She figured it was now past noon, and she used the sun as a guide to find west, to swim toward land. She wondered if this was the last time she’d see the sun, felt the hollowing sting in her eyes of having looked at it too much in trying to check her bearings. Maybe the next time the sun rose she would be lost for ever under the waves. Bones never found, her flesh broken apart by the salt water, her atoms scattered by the tides over the next century or so. She’d get to Thailand, Australia, India, Sweden, all the places she’d dreamed of traveling, a little bit of her in the grains of sand, in the foaming curl of the surf. Just let go. Let go. Let…
‘No!’ Claudia screamed.
Between her and the ever-distant smudge was a dot, moving, with a crescent of sail. Getting bigger.
She screamed with all her might, rose up out of the water, waving the tattered, sodden red pillow. Waving, waving, waving and screaming her throat raw.
25
Lucy was getting ready to leave Patch’s house, purse in hand, dressed in jeans, a plain white T-shirt, fat-lensed sunglasses, and a baseball cap. Whit pulled up, parked his Explorer to the side so she could move her Chevy out. She opened the car door, tossed in her purse, stood by the car, waiting.
‘How was afternoon court?’
‘Slow. Glad to finish a little early. Where you going?’ he asked.
‘A few errands,’ she said. ‘I haven’t gotten a thing done since Patch died.’
‘I can do that for you.’
She forced a smile. ‘It’s okay. I’d rather go myself. I need to stay busy.’
He told her about the conversation with Suzanne. Behind the sunglasses she gave no sign of emotion, but she crossed her arms, tapped her feet in anger.
‘Well. What do you want to do?’ she said.
‘If I recuse myself, the press might make an issue of it. Think that you’re more of a suspect than you are. But this is really your decision, Lucy. At least about the will.’
‘Mine. You mean ours.’ She gave him a smile, the thin kind that is barely meant. ‘We’re a team, aren’t we?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then forget Suzanne. Spoiled little bitch. She crossed a line she’s never going to be able to step back over.’
‘Okay.’
She gave a sick little laugh. ‘I have no family left, Whit. Patch and Suzanne were it, and now… I’m not going to be able to forgive her.’
‘Never say never. She’s upset. So are you.’
‘She’s greedy. I hate greed in people. It’s corrosive. Did you know that most of the callers at the psychic hotline want to know if they’re going to get rich? Or win the lottery?’ She shook her head. ‘They never ask if they’re just going to be happy. Find love. That’s not enough for people anymore.’
‘Forget the errands. Let’s go inside, just be alone.’
‘No. It’ll be good for me to get out. A little alone time.’
‘Okay, Lucy. I’ll cook us some dinner.’
‘No need. The church ladies and Patch’s friends brought a ton of food. Heat yourself up some dinner. There’s salad, too. Open wine if you want. Don’t wait on me. I may be out for a while.’
He watched her pull out of the driveway. I have no family left, she’d said. I’ll be your family, Lucy, and he nearly laughed, the odd way love kept sneaking up on you.
The fishing cottage was small, on a couple of private acres on the south edge of Laurel Point, fifteen minutes away from Port Leo. It was owned by one of Stoney’s widowed clients who lived in San Antonio and rarely bothered with fishing. She’d given him a key a few months ago, asked him to get the real estate appraised, and he’d made and kept a copy for himself.
It was empty, of course, neat as a pin, decorated badly with nautical motifs: starfish light-switch plates, a mobile of crustaceans, fake compasses mounted on the walls like clocks. But very comfortable, a television in the corner, old bourbons and whiskeys in the bar.
‘What the fuck good is a compass mounted on the wall?’ Alex said.
‘It’s decorative,’ Stoney said.
‘It must be nice to have a house you don’t even need.’
The old woman who owns it, her husband invented an important valve on oil pumps. She’s so rich she doesn’t have to wipe her own ass if she doesn’t want to.’
Alex had inspected the cottage, took a deep breath, said, ‘It’ll do.’ The cottage was isolated, quiet, not a place anyone would look for Stoney. Earlier, he’d outlined the plan.
‘Sooner or later your brother and his girlfriend are going to be missed. People come looking for them, they want to talk to you. But you’re gone. So’s your boat. So you’re presumed missing, too.’
‘Like I’ve been kidnapped?’ Stoney said slowly.
‘Yeah. At least until we see what’s happened. They turn up alive, your brother might not be real thrilled with you since you wouldn’t pay and told them to kill his girlfriend.’
‘I never said that-’
‘Listen. But if the gang that kidnapped them had operatives that also kidnapped you…’
‘To get the money they couldn’t get before,’ Stoney said. ‘Yeah.’ So he thought for a moment, told Alex about the cottage, and they’d headed over after burying Danny’s body in a thick grove of oaks, twelve miles inland. It had been hot, even in the shade, and both men were grimy and sweaty.
Alex washed his face off in the cottage’s sink. ‘Now that I’ve done the thinking to save your ass, where’s the Devil’s Eye?’
‘I told you. You can have the rest of the treasure, man. Take it and go with your share. You want to come back when I’m ready to stage the dig on the Gilbert land, help me fake it, that’s cool, too. I trust you. And I’ll pay you well.’ Cool confidence in his voice now. He’d killed a man and his hands weren’t shaking, his stomach wasn’t in knots.
‘No. You’re telling me now.’
‘Remember. Anything happens to me, your name surfaces. Immediately.’
‘Why should I believe that?’
‘I managed to take down my investment firm’s computer by remote control, Alex. I kept a virus executable file I could run on the servers, one the servers weren’t protected against, in case I needed to freeze up my computers, if the Feds wanted to look too close at my records. I don’t keep real backups. It’s all insurance. I’m just a big believer in it.’
‘You are fucking pissing me off.’
‘Tough,’ Stoney said, feeling tough himself. ‘I needed insurance you wouldn’t off me like Jimmy Bird and I’ve been very careful about how I set it up. You want to leave with your share of the treasure? Go ahead. But the emerald, it’s mine.’
Alex stared. Stoney made himself not blink, not move. He thought Alex might say, Well, screw the Eye, and just shoot him. Stoney wondered what it would feel like to have the bullet tear into your skin, explode through organs, come out the back. He’d lie there dead for God knows how long, until old Mrs Mayweather in San Antonio decided to go fishing again and showed up at the cottage.
Alex’s frown tightened, like he wanted to shoot Stoney but decided not to. Instead of going for his gun, Alex tucked his hands into his pockets.
‘I’ve got some business to attend to,’ Alex said.
Stoney felt a little shock of pleased surprise; he thought Alex would stick to him like glue. He felt relief at the idea of being alone. Some business? He wondered what that was.
Alex said, ‘You need to stay out of sight, keep the lights off, don’t attract attention here. You’ve been kidnapped, remember.’
‘Shit. That Whit Mosley saw me. He knows I wasn’t kidnapped this morning.’
‘If he’s a problem,’ Alex said, ‘I’ll handle him.’
‘You can’t go kill a judge…’
‘Stoney. There’s probably a good marathon on cable. Try the Cartoon Network. Knock yourself out.’
After Alex left, Stoney made a phone call, poured a shot of Jack Daniel’s, downed it like medicine, lay on the froufrou pillows of the Mayweather couch, drowsily replaying in his mind killing Danny. It wasn’t so bad. He hadn’t liked Danny begging for his life; that bothered him, but what was done was done.