Sunset Bridge (30 page)

“I’m glad I came,” Maggie said at last. “Maybe we see each other clearer now, good and bad. But I like what I see when I look at you, Mom. I’m proud to be your kid.”

“You’re not making that up?”

Maggie finally stepped away. “Nope, I’m just like you in that way. I could never tell a lie just to be nice.”

Wanda laughed a little. “You’ll be careful out on the road? Traffic’s bound to be awful. And don’t pack anything that’s not important. It will still be there when you get back.”

Outside a minute later, as her umbrella turned inside out from the force of the wind, Maggie questioned her own decision. But the question was window dressing. She already knew her answer.

T
racy had grown up with mud slides, with earthquakes and fires that incinerated entire Southern California neighborhoods. Hurricanes and tropical storms were not nearly as familiar but seemed normal enough. Natural disasters might differ in warning time and duration, but coping with them was deeply ingrained in her DNA. The moment she first realized the buck stopped with her when it came to protecting the cottages and tenants at Happiness Key, she’d drawn up a hurricane plan and found people to help implement it.

This was the first time since her arrival in Florida that she’d had reason to put her plan in action, but so far everything had worked. The plywood twins had secured everybody’s windows. She had called all her neighbors to make sure they planned to go inland and remind them to pick up loose objects around their houses and move furniture or decorations inside. Her plan seemed to be working, since as she’d passed the Kapurs’ house on her way to the center,
Tracy had seen Janya hauling her many potted plants inside with Rishi’s help.

Her own evacuation plan hadn’t been nearly as well thought out. But the moment she had arrived at the center this morning with some of her more treasured belongings, Gladys had invited her to stay at the Woodley residence. One guest room was still available, and she was touched to discover Gladys and Woody had earmarked it for her. The house was new, built to the highest standards, and just far enough away from the Gulf that the Woodleys were confident they would sustain little damage. Tracy had said a grateful yes.

While the rec center, too, was built to hurricane specifications, Tracy’s office was on the bottom floor, and the only thing between her and the outdoor pool were the shuffleboard courts. The pool, of course, was equipped with overflows to ensure drainage of excess water, and the maintenance staff was draining a foot of water anyway, just to minimize problems. Still, Gladys had suggested that Tracy might want to move anything valuable or particularly vulnerable upstairs to a storage closet. So now she was sorting and choosing, and a couple of teenage boys were carrying boxes upstairs as she filled them. Equipment could be replaced, but notes and schedules and plans for next year’s youth camp were irreplaceable. Her computer had already made its way up, and the boys were now carrying boxes of files.

She was on the floor filling the final box with photographs and youth campers’ drawings when she heard footsteps. She looked up and found Marsh looking down at her.

“You aren’t answering your cell phone.”

She tilted her chin so she could see him better. Faded jeans, rusty-colored Wild Florida T-shirt, inscrutable expression.
“You can see why, right? I’m on the floor packing. You’re not taking it personally?”

“You weren’t answering last night, either.”

That part was true. After the ultrasound yesterday, she had remained at the doctor’s office for her monthly exam. Marsh had volunteered to stay, as well, but she’d sent him away. She had been feeling too vulnerable to have him there asking questions and ingratiating himself with her obstetrician. Even worse, she hadn’t wanted a real conversation after they had both seen their baby cavorting on the monitor, their own little space alien with the funny-shaped head and the visibly beating heart. She hadn’t wanted to talk about names or visitation rights or how it had felt to have Marsh there at that extraordinarily intimate moment. Had he asked her to move in with him again, she might well have been too weak to say no.

So, okay, she had turned off her cell phone and ignored her landline when her caller ID showed his number.

“You may have noticed,” she said, “that a hurricane’s thinking about a little trip to Palmetto Grove. I’ve been a wee bit busy getting everything protected on Happiness Key.”

“As if that’s really possible.”

“Trying,” she amended. “And those cottages have remained standing through worse storms. Anyway, it’s not exactly a good time for chitchat.”

“Chitchat?”

“Did you have something important on your mind?” She glanced at her watch as a visual clue.

“Among other things, I wanted to be sure you had plans in case you needed to evacuate.”

