Death By Sunken Treasure (A Hayden Kent Mystery Book 2) (20 page)

Thirty-Two

Grant helped me up the steps. I fished the key out. My hand shook so badly I couldn’t get it in the lock. Grant took the key from me and inserted it. He pushed open the door to the beeping of the alarm. Tiger curled around my legs, sniffing and twitching the end of his tail. Whatever he sniffed, he didn’t like it. A deep throaty cough rose from the bottom of my lungs. I choked up more smoke and soot. The tissue I held crumpled to my mouth quickly filled with brown and black streaky sputum. The coughs were too deep for me to be able to stand upright. I pitched myself helplessly against the wall and coughed until I got dizzy.

Strong hands pulled me away from the wall. Grant disabled the alarm and rushed back to help me. I cut him a questioning glance around the coughing.

“You gave me the code last year. I guess you haven’t changed it yet.” I managed a weak smile of acknowledgment. If I didn’t feel like one of those tar and nicotine collection machines they used to show us in school videos, I would have kissed him. Instead, he swooped me up off my feet and carried me to the bedroom. He sat me on the edge of the bed, collected all my pillows, and swung me around so I sat up supported by the pillow pile. The bed thumped softly as Tiger jumped up and laid his head on my soot-covered thighs.

“I am so tired. All I want to do is get some sleep.” Get some sleep and think about Buddy. I didn’t want to discuss his death yet.

Grant waggled his eyebrows pulling me out of my morbid thoughts. My laughter started another coughing fit.

“That should tell you everything you need to know.” He pulled an overstuffed reading chair next to the bed and met my eyes. “There are two choices. I call Mallory to take care of you.” He waited while I absorbed the implications of his statement.

I slowly shook my head. “What’s behind door number two?”

“You let me help you undress, get you into a tub, and put you back to bed.”

Talk about the rock and the hard place. I was doomed no matter what I did. Mallory would rail at me for going to The Petard once she decided I was well enough to handle her anger. Grant, on the other hand, never saw me in less than a bathing suit.

Being honest, I had to admit when,
if
, I mentally corrected, Grant saw me naked, the setting would be an amorous one. Not now, when every breath caused me pain. Something in his eyes told me he caught the direction of my thoughts. A small smile played around his lips.

“It’s okay, I promise I won’t look. You’re filthy, and your clothes are going to flavor the bed if you don’t get out of them soon.”

I glanced down. My jeans and t-shirt were covered in black scum and soot. My face felt like it was coated in heavy, wet flour.

“The longer you keep this stuff on your body, the more toxins will soak in through your skin.” He got up at that point and walked to my bathroom. The plug made a metallic snick when it sealed the drain, followed by the sound of water running into the tub.

“I think it’s going to take more than one bath to get all the scuzz off of you.” He stood again and walked to the linen closet and pulled down two washcloths and four or five bath towels. He came into the bedroom carrying the load. “Nice towels, love the Caribbean blue color.”

Great, just what I needed. My boss, the interior decorator.

Another coughing fit overtook me. This one so bad I thought I would pass out. I reached for Grant’s hand to steady myself. He dropped the towels to the floor, grabbed my hand, pulled me upright, and started to pound between my shoulder blades. More junk rose up my throat. I stared at his face and read concern in his expression. He reached for the nightstand and pulled a fist full of tissues from the box. He held them to my lips.

“Spit,” he commanded.

I obeyed. There was nothing else I could do.

“Game over. You are getting out of those clothes and into the tub.” He let me lean back on the pillows again. “Do what you can to get undressed. I’ll be back in a second.”

Determined to be undressed and in the bath before he returned, I frantically pulled my shirt over my head and unzipped my jeans. Removing the shirt was easy. The hip twist required to get out of the jeans reduced me to a coughing fit. I stared into the full-length cheval mirror in the corner of the room. Even from this distance, I saw my lips were blue. The sight made me choke more. Grant came rushing in to find me in a bra and unzipped jeans. He took one look at my color. With the flat of his hand, he swept everything but the tissues off the nightstand next to my bed. Then he put a small box down and pulled a long cord attached to what appeared like a binder clip for fingers. I recognized the pulse oxygen meter from the hospital. He affixed the device to my index finger and left it there for a few seconds. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead as he read the LED screen. “You’re fine, low but fine. You get much lower, I’ll have to take you back to the hospital.”

Thoughts tumbled in my mind. Mostly, I worried about smoke inhalation. When the hospital let me go, I figured I’d dodged that bullet.

Wrong. Grant must have cut a deal to get me home with him as part of the package.

