HOMOSASSA SHADOWS (22 page)

Across the canal, lights burned in the Flint house. “I’ll ask those people to call the Sheriff s Office,” he said.

She glanced up. “Don’t,” she said, “please. I don’t want them to know about me. I can’t trust anyone. Everyone knew one way or the other where I planned to search. We’ll call the Sheriff s Office ourselves. A deputy was supposed to meet me.”

In the dim light she could see John’s mouth tighten. “If you say. You do get into messes, Bran.” He helped her down the steep bank and into an aging marina jon boat moored to a tree at the water’s edge. Meg leapt aboard and huddled at her feet.

“Had a devil of a time finding anyone who’d let me have a boat so late,” John said. “Finally found a young fellow who works at the marina and talked him into renting it. He thinks he knows you.” The skinny fellow who pumped gas for her. The talker with the inquisitive nature. He’d be quick to pass on the tidbit that she was in trouble.

She had more bad news for John. “I heard someone drive our boat away.” By the boat’s running light, she fumbled her way toward the bow and stumbled onto the seat. “I’d left our boat behind in the canal. I’m sorry. I don’t know what they did with it.”

He settled her under the bow light, and sat down next to the outboard kicker. “I’d hate to lose that boat,” he said.

Brandy dropped her head. She might as well know the worst. “You said you had a shock.”

John grasped the pull chord. “After I read your notes, I spoke to the neighbor who was feeding the animals. She gave me a few insights about your visitors.” He knew about Sergeant Strong. She thought miserably, that left only Grif Hackett. John gave the cord a vicious yank. The boat rocked, but the engine only sputtered.

John gripped the cord a second time. “First, I looked at the marina, and I got more interesting information there. The employees suggested I check at the motel.” He gave the cord a mighty pull and the engine caught at last. “The clerk at the desk confirmed what my anonymous female caller told me. Seems you didn’t confine your private visit to the lobby. She also mentioned that I might learn something at the adjoining restaurant, too.” Even in the dark Brandy could see the anger in his rigid face. “The reports were an eye-opener.”

A weight settled in her chest. She recalled the inviting voice of the clerk with the towering hairdo. She’d had her eye on Grif; she’d been angling for him herself. Brandy had eaten at the restaurant, of course, with Grif, and then gone to his rooms. How long had she stayed? She was too flustered to remember.

John spoke in a fierce, clipped tone. “I went all through Carole’s place,” he went on, steering the boat into the creek, “I was looking for a clue to where you’d gone.” He raised his voice above the clatter of the old engine, and she braced herself against sudden jarring as they rounded the bend into the river. “Your notebook was on the porch table. You planned to check out this end of the island today.” He glanced down at Meg, and his voice softened. “Meg’s a good tracker. Once we landed here she ran around, then zeroed in on the cistern.” He pointed to an old shirt of Brandy’s tucked around his belt. “I brought this along to keep her on target.” He shook his head. “This is the most trouble you’ve gotten into yet.”

She would have to swallow his criticism. It was better than the black hole he had pulled her out of.

“It’s a shock to learn you have a boyfriend.”

Brandy felt nauseated, flustered, unable to cope. “It’s not like that,” she said faintly. “Not at all.” It could be, she thought, but it isn’t.

“We’ll talk about it later. I don’t want to talk now.”

She sank against the back of the hard bench. Before she collapsed, there was something she had to take care of besides John’s feelings. What was it? It had once seemed so vital. “I found an important thing in the cistern,” she said suddenly. “I found something for the Sheriffs Office.” With a start, she realized she had used almost those same words earlier, much earlier, shouted them to someone before the cistern lid slammed down. That frightened statement might’ve sealed her fate. Whoever stole the treasure knew about the pouch from the journal, but hadn’t found it. That person would not want it turned over to the Sheriff.

Her job now was to preserve the evidence. “Is there a box or a plastic container on the boat? I need to keep it wet.”

With one hand he rummaged in a storage bin next to the console, pulled out a flat plastic box, and thrust it at her. “I brought my old first aid kit. It’s pretty clean. You can take the stuff out.” He frowned into the darkness ahead. “I thought I might need it.”

