Hurricane Bay (29 page)

“She's thinking, wow, let's all strip naked and jump in the pool,” Nate suggested.

She smiled at him slowly, shaking her head.

“Okay, I tried. She's wondering why our friend the gestapo came in and hauled off Jorge,” Nate said. “Am I right?”

“Of course.”

“But none of us could possibly believe…” Cindy murmured.

“We should call him,” Larry said. “Tell him we're a group and demand to be let in on this.”

Kelsey stared at him.

“Well?”

“I think you're right,” she said. “Let me grab my phone from inside.” She crumpled her pizza plate, stood and went inside for her cell phone. She dialed Dane's cell number.

It rang and rang and rang. At last his voice came on.

“Dane, dammit it, you can't just run in, drag Jorge out and not give us anything resembling an explanation,” she said. Then she frowned and clicked off.

“What did he say?” Nate demanded.

Kelsey let out a sigh. “Nothing.”

“What?” Cindy protested.

“Nothing. I just got aggressive with his answering machine.”

“He's not answering the phone?” Cindy said.

“No.” Frustrated, Kelsey sat back down on a lounge chair.

They were all silent again for a minute.

“Well…” Larry said.

“Yes?” Cindy spoke, but they all looked at him.

“There's the whole skinny-dipping thing,” he suggested.

Cindy moaned. Silence fell again.

“Damn.” Nate yawned. “Well, this just sucks. We're all exhausted. No one has had any sleep in forever, and now—”

He broke off suddenly, his body tense.

“What now?” Kelsey said.

“I think I heard something.”

They all jumped up and raced back around the side of the house.

“Dammit! I could swear…” Larry said. “Did you see a flash of…color, fabric, a person…?”

“Going out the gate?” Nate said. “Hell, why are we waiting? Let's find out.”

He was already running.

Larry was at his heels.

Kelsey stared at Cindy. In tacit agreement, they burst into a run themselves.

 

Dane didn't speak at all until they were on the highway. He knew exactly where he was going, and apparently Jorge knew, as well.

“We're going to the marina?” he said. He seemed calm now that they were away from the others.

“It's as good as any place to talk.”

“This is about my activities at night in the boat?” Jorge said.

“And more.”

“I did not think…” Jorge began, but he didn't finish.

“You didn't think what? That you'd get caught?”

“I didn't think that you…I didn't think that you'd involve yourself.”

“Not involve myself? When who knows how many women have been murdered and Sheila is missing?” Dane was so astounded by Jorge's attitude that he nearly missed the turnoff. The Jeep jerked its way into the parking lot and ground to a halt.

Jorge was staring at him incredulously. “I haven't murdered anyone. What are you talking about?”

“The strippers. The victims of the Necktie Strangler.”

Jorge shook his head, frowning. “I am guilty, but not of murder.”

Dane sat silently for a minute. “Someone witnessed you dumping something into the ocean, Jorge. And I'd like to know what it was.”

Jorge said nothing at first, then insisted, “I have never killed anyone.”

Dane stared ahead through the windshield. “A stripper at the club where Cherie Mardsen worked saw you there. Many times. She's pretty certain you were there the night Cherie disappeared. Sure enough to testify to it in court.”

Jorge laughed, then buried his face in his hands. “You talked to a stripper. Which stripper?”

“Her name doesn't matter right now.”

“Yes, it does,” Jorge said. He looked around, then turned to Dane. “So you think I may be a killer, but you're talking to me alone.”

“Right.”

“Why?”

“Because you're an old friend.”

“You're not afraid of me?”

“No. However, I am armed.”

“Of course. You would be,” Jorge said. “Maybe you don't really have anything on me.”

“Maybe I don't, though I do have witnesses to your activities. But I intend to let you explain them first—if you can. Want to talk?”

Jorge let out a long sigh. “Sure.” Then he hesitated and looked away before turning back to Dane. “Okay, like I said, I am guilty of illegal activity. But not murder.”

“Go on.”

“You said you talked to a stripper. But not a girl named Marisa Martinez.”

Dane frowned and shook his head, studying Jorge. “No, I didn't speak with a girl named Marisa. Why?”

“I had business with her.”

“What business?”

Jorge hesitated again. “I can show you. But…I have to trust you. If I can't trust you, then you'll have to drive me to the police.”

Dane shook his head. “Jorge, if you're doing something illegal—”

“Illegal, but not…bad,” Jorge said.

“All right, Jorge. If you can convince me that what you're doing isn't bad…then we'll leave it alone. But if you're pushing drugs…”

“That's Izzy's business. I think I can convince you that you need to look beyond what you have seen,” Jorge said.

“I'll give you a chance.”

“And I'm taking that chance,” Jorge said.

“Well?”

“Drive. I'll tell you where to go.”

Dane stared at him warily for a moment.

“You're armed, and I'm not,” Jorge said. “You can search me if you want. Please, drive.”

Dane stared at Jorge, then revved the engine. A minute later they were back out on the highway.

 

Running didn't get them anywhere. When they reached the sidewalk, Nate and Larry were already there, staring down the little byway that led to US1.

“What? What did you see?” Kelsey asked breathlessly.

“I think someone did run through here,” Larry said.

“Not just someone,” Nate added.

“Who, then? What the hell is going on?” Cindy demanded.

