Sunset Bridge (33 page)

“Derek Forbes!” She slammed her palm against the steering wheel, sure she had her man. She’d spent too many years around notable actors. She had gone to school with their children, attended their parties, even dated a few B-list social
climbers. The nicest of the lot still needed inflated egos to survive in their chosen profession.

Derek Forbes was a nice guy, but if he wanted to film during a hurricane, God help anybody who stood in his way. By virtue of his celebrity, he was undoubtedly sure he had the right. If he got in trouble for causing a traffic jam during an evacuation, who would dare do more than slap his wrist? He could pay any fine, charm his way out of jail time, even offer to do community service that would consist of him telling funny stories about his life to senior citizens or hospital patients. He could do magic tricks and sign copies of his DVDs on the pediatric ward, and the publicity would be perfect.

Suddenly she felt so tired she wanted to cry. In fact, she
was
crying. Tears were becoming a habit. Pregnancy was a veritable minefield. This baby had a lot to answer for. The whole world seemed intent on proving what a loser she was, and, of course, the baby was the reason she was reacting. Not Marsh. Not her own mistakes. Not Derek Forbes. Just the pregnancy.

Traffic had slowed again, and even though her wipers were on high, between the tears and the rain she could hardly see out the windshield. She put the car in park and rummaged through the glove compartment yet again, this time for tissues. She took out the owner’s manual, her registration information, a small first-aid kit.

By now she was crying harder. If this kept up, she was going to need water wings just to stay afloat. Tissues were mandatory if she wasn’t going to drive off the side of the bridge. She emptied the glove compartment, but there wasn’t a tissue in sight. She felt around behind her for her purse and jerked it open. She hated Velcro. The ripping sound infuriated
her, as did the lone shredded tissue caught in the sticky loops. When she tugged the tissue away, it fell apart in her hand.

She threw the purse back on the seat and settled for the hem of her T-shirt. She had no pride. Who cared if she wiped her nose and eyes on her shirt? Who would notice? Not Marsh, who was way ahead of her in line, probably cynically making notes on how to keep her from cutting him out of their baby’s life.

She stopped short of blowing her nose and simply scrubbed at her eyes. Then she straightened, and when she peered through the windshield, she realized the car ahead of her was now way ahead. She glanced in her rearview mirror, sure she would see angry faces in the next car, but there was no one behind her. She was at the end of the line.

She jerked the gearshift into position and jammed her foot down on the accelerator to catch up. Except that the little Z3 roadster was either feeling ornery or poorly used. The engine whirred briefly, then something under the hood ground, and the car shuddered and died.

She had to get hold of herself. She’d owned this car since the day she got her license. She treated it with the same affection with which Wanda treated Chase. She wanted to pass the little Bimmer on to her son or daughter. By then it nearly would be a vintage model. She had to make sure it was still drivable in sixteen years.

This time she did everything slowly and carefully. When the engine was purring, she eased her foot down on the accelerator. But instead of the reassuring
whoosh
she expected, she heard a roar like an earthquake or an avalanche.

For a moment she was beyond confused. What had she done? She slammed her foot on the brakes just as the car
began to move forward and it jerked to a halt. Her mind sped forward instead.

No car could imitate an avalanche. The sound hadn’t come from her car. The car was behaving normally again, now that she was treating it gently. Nor was that terrifying sound the screeching of the wind or the torrential downfall. Only a second had passed, but that second felt like an eternity. Her eyes lifted to the rearview mirror to see the most frightening sight of her life. Behind her, just yards away, a gaping hole was opening in the bridge. And the chasm was moving inexorably and rapidly in the direction of her rear bumper.

B
y the time Wanda managed to wedge both Lily’s and Vijay’s car seats where Chase’s bed had been, she was well and truly soaked. Now the rain was coming down so hard she couldn’t see anything beyond Janya’s house. Her friend was inside waking the children and readying them to leave, but before that, she and Janya had managed to consolidate several boxes into one, including the three “books” Vijay had written since his parents’ deaths. Then Wanda had substituted Janya’s box for one of the least important of her own. Finally, they had lifted everything else up onto tables and the master bed, hoping that even if the house took water, it wouldn’t rise that high.

