crashed into a man’s back.

  It was a different man. He turned, looking frightened. He began to speak in Spanish, protesting. Keith shook his head. “Where did the other guy go?”

  The man shook his head blankly.

  “The other waiter.”

  The man turned, pointing. There were waiters everywhere. As Keith stood there, his hands on the waiter’s shoulders, Jake strode up to him.

  “What is it?”

  “Shea just gave one of the waiters an envelope.”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t know. The one who’s already half a mile away, probably,” Keith said, and swore.

  “Where’s Shea?” Jake asked.

  “Headed back inside.”

  “Maybe it’s time to ask a few questions,” Jake said. He went striding through the crowd, and Keith followed. Shea was heading for the exit.

  “Mr. Shea?” Jake called.

  Shea had definitely planned to make a break for it. It appeared as if he intended to keep going, at first. But then he turned, a brow arched as he waited. “Yes?” he asked.

  “Let’s speak outside for a moment, shall we, Mr. Shea?” Jake said.

  “I’m sorry; I’d rather not. I’m quite exhausted by the evening.”

  By then Jake had produced his badge. “Police, Mr. Shea. Detective Dilessio, homicide.”

  “Homicide? Surely our dancing wasn’t that bad.”

  “Very funny, Mr. Shea,” Jake informed him.

  Other people were beginning to note the conversation.

  “Shall we go outside?” Jake suggested.

  “I told you, I’m going home.”

  “I can take you in, you know,” Jake said very politely.

  “On what grounds?”

  “Questioning. I’ve got twenty-four hours to hold you, sir, before I press charges.”

  “Charges for what?”

  “Conspiracy to commit murder,” Jake told him politely.

  “We’ll go outside—if you insist. You’ve got nothing on me, and trust me, I’ll see you sued for false arrest,” Shea threatened.

  Jake took him by the elbow, leading him out. As he did, he said pleasantly, “Actually, I believe that a quick phone call to the FBI is all I need to assure myself that I can’t be sued for anything, Mr. Shea.”

  They reached the outside of the club. “Mr. Shea, I believe you own a large amount of property on Mary Street. Wou
ld that be correct?”

  “It’s illegal to own property?” Shea said.

  “And you have major interests in several South American boatyards,” Jake continued pleasantly.

  Shea began to frown. “I don’t know what you’re suggesting, Detective.” He nearly spat out the title.

  “You know exactly what he’s talking about!” They all started. Maria Lopez had come out of the club, a shawl clutched around her shoulders. “You killed Ted and Molly, you bastardo,” she accused him.

  “Maria, please,” Keith said softly.

  “I heard you. I heard you on the phone. You were yelling, saying they were not to be cowards, that they were to show up tonight, that they must not go near the studio to ask you for money. I heard you.”

  As he stood by, Keith looked out toward the parking lot. He saw a man in a tuxedo looking around furtively. “Shit,” he swore, and he began to run.

  The man turned, saw him and began to run himself.

  But this time there was nowhere to disappear, no crowd in which to hide, no mass of tropical flowers to veer around. Keith was down the drive, shouting to the security guard. The “waiter” saw the guard and hesitated a split second too long before veering into the bushes bordering the park.

  Too late. Keith tackled him. They both went down hard. The man stared at Keith, who was ready to rip at the man’s mustache. Then he realized it wasn’t a fake—the man wasn’t Brad.

  He stared up at Keith, wide-eyed. Caught, he lifted his hands.

  By then the security guard had come running. “What’s in your pocket?” Keith demanded. He was losing his own mustache. He ripped it off, leaving only his beard. The man’s eyes widened.

  “Your pocket!” Keith said again, rising, grasping the man’s arm, dragging him to his feet. He felt in the man’s jacket. There was nothing there. It didn’t matter. With panicked eyes, the man pointed at Eduardo Shea.

  “That man should be arrested for assault and battery,” Shea protested, staring at Keith.

  “You’re going in for questioning,” Jake said firmly. “Feel free to call your lawyer.”

  One of the plainclothes officers was standing nearby. “I have a car, Detective,” he told Dilessio. Jake nodded. “I think this silent gentleman needs to come in, too,” he said.

  “The man has nothing on him,” Shea protested. “By all means bring him in. Let him file charges, too.”

  Keith suddenly felt an urgent need to get back inside.

  “I can take them both in for questioning,” Jake told Keith. “But I’m going to need solid evidence.”

  “You have Maria’s testimony—”

  “An overheard conversation. I’m going to need more. Unless you can get the feds in on this,” he said. He followed the officer escorting Shea.

  Keith turned to head back in.

  THE BAND WAS PLAYING ON UNTIL the bitter end, and there were a few straggling members who intended to stay until that bitter end. Beth had a splitting headache by then. She stood beside the commodore in the main dining room, feeling as if the salsa beat was now smashing into her head.

  She was startled when Ashley came up to her, alone.

  “Where’s Amber?”

  “With her dad. Beth, a man will follow you to my place. You have your key, right?”

  “What’s happened? Did—did they catch Eduardo…doing something? Sandy…Brad?”

  “Not really, but…Eduardo Shea is going to be questioned at the station. I think Keith is calling his boss so they can come up with something to hold him on. Anyway, I need to get down to the station, as well. You have one of our friends, the big waiter, on guard duty. I’ll be home as soon as I can get there.”

  “Ashley—”

  “Beth, that’s all I know right now. When I find out anything else, I’ll call you, I promise.”

  Ashley murmured good-night to Commodore Berry and started out. Beth looked at him, ready to explain that she needed to be with her niece, then decided not to bother. He would know about the entire events of the evening soon enough, she was certain.

