Dead Roots Page 22

  She remembered the men who’d tried to run on the beach. They’d been shot down. Was death the punishment for attempting to escape? Or had they been hit by sleep darts like she’d been? But then what about the painter on his ladder?

  She felt as though they were in over their heads when they followed George Butler in his van several hours into the morning. He’d loaded a crew of laborers to take into town. Except they didn’t go into town; they headed off on a country road that led through orange groves into the boondocks.

  “Where could he be taking them?” Marla asked, gripping her seat cushion as their car bumped over a rocky surface.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Vail grated. He’d missed breakfast after catching only four hours’ sleep. Butler had left at the crack of dawn, and the detective had been keeping watch. Recognizing his foul mood, Marla kept her thoughts to herself.

  She had gotten dressed in time to observe the workmen filing into the manager’s vehicle. They didn’t appear to be the same ruffians who’d landed on the beach last night. Instead, she recognized some of the same guys she had seen before on the resort property. They must rotate, giving new arrivals time to get indoctrinated. Or to get their false identity papers ready. No wonder Sugar Crest had so many laborers.

  Vail maintained a safe distance from the van in front that kicked up dust in its wake. They were heading east, judging from the sun on their windshield, although the rows of citrus trees on either side of the road blocked any perspective. A truck drove into view, coming straight at them, oranges piled high behind the cab. Vail veered out of its path, edging onto the shoulder, until it rattled past. Large tracts of land devoted to agriculture proved that urban development hadn’t superseded Florida’s rural origins. Plenty of space available for habitation remained. Marla hoped expansion wouldn’t ever run the open range to ground.

  “Look, he’s turned into that driveway,” Vail said. Passing by at a slow crawl, they read a sign for Parlay Farms. “This must be where he unloads his crew. I’ve never heard of the place, have you?” Without waiting for her reply, he pulled off the road beside a cluster of cabbage palms and cut the ignition. His stomach growled in the sudden silence.

  “You must be hungry,” Marla told him. “Want an apple? I stole one from the buffet yesterday. It’ll give you some energy.” Rummaging in her purse, she withdrew the piece of fruit along with a chocolate-chunk granola bar.

  “We have to stop meeting like this,” he said with a teasing grin as he accepted the snacks.

  “Oh, I don’t know. All this excitement turns on my engine.”

  “Yeah? I thought that was my job.”

  She suppressed a flare of desire. “Let’s wrap up this weekend so we can go home already. What do you suppose Butler is doing? We can’t just parade down there in the open. He’ll spot us, and we don’t have any backup.”

  Vail spoke between bites. “We’ll leave the car parked out here, if you don’t mind the hike. I’m not sure how far that driveway goes.” He demolished his quick breakfast, dumping the apple core into the empty wrapper and storing it for later disposal. Reaching into the backseat, he retrieved a 35mm camera. Then he pushed open his car door and got out.

  Marla followed suit. “At least it isn’t too hot yet,” she said, listening to birds twittering in the still morning air.

  “Don’t talk too loudly out here. Our voices may carry,” Vail warned.

  They tramped along the cracked asphalt on the tree-lined drive. The cool temperature made her glad she’d worn a scoop-neck sweater with her jeans and canvas shoes.

  As they proceeded toward a cluster of buildings, smells of bacon and toast reached her nostrils. Saliva pooled under her tongue. Their walk had already used up the calories she’d consumed from her nutrient bar earlier that morning. Careful to watch her footing, she trudged along the side of the road, remaining under cover of live oaks laced with Spanish moss. Gray tangles tickled her nose.

  “Do you think the workers live here in some kind of dormitory?” she asked, figuring them for a migrant labor force.

  “That depends on whether this is just a holding station or their final destination.”

  Marla didn’t like that word, final. What happened to these people after the growing season ended? As they neared the farmhouse, her eyes widened. “Are those men holding guns?”

  Vail’s arm shot out, bringing her to a halt “Get back.”

