The Night in Question

Going into the living room, she picked up the photo of Janice and herself at the beach. It was fairly recent; her own hair was the same length. Carefully, she slipped the photo out of the frame and stuck between the photo and the cardboard backing was a small slip of paper with a phone number.

She stopped toweling her hair dry and dialed the number. It rang six times, then went to voice mail. Unfortunately it was one of those pre-recorded voicemail announcements and not personalized. “Hi, this—” she started, then snapped the phone shut. What if the number belonged to whomever it was who’d tried to kill her? Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her voice in the two syllables.

“Maybe you need to get a grip,” Kresley told herself as she went around the apartment checking every lock.

She dried her hair, applied some makeup and managed to contort enough to dress in a green sleeveless, ruffled-neck blouse and white capris. Going back to the computer, she entered her birth date as a possible password. She was rewarded with a bright red error screen. Kresley tried her birth date backward. Another red error screen. Then just for the heck of it, she tried the ten digits she’d found hidden beneath the frame. Bingo she was in. Sort of.

There were several file folders in the computer, and many of those led to subfolders. The Gianni folder was the only name she recognized. The main folder contained five subfolders. Janice, Emma, Paula, Abby and Kresley. Unfortunately, no matter what she tried, the computer wouldn’t let her open any of the files.

Giving up, she went to the Internet and typed in the telephone number that had gotten her into the computer. It wasn’t listed on any of the public sites. Then she searched for herself and found her cell phone number. Writing it on a small piece of paper, she hit the redial number on the phone and again had it automatically connect her with Gabe Langston.

“Langston.”

“Hi, it’s Kresley. Any luck finding my bank or cell company?”

He rattled off account numbers and the names and addresses of the closest branches and stores. “You own a lime-green VW Beetle,” he added. “Is it there?”

Kresley peeked out of the drawn drapes. “No.”

“I’ll have someone check the parking lot at the docks.”

“I’ve found a phone number and some names. Is there any way—”

“Read them off.”

Kresley did as he asked and in a matter of seconds, he had the names of her roommates. Emma Rooper, Abby Howell and Janice Cross. Only Paula remained unidentified.

“That’s interesting.”

“What?”

“Janice Cross. That’s the woman in the photo that Matt was so interested in learning more about.”

KRESLEY FIGURED her landlady would be a lot more accommodating if she showed up with the back rent. She was glad Gabe had warned her about her thick-necked shadow because he stuck to her like glue as she walked the block and a half to her bank.

She was a lefty with a bandaged left hand and unfortunately the withdrawal slip required her signature. If they asked for ID, she was toast. If she had to guess, her identification was somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic. The best she could muster was an old expired driver’s license she’d found in her panty drawer.

A thin sheen of perspiration covered her as she waited in the orderly line, created by burgundy velvet ropes. The entire time, she prayed silently. Prayed that she had enough money. Prayed that she wouldn’t get snagged by lack of identification.

A year later—okay, it just felt that long—Kresley stepped up to the available teller. “Hi, I’m—”

“Kresley! What happened to your hand?” the young brunette woman with the cheery smile asked.

“Um, accident with a knife,” she said as she slid the withdrawal slip across the veneered counter.

“You should be more careful….”

Kresley tuned her out, not to be rude but because she was relieved at not being interrogated. She’d been so terrified of not being able to answer questions, she’d actually written her address and birth date on the palm of her good hand.

“Here you go,” the teller said with a wave and a broad grin. “One money order, a receipt and a hundred dollars.” The teller set them out as if dealing a hand of cards.

“Thank you,” Kresley said, sticking it all inside her empty purse and stepping away from the window.

Her next stop was the phone store where she bought a cell phone. Then, as the sun was setting, she walked the short distance back to her apartment complex, in search of her landlady. She knocked on the door and the landlady yelled to come in. She’d supplemented her central air conditioning with a large window unit that made a strained rattling sound. Her apartment was the same floor plan as Kresley’s, though instead of a living room, she had it set up as an office.

