The Dark of Day (24 page)

“She might have been dismembered, or the body could have come apart.”

“Ugh,” said Billy.

“The medical examiner will be able to say which, but either way, it's terrible. Her family will be devastated.”

“Christ, let's not talk about this. Will I see you later?”

C.J. played with Taffy's torn ear. A woman and her cats. Something sad about it, but not sad enough to send her running to Billy. Not tonight. If she went over there tonight, there was every chance of waking up with a hangover.

“Thanks for the invitation, but I need to look halfway rested this weekend. Donald Finch's sister is in town. I might be seeing her if she has time. The producer at CNN. Remember?”

“Sure. A job interview. You choose fame and fortune over me?”

“Alas, yes,” she said. “I also have to see Milo in the morning. I asked him to find out for me if Alana Martin was doing porn films. Milo hears everything.”

“Milo is an old lady,” Billy said.

“Do you know Jason Wright?” C.J. asked. “He's an architect who works for Milo. Tall, blond, good-looking. Do you know who I'm talking about?”

“Jason. Sure. Why?”

“I spoke to him tonight. Supposedly he and Alana had something going. He says they're just friends, but if you'd heard him—He really cared for her. I pressed him to tell me about her, and he shut down. There are things he wanted to say, I'm sure of it. I did get this much: he has no alibi for the time Alana disappeared. He left the party in his own car. Alana's body could have been in his trunk.”

“How convenient for you,” Billy said. “You could close your file.”

“Yes, but I'm not going to the police, not without more. You could find out for me, couldn't you, Billy-boo? I need to know the real story with Jason and Alana. I don't want to ask Milo.”

“No. Turn it over to the cops and let them handle it. I promised you the names of the witnesses. That's my good deed for the day. Let's not talk about it anymore. I think it puts you in a bad mood. Body parts washing up on shore. It's depressing. Come see me. I'll cheer you up.” He must have cupped his hand around his cell phone, because the background noises faded, and all she heard was the rumble of his voice, smooth as velvet.

She lay on her bed. “Persuade me.”

Billy said, “I'm sorry we argued, baby. Let me make it up to you. We'll light some candles, get the Jacuzzi going. I'll take a Viagra.”

She laughed. “I wasn't kidding, I really do have to wake up early.”

“We'll set the alarm.”

“You won't be home for hours.”

“Meet me at the Grand Bay Hotel. I can walk there in ten minutes.”

“What about your friends?”

“Fuck 'em. The guy from the marina can take them back. Come on. Say yes. I'll get us a suite with a bathtub for two. Bring your bubble bath.”

The word hung on her lips—
yes, yes, yes.
But he would open the mini-bar and make drinks for himself and have a joint in his pocket for her, being considerate of her sobriety, and he would have some cocaine delivered at two or three in the morning, and argue when she said no, and the night would be a blur of sensation and regret. But she did miss him. It was a sickness.

“C.J.? Come on, baby. You're the only woman I want. You know it's true.”

She finally heard the rapping noise that had danced at the edge of her awareness for the past several seconds. She sat up. “Someone's at the back door. It's got to be Edgar. I'll call you right back.”

“How long is this going to take?”

“One minute.”

“Uh-huh. Are you coming or not? I need to know.”

“Maybe not. I'd better stay here tonight. If I met you—”

“All right. Suit yourself.” The phone went dead.

She stared at it. “Prick.” She dropped the phone and headed toward the door. Taffy jumped off the bed and followed her down the stairs, hissing.
She turned on the light in the dining room, then the one on the screened porch, and could see Edgar through the French doors. She unlocked one and pushed it open. “Hey. I got home early. Is everything all right?”

“I guess so. I have company. That girl, the same one who came around this morning. Kylie. We've been working on my old photos all evening.”

C.J. stared at him, then at the cottage. “Kylie is
here?
”

“Yep.” Edgar spoke quietly. “Fell asleep on the couch. I heard you come in, so I thought I'd run over and ask you what to do.”

