Shattered (29 page)

“Holding up, Walt,” she answered with a tired smile and embraced him. “Thank you for what you did the other night,” she told him sincerely as she stepped away.

He shook his head sadly. “Not enough, baby doll, not enough. This whole mess, it's shook me up real bad, I don't mind telling you.”

Carol replied, “It's shaken a lot of us, Walt.”

She had parked on the side of the marina that was opposite that on which the larger boats were docked so that she would not have to pass the charred rubble with its police-tape barrier that was all that remained of Guy's boat. Now she could not even look in that direction.

And Walt, trying to lighten her mood, said, “Well, hell, baby, I guess it ain't every day a man gets to be a bigshot, anyway. How'd you like that picture of me in the paper?”

Carol smiled. “It didn't show off your best side.”

He chuckled. “I didn't know I had one, sweetheart. But I got to speak my piece for two television stations and I reckon that's about as much fame as I ever want to see. What are they getting out of that son of a bitch, anyway? Anything helpful?”

Carol hesitated. “Not really. Not yet.”

He nodded, understanding, and did not question further.

Carol said, glancing around. “I'm supposed to meet a client here. Ken Carlton, do you know him?”

Walt nodded. “Sure, he's got that hot-looking Donzi over there.” He nodded toward the gleaming blue-and-white speedboat bobbing between two smaller recreational boats at the end of the pier. “Takes it out just about every day, rain, shine, or small craft advisory. That is some mean vehicle. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was running drugs in that thing, as much time as he spends on it.”

Carol managed a laugh. “I think we can eliminate that possibility, Walt.”

“Yeah, I guess. Not too many drug runners dock their yachts in a little place like St. T. every year, and he has got one gorgeous-looking sleeper for serious travel.”

“The advantages of being independently wealthy, Walt,” Carol replied, and then saw Ken come up from below decks of the Donzi. Ken spotted her and lifted an arm in greeting. She waved back.

Walt said, scanning the horizon, “Ya'll aren't thinking of taking her out today, are you? Looks to be blowing up a squall.”

The sun poked through dark-blue-lined clouds in brilliant intermittent spikes, and the darkening water line in the distance did suggest rough seas. Carol found herself half-hoping a storm would force them to turn back, and then she thought with sudden intensity,
This is stupid. I should be with my husband at a time like this. I should be with Guy.

Ken waved to her again, and sensibility reasserted itself. A couple of hours and her obligation would be fulfilled. There were twelve other realtors on this island who would have fought her for the chance to take a ride in Ken Carlton's Donzi and she owed it to Laura—and herself—to see it through.

She said, “We're just taking a quick run over to Little Horse. We'll be back before the rain falls.”

Walt nodded. “Well, I wouldn't take her any further than that. You watch out for snakes now.”

Carol grinned and waved at him as she started down the pier.

“I was beginning to think you might not make it,” Ken greeted her when she came within speaking distance. “It looks like we'll be heading into a little chop.”

“As long as the rain holds off.” Carol extended her hand and he helped her onboard. “Beautiful boat. I can see why you'd want to bring it down for the summer.”

“It was a necessity as much time as I've been spending over at Little Horse,” Ken admitted. “Not to mention the fact that I'm never really comfortable unless I know I've got access to the water. Of course, I was beginning to think I'd picked the wrong marina when that boat blew up the other night. Did you hear about that?”

Carol had that strange feeling of having walked into another world—a world where other people actually walked and talked and lived their lives, where the center of the universe was not Carol Dennison and her struggles and adversities.

She said, “That was my husband's boat.”

He looked stunned. “My God. I guess I should have known that, but I haven't listened to any local news the past couple of days. I only knew about the boat because I asked about the damage to the pier. Was anyone hurt?”

Carol wondered vaguely how anyone, even a tourist, could have failed to hear what had been going on here the past few days. And yet, in a way, the innocence of ignorance was restorative, and she did not want to drag up too many details.

She swallowed hard and said, “A deputy sheriff was killed, actually. My husband wasn't on board at the time.”

He said, “Thank God for that.” She saw the question in his eyes, but was grateful that he did not push for more information. He said, “I'm sorry for all your troubles. I have a feeling I'm imposing on you at a bad time. Has there been any word on your daughter?”

Carol shook her head, mustering a grateful smile. “Thank you for your concern. But please, don't think of yourself as imposing. Actually, the one thing I needed most was to get away for a little while.”

“Then maybe this afternoon will work out to the benefit of both of us,” he said, and started the engine.

***

Laura looked up when Guy came in. “You just missed her,” she said. Then noticing the distracted look in his eyes, she added anxiously, “Is there news?”

“Laura,” he said abruptly, “how sure are you about the color of your attacker's hair?”

“Well, it was dark, and the stocking over his head, and I wasn't taking notes ... under the circumstances, as sure as anyone could be I guess. Has something happened?”

“So it was definitely brown?”

“Brownish, as far as I could tell.”

“Like mine?”

“Maybe not that dark.”

“So it could have been blond.”

“No, not blond. Why, what's happening?”

“Saddler's hair is blond,” Guy said.

Laura stared at him. “Kind of dirty blond? Brownish blond?”

“White blond, going gray. Noticeably blond, Laura.”

She swallowed hard. “Maybe he dyed it.”

“You're that sure? You couldn't have been mistaken about the color?”

“It was too dark to tell the difference between brown and red and black, maybe, but between blond and brown—I think I would have noticed, Guy. I think I would have remembered. He must have dyed it.”