Brandy eased her canvas bag up from the floor, unzipped it, and carefully extracted the folded scarf. “This pouch is more than one hundred fifty years old,” she explained. “I’ve got to give it to Sergeant Strong. It could be a clue in a murder case.” She leaned over the side of the boat, dipped water into the blue box, laid her treasure into it, and snapped the lid shut.

As John steered across the black waters and through the reflection of a silver half-moon, he did not seem impressed. The wind scoured the sweat from Brandy’s face. She stared at the receding tip of the island and its thick growth of cedars, while the curve of the river vanished into a midnight of distance. Above them, a wan slice of moon glided in and out of clouds. She shivered, thinking of all those who had suffered over the centuries on that small plot of land. The fear that clutched her, she knew, was not rational, yet these forgotten souls, in some way, were here. Could the Medicine Man Fishhawk and his sacred bundle really send these agonized spirits to their final resting place in the West? He had vowed he could. She hoped he was right. When trapped in the cistern, she had felt these presences. She never wanted to feel them again.

East of the Salt River mouth, jungle gave way to darkened, elaborate stucco and frame homes, then to the black clump that was Bird Island, and next the commercial fishing docks. The only lights shone from the Tiki bar where a waiter and a barkeep were sweeping up. John nodded toward it. “The bartender told me you’d been there a lot with your archaeologist friend.” He kept his voice level.

Brandy flushed. “Grif Hackett is as interested in this case as I am. I went to the motel to see some wonderful old Indian pottery.”

“I see,” John said dryly. He swung the boat into the short canal and nosed it into their boat slip. After tying up, he helped her stand. “I’ll take the rental boat back tomorrow before I leave. Marine Patrol should be able to locate ours.”

She took his hand and limped off the boat onto the dock, Meg at her heels. “John, my relationship with Grif Hackett isn’t what you think. We’re both trying to help with this case. And a child’s missing.” Her voice trailed away.

“The hotel room, remember.”

“I told you, old pottery. He wanted to show me Indian pots.”

“Sure he did. Most people go to museums.” He took her arm and helped her through the porch door.

“Nothing happened.” She hobbled into the living room.

He did not look at her. Instead he led her to the bathroom. “We’ve got to clean you up. Then you need to go to bed.”

“I’ve got to call Sergeant Strong at the Sheriff’s Office,” she said. “His number’s in my address book in my bag.”

He picked up the canvas bag. “I’ll call,” he said.

Brandy sat down on a stool beside the shower, still feeling weak. She could scarcely tug off her muddy boots. “Leave a message,” she said. “Tell whoever answers that the cistern ought to be roped off in case they can find out who shut me up there.” She waved a weary hand. “Footprints, fingerprints, something. Say I need to talk to Strong tomorrow.”

He left her and went to the kitchen phone. She could hear him talking quietly, an exclamation, and then he returned with a clean wash cloth and towel. “You had a message. Detective Strong called about noon. Somebody named ‘Grapple,’ I think, was released on bail this morning.”

Not really news. That afternoon she had overheard the fact from Melba and Alma May.

“Can you stand in the shower?”

Suddenly she felt so tired she couldn’t lift her arms. “Don’t think so,” she muttered. He filled the sink with warm water, soaped the wash cloth, and peeled off the shirt and jeans. “You won’t sleep unless you’re cleaned up.” Gently he washed her breasts and stomach, brushed the green slime from her legs and feet, and slipped a fresh nightgown over her head.

“Lucky you’re my husband,” she murmured, even now she felt a warm stirring in her exhausted body.

John only looked grim. “Husband for the time being.” He found an ace bandage in the cupboard, and began methodically wrapping the swollen ankle. Then he carried her into the bedroom and plunked her on down-turned sheets. “I’ll bunk for the rest of the night in the back room. Too bushed to drive back tonight. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

She called after him, “But, John.”.

“I’m old-fashioned,” he said in the doorway. “One man and one woman at a time. Guess you’re a little too independent for me.” He switched off the light and closed the door.

* * * *

When Brandy awoke in the morning, she was startled to find sunlight sliding in through the blinds. She swung her legs out of bed, felt a twinge when she put weight on her ankle, and called out for John. No answer. The weight returned to her chest. The house seemed unnaturally quiet. She peeked out the window and saw Meg lying in the shade of her favorite orange tree, fresh water beside her, and staked on the lawn. Leaning against the wall for support, Brandy wobbled into the kitchen. John’s cereal bowl and coffee cups were rinsed and upturned on the dish drainer, the coffee pot full and set to stay hot. She limped on down the hall into the back bedroom. The only occupant of the neatly made bed stretched, yawned, groomed his gray fur, and gave Brandy a lordly and dismissive glance.

