Hurricane Bay. Heather Graham
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all responsibility, to drown themselves in beer and couch potato themselves into early graves.
And he was lying, to boot. He had seen Sheila, talked to her…done a lot more than talked, by his own admission. Why not? They’d been off and on for years. The worst of it was that he should care, be concerned. Even Larry, whom Sheila had hurt, had been concerned, insisting that she call him if she needed anything, if Sheila needed anything, if there was anything he could do…Sheila wouldn’t even need to see him. If she needed money, he would be happy to help her out. Nate had been concerned, too, shaking his head and telling her that they all worried about Sheila, but hell, what could they do? She was a grown-up.
Nate had told her, too, that Sheila often made dates with her friends—lunch, dinner, drinks, coffee, breakfast, whatever—and forgot to appear. She always had an apology, of course. Even so, Nate had seemed concerned, even as he tried to tell Kelsey that she shouldn’t be. He hadn’t seen Sheila in a week, and she never stayed away from the Sea Shanty that long.
Only Dane seemed indifferent. Crude. It appeared that he had come home just to drink himself into oblivion, and he didn’t give a damn about Sheila or anything else.
And, of course, there was that last page in Sheila’s diary, which she had found beneath the pillow on Sheila’s bed. At first she had shoved the book back under the pillow, surprised that Sheila had kept a diary, then determined that a diary was private and she had no right to read it. But when Sheila hadn’t appeared, she had skimmed through, and then gone to the last page.
Have to see Dane tonight. Tell him I’m afraid.
Private or not, she was going to read every page in the diary. Maybe she should have mentioned it to the police.
No. Not yet, anyway. Not until she knew what was in it herself. She wasn’t airing Sheila’s life to anyone, unless it became absolutely necessary.
There was a knock at the door. For a moment she clenched her teeth, wondering if Dane had decided to follow her back from the Sea Shanty. A man wouldn’t need to be a P.I. to find out where she was staying.
And he undoubtedly knew the way to Sheila’s place.
She marched barefoot to the front door, grateful that the owners of the duplex had done away with the old-time jalousie and put in solid wood doors. She looked through the peephole. Cindy Greeley, now her official next-door neighbor in the duplex where she herself was an unofficial guest, was standing on the porch with a tray of something in her hands.
Kelsey opened the door.
“Did you find out anything?” Cindy asked her.
Kelsey stepped back, letting Cindy enter. Even in her bare feet, she was almost a head taller than the other woman, five-nine compared with Cindy’s petite five-two. The smaller woman was compact, with sun-bleached hair, huge blue eyes and a tiny frame. She looked as if she should be heading off to high school, but she’d always had a terrific head on her shoulders, had made it nicely through college, and now owned eighteen T-shirt and shell shops throughout the Keys that might one day make her rich.
“Did I find out anything?” Kelsey said, her tone both musing and slightly bitter. “Nope. Nothing.”
“I told you,” Cindy said.
“Well, wait a minute. Maybe not exactly ‘nothing.’ I did find out that everyone saw Sheila arguing with Dane, but no one knows where she is now. Except, of course, I’m sure someone is lying. Want to come in and have something to drink?”
Cindy gave her a quizzical look for a moment. “Kind of early for you, isn’t it? You’re the kid who never had anything to drink during the day. And I thought you just came from the Sea Shanty?”
“It’s after five. Isn’t that cocktail hour?”
“Yeah, I guess. Sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. Daylight Saving Time, you know. Seems it stays light so late. But hey, I told you to try one of those Wind-Runners over there. That should have knocked you for a loop. Didn’t you get one?”
“I ordered one. But I didn’t drink it.”
“Why not? They’re delicious.”
“It spilled,” Kelsey said. “Are you coming in?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. I just made quiche. Thought you might like some.”
“Good, you supply the food, I’ve got the beer.”
They walked on into the kitchen together. “I went down to the sheriff’s department. Sergeant Hansen let me fill out a missing persons report, though he wasn’t real thrilled about it. He didn’t seem to think there was anything odd about Sheila being gone for a week. Usually all you need is forty-eight hours. Here, your remains could be mummified and everyone still thinks you’ll show up when you feel like it.”
“Kelsey, that’s not true. It’s just that…”
“That what?”
“Sheila was living…a certain lifestyle,” Cindy said.
“Still, a missing persons report is important,” Kelsey told Cindy. She looked pointedly at her friend. “And it’s something no one else thought to do.”
“Kelsey,” Cindy said, taking a seat on one of the three bar stools at the kitchen counter, “I’m not sure what to say to make you feel better. You’ve got to realize, Sheila is always going off and not telling anyone.”
“I’m worried because she was supposed to meet me. Here. We made plans. I took my vacation time.”
Cindy shrugged, accepting a bottle of Michelob. “Kelsey, you haven’t seen a lot of Sheila in the last few years.”
“I haven’t seen her at all for at least two years,” Kelsey said.
Cindy spoke slowly. “So you just have to realize—you don’t really know her anymore.”
Kelsey shrugged, feeling the guilt that had plagued her lately over that very fact.
They’d all been friends, growing up. Slightly different in age, but friends because they were islanders, and the area had been pretty darn small back when they’d been kids. She was the youngest, Cindy was one year her senior, Sheila and Nate were the same age, two years older than Cindy. Of their little group, her brother, Joe, had been the oldest—with Dane Whitelaw just one month younger. Then there was Larry, who had been about the same age as Dane and Joe, but he had been a weekender, so he hadn’t really been in the same tight-knit group. Sometimes there had been other kids in the group, as well, guys like Jorge Marti, and even Izzy Garcia.
They’d all grown so far apart over the years.
Well, except for the fact that she worked with Larry, who had been instrumental in getting her into Sherman and Cutty, the advertising and promotions firm where she worked in the conceptual design department. Then, of course, Cindy and Nate were still close friends. And maybe she hadn’t really been that far away, because she had kept up with Cindy. And Nate. Despite the fact that she and Nate had been married and divorced in the blink of an eye. Oddly enough, though totally unsuited to be husband and wife, she and Nate had made it as friends. When she thought back, she was angry with herself for what she had done, marrying him. Of course, she had felt empty then, hurt and very alone. The void in her life had seemed like a bottomless pit. There had been nothing she wanted more then than to get away. And Nate…Nate had never been going anywhere. He’d loved Key Largo and known he was going to stay from the time he’d been a boy. Maybe she had thought of marriage as a means to run away. Whatever her thinking, it had been wrong, and she had done nothing but hurt Nate. Still, it seemed he had forgiven her. And he was happy. He loved his Sea Shanty. Loved fishing, diving, boating and just being in the sun. He had never talked about anything other than living his life right here.
Just as Sheila and Dane had talked about nothing but moving on.
She understood why with Sheila. And with Dane…maybe she understood him, too.
But