Janya appeared beside her without the children. “They are cranky and frightened.”

“How long before they’re set?”

“Vijay refuses to dress. I will dress him myself.” Janya was a gentle soul, but today poor little Vijay didn’t stand a chance.

“You do that. I’m going to drive by Maggie’s, just to be
sure she got everything and got out of here. You not seeing her go by and all,” Wanda added.

“That is a good plan. We will be ready.”

Wanda had already tried Maggie’s cell phone and gotten voice mail. Now, everything stowed as well as it could be, she slammed the doors and got behind the steering wheel. She suspected she would be bunking with the Kapurs tonight, who had reserved two rooms at an inland motel. After the drenching she’d received, she was in no shape to drive farther, and by now the traffic going out of town would be horrible.

She prayed Maggie had gotten away a long time ago.

Wanda swung her car around and headed back toward her daughter’s cottage. She parked as close to the entrance as she could and pulled out the key Maggie had given her as she ran for the door. She jammed it in the doorknob, not content to peek through windows in the downpour.

All her fears were substantiated when a yowling Rumba greeted her.

Maggie would never, under any circumstances, leave the cat behind. Her daughter had not yet been home. But why?

“You been abandoned, little one?” Wanda asked. She picked up the cat and moved inside. A pile of boxes greeted her. Maggie had brought a suitcase with her this morning, but here was the stuff she’d intended to come back for. All of it, sitting right here waiting for her.

Wanda debated her options. There was no way she could add any of her daughter’s possessions to everything already squeezed in her car. The cat could come along in his carrier on Janya’s lap. But that might be the extent of what Wanda could do. Surely Maggie was on her way home to get the rest. Wanda would leave her a note about Rumba.

Except that none of these plans relieved the fear building inside her.

She went to Maggie’s phone, but when she lifted the receiver, she was greeted by static so loud, she instantly hung up and pulled out her cell phone. She hit speed dial for Ken.

He answered immediately, but he sounded as if he were overseas. In an underdeveloped country. Hanging from the coal car behind the locomotive of a steam train.

“Kenny!” she shouted. “I’m at Maggie’s. She hasn’t been here yet. She call you? You seen her since you left the shop?”

He replied, but she couldn’t understand him. “Speak loud and slow,” she said. “Real loud.”

She listened carefully. She was pretty sure he said he’d seen Maggie heading toward the bridge just a little while after he left the shop. He’d been checking an accident when she passed.

“She never made it!” Wanda shouted. “She’s not here, Kenny! Cat’s here, boxes are here. No Maggie.”

There was silence. She didn’t know if they’d been disconnected or if Ken was thinking. Ken was a great thinker. It drove her crazy.

“…Calling Felo.”

She nodded, as if he could see her. Whatever else he’d said, that part made sense. “You do that. See if he knows anything. Call me back.”

Wanda hung up.

The minutes that passed were some of the longest she remembered. She spent them sifting through boxes to see if anything was both small and precious enough to warrant stuffing into a crevice in her car. She found a jewelry box that fit in her purse, scarves she knew Felo had given her daughter, Maggie’s diplomas. She figured if she had to, once she was
settled in the car, she could drive with the diplomas wedged between her seat and the door.

Her cell phone rang at last. Ken sounded even farther away, and she had to ask him to repeat himself several times before she got the basics of his report.

“She told Felo she was going to Blake Armstrong’s house?” she shouted. “Why on earth would she go there?”

She thought Ken said yes, then something else she couldn’t understand.

“He didn’t tell her to forget that man and get moving?”

She listened, the phone jammed against her ear.

“Felo’s on his way here?” she repeated, when she thought Ken had finished.

“On his way to Palmetto Grove. She’s not answering—”

So Felo was worried, too, so worried that when he couldn’t get Maggie again, he had set out from the camp in the swamps to drive straight into the storm to look for her.