  She stood frozen, gawking at one of the workmen being dragged from the van, then beaten. Standing nonchalantly nearby, Butler conferred with a mustachioed man who muttered into a cell phone. When the fellow finished his call, the manager said something the other man appeared to dislike, gesturing wildly, spouting words Marla couldn’t hear. Vaguely aware that Vail had extended his telephoto lens and was snapping photos, she craned her neck for a better view.

  Butler accepted an envelope that the man thrust at him. More laborers filed from the van, lining up docilely for inspection by gun-toting foremen. All wore hats that shaded their faces, so Marla couldn’t see their expressions, but their grungy clothes over muscular bodies made them look dangerous.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she whispered. “Did you get enough pictures?”

  “I think so. In any event, Butler is liable to return soon. He’ll spot us on the road. We’d better cut through that cornfield.”

  Sawlike leaves hacked at her clothing as they retreated past the oaks to a dirt-packed trail lined with tall cornstalks. They’d walked for about five minutes when Marla noticed the direction of the sun had changed.

  Wiping perspiration from her brow, she shaded her face to scan the path ahead. She couldn’t see beyond the plants. “I don’t think we’re heading back to the road.” Her skin itched, and her parched throat longed for a drink. A dunk in the ocean now would bring welcome relief.

  Vail withdrew a pair of sunglasses from his shirt pocket and plunked them on his nose. “You’re right. Let’s try this way,” he said when they came to an intersection.

  They charged ahead, and suddenly the cornfield ended. In front of them were rows of tomato plants that offered no cover. Laborers bent to harvest the green fruits, and mean-looking henchmen ranged among them.

  “Uh oh, we don’t want to be here.” Vail tugged Marla back into the cornfield.

  “What if Butler finds our car parked by the road?” she said, urgency riddling her voice. She was hot, hungry, and craved a glass of water. Lost in the maze, they might get stuck there for hours. Stumbling over a piece of coral, she yelped when her foot agitated an anthill.

  An answering shout came from behind, followed by a crack and a rush of air.

  “They’re shooting at us.” Vail grabbed her arm and yanked her forward.

  They careened around a corner. After a series of turns, Marla gasped when they reached a dead end. A perpendicular row of stalks faced them without a break in sight.

  “Hold on, I know a trick that will help,” Vail said. “Ever use your watch as a compass?” He squinted at his wrist dial. “Point the hour hand at the sun. Midway between that point and twelve o’clock on your watch indicates a south heading. Here, this should be the right direction,” he said, gesturing.

  Following his lead, Marla trudged down an alley between towering plants until they finally emerged onto the main road. She breathed a sigh of relief. Vail’s car stood unmolested where they’d left it.

  After he unlocked the doors and checked for booby traps, she crumbled into her seat. Her eyes closed when he turned on the ignition and a whoosh of air-conditioning blasted her chest. She barely had the strength to fasten her seat belt. Too exhausted to speak, she sank back against the cushions while Vail made a U-turn and headed west.

  She heard him dial a number on his cell phone, ask for Hamilton, and in terse sentences explain what they’d observed. After a brief exchange, he hung up. Marla gave him a questioning glance.

  “It’ll take him some time to get warrants. He says to sit tight. In the meantime, we�
�ll mingle with your relatives. Butler still might not realize how much we know, and there’s always safety in numbers.”

  “But he caught me last night, and he’ll realize I’ve escaped. He won’t want me providing information to the cops.”

  “He didn’t kill you outright, so he must have some other purpose in mind for you. I’m betting it relates to your family.”

  “Why? Because he still hopes to find Grandfather’s loot? Why would he think I know something more than anyone else?”

  “Maybe you do.” He tilted his head. “You never finished reading Polly’s letters.”

  Marla stiffened. “Oh yeah. Let’s see what they say.” She opened his glove compartment and withdrew the stack they’d put there for safekeeping. Then her phone rang, so she stuffed the packet into her purse to examine later.

  “Hi, Ma,” she said upon hearing Anita’s lilting tone.

  “Aren’t you going to the outlet mall with us today, angel? I thought you wanted to go shopping.”