“Forget it, cat,” she said. “I’ve been rejected by the master.”

In the bedroom she fell back on the bed, depressed. John had made his feelings clear. Finally she fished in the closet for a pair of jeans and a clean shirt and struggled to pull the pant leg over her swollen and wrapped ankle. John had placed the first aid box on the dresser. She pulled up the bed covers and slipped it under her pillow. As safe a place as any for the tobacco pouch. She felt muddled. She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t make sense of all that had happened. She did know one thing. This time she did have to get out of Dodge.

In the kitchen she poured a cup of coffee and shuffled into the living room. When she switched on the last of the television news program, Daria’s perky little face glowed back at her, smiling. The first birthday photo again from the Seminole Tribune. The announcer said that the search still went on. Brandy’s eyes filled. She had been no help in the search. She turned off the set and trudged on to the screen porch. The rental boat was no longer in the slip, John’s minivan no longer in the double carport. Brandy sighed and slumped into a chair. No good-bye. No effort to show affection. He simply didn’t believe her. Now her sadness was laced with indignation. She certainly had told him the truth about her own actions, if not Grif s.

Brandy set down her coffee cup, turned the pages of her notebook, and pulled a pen from the binding. While she waited for Strong to phone, she made a few notes about yesterday’s ordeal. In a few lines she summarized her discovery, doodled an elongated tobacco pouch in the margin, laid aside the pen, and sighed. She wouldn’t tell anyone else about the pouch until she gave it to Strong. She might be getting somewhere with the mystery of the artifact. The pouch seemed to prove an artifact had been concealed in the cistern. But what about Hart’s death? And poor little Daria? And certainly her marriage was in deep trouble.

Brandy was lingering over coffee when Grifs van rolled into the carport. She realized she had not put on makeup, had scarcely brushed her hair. Grif stepped out, carrying what looked like sticks under one arm.

“Greetings,” he called. “When I called this morning, I heard you had more tough luck last night. I brought you something. May I come in?”

Why not? John didn’t want to be with her. She nodded. “Word gets around fast,” she said.

Grif pulled a plastic chair up to the table. “Guy at the marina. He told me about your ankle this morning.” John must’ve explained why he needed the rental boat when he returned it. Grif leaned toward her, his bright blue eyes concerned. “Someone left a second-hand crutch at the motel. I thought you might need it.”

She ran a hand through her disheveled hair. “You called? I didn’t hear the phone.”

“Not surprising. Your husband picked it up on the first ring. He said he didn’t want to wake you. He’s gone?”

Her usual luck. Naturally, Grif would call, get John on the phone, and reinforce John’s suspicions. “He’s driven back to Tampa,” she said. “He thinks something’s going on between us.”

Grif flashed his ultra white smile. “Isn’t there?” He brushed her hand with his. “I wouldn’t have gone off and left you after the night you had.”

Brandy wondered how much Grif knew about last night, how much John had told him. “I’m not good company this morning,” she said, “Nothing’s gone right. I’m waiting for a call from Sergeant Strong. I need to find out if anyone’s found my pontoon. It’s missing.” She settled lower in her chair. “John’s bound to blame me because the boat’s been stolen.”

Grif patted her hand. “You were doing what you thought was right. I want to give you that ride to Gainesville, get you out of danger. You could see the work we do at the museum.”

A ride home was more than John had offered. Brandy looked at Grifs clean, work-toughened hands. “I thought you were taking the Safety Harbor pots there yesterday.”

He drummed his fingers on the table beside her notebook. “I tried to reach you, but I couldn’t get you at the house or on your cell. When I didn’t hear from you, I waited. Anyhow, I needed to make some recommendations about the site in Chassahowitzka. We can’t get in there yet, but I have reports to log.”

“Look,” Brandy said, “I’ll go freshen up. Maybe by then I’ll hear from Strong or from Annie. I want to see her before I leave. I want to ask how the search is going, and I’ll pick up my cell. She won’t need it in Tampa.” Brandy didn’t want to go anywhere again without it. “Tugboat’s been released.”