Hurricane House (11 page)

I said, “She’s lovely. Wish I could say something to ease your mind. One of our beach neighbors, Victor Curry, said he saw your wife’s car parked out here yesterday.” “What time was that?”

“Yesterday morning, but I don’t remember the exact time. Sorry.”

“Doesn’t make sense. Why didn’t she return my calls? And her mother’s calls? Her mother’s worried sick.”

I didn’t know what to say. I thought of the car I saw standing straight up in the sand. No reason to mention it unless I knew for sure the car belonged to Geneva.

VanSant unlocked his front door and released the potty stink cooped up inside. “Jeez, awful.” He motioned for me to walk ahead of him.

I walked into the foyer and noticed a laptop Dell sitting on a dining table. The heat from the crystal warmed my chest as if giving me a warning about this computer.

“Check it out,” I thought I heard Adam say.

Beside the dining table, I spotted carry-on luggage. Surely VanSant would have said something about the computer and luggage if he’d noticed them. Instead, he ran up the stairs without comment.

“Hey, Maeva,” Paula called from the doorway where she stood with a tall, handsome man, sixty maybe, with white hair, buzz cut, prominent chin and smiling eyes. “Meet an old friend of mine, Keith Harrigan. Keith and I used to be childhood sweethearts. We both grew up in Decatur, Georgia, a suburb of Atlanta.” Paula smiled at Harrigan and his face blushed like a little boy with a crush.

I walked over and extended my right hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Keith. I wish I had more time to chat, but I’m in a rush.”

Harrigan offered a bearish hand and bone-breaking grip. I thought he’d never let go. Was he unaware of his strength or did he squeeze my hand like that on purpose? Paula said, “Maeva lives in Alabama. She and her sister own the two places next door, but Maeva’s so busy with her job, I don’t see her much.”

“What kind of work do you do, Maeva?” Harrigan asked.

“I’m a CAT.”

Paula interrupted. “She investigates storm claims.”

“I know what a CAT is, and if I’m not mistaken, we’ve met before. In Montgomery, a couple of years back, at an FBI, Alabama Bureau banquet. Weren’t you with Adam Lorenz?”

I felt a stabbing pain at the mention of Adam’s name. “Keith never forgets a name or a face,” Paula said. “You with the FBI?” I managed to ask.

“Retired, if they’ll let me.”

“What’s with the helicopters?” I wanted to know. “Surveying the area and transporting Mr. Trawler and Mr. Loughton, who are concerned about their wives.”

I heard VanSant exhale through his teeth, signaling his reappearance. “Geneva’s not here. I don’t know what to do.” His voice trailed off as he walked outside, leaving the front door ajar. “I hope to God she and Roxanne didn’t try to stick it out over there.” VanSant jogged through the flooded street where Mason Trawler directed a front loader with a large crane.

I started to ask Keith about Tara Baxter, but before I could, he walked away, calling over his shoulder. “Nice meeting you again, Maeva. Hope to talk with you later. Don’t forget our lunch tomorrow, Paula.” Keith followed VanSant to where Roxanne’s husband squatted in the sand, looking depressed.
Paula sighed. “Keith’s the man I should have married.”

I felt pressured. I needed privacy and time to work, but I thought Paula might have information about Tara’s death. “You and Keith seem pretty close. Does he ever talk to you about what he’s working on? Adam sometimes did.”

“Nah, he’s usually hush, hush. I think he’s afraid of my big mouth.” Paula laughed, tilting her head back.

“I hope we can talk later, Paula. Right now I need to get to work.”

Paula frowned and nodded. “Don’t you want to know why Keith and I didn’t get married?”

“Yes, I’d love to hear about it later when I’m not so pressured.” I smiled and backed inside the VanSants’ townhouse.

Paula followed me. “Why don’t we chat while you do your thing?”

I sighed impatiently, as I walked through the town home assessing the damages. I had trouble concentrating with Paula talking on and on.

“I was sixteen and in high school when we met. Keith was older, got drafted to Vietnam. Daddy wanted me to attend college. So he intercepted Keith’s letters. Imagine, my own daddy kept Keith’s letters from me. I thought Keith had lost interest when he didn’t answer mine to him. He did answer, but I never got the letters.” Paula shook her head, sadly.

