The Vision (15 page)

“Hey!” someone called from behind them.

They turned. Bethany was hurrying toward them, the others following. Jay had come with

them, and he was talking to Jack as they walked.

“We’re going to get some dinner,” Bethany said, catching up. “Do you two want to come

with us?”

“We just ate lunch,” Genevieve said.

Thor looked at his watch. “Actually, we ate lunch six hours ago.”

“You two had lunch…together?” Bethany said.

Genevieve felt color threatening to flood her cheeks. “I found him wandering the streets

of Key West,” she said lightly. “He’s a northerner,” she added. “He might have been

lost.”

“Anybody into Italian?” Marshall asked, breaking into the awkward conversation.

“There’s a new place and the owner-slash-chef is the son of one of my first diving

instructors. I feel the urge to be supportive. I’ve also heard it’s really good.”

“Is the owner really Italian?” Alex asked.

“No, but he really likes Italian food,” Marshall assured them.

“Sounds like an important factor,” Victor said. “Gen? Sound good to you?”

Bethany fell into step with them as they headed for the restaurant. When Thor paused to

say something to Marshall, she caught Genevieve’s arm and whispered, “Are we still on

for tomorrow?”

“Meeting Audrey, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I thought maybe you had plans. Which would be fine.”

Genevieve frowned, looking at her friend. “Why would I make plans when I already had

plans?”

“Well, you just took off today. I was worried about you. I’m still worried about you. I

would have thought you’d be happy—no, not happy, relieved—to find out you weren’t

crazy. Or seeing things.”

Genevieve hesitated. The others were too close for her to want to continue this

conversation. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure. But…well, I wasn’t even sure you still felt you needed to see Audrey anymore.”

“We’re seeing Audrey because she’s an old friend.”

By then, Marshall and Thor had caught up to them. “The restaurant is around the corner.”

As they entered the restaurant, Victor finagled his way into the seat next to Genevieve.

Jack wound up on her other side. As everyone else got settled, Thor’s cell phone rang.

Genevieve could hear him speaking with Lizzie, telling her where they were, and saying

she and Zach should come over. They must not have been far, because they arrived

almost immediately, having apparently decided to forgo their cruise. While they took

seats at the head of the table, Jay caught them up on the murder, until Marshall said they

were having dinner and it was time to talk about something more cheerful.

The owner was a young man named Bill Breton, who thanked them for coming, and

suggested he do appetizers and a family-style meal for them, and they all agreed. Alex,

who claimed to be a wine connoisseur, chose a Bordeaux for their table. After that the

conversation turned to Zach and Lizzie’s day.

“We saw Robert, that doll,” Lizzie announced. “That’s one creepy toy. What parent

would give that to a child? They had all kinds of letters on the wall about him—one from

the mayor, thanking him.”

“Thanking him for what? Being a creepy doll?” Alex asked.

“For taking the blame for everything that’s gone wrong in the area since the turn of the

last century.”

“We had something like that at home,” Bethany said. “I was one of five kids,” she

explained. “And we all denied doing anything wrong all the time. When my mom

couldn’t figure out who had done what, she’d stare us all down and demand to know if

we were really living with an invisible jerk.”

“It seems there’s always an invisible jerk around,” Genevieve said, staring at Victor.

He stared back at her. He looked hurt, angry and, she thought, strangely afraid.

“Hey, when I’m a jerk,” he said quietly, “I own up to it.”

“There was a mannequin on my porch this morning,” she told him.

“I believe you. But I didn’t put it there.”

“Hey, will you look at that?” Jack said, breaking the tension by indicating the huge plates

of food that were being set before them. “Wow, Marshall, you done good. Look at all

this.”

“Calamari,” Bethany said. “That’s for me.”

“These peppers look great,” Lizzie announced.

