“My mother tells me I was. You know her. The notorious Grans.”
“What’s notorious?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Then what happened?”
“When I was your age?”
“Yes.”
“I grew up to be disappointed that you don’t want my spaghetti.”
“Oh don’t worry I’ll eat it!” That laugh again as he runs to the door.
I smell Mexican food as everybody walks in, and I take off my tactical gun pouch. I tuck it in a cabinet out of reach for a little boy.
BENTON AND I ARE alone, both of us in the lounger for two. The low sun smolders over the ocean in hot pinks and oranges, diffusing over deepening shades of blue that heave languidly. Soon it will be as dark as velvet.
“The latest isn’t much better and may be as good as it’s going to get.” Benton holds my hand and drinks red wine as he explains the update as of half an hour ago. “If she received medical treatment we can’t find any hospital or private practice that might have treated her. She’s vain enough to want a plastic surgeon, but we can’t find it out. We probably won’t. She could be anywhere now. At least we know the RIB we recovered is the boat you saw. That we’re sure of.”
“The drift divers were the two of them. Right there. Right under our noses as usual.” I reach for the bottle and he beats me to it. “Troy was in the RIB and we know where she was.”
“Well we know she was the one diving and that it was a ruse so she could take us out. Leaving Lucy by herself. That would have made Carrie very happy.” Benton fills my glass.
“I should have asked about the damn RIB when I saw it out there. Why didn’t I? What’s wrong with me?”
“Anybody seeing the dive float moving would assume it was normal,” Benton says. “Just people drift-diving the reef and that the person in the boat would eventually follow and pick up whoever it is.”
“She did that because she knew we’d be looking. And obviously she abandoned the float and line attached to it so we’d have no idea how close she was to us.” The wine is nice and I’m getting sleepy. “She knew we’d see the RIB and the float some distance away and think exactly what we did.”
“It was meticulously planned—as I would expect from her,” he agrees. “And the RIB’s registration was painted over, which is why it wasn’t noticed by police, the Coast Guard or us. After the incident it appears she ditched it in a marina in Pompano Beach. That’s where it was found this afternoon.”
“No sign of Troy.”
“No,” he says. “I’m sure he’s with her somewhere. Her new partner.”
“And more people will be hurt or killed. It’s my fault. I saw the damn RIB. I should have asked about it.”
“You shouldn’t be hard on yourself about any of this, Kay. You need to stop.”
“I wonder how long it had been there in the marina. One more thing under everybody’s nose.”
“I don’t know. It was docked right there in the open but again the number had been spray painted over and a new one applied with a stencil. An expensive boat, a Scorpion. If it wasn’t for that we’d still be looking. I suspect she ditched it there soon after the incident.”
“Maybe we can come up with something besides the incident. I feel as if my life has been reduced to a police report. What are we supposed to do now exactly?” I went easy on the tacos and can really feel the wine. “She managed for thirteen years and no one was the wiser. If she wants to disappear she certainly knows how. She’s smarter than we are.”
“She’s not.”
“It feels like it.”
“She’ll need money again. Whatever she’s got won’t tide her over forever. Not the way she lives and moves around.” Benton leans back in his side of the lounger and when the warm moist air moves I smell his cologne. “The fact is we’ll always have to be vigilant.”
“If it’s not her it’s someone.”
“Always the optimist.” He turns his head and kisses me and I taste wine on his tongue.
“Marino needs to take my mother home. We should say good night.” I lower my bandaged leg to the tile but I don’t put any weight on it.
Benton wraps an arm around me and I limp a little as he helps me inside. The damn walker is parked just inside the open slider where Sock is snoozing on the cool marble floor. I place my hands on the grips and roll it in the direction of Desi shrieking again, his small feet galloping, and he screams around a corner just as Lucy snatches him up and lifts him over her head, his arms and legs pumping.
“She hates children,” I say to Marino.
He’s in baggy shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops. He hasn’t shaved in days.
“Being a designated driver sucks.” He’s holding the car key, nothing subtle about it.
Then another noise, a toilet flushing down the hall, a long pause and the door slowly opens. My mother’s white hair is a halo in the light spilling out but there’s nothing angelic about her as she rolls her walker toward me.
“This is what you get for being disrespectful,” she starts in again as she rolls closer. “When you were Desi’s age and you laughed at the older people who came into your father’s market with their canes? And this is what you get.”
“I never did such a thing,” I reply and it does no good. “Desi, don’t listen to her.”
He isn’t, and now Lucy is a helicopter flying him around the room while Janet looks on from the sofa, in a cotton shirt and loose pants, pretty and at ease as usual. She meets my eyes and smiles because we both know what we’re dealing with, and then my mother has to pointedly look me up and down and make another comment, her eyes faded and magnified behind her glasses. She’s spilled salsa on her dress, another floral pattern with a hem that looks uneven because of the way she stoops and seems to cock herself like a gun about to shoot.
“Katie?” When she calls me that I know it’s coming. “Dorothy is happy to keep Desi and I think it’s a better idea than him being around all these women. It’s nice to have a man. A boy needs the influence of a man.”
