Hurricane Bay (37 page)

 

Kelsey walked out on the dock with her coffee. She loved to sit there, dangling her feet in the water the way she had years ago, as a child.

She found her eyes wandering to the beach. She bit her lip, recalling the photo of Sheila, posed there. The memory would haunt her for a long time. But she did love the property. Hurricane Bay hadn't caused the misery and horror—a man had done that.

On a whim, she went back into the house and picked up Sheila's diary and the papers she had gathered. She wished Sheila had said something more in the diary. It was still disturbing, no matter what she had said to Dane, to ponder exactly why Latham would have killed Sheila when she was his source of income.

She started scouring the pages again, noting a few she had skimmed over.

Shopping with Cindy. Midget. I called her Midget today. She got mad. It was her nickname when we were kids.

I told her Midget wasn't bad. After all, the guys all called me Boobs. And they did it in public.

She isn't mad at me anymore.

I wonder if Kels would be pissed if I called her Bubble Butt today. I think I'm the one who made up that name. Had to have something that went with Boobs.

Then there was He-Man. We liked to call Dane that. He even got the good name.

The entry ended. A few pages later, Sheila wrote:

Another day at the bar. I called Nate Liver Lips. He laughed and asked me if I'd heard from Web. I said yes, of course.

He loves me too much. Even outright cruelty doesn't seem to get through to him.

“He loved you too much, Sheila. If only you had been able to love him.”

She glanced at the stack of papers again. The two pictures still bothered her. The man in the second drawing wasn't Andy Latham. She was certain of it.

And it wasn't Dane. The man in the drawing had dark hair. She frowned, studying the picture. She turned it and looked at it from every angle. Sheila had scrawled some kind of a border around the drawing. She tried to follow it. Was it just a border? It had the look of elongated writing.

She was so engrossed that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her. She jumped, dropping the diary, when she saw the shadow looming over her on the water.

 

Jesse was there when Dane arrived.

He must have driven like the wind.

Dane slid into the booth across from him. The waitress knew him and brought coffee right away.

“That's it, Sally, thanks,” Jesse said.

Dane arched a brow. “This must be important.”

“It is. They're going to reopen Sheila's case.”

“What? Why?”

“Do you remember me telling you that there was something about the bodies that the police didn't tell anyone? Like a signature?”

Dane frowned. “Yes.”

“The first two girls had the middle toe of the left foot removed.”

“And Sheila's toe was there?”

Jesse nodded. “I wanted you to know right away. Because you're going to be in for another round of questioning. And I had to come here because…well, just in case any lines were being tapped or anything like that.”

Dane felt a chill creep into him.

He jerked out of his seat. “I've got to go, Jesse. Kelsey's alone.”

 

“Hey there,” Larry said. “I just came to say goodbye. I'm heading back. We can't all retire and live the good life in the Keys, you know.”

“Oh, Larry.” She rose, giving him a hug. She stepped back. He was dressed for the office in a neatly pressed suit, silk shirt and tie. She smoothed the shirt. “I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss working with you. But you'll be back. I'll see you again soon.”

“What were you reading so intently?” he asked her.

“Oh, that. Sheila's diary. And some drawings of hers. I'm just…well, I don't know. I'm trying to make it all jell.”

“Make what jell?”

“What Nate said yesterday. That it didn't figure for Latham to have killed Sheila, since she was his meal ticket.”

“He was psychotic,” Larry said.

“I know, but how do you explain the whole fish thing?”

“The fish thing?”

“The fish that Latham dumped here, remember, claiming we had dumped them on his property?”

“He was psychotic,” Larry repeated.

“I suppose. We'll never know all the answers.”

“Find anything in the diary? Or in those papers?”

“No.” She laughed suddenly. “Sheila made me think of old times, though. She talks about us using our old nicknames.” She made a face. “Remember, I was Bubble Butt. And you were Web. Weekend Boy. So you still have to be Web, all right? Come down often.”

Larry stared at the diary.

“Want some coffee?” she asked him.

“Sure. Where's Dane? I thought I passed him out on the highway when I was coming here.”

“Out. He went to see Jesse.”

“Oh. Sure, I'd love coffee.”

He followed her into the house. She walked straight to the kitchen, setting the diary and papers on the counter. “You know,” she told him, “there's something else that's bothering me. Really bothering me,” she said, pouring coffee from the pot. “When Latham was attacking me, he talked as if he hadn't killed Sheila. And did Latham really have the brains to take that photo and stick it under Dane's door? To break in and get a tie, then bide his time and watch the house?”

She looked up. Larry looked pale.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

She set a cup of coffee in front of him on the counter. She ran her fingers over the drawing, twisting it again to better see the strange border.

“It
is
writing, I think,” she said.

“What is that?”

“A drawing Sheila made. Looks like a guy trying to hurt a woman. And you know, she had told Dane she was afraid. Larry, you're sweating. Are you okay?”

“It's a little warm. The suit, you know.”

She took out the milk and sugar, and turned back. Larry was taking off his tie. As she walked back, she saw the paper from a different angle.

“Loosen your shirt collar, too, Larry,” she said absently. Then she stood very still.

