Whiskey Beach Part 88

"Yeah. Two."

"Even more difficult." She hesitated, shook her head. "And so I don't repeat a mistake, I need to tell you Vinnie got in touch a couple hours ago. The bullets they recovered from Duncan's body were fired by the gun I found in my cottage."

He put a hand over hers. "I would've been surprised if they didn't match."

"I know. The fact that I called Vinnie when I found it weighs on my side. And the anonymous tip to Wolfe from a disposable cell phone-that seems sticky. But he wanted me to know that Wolfe's digging into my background, my movements, trying to put you and me together before Lindsay's murder."

"We weren't, so he can't."

"No, he can't."

"Relay all this to your lawyer."

"I did. He's on it. There's nothing, Eli, and I think Wolfe only cares about me as a conduit to you. If he somehow links us to Duncan's death, it's more feasible you were involved in Lindsay's."

"It goes both ways," he reminded her. "Since we're clear on Duncan, it adds weight to me being clear on Lindsay's."

"Then you agree with him on the basics. The two murders are connected somehow."

"I can't believe I'm this close to two murders, a near fatal accident, a series of break-ins and an a.s.sault without there being connections."

"I'm with you on that, but then everything's connected under it all." She rose again. "I'm going back to it so maybe we can figure out a way to be the hero and heroine of our own novel and help catch a bad guy."

"We should go out to dinner tonight."

Her eyebrows quirked. "We should?"

"Yeah. Barbie can guard the house. We should go out, have a nice dinner somewhere. You can wear something s.e.xy."

"Are we having a date, Eli?"

"I've let that slide. Pick a place," he told her. "We'll go on a date."

"All right, I will." She came back to lean down, kiss him. "You'll have to wear one of your many ties."

"I can do that."

Good news, uneasy news, he thought when she left him. Questions to be asked and answered. But tonight, he was going out with a fascinating woman who made him think, who made him feel.

"I'm going back to work for a bit," he told Barbie. "Then you can help me pick out a tie."

He couldn't watch the house every hour of every day. But he continued to spot-check. He knew he could get back inside again, even if Landon had changed the code again. He'd prefer to continue his search with the house empty, but the way Landon stuck to the place, he might have to risk going in when Landon was sleeping.

He'd begun to believe he'd gone in the wrong direction with the bas.e.m.e.nt, at least that section of the mammoth s.p.a.ce. But he had to finish to be sure. He'd spent so much time, so much sweat, so much money that he had to see it through.

He needed to get up to the third floor again. Somewhere in one of the trunks, under some cus.h.i.+on, behind some picture, he'd find a clue. A diary, a map, coordinates.

He'd been through the library in Bluff House while the old lady slept, but he'd found nothing of importance. He'd found nothing to match his own knowledge, his own meticulous and detailed research into Esmeralda's Dowry.

He knew the truth. Beyond the legend, beyond the adventure stories written about that storm-tossed night on Whiskey Beach, he knew.

The wind, the rocks, the raging sea, and only one man survived. One man, he thought, and a treasure beyond price.

Pirate booty, taken by might, by courage, by blood. And his by right, his by blood. The blood he shared with Nathanial Broome.

He was descended from Broome, who'd claimed the treasure, and from Violeta Landon, who'd given the pirate her heart, her body and a son.

He had proof, written in Violeta's hand. He often thought her message from the grave had been written directly to him, to give him the bits and pieces from letters, from a single diary, all discovered after the death of his great-uncle.

A stupid, careless man.

He was the heir now to that treasure. Who had more right to the spoils than he?

Not Eli Landon.

He would have what was his. He'd kill if need be.

He had killed. And now that he had, he knew he could do so again. He knew, as the days pa.s.sed and his way to Bluff House was barred, he knew he'd kill Eli Landon before it was over, before it truly could be over.

After he'd reclaimed what was his, he'd kill Landon as Landon had killed Lindsay.

That was justice, he told himself. Rough justice, and the kind the Landons deserved. The kind Nathanial Broome would have approved of.

His heart jumped when he saw them come out of the house. Landon in a suit, the woman in a short red dress. Holding hands, laughing into each other's faces.

Not a care in the world.

Had he been f.u.c.king her while he'd been with Lindsay? Self-righteous p.r.i.c.k. He deserved to die. He wished he could do it, do both of them, right now.

But he had to be patient. He needed to regain his legacy, then he'd mete out justice.

He watched them get in the car, could see the woman lean over for a kiss before Landon drove out, away.

Two hours, he estimated. If he could have afforded to have them followed as before, he'd know more precisely. But he could risk two hours inside.

He'd paid a great deal for the alarm breaker, and money would become a serious issue soon. An investment, he reminded himself as he parked his car, lifted his bag out of the trunk.

He knew the police patrolled. He'd watched them cruise by Bluff House, believed he had the basic timing. He thought he would've made a good pirate himself, and considered his apt.i.tude further proof of his blood, his rights.

He knew how to evade, how to plan, how to take what he wanted.

The gloomy rain made good cover. He hurried through it, aiming for the side door-the easiest entry point, the most sheltered. He'd take time to make a wax impression of the woman's key. She wouldn't have taken that heavy ring she carried, not dressed for the evening. He'd find it, copy it.

And next time, he'd simply use a key to get in.

But now he took his jimmy out of his bag and hooked the alarm reader around his neck by the strap for easy access.