“Sure,” I said. “Didn’t you know we would?”
I set the plane down near the black river. We saw the man standing beside the smudge fire. He was alone. Celia and I got out of the ’copter and went toward him.
He wasn’t dirty, ragged or bearded — his face wasn’t swollen with mosquito poisoning — the way it should be with a man lost in the Everglades. He’d built himself a hut of a parachute, sheltered by rude ribs made of pine limbs. I looked around. There was no sign of the plane.
I congratulated him under my breath. He was a smart guy, all right. He had survived. He had been ready. He’d had a parachute. What had happened to the plane — or what had been made to happen to it — I’d never know. Neither would anyone else. Sixty feet under, in the Gulf, no doubt.
“Well, baby,” he was saying to Celia, “I see you finally made it.” His voice was angry.
She snarled back at him. “I came as soon as I — could.”
“Well thanks.” His gaze raked me and his mouth twisted. “Not bad,” he said. “Not bad at all.”
She said, “I had to wait for the air forces to call off the search. I had to get a pilot.”
His brow tilted. “Yes, I see you got a nice young one. Another in your long list? Is this what delayed you until the last day, Celia?”
“We did the best we could, Curt.” Her breath was sharp. “Did you have sense enough to save the money along with yourself?”
Carmic laughed. “Well, your grief hasn’t changed you, pet. You’ve still got to have money, haven’t you?” He glanced at me. “My wife has some kind of complex — maybe it’s an allergy — she can’t stand poverty. She was born in it and she scratched her way out. God help anybody who stands in her way. My dear little wife. Never wanted anything but old money and new men.”
Celia said, “Your exile didn’t improve your disposition.”
“Nothing will improve my disposition except a long rest in Rio.”
She shrugged. “Where is the money? I’m ready to get out of here.”
Carmic laughed, reached up inside his parachute hut. He pulled down a bulging brief case. I didn’t have to see inside. I knew what was there — what Celia had been looking for — all the cash and negotiable securities he’d managed to get his hands on — his profits from Carmic Detectives.
“Well, baby, it’s finally working. Just the way we planned. I wish you hadn’t brought a ’copter. I’m not sure I can handle it.”
I went cold. The nightmare was complete, I saw all they’d planned. Carmic disappeared, destroyed his plane. Celia searched for him and was lost in the search. That must be Handsome’s part in this — to make sure the authorities wrote her off as well as her husband. Then much later two very rich people would turn up in Rio — and live happily ever after. I wasn’t sure where that left Handsome, how much he was getting out of this.
But I saw where that left me. The river looked cold and black. I wouldn’t be lonely — the alligators would keep me company. What was murder when Carmic faced prison and his wife faced poverty? It had been a well-planned if desperate gamble — but the odds hadn’t been as long as they seemed.
Carmic pawed in the brief case. I saw the gleam of green bills, the black of an automatic. He said, “We’ll take care of your boyfriend and then we’ll get out of here.”
“Curt.” Celia’s voice was deadly.
We both faced her, moving in slow motion.
“Curt,” she said again. “You’re not going anywhere. You were lost in a plane crash. Remember? We couldn’t find you. I’m sorry, Curt. But I’m not sure I’d like Rio. Why should I run? I can go back to Washington — the rich widow of a martyred hero.”
We both stared at the .25 automatic she’d taken from her shirt. A woman’s weapon. She’d had it all the time. She’d saved it for this.
Curt’s mouth dropped. His eyes widened, hurt and sick. Maybe no man can ever believe the woman he trusts will cross him. It was like that with Carmic. He stared at the gun in her hand and still didn’t believe it. He looked in her eyes and saw it all there, and still doubted it. It was clear enough. She wasn’t going to run the rest of her life. She didn’t have to run. She could have his money and a life even better than she’d ever had. In her eyes he saw that had been her secret plan all along, no matter what lies she’d told him.
“You think you’ll have her?” he said to me. “You think you’ll be different than the hotel clerks and the band leader and football heroes on Saturday night—” he was almost crying, the poor dope. “But you won’t be different — they’ve got to be new. They’ve—”
The little gun in Celia’s hand made a popping sound in the silence. It popped again. She didn’t miss. He was too big a target and she was too close.
Curt stopped talking and he stopped breathing as he crumpled to the ground where he would stop living. I heeled around suddenly and grabbed Celia’s wrist. I twisted hard. She didn’t fight and she didn’t cry out. She folded a little at the knees, bit her lip. She dropped the gun. I picked it up, thrust it in my pocket.
She stared at me. “I had to kill him, Jim. Don’t you see? He was in the way. I love you and he was in the way. It’s all right. Everybody thought he was dead — and now he really is. There’s a quarter of a million dollars there, Jim. A quarter of a million! It’s all ours. He didn’t steal it — not all at once — nobody can ever claim it. He accumulated it, as steadily and as quickly as he could. There was some suspicion, but nothing they can prove. It’s ours, Jim! Didn’t you say you wanted money enough so you could afford me? We’ve got it now. We’ll be rich. Richer than any dream you every had.”
“You killed him. Murdered him.”
“You don’t know. How he has beaten me, insulted me, hurt and degraded me. He was a beast, Jim. He deserved to die.” She shook, her shoulders sagging and she looked as if she might fall. I steadied her.
Her arms went around me, her trembling mouth found mine. She was sobbing then and I felt her warmth, her animal-like warmth against me. “Let’s get home, Jim,” she cried softly. “Let’s get home.”
I couldn’t forget her husband’s body, but there was nothing I could do for him. Not now, not here.
Celia didn’t speak all the way back. She sat with the satchel of money between her feet.
I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything more to say. That little .25 had said it all back there on the black and bottomless river in the unchartered glades, into which the ’gators would have pulled Curt Carmic by now.
I thought about the way I had wanted money enough so I could afford Celia, and there it was — the money and Celia. But would I have come back, would she have let me come back if she could have handled a ’copter? If I had taught her, would I be doing the dead man’s float beside her husband?
I set the plane down in the front yard. Handsome’s car was baking in the sun beside Celia’s Caddy.
I helped her out of the ’copter. I managed to hide what I felt. I tried to remember back to when she’d come here that first day. I couldn’t make it. I was cold. In the blazing sun, it was ten below.
We reached the steps. We went in. The door slammed behind us, hard. Handsome had a gun in his hand. I stared at him. Then at her. I got it. They had what they wanted now.
“Stay right where you are,” he said to me.
“Do I have a choice?” I asked him. “Now take it easy with that thing...”
Celia would be happy with him, him and Curt’s money. They could buy the world. I was all that stood between them and freedom with that quarter million.
Handsome nodded at the satchel in Celia’s hand. His mouth broke into a smile. “You found Curt.” It was a statement. He dampened his lips. “You got the money.”