“What now?”

“I brought back your phone and I want to clear up my back rent.” She reached into her purse and handed over the money order.

Scowling, the woman pursed lips that were poorly outlined in an unnatural orange-brown. “I’ve been hounding you for months. How come you can pay now?”

“Does it matter?” Kresley asked.

The woman shrugged and her dull brown eyes narrowed. “Need something else?”

“I want a copy of the rental agreement and background checks on me and my roommates if possible.”

“Sure,” the landlady shrugged and rolled a cheap office chair over to the filing cabinets and took out a file marked 1B. She rolled over to a copy machine, managing to do everything without ever leaving her chair. Kresley thanked her.

Her response was, “Yeah, well, just remember next month’s rent is due in sixteen days.”

Returning to her apartment, Kresley heard a car pulling into the lot. The sound spooked her, so she jerked her head to see if it was her thick-necked bodyguard.

It was Matt’s Jeep.

“Before you get mad,” he began before he even cut the engine. “I’m here on Kendall’s orders. She said with the concussion someone should check on you. I’m just—” Matt stopped in mid-sentence to answer his cell. “DeMarco.”

“It’s Gabe. The Coast Guard just found the Carolina Moon.”

“And?”

“Lots of blood and lots of bodies.”

“Janice?”

“Sorry, all I got from my contact was two female victims and three male victims.”

Chapter Four

He probably should have told Kresley that the yacht had been found, but since he didn’t know her involvement or lack thereof, it seemed prudent to keep her out of the loop.

Finding the rental applications on the coffee table was something of a bonanza. He’d been fully prepared to show his badge and get them from the landlady, however, Kresley had apparently saved him the trouble. This whole thing had already blossomed out of control and he needed to get a grip on it before it got any worse.

Since it would take at least four hours for the Coast Guard to tow the Carolina Moon into port and then process the scene, Matt sat on Kresley’s sofa until she fell asleep. Before he left for the dock to see what he could find out, Matt took Kresley’s cell to make a clone of it. Not ethical but it was for her safety, and might help him get a solid lead on Janice, and what she was involved in.

Then he went over to the laptop, tapped the touchpad and brought it to life. He logged into the FBI database. Emma Rooper and Abby Howell appeared to be normal young women. Abby was a waitress at a restaurant called The Grille in Summerville. Emma worked for a pawn shop. He accessed their tax returns and found that in the past three years, neither of the women had made more than twenty grand. Matt typed in Kresley’s information.

Eyes Only.

“What the hell?” Matt said, reentering his password and again attempting to access her file. Same result.

Sitting back in the chair, he raked his fingers through his hair trying to figure out why a grad student in South Carolina would have an Eyes Only FBI file.

Using his cell phone, he called Gabe. “Can you check to see the last time Kresley’s phone was used?” Matt asked, then gave him the number.

“Day before yesterday at 7:20 p.m.”

“What number was called?” Matt asked.

Gabe read it off, then had Matt hold while he called it. “Nothing. My guess is it’s a prepaid. It’s going straight to voice mail.”

“I’ll swing by and get you,” Matt said.

He checked on Kresley. She was fast asleep and his sympathies went out to her. He was fairly certain sure that she was hip-deep—whether she knew it or not—in whatever Janice was up to now.

The only illumination in the room was a small sliver of moonlight slicing through the room. It gave Kresley’s pretty face a soft glow. Absently, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then he left to meet up with Gabe and get an up-close look at the 135-foot yacht, the Carolina Moon.

“Do you know any more yet?” Matt asked as Gabe squeezed his six-foot-four-inch frame into the passenger’s seat of the Jeep.

Gabe shook her head.

The short ride felt like it took forever. Matt steeled himself, half expecting to find Janice zipped into one of the body bags.

“What took them so long to bring the yacht in?” Matt asked.

