The Bone Man
Page 7
It was she. Didi’s reconstruction. Delphine’s face had been on that bust. And it felt as if I were face-to-face with her.
I’d been trying all week to believe Delphine was alive, but all it took was one look at that photograph. My doubt vanished.
Delphine was dead, her skull somehow impossibly planted in an old Anasazi pot.
And right in front of me, beneath the photograph, a similar pot sat on a plinth. Naked. Not under glass. Nothing but air protecting it.
“Shouldn’t they be under glass?” I had asked Delphine nearly a year ago.
“These ancient artifacts need to breathe, Tally,” she answered. “Some are beneath glass, but some need to be free. You know?”
“I’d hate to see one broken, Del.”
She shrugged in her Gallic way. “C’est la vie. Meant to be.”
I sighed. “Oh, Delphine.”
“Don’t be sad, sugar.”
I flew around and stared into the grinning face of a Gene Hackman look-alike, a guy with a day-old beard and green Izod-style shirt. He stared back me. His sweet smile matched his thick Southern drawl. Too bad all that contrasted with the chill pulsing from his eyes. This man was a predator. All else was a costume donned for show.
“I . . . I . . . oh, um. I’m not sad. Not really.” I shoved my hand into my pockets. The cops would be here any minute. I could stall him. I’d be fine. “How can I help you?”
His brilliant smile widened, revealing a gold canine engraved with a Z. “I’m here to meet Miss Zoe, of course.”
Here to meet Zoe . . . what was he doing . . . what did he want . . . cripes. “Of course!” I repeated. I smiled, breathed deeply, tried to slow my racing heart. I had to ignore the evil I felt from this man, or he would hurt me. Somehow I knew that. “Here I am. So how can I help you?”
“Whelp me? What are you talking about?”
“Help. I said help, not whelp.”
He pressed a finger to his left ear and turned. He chuckled, shook his head. “Damn hearing aids. Way too much rock n’ roll as a kid. Better.” He lifted my shaking hand and kissed the palm.
I forced myself not to pull it away. Not yet. I hoped it didn’t shake too much. “Me, too. Now—”
“M’dear, you know just how to help me.”
He tried that charmer smile on me again, but his eyes remained flat and dead. Killer eyes. I batted my eyelashes, gave a sly smile. “Sir, perhaps I’ve forgotten.” I straightened my spine, threw back my shoulders so he’d notice my boobs, and tossed my blond curls.
The police. Any minute. Carmen? Where was Carmen?
A knife flashed. He grabbed my arm, flipped me around. A movement, swift, then pressure, then pain and . . .
I shrieked.
He pushed me away.
I pressed my hand to my face and felt a warm wetness, lowered my hand and saw . . . my palm smeared with blood that glistened and dripped. My blood. I bit my inner cheek, fighting the pain. Couldn’t let him see it or my terrible fear. I spit at him. “Creep.”
“Now you listen, little Miss Zoe,” he said. “I don’t mess around, m’dear. You should know better than to play coy with me. Now, do tell, where is the fetish? The one they used. I’m sent to get it.”
He held on to my forearm while he bent and wiped his knife on my jeans. He didn’t lower his head, and his lizard eyes held mine. I had to control the fear. The fury, too. Bastard. I wouldn’t let him get the upper hand, not completely, or he’d kill me. He’d enjoy it, too.
He ran a finger down my cheek, where he’d cut it. His touching it burned. My eyes watered in pain, but I didn’t cry. He raised the finger to his lips and licked off my blood.
His grin was lipstick-pretty from the blood on his lips. Christmas. I forced a wink. “So cool you don’t mind HIV.”
His wide smile faltered, just a touch. I wasn’t dead yet. But the fetish? I had no clue. And I had to control the situation. Somehow. Had to. Calm. He wanted something from me. I’d try to give it to him. “Follow me.” My voice rasped with pain.
I led him to the back room, where I’d seen the Zuni fetishes. No sign of Carmen. The smell of my own blood dripping down my neck sickened me. I shook my head. I’d keep it together, dammit. I had to. I tugged my shirttail out and dabbed at my face. He didn’t say a word, just followed behind me.