“I…I don't know,” Larry said. “I can't guarantee it, but it might have been…”

“What?” Kelsey exploded.

“A truck. A beatup old tank of a truck,” Larry said.

“Old man Latham's truck,” Nate explained.

“You think Andy Latham might have been here? In the yard, staring in Kelsey's window, then hiding until he could get away?” Cindy asked.

“Maybe,” Larry said. “I wouldn't put it past him.”

“It's Nate he's pissed at, though,” Larry said.

“I think he hates all of us,” Cindy murmured. She stared at Kelsey. “Maybe you did see more than a lizard. I think we should call the police.”

“Definitely. That asshole slugged me last night, and who knows what he's doing now? Stalking all of us,” Nate said. “Yeah. I'm going in. I'm calling Gary Hansen's office.”

“We can't prove anything. We didn't really see anything,” Kelsey said.

“We should report the incident, anyway,” Nate insisted.

Kelsey nodded. He was right.

They all traipsed back inside, where Nate went to the phone and called the sheriff's office.

 

Dane was wary as they drove down a side street, but it was true—he was armed, and Jorge wasn't. He was also pretty certain that in a fight, he wouldn't have any trouble taking Jorge down. But the street was a quiet one. And if Jorge was running drugs, it was hardly likely he would have admitted it while they were sitting in the parking lot at the marina.

But it was important to pursue this. Now.

“Just down the street,” Jorge said.

Dane pulled into a yard. It was neatly kept. Someone had planted perennials in the little boxed garden area surrounding the house.

The car in the yard was an old Chevy. Like the yard, it showed signs of careful upkeep. The house itself was small but whitewashed.

It didn't look like a crack house.

Jorge got out of the car. Dane followed him as he started up the path to the house and knocked at the door.

A woman's voice answered, sounding wary. The door didn't open.

Jorge spoke to her quickly in Spanish, identifying himself. Dane's understanding of the language was good, but Jorge was speaking so quickly that he couldn't catch everything. But Jorge wasn't warning her that he was out there with someone dangerous, that much Dane could comprehend. He was assuring her that everything was all right.

The door opened slowly.

They stepped into a small living room. The furniture was sparse but polished. A handmade quilt covered an old battered couch. The tile beneath the throw rug was scrubbed and shiny.

The woman who had let them enter was young, in her mid-twenties. She was exotically beautiful, with huge brown eyes, deep bronze skin, long, dark hair, and a willowy, hourglass figure. She looked at Jorge, then at Dane.

“Marisa,
este hombre es un amigo mio,
” Jorge said. “Dane Whitelaw.”

“Hola,”
Marisa said gravely, shaking his hand.

“Dane, Marisa works at the club.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“She is applying for her citizenship,” Jorge went on to explain.

“Good for you,” Dane said.

She apparently understood some English, because she smiled and said, “Thank you.”

“Call Jose,” Jorge said softly.

Her eyes widened with alarm.

“It will be all right,” Jorge said. “Please, call Jose.”

Marisa looked at Jorge. She was clearly afraid, but she trusted Jorge.

“Jose!” She walked toward a small hallway that must have led to the bedrooms. “Please, Jose, come out.”

A moment later a boy of about six came running out of the bedroom, straight to the woman. She settled her arms protectively around his shoulders as he stood before her, staring up at Jorge and Dane with the same large dark eyes as Marisa. He smiled at Jorge but looked suspiciously at Dane.

Jorge turned to Dane.

“Marisa is my reason for being at the strip club. Jose is my cargo. Marisa came here several years ago from Cuba. On a raft. Marisa and her husband were parted when they left, and Jose was with his father. Their raft began to leak, and they had to go back. She has been trying for years through legal channels to get her son here. Last year his father died. He was left alone with a very old grandmother who wanted him to come here to his mother. She tried other means. Then she came to me.”

“So…you earn your living smuggling refugees out of Cuba?” Dane said.

Jorge stiffened and stared at him with the coldest gaze Dane had ever known.

“Not me. There are others who take every cent desperate people have ever made. Not me. I do this because I love my countrymen, because I came here myself, because I love my new country. I do it for all that I have been given.”

Dane was silent. The little boy was looking up at him. Dane ruffled his hair. “So what were you dumping in the ocean?” he asked Jorge.

“I lost a passenger once. A very old man. He wanted to touch the shores of a free country before he died. He didn't make it. I…had to cast the body to the sea. I couldn't explain how I had come by it if I had not.”

Dane smiled at Marisa. “Thanks,” he said softly. He grinned at the boy, mussed his hair once again.

Then he turned and started from the house.

Jorge followed him. “You can't turn me in. You can't tell anyone about Jose.”

Dane stopped. “Dammit, Jorge, I'm not going to turn in the kid.”

“I have not lied to you about anything. I am scared every time I make a run. Scared to death. But it's something I must do, something I owe to myself, to God. I would never hurt a woman, I swear that to you.”

“Okay, Jorge, I believe you.”

“So now…?”

“So now let's go back and have pizza.”

Jorge studied his face. Then nodded. “Pizza. It will be cold, but it won't matter. You don't know what a world is like without fast food and pizza.”

“Actually, I've seen many worlds without fast food and pizza,” Dane told him dryly. “But in this world if our pizza's cold, we can order another one. So let's go.”