  “I’m kinda tired, so I think I’ll relax at the resort. What’s scheduled for later?” She didn’t like to be herded, although today was her last day with the family. Everyone would be leaving tomorrow.

  “Tonight’s the seafood buffet, followed by dancing under the stars,” Anita said. “Dalton told me he particularly wants to rock-and-roll with you in the moonlight.”

  Marla laughed. “You must be kidding. I have to pull him onto the dance floor.”

  “Well, you’d better be there,” her mother ordered. “Don’t get into any trouble while we’re gone this afternoon. And save some energy for your honeymoon.” Chuckling, Anita clicked off.

  Marla gave Vail a doleful glance. “Ma probably thinks we’re still in our room. She can’t know how unromantic this weekend has been. I’m sorry. Next time we go away together, I promise nothing will interfere.”

  His searing gaze boosted her hormones. “I’ll hold you to that, sweetcakes.”

  Hamilton was waiting for them when they arrived back at the resort. He commandeered Vail for a tour of the tunnels and posted a couple of his officers to keep a lookout for Butler. The manager hadn’t yet returned. Marla suggested he might have gone home.

  “We have someone watching his house,” Hamilton said. His brusque tone indicated his displeasure at spending his weekend on duty. Or maybe he was just frustrated by the lack of evidence surrounding his cases. All he needed was for one witness to crack, Marla thought.

  “Do you want me to look for Wanda?” she asked Vail. “She might respond to me better than a police interview, and I’d like to know she’s safe.”

  He laid a hand on her arm. “You can either go to our room and make sure all the exits are secure”—he winked meaningfully—“or stay by the pool where people can see you. Don’t wander off by yourself.”

  “It’ll be lunchtime soon. You’ve hardly eaten all morning. You need something to fill your stomach. “Playing the nurturer made her feel more in control.

  “I’ll worry about what I need, but I don’t want to worry about you. Understand?”

  “I could go with you.”

  “Why don’t you get cleaned up and have a bite to eat yourself? Let me just show John what we’ve found behind the scenes, and then I’ll join you.”

  Marla acquiesced without further argument, because she wanted to read the rest of Polly’s letters. She couldn’t concentrate until she’d showered and ordered a meal from room service, however. She didn’t feel like dining alone in any of the restaurants or at the pool snack bar. One of her relatives might snag her and then she’d never get to Polly’s packet.

  She couldn’t stay secluded in her room either, though. It was too beautiful outside. After downing her lunch—a chicken Caesar salad—and changing into black slacks, a turquoise top, and sandals, she packed her valuables into a large straw bag and headed outdoors.

  The beach drew her with its fresh sea air, soothing swoosh of the waves, and sunbaked sands. Having doused herself with coconut-scented sunscreen, she settled onto a lounge chair and withdrew the letters. Her spot was isolated enough to give her privacy, yet within screaming distance of other patrons in case a threat materialized. Though she didn’t think it would, not with the police patroling the grounds and rooting out Butler’s associates.

  Let’s see, she thought, unfolding one of the parchment-thin papers. The last couple of letters had pointed out how Ruth believed the two strangers visiting her husband may have been Nazi agents, seeking to end his operation of smuggling Jewish refugees to safety. Either Andrew had bribed the men to get them to leave, or Seto had helped him dispose of them. Andrew had used the secret passages and former speakeasy as the hiding place for his persecuted friends.

  Somehow, possibly through the original hotel blueprints, George Butler had learned about Andrew’s operation and used the idea to create a modern smuggling scheme. Where did Polly’s involvement come in?

  She scanned a couple of the previous letters to refresh her memory. Ruth suspected her siblings of hastening Andrew’s death so he wouldn’t ruin the family reputation. And this was because? Marla racked her brain while watching a pelican swoop after its prey. Oh yeah, Andrew had married Ruth under a false name. He’d stolen the identity of a Polish peasant and fled Russia during the Revolution. The alexandrite stones he’d brought with him had either belonged to his own royal family or been stolen.