“Thanks. Once I finish here I’m heading home to make
sure everything’s secured and to finish getting my stuff. Then I’ll be staying with Gladys and Woody.” She paused, and when he didn’t comment or ask her to reconsider and hunker down at the old Cracker house that had withstood centuries of storms, she asked, “What about you? I assume you’re staying home and battening down the hatches?”

“Wild Florida’s decided to make a party of it. We’ll be at the offices camping with whatever staff wants to be there.”

“Oh, what fun,” she said in a tone that contradicted her words. “Toast a marshmallow for me.”

“You know, Trace, I’m not stupid. It’s absolutely clear you’re avoiding me. The hurricane’s a good excuse, but it’s pretty transparent. I’ve tried to be patient, to wait this craziness out, but I think it’s obvious that’s not going to help anybody. You’ve written me out of your life, and you don’t want me to have any say at all in what happens to our child. You throw crumbs at me, like inviting me to the ultrasound, so I won’t protest too loudly, but you’d better realize one thing. Crumbs aren’t going to do it. I am going to be a part of this baby’s life, just the way you are, and if I have to go to court to establish my right, I will. Don’t imagine I’ll give up claim to my child, even if I have to give up claim to you.”

She was so incensed she didn’t know which part of his speech to address first. “What claim did you
ever
have on me? Offering to let me move in with you was damage control. You weren’t establishing claim, you were mopping up after yourself. You think I can’t see the difference?”

“I was trying to improve things, to make your life a little easier. If you didn’t like my solution, you could have volunteered one of your own.”

“I don’t need my life easier! I’m a big girl. I don’t need any
man taking care of me, even if I used to think I did. I don’t need to shack up with you or anybody else so you can feel like you’ve done your two bits. I am so much better than that. Look at me, Marsh. When you walk out of this room, I’ll still be sitting here. I won’t disappear, even if you’re not here to see me.”

He was angry now, not coldly controlled but visibly furious. “What is your problem? This baby didn’t come out of nowhere. We were happy together, happy with the way things were. I don’t see any damage I need to control, or at least I didn’t until you started slamming the door in my face.”

“Happy with the way things
were,
Marsh? Guess what! Things are not that way anymore. And as for this child of ours? I know you’re a good father. I expect you’ll be a good father to our child, too, but don’t you dare start issuing ultimatums! Because the moment you do, I’ll fight you tooth and nail. You get it? We can work out visitation and everything else once we’re both calmer, but the moment you try to legislate, I’ll go after you, in court, out of court and everywhere in between. Don’t you ever,
ever,
threaten me or this baby again.”

“I did not threaten you. I’m just letting you know you can’t cut me out of your life no mat—”

She cut him off with a sharp chop of her hand, afraid that if she didn’t, she would leap to her feet and strangle him. “Oh, I can and I
will
. The baby’s life? That’s a different issue, but you’d sure better learn the difference before we have another conversation. This one’s finished. I have a million things to worry about right now, and I don’t need this on top of them.”

He looked angry enough to shake her. “You know, I think
you’re right. I’d better get out of here. We can’t do this face-to-face. I should have figured that out.”

“Good, we agree about one thing. I
am
right.”

He strode across the room, but he turned in the doorway. “Just give this a little thought while the winds blow tonight, Trace. If we can’t settle this in a quiet conversation, the only way to settle it will be in court. That won’t be my first choice. You’d better think about yours.”

On the way to her car, Maggie debated calling Felo. Like her father, he had already warned her against dangerous or illegal snooping, and of course, technically, they were both right. But she saw clearly, even if they couldn’t, that her chance to discover Blake’s connection to Harit Dutta had arrived. Blake and his partners were on their way out of town, and most likely their house was already empty. Judging by the morning’s traffic many people had already abandoned Palmetto Grove Key, so it was unlikely anyone would notice her slipping into his house to sift through papers.

Of course, if Blake had anything to hide, he was smart enough to have disposed of any evidence or at least have taken it with him, in case the storm exposed his secrets to the four winds. But she wasn’t looking for a canceled check from Blake’s favorite hit man or a blackmail note from Harit Dutta. She simply wanted evidence the two men had been acquainted. A calendar notation. A receipt. Anything that would tell her she was on the right trail. Anything that might indicate a reason why Blake could have been involved in the Duttas’ deaths.