“It drifted into international waters. Usual governmental jurisdictional bullshit. Present company excepted.”

If Janice wasn’t on the boat, then where was she? What had happened? The only person who could answer that, he suspected, was Kresley. Even though he felt a clock ticking away the minutes, he had to wait out her trauma-induced amnesia.

When they reached the dock, banks of high-power floodlights shone down on every nook and cranny. The yacht was a Heesen—worth from eight to eighty million, depending on the accessories. Matt parked and, thanks to Gabe’s friendship with Gary Ross, one of the detectives, they were welcomed beneath the yellow crime-scene tape at the end of the dock.

He was a good ten feet from the boat but Matt could easily see the blood on the deck, splattered everywhere. It even ran down the sides of the white hull.

The medical examiner’s minions were unzipping five body bags. Gabe quietly said something to Detective Ross, then they were given paper booties and allowed aboard. Ross came over to Matt and asked, “Is this the woman you think was on the boat?”

He shook his head. “That’s not Janice.”

Ross led him to the second corpse. “How about her?”

“No. Not her, either.” Matt felt a weight lift off his shoulders.

“Recognize this?” Ross asked, holding a small sealed bag with a single earring in it.

He recognized it all right. It belonged to Kresley. She’d been wearing its mate when he found her.

Matt was trying to find a way to equivocate without actually lying outright when Gabe spoke up.

“You IDed the men?” Gabe asked, steering the detective toward the male victims.

Ross nodded. “That one,” he said pointing to the one being lifted to a gurney, “according to his driver’s license, is Thomas Gibson, Jr. The other one is Jason Wellington, Jr.”

“They had their identification on them?” Matt asked.

Ross nodded. “Oddly, neither of the women had purses. The guys were in tuxes and the women in fancy gowns, but they had no purses. Hell, my wife won’t drive to the corner store without a purse.”

“What about the captain—?”

“Found his body below deck. Wasn’t sliced and diced like the other four. Shot.”

“With a .22?” Matt asked.

“You psychic or do you have something you’d like to share with the class?”

“Just a guess,” Matt shrugged. Had the captain been shot with the same weapon used on Kresley? “Have you found the gun?”

“Not the gun. Not the knife,” the detective replied.

Matt strolled carefully along the edge of the yacht, taking care not to disturb the blood. “The dinghy is still tied up.”

Gabe and the detective came up beside him. “So, unless the purses and weapons helped each other off the boat, they had company.”

“Did you dust the ladder?” Matt asked.

“Lots of smudges and a partial. Small, either a man’s pinkie finger or could be a woman’s print.”

“Have they been run yet?” Matt asked.

“Not yet,” Ross said. “Once we finish processing the scene, then we’ll start scanning the prints through the system.”

Gabe patted Ross on the back. “Sounds like you’ve got it all covered.”

“Naw, too much blood,” Ross countered. “And the galley is stocked for eight dinner guests. I think what we’re looking at is half a crime scene.”

SO FOUR OF the dinner guests were missing. This fact gave Matt a glimmer of hope. Especially after he saw the smudge of red paint along the port side of the yacht. Now all he needed to do was find a red boat that might have been tied up to the yacht—one of whose occupants may have been Janice. Only problem? Too many maybes and assumptions. Truth be told, there was a greater possibility that Janice had been killed and her body tossed into the ocean.

Near dawn he headed back to Kresley. He knocked on the door of possibly the only person with answers to what had gone down on the yacht—if she could only remember them.

IT HAD BEEN more than twenty-four hours since Matt had pulled her out of the ocean and what had Kresley learned? That she was a left-handed woman who was behind on her rent, even though she had sufficient funds in her bank account to make the fifteen-hundred-dollar payment. Oh, and the gown. “Let’s not forget the gown,” she muttered as she got up on tiptoes and peered through the peephole.

“Good morning,” she said, opening the door just enough so that turned sideways, she was blocