Hurricane House (26 page)

I wondered if Sean was here. The thought of seeing him again made my heart flutter. So I took a few slow deep breaths to calm myself and scanned the hundreds of people in attendance. Many of the mourners, paying their respects to Roxanne, suffered hurricane damage.

Paula leaned over and whispered. “Keith’s wife is very attractive. Don’t you think?”

I put my arm about Paula. “Are you going to be okay?” “As long as he’s happy, I’m happy for him. That’s what love is.”

“I’m sorry. I know it hurts.”

Paula nodded. “Why don’t you have a seat, Maeva. I’ll be right back.” She headed for the Ladies Room.

I sat in a back pew next to a woman the color of maple syrup who wore her hair in dreadlocks. The woman’s kewpiedoll lips were powder pink. A teardrop rose quartz hung on a silver chain around her neck. Beautiful stone, it’s the one to wear if you’re trying to lose weight or need to increase your self-esteem, also known as the love stone.
“Closed coffin.” The woman said to the man beside her. He reminded me of the halfback who played for Alabama the year I graduated.

I glanced at the coffin, a shiny oak covered in roses. The crystal turned dark, no doubt reflecting the somber mood. “How did you know Roxanne?” I asked the woman.

She shot me a brown stare as if to say: Who the hell are you? A moment later, the woman smiled and said, “I work for a newspaper in Tallahassee where Roxanne lived.” She reached into her black bag, withdrew a business card and handed it to me.

Eleanor King

News Editor,

Tallahassee Reaper

Oh, my. She was the woman who e-mailed Geneva, saying how much she liked her storm articles, yet worried about her safety. I wanted to talk to Ms. King, but the service began.

An organist played a medley of songs, “Amazing Grace,” “When The Saints Go Marching In,” “Shall We Gather At The River,” “Ballerina Girl.”

When the medley ended, an African-American woman in a choir robe walked behind the pulpit. I expected the woman to sing a hymn, but instead, she gripped the podium and began to preach the ecumenical eulogy. I wished I could have stayed to hear it.

Chapter Fifty

D
uring lunch at the Doughnut Hole, Ellen talked nonstop and hesitated only when a waitress asked us, “What could I get for y’all today?” We ordered turkey wraps and Ellen said she needed to lose thirty pounds. “I bet you don’t eat much. You’re so tiny.

“Ordinarily I eat like a farm hand, but I don’t seem to have an appetite today.”

I’ve never known you not to eat, I thought I heard Adam say.

A fly buzzed around the table and I almost dropped my water glass, thinking the fly could be Adam. A ridiculous thought, I know.

As if unaware of my anxiety, Ellen said, “I’ve never lost my appetite, but I lost my voice after that psycho attacked me. I know I shouldn’t have hitched a ride with him, but he didn’t look crazy, and it was pouring down rain. I had to get to Geneva’s right away, and I thought my trucker friend wasn’t coming back. Turned out his rig broke down.”

I feigned surprise, though I knew about the attack from reading Geneva’s e-mails. “What did this psycho look like?”

“He had a cap over his head. I didn’t see his hair, but he was handsome, boy was he ever, like a movie star. I didn’t think he’d turn out to be crazy.”

“What movie star did he remind you of, Ellen?”

“I’ll have to think about that.”

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“I definitely would.”

“I’m sure that will prove to be helpful. Do you think your attacker might be linked to what happened to Tara Baxter and Roxanne Trawler?” I asked after Ellen swallowed the last bite of her turkey wrap.

Ellen pushed away from the table, registering her shock. “Good God, I hope not.”

I grabbed the bill to pay. “There’s another lady missing on Paradise Isle. She left her toddler behind, which is something she’d never do, and I hope her disappearance isn’t linked to the other women and Geneva...” Uh oh, open mouth, insert foot.

Ellen positioned the strap of her duffle on her shoulder. “I know everyone thinks Geneva is missing, but she’s not missing, right? You know where she is. She said you did, and you’re going to take me to see her, right?”

“We need to talk about that, Ellen. Did you bring the map?”

