Death by Marriage (29 page)

As I lay there, nose to nose with a whole carpet of black mangrove shoots rising from the mud like spikes on the mat of some Indian
fakir
, I heard an alligator roar.
Snap. Crunch
. Some poor turtle was no more. And worse, the alligator was feeding close by. Hopefully, the turtle was supper and not just an appetizer until he could find something larger.

Heedless of the mangrove spikes, I scrambled to my feet, trying not to splash. To an alligator, splashing signaled
food
. And it wasn’t going to be me.

I peered over the mangrove swamp, looking toward the lights of the closest house.
O
nly ten or fifteen feet of dense mangrove growth and then lovely green grass. I seized a handful of shiny green mangrove to steady myself and placed my right foot on a curved root. Dear God, did I see something slithering off a root only a foot away? I froze, scanning the water for a ripple, a small head . . . But it was too dark., the blasted snake could be anywhere. Including being just another figment of Gwyn Halliday’s overactive imagination.

I could see lights in windows not fifty feet away. I could do this. I was almost there. I hauled my left foot up, white-knuckling the flimsy upper branches of the mangrove as I tried to balance both feet on a mature mangrove root shaped like one arm of an octopus trying to walk on mud. I swayed in place, terrified, sure I heard the alligator lumbering through the shallow water behind me.

“Gwyn!”

I slipped, plunging back into the muck. My left foot hit one of the miserable little black mangrove daggers, and I collapsed into about a foot of water, crying out as much from horror as from pain. They’d come back, they’d found me. I’d failed. The three of us were doomed.

Strong arms wrapped around me, holding me close. “It’s all right, Gwyn, you’re safe. Come on.” Chad hauled me to my feet
. Thank you, Lord.
I’d never think a bad thought about Chad, ever again. I started to babble non-stop as he helped me wade to his speed boat. Even as I climbed in, I kept up the litany:
Letty, Crystal, Jed, the Williams family. Help!

I collapsed on the rear seat of the open cockpit, glaring at Chad as he settled himself at the wheel and reached for something that wasn’t his cellphone or two-way radio. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let the cops know what happened.”

He tossed me the denim jacket he’d obviously peeled off before coming to my rescue. “Did that when the
Rainbow
went hard right.” He patted the sleek sides of his high-speed boy toy. “This baby was the only one that made it under the bridge. I’ve been a hundred yards back the whole time, relaying info.”

My knight in shining armor. Okay, so the armor was tarnished. At the moment, Chad Yarnell was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen.

I pulled on his jacket, which felt so good I’d swear it had a built-in heater. Probably my reaction to wearing Chad Yarnell’s jacket or maybe the guilt I was suffering for doubting him. “But you were on the sundeck when we went by,” I said. “I saw you.” Drunk as a skunk, or so I thought.

“Playing possum. I was on Scott’s call list, assigned as the north Intracoastal scout in case
Rainbow’s End
made a run for it. I was into my baby here a minute after you passed. Never let you out of sight. See,” he added softly, “here come the troops. The chopper too.”

He was right. A whole fleet of boats, led by both Golden Beach and county patrol boats, blue lights flashing. And with the helicopter to guide them, county patrol cars would be approaching
Rainbow’s End
’s location by land. It was over.

“Will they use Letty and Crystal as hostages?”

“I doubt it. If there’s one thing con artists aren’t, it’s suicidal.”

I hunkered down in Chad’s jacket and watched the boats go by. A very different kind of boat parade than the one that started all this.
We got them, Martin
, I whispered softly
. We got them, Mr. Janecek. We got him, Alexis. I’m so very, very sorry.

Sea Tow
broke ranks, moving toward us, Scott craning his neck to locate me huddled in the shadows.

“I’ve got her,” C
had called. She’s fine. Go get ’
em, cowboy.”

Scott blew me a kiss and gunned
Sea Tow
’s motor to catch up with the eager boat posse and the slew of country cops that had the Williams family nicely trapped, no matter which way they turned.