The first part of the border was definitely a letter. A
W
that swept over a third of the bottom of the page. She twisted the page around and saw that she had been right. Sheila had created a border out of letters. The first was a
W.
The second was hardly recognizable because it was so elongated in script. It was an
E.

“Larry. Look at this. She was writing something to go with the picture.”

She twisted the picture again. The last letter was a
B.
WEB. Weekend Boy.

She had written down Larry's nickname.

She looked up, instinct creating a warning chill within her. Larry didn't just look pale. He looked sick. She noticed the tie in his hand. The way he was knotting it.

The milk fell to the floor.

Larry stared at her, shaking his head. “I didn't want to do this, Kels. Really I didn't.”

“Larry…no.”

Why the hell hadn't Sheila just told her she was afraid of Larry? Because she worked with him, because she'd taken his side, and if she'd just had a chance to spend time alone with Sheila, her friend would have told her all the little reasons why.

“You know, Kels. I know that you know. I went through the house. I read the diary. There wasn't anything in it that pointed to me. I even went through those papers. I thought that…I thought that was one of Sheila's kid drawings. I never would have realized she was spelling my nickname. Not if you hadn't pointed it out. You never let go, Kelsey. You're like a determined little terrier. I should have realized that. Even without that drawing, you probably would have figured it out eventually. Found out how often I had been down here and seen Sheila. It's a good thing I came by.”

“If I figured it out, Dane will, too.”

He shook his head. “No. They'll think Dane did it. Naturally I'll get rid of that paper. And everything else points to Dane. Sheila slept with him the night I caught up with her, you know. I knew she would. And I knew when Dane would leave the house, so I knew when to bring her here and take the picture. And since he's already told them about the photograph, all I have to do is make sure they find it.”

“Larry…why?” she whispered.

“Jesus, Kels, how can you ask that? I loved her, and she treated me like shit. She humiliated me. I was the only guy she wouldn't sleep with. And then there was Dane. He-Man, while I was Web. All my damned life. I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to kill her, so I did. And I planned it so it would look like the Necktie Strangler. Oh, Latham really was the Necktie Strangler. I thought he might be. He was such a sicko. But that didn't matter. I knew if I killed Sheila on Dane's property and took the picture, he'd have to go after the killer, and I knew I could count on him to find him. And he did. But…well, I didn't think Latham would talk to you while he was trying to do the deed. And I sure as hell didn't know about the trust fund—Sheila never told me anything. You can't imagine how I hated her.”

“You're not going to kill me, Larry.”

“I'm sorry, Kels. Honestly. As much as he's been a thorn in my side my whole life, I didn't really even mean to make Dane pay. But the way it's worked out…well, he's going to have to take the fall. For Sheila, and for you.”

She shook her head. “No, Larry, come on, think about it. If you plead temporary insanity and tell the jury about your marriage, I'm sure they'll understand. If you kill me as well…Larry, don't be an idiot. Someone will figure it out. Dane will be back.” She was trying to speak rationally. Trying to find an escape route as she spoke. She glanced at where he stood, and at the back door. “You're not wearing gloves,” she pointed out. She was shaking inside, a continual “No!” wailing through her head.

Dane would be back.

But maybe he and Jesse had a lot to talk about.

It didn't matter. She wasn't going to let Larry kill her.

“No, I don't have gloves. I really don't want to do this, Kelsey. But this time I'll take the weapon with me,” he said softly.

“Your tire tracks will be out there.”

“So? I came to say goodbye. And then I found you. I'll call 911 right away.”

Kelsey was still incredulous. She had worked with Larry for years. She had sympathized with him at his divorce.

She had slept alone with him in the other room in Sheila's house.

He took a step toward her.

Kelsey was terrified, but she'd fought for her life once already. She wasn't going to give it up now.

“Kels…” he said very softly, “I'll try not to hurt you.”

She backed up against the counter. He followed.

She reached behind her, grabbed the coffeepot and brought it crashing against his head. He screamed as the glass and scalding liquid seared his flesh.

Kelsey shoved him hard. Then she began to run.

 

Dane burst into the house just in time for Kelsey to race into his arms.

Larry was flying after her.

Dane caught Kelsey and moved her aside, ready to meet her attacker.

To his amazement, Larry stopped and stared at him from a distance. Coffee stained his clothes, and there was a gash on the side of his head.

“So, you killed Sheila,” Dane said softly.

“No…you killed her. That's the way it will look.”

Dane pulled out his cell phone, staring at Larry.

Larry pulled a small gun from his pocket. “Don't! You're not the only one who knows how to use a firearm, Dane. Like this little piece? So small. It's usually a woman's gun. Fits into even a small handbag. But at close range…Dane, you're not dealing with Latham here. I'm not a madman. I just did what I had to do. Drop that cell phone. I'll hit you dead on in the chest if I fire now. And I will do it,” he warned. Dane hesitated, slowly lowering the cell phone.

“They'll definitely catch you if you shoot us,” he said.

“Let's go outside,” Larry said.

Dane's eyes met Kelsey's. She stared at him and knew that he was silently telling her to listen…to buy time.

“All right,” Dane said. “We'll go outside since you like to murder people on my beach.”

“I'll shoot you right here, if need be. I know what you're doing, of course. Every second gives you a ray of hope, right, Dane?”