Hurricane House (23 page)

“I know Onyx,” Paula said. “He’s Arlene Brayer’s dog. I’m surprised...”

“What do you mean, surprised?”

“Arlene loves that dog to death. Her only companion, as far as I can tell. Another Gert Lorinstad, if you ask me.” “Pardon? I don’t follow.”

Paula laughed. “Gert was a good friend and colleague, a teacher I worked with in Atlanta. When Gert turned forty, a bunch of us broke into her basement to surprise her. Boy, was she surprised. And we were as surprised as Gert when we walked in and saw her in the nude with peanut butter between her legs and on her boobies, that damn dog of hers licking it off.”

“Image deleted,” I said. “What does that have to do with Onyx?”

“Oh, nothing, I was just being silly. Onyx’s owner, Arlene Brayer, is a big-time realtor, very attractive blond. Lives in a house on Flounder, a dump until Arlene got hold of it. She’s turned the place into a showcase. I’m sure you must have seen it, painted yellow and green. She said she was planning to flip it and sell it for three times what she paid.”

“Do you think she evacuated?”

Paula twisted her hair and pressed her lips together. “I can’t imagine she’d leave without Onyx. She adores that dog.” I glanced at the time on my cell phone. One of these days I’ll buy a decent watch. Mr. Rogers expected me in twenty minutes. “Have you talked to Keith?”

Paula exhaled a loud sigh. “Yes, but he’s so busy. He hasn’t found Sandra Eddelman yet. And nothing on Geneva, either. The medical examiner hasn’t sent his report back on Roxanne Trawler. Are you going to her funeral, Maeva?”

“Yes, but I can’t stay.”

“You’re welcome to ride with me.”

“Thanks, but I’ll need my truck for later. Can I follow you over there? I’m not sure where it is or what time.”

“Eleven a.m. at the First Methodist, I think. That’s where her parents go.”

I placed both laptops into my backpack. “I’ll meet you here if I decide to follow you. Right now, I have to go. Call you later about my plans. I have Onyx at my place. So, I don’t know about tonight.”

“Huberta’s afraid of dogs.”

“I figured, though she said she’s allergic to them. This is her house. She’s entitled.”

“I’ll drive by Arlene’s today and see what’s up.”

I wondered why Paula didn’t have a problem getting on Paradise Isle. I figured Keith had somehow used his influence to get her in and out, or maybe Paula used her considerable charm with the guards.

“Could I ask you another favor, Paula?”

“Sure, what?”

“May I borrow your binoculars, just for a day or two?”

Paula pulled the binoculars from around her neck and handed them to me. “No problem. I have another pair. Call me later. Whatever you do, don’t get caught on Paradise Isle again tonight. It’s not safe anymore.”

Chapter Forty-two

Massaging my headache from hell, I tried to wrap up the meeting with Principal Rogers. No matter what I said, he disagreed. Then he asked for legal advice.

“I’m not a lawyer,” I said.

“I don’t think anyone can prove for a fact that a tire from our playground hit that woman and knocked her unconscious, do you?” Rogers asked.

“I’m not a lawyer,” I repeated.

The school’s attorney, Alice Macon, was on her honeymoon in Europe. He needed to arrange a meeting with the three of us, he said as he followed me to my truck.

“That’s fine, Mr. Rogers, but for now, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for my next appointment.”

After I escaped Principal Rogers, it took me almost an hour on a no-traffic day to drive to Baker Town—way out in the boonies—for my appointment at the Crawleys’ residence. When I arrived, I found an elderly woman, Mrs. Crawley, wandering around her flooded front yard, crying. Her husband sat like a statue in a rocking chair on the front porch.

“He’s had another stroke, I just know it,” Mrs. Crawley said. “And my cell phone is dead with no power to charge it.”

I checked Mr. Crawley’s pulse; then called 911. “Your husband is alive.”

“Do you think the winds from the hurricane made him like this?” Mrs. Crawley asked.

“I don’t know. I’m not a doctor,” I said.

Soon paramedics arrived in a red-and-white van with sirens blazing. They hooked IVs to Mr. Crawley and loaded him on a stretcher while I waded through the Crawley’s one-story house, listing the damage.