  Shortly before the two visitors wearing Cossack hats had shown up, Polly married Vincent. He’d been a fortune hunter who, disappointed when she didn’t inherit riches from her father, had sought consolation with her younger sister. Caught in the act, he’d fled, never to return. Nor had Polly inherited a share in the plantation, according to the sale papers in Butler’s office.

  Her lips puckered. There wouldn’t be any way of telling if Butler’s document was a true copy of the original or not. If this wasn’t what concerned Polly, what else had she been guarding so diligently?

  Marla read the letter in her hand.

  Vincent,

  No dearest or darling, Marla noted, and this letter was dated months after the last

  .

  I realize now that too much time has passed for us to mend things easily. I despair of finding you and have set the task upon Seto’s shoulders to locate you. This he willingly does for me even though I know it pains him. Sometimes I feel like Alyssa must have felt, forbidden to love a man considered beneath her station. I might have looked toward Seta were he not one of our hired hands. But you captured my heart instead. Know this, Vincent. While I keep these letters for you, I have hired a private investigator. He will inform Seto of what he learns, who will in turn tell me. I need to use him as intermediary so Mama doesn’t find out what I am about, or she’d cut off my allowance. I am praying that you mean to return and are only waiting for word from me to come flying back into my arms.

  Marla glanced up, squinting at the horizon through a pair of dark sunshades. So Alyssa’s tale had been real, not a figment of Butler’s imagination. Interesting, but irrelevant.

  After skimming through several pages of brown-edged stationery wherein Polly never gave up hope of being reunited with her only love, Marla withdrew a sheet dated years after Vincent had disappeared.

  In it Seto reported that the detective had found Vincent, who’d died of pneumonia in the interim.

  Heartbroken, Polly had continued to write to Vincent as though he were still alive.

  Wait…Seto had told Polly about Vincent’s death. But what if he’d lied to the woman he loved, who could never give him her heart? Or at the very least, omitted part of the PI’s report?

  Someone at Sugar Crest felt threatened by Mulch, who’d said over the phone, “I know who you are.” Brownie spied for this person. Who could it be, unless…?

  Connecting the links led her directly to the one individual whose motives still eluded her.

  Clang…clang. The hairs on her nape rose. Wasn’t that the slave bell by the old sugar mill? Twisting her
neck, she glanced at the other sunbathers, but no one seemed to notice the sound except her. Don’t be stupid, Marla. You can’t go alone to the ruins again. Remember what happened the last time?

  She’d stuffed her beach bag and was on her way before she dialed Vail on her cell phone. “Where are you?” she demanded when he answered on the second ring.

  “I’m in Oleander Hall. We found Miss Beake, drugged but quite unharmed. I think she’ll sing like a bird once she’s more fully awake. We found a lot of other interesting stuff, too, up on the fourth floor.” His jaunty tone showed his pleasure.

  “Can you leave it for the local cops to handle? I’m heading over to the sugar mill. Meet me there. I think Mulch used to hang out with Alyssa’s ghost for a reason.” She cut him off before hearing his protest.

  If she was right, she’d soon find the answers to most of her questions. Marla only hoped the wrong person hadn’t gotten to them first.

  Chapter Twenty

  Marla followed the sound of the tolling bell toward the crumbling stone walls set among creeping vines and veils of Spanish moss. She veered around a long dried-up well, now a pit coated with slime-covered chunks of rock and holding layers of dead leaves instead of water. Past the cistern that collected rainwater, she saw a stone arch disappearing beneath a strangler fig. An adjacent archway seemed to lead somewhere, so she stepped through and found herself surrounded by walls that stretched toward the trees. Their canopy cut through the sunlight, enhancing shadows that played with her imagination. The smell of rotting vegetation permeated air that seemed charged with images of times past.

  Her sandals crunched over dry twigs as she crossed the grassy plateau to a stone slab. Beyond, on a higher level, rose the thirty-foot-high chimney stack. Spector’s team member had captured the vortex at its base.