HOMOSASSA SHADOWS (28 page)

Grif frowned and drummed his fingers on the counter. “I’ve got to reach Fishhawk, and I’ve got to go out to eat. Guess I could leave it locked in here. There’s an office behind the cashier.” He nodded at a closed door a few feet from the clerk, then strode toward the parking lot. When he returned, he carried the container wrapped in a black, plastic bag, not a very dignified casket.

“Fishhawk and I have to make arrangements,” he said to the clerk. “I’m checking into the tribe’s motel next door.”

“The bones will be safer locked here,” Brandy said.

Grif gave her a sharp glance. “No one touches it,” he said. “I promised Fishhawk. Not until time for the burial. I’ll get it to him then. The tribe has its own casket.”

Brandy glanced back at the cashier and realized she was staring at them, that she must have overheard. The clerk gave a nervous shake of her head, a startled look in her dark eyes. Grif hesitated, still unsure, walked to the outside door, peered out, then seemed to make a reluctant decision and walked with the box toward the counter. Brandy heard liquid slosh inside and realized Grif preserved the bones as she did the pouch, by keeping them wet. When she toured the Indian mound, he had explained that the skeletal remains had endured because of moisture in the high water table.

He held the box close to his chest and stepped up to the cashier. The woman took a step back. She was an educated Seminole living in the white man’s world, but the cultures collided about bodies and bones. They still held an aura of danger and possible death. “I want to lock them securely in the office here,” he said. “I have reason to think someone might disturb them at the hotel.” He looked at Brandy. “Miss O’Bannon here’s with me. Her newspaper story that will give publicity to the Indian Village, museum, and gift shop. We’re meeting Fishhawk here in the morning.” Brandy nodded.

The clerk bit her lip. These two had come in, acting as if they owned the shop, and now they wanted to store bones within a few feet of her. It wasn’t quite time for closing at 5:00 P.M. But Brandy and Grif had evoked the names of Fishhawk and Annie Pine, powerful forces at the Center. And she had to consider the requests of the Seminole police and the Sheriff s Office, who were cooperating with these two. The woman frowned, her eyes on the box, her fingers twisting a scarf on the counter. Then she rose from her chair before the cash register, turned slowly and unlocked the office door. Grif darted in, and Brandy watched him slip the box far back under the desk. “Be sure to lock the door right away,” he said. “I’ll be at the hotel until I can give it to Fishhawk in the morning.” He touched Brandy’s arm. “You want to go with me?”

Brandy shook her head. “I’m committed to going into town tonight.”

The woman continued standing, troubled, while Grif walked back outside and disappeared. Brandy edged closer and spoke softly. “I bet you’d like to have those bones moved completely out of the gift shop area. I understand. It’s your tradition to avoid any part of a body or a skeleton. Until time for the ceremony, we could store them in the museum beside the memorial. They’d be near the other Indians’ burial place. The museum’s always securely locked. I’d take them there for you.”

A look of relief washed over the woman’s face. “I’m sure Dr. Hackett would agree they’d be safer there,” Brandy added. “He just didn’t think of it. All I need is the key to unlock the museum building. I’d be careful to lock it again. I could give it to Fishhawk first thing in the morning,”

Brandy waited while the woman hesitated. No one else had appeared in the shop. Finally she lifted a great ring of keys from a pocket in her patchwork skirt. “Be sure it goes to Mr. Pine,” she murmured. “Don’t wait until tomorrow. He usually checks the animals later. If I’m gone, give it to him before you leave.”

Brandy dropped the key ring into the canvas bag looped by its straps over her arm. The clerk gestured toward a phone on the counter. “I almost forgot. I took a message for a you about half an hour ago.” Alarmed, Brandy halted on her way toward the office. “A Sergeant Strong. Said he’d been delayed.”

Brandy’s pulse quickened. Today’s first stroke of bad luck. “The best laid plans o’ mice and men.” she began, but the clerk had already opened the office door and was unhooking the chain across the doorway to the outside exhibit. “Better hurry,” she said.

Brandy smiled reassuringly. “You go on home. No one else is here. I’ll take care of everything.” As she reached under the desk and carefully picked up the box, she saw the hands of a wall clock pointed to 4:50 P.M. She heard the clerk open the door to the parking area and quickly close it behind her, glad to escape before the Tupperware box was carried through the room again. The woman would be relieved when the bones and Brandy were gone in the morning.

Brandy had not expected to be alone, but her task would take only a few minutes.