I shrugged mentally, stopped fighting, and let Grant undress me the rest of the way. My face heated. My heart gave a high-five. This was some kind of test, and we both passed. He carried me gently into the bathroom and slipped me into the deep eucalyptus-scented bubbles. The water scalded like acid on my burned hands, but soothed the rest of the aches away. After a few minutes, he handed me a sea sponge. I soaped as much as I could reach while retaining what modesty I had left. The water turned a nasty brown. No way I would let my hair touch it.

Grant flicked the tub drain and lifted me out. He wrapped me in a bath towel and helped me balance on the end of the tub. “That should do it for the dirt. I’m going to refill for you to relax and get your hair clean. The smoky odor won’t do you any good.”

“Can I have grapefruit scent this time?” My voice sounded like a child’s asking for ice cream. He chuckled and nodded. “The coughing stopped.” As soon as he said it, I realized my lungs no longer hurt when I breathed.

The scent of grapefruit filled the bathroom. He helped me ease my legs over the side of the garden tub and removed my towel, much as a good masseuse would do. I smiled my thanks and slipped below the water.

“Call if you need me. I’m making up the day bed in your office.”

In answer, I slid down under the water and came up with a wet head. I washed my hair three times until the air filled with the heady scent of grapefruit. Then I finished with an avocado hair mask, and when I rinsed the goo off, some grapefruit conditioner.

Feeling fully refreshed, I folded my legs under me and sat on the rim of the tub. From there, I reached for a clean bath towel and wrapped my body mummy-style and my hair Turkish style. I glanced up. Grant stood in the doorway to the bathroom.

“I feel like a new woman. I must have had a ton of smoke and soot in my hair and body.”

“Well, maybe not a ton, but a lot for sure.”

Guilt rippled through me. “Did I ruin your car?”

He took a towel and gave it a playful snap in my direction. “No, nothing a little detailing won’t cure. Not your problem. Let’s get you to bed.” I walked regally to my dresser and pulled out a pair of Miami Dolphins pajamas. I dropped the towel and pulled them on. Then I unwrapped my hair and blew it dry. Tiger took off as soon as the dryer started.

Through the roar of the hot air covering my hair I thought I heard my phone ring. I cast a quick glance at my cell, and the landline next to my bed. Neither flashed. I figured the sound came from the hair dryer. Done, I hooked the dryer on the little hook next to the mirror over my dresser. When I did so, I caught sight of Grant reflected next to me, his cell phone in his hand.

His gaze traveled from my head to my feet. I tried to read his thoughts and failed. Without saying a word, he handed me his phone. I glanced at the voicemail symbol. I tapped on the icon and listened to a voice I didn’t recognize.

Jake was in the hospital. They were holding him overnight for smoke inhalation and what appeared to be superficial burns. The firefighters found him behind the bar, all the way down at the other end, near where he would be if he came in from the front door. His face was wrapped in wet bar towels. He kept screaming he saw me go into the bar. He smelled smoke. He had to get me out.

The phone dropped from my nerveless fingers. I gazed at Grant. My eyes traveled the planes of his face. Grant held his silence. A prickle of sweat dappled my newly cleaned body. I rolled every second of the evening over in my memory. I never spotted Jake or his truck. How did he see me? When did he get out of jail?

My butt found the softness of my bed. I sat down hard enough to cause a ripple effect to lift poor Tiger who had decided to join me. I drew as deep a breath as I was able and said, “Who was that?”

“My detective friend,” he responded. “Officer Barton must have known. She never said a word.”

“Jake and Devon sound an awful lot alike.” I watched Grant some more. “I told you the voice didn’t sound like Devon.” My heart began to pound in my chest. A strong, steady beat.

Grant sat in an old plush chair next to my bed.

“Devon may have told Jake he asked you to the bar.”

I shot a quick glance at Grant’s face. He stared straight ahead at the far wall, lost in a world of his own.

“I called Devon. Told him I was coming.” My fingers plucked the sheets on the bed. Something wasn’t right. “His voice was funny. Not like his. Was it Jake? Had to be. Otherwise Devon wouldn’t have left.” The center of the puzzle showed a glaring hole. Devon and Jake swirled around each other in it.

Grant and I stared at each other for a few minutes our minds occupied with our separate thoughts. “He’s going to pay for this,” I said.

At Grant’s questioning look, I remembered I hadn’t told him about Jake, and Dana, and Devon. I did now. Something in Grant’s eyed told me he wasn’t buying it. I started to get up to pace the room, but Grant made me stay seated.

I finally managed to convince him to listen to me. I went through as much of the means, motive, and opportunity list as I remembered in my admittedly foggy state. Even Buddy was involved with Jake, but with no one else. Buddy’s ethics were less than stellar. The proverbial weak link. I pulled my thoughts from the topic not wanting to think badly of the dead. Now that I knew Jake was out of jail, it made sense. He set up the fire, and he would benefit from it.

The expression on Grant’s face made his thoughts clear. I’d won him over. He asked me a few more questions, poking and prodding to test my theories. He’d take a few days to seek out the holes, but I tasted victory.

Jake was obvious, once I realized he knew Mike’s skills, dive patterns, and all about the wreck. Add in knowing Kristin, Jake moved to the top of the suspect list.

My eyes were closing when the phone on my nightstand rang. Almost no one used the landline number. I leapt for the handset, but Grant, still in the plush chair, beat me to it. I snatched at the phone in my impatience. He held the handset just out of my grasp.

His expression was solemn when he hung up. “Jake’s out of the hospital. He went to the sheriff’s office and reported he overheard Lisa and Buddy making plans to meet in the office at The Petard. He didn’t want to jeopardize his release.”

The tinkly sound of glass shattering in my thoughts represented the downfall of my neat theory about Jake. Did Devon know Jake’s plans? Did he go to The Petard because he wanted to protect me, or to protect Lisa? Except in very public places, I’d never seen Devon and Lisa in the same room.

Mentally, I picked up the pieces of my theory. Something must be turned backwards.

Thirty-Three

Grant and the doctors were correct about the exhaustion. I spent the rest of Sunday in bed. When I wasn’t sleeping, I tried to sleep. Janice was working, but Mallory and Grant kept up a steady stream of visits, each bringing their own version of comfort food.

My mom and dad believed in a good strong shot of scotch well laced with honey and heated. The cure always worked, but no one would bring me one and my muscles felt like overcooked spaghetti. I had no way to get to the liquor cart myself. I convinced Grant to go to Winn-Dixie and buy me a can or two of double noodle soup. The soup slid down like silk, and I fell asleep again.

Footsteps woke me. I didn’t remember anyone threatening to stay the night. I tossed a cover pile over Tiger Cat lest he get the idea to come along, crept on bare feet to the hallway, poked my head around, and listened. A drawer closed. My heart fluttered in my chest. Thoroughly frightened and wishing for more strength, I looked around for something to use as a weapon. The huge brass umbrella stand in the hallway caught my eye. I hefted the ornament in both hands and in a single motion pivoted on my right foot to look directly into the kitchen.

Grant glanced up at me over a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Want one? It’s pretty good with crunchy.”

My knees buckled under me. I tried hiding the umbrella stand from him. His eyes twinkled. “Semper Paratus, I see.” He removed the thing from my hands and tucked it back in the corner. Then he guided me to the table.

I yawned hugely and stretched. “It’s going to be rough to go back to work tomorrow.”

“What day do you think it is?”

“Sunday…” I let my voice trail off. If he hadn’t asked I would have been certain.

He shook his head. “Monday. I closed the office for the day. Nothing too much going on. So enjoy the free vacation day.” He tapped me on the forehead with two fingers. “Bored, Hayden?”

My pale green eyes stared into his grey-green ones. I tossed a hand against my forehead, palm showing out, and said in my best Victorian damsel-in-distress voice, “I swan. I can’t stay another day here in this house.”

Grant’s laughter told me I hit the right note.

“Okay, you get into trouble when you’re bored. What do you want to do?”

Responses flew around in my head. No college course taught how to work around the psychology of the sexes. The school of experience was life’s only teacher on that one. The first request had to be for something he would never allow. Then we could get to the real request. I walked to the window and pulled the shade aside. The sun glittered in a clear blue sky. I dropped the cloth, turned, and said, “Let’s go diving.”

Much to my enjoyment, he sputtered and puffed, as if fearful I’d insist. Finally, I said, “Okay, let’s see if Dana’s home.”

The expression of relief on his face was comical. I relished the victory.

“How do you know if she’s out of the hospital yet?”

“Because it’s been three days, and I smell her very distinctive perfume on your shirt.” I crossed my arms over my chest, cocked my head, and read surrender in his eyes.

Before we left, I took Grant into my confidence about Dana’s comment that Mike’s baby was nothing like Mike. He listened carefully, interrupting with questions only a few times.

We were nearly to Dana’s house when Grant turned to me. “Remember, the Edwards baby didn’t look like any child born into that family either.” He paused for a beat. “But the child was his.”

He parked the car next to Dana’s. All the windows were open in the house. More than a hint of coolness kissed the air. The open windows seemed overkill. Unless she wanted to rid the house of something else. Memories maybe. I took the steps two at a time in my eagerness to see Dana. At the door, I took a few seconds to gather my thoughts. The last time I was here had been chaotic and sad; I wanted to acknowledge that and put it behind me.

The door swung open before I knocked. Dana gathered me into a hug and buried her face in my neck. “I’m sorry, Hayden. I put you through hell with my stupid behavior.”

My hand flew up to stroke her back. Grant stayed a respectful distance away, looking a bit left out. Finally, taking my hand, Dana led me into her house, beckoned Grant to follow, and offered us tea and a seat. Her glance traveled over our faces. She took a deep breath.

“You’re like my daughter. I couldn’t bear to bring you shame.”

I glanced at Grant to get his take on the comment. His face held only concern for me. How did Dana think she brought me shame?

“Dana, nothing you have done has shamed me. You were desperate. You did everything you could to help Mike. It wasn’t the right thing to do, but you did it because you wanted to help him.” Using both hands, I set the teacup into the saucer. “Then you lost him anyway, and you were lost. I understand that.”

Dana seemed surprised at my comments. Her hand snaked out, grabbed mine, and squeezed hard. “No, not that. That was wrong. I knew it then, but I was petrified he’d get killed by something he got from the streets.” Her cheeks reddened and she glanced at her lap. “And the suicide attempt? I’m glad you found me.”

“Then what…” The atmosphere was strained. A swirl of fear touched my heart.

“Mike’s child. Mike wanted to believe so badly that he fathered Lisa’s child. I had proof he couldn’t have. You always asked me why I disliked that girl. She’s a liar and a cheat.” She moved a folder, yellow with age, toward Grant with the tips of her fingers. He read silently, a brief tremor in his hand shaking the document. I’d noticed his hand trebling more and more lately. I wondered if he was ill, or if the document he read held bad news. His expression unreadable, he handed the papers to me. The file contained a doctor’s report from Mike’s childhood bout with the mumps. The illness had left him sterile. The little baby he adored could not be his.

I folded the file folder with the same reverence I would use for a prayer book. Nothing she’d said would cause me shame. There was something more here, but I knew Dana well enough to know she had to tell the story in her own way. “Did he know he was sterile?”

Dana shook her head. “I never told him. I kept quiet. Hoping medicine had come so far along since his childhood illness…”

Grant laid a hand on Dana’s. “Did you tell Lisa?”

Dana’s face hardened. “Yes. I made damn sure she knew. I didn’t want her passing off her bastard as my grandson. She told me I was wrong. Said she underwent fertility treatments, and Mike wasn’t sterile in the true sense of the word in today’s medical climate. I wasn’t sure. Not until I held that baby. He wasn’t from Mike.”

The flat of her hand hit the glass tabletop, causing the papers on it to jump. Her throat worked a few times. “Lisa used the knowledge against him. Told him, taunted him. And told him the name of the real father…”

“How do you know that? Do you have information about the natural father?” Grant jumped in before she finished her sentence. Given Dana’s story, there could be a connection between the killer and the real father.

Dana rose and began to pace the floor. “I can’t be sure. Mike said he knew something too terrible to talk about. That I should have told him.” She stopped and spun around. “What else could it be?”

She sat heavily on the kitchen chair and dropped her head into her hands. “Mike’s pain grew by the day, unbearable as his nerve endings reconstituted.” She looked up. “Something I did caused him more pain. How could I let him stay in pain? I lied to my doctor. Made him give me Percocet.” She burst out into tears. “If he died of drugs, I helped kill him.” She grabbed both of Grant’s arms. “But I never meant to.”

I stood, wrapped both my arms around her, and drew her into a hug. “Nothing you’ve told me could cause me shame, Dana. Nothing.” Her words had confused and worried me more than I cared to admit to her. Was she holding back on telling me something because Grant was there?

No matter much how I begged, Dana refused to allow Grant or me to stay with her. We waited until she calmed down and was ready to sleep before dialing our phone numbers into her landline so she could reach one of us with the redial program. Grant called his detective friend to arrange for patrols to pass by and check on her. Then we left.

Neither of us talked on the ride home. We had done all we could to safeguard Dana. All she would allow us to do, I amended. Something else bothered me too. Something Dana wasn’t telling us. Worse, something I should have asked her, but didn’t. Grant pulled up in front of my house and cut his engine. Relief flooded through me when he exited the door. I wanted him to stay, but I didn’t want to ask him if he would.

He walked me to my house, each of us still lost in our own thoughts. Grant opened my door, placed a hand at the small of my back, and directed me toward the sofa.

As soon as we sat, he said, “We need to be careful, Hayden. Lisa is the only one who knows the father of her child. Did she tell Mike in a fit of anger then realize the consequence when he changed his will? And if the baby wasn’t Mike’s, and someone else knew the truth…”

I saw the problem immediately.

“Like her lawyer. Buddy knew the truth. Had to. Lisa had to shut up everyone with knowledge, or live in fear of exposure herself.”