The internal debate ended with Maggie slipping into her car, then pulling out her cell phone to use up the last of the
battery. This wasn’t a call she could have made from Wanda’s Wonderful Pies.

She fumed as the phone rang and Felo didn’t pick up right away. The hurry-up-and-wait aspects of police work had always been hardest for her, but when she was almost to the point where she needed to compose a voice mail, he answered.

“Hey, where are you?” she asked.

“About twenty miles from camp. Where are you?”

“I’m going home to get Rumba and my stuff, then I’m going to drive over and meet you.”

There was a long pause, and by the end of it, she was sure their relationship was well and truly over, and he was trying to find a way to tell her not to bother. But his voice when he spoke was low and indefinably sexy.

“Shall I prepare one bedroom or two?”

“Does my welcome there depend on my answer?”

“I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

She relaxed, and unaccountably she felt herself choking up. “You’re sure? I know I’m not the easiest person to have around.” It was as close to an apology as she’d come so far. “Insightful, though.”

She knew this wasn’t the time to go into the issues that had separated them. Her cell phone was liable to cut off any moment. “I’ll be there just as soon as I finish up a few things here. Can’t say when, though. It will depend on…things. And traffic.”

He was no fool. “What kind of things? I thought you were loading the car and getting on the road?”

She hesitated just a second too long.

“This isn’t the time to go looking for answers in the Dutta
case,” Felo said before she could configure a response. “You know a hurricane’s nothing to fool with. Katrina was only a category three, and look what happened to New Orleans.”

“Phyllis is a one, and likely to swerve up the coast and miss us altogether. And Blake’s on his way out of town, and his house is empty. I’m just going to see if there’s anything there to help me figure out what’s going on. I—”

“Mags, forget that for now! If there’s anything to the Armstrong connection we’ll find it without risking your safety. And don’t even think about breaking into his house. You don’t have an ounce of authority. All you have is a theory and no real evidence to support it.”

“That’s what I’ll be looking for.”

“You know you won’t be able to use anything you obtain. What’s wrong with you? This is crazy.”

“I’m not going to obtain anything illegally. I’m just going to satisfy my curiosity and see if I can make some connections. Come on, you know that’s how this works.”

“Get your stuff and Rumba, then get back in your car. It’s going to be a long, slow trip in heavy traffic, and the storm’s getting closer every minute. Forget the case and hit the road. I’ll be here waiting. We can talk about what to do next.”

“I know what to do next, Felo. I’ll do it, then I’ll meet you there. And don’t worry. I can take care of myself. I won’t do anything stupid.”

“Maggie—”

She cut him off before he could finish. She figured she was simply saving him the effort, since she already knew what he would say. The phone beeped weakly, and she saw that the battery was either dead or taking its last breaths. Disgusted,
she turned it off and vowed to buy herself a new phone with her next paycheck.

She started the engine and backed out of her parking place. Hampered by wind and rain, the drive through town was slow, but even now the roads were less crowded than she’d expected. People had either evacuated earlier or were battening down the hatches at their own homes, flashlights with fresh batteries, canned goods and camping stoves at the ready, gallons of water neatly stored in closets. She imagined that the highway out of town was congested with all the people who were leaving, and she reconsidered her decision. If she was driving to Felo’s camp, she should gather her things, pick up Rumba and leave right now. He was right about that. She had a full tank of gas, and she was a trained driver who performed well under the worst conditions. But along with expertise came an understanding that taking unnecessary chances was foolish.

“One hour,” she said out loud. “One-thirty, no later.” She would give herself an hour and not a minute more before she crossed the bridge back to Palmetto Key. She would stop at Blake’s house first, do a quick, efficient search—if she could find a way inside—then leave in time to collect her cat and suitcases and get back on the road.

No matter what others thought about her, she was not above taking advice. But neither was she willing to compromise her own good judgment. Even though rooting around in the wind and rain wasn’t an appealing prospect, she felt sure that this was the only chance she would ever have to safely look for a connection between Blake Armstrong and Harit Dutta.

How could she abandon the young man who had written
so eloquently and sincerely about making peace? How could she abandon his children, who would someday deserve the real truth about the deaths of their parents?