“You have insurance to cover this, so don’t worry,” I told Mrs. Crawley, though I was amazed she and her husband were still alive when I saw the damage to their home. An oak tree had collapsed the roof. Their barn— containing their demolished Ford Crown Victoria—looked like a pile of lumber. The floodwater inside their small, two-bedroom home measured two-feet deep, an electrocution waiting to happen once the power came back on. Mud and debris covered the outside heating and cooling unit. Their well water looked contaminated with waste from the septic system.

After I noted the destruction, I asked Mrs. Crawley, “May I call someone for you?”

“My son Tommy lives in Marianna,” she said from the back of the ambulance where she’d climbed up to be with her husband.

I handed the cell phone to Mrs. Crawley.

She paused for a moment, closed her eyes, took a breath, looked at the phone and punched in a number. Tommy must have answered, because she said, “I think your daddy’s had a stroke. We’re going to the hospital...North Okaloosa Med Center...in an ambulance...” Mrs. Crawley trembled and appeared almost as feeble as her husband. “The insurance lady is here...I’m using her cell phone...Our home’s a wreck, but our insurance will take care of it, the nice lady said...Most important, your daddy is alive ...No, we can’t stay here...Okay, honey...thank you...love you, too...See you soon.”

I absorbed Mrs. Crawley’s sadness, as I often do with victims. Thankfully, I managed to hold back the tears to answer my ringing cell phone. “Yes.”

“Maeva, it’s Paula. Arlene’s house is boarded and locked. I’m assuming she evacuated. I put a note on her door about Onyx and left my cell number for her to call. Also, I drove by the realty company where she works. That place is boarded up, too. So, I don’t know what to tell you to do. I’m just flabbergasted she’d leave her dog behind.”

“Thanks for checking, Paula.”

“If I hear anything, I’ll let you know. Where are you now?”

“In Baker.”

“Are you coming to Huberta’s tonight?”

“I need to feed Onyx and take him out first.”

“It’s already 5:30,” Paula scolded, as if I were a child who needed to be reminded of the time. “I know.” My next appointments were on Paradise Isle, but I didn’t mention that to Paula.

Chapter Forty-three

I found Cheryl Fenland lying in a puddle of blood. She looked to be in her early twenties, with dark-brown hair. Tears streamed down her pretty face, and she was obviously pregnant, but fortunately alive.

“My Ba...by’s dead,” Mrs. Fenland kept sobbing.

I called 911 and told the operator to send Life Flight. Then I tried to calm Mrs. Fenland. “You and your baby are going to be okay.”

“I’m a nurse. I know. I fell down the stairs when they collapsed. Now my baby’s not moving.”Mrs. Fenland’s left ankle looked swollen. The foot was turned out, as if broken.

“Your husband is worried about you,” I said, wrapping my arms around Mrs. Fenland. Her husband Earl Finland, a U.S. Air-Force captain in Iraq, had reported the claim, I told her.

She wiped her eyes. “He did?”
“Yes, he e-mailed my employer. I work for a claims company. The lady who gave me your claim said your husband told her he’d talked with you during the storm.”

Mrs. Fenland continued to sob. “I don’t want him to know about the baby.”

“He doesn’t know you’re pregnant?”

“Of course, he knows I’m pregnant. I just didn’t tell him the baby was sick, and now...” she sobbed. “Please, don’t tell him our baby’s dead. My husband isn’t well. They don’t know what’s wrong with him, a virus they think. I didn’t tell him about the last ultrasound. It showed Angelina, our baby, with a bad heart, without one of the ventricles. I still believed in miracles. I thought she’d make it, but then I got so sick before the storm hit, and I couldn’t get out. I waited too late.”

“Maybe your baby will be okay.”

“No, she’s won’t,” Mrs. Fenland sobbed. “She’s stopped moving and the doctor said two weeks ago, he didn’t expect her to live.”

I cried with Mrs. Fenland and prayed for Life Flight to hurry and for baby Angelina to be okay, but when the medics arrived, they confirmed what the mother knew: Baby Angelina had no heartbeat.