CHAPTER 18
 

With Meg trotting on a leash behind her, Brandy clutched the box to her breast and marched through the door into the exhibit area. She didn’t think of the black wrapped Tupperware container as potentially deadly, as the clerk did, but it made her uneasy. When the long-dead child’s bones were properly buried among her Seminoles relatives, however distant, Brandy would be relieved. Now she felt a shiver of anxiety. The docent would be gone, and the clerk had left early. Brandy had not factored those departures into her plan. Until Strong arrived, she was alone.

Again the guardian geese erupted, cackling and flapping. She pushed her way past them, holding Meg’s leash wrapped around her wrist, and started down the path toward the museum. All she needed to do was unlock the door, deposit the box beside the memorial, and scamper back to the gift shop to wait for Strong. Carefully, Brandy detached the key marked Museum from the others on the heavy ring and held it tightly as she passed the first alligator lagoon and crossed to the building itself.

She had managed to unlock the door and push it open when the geese again began their clamor. Brandy had read that Seminoles, hidden in the brush, learned they were being followed from the sudden flight of water birds. The geese could be sending her the same message. Thrusting the key ring back into her bag, she spun around and looked behind her. Beside the outdoor auditorium, a familiar massive figure loomed up on the walkway, moving fast. In a sudden panic, she shoved the box inside the entrance under a table, tossed the museum key after it, and slammed the door. It would lock automatically. She hoped the surrounding water would keep the precious little bones from shattering. Brandy wanted no one to desecrate the memory of that child any further. Then she wheeled around, intent on snaking past the lagoon and into the gift shop. Maybe Tugboat was looking for someone else. He might think Fishhawk or Grif had Hart’s artifacts.

As if in slow motion she saw the Grapple Guides tee shirt, the tangled black beard, the mass of blue tattoos on arms like oak branches, the small eyes in the fleshy face. He spotted her at once and was striding toward her. Brandy had almost forgotten the fishing guide’s brute force. She stiffened, for the moment paralyzed, reeling between a frantic urge to escape and the hopeless task of reasoning with Tugboat Grapple. Grif had gone to find Fishhawk, no one else was on the premises. The Casino patrons couldn’t help her. Above the clatter and blare of the games, no one would hear her cries. At the back of the exhibit area she glimpsed a wide, wooden gate, probably to allow trucks access, but it was closed. She had never heard a sound from that direction.

Even as Brandy turned and bolted toward the gift shop, she heard Tugboat’s heavy boots behind her. He grabbed her from the rear, his thick fingers sinking into her shoulders. Meg yelped and shrunk down on her haunches. He ripped the canvas bag from her arm. While she struggled to free herself, he shook it upside down, then dropped it. Keys for her car and the animal cages rattled onto the pavement. As he bent to fumble among keys and lipstick, compact, pens, note pad, pocket calendar, and address book, his grip loosened. Brandy quickly stooped and clutched the empty bag, felt the first aid kit caught in a deep side pocket, and sidled toward the bridge. But Tugboat was quick for his size. Reaching up, he wrenched her arms behind her.

“What do you want with me?” Brandy screamed. She still held the valuable tobacco pouch. Even Indian bones brought a price on the macabre scavengers’ market. But he must think she had something more.

“Damned little thief!” he hissed. “Been stealing from ole’ Alma May, have you? You and your damn boyfriend!” Somewhere in the back of

Brandy’s mind she wondered if the two women were here, too, trolling for blood.

“I found your damned suitcase! Think I wouldn’t get it open? Think ole’ Tugboat’s a damn idiot?” The decoy. It hadn’t fooled Tugboat long.

Brandy’s breath came in ragged gasps. Meg cringed and backed away as far as the taut leash would allow and bared her teeth. A good tracker, not an attacker. Tugboat drew back a heavy cowboy boot and kicked the retriever in the ribs. The dog yelped again and struggled frantically, but Tugboat had pinned Brandy’s arms. She gritted her teeth. “Let the dog go! You’ve got a dog yourself! Don’t hurt mine!”

He grinned, unmoved, his whiskey breath again on her cheek. She was pressed against his sweat-stained tee shirt. “Let’s see what else you got, you little bitch.” Still holding her with vise-like fingers, he snatched the canvas bag again. This time the first aid box dropped to the walkway. “Reckon I need to check that out.” He grinned and thrust it into a sagging jacket pocket. “I just bet you got something else hid, something you wouldn’t be carrying around in no bag.” Again he stooped, swept up the ring of zoo keys.

