What's Done in Darkness (28 page)

I walked toward the steps and reached them as she finished descending. “Jade?” she asked me.

I extended my hand. “Hi.”

She took my hand and shook it. “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet me.”

She didn't look like a crazy person. In fact, she had an air of sophistication about her. And there was something else that struck me. Behind the beautiful face there was a hint of sadness in her eyes.

“Hammock's Café is serving lunch and has a lot of variety.” She gestured to her far right. “It's that way, so it's close. Unless you want to head out somewhere else.”

“No, Hammock's Café sounds fine.” I wasn't really hungry. My stomach had been in knots since I'd spoken to her. Everything that had happened over the last few days, capped with her bombshell about her brother, had my head spinning.

“I'll buy.” For the first time, she smiled, and my sense was that she was a warm and caring person.

But I didn't return her smile, because I didn't want to be a fool. And until I knew what she really wanted, I couldn't relax.

She led the way to the restaurant, which was outside. A cheerful hostess asked us if we were a party of two. Shawde took the lead, telling her yes and asking if we could have a table in a corner.

Less than a minute later we were seated on the far right, beside a wall of lush palms. I could see the blue water of the pool a short distance away and hear the laughter of people frolicking in it.

Just being here made me think of the fact that I hadn't even explored the beauty of Key West yet. Now, with Christian's murder, I wondered if I ever would.

Shawde lifted one of the two menus that the hostess had placed on the table and passed it to me. “Anything you want. It's my treat.”

I took the menu but said, “I'm not too hungry. I think I'll just have coffee.”

“Are you sure?”

I was in no mood to be breaking bread with a stranger, especially not under the circumstances. “Yes, I'm sure. But thanks anyway.”

A few seconds later a waitress appeared, all smiles. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Hammock's Café. Can I get you a cocktail while you look over the menu? We make amazing frozen margaritas.”

“Actually, I'd love a cappuccino,” I told her. “Do you have any flavored shots?”

“We do.”

“Vanilla?”

“Sugar-free or regular?”

“Regular, thanks.”

The waitress turned her attention to Shawde. “I'll have a coffee,” Shawde said before the waitress could speak. “Black. Plus an order of your Island Chips and Queso.”

“Great.” The waitress took our menus and walked away.

I studied Shawde as she placed her purse strap over the side of her chair. She was older than I was, probably by ten years.

She faced me, smiling again. “I'm sure you're wondering if I'm crazy.”

“The thought has crossed my mind. I mean, you don't know me, yet you come all the way to Key West to see me? Are you actually living in Albany?”

“Yes.”

When she gave me a quizzical look, I said, “I checked out your Facebook profile.”

“Of course. I'm glad you did. I'm a pediatric nurse. Have been for ten years.”

I was certain that at least some people with psychiatric problems had been able to hold down steady jobs. But I didn't say that.

“And,” she went on, “so you know, I didn't come just to see you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Vacation?”

“No. I wish.” She paused, then leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I had a friend down here. You talked to him several times at the café. A guy named—”

“—Gordon,” I finished for her, a prickling sensation spreading across my nape. A sixth sense. “What about him?”

“I haven't been able to reach him for over a week.”

“He hasn't been in touch at all?”

“Nothing. Which isn't like him.”

“He used to come into the coffee shop every day and work on his novel. We talked quite a few times. Then suddenly he stopped coming in.”

“When was that?”

“Gosh, at least a week ago.”

“And did he contact you after that? Text, call?”

“No, we never exchanged numbers. We talked about getting together to see Hemingway Home once, since we were both into writing, but after that I never saw him again.” I paused, thinking. “No, wait. I saw him the morning after that. He was outside of the café. Katrina was talking to him. He turned and left. That was the last time I saw him.”

“Katrina was talking to him?”

My stomach sank.
Oh God. Was that of any significance?
“She thought Gordon was playing me. I think that's why she talked to him. She probably told him to stay away.”

“Maybe Katrina was on to him,” Shawde said, more to herself. “Damn it. This isn't like him. He was supposed to stay in touch daily.”

“Wait,” I said, trying to figure out what was going on. “What exactly are you saying? Was Gordon down here to spy on Katrina? Spy on me?” Even as I asked the question, it sounded ridiculous.

“This isn't about you,” she said. “Like I said before, this is about Katrina Hughes.”

Gordon had asked a lot of questions, especially about my connection to Katrina and sorority life. “Is he really a writer?”

“No.”

“Oh my God.” I felt betrayed. “So he lied to get close to me. He asked me all those questions. I thought he was interested in me.”

“He had to find out who you were, what you knew.”

This woman had had someone investigating Katrina? Investigating me? Maybe she
was
crazy. Or seriously misguided.

Suddenly I was unsure that I should even be here. My loyalties lay with Katrina, who'd been good to me—even if she wasn't the nicest person in the world. Not this stranger.

“You're making Katrina out to be a villain, but the truth is, I have no clue who
you
are. What your agenda is.”

The smiling waitress returned at that moment. “One vanilla cappuccino, and a black coffee. Is there anything else I can get you right now?”

“Nope,” I said.

Once the waitress was a good distance away from the table, Shawde asked, “How long have you known Katrina?”

“Not all that long,” I said. “A couple of weeks. But my sister has known her for years. And why are you asking
me
these questions, instead of telling me what you know? You said your brother died?”

“Bear with me. Just as you want to be careful, so do I. So your sister is the connection to Katrina.” She made a face. “Either your sister didn't really know her, or…”

Her voice trailed off, and I leaned closer to her, eager to hear what she had to say. “Or what?” I prompted.

“Or she was a part of it. I have long suspected that Katrina has had help doing what she does. Heck,
someone
has to know.”

“My sister was a part of what?”