“Promise me you won’t tell my husband we lost the baby,” Mrs. Fenland said.

“I promise,” I said, hugging her.

Chapter Forty-four

D
rying my tears, I drove to my next appointment with Mrs. Prudence Levitas, a woman in her eighties. Like Cheryl Fenland, Mrs. Levitas had extensive property damage and she’d stayed during the storm. Unlike Cheryl, Mrs. Levitas appeared unharmed.

I told Mrs. Levitas how lucky she was to be alive and soon after I finished noting the damage, her son from Baton Rouge came by to pick her up. By then, night had fallen on Paradise Isle. I almost didn’t see Victor’s wave as I drove past his Martian-looking house.

I waved back.

He motioned for me to stop.

As much as I needed to vent, I felt too overwhelmed and pressed for time. “I wish I had time to talk, but I’m swamped,” I yelled out the window.

A moment later, I approached Blue Heron Way. The
floodwaters had evaporated so I parked in the driveway in front of unit five but I didn’t jump out of my truck right away. I needed to center myself, but I felt guilty when I heard Onyx barking from the side window. He knew I was out there. Might as well get out and go in.

Reluctantly, I grabbed my heavy duffle and noticed Sean had his front door ajar. My heart hammered at the possibility of seeing him again, but I didn’t think I could face him. I needed to be alone to regroup. So I ran inside like a skittish rabbit.

Onyx jumped up to greet me. He barked and barked, as if to say. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Missed me, did you?” I squatted down to pet him. It felt good, focusing on Onyx and I decided my reports could wait until after I took care of this dog.

I let him out back then refilled his food and water bowls. While he ate, I connected my laptop and the halogen floor lamp to the generator.

Onyx started acting strange, pacing the living room, nervously.

“You need to go outside again?”

He walked to the front door and barked.

I let him out before I realized I’d forgotten the flashlight and pooper scooper. “Stay here,” I said, but when I returned, Onyx had disappeared. I couldn’t imagine where he’d gone to in such a short time.

Night shrouded the area, and it was too dark to see far. So I grabbed the flashlight and walked up Blue Heron Way. No Onyx.

I walked over to Gulf Drive searching for him. I heard his barking in the distance, and I followed the sound. I wondered if Onyx was trying to find his owner Arlene. Or maybe Arlene had returned. Great for Arlene and Onyx, but I must admit I felt sad, losing the dog’s companionship. Onyx made me feel safer and less lonely. Not surprising. Dog owners feel more secure in their homes than dog-less folks, I remembered reading somewhere.

“Onyx,” I called out.

I walked one street over to Turtle Cove. My flashlight spotted a black streak disappearing under the wall of the Dolphin Mansion. “Onyx,” I screamed. No response.

I continued to call Onyx until my voice gave out. I figured this wayward dog would return in time, but for now, I couldn’t let myself worry about him. Duty called. Storm victims depended on me. I needed to complete my claims. Yet, no matter how I tried to focus on my claims I couldn’t stop fretting about Onyx. Was he okay?

The question haunted me. I kept getting up from the computer and going to the front porch, expecting to see Onyx’s golden eyes looking up at me. As a result, my claims took longer than usual. John Peterson’s was a nightmare and it didn’t look good for Sandra. Her renters’ insurance wouldn’t cover any items considered the domain of the landlord. Hopeless.

My hopelessness transferred to Onyx. What if he never returns?

I walked to the door and looked out. No Onyx, but I smelled the aroma of grilling food. Sean was cooking again.

I peeked through Sean’s screen door. He startled me by opening it. Sean wore a white tee and jeans that showed off his masculine contours. “Wonderful to see you,” he said. He drove a hand through his dark hair. “Do you like grouper?”

Self-consciously, I pulled at my hair. I hadn’t glanced in the mirror since that morning when I showered and dressed at the fitness center. I was sure I looked a wreck with my eyes swollen from the crying. “Where are you getting all of this food?”

Sean picked up the end of my rope belt and played with one of the turquoise stones. He reminded me of a curious little boy. “I’m celebrating tonight, and I know of no one I’d rather celebrate with than you.”