“One is Phyllis Vancurren.”
“I’m not so sure of that. Whoever put the body in the bathtub may know she drinks herself to sleep every night. And the creaking stairs are marked.”
She was quiet a moment, looking up at the stars and trying to relax. It wasn’t easy since she feared that at any moment police cars would arrive, sirens blaring, and arrest them. “Ariel will be frightened if I’m not there.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” R.J. said, his voice sleepy. “That girl is made of steel. She may be stronger than you and me put together.”
“You’re wrong. Her mother—”
“Her mother! That’s where I saw her before. In New York. I was at a party with Tiffany. It was just before we broke up and she knew it was coming, so she was putting on a great show of jealousy. There was a pretty girl there and she kept staring at me. But every time I took a step toward her, she ran away. It was an interesting game but I got tired of it fast. Then, out of the blue, this woman comes up to me and tells me that if I so much as touch her virginal daughter she’ll have me arrested. The whole thing was too much. Tiffany was on the verge of making a scene, some girl was flirting with me then running away, then some woman nearly accuses me of being a rapist. I left the party.”
In spite of her fear, Sara could feel herself relaxing. “How many of your hundreds did you leave them?” she murmured.
“What hundreds?”
Sara was too tired to argue. “The ones in your shoes. Each pair you own has a hundred-dollar bill folded under the insole. Two shoes, two one hundreds.”
“Both of them,” R.J. said sleepily. “Do you mind?”
“No. They need them.”
“They have each other. I’ll bet you fifty grand that by Monday your little cousin will no longer be a virgin.”
“You touch her and—”
“Keep your knickers on. Mr. President is going to do it, not me.”
“How did you know about him, about his … wanting …” She was more asleep than awake.
“To be president? You told me. You’re no good at keeping secrets.”
“Secrets about the man I love,” Sara whispered, then fell asleep.
R.J. lay awake for a few minutes, looking at the stars over his head. There was a hole in the porch roof. Yeah, he thought, Charley better get here soon before the old houses rot into a pile. He glanced at Sara, looking at her profile in the dim light. I know who you love, but you don’t know, he whispered. Smiling, he went to sleep.
In the bushes, their every movement was watched.
Chapter Twelve
“I HEAR FISHING BOATS,” R.J. SAID, HIS face close to hers. “I want you on one of them. I want you off this island.”
Sara opened an eye enough to see that it wasn’t quite daylight, which meant that they’d had maybe two hours’ sleep.
She was tired, hungry, and dirty—but she still knew a trick when she heard one. R.J. was trying to get rid of her. “And let you have all the glory of solving the mystery?” She hadn’t quite opened her eyes, but she heard him chuckle as he stood up.
“Today I’ll talk to some of the fishermen and make arrangements for the lot of you to return to the mainland. Are you going to lie there all day?”
“Maybe,” she said, stretching, her eyes still closed. It was cool and pleasant in the early morning on the porch and she didn’t want to face reality.
“Sara,” R.J. said in a tone she’d never heard before, “if you don’t get up, I’m going to join you on that couch. Think we’ll put on a show for the neighbors?”
She refused to let him bully her. “Naw,” she said lazily, “they only look out the windows to see dead dogs.”
When she heard him chuckle again, she opened her eyes. He was looking down at her in the way she’d seen him look at several women, but she didn’t react as they did. She knew what happened to women who fell for that come-tome look. Sighing, she sat up and looked out at King’s Isle. There was no one in sight, just a lot of empty-looking old houses.
As she remembered Fenny Nezbit’s dead body and all that the four of them had done to conceal it, Sara had to fight down the fear that rose in her throat. She ran her hand through her slightly greasy hair, and her tongue over teeth that felt as though they had green stuff growing on them. “Does prison have a bathroom?” she asked. “I need a bath, some deodorant, and clean clothes.”
R.J. didn’t seem to have heard her as he looked out at what they could see of the town. For all their ordeal, he didn’t seem to have changed much. How was it that men could sleep in their clothes and wake up with them unwrinkled? And why did the stubble on his cheeks only make him look more rugged? If he stepped onto a fishing boat right now, he’d look like one of them.