“My God. I was so worried. Why didn't you call me?”

“You were out with that Medina fella, and I didn't want to bother you. I'm sorry.”

“No, no, it's fine. How did she get here? Was she looking for me?”

Edgar shook his large, gray head. “I don't know how she got here. She knocked on my door and asked if I had some work for her, fifteen bucks an hour, cash. I could see something wasn't right, but I didn't ask questions, figured I'd wait for you. She got busy right away on my photographs. Said we ought to sort them into piles and write down who was who. I fed her some soup, and she closed her eyes, and that was that. Poor little mite.”

C.J. hurried across the porch and stepped down to the dry grass, which crackled under her sandals. The air was heavy and still, with a distant chorus of air conditioners, crickets, and a passing jet plane. She quietly opened the door of Edgar's cottage.

Kylie lay with her head on a sofa pillow, glasses crooked, one foot on the floor, the other dangling. The coffee table was strewn with black-and-white photographs, and someone had been making a list in a spiral notebook. Creeping closer, C.J. leaned over her. Kylie was dressed exactly the same as twelve hours ago, shorts and a bright yellow T-shirt. She had the smell of someone who had been out in the heat all day.

C.J. started to touch her shoulder, but her hand stopped in midair. “I don't know what to do.”

Edgar said, “Leave her there. I'll get a blanket.”

She might have heard their voices. Her eyes came open. She quickly straightened her glasses and sat up. “Hi, Ms. Dunn. I came over to help your uncle with his photos.”

“That's what he told me,” C.J. said.

“I didn't get much sleep last night,” Kylie said. “I have insomnia, and then it catches up with me the next day.” She looked around, then picked up her purse. “Well. I should be going.”

“Would you like to stay here? I have a spare bedroom.”

“I can catch a bus to the Beach. I have someone to stay with.”

“Who?”

Kylie shrugged. “Friends.”

Maintaining her smile, C.J. said, “But it's nearly ten o'clock. The guest room is all made up. There are towels and a new toothbrush in the guest bath. You don't have pajamas, do you? I can lend you something. It's no problem.”

“Well . . . I suppose I could.”

“Wonderful. Edgar, thank you for taking care of her. Come on, Kylie.” C.J. motioned from the door.

Kylie threw her arms around Edgar's neck, and he chuckled and patted her shoulder. “Good night, then. Sleep well. I make pretty fair pancakes. We'll have some in the morning.”

As she followed C.J. across the yard, Kylie kept her distance. “In case you were wondering, I took Alana's car back.”

“Oh? That's good.”

“I've been thinking. You don't have to pay my tuition. I shouldn't have asked you in the first place. My dad says, and I agree, that it's better not to borrow from friends or family. I have other ways to get the money.”

“Like working for Edgar?”

Kylie stood on the porch, not moving when C.J. opened the French door. “I really was helping with his pictures. I didn't come over here to sponge money off him.”

“I know.” C.J. stood aside. This was like urging a skittish cat into the house. She guessed that Kylie had heard nothing about Alana. Edgar rarely turned on his television. Sooner or later she would have to know. In her mind, C.J. saw an image of an ocean wave falling back, revealing a body half buried in wet sand.

“Please come in. We're letting the cool air out.” When Kylie stepped inside the dining room, C.J. closed the door and locked it. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really. No.”

“Want some hot chocolate?”

“All right.” At last a faint smile. “Thanks.” Kylie followed her around the dining table stacked with boxes and papers. “I got your messages. You said if I tell you what I know about Alana, we could work something out. That's fine, and if you want to give me a loan, I won't say no, but what I really want is for you to talk to my mother.”

C.J. turned on the light in the kitchen.

Kylie moved aside a box of crackers and set her purse on the counter. “My father is fine with me staying in Miami, but my mother's the problem. I'd like for you to tell her I have a job and a place to live.”

“You want me to lie to her? I don't know where you're living.”

“I'll get my own place this week. An efficiency apartment, or I might go through a roommate service, but a safe, clean neighborhood. Tell her that.”