Dorothy, Lucy’s mother, my only sister, isn’t here of course. I’m not sure she even understands exactly what has happened. She knows I was hurt. She did ask if I’d be able to wear shorts again.
“Great idea, Grans,” Lucy says as she lowers Desi to the floor, and his cheeks are an excited rosy red. “She did such an amazing job with me and there were so many men I can’t remember them.”
“That’s not nice, Lucy.” My mother rolls closer to her, and if it’s one thing I’ve learned from witnessing all this night after night is I’ll never use a walker as a weapon. “You should be ashamed of yourself wearing no more clothes than that. Those skintight shorts are indecent. Are you wearing a bra?”
Lucy pretends she’s going to lift her shirt to check and Marino guffaws.
“Are you ready to go home, Mother? Marino is happy to take you.”
“Well all right then. That’s only the third time everyone has asked. I know when I’m not wanted. I don’t know why you even bother having me over.” She slides her feet, rolling her walker to the door where Marino can’t wait to open it for her.
“Come on, Grans. I’m your chauffeur. I hope you don’t expect me to wear one of those fucking prissy caps.”
“I’ll wash your mouth out …!”
“I’ve heard you do your share of cussing.” He holds the door for her, and then they’re in the entranceway and he pushes the elevator button.
Sock has gotten up and is cowering. My walker scares him.
“I don’t even know such filthy words as that,” my mother says.
“Then how’d you know what it was? See? That’s why I’m such a good detective.”
I wait until they’re gone before I shut the door, and Lucy and Janet tell Desi it’s time for him to brush his teeth. He bolts over and hugs me. He stares up at Benton rather dubiously.
“Good night, Mister Bentley,” he says. “I’m going to be a
n FBI agent someday.”
They head down the hall.
“I think we should take the rest of the wine to bed, Mister Bentley.” I push the walker and envision my mother pushing hers.
I start laughing. I laugh so hard I can’t go anywhere quite yet. Then Benton helps me down the hall to the master suite, where the slider is open all the way, the warm breeze blowing in. A huge moon is low and reflected in the swells of the waves. Boats are out. Some of them like small cities on the water. Lights wink red and white on distant planes flying in and out of Miami. I listen to the rhythm of the surf. It sighs loudly and sounds like breathing. Sock cowers again when I park the walker out of the way. He flattens himself on the floor.
“Oh I’m not going to hurt you for crummy sake. Don’t be so dramatic,” I say to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t handle it better,” I say to Benton as I lower myself to the bed and Sock jumps up.
Benton unbuttons his shirt, arranging pillows behind me as if I’m back where I started, in the double lounger again.
“I’m ashamed I didn’t,” I say to him. “No matter what you say the fact is she was right there and I let her get the best of me.”
“You didn’t. You sliced open her face and probably saved both of us.” He says the same thing as he sits next to me in his boxer shorts. “You’re the most perfect person I’ve ever known. And you don’t panic. You didn’t and that’s the difference between you and almost everybody else. Don’t ever forget it.”
“I didn’t fix it. Nothing’s fixed, Benton.”
“We never fixed it. No one did. It’s not just you. Maybe we never fix anything. I don’t know what’s gotten into Sock tonight. He’s sticking to me like shrink wrap.”
“Probably because Lucy was horsing around like she’s ten years old again. Sock isn’t used to so much commotion. He’s used to being around two stick-in-the-muds. I won’t mention names.”
“I love you, Kay.”
I reach for the lamp. I switch it off and I hear it.
SNAP
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Patricia Cornwell is recognized as one of the world’s top bestselling crime authors with novels translated into thirty-six languages in more than 120 countries. Her novels have won numerous prestigious awards including the Edgar, Creasey, Anthony, Macavity, and the French Prix du Roman d’Aventure prize. Beyond the Scarpetta series, Patricia has written a definitive book about Jack the Ripper and a biography and has created two more fiction series among others. Cornwell, a licensed helicopter pilot and scuba diver, actively researches the cutting-edge forensic technologies that inform her work. She was born in Miami, grew up in Montreat, NC, and now lives and works in Boston.
ALSO BY PATRICIA CORNWELL
SCARPETTA SERIES
Dust
The Bone Bed
Red Mist
Port Mortuary
The Scarpetta Factor
Scarpetta
Book of the Dead
Predator
Trace
Blow Fly
The Last Precinct
Black Notice
Point of Origin
Unnatural Exposure
Cause of Death
From Potter’s Field
The Body Farm
Cruel and Unusual
All That Remains
Body of Evidence
Postmortem
NONFICTION
Portrait of a Killer: Jack the Ripper—Case Closed
ANDY BRAZIL SERIES
Isle of Dogs
Southern Cross
Hornet’s Nest
WIN GARANO SERIES
The Front
At Risk
BIOGRAPHY
Ruth, A Portrait: The Story of Ruth Bell Graham
OTHER WORKS
Food to Die For: Secrets from Kay Scarpetta’s Kitchen
Life’s Little Fable
Scarpetta’s Winter Table
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
http://www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
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Toronto, ON, M4W, 1A8, Canada
http://www.harpercollins.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
77-85 Fulham Palace Road
London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
http://www.harpercollins.com
Patricia Cornwell, Flesh and Blood
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