“There’s a cabin forward,” Chad said, “or you can come over here and lean on me all the way home.”

“But I need to know—”

“Believe me, we’ll hear the minute they make the takedown. No sense butting in and getting in the way.”

“Tyrant,” I mumbled, but I made my way forward and squeezed onto the broad captain’s chair beside him. He was warm and toasty and for the rest of the journey home, past harsh exchanges forgotten, I basked in being in that special place where I’d always wanted to be.

Chapter 23

“What I don’t understand,” Letty said two nights later as we all trooped into the living room after stuffing ourselves with Mom’s very special January thanksgiving dinner, “is how Scott organized a blockade so quickly. How he even knew he should.”

My brother, basking in the limelight, flashed a grin like the Cheshire cat. “You guys might not have recognized
Rainbow’s End
, but she passed right by me when she left the Yacht Club and turned up-harbor. I saw the crowd in the cabin clear as day. Seemed a good idea to follow, so I did. When I saw them tie up at Bella Vista, I figured we had a problem. I made some calls, put some friends on stand-by.”

Scott switched his focus from Letty to me, his baby brother chip on the shoulder dissolving into a look that was pure affection. “I was watching when they herded you three onto the boat. I called Talbot and Chad and set the other guys in motion. We figured the bad guys would know they were trapped when they hit the jetty blockade, but, just in case, I asked Chad to watch the north Intracoastal and Ben Liddy stood watch on the south side.”

I glanced at Mom and found her slack-jawed. Her Scott, her mischievous, irresponsible Scott Thomas Wallace had done all this? But Boone and Chad were nodding, agreeing with every word. Would wonders never cease? Mom knuckled away a tear, and I almost lost it myself.

“I don’t know how to thank you all,” Letty said, looking around the room. “Gwyn and Crystal tried their best to warn me, but I simply wouldn’t listen. I am thoroughly humiliated and hope you’ll forgive me for the danger I put you all in.”

After a chorus of protests and assertions that we’d been glad to help, it seemed a good moment to change the subject. “Did Betty Williams kill Basil Janecek?” I asked Boone.

Cornsilk hair waved as he slowly shook his head, his sharp eyes apologetic. “If she did, it was way too subtle for us to charge her. But we’ll have no trouble getting her on grand theft.”

“What about Eric?”

“We’ve got a forensic team from FDLE working on it. It’s looking good, that’s all I can say at the moment.”

“And Marshall?” Crystal asked, with an apologetic glance at Letty.

“Marshall’s going down for kidnapping, pure and simple. We really don’t need anything else to put him away. And a search of the house beyond the river bagged about three-quarters of the stuff that was stolen over the last few months. That, and Yarnell as a witness, takes care of the goons. Besides tying them in with the Williams family.”

“Did Vanessa confess?” I asked. She killed Martin, I knew she did.

“No.”

“What do you mean
no
?” I said at near-screech level. “Of course she did it.”

“The family probably gave her the go-ahead, but she maintains she’s not a true Williams, only some kind of distant cousin. Not brought up to kill. We suspect she panicked at the crucial moment and talked someone else into doing it. An accessory charge is the best we can manage.”

“That’s a life sentence anyway, isn’t it?” Mom asked.

“Could be,” Boone confirmed.

“Well, hell, then who did the old boy in?” Scott asked.

Six pairs of eyes focused on Boone Talbot. “Gwyn gave me a clue,” he said, “the morning after it happened. She has sharp eyes and she noticed something no one else reported. Kellerman might have been a swinger, but he was nobody’s fool. He carried his epi pen wherever he went. When he realized he was having an allergic reaction, he reached for the pen, which was in his Santa pocket. And, yes, it was still there after the accident. We found it. His legs were giving way, he was stumbling, but he still might have made it if
Rainbow’s End
hadn’t done a nasty little jog into the wake of the boat in front.”

“Jeb?” I whispered. “Jeb did it?”