“Now what to do with you? Maybe find a place to lock you up a spell. A place you can’t dig out of this time. Might help you remember where that other thing is.” His gaze shifted from her to the building and then the cages.

Brandy registered every detail around her. She was aware of the black bear, hunched asleep in the corner of his pen, of the panther slinking from a smaller cage into a larger, saw it stop to stare at her, saw it stretch its sleek head forward and gnaw the tufts of grass between the chain link fence, saw its long pointed teeth, saw the ripple of its muscles under the tawny skin. She was conscious of the late afternoon chill, of gathering clouds, and wondered if Grif had seen Tugboat’s pick-up in the parking lot before he locked the box in the office—and yet all the time she focused on the wracking pain in her arms and the hovering strength of Tugboat.

“I don’t have anything else!” Her heart hammered in her chest.

Tugboat squeezed the cage keys in one fat fist. When she swiveled under his hand, pain shot through her shoulder. His eyes turned toward the panther cage. “Reckon that ole’ cat wouldn’t let you claw your way outta his cage. He’d do the clawing hisself.” Again he grinned at his own wit. He shook the key ring, focused on finding the right one. They were numbered, a corresponding number on each cage. When he pulled her forward, she tried to brace herself and lean backward. Her effort amused him. He laughed, jerked her arms together, shoved her to her knees, then dragged her forward. From his second guffaw, she knew he had found the right one. Suddenly the panther held the menace of a tiger. It leapt onto a high perch, baffled by the noise of the scuffle and the clank of the keys. Behind Brandy, Meg had struggled to her feet. When she began to bark, the great cat snarled.

Like a faint sound in a distant world, Brandy heard the geese again. She hoped that Tugboat didn’t understand what their cackling meant. She could not turn to look. He had managed to hold her arms and insert the key in the padlock. His words came through gritted teeth. “Reckon a close look at this ole’ cat will help your memory.”

Above the racket of the geese, footsteps drummed over the wooden bridge, running. “Let her go!”

Brandy recognized the voice. Grif bounded down the path, his face twisted in rage. “I thought I saw your truck! I knew you were here.” Effortlessly, he closed the gap between them. His voice dropped to a murderous calm. “The Seminoles have a police force, even here.”

Startled, Tugboat relaxed his grip. Brandy sagged forward. Grif was in Tugboat’s face now, his tone flat and harsh. “The police are on their way, and they’re armed. You’d better get out of here fast.”

Tugboat dropped the keys, grunted, and released Brandy’s arm. Before she could stop herself, Brandy cried out. She didn’t want to lose the tobacco pouch. “He’s stealing! Check his coat pocket!” Not a smart thing to say, she quickly realized. She wanted to save the tobacco pouch for Detective Strong. Now, as Tugboat turned away, Grif grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked it off. The fishing guide paused. “I was just scaring her!” he panted. A look of panic flashed across his heavy face. He whirled and sprinted toward the door, his boots pounding over the bridge. The back door banged open and slammed shut.

Brandy stood shaken and breathing hard. She had not expected the battle with Tugboat, but she was even less prepared for Grifs reaction now. He stepped closer, his fury undiminished. He spat out the words “The office inside is open! The clerk’s gone. Where’s the box of bones? What else have you got?”

This scene was not in her plan. She rubbed her chafed wrists, stalling, and bent to pat Meg, who still trembled at her feet. When she hesitated, he picked up the keys, then took a firm hold on her arm, his fingers biting into her flesh. A chill ran through her. She’d just been through this. She remembered how he had frog-marched Tugboat out of a restaurant.

“You’ve got something that belongs to me!” His words fell like stones. “Where is it?” She had seen Grif angry before. Not this angry. Why did everyone think she had stolen a treasure? Was it because she had been in the well?

She squirmed in his grasp. “All I’ve got is in that first aid kit. Take a look. It may be valuable, but it should go to the Sheriff’s Office. It may be evidence. You said the Seminole police were coming.”

“Don’t be stupid. That was to fool Tugboat.”

He let go of her arm long enough to open the small metal box, look inside. She made her eyes wide, innocent. Maybe she could reason with him. This was an educated man. “There’s a murder investigation, remember? Look, Grif. After all that’s happened, let Jeremiah Strong handle everything from now on. He’ll be here soon. He’ll find whatever is missing. The box is safe. Let’s just go back into the shop and wait.”