Her intercom buzzed. When she picked it up, Tammy said, “Sheriff Case is on line one.”

“Is he looking for Mr. Dennison?”

Guy stepped forward curiously.

“No. He asked for either you or Carol.”

“Thanks, Tammy.” She pushed the button. “This is Laura Capstone, Sheriff.”

She could feel Guy listening attentively.

The sheriff said abruptly, “I have your office on my emergency contact list for the address 'Sea Dunes' in Gulf View Acres. Are you the owners or just the managers?”

“We own it, but it’s rented now. What—”

“Who to?”

“Um, Sheriff, I'm not sure I'm supposed to—”

“Who's living there now, Miss Capstone, and how long has he been there?”

“It's rented to a man from Tallahassee by the name of Ken Carlton. He moved in at the first of the month, but I happen to know he's not at home now. Could you please tell me—”

“I'm on my way over there with a search warrant. If you want to meet me there with a key, it would save some trouble.”

“I—yes, all right. I'm five minutes away.”

She hung up the phone and looked at Guy in stunned disbelief. “A search warrant,” she said. “This place just gets crazier and crazier.”

“Ken Carlton,” Guy said. “Why does that name sound familiar to me?”

“Because that's Carol's client—the one she's showing property to today. And now the police want to search his house.”

Guy said, “I'm following you over there.”

~

Chapter Forty-four

C
arol let herself be hypnotized by the flash of sun and shadow on her face, the rhythmic bounce and slap of the waves, the roar of engines that precluded conversation and even thought. It was not until they had left the channel cut and started to circle around the back side of Lighthouse Island that she realized they were headed in the wrong direction.

She leaned forward and tapped Ken on the shoulder. As she did, the wind caught the hood of his windbreaker, tossing it away from his neck, and she noticed for the first time the jagged abrasions on the back of his neck.

He turned to her and she shouted, “We're going the wrong way!”

He eased back on the throttle to make conversation easier. “Just a little detour,” he shouted back. “You said you needed to get away. I thought you might enjoy a tour of the lighthouse.”

Carol pointed to the sky, and the deep indigo clouds from which the sun had only momentarily escaped. The water beneath the boat was a fascinating gradation from deep purple to gold-touched aqua, but the chop was growing stronger.

“We're going to get caught in the rain,” she called back. “Besides, there's no place to dock there. You can't bring a boat in.”

He just smiled. “There've been a few improvements since you were there last.”

“You've been there before?”

“Once or twice. You see, I own it, actually.”

Carol was merely confused.

“You—own it?”

“Oh, yes. I'm the second owner, in fact. It went on the auction block shortly after the lighthouse was condemned, and a development company bought it with the thought of building a resort much like the one I described to you. It was completely unfeasible, of course, and my company bought it after they went bankrupt. I can't believe you didn't know all this.”

“I might have. Seems I heard something about the first sale.”

“It was never brokered,” he said, by way of an explanation. “That’s probably why you didn't know about it.”

She raised her voice to be heard above the pitch of the motor, still struggling with her confusion. “Will Lighthouse Island be part of your development, too?”

He turned his attention to the wheel for a moment, turning the boat against the wake and toward the leeward side of the little island. Then he answered, “No, it's an utterly impractical investment. The state refused to grant permission for a causeway to be built and there's no ground water. The cost of development would be astronomical and it would never pay for itself. But it's perfect for my purposes.”

“Which are?”

He looked back at her and answered simply, “Privacy.”

That was the first time she suspected something might be wrong.

***

The sheriff and three deputies were waiting when Laura and Guy parked their cars in the street before the sand-colored Mediterranean-style house known as Sea Dunes. Fred Lindy, the district attorney, was with them. Guy nodded at him curiously, and Lindy groaned.

“Jesus, Dennison, there's no story here. Go home.”

Laura regarded the entire group nervously, but proceeded up the steps with authority. The group followed, with Sheriff Case in the lead.

“You are making a huge mistake,” Laura said as she unlocked the door. “Do you have any idea who this guy is? He could bankrupt the whole county if he decides to sue you for false—whatever.”

“Then we'll just have to be real careful not to piss him off.”

She stepped back from the door and the law officers entered, with Lindy staying close to the sheriff. Case called over his shoulder to the deputies who followed him in, “Ledbetter, Harly, take the downstairs. Humphries, you're with me. Keep it neat, boys, you're not at home.”

Guy caught Laura's arm as she started to go in. “What is Carol doing with this man?” he demanded quietly.

“Jesus, Guy, he's a client.” She twisted her arm away irritably. “Now let me go before these goons break something I have to pay for.”

Guy caught up with Case and Lindy at the bottom of the stairs. Lindy said, “You don't belong in here, Dennison.”

“I'm part owner.”

Case grunted, “Yeah, in what divorce court?”

Guy said, “Carol is with him right now.”

The two men's eyes met for a moment, and nothing else was said.

Laura followed them up the stairs anxiously. “Sheriff, this is making me really nervous. I know you've got a warrant but—”

The sheriff said, “This Carlton fellow. Is he about five-ten, auburn hair, gray eyes, thirty-five or so?”

Laura's footsteps slowed as they reached the landing. “Well, yes ... I've only seen him once but... yes.”

“How many bedrooms?”

“What? Um, three. This is the master.” She gestured toward the first open door.

The sheriff nodded to Humphries. “You take the one next door.”

Lindy went with Humphries, and Guy and Laura followed the sheriff into the bedroom, which was unnaturally neat for a bachelor. “How come a single man would want three bedrooms?” asked Case, sweeping the room with a cataloging glance.