“Looks like it. His words, as I recall, were, ‘Well, hell, wouldn’t you take a chance for ten million bucks?’ He confessed to coating an ornament in peanut butter and hanging it right where Kellerman would stand.”

“Vanessa put him up to it,” I insisted.

“Well, of course she did. And Betty Williams, Marshall, and Eric as well. But we’re stuck with He-said-She-said, and I’m not sure we can prove it.”

“Give me a half hour with her.” Chad had been quiet all night, but when he broke silence, it was with a real zinger.

“Love to,” Boone said without missing a beat, “but I like Golden Beach. Don’t plan on being sent back to Grand Island with my tail between my legs.”

“Juries are smarter than we give them credit for,” Mom said. “They’ll see through her like a sheet of glass.”

Maybe. But Jeb a killer? I hadn’t expected that. In spite of what I’d seen that night, I’d accepted his explanation. After all, I’d known him since grade school. Jeb Brannigan was one of us. I could only hope he took Vanessa down with him.

“Letty,” Mom said, winding things up in her inimitable style, “I am abjectly sorry this is the first time you’ve been in our home. I hope to see you here many times in the future. You, too, Chief Talbot,” she added, turning to Boone.

“Yes, ma’am, I’d like that.” He gave her that slow Nebraska smile that tingled my toes, turning it my way before he looked down, closely examining his shiny black dress shoes.

“And Chad . . .” Mom gazed at the one-time Prince of Golden Beach, now the black sheep of the Yarnell family. “Your mother and I have been friends since high school. Now that you’re back, I hope we’ll be seeing a good deal more of you too.”

For a moment, a fleeting moment, I saw the old Chad as he graciously acknowledged Mom’s welcome. I’d seen the old Chad for a little while two nights ago on a speedboat heading south on the Intracoastal toward home. Chad Yarnell, my drunken burned-out hero.

A buzz of conversation rose around me as Mom and Crystal began to organize dessert and coffee. I should help, but my legs refused to move. I hadn’t exactly covered myself with glory these past few days. It had taken three men to pull me out of the mess I made.

But would they have been there at the right moment if I hadn’t made that phone call to Scott? Okay, maybe I wasn’t quite the klutz I thought I was, but sticking to costumes, with maybe a bit more time allotted to my social life, seemed like the best idea I’d had since the fateful night of the boat parade.

We stuffed ourselves with fruit tart, Key Lime pie, and warm, walnut-stuffed brownies, and downed about a gallon of coffee. Interestingly, Chad was the last one out the door. If I haven’t mentioned it before, he looked very fine tonight. Pleated charcoal slacks and unstructured jacket, worn over a teal dress shirt. Hair neatly combed and beard carefully trimmed to a three-day growth. But I didn’t fool myself. He’d made the effort for supper at the home of Jo-Ann Wallace, not for me.

Well . . . maybe not. Chad stepped outside, pulling me after him. He closed the door before bending his head, leaning down toward my . . . ear? Frankly, now that I was out here, alone with him in the dark, I’d hoped for something more. “Don’t forget,” he whispered, “we still haven’t negotiated my fee.” His lips brushed my cheek.

I stepped back fast. I glowered.

Chad raised an eyebrow. “What? You thought I’d forgotten? Believe me, babe, I’m not that far gone.”

“Just because . . .” I sputtered to a halt.

Chad was one of my three heros. And, yes, I needed him. Maybe not now, but the next time I ventured off the costume path . . .

No next times!

But I would, I knew I would.

I flicked a brownie crumb off Chad’s jacket. “Fine,” I murmured. “We’ll negotiate.”

I watched him drive away, until old Bess’s taillights faded in the distance. Chad, Boone, Scott. An overabundance of riches.

Golden Beach, no longer a refuge, but a town shining with hope for the future.

~ *** ~

About the Author:

Believing variety is the spice of life, I also write traditional Regency, Regency Historicals, Romantic Suspense, Suspense/Thrillers, Mystery, and Futuristic. (Below is a list of
my
books currently available.)