Delphine had lined the terra cotta room with her modern American Indian treasures. I glanced at a pot, a huge one. It sat on the nearest glass counter. Good. Okay.
Now to find the fetishes. I skirted a display of Katsinas and one of small seed pots. Finally . . . “Here.” I pointed toward the case that held dozens and dozens of Zuni fetishes. Wolves and mountain lions and bears and moles and corn maidens and many, many more.
He stood behind me, close, tight, his breath fetid and warm on my neck. His hands wrapped around me and pressed my breasts. He squeezed, gently massaged them, just like a lover.
I grew dizzy with hate.
I lowered my head. His hands were long and slim. Pianist’s hands. I opened my mouth to bite one.
He squeezed tighter and tighter and the pain, blinding. I struggled, tried to bite, elbowed him, clawed at those torturous hands. But he was too close, pressed too tight against me.
My legs trembled from pain, and I reached up behind me, found his face with my fingers and ripped.
He pushed me away, and I smashed into the case, and it toppled backward.
“Bitch!” he said.
I gasped for air, bent almost in half, arms crossed over my breasts, which pulsed with pain.
“I want that blood fetish, and I want it now. Y’all hear? If I don’t get it, sweet peaches, I’m gonna cut you into little slivers and feed you to my carp.”
“It’s in the case,” I said.
“In the caves? Where? Which cave, goddammit?” Face bright red, scored with my nails, eyes boiling fury turning icy and calm. Very calm. Happy, almost. He pulled a gun from its sheath above his ankle. “First, the left kneecap. A crippling bite. Here . . .”
A cacophony of windows breaking and wood shattering and screams. A woman. Carmen.
I twirled. In the doorway, there she was. “No!”
The boom of a gun, and I ran to Carmen, expecting to see blood bloom on her shirt. But her eyes stared past me, and I grabbed her and shoved her to the floor.
Silence. The pounding of my heart.
I was afraid to look, knew he was standing over us, the stubby barrel of his gun pointed at us.
“Ma’am?” Footsteps. “Ma’am?”
I tuned my head. Boots. I followed up the leg and found the face of a police officer. Dan’s son, Riley.
“I . . . hello,” I said.
“Tally, get off.”
Carmen was talking. Get off? Oh. Right. I rolled onto my back, stared at the beautifully painted ceiling done in . . . What was I thinking?
“Tally?”
An arm around my shoulders, helping me sit up.
“Carm?” Tears fell down her face. “I’m okay. Are you?”
She sniffled. “Ayuh. Just peachy.”
“Stop stealing my lines.” I hugged her tight.
We helped each other up. Across the room, the man who’d attacked me lay on his back, blood seeping into the wood floor from the hole in his chest.
“Thank you, Sergeant Riley,” I said.
Lips compressed, he nodded. “Timely.”
“Yes. The alarm?”
He shook his head. “This lady here.”
“Oh, Carm.”
“Ma’am—”
“Call me Tally, please.”
“Ma’am.” His eyes soft and sad. “I’m sorry, but you have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say . . .”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Carmen and I sat on the same bunk in the cell in the Edgartown jail. The thin mattress smelled, and the air was thick with old sweat and cheap antiseptic. Through the bars and glass, we could see black thunderclouds scudding across the gray sky.
I lay down and dozed. Again I saw Didi’s body in that pool of blood and her writing on the floor that . . .
I sat up abruptly, scratched my scalp. I’d found it.
“Blood fetish,” I said.
“You’ve been dreaming, Tal,” Carmen said.
I nodded. “Yeah, in a way. That’s what Didi had been writing with her own blood on the floor. She wrote bloodfet. See? She’d been starting to write blood fetish.” I swallowed a sob. “She didn’t get to finish the words. And that’s what the thug demanded I find—the blood fetish.”
She rested a hand on my shoulder. “So what does it mean?”
I walked across the cell trying to piece together something, anything. “I have absolutely no idea. I’ve collected fetish carvings for years, but I’ve never heard of it. Never. You heard the guy ask for it, yeah?”
She pursed her lips. “Actually, no, Tal. So what?”
I heard his voice—clear and ugly—in my mind. “I guess it shouldn’t matter, but . . .” I sat beside her, took her hands in mine. “See, no one but me saw Didi’s bloody words. They were gone by the time forensics got to her office. Somebody wiped them away. I have no idea who. I’m the only one who saw the words and now I’m the only one who heard that thug ask for the blood fetish.”
“So?”
“I don’t know. It feels . . . odd, is all. I can’t explain it.”
Carmen laughed. “To much woo woo, if you ask me. Or maybe not enough.”
“What the hell’s woo woo?”
She waved her hands. “The supernatural. Creepiness. You know, woo woo.” She lifted a finger to my cheek, but didn’t touch. Concern lined her face. “It’s looks okay, Tal. The EMTs did a great job. And I watched the doc at the hospital sew it. You’re all set. Yup suh. All set.”
I gave her a quick hug. “Don’t worry, Carm. It’ll be quite fetching.” I began to pace the cell, counting the steps. “A faint scar and all. I refuse to snivel.”
Carmen stood and wrapped her hands around my shoulders, effectively stopping my pacing.
“Oh, go on,” she said. “Snivel.”
I had trouble meeting her eyes. I shook my head. “He was about to blow out my kneecap with his nine millimeter. Thanks, Carm. Thanks for the rescue.”
“You’da done the same for me, Tal.” She bit her lip, stifled a sob.
“It’s okay.” I hugged her again, tight. “Really. I’m fine.”
“It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have left to get the cops. I . . .”
“You didn’t have a cell. The shop phone was off. What were you supposed to do, yodel?”
She laughed, looked at my face. She was smiling. “Tally, you’re a piece of work. When I think about it. Shit. Without the cops, we’d be dead.”
“That you would,” came a male voice.
We turned. Dan stood outside our cell, a crooked smile on his face. The guard smiled. “You ladies are out of here. Good thing I have some pull on this island.” He laughed. “They didn’t charge you. At least, well, not yet they haven’t. So I thought I’d take you home for some chowdah.”
The guard swung open the door.
I stepped forward, then hesitated. What if Izod got out? What if he came after me and . . .
I looked from the guard to Dan to Carmen. I shook my head. “I’m being silly, but . . .”
“He’s dead, Tally,” Dan said. His face grew tight and grim. “You saw him. Drowned in his own blood.”
“Oh. Okay.” So how come I still didn’t feel safe?
Carmen took my hand and tugged and out we went.
Dan wrapped an arm around our waists. “Belle’s made a huge meal. Ha! It’s gonna be delish. And a friend of yours is here, Tally. Rob Kranak.”
Oh, hell.
The following night, a gorgeous sunset dressed the Vineyard in party colors that turned the sea almost painfully beautiful. I was glad I’d brought my camera. We sat on State Beach, just the two of us, Kranak and I. A sweet wind blew from the east, ruffling the frizzed corkscrews of my hair that I hadn’t captured beneath my ball cap. My feet were bare except for their red paint, and I squished my toes in the chilly sand.
When I closed my eyes, I heard the whisper of the sea. That was all. I rested my good cheek on my knees. The wind brushed my damaged cheek like a lover’s caress. I could sit like that for hours.
Kranak held my hand in his beefy one. He’d doffed his shoes, but still wore the thin brown socks I knew he’d purchased at Brooks Brothers. I knew a lot about Kranak. Why he wore suits instead of more casual wear. Why he no longer hid his diabetes. Why he thought he was in love with me, but wasn’t really. And why he was so furious with me, he shook with it.
“You never told me who called you,” I said.
“Riley and Dan. We’re old pals from Dan’s law enforcement days. He wanted me to check out the scene. And you.”
He’d brought his CSS kit, and earlier he had gone over Delphine’s shop and home with a Kranak-like precision. And now we sat on the beach, holding hands, saying nothing, until . . .
“Does Cunningham know?” he said in an almost-reasonable growl.
“About me being cut? No. Not unless Carmen told him, which is possible.”