“Do you have the money for an apartment?”

“I will have. Don't ask me how. I'm not stealing it. I'm not doing anything illegal.”

“I'll have to think about that,” C.J. said. “How will you pay for school?”

“Well, some modeling, like I mentioned before. I mean, if it works out. And there's always waitressing. I have experience as a server. I put in three applications today.”

“And what else? School is expensive.”

“I'll manage. Don't worry about it. Listen, my mother was kind of upset, but I told her, I am not changing my mind. She might call you. She has the idea you're trying to talk me into staying in Miami.”

“Hardly. You know where I stand.” C.J. took the milk out of the refrigerator, the cocoa from a cabinet.

“Does that mean you won't help me?”

“It means we can talk about it.” She turned on the hot water to wash a mug. The orange cat walked past Kylie and hissed. C.J. said, “He won't scratch. If he hisses, it means he likes you. His name is Taffy.”

Kylie knelt to pet the cat. “Hey, Taffy. You're a fighter, aren't ya? Somebody took a bite out of your ear, big boy.”

“The gray one is Dylan, and there's a little white cat named Lady Bell, but she's probably hiding under the sofa. Tell me about modeling. I think they want models to be at least five-eight.”

“Junior models can be shorter.”

“Do you have an agent? There are people out there who will take advantage of you.”

Kylie stroked the cat. “I know how to look out for myself.”

“If you're under eighteen, a parent will have to sign the contract.”

“I'll get an ID. I've been getting fake ID's for years.”

“Have you now?” C.J. set the mug on the counter and dried her hands.

“I had to. My parents don't have any money, and I needed to work. I didn't tell them about it, of course. They're sweet but clueless. I got my first part-time job when I was fourteen.” She stood up, shook her hair back from her face, and leaned against the counter with her arms crossed. Her collarbones were clearly marked, and faint tracings of blue showed beneath delicate skin. The overhead lights reflected in her glasses. So serious, this girl. Rarely a smile.

C.J. folded the towel and set it aside. “Kylie, I have to tell you something. It's about Alana. The news isn't good. They believe they've found her.”

Like a small animal hearing a strange noise, Kylie stiffened. “Where? Is she dead?”

“Her body was found tonight on Fort Lauderdale Beach. She must have been dropped from a boat shortly after she was murdered, then drifted north with the currents. They aren't sure, but it's probably her. I'm sorry. It's impossible to understand such violence, especially to someone you care about.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Kylie pressed her fingertips to her mouth.

“They'll have more on the morning news.”

For a long moment C.J. stared at the girl's red and crumpling face before she closed the short distance between them, hesitated, then tentatively put her hand on Kylie's cheek. “I'm so sorry.”

With a small moan, Kylie lowered her head to C.J.'s shoulder. “Oh, shit. I thought maybe she'd gone to California. She wanted to so much. It was her dream.” Kylie sobbed, and C.J. stroked her back, feeling the wings of her shoulder blades, the warmth under her cheap yellow shirt.

“You see what a dangerous place Miami can be for girls on their own.”

Kylie grabbed at a paper towel on its holder by the sink, ripped off an uneven piece, and wiped her cheeks. “Yeah, well, Alana was stupid. I am not like Alana.”

“What do you mean? What was Alana like?”

“Some of the people she hung with. Lowlifes and druggies. I don't do drugs.”

“Where did Alana get it?”

“From friends.”

“Cocaine?”

“Yes. Other things. Pills. I'm not into that.”

“Did Alana ever have sex for money?”

“She wasn't a prostitute,” Kylie said fiercely.

“If not for money, for things? Drugs, clothes, rent?”

“No!”

“Would you have known?”

“I would have, sure.”

“Did she ever have a part in an adult movie?” When Kylie hesitated, C.J. asked, “Do you know what an adult movie is?”

“Yes! God! Who doesn't? Alana tried out for one of those movies,
one.
They told her she could make a lot of money, but she had to talk like a little girl and wear short dresses and knee socks, and she hated it.”