Shawde said nothing, just looked deep in thought.

“Are you deliberately being cryptic?” I asked.

Shawde studied me for several seconds before answering. “It's just … and please don't be offended … but I need to make sure you're not one of the people in Katrina's circle who know what's she's really doing. I mean, you went to Mexico with her on her
honeymoon
.”

My anger flared. “If you're trying to imply that Katrina is involved in some sort of sordid activity and that I know about it—condone it—you're wrong. Is that why you had me meet you? So you could accuse me—”

“No,” Shawde interjected, and held up a hand. “I'm just … my brain is spinning with a million thoughts, but no, I suppose that doesn't make sense. And Gordon found no reason—”

“Why are you here?” I interjected. “Why am I here?”

“Because I agree with Christian's sister. I don't think her brother being murdered was a tragic case of wrong place, wrong time. Another family has lost someone they love—all because Christian had the misfortune of getting involved with Katrina.”

I glared at her. “That's a pretty cruel thing to say.” This woman had had me meet her, but she hadn't said anything that proved Katrina was a killer. “You weren't in Mexico. You have no clue what happened. But I was, and I can tell you that it's not fair to blame Katrina because some insane guy killed her boyfriend. All you need to do is read the news to know that there are serious issues in Mexico. Tons of tourists have been killed there. We shouldn't have even gone to Cancun.”

“
Exactly.
So why did you? Wasn't it just a couple of weeks ago when a couple was murdered in Cancun? Why would anybody say,
Hey, let's go to Mexico,
when they were already in a tropical place?” She gestured around.

It was a fair question and one I didn't have an answer to. So I stuck to what I knew. “As I said, you weren't there. Neither was Melody. I was, and I can tell you that speculation isn't proof. You think I haven't questioned what happened? But the bottom line is, Katrina was in the club with me the entire time. And she got way too drunk to kill anyone.”

Shawde shook her head, giving me a look of disappointment. “I don't know how she does it. She has everyone in her life under her spell.”

“Excuse me?” I had to draw in a deep breath to keep my anger under control.

“One boyfriend dying under questionable circumstances, that's bad enough. But two?”

My jaw went slack. “Your brother died under questionable circumstances?”

But was I really surprised? It was clear that this woman had come here because she thought Katrina was responsible for her brother's death. But on some level, I'd tried to avoid the obvious. I hadn't even come out and asked her about her brother.

Because you're afraid to hear …

Shawde didn't answer. She was busy fiddling with her phone. And when she turned it to face me, I saw a man who looked a lot like her. He was gorgeous and had a smile that radiated warmth through the phone's screen.

“This is Shemar. My brother.” And there was that sadness in her eyes again, more pronounced now. “Five and a half years ago, after dating Katrina, he died in a car crash. The police ruled it an accident, but I know it wasn't that. It was murder.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTY

“Murder?” I repeated the word, speaking louder than I'd planned. I quickly glanced around, checking to see if anyone was within earshot and had heard me.

No one was close enough, which was a relief. Still, I lowered my voice before continuing. “Why do you think your brother was murdered?”

“I don't think it. I
know
he was murdered,” Shawde stressed. “And that bitch thinks she's gotten away with it.”

As I stared at Shawde, at her eyes that had filled with tears, I felt a pang of empathy for her. I knew what it was like to lose someone. To lose someone you loved dearly. And I imagined if that loss was sudden it was even harder to cope with.

“Don't look at me like that,” Shawde said, brushing away her tears. “I'm not crazy. The police said there was no proof, but that's because Katrina knew what she was doing.”

I noticed then the pale skin on Shawde's wedding finger where a ring had been. Had she recently ended a marriage? Another loss could be causing the pain over her brother's death to be even worse.

“I don't think you're crazy,” I began gently. “It's obvious you loved your brother, and a sudden loss like that—”

“I assure you, if I believed it was simply a tragic accident, I could move on. You have no clue what this quest for justice has cost me.”

Maybe part of that cost had been losing her marriage. “I'm sorry,” I said. “I'm sorry about your brother.”

“But you don't believe me. I ask you this: How would a person who knew his way around cars leave for a long trip with broken brakes? My brother was great about checking his car from top to bottom the day before a long trip. He always did that. We had a cousin who died in a car wreck. He
knew
the dangers on the road. And he was heading to Albany the day he … he died.” She paused, swallowed. “He would have checked his car. There isn't a doubt in my mind.”

I held Shawde's gaze, contemplating what to say. I had no doubt that she believed what she was saying. Believed it with every fiber of her being. But believing it didn't make it true. “Did the police investigate your claims?” I finally asked.

She scoffed. “Not hard enough. They said the car was so damaged after the crash that they couldn't find any evidence of sabotage. But the witnesses all said that Shemar didn't stop. Traffic was slowing down, and he kept barreling ahead, finally swerving to avoid the traffic in his path. His car collided head-on with a truck and burst into flames.” Stopping, Shawde grabbed one of the napkins from the table and dabbed at her tears.

“Oh my God,” I uttered. “That's awful.” No wonder she was devastated.

“It's just so hard,” Shawde went on. “Five and a half years and you'd think I wouldn't break down like this.”

“Losing someone you love is devastating,” I said. “I recently lost my father. And … well, I had to miss a semester of school because of it. It's not easy.”

“My brother had dirt on Katrina,” Shawde went on, sounding stronger now. “He had dirt on her, and he was going to expose her.”

My back went straight. “What kind of dirt?”

“He didn't say. He was vague when he spoke about it, asking me advice about what he should do. But I think she hurt someone. And he knew, and he was wrestling with his conscience as to whether or not he should turn her in. He was heading home to Albany for a few days to get some rest and relaxation and decide his next course of action. It was also then that he was going to tell me exactly what was going on.”