“Wasn’t he afraid he’d pass right by her?” she shouted, although it was just something to say, because who the heck gave a plugged nickel? He
hadn’t
passed her because she hadn’t left.

“Don’t like this—”

She struggled to understand. “What, Kenny?”

“Don’t like… Coming to look—”

A deep rumbling sound began somewhere not too far in the distance. She struggled harder to hear what Ken was saying, but the rumbling, like an immense roll of thunder, continued. The thunder was so intense, the floor seemed to shake along with it.

“Kenny! Kenny, are you there?”

She couldn’t hear him at all now. The rumbling had finally
stopped, but the only sound on the phone was static, and even that was breaking up.

“Kenny!”

The phone went dead. She punched speed dial again, but nothing happened.

Wanda closed the phone. She wasn’t surprised she’d lost the connection. Cell service on this end of the key was never top-notch, and she was a little surprised she’d gotten him at all. But what had he been trying to tell her? He was worried, and he was coming to investigate? She knew that meant he must be
seriously
worried, since every cop on the west coast of Florida had his or her hands full this afternoon with evacuations and accidents.

She grabbed the cat carrier and lowered Rumba inside, found a scrap of paper and scrawled a note to Maggie telling her what she’d taken with her and demanding Maggie call her the moment she got the note. Then she tucked the diplomas, jewelry and scarves in a shopping bag, and set out for her car.

Worry was rapidly mounting. Maybe Maggie was on her way, and maybe she had just run into some kind of roadblock, an accident, or someone in need of assistance. Maybe she had changed her mind and gone back into town first, before crossing the bridge. Blake Armstrong was leaving, but maybe Maggie had stopped by his house to help him pack boxes or move items to the top floor. She could be there right now, ingratiating herself to see what she could learn about him. Nothing like a crisis or a murder to make Maggie feel alive.

Of course, if Maggie
had
gone to Blake Armstrong’s house, maybe the reason hadn’t been to help him pack but to snoop through his belongings and search for information that might help her solve the Dutta murders.

Wanda had been worried before, but suddenly she was
frantic. In the car, she set the cat carrier on the passenger seat, along with the diplomas; then she barreled back to Janya’s house. There was nothing they could do with the children in the car, but the moment Janya and the children were safely across the bridge, Wanda was coming back to the key to look for her daughter, even if she drowned searching for her. Something wasn’t right here. Ken had said as much, and Felo was on his way to Palmetto Grove. They were tough cops, not alarmists. But both men were obviously concerned enough to drop their other plans.

Wanda pulled as close to Janya’s door as she could, and her friend stepped out with Lily cuddled against her chest. “Did you hear that noise?” Janya asked.

Wanda bolted out of the car to join her. “The thunder?”

“I have never heard thunder sound that way.”

“I’m worried about Maggie. She hasn’t been home. I have the cat with me, and just a few of her things. I hope she’s on her way here now, but I’m going to get you across the bridge with Rishi, then come back to be sure she’s all right.”

Although Wanda had seen no reason to worry Janya unnecessarily, the other woman read between the lines. “You would not come back unless you thought there was a problem.”

Wanda gave up the pretense. “Ken says she might have gone to Blake Armstrong’s house.” She paused. “Maybe to look around. Could be she suspects he’s involved in the…you know.” She nodded toward Lily. “I’m going over there, but not with you and the kids in the car. We’ll get you across the bridge fir—”

“I hear a car.” Janya turned away from Wanda and peered into the rain. Lily began to fuss, and Janya rocked and shushed her. “Listen. Do you hear it, too?”

Wanda didn’t hear a thing except the sloshing of water as
it tumbled in sheets from Janya’s gutters. But she hoped her friend was right. It wouldn’t be Felo, not this soon. It might be Ken, who could even have been on the bridge when she called him, in which case he could load Maggie’s boxes into his car.

But even better, it might be Maggie.

A car materialized out of the rain, and Wanda felt a stab of disappointment, although she knew that wasn’t fair. She had been so worried about her daughter, she had forgotten to worry about Tracy’s safety. In fact, since realizing that Maggie had not come straight home, she hadn’t thought about Tracy at all. She hadn’t even checked her landlady’s house.

