Island Blues (11 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

“He says he'll do anything, absolutely anything, to get me back,” Sophie said in a low voice, drawing the blanket up until it was almost touching her chin. Patti rubbed her hand and murmured reassuring words.

Sabrina, who sat on the edge of the bed, nodded without speaking. So far, Sophie had revealed that she had been in a two-year relationship with Shane Ludrow, who was apparently some young heartthrob. Sabrina did not watch a lot of TV and wasn't surprised she had never heard of him, though she kept this to herself. Sophie seemed to assume she would know who he was. Patti did, that was clear.

“Sophie, are you sure I can't look at your stomach? I'm worried that you may have some sort of internal injury.” Where in the world was Doc Hailey? The man was never where he was supposed to be.

“No, Shane has done much worse. I'll be fine.” Sophie struggled upright and her beautiful face hardened a bit. Even with her hair mussed and a black eye, she still managed to look stunning. “I told Shane three months ago that it was over. This was after he slapped me in a restaurant and broke my arm when we got home. I was afraid he would kill me if I didn't get away from him.”

“Good for you!” Patti's cheerful tone belied her grim expression. When Sabrina arrived, she revealed that she was the one who had requested that Matt call Sabrina. Patti said she thought an ombudsman was just what Sophie needed to keep the police from pushing her around.

“He wouldn't take no for an answer,” Sophie murmured. “He kept calling, and coming around, and he's threatened to kill me several times. I was hoping he wouldn't find out I was here. He doesn't know anything about the Hum, so I thought I would be safe on the retreat. But somehow he found out!” She drew the blanket across her knees.

“Tell me what happened,” Sabrina urged as someone knocked on the door and Patti went to answer it.

“I came back from dinner, and the cottage was dark. Before I could turn the lights on, he tackled me. He slapped me and threw me on the bed and when I tried to scream, he punched me in the stomach. Dennis walked me back from dinner, and he must have heard something, because he came charging in the room. Shane saw him and ran.” Sophie looked toward the windows, which were covered with drapes. “He's still out there, somewhere, waiting for everybody to leave me alone.”

“How do you know it was Shane? Matt said he was wearing a mask. Did he say something?”

“No, he never said anything. But who else could it be?”

“And how are we feeling?” The smooth, buttery voice invited confidence. “I'm Doctor Jeremiah Hailey, but everybody calls me Doc Hailey. You must be Sophie. I've heard how brave you were tonight.” The man limping toward them was not young, and his face could only be described as homely. In the way of older men, his nose appeared too large for his face, and his hair was a distant memory except for a cotton-candy nimbus around the perimeter of his head. His eyes were the only part of him that matched his marvelous voice—they were cobalt blue like a serene autumn sky.

Sophie had tensed at his approach, but now she gazed up at him in wonder. “Me? Brave?”

“Beautiful and brave, what a wonderful combination. You remind me of one of the Roman goddesses, Diana, perhaps.” In his warm, resonant voice, the words seemed real and true.

“Oh,” Sophie breathed, her eyes starry.

“Do you mind if I take a look at you? A quick one, I promise.”

Sophie stiffened, remembering her objections to medical attention, but not wanting to shatter this man's illusions of her as a Roman goddess.

“I'll wait outside.” Sabrina stood and offered her hand to the man. “I'm Sabrina Dunsweeney, Doc Hailey. I've been trying to get an appointment with you for ages.”

“I've been traveling. It's nice to meet you, Sabrina. I've heard a lot about you.” His direct blue eyes twinkled with humor and intelligence.

“You have?”

“No, Patti, don't leave!” Sophie was almost in tears, and it was soon established that Patti would stay for the examination. Sabrina took her leave, promising to come back as soon as the doctor was finished.

“I think you've been avoiding me, Sabrina,” a voice said from the darkness as she closed the door behind her. She jumped, and stifled a scream. Then the familiarity of the voice overrode the image of a man in a ski mask.

“Jimmy, you scared the life out of me!”

“Good. You need to be scared.” Jimmy came into the light cast from the porch lamp, and Sabrina saw that his broad face was tense with weariness and strain. “How is Ms. Jacquette? She hasn't let me speak with her. We need to, you know, if we're going to find her attacker.”

“Didn't Matt tell you that she recognized him? He was supposed to. It was her ex-boyfriend Shane Ludrow.” Sabrina sat down on a chair and Jimmy followed suit, the wood straining a bit under his bulk. He was the most grounded, imperturbable man Sabrina knew. On an island where everything was fickle and changing, including the water, the sky, and the ground they stood on, Jimmy McCall was the stoic and enduring live oak.

“That's a start, but we need to talk to her personally. Can you try to talk her into it?”