The platters were passed around; more wine arrived. Gen knew that anyone watching

would see what appeared to be a comfortable gathering of friends. And why not? She’d

worked with her own group forever. Jack was as much a part of their lives in Key West

as anyone, and it was good to have Jay with them. Lizzie and Zach were great. And she

had even found herself not just drawn to Thor Thompson but almost painfully attracted to

him. Except…

Except she felt Victor’s presence next to her the entire meal. And not as she always had.

He really was just about her best friend, other than Bethany. He didn’t say anything about

the mannequin again, and neither did she, but the whole time, it was there between them.

Someone had put it on her porch, and if not Victor…

“Alex,” he said softly at her side.

“What?” she murmured.

“It must have been Alex. We were talking about it together. And Jack was there, too.”

“Victor, you know what? It doesn’t matter anymore. It didn’t scare me then, and it

doesn’t scare now me. Okay, so someone played a trick. Then there was a real corpse and

the trick wasn’t so funny. But it’s over, and the stupid mannequin has disappeared, so it

can’t really matter anymore, right?”

Victor let out a breath and stared at her. “It doesn’t matter…if you really believe me.”

“I believe you.”

“You want me to believe you believe me,” he murmured.

“Victor, please, I just don’t care.”

“I don’t want you not to care. Don’t you understand?”

She slipped an arm around his shoulders for a quick hug. “You’re like my brother. I care

very deeply. Okay?”

He remained tense. There seemed nothing she could do. Across from her, Marshall and

Thor were deep in discussion on where they should anchor and how they should extend

the search. Jay and Bethany were talking together, and Genevieve was somewhat

surprised to see what a close little tête-à-tête they seemed to have going on. At the far end of the table, Lizzie was speaking excitedly about Key West architecture.”

“You should see Genevieve’s place,” Jack advised her.

“You have a historic home?” Lizzie asked her excitedly.

“I do,” Genevieve told her. She leaned on an elbow, glancing across the table at Marshall

and catching Marshall’s eye. “Maybe I should have a barbecue on Sunday at the house.”

Marshall grinned. “You’re asking for my blessing?”

“Your opinion would be fine.”

“I say great.”

“Cool,” Lizzie announced. Then the pasta arrived, lasagna, angel hair with shrimp and

pesto, and ziti with marinara sauce.

Genevieve passed a plate across to Alex. He seemed to be studying her strangely.

So had he played the trick with the mannequin? Was he worried she wasn’t going to let it

go?

But she already had.

Sometime during the meal, she realized that everyone seemed to be staring at her

strangely.

Tonight, the night of her vindication. When everyone had supposedly decided she wasn’t

crazy, because there had been a dead woman in the water.

Just not the dead woman she had seen.

She decided she was going home. Not to her cottage, but home. She wasn’t going to sleep

where mannequins appeared on the porch, corpses were cast up on the beach—and ghosts

came to her, dripping, giving dire warnings in the middle of the night.

It was late when the meal ended. After the pasta, there had been fish, chicken and meat

platters, then dessert, coffee and liqueurs. Finally, they ambled out to the street. When

everyone else turned toward the water, Genevieve stood still. “Hey, guys, I’ll see you

tomorrow. And don’t forget, barbecue at my place on Sunday.”

Thor was staring at her, frowning.

“Gen, you’re going home?” Victor asked; he sounded worried.

“Yeah, home,” she said lightly.

“You all right?” Marshall asked, sounding a bit concerned, and yet not sure himself why

he should be.

“I’m fine. My house is just down the street.”

“We should walk you there,” Alex said suddenly.

“Actually, not a bad idea,” Jay agreed.

“There are tourists still out everywhere,” Genevieve said, laughing. “I’m fine. Good night. Go away, all of you.”

But Thor strode past Bethany, Marshall and Jay to reach her side. “I’ll walk you to your

place,” he told her. “It’s all right, go on,” he told the others. “It would be ridiculous for all of us to walk her.”

“Right. As if we’re incapable of being ridiculous,” Victor said dryly.

