Rebel Island (Tres Navarre #7)(54)

“I know some good lawyers,” I said. “I’m married to one. We can help you work a deal with the police.”

“You barely know me. You would do that for me?”

“Yeah, I would.”

She rested her hand on my arm. “Garrett was right about you.”

“What did he say?”

“That you could solve any problem. Or you’d die trying.”

“I’d like to avoid the ‘die trying’ part.”

She smiled. “I should go check on Garrett, leave you in peace.”

“It’s your room.”

“I just came to salvage my things.” She looked around helplessly, as if she’d already decided that mission was no good.

“Lane,” I said. “Did you know Chris Stowall was in love with you?”

Her eyes became unfocused. She stared into the storm. “Let me know if you spot the Coast Guard.”

Then she turned and left me alone with a window full of rain.

I stood in front of Lane’s closet and looked at her drenched clothes. A dozen cotton dresses, all pastels, all the same utilitarian style. Four pairs of simple flat-soled shoes. Two small brown suitcases. I had a feeling Lane had brought everything she owned.

At the back of the closet, next to Lane’s shoes, a black electrical cord curled like a snake, frayed copper wires sticking up at the end. I knelt to pick it up, but it seemed to be attached, crimped between the wall and the floor. It took me a minute to process why this didn’t seem right. Then my skin turned cold.

I remembered last night—Lane screaming, swearing she’d seen a man in her room. A man who had vanished into the closet.

I pushed aside Lane’s dresses. I stepped into the closet and ran my fingers along the sides of the back wall. The latch was in the top left corner—a simple mechanism. I pulled it: the wall swung away from me.

A secret door, just like Garrett had suggested. The latch was much too high for him to have found it last night.

I backed out and found my flashlight. When I shone it into the closet, I saw that the secret area was narrow, no more than a few feet deep—a landing on a steep stairwell, crude wooden steps leading up and down, sandwiched between the walls of the guest rooms.

At my feet was the loose piece of electrical cord that had caught my attention. I picked it up. I wondered if it had been caught under the door last night when the man had fled in haste.

I swept the flashlight beam around the rest of the closet and into the stairwell, but I didn’t see anything else suspicious. Just the frayed cord.

I stepped into the secret doorway. Down below I could see the flash of water. The flooding had not discriminated. Along with everything else on the first floor, it had found this hidden stairwell. I decided to go up and began to climb.

The steps were so steep they were almost a ladder, and they dead-ended at another door-size sheet of wood. I found the latch and opened it.

Voices. I was in someone else’s closet. And judging from the smell of the clothes, I guessed it was a college guy’s room.

“It’s gotta be now,” Chase was saying.

“Have you looked outside, man?” Markie’s voice.

“I don’t give a damn. It has to be now or it’ll be too late.”

“All right,” Markie growled. “Christ, point that someplace else!”

“You’re both crazy,” Ty said. “Please, Chase, just let it go.”

“Shut your mouth,” Chase snapped. “You’ve screwed things up enough already.”

Something went crunch. Unfortunately that something was right under my foot. Conversation in the room stopped. I had two choices: back down the stairs or jump out and say “Ta-da!”

Given that Markie had just accused Chase of pointing something at him, I decided on discretion. I backed out and in the darkness relatched the wall panel.

I could hear the closet door opening on the other side. I was sure Chase and Markie were going to kick in the back wall and find me, but there was silence.

“It was nothing,” Chase said. “Damn storm making noises again.”

“Huh,” Markie said. He didn’t sound convinced, but the closet door closed, and I climbed down the stairs as quietly as I could.

Apparently, it was not my day for visiting closets. When I came back out of Lane’s, I found Benjamin Lindy standing by the window.

He turned as I emerged from the rack of dresses. He didn’t look particularly surprised.

“Miss Sanford told me you were here, Mr. Navarre. I didn’t realize she meant in the closet.”

I couldn’t think of another explanation, so I told him the truth.

He stepped past me and checked the passage for himself. He peered up into the gloom. When he came out again, he looked troubled. “The boys’ room, you say?”

“I could hear them arguing. I couldn’t tell what about.”

He fixed me with that courtroom gaze. “They’re drug dealers, Mr. Navarre. Surely you’ve figured that out. Now I’m wondering if they are murderers as well.”

“They’ve got nothing to do with Calavera.”

“Mr. Navarre.” Lindy’s voice held a touch of desperation. “We are entering the most dangerous hours of the weekend. The storm is passing. Sooner or later, a boat will come. Calavera will be getting restless to leave this island. He cannot let us leave as well. He cannot afford to have the authorities alerted.”