Ellen reached inside her duffle and withdrew a computer printout. It was a map to Red River, an hour’s drive away, far from Paradise Isle. The location didn’t make sense. Onyx had found Geneva’s note on Paradise Isle. “I need to explain some things before we go,” I said. I began with the night I found Tara’s body floating in the gulf. I talked about the day I first met Tara at Geneva’s. “I read the article she wrote about you, Ellen. It was wonderful. She won an award for writing that article.”

Ellen sat stone still, her eyes like saucers, as I talked about Roxanne and Tara’s deaths. “In many ways both deaths appear to be accidental until you consider the unlikely coincidence of the missing feet.”

Ellen’s mouth trembled and I thought she might bolt from the restaurant. “Where’s Geneva? You’ve talked to her haven’t you? We’re going to see her, right?”

“Ellen, listen, you’ve got to trust me. What I think is this: Geneva is being held captive, and the person who’s holding her captive is playing a game. I also think the person who has Geneva, might be the same man who attacked you. It makes sense, doesn’t it? He knows you’ve seen him and can identify him, and he’s using Geneva to bait you.”

“Are you a cop?”

“No, but along with being a catastrophe investigator, I hold a private investigator license.” I added the private eye thing because I wanted to make Ellen feel more secure and trust me.

“Who hired you?”

“No one is paying me to do this. I make my money as a claims investigator.”

Ellen nodded as if she understood. “Do the cops know?” “Not everything.”

“You need to call the cops now. Tell them what you’ve just told me.” Ellen slapped her duffle as an exclamation point.
“I agree we need to call someone and report this, and there’s an FBI guy I know, who I think will cooperate with us, but at the same time, I don’t want to jeopardize Geneva’s safety, assuming she’s still alive.”

“You think she might be dead?” Ellen started to cry.

I came around to Ellen’s booth, sat beside her and patted her right hand. “No I think she’s still alive.” I decided not to mention the note Onyx found. It might be a ruse to knock me off-course. According to Ellen’s map, Geneva wasn’t on Paradise Isle. “If you don’t feel like going to Red River, I understand.”

Ellen wiped her eyes and looked at me. “No, I want to go. We need to help Geneva.”

“Okay, Ellen, I agree, but let’s wait until we get to Red River. Then we’ll make our decision about what to do, okay?” I saw the distrust in her eyes. “I’m telling you the truth Ellen. You must believe me. I don’t want anything to happen to you or Geneva.” I stabbed a finger at the map Ellen had given me. “I’m familiar with the Red River mansion. I know the back roads. I think we’ll be okay.” What I told Ellen was true. I had worked a claim at Red River a few years ago for Bailey Harrison, a boat-maker. At one time Harrison owned a hundred acres of land and what looked like a southern mansion in the movie Gone with the Wind.

A few months after I did the claim, the government confiscated Harrison’s property to pay the mortgage and back taxes. The last I heard, Harrison had fled to Mexico. The land and mansion were sold at auction. I didn’t know who’d bought it, quite a spread, surrounded by water.

Chapter Fifty-one

A
fter I paid for our lunch, Ellen and I jumped back inside my truck and headed for Red River. I had plenty of time to think on the drive over because Ellen refused to talk. She clutched the door handle on her side. I thought she might be in shock. She sat like a statue.

We made good time. In under an hour, I turned onto the dirt road leading to the mansion. By then, I had decided to call Keith for backup. I felt certain, we’d need help. From the way Ellen looked, I doubted she’d hold up under the strain.

I punched in Keith’s number, but he didn’t answer, and his outgoing message disturbed me: “I’m having problems with my cell. It’s dropping calls. Go ahead and leave a message anyway. If it’s an emergency, leave a message at the sheriff’s department.” Keith recited the sheriff’s department number twice.

I didn’t feel comfortable calling the sheriff’s department. They might send squad cars with strobe lights and sirens.
I left a message on Keith’s cell. “Keith, meet me at the Red River Mansion, Bailey Harrison’s old place. Call my cell phone to get directions. This is an emergency. I repeat: this is an emergency. And be discreet. Don’t send police cars. Come unmarked and hurry.”

