Death by Marriage (26 page)

“About time,” he groused as I slid back the glass door. “What’d you do, walk all the way?” He was sprawled on the couch just as I’d seen him the first time I was here. And just as surly drunk. He waved one arm in a grand gesture, transforming himself from Grouch to Lothario in the blink of an eye. “Come into my parlor, Gwynie, my dear. Fulfill your side of our bargain.”

Dammit, Chad, what happened to my idol
? Was I tempted to tackle his problems, see if a little female Halliday magic would work? You bet. But not now. Letty couldn’t wait.

“I can’t stay,” I told him. “This thing isn’t over. Letty’s in danger, and I have to go.”

He came off the couch so fast I’d swear he was spring-loaded. “No way, Gwynie. I’ve been lying here thinking about my reward. No way you’re getting away without a big pay-off.”

While he talked, Chad rounded the coffee table. I backed toward the door. He was faster, surprisingly so for a drunk. He pulled me hard against him, lowered his lips to mine. I wasn’t sure which was worse, his scotch-soaked mouth or that the kiss I’d dreamed of for years had come to
this
. I struggled. His grip never wavered. He might be wraith thin, but his muscles had mine beat by a mile.

I bit his lip. He howled and let go. I was out the sliding doors and down the gangplank in under ten seconds.

“Gwyn!” A spate of colorful language followed me down the path. I could still hear him long after I slammed my car door and headed back toward the drawbridge.
Chad, oh, Chad, how could you have fallen so low
?

Chapter 20

I fibbed a little, telling Crystal that Chad had agreed to postpone the celebration when he realized Letty might be in danger. I may have implied he was still keeping watch. Let’s face it, I couldn’t admit to the humiliation, the anguish of Chad treating me like a whore. Of seeing my once-upon-a-time hero take the final step into the abyss. Even though I knew I had to turn my back and walk away, my sorrow was as much for Chad as for myself.

We called Letty twice more. No answer.

I gathered my courage and called Boone. Being rebuffed a second time in one day by the Chief of Police was not high on my wish list, particularly after the debacle with Chad. Boone was still at Bella Vista, but this time he wasn’t as rushed or as gruff. Sure, he’d send someone to check on the old lady.

He called back fifteen minutes later. I should have greeted his news with relief, but somehow I couldn’t. Letty had come to the door, Boone told me, all smiles, and assured the officer everything was fine. She’d simply
unplugged
her phone because so many of her friends were pestering her about what had happened at Bella Vista. “Really, Officer, tell the girls I’m fine.” That’s what the officer reported, and what Boone passed on to me.

I thanked him and ended the call. But as I relayed Boone’s news to Crystal, prickles ran up my spine. Letty’s words rang hollow. Crystal’s smile of relief faded as I asked her to check her ball again.

When she returned from her Cave, beads rattling softly behind her, Crystal’s pale round face reflected what I felt. No reprieve, a last hope dashed.
Black and swirly. Bad, bad, bad.

“We’re only about an hour from dark,” I said. “I think we should go over there, park several blocks away and sneak into the condo from the waterside. I need Letty to tell me to my face that everything’s coming up roses.”

Crystal’s amber eyes seemed to double in size, her jaw dropped. “We’re going to sneak into a crime scene?”

“We’re bypassing the crime scene, going straight up to the penthouse. Shouldn’t be a problem with that, right?”

“Then why do we have to sneak in after dark?”

I made a face. “If you’re chicken, I can go alone.”

“No way, Jose. It’s the two musketeers. Hopefully, your top cop hasn’t given orders to shoot trespassers on sight.”

I groaned. “This is Golden Beach, Crys, not Afghanistan.”

The bead curtain sang its siren song as Crystal went back to communing with her pink crystal ball. The results remained the same.

While waiting for dark to fall, I made two phone calls. Thank God Scott wasn’t out of cellphone range. The second call was to Mom. In spite of what Crystal might think, I wasn’t reckless. I didn’t crash Bella Vista without the family being aware of what I was doing.

I did not call Chad. And notifying Boone was, of course, out of the question.

Fortunately, a small business that sold bait and rented Sea-Doos was on the corner of the Tamiami Trail and the road leading to Bella Vista. The business closed at five this time of year, so I parked the Malibu in their deserted lot. Crystal and I had borrowed a couple of long, black cloaks from our costume collection. We wrapped them tight against the January air and started walking.

“This seemed like a good idea back at the shop,” Crystal whispered, “but now I’m not so sure. I feel like a mummy on All Hallow’s Eve.”

“Trick or treat,” I chirped. “Maybe we can work each house along the way.”

“Come on, Gwyn, aren’t you scared?”

“If we get caught, we get nothing more than egg on our faces. You think Boone’s going to toss us in jail?”

“It’s not your cop that worries me.”

I stopped walking. “You think we could be walking into more than Letty or the cops?”

“Hell, yes. Don’t you?”

I did. I’d just been trying to ignore it. That’s why we were here—because we didn’t believe Letty when she said everything was fine. Which could mean Marshall had her completely brainwashed. Or it could mean she had company.

“We’re just walking in there,” Crystal continued, “without so much as pepper spray. I mean, how smart is that?”

“Nobody needs weapons in Golden Beach—”

“Nobody
needed
weapons in Golden Beach. Times, they are a-changin’, girl.”

“I’m counting on Scott. It’s not like we didn’t tell anybody where we’re going.”

“Uh-huh.”

We resumed our walk down the narrow road, framed mostly by older homes that had resisted developer buy-out of their now pricey waterfront land. My spirits picked up as we approached Bella Vista and I saw only two cop cars sitting outside. What looked like miles of yellow tape undulated slowly under the condominium’s security lights. Unfortunately, from what we could see, the lights on the waterside were as bright as the lights at the entrance. So were the lights in the home this side of Bella Vista. No chance to sneak down to the water without being seen.

We sauntered on down the road, trying to look inconspicuous. Maybe the black mummy look was a bit much. We probably stood out like the proverbial sore thumb. But no one seemed to notice us, or if they did, they figured we were just two oddball snowbirds out for an after-dinner walk.

On the far side of Bella Vista, a hedge of oleanders towered eight feet high, probably the homeowner’s effort to block out the condominium that had intruded on their sleepy little neighborhood. Gratefully, Crystal and I slipped along behind the hedge until we reached the water. No one yelled at us.

Still lurking behind the oleanders, we surveyed the area. Even from ground level, Letty’s panoramic view was breathtaking, a collage of lights around the bay transforming a crisp Florida night into a fantasy world. Pinpoints of light from houses and street lights on the far side of the bay. Strong white beams from the lights on the bridge at the head of the bay. And up close, the glow from Bella Vista’s many windows and the brilliance of the security lights illuminating the swimming pool and the array of boats anchored at the condo association’s private dock.

I glanced up and, yes, the stars were adding to the show, Orion hovering like a talisman overhead.
Okay, Gwyn, you’ve procrastinated long enough
. Gathering my courage, I stuck my head around the end of the oleanders and examined the west side of Bella Vista’s grounds.

Not a soul in sight, not even a cop. Hopefully, any official surveillance was being done from inside the comfort of the two patrol cars.

I called Scott. He was just pulling up to the marina’s gas pump, towing a twenty-four-footer whose newbie captain had failed to check the fuel supply before he went off to fish a sandbank six miles out. I told Scott that Crystal and I were poised to make the final approach to Bella Vista. He wished us luck and promised he’d be ready for back-up in twenty.

Twenty minutes was about right, I thought—if we didn’t get stopped in the hundred feet from the oleander hedge to Bella Vista’s rear entrance. To reach our goal, we were going to have to walk past the swimming pool, where the lights were so bright we might as well have been on stage. “We’d better carry the cloaks,” I said. “Better to look like two residents out for a breath of fresh air than a couple of ninjas trying an end run around the police.”

“Are you sure of this?” Crystal hissed as she pulled off her cloak. I nearly groaned out loud. The design of Crystal’s caftan du jour consisted of giant cerise and yellow peonies on a white background. I swear she glowed in the dark.

“I might as well be a lighthouse,” Crystal pronounced mournfully.

“On the bright side,” I said, with considerable effort to channel Pollyanna, “no one who sees us is going to think we’re trying to sneak in.”

“Right.” Crystal sounded far from convinced.

We folded our cloaks over our arms, hoping they looked like jackets, and strolled across the grass along the seawall as if we had every right to be there. Ten feet, twenty . . . the brilliance of the pool area loomed ahead. I winced as the spotlights hit us. Our feet touched concrete. We kept going past the Jacuzzi, past lounge chairs and small round tables. We were behind the building now, sheltered from the two cop cars . . . but was a guard lurking at the back door?

To our right, a variety of cruisers and sailboats clustered around Bella Vista’s substantial dock. All were dark, not a would-be sailor in sight. The night was so quiet I could hear water lapping softly against the sea wall and the creak of ropes as the boats swung gently in their berths. In the distance I saw the moving lights of a good-sized cruiser coming this way, but it was still too far out for its engines to disturb the peace and quiet. Hopefully, it was a boater returning from a long day on the
G
ulf, and not the Golden Beach patrol boat doing a drive-by check on Bella Vista.

Better get a move on.

Bella Vista’s rear door was glass. I tried to see into the lobby as we passed the pool, but not all of it was visible. We might be able to bluff our way past an officer, but a security guard for Bella Vista would be familiar with every tenant. And—blast it!—instead of a security guard, a code was probably needed to open the door. I should have thought of that. All our efforts, our success in penetrating the grounds, for
nothing
. Furious with myself, I did the final steps at a near run. I grasped the door and pulled. It swung open so easily I nearly fell over backward.

The small lobby was deserted, nothing more than a list of names and an intercom system displayed on one wall. Crystal tried the inner glass door that led to a hallway and the bank of elevators. It didn’t budge. Of course it didn’t. So much for sneaking up to the penthouse.

“Letty will let us in,” Crystal said. “Buzz her.”

I did, and received a surprisingly prompt buzz back. Was she expecting us?

Or perhaps someone else?

Or maybe it wasn’t Letty who buzzed us in?

Tantalizing will-o-the-wisps that never quite coalesced into coherent thought swirled through my head as the elevator took us up to the top floor. A voice seemed to be trying to break through, but I couldn’t pin it down. My common sense? Crystal’s black and swirly visions?

When Letty’s door opened, would it be the lady or the tiger? Were we rescuing a friend or charging into the lion’s den with all the naivety of people who had lived too long in pristine, uneventful Golden Beach?

I rang Letty’s doorbell. Marshall Johnson answered. Frankly, he looked as shocked to see us as we were to see him.

Chapter 21

Letty’s alleged fiancé recovered quickly. “Miss Halliday and the fortune teller,” he said smoothly. “How kind of you to call.” He stepped back, waving us inside with a gesture worthy of a sixteenth century courtier.

Crystal and I burst past him, running to Letty, who was sitting on her cream silk brocade sofa, her face crumpled, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Letty, what’s happened? What’s wrong?” Our questions tumbled over each other as Crystal sat down beside her and I knelt at her feet.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Marshall answered for her. “Not that I planned on the two of you or my idiot son forcing me to adjust our time schedule—but I’m nothing if not flexible. I thrive on challenges. You might say challenges are my forte—the Williams family against the world.”

“Williams?” I asked.

He ignored me. “So few real challenges,” Marshall continued, obviously entranced by his own rhetoric. “Most people are gullible, so easily fooled.” He paused, focusing his steely gray eyes on Crystal and me. “But not you two. Congratulations. I find you worthy opponents.”

I gaped at him. He wasn’t even trying to hide his deception. Which was definitely not good for Letty, Crystal, or me.