The BMW pulled into Janya’s driveway, but Tracy didn’t get out. Wanda leaned forward to see what was up and realized Tracy was sitting with her head in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking.

“Something’s wrong,” Wanda said. Again she thought of her own daughter and wondered if Tracy had already heard bad news. Her heart froze in her chest. For a moment she couldn’t move. Then she was skirting the car, throwing open the driver’s door.

“What’s wrong?” She stooped, water seeping through the cheap vinyl of her boots. “What on earth is the matter?”

Tracy threw herself into Wanda’s arms and almost sent them both sprawling in the mud.

“I…I almost died!”

“What?” Wanda hugged her hard, as much to stay at least partially erect as to comfort her friend. “What do you mean?”

“The bridge…” Tracy began to cry harder. “I…the bridge…”

“What about the bridge?”

“Collapsed.”

For a moment Wanda couldn’t absorb that. Bridges did not collapse. Some of them were built to open so ships could sail under them. Sometimes they were closed temporarily so repairs could be made. This bridge,
their
bridge, had already been repaired—by Blake Armstrong’s company, in fact—but even when the work was going on, they had been able to use it to go back and forth to the mainland. One lane in each direction had stayed open. They had been assured it was safe, that the bridge would hold the weight of fewer cars, even in the midst of repairs. They had been
promised
it was safe.

“Collapsed?” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Tracy began to cry harder.

“You were on it?” Wanda asked, holding Tracy away from her.

“It opened…right behind…” She began to wail.

“My God.” Wanda squeezed her hard, then harder. Hard enough to squeeze all breath from the younger woman’s body.

“What is it?” Janya shouted from the porch.

“The bridge went down,” Wanda shouted back. “Tracy was on it when it went.”

Janya looked stunned. She covered her mouth.

Suddenly Wanda wondered who else had been on the bridge.

“My God,” she said again, feeling herself go pale. She hugged Tracy harder, and she, too, began to cry.

Tracy felt numb, but if she was numb, then how could she be choking on her own tears? She wasn’t even sure how she had gotten here. As the bridge had collapsed and the abyss, like a malevolent carpet unrolling behind her, had come closer and closer, she had shoved the car in gear again and jammed
her foot on the accelerator. This time the little Bimmer didn’t stall. It shot forward as only solid luxury engineering could guarantee, and she flew along the bridge, praying that now that the cars were past the film site, they had sped toward their destinations.

She was hurtling forward so fast, struggling to keep the Bimmer in her lane and avoid a collision ahead of her in the storm, that she couldn’t even glance behind her again. Only when she was well and truly on Palmetto Grove Key did she finally know she was safe.

And then she was here. In front of Janya’s house. Sobbing so hard she might turn inside out from the fury of it.

“I was sure…I was going to die! It…it was right behind me. It just…fell in. In pieces. Like dominoes.”

Wanda pulled her out of the car. “Let’s get you inside.”

Headlights split the sheets of rain, and as Wanda hauled a shivering Tracy up to the porch overhang, a pickup pulled into sight.

“Marsh!” Tracy held the back of her hand over her eyes to shield them.

“How did he know you were here?” Wanda asked.

But Tracy didn’t answer. She sprang forward and was in Marsh’s arms before he could even close the door of the cab.

“Marsh!”

“Oh, God.” He held her so tightly that she stopped trying to breathe. “I thought…I thought you were dead. Oh, Trace, I thought you’d had it.”

“How did you know I was on the bridge?” she squeezed out.

“I saw your car way behind me when I got out to give Forbes a piece of my mind. I was on the key driving toward my house when I heard the bridge go. By the time I turned
around and got back there, the intersection was a mob scene. I couldn’t see your car—” His voice broke. “All I could think to do was drive over here, just in case. I thought I’d lost you.”

“I’m fine.” Although she wasn’t. She wasn’t sure she ever would be again. “The baby’s fine.”