  She walked outside. Her brother was nowhere to be seen. The party out here had broken up. A waiter was wandering around, picking up fallen glasses. “Ben?” she called.

  Her brother didn’t answer.

  Panic seized her. “Ben!” she called again, louder.

  Still no answer. She tried to calm herself. Amber was Ben’s child. He might have insisted that they head home. She called her brother’s cell phone. No answer. She tried Amber’s, then remembered that Ashley had said it was dead.

  She cursed, and tried her brother’s phone number again. Still no answer.

  Then she saw Amber. The girl was striding along the dock. Idly, it seemed at first. She looked up, seemed to see something and started to walk faster. And where the hell was Ben?

  “Amber!” Beth called.

  Amber apparently didn’t hear her. She kept moving along the dock, her long-legged stride taking her quickly down to the farthest pier. Beth followed. Amber didn’t stop at the dock that hugged the shore; she had seen something that had drawn her attention. In a minute she was almost running down the length of the dock that jutted out to the sea.

  “Amber!” Beth called again, following as quickly as she could. It was hard to run in her ridiculous heels, and she wondered how on earth her niece was moving so fast. But then, Amber had mile-long legs.

  Down the length of the pier, past sailboats, motorboats, big boats and small, Amber at last came to a halt. Beth had been running so desperately in her wake that she couldn’t stop when Amber did. She nearly plowed into her niece. “Look,” Amber said, pointing. “It’s their boat.”

  Beth stared at the boat. It didn’t look familiar at all. It had a fresh coat of paint and was of moderate size, about twenty-six feet. She frowned, looking at her niece. “What are you talking about?”

  “That couple who were on Calliope Key—they’ve decided to clean her up. She looks good, huh?”

  Chills raced up and down Beth’s spine. Amber was right, she thought, though she couldn’t be a hundred percent sure. It looked like the same boat…but different. Fresher. It was the size and make of the beaten-up vessel they’d seen off Calliope Key.

  “Amber, we’ve got to get out of here,” she said urgently. As she spoke, she started to turn. Then she screamed as something wet and cold slapped against her ankle. She looked down just as a man sprang up.

  It was Brad—or the man she had known as Brad. Bald now, clad in a drenched tux. He had managed to shed his shoes, and the dark toupee he had worn to blend in with the other waiters was askew. He must have seen Amber coming and slipped into the water. Maybe he’d intended to hide. Maybe he’d hidden intending to accost her the second he had seen her look down the dock and start toward his boat. She opened her mouth, ready to scream, determined to protect Amber no matter what.

  “Don’t do it,” Brad said, producing a knife. He lunged toward Beth; in a second, he had pulled her tightly against him, the knife to her throat. She met his eyes. He smiled. They both knew it didn’t really matter if she screamed or not—the band would drown out any sound from the docks.

  Despite the blade against her throat, Beth ordered, “Amber, run.”

  “Amber, don’t even think about it,” Brad said harshly. “Move and she’s dead.”

  “Amber, run!”

  “Amber, step aboard the boat,” Brad said. “Or she’s dead.”

  “Amber, I could be dead one way or the other.” Beth started to protest further, but her words ended in a little gasp when the knife bit into her flesh.

  “No, don’t hurt her!” Amber sobbed.

  Brad just smiled into Beth’s eyes as Amber hopped immediately onto the deck.

  18

  KEITH HURRIED INTO THE FOYER and then the dining room. He was certain he looked ridiculous without his fake mustache and beard, but he didn’t really give a damn. He saw Commodore Berry, still smiling, still wishing his members a good-night and a safe
trip home.

  “Where’s Beth?” Keith asked the man.

  “I don’t know. And quite frankly, this is all becoming a bit of a fiasco. Miss Anderson should be here, saying good-night with me. Whatever you people were so certain of tonight certainly didn’t happen—”

  Keith ignored him. “Where are Ben and Amber?”

  “Mr. Henson, I’m afraid I don’t know, and I’m still quite busy—and you look a mess.”

  Keith walked past him, continuing to search the area. His blue-haired dance partner glanced at him and gasped.

  Shaking his head, he hurried to the patio, since the closest door led out in that direction. There was no one there, but the door to the men’s locker room was ajar. Keith ran toward it and burst in.

  He was stunned to see a figure on the floor. As he hurried over, he heard a groaning sound. He was stunned to discover Ben Anderson, struggling to sit up.

  “Ben, what happened?”

  Ben shook his head. “I was in here…I don’t know. My head. I came in because I’d left my watch in my locker…must have tripped. I was walking toward it…look, it’s open.” His eyes widened. “Amber…Amber was waiting for me, by the door. I told her to wait—not to wander off. Oh, God, she didn’t wait. She wandered. She didn’t listen. She didn’t realize…wouldn’t believe it could be dangerous here!” He stared at Keith. “My daughter! You have to find my daughter.”

  Keith straightened. “Have you seen your sister?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll get you help,” Keith said.

  Then he was out the door, shouting. He ran into a waiter in the patio and grabbed him by the lapels. “There’s a man hurt in there—get help. Get the police.”

  The waiter paled and turned to do as he’d been told. Keith raced down onto the lawn. A few people were straggling out to spend the night on their boats. He searched through the crowds on each pier.

  In the distance, he saw Amber Anderson getting on a boat. He frowned. There was someone else on the boat…and on the dock, but he couldn’t tell who.

  Amber probably knew most of the people who had boats here, he reminded himself. But even so, why wasn’t she waiting for her father, the way she’d undoubtedly been told to do?