Sunset Beach(126)

Ben pointed the revolver at a spot directly over Drue’s head and fired. She jumped reflexively, the shot ringing in her ears.

“The next shot I fire will be in her head,” Ben said calmly. “Now give me the fucking keys.”

“Okay,” Drue said, her voice shaking. “Jonah doesn’t have the keys. I’ve got them.”

“In your pajama pants?” Ben’s voice mocked.

She reached into her bra. “No. They’re right here.” Her hand closed over the can of Mace and she took a step toward him.

“Hand ’em over,” he repeated.

Her hand trembled, but she fixed her thumb over the nozzle, extended her arm and emptied the can of Mace directly into his eyes.

He screamed and managed to get off one wild shot in the air, just before Jonah charged him, head-butting him to the floor and cold-cocking him into unconsciousness.

She stood there, stunned, gazing down at the two men sprawled across her living room floor. The next thing she knew, her front door was being broken down.

Jimmy Zee charged into the room, his weapon drawn. He looked from her to Ben, whose bloody jaw was now arranged in a new and unnatural way, to Jonah, who’d seated himself atop the unmoving man’s chest.

“Oh, little girl,” he said, shaking his head and looking at Drue. “What have you gone and done?”





59


August 20, 1976

The storm raged on. Thunder boomed overhead and lightning sizzled on the deep blue horizon. Inside the cottage, the lights flickered and then the house went completely dark.

The rain was so loud, she felt rather than heard his footsteps on the deckboards. But she didn’t look up until he put his hand on her shoulder.

She was huddled at the edge of the deck, her arms wrapped tightly around her folded knees, looking like a drowned kitten. An empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s sat beside her.

“She’s out there,” Sherri said, looking up with swollen, red-rimmed eyes. She pointed toward the fringe of Australian pines.

“Okay.” He tramped off, his sneakers sinking into the wet sand. He wore a black windbreaker and his usual dark sunglasses, despite the deepening twilight. He was back moments later.

“Is she…?”

He chewed his gum, switching it from one side of his mouth to the other. “Yeah. Do you have a tarp or something like that?”

“A tarp? What good’s that going to do if she’s dead?”

“I’ve got to move her, Sherri,” he said patiently. “Before somebody comes along and finds the body.”

“There might be a painter’s drop cloth in Papi’s shed.”

“I’ll get it,” he said. “Go inside and dry off. And no more of that,” he said, pointing at the empty bottle.

“That’s all there was in the house,” she said sadly. “Or I would have drunk that too.”

He sat down beside her on the edge of the deck, oblivious to the rain, their bodies close but not touching. “You want to kill yourself?”

“That was the plan,” she said. “Her, and then me. But I’m such a chickenshit, I can’t seem to do it.” She lifted the revolver, dangling it from her middle finger.

“Brice’s service revolver? Christ, Sherri!” He took it from her. “That’s what you shot her with?”

“What else? You know I don’t like guns.”

He stood up and pulled her to her feet, then stuck the gun in the waistband of his jeans.

“Go on, now. I’ll deal with this. How soon do you think Brice will be back?”

“Around nine? The class he just started taking this quarter only meets at the USF campus in Tampa. Or it might be later. He won’t drive across the Howard Frankland Bridge in a storm like this. You know how he is about that bridge.”

“Right.”



* * *



Thirty minutes later, he knocked on the glass of the doors. He was soaked, and rain dripped from his nose. “Do you happen to have the keys to the handcuffs?”

Her reactions were still dulled from the shock and the whiskey. “They’re in the cigar box where he keeps the cuffs.”

“Get them, please.”

She looked over his shoulder and shuddered at the sight of the rolled-up lumpy form resting at the edge of the deck where they’d just been sitting.

When she came back with the keys he took them and knelt down beside the lifeless form.

“Here.” He handed her the handcuffs and the keys. “Get a towel and wipe them off good, then put them back in the exact same place you found them.”

“Okay.”

He handed her the revolver, and she took it, reluctantly.

“Do you know how to clean one of these?” he asked.

“Yeah. Brice showed me when he taught me how to use it.”

“Good. Clean it like he showed you, then take a towel and wipe it down completely and put it back where he always keeps it.”

“What about you? Where are you going?”

“Like I said, I’m going to take care of that.” He jerked his head in the direction of the corpse.

“Is there anything else?” he asked. “Any other sign that she was ever here? Think, Sherri. This is important.”