Part 34 (1/2)

'Yes, h.e.l.lo, who is it?'

'Oh, hi, is this Delia? Delia Fischer?'

The voice was familiar, but she didn't recognize it. 'Yes, that's me.'

'Delia, h.e.l.lo, this is Bobby Larch. You know, up in Ellison Bay? Our daughters went to school together.'

Delia sighed and grew impatient. People were always calling about community activities. School meetings. Fundraisers. Right now, she didn't want to have anything to do with anyone. 'This isn't a very good time, Bobby.'

'I'm sorry to bother you, but this has been weighing on my mind. I'm a parent like you, and I figure I'd like to know if my daughter was doing something like this. It doesn't matter how old they are, they're still our kids, right?'

Delia was distracted, and she had trouble following his words, but then her brain caught up with him. Tresa. Tresa.

'What is it, Bobby? What are you saying?'

'I work up in Northport at the ferry dock. The thing is, right as the five o'clock ferry was getting ready to go, your daughter Tresa came racing up, saying it was an emergency and she had to get on the boat. I suppose if I'd been thinking, I would have said no, but I let her drive on. It may not be anything important, but I also know that Mark Bradley's wife left the island on the previous boat, so the more I thought about it, the more I figured it was something you should know about, what with everything that happened last year and all. I know you'd want her to be safe.'

Delia struggled to find her voice. 'Yes. Yes, I do appreciate the call, Bobby. Thank you.'

She hung up without letting him say anything more. Her chest felt heavy, as if a fist were constricting her lungs. She should have guessed immediately. Tresa had seen Troy's truck. Her daughter must have crept inside and heard what they were discussing, and now she was there, on the island. With Mark Bradley. In the line of fire when Troy made his way to the house. Tresa, Tresa, what were you thinking? Tresa, Tresa, what were you thinking?

Delia pulled at her hair in panic. She beat her forehead with closed fists, trying to decide what to do. She clutched her phone and dialed Tresa again, and then Troy, and both times she got nothing but the infuriating loop of voicemail. She was helpless. Cut off.

Just like Harris, she'd lit a fire, and now it was out of control.

There was only one option. One way to stop this. She had to get help. Delia dialed another number, and this time she felt a huge relief when the sheriff answered immediately.

'Felix? Oh, G.o.d, Felix, it's Delia. Are you back on the island yet?'

'Yes, I just got home. Why?'

'You have to help me. I've made a terrible mistake.'

Chapter Forty-Two.

Most of the back roads on the northern tip of the peninsula dead- ended in the woods or at the lakesh.o.r.e. Cab drove back and forth along narrow trails with names like Europe Bay, Lost Lane, Timberline, Juice Mill, and Wilderness, and he saw the same things: farm buildings, locked gates, boat launches, and hiking trails, all of them deserted. None of it meant anything to him, and all the while, it got darker around him. It was already night inside the trees. The relentless rain poured down over the car.

He parked on the road to the state park and turned off the engine. He knew he was wasting his time here, going around in circles. Running blind.

Cab glanced at his phone and saw that he had a single bar of signal. He didn't know how long it would last. Signal came and went with the wind here. Quickly, before the air currents switched directions, he called home to Florida. It was odd that his brain supplied the word. Home.

'Lala, it's Cab,' he said when she answered.

'Well, well,' she said. 'The tall blond stranger.'

Hearing her voice, he could picture her face. Her dark skin. Her fierce eyes. Ebony hair. The last time they'd talked, he'd been drinking, and this time, she was the one who sounded buzzed, with a mellowness in her voice. It was softly sensual. It reminded him of the one time they'd made love and how oddly vulnerable she'd been in his bed, not wild and uninhibited as he would have expected. He could picture her naked body and remember the tiny flaws - the freckles, the scar on her knee, the barest pooch - that made her not perfect but more beautiful for being that way. They had danced around that night ever since, with Cab doing what he did best. Running blind.

'Where are you?' he asked.

'I'm in your condo,' she told him. 'I hope you don't mind.'

He was surprised but pleased. 'Not at all. I told you to go there.'

'My air conditioner still isn't working. I felt like I was back in Havana. I had to do something.'

'It's fine.'

'I'm drinking your wine.'

'Good.'

'It's really, really good wine.'

'I know.'

'I've had a lot of it.'

'That's why it's there.'

'I suppose you want to talk about the case case,' she said, drawing out the word with a snarl.

He did, but he didn't. He needed her help, and he didn't know how long his cell signal would last before it evaporated into the sky. Even so, he simply liked hearing her voice out here, in the middle of nowhere. 'What else did you want to talk about?' he asked.

'I did something bad,' she said.

'I doubt that.'

'No, no, I did. I went through your nightstand drawer. I told myself I was looking for a rubber band for my hair, but I was just snooping.'

'What did you find?' he asked.

'A picture.'

Cab knew which one. 'OK.'

'She's pretty.'

'Was.'

'Was. Sorry.'

'Her name was Vivian,' he said.

'You want to tell me about her?'

Cab took a long time to reply, and Lala let him off the hook.