Then I dialed Paula’s cell phone. I figured she’d find a way to contact Keith.

Paula didn’t answer either. “Paula, please tell Keith to meet me at the Red River Mansion at Bailey Harrison’s old place. Call me on my cell phone to get directions. This is an emergency. Hurry please, and tell Keith to be discreet, come in an unmarked car. Geneva’s life depends on it.” After I left Paula the message, I parked the truck behind a crop of tall trees surrounding the mansion.

“Are we here?” Ellen asked.

“Yes, we’re hidden, though, which is good.” I grabbed Paula’s binoculars and slipped the strap over my head. “I need to check out some things. Be right back. Please stay in the truck, Ellen.”

She nodded.

I crept through the woods to get a better view of the old house. I noticed, the old oaks had survived the hurricane. All of the trees were draped in kudzu, a vine of large green leaves originally imported from Japan to stop erosion. The kudzu’s thick coverage allowed me to spy on the mansion without being seen. The old house looked deserted, an antebellum Dolphin mansion without the wall. The sand had eroded under the support slab, creating a gapping hole. The front porch sagged. The once-white columns had turned ashen grey. No more bougainvilleas and azaleas. The hurricane had replaced them with broken boards, trash and tree limbs. While glancing through the binoculars, I studied the moat surrounding the house. Someone had left a rowboat with paddles, twenty feet from where the dirt road ended.

I remembered there was a boat shed somewhere. Sure enough, fifty feet away from where I stood, I spotted a large assortment of canoes and kayaks. No cars, no sign of anyone.

After surveying the area, I devised a strategy. I had no way of knowing if the strategy would work. There were too many unpredictable variables.

B
ack at the truck, I found Ellen gripping the handle on the passenger door. The Silverado clock registered 2:00 p.m. So far, so good, we had an hour, plenty of time to wait and watch.

As we waited, I tried to engage Ellen in conversation. Rather than answer me, she’d shrugged her shoulders or used her head to answer yes or no.

By the time 2:50 p.m. rolled around, I said, “What do you want to do, Ellen? Personally, I think it’s too dangerous for you to go over there. We should wait for Keith.”

She glanced at her Mickey Mouse watch and finally spoke in a hoarse voice. “You called him an hour ago. I can’t let Geneva down. If she’s in that house I need to help her.” Ellen’s blue eyes filled with tears. “Do you really think that FBI guy is coming? Why hasn’t he called?”

I wondered the same thing. Even if he couldn’t pick up his messages, Paula should have alerted him in plenty of time. “I don’t know.”

Ellen rummaged through her duffle and came up with a canister of pepper spray. In her e-mail to Geneva, she’d used the pepper spray on her attacker, I remembered as I watched her open the door.

I grabbed her arm. “Ellen, wait.”

Ellen brushed my hand away. “No, it’s that time.” She set her jaw.

“I’m going with you.”

“No, if he sees you, he may kill Geneva,” she said, with a look of determination on her face.

I knew I couldn’t stop Ellen , but I could give her a better way to protect herself. “Do you know how to use a gun?” I withdrew the Magnum from my waist pouch.

Ellen slapped at the Magnum. “I hate guns. Put that thing away.”

“If you insist on going in there, Ellen, and you won’t take the gun, at least alert me when you get inside the house.” I reached inside my backpack for Geneva’s cell phone. I punched in my cell number. “All you have to do is hit this call button.” I pointed to it, but didn’t tell her I would be following close behind.

Ellen slipped the phone inside the pocket of her shirt. “I don’t see what good that’ll do me.”

“You don’t have to say anything, but it will allow me to listen, okay?”

Ellen glanced at the gun. “Are you planning to use that thing?”

“If I have to.” I felt awful about letting her go. She was a sitting duck once she got inside that boat. “Ellen, listen, I think we should wait a few more minutes, okay? ”Ellen shook her head and turned away.

I felt powerless, watching her. She clutched the pepper spray, slammed the truck door and walked through the kudzu-draped trees in the direction of the rowboat.