“Well, if anyone can talk her into something, it's that Doc Hailey.” Sabrina was feeling a little put out with the man.
She
was supposed to be the soother, the one everybody turned to in their time of need, though why this was so, she wasn't sure.

Jimmy chuckled. “So you've met the good doctor. I didn't know he was back in town until tonight. Yes, they say he could charm the scales off a fish.”

“I noticed.”

The door opened and Doc Hailey appeared.

“Oh, good, Sergeant Jimmy, you're here. Ms. Jacquette would like to talk to you now. She has some things to tell you. She'll be fine, by the way, just some nasty bruises.” Doc Hailey removed his glasses and smiled.

“It's good to see you, doc. Where were you this time, was it Egypt? Nigeria? I've forgotten.”

“Myanmar, kayaking on the Irrawaddy River, actually. It was a wonderful trip, but I am glad to be back.” He stepped aside so Jimmy could go into the cottage.

Sabrina watched the sergeant go, aware of the unasked questions dancing in her head like sugar plums. Did the police have new leads into Gilbert Kane's murder? Was there anything new to report on the string of burglaries?

“Miss Dunsweeney, may I walk you back to the safety of the lodge? I think they will be a while.”

“Thank you, that would be nice.”

They started back along the rocky path. “I am only seeing a few patients nowadays,” Doc Hailey said, “but if you would like to call my office, I would be happy to see you.”

“Thank you. I have these persistent headaches, and my elbow twinges when I bend it, and I might have rabies, though that's a long story. I could probably use a check up.”

As they reached the hotel, the door opened and Michael and Joseph Siderius appeared. Joseph was as serene as usual, but Michael seemed twitchy as Sabrina introduced the doctor to them, and explained that they had come from seeing Sophie.

“I just heard about her attack,” Michael said, and his voice sounded tight with tension. “My father and I have been meditating in my room. When I plugged the phone back in, I got the messages. How is she?”

Joseph stood in his yellow dashiki with a pleasant, vacant look on his face. He seemed unaware of their conversation.

“Shaken up, of course, but she will be fine. Joseph Siderius, did you say? I heard you speak, sir, about fifteen years ago at a medical convention. You spoke eloquently on the Hum, and how it presents differently than tinnitus. I found it very interesting data.”

“You did?” Sabrina swallowed and tried to moderate the disbelief in her voice. “I mean, what a coincidence that you two have met.”

Joseph Siderius turned his head slowly and looked at Doc Hailey. Then he nodded in recognition of the compliment, and placed his hand on the doctor's arm.

“Father wants to see Sophie as soon as possible,” Michael said and tugged at his father's sleeve. “He says the universe is telling him that Sophie is very disturbed at this hour.”

“How very perceptive.” Doc Hailey's voice was dry as he watched Michael hurry his father down the path.

“What do you think about all of this Hummer business, Doctor?” Sabrina asked, as they made their way down the hall.

“I think, given the right provocation, the human animal is capable of more viciousness on a day to day basis than most of us would like to admit.” His voice was resigned.

“Do you think the fact that Gilbert Kane was stabbed in the ear has any significance?”

Doc Hailey stopped and turned to Sabrina. Despite his age, there was a confident, erect tilt to his shoulders, and his eyes were bright and agile. “I'm going to tell you something I think you need to know. I trust that you will keep the information to yourself, as I, myself, have obtained it from a friend in confidence.”

“Yes?” Sabrina tried not to sound too eager, but it was difficult.

“I think it quite probable that Gilbert Kane's death is connected to his role as spokesperson of Hummers International. Stabbing him in the ear seems very symbolic, does it not? Furthermore, this person, whoever it may be, is desperate, about as desperate as a person gets.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You know the police haven't found the murder weapon, don't you? However, they have come to a conclusion on what type of weapon they are seeking.”

“Really?”

“It's not unusual, unfortunately, to murder someone. But murdering someone by jamming a corkscrew into his ear strikes me as the act of either a very angry, or very desperate, individual.”

Chapter Twenty-two

The sound of an acoustic guitar, enthusiastically if not expertly played, drifted down the hall as Sabrina approached the lounge. She was obscurely disappointed when Doc Hailey said goodbye in the lobby, but her disappointment was soon overcome by the rumbling in her stomach. She had not eaten since lunch, and in Sabrina's world, that was just not acceptable.

As she neared the doors to the lounge—the only source of food at the Shell Lodge this time of night—she saw a man in a gray tee-shirt standing in the hall with his back to her.

“Mona, I don't care what you say, you're not going to get those kids. You don't even want them! You're just trying to get back at me and I'll do anything to keep them away from you!”