He snorted. “You tellin’ me that you’re afraid he’ll think less of you because of that . . . ? Jesus, Tally, the guy cut you. I’d like to fucking rip his—”
I squeezed his hand, then wrapped both of mine around my knees. My eyes clung to the sunset. “He’s dead, Rob. So it’s over. And I didn’t call Hank because he’d hotfoot it down here, just like you. Then he’d yell at me really, really quietly, which is far worse than anything you can dish out.”
“Oh, yeah?”
He wore sunglasses, like Nicholson, which meant he probably couldn’t see a damned thing. They made him feel less vulnerable, and I understood that. “Christmas, Rob. Everything isn’t a contest with Hank!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
Music came from down the beach. I saw a couple holding hands, him carrying a picnic basket and an old-fashioned boom box; her, a blanket. In their own world. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. I ached to taste Hank’s lips on mine.
Why hadn’t he told me about moving to Boston? “Let’s, just for a few minutes, talk about the case. Okay?”
He cradled my jaw and turned my head. He searched my eyes, seeing things I didn’t want seen. He slid his sunglasses from his face, to make sure that I saw the pain in his. Hard as it was, I held his charcoal eyes, although I desperately wanted to look away.
“I am sorry,” I said. “I know I’ve upset you with this. I’ve upset me, too. We just wanted to—”
“Don’t.” His eyes narrowed.
Now would be when we kissed. Except we wouldn’t. We’d learned from past mistakes.
“I know what you were doing, Tally,” he said. “I get it. Every fucking time you get in trouble like this, it takes years off my life.”
I nodded. A friend was killed. Murdered. Didi. She’d been his friend, too. “I can’t change. Not this.”
“I’m glad we’re not lovers, Tal.” He dropped my hand.
“Me, too. It’s better.” Funny how much it hurt.
He turned toward the sunset. “I’m getting cold. Let’s wrap this up.”
“Sure,” I said. His brusque tone was painful, but I had to live with it. My choice. But it was still hard. “What did you find at Delphine’s antique shop?”
“Some blood on the floor in that room you call the artifact room.”
“Human? Old? New? What?”
“Human. New, not old.”
A catboat
scudded across the waves, sail billowing, jib flying. I pointed. “Pretty catboat, eh?”
He tsk-tsked. “See the jib? It requires that bowsprit, that pole extending forward from the vessel’s prow. So, even though it looks like a catboat, it’s really rigged like a sloop. Traditionally catboats were gaff rigged. Now they use the more modern Bermuda rig.”
“You do love your sailboats, don’t you?”
“I live on one don’t I?”
“Because it takes you away from everything.” I lifted my camera and snapped off a dozen shots. My dad would have loved to sail here. I pictured him at the tiller of our small Blue Jay. I’d swear he acted as if he were captaining a schooner. I shook my head. I loved those glimpses into the past, but they never helped with the now.
“How much blood did you find?” I asked.
“Not a lot.”
“I don’t see her being killed there,” I said.
“Her? That Delphine woman you keep talking about?”
“Yes.”
He raked a hand through his crew cut. “Who knows? Plastic on the floor, like a drop cloth, some escaped. We don’t know she’s dead, Tal.”
I removed my glasses, rubbed my eyes. “I know. But I believe . . . What does Zoe say?”
Kranak jiggled his foot.
“What?” I said. “I told you, the guy thought I was Zoe. Obviously he hadn’t met her. Is she okay?”
“She’s vamoosed.”
The following day, Friday, with Riley, Dan’s son, as police escort, Carmen and Kranak and I again went over every inch of Delphine’s shop. I’d brought Penny along, and let her sniff her happy heart out. She was certain to react to anything unusual. At the same time, Carmen and I removed every single Zuni fetish from the damaged case. Amazing, but most had survived the crash intact.
We found a safe haven for them in a long case in front. We began to replace the carvings one by one, using the care each deserved.
The Zuni or Shiwi, as they’re also called, are the preeminent fetish carvers, just as the Hopi were famed for carving Katsinas and Navajo for their fabulous weaving of rugs.