“Oh, my God, I didn’t mean to create this big a deal. I’m sorry,” Genevieve said. “I’ve

lived here my whole life. I’m only a few blocks away. I’ll be just fine.”

“It’s not a bad idea to let Thor walk you home,” Jay said. “Or I can walk with you, if

Thor wants to get back.”

Genevieve shook her head. “I’m going, guys. Later!”

She started down the street. But she could hear them talking as she left.

“It’s all right. I’ll walk her,” Thor said, and in a split second he had caught up with her.

She glanced at him, shaking her head. “I’m okay. Really.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not following you. I’ll just see you to your door. There is a killer out

there.”

Genevieve shook her head. She knew she should be more concerned about the very real

dangers out there. But she wasn’t. She just didn’t want to see any more ghosts. “The

streets are full of people. You don’t need to do this.” She hesitated. “Sadly, and most

likely, we’ll find out she was a prostitute, or running with a drug crowd. Or she was a

trophy wife seeking excitement on the side. I doubt that, since we’re not in any of the

same circles, we’re in any of the same danger.”

“Just walk. We’ll be there before we finish discussing the situation.”

He led her straight to her door. She unlocked it and looked up at him. He was standing

very close. Large, powerful. She felt almost as if they were touching. She breathed the

scent of him, a pleasant cologne, something of the sea, something of bronzed flesh. Her

heart was pounding far too quickly. There seemed to be something magnetic, electric, in

the space between them. She was sure he was going to touch her, and if he did…

“Lock your door once you’re inside,” he said sternly, stepping back. “Go on. Get in.”

She nodded and opened the door. “Thanks.”

That was it; he was gone, and she was surprised by the measure of loss and

disappointment she felt. She didn’t want to question her feelings too closely. It had been

so much more comfortable to hate the man. He didn’t become involved; he didn’t date

where he worked. So Bethany had said. She had read it. Then again, he had bet his boat

against a night with her. A whim? Or sheer ego? Surely that meant the man at least found

her appealing….

There was a difference between sex and love. She didn’t want to become a number in a list. She gritted her teeth. She wasn’t going to torture herself over a man any more than

she was going to torture herself over…

Ghosts.

She checked her doors, but first she got out one of her dive knives, and then she searched

the house, down to the closets. She felt a little like a fool, but at least she knew she was alone. She felt resentful; she’d never been afraid in her own house before. She had

wished once upon a time that there were ghosts, so her parents could have appeared,

could have come to her and whispered that they were okay, that they were together and

watching over her.

No such ghosts had ever come to her, though.

After a while she felt more comfortable with being home, though most of the lights in the

place were on. This was home. Everything was real and familiar. No ghosts, she was

certain, would darken her door.

She went through her mail and paid bills, then studied some of the copies she had made

of documents regarding the Marie Josephine. Her interest was drawn not so much to the

ships involved, as to Gasparilla the pirate. He’d had a real streak for cruelty, it seemed.

Had he fallen in love, been rejected…and murdered the beautiful young woman who was

the object of his affection? Thrown her into the water, her body weighted…

As the current killer had apparently done?

Even if he had, what could be the possible connection to what was happening now?

Coincidence, she told herself. Or sheer insanity.

She didn’t want to think about it, and she pushed the papers away. Then, after she’d

walked away once, she returned and slammed them into the drawer of the desk. She fixed

herself a cup of tea and headed into the living room. She intentionally kept the television

off. She knew about the murder. She doubted she was going to hear any good news.

At last, she went to bed. She was surprised to find herself critically studying her choice of night attire. A large T-shirt. Cotton, worn, extremely comfortable. Dopey on the front,

holding a cup of coffee. Hardly the apparel of a femme fatale.

The same thing she always wore, she reminded herself. And, anyway, she was sleeping

alone.

But in bed, just as she had for the past several nights, she couldn’t bring herself to turn

the lights out. And she wanted the noise of the television. She turned it on, careful to