The man clicked his phone shut and stood for a moment, his shoulders heaving with emotion. As Sabrina came closer she saw that the imperturbable Hummer, Lance Mayhew, had been perturbed.

He looked up, and his eyes widened when he saw Sabrina.

“Lance. Are you okay?”

Lance stared at her a moment longer, and then shook his head like a dog shaking off a flea. “Fine, thanks.” His voice was brusque.

“I overheard some of your conversation and it sounds like you're going through a nasty divorce. I was about to go into the lounge, and I would be happy to buy you a drink. It looks like you may need one.”

Lance hesitated, and then nodded. Sabrina didn't miss the calculating look he leveled on her before accepting. Whatever his reasons for agreeing to her offer, it was not because he wanted her company. There was some other motive lying behind his cool, gray eyes.

Lance led her into the bar and to a table. She was still shaken by Doc Hailey's revelation that the weapon used to kill Gilbert was a corkscrew. How horrible! And what a strange choice of weapons for a murderer to choose. Was there some significance?

The lounge was dim and warm, the guitarist playing to a small, lethargic crowd. A large colorful map covered one wall, a stylized rendition of Comico and its satellite islands. As she sat down, Sabrina looked at the dollar bills, all autographed, that covered the walls.

“There must be thousands of them,” Sabrina exclaimed to the bartender when he approached.

“Over sixty thousand, actually,” the bartender said amiably.

“I bet you lose a few every night.” Lance's voice was wanly cynical, all emotion once more leached from it.

“Most people add to the wealth, not subtract. Though, a lot of times in the morning when I come in there's a pile on the floor. I sweep it up and the owner gives it to charity.”

“That's wonderful!” Sabrina would have to congratulate Matt on his generosity.

“Can I get you something?”

Sabrina ordered the grilled asparagus, wrapped with prosciutto and topped with a béarnaise sauce, and Lance ordered a plain Coke.

Sabrina studied him for a moment, debating the right way to approach him. His expression was closed down again, leaving him as unapproachable as a boarded-up shop.

“How long were you married?”

“Fourteen fun-filled years.”

“You have children, I take it?”

“Two. Melinda is twelve, Kobie eight.”

“I take it you're going through a custody battle.” Sabrina wondered how long he would allow her to go on. Her questions were disturbing him, but he was still answering them. Why?

“My ex-wife is trying to get back at me. She never wanted those kids in the first place, and they sure don't fit in with her new lifestyle. She says she never got a chance to have fun when she was young—my fault, apparently, for marrying her when she was eighteen—so now she's intent on doing all those fun things she missed out on when she was a teenager. The kids are just a reminder of all that she missed. Of course, she'll feed you some line of bull crap about how much she loves them, and how she can't stand to be away from them.
I've
been their primary caregiver for years, and that was while I was working and she was at home with them!” The emotion was back, surging red and hot across his face. He swallowed and visibly tried to calm himself.

“Custody battles can be very unpleasant,” Sabrina said. “It must have been hard to leave the kids and come to this retreat.” Time to get this boat to shore.

He was back in control and watching her with careful eyes. “At the time, I felt I had to. The Hum was about to drive me insane. My patience with the kids was nil, and I couldn't concentrate on my work. I'm a computer programmer, and if I can't concentrate, I can't work. Now, though, I wish I'd never…” He stopped.

“You wish you'd never come? Why is that? You don't think the retreat is working?”

“No, no, I think it'll work. It's just all this drama with Gilbert's death and the media circus today.” The answer seemed quick and glib and Sabrina narrowed her eyes.

“I understand you had an argument with Gilbert.”

Lance drew back. “Who told you that?”

“You were in the restaurant. A lot of people saw you.” Sabrina did not see any reason to tell him that it was Dennis who told her about the argument.

The bartender brought their order, and Lance did not answer for a few moments as he unhurriedly stripped his straw of its paper sleeve. Sabrina's mouth watered at the delicious aroma of her appetizer, but she kept her gaze on Lance.

“What?” He looked up. “Oh, my so-called argument with Gilbert. We disagreed over whether or not I had paid the full amount for the retreat. I knew I had, and he was mistaken.”

“And things got pretty heated over this large sum of money?” It was clumsy, but she was still curious about how much the Hummers were paying for the retreat.

“It wasn't such a large sum of money, and we worked it out. It was no big deal.” Lance sipped his drink and watched the guitarist who was trying to elicit names from the audience so he could work them into a rhyming song. Nobody seemed interested.

“Well, that's good. I'm sure the police agreed.”

By Lance's reaction, Sabrina saw that she was right in her surmise. No one had told the police about the argument, and she resolved to do this as soon as she saw Sergeant Jimmy again.

“I've got to get some sleep.” Lance stood, throwing money down on the table. He left without another word.

There goes a very unhappy man, Sabrina mused. But was he a guilty man?

***

Twenty minutes later, Sabrina had finished her asparagus and was standing at the bar trying to get the bartender's attention so she could pay. He was much more interested in the young ladies at the end of the bar.

“Good luck,” she said to the big, bald-headed gentleman in a leather jacket who slid into the seat beside her. “I think you have to be cute and about twenty-one to get any service right now.”

The man threw her a look and did not comment.

“How are you enjoying your stay? Isn't the hotel wonderful?”

The man turned his shoulder so his back was angled toward her.

Sabrina always enjoyed a challenge, and besides, she was bored. “I've seen you around. Where are you from?”

The man waved a twenty-dollar bill in the direction of the bartender. “Can I get some service over here?”

This caught the bartender's attention, and Sabrina watched as the man ordered a shot, and with a harried look over his shoulder at Sabrina, downed it. He turned to leave.

“Well, I hope you enjoy your vacation. It was wonderful chatting with you.” Sabrina smiled at the man as he hurried out the door. She turned back to the bartender who was drifting back toward the young women. She handed him her money and asked for a receipt. She wasn't sure if she had an expense account or not, but it never hurt to be prepared.

“I don't suppose you're Pete,” she said when the bartender returned with her change.

“No, Pete works during the day.”

“I guess I'll have to try back tomorrow.” On her mental list was to talk to the bartender who served Gilbert right before he left for Goat Island.

“If you just want to talk, you're in luck. He's sitting over there having a drink.”

Sabrina made her way over to the table the bartender indicated. A young man with short blond hair and a lot of bright white forehead was sitting by himself near the guitarist, who had just taken a break.

“Are you Pete?”

“Last time I checked. Though if you're going to complain about the screwdrivers this morning, all I can say is that my name is Rob.”

He was flying high on a beer buzz, but wasn't yet drunk, Sabrina decided. “No, no, I'm sure the drinks were fine. I wanted to ask you about something else.”

She sat down and explained who she was and that Matt said he was the bartender who served Gilbert Kane just before he left on his fateful trip to the island.

“Sure. Me and Lynwood were his favorite people, I can tell you that.” He nodded to indicate the other bartender, who was back flirting with the ladies.

“Gilbert liked to drink?”

“Like a fish. Held it pretty well, not that we worry too much about that on the island, since there's nowhere much for them to drive. Though, I heard somewhere they've started giving people breathalyzers on their barstools. If they start that here we might have problems. Lots of these folks aren't licensed to drive barstools.” He laughed long and hard at this. Sabrina waited with some semblance of patience until he stopped finding himself amusing.

“Did you notice anything unusual about Gilbert Kane that last afternoon? How drunk was he?”

Pete was still chuckling at his own wit. “He had three shots. That wasn't unusual. I think the night before he might have had four or five, and that's besides a bottle of wine. He liked his wine. That afternoon, he was still capable of driving his barstool, if you get my drift.” This set him off again, and Sabrina waited through his gales of laughter.

“Did he talk to you? Did you notice anything about him?”

“He didn't look so hot, now that you mention it. He was sweating a lot, shaking, and kind of clutching his head. He knocked over a glass and almost soaked his camera, and he cussed about that for a while, though the camera was fine. And then he got pretty agitated over a phone call.”

“Do you remember anything about the phone call?” Sabrina leaned forward. Who was talking to Gilbert a mere hour or two before he was killed?

“I didn't hear much. Something about somebody being on the island. He seemed pretty pissed about it, maybe even worried, but that's all I can remember.”

“Do you remember if he talked to anybody else? Did he tell anyone that he was going to Goat Island that afternoon?”

“Nah, he didn't talk to anyone else.” Pete waved at the bartender. “Hey, Lynwood, tell Bud he needs to get back up here and sing!”

She was losing him. “Gilbert didn't say anything else?”

“Not that afternoon. He just ordered a bottle of our best wine, asked for a corkscrew, and left. Not much of a tipper, I can tell you that.”

Sabrina shivered as she thought about how the corkscrew had been used. Was this a spur-of-the-moment crime, and the killer used whatever weapon was handy? “You said he didn't say anything else that last afternoon. Did he talk to you other than that?”

“Yeah, that first night he was here. He got pretty drunk, and was kind of hunched over, holding his head. I asked if he was all right, and he said, let me think, how did he put it…?” Pete scrunched up his white forehead.

“What did he say?”

“Something along the lines of…as long as people stayed dumb and gullible, he was fine. It was when they got smart that he had problems.”