“It was one of those awful things. I never stopped loving Keith, even after I graduated from the University of Georgia,
became a teacher and married another teacher. Keith married someone else, too, and now he has a slew of grandkids.” Paula wiped her eyes. “Only recently did we find out what happened concerning our letters.” Paula stepped in front of me, forcing my attention. “Don’t misunderstand me. I have no intention of breaking up Keith’s marriage, even though he claims he never stopped loving me all those years. It’s like I told Keith, ‘I love your wife for taking such good care of you.’ Paula closed her eyes, squeezing out tears.

I felt pity for this woman, but I needed to be alone in order to check out Geneva’s computer and luggage. “At least you can be friends,” I said, giving Paula a hug.

“Oh, absolutely, and my mother and Keith’s mother are best friends, always have been. Mother was the one who spilled the beans on how Daddy hid Keith’s letters from me. Daddy confessed right before he died. And to make a long story longer, I always used to call Keith’s mother on his birthday to see how he was doing.”

Paula raised her right hand as if taking an oath. “I swear I didn’t have an ulterior motive. I wanted to find out how he was, that’s all. One day his mother said, ‘You’ve always loved him, haven’t you?’ I couldn’t lie. Rex, my late husband, had passed away by then. I’d moved here, not knowing Keith had moved to Dolphin, too. Can you believe that? His mother calls it destiny. She gave him my phone number. He called to say he was sorry Rex died. He couldn’t believe I’d moved to Dolphin. I guess we’ve always been on the same wavelength.”

“Sounds like it.” I patted Paula’s arm. “Fascinating story, and I appreciate you’re sharing it with me, but right now, I really need to focus on what I’m doing. I have a one-track mind and don’t multitask very well. Can’t we talk about this later? I’d like to hear what you have to say about Tara Baxter.” I glanced at the computer and the luggage, thinking Loughton VanSant would return soon to get them. “But now, I have to get my butt in gear. After doing this claim, I have a single mom with flood damage, and many others I can’t get around to today, unfortunately.”

“You poor thing.” Paula slid her arm around my shoulder. “Listen, I’ve got an idea. I’m staying with my friend Huberta Huber. A great person. You’re welcome to join us tonight if you don’t have plans. Huberta lives alone in a huge house, built like a fort with a generator that kicks in when the power kicks off. You’d be welcome there. I just know it.”

I walked to the front door; then opened it to let Paula out. “Thanks, sounds good.”

“Huberta was supposed to have one of those sexy surprise parties tonight,” Paula said. “You know. You buy stuff like lingerie, massage oil, dildos. The hurricane wrecked it. A shame, because...” Paula lost her train of thought when Sean appeared. He smelled of soap and shampoo. His hair was wet. He’d changed into cargo shorts and a white v-neck tee, revealing his tan, muscular chest. I wondered how he’d managed to wash himself so well without running water.

Sean propped against the VanSants’ door, and I’m embarrassed to say I felt a sexual spark. The crystal warmed my chest while I blushed like a schoolgirl. I turned away to hide my feelings and somehow lost my balance on the damp floor.

Sean grabbed me around the waist. “Whoa, you okay?”

I gathered my composure enough to say, “Yes, but if you’ll please excuse me, I have to get back to work.” I stepped inside the VanSant’s townhouse and started to close the door when Sean said, “Last call for grub?”

“Something smells delicious.” Paula said. “If you can cook, too, you’re quite the Renaissance man. Don’t you think so, Maeva?” Paula forced the door open before I could close
it, and I thought I’d never get rid of this woman. “Writer, cook, chiropractor, and before I forget...” Paula turned toward Sean. “My chiropractor, Allen Toddy, I call him ‘Toddy for the body.’ He said you fill in for him on occasion. Is that true?”

Not often, but Allen claims he sold me this townhouse with the condition I’d cover for him when he needs me.”

“Dr. Allen cracks me once a week.” Paula grabbed the back of her neck. “I need an adjustment now.” She winked at Sean. “Did you know Dr. Allen was the first person to introduce me to your books? I simply love them.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Wonderful setting, California desert, Indian reservations.” Paula pinched her nose as if it helped her to articulate. “I couldn’t put them down, and that’s a compliment from me, an old English teacher.”

I glanced toward Loughton VanSant, now engrossed in conversation with the crane driver. A section of the Trawler’s pink roof dangled from the iron claw. National Guardmen in camouflage jumpsuits were on their hands and knees, digging with trowels.

“I need to finish up here and move on. Enjoy yourselves. Talk to y’all later.” I began closing the door, but once again, Paula stuck her head in. Unbelievable.

“Maeva, why don’t you follow me over to Huberta’s after you’ve finish with whatever, okay? Don’t worry about the time. I’ll meet you at the entrance to Gulf Drive whenever.” She handed me a slip of paper. “Here’s my cell number.”

I stuffed the paper inside my backpack. “Thanks. Take care, bye,” I said, closing and locking the door. Finally. I walked over to Geneva’s laptop on the dining room table. My gut and the crystal told me I needed to check out the computer, and I knew if I didn’t heed those warnings, I’d regret it, though I felt like a snoop when I turned on the laptop. While waiting for it to boot, I walked to the front door and peeked out to make sure Loughton VanSant was still occupied. He seemed to be consoling Roxanne’s husband, but for how long, I didn’t know, meaning I had to hurry.

I rushed to the laptop and quickly discovered Geneva was a trusting soul. I needed no password to get into her Word or e-mail files. Sadly, there were too many to read at one sitting. What to do. Should I take the computer? I knew it might seem dishonest and illegal, but not stealing exactly, only borrowing.

While I pondered what to do, the crystal warmed my chest, which I took to mean: Take the laptop. So I slipped the seven-pound computer inside my backpack.

On the bar, I found Geneva’s purse with a letter from someone named Dee Samson. The ink in the letter appeared blotchy, but I could read enough to realize Dee claimed to be having an affair with Geneva’s husband. Motive, maybe? Evidence?

I stuffed the letter inside my backpack and spotted a cell phone on the bar. Cell phones contain vital information. Take that, too, I thought I heard Adam say.

After I threw the cell in the backpack, I walked through the townhouse again to make sure I’d noted all the damages. A broken lock on the upstairs sliding-glass doors meant I could easily return Geneva’s things. If caught, I needed to think of a plausible explanation as to why I took the computer and cell phone.

Before leaving, I glanced through the front window where a crowd had gathered. Paula Weardon and Keith Harrigan were out there, too, huddling together. Sean Redmond, Victor Curry and several soldiers walked around, looking bewildered, as if in a state of shock. Then I heard screaming. It sounded like a wounded gorilla.

Chapter Sixteen

Geneva VanSant

     
Geneva awoke on a cot, stiff and cold. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably. She had the worst headache of her life, like someone stabbing her brain. She’d give anything for a drug to relieve this pain.

She pushed against the cot, stood on wobbly legs and swayed from side to side. The room swirled around her, and she fell back on the cot, helpless, lying there, pondering her plight. How can I get out of here?

Eventually, her head cleared. The black wash in front of her eyes vanished and she noticed a red light flickering in the corner of her small, padded cell. A surveillance camera. She directed her fist at the red light. “Pervert, stop watching me!” In her anger, she stood and walked a few steps before stumbling on a bottle of cool drinking water. She rubbed the bottle over her aching head and pondered the details of her capture. Foggy, had she actually found her friend Roxanne dead? Or had she dreamed it?

What happened? Where was she? She thought she’d heard a noise like a jet plane taking off. Then footsteps, clomping across the floor. “Who’s there? Where’s Roxanne?” she called out, her mouth dry and hoarse, her hands shook violently. “Get me out of here. Now.”

Her mouth felt like sandpaper. She unscrewed the top of the water bottle and drank half the water without thinking. Yuck. Medicinal. Geneva threw the half empty bottle at the surveillance camera. “Psycho.”

Chapter Seventeen

Maeva Larson on Paradise Isle

      I slogged back through the thigh-deep murky water toward my truck, which I’d parked on a dry mound of sand at the end of the street. I scanned the water looking for sharks and thought I saw fins scooting around and felt a hard thump against one of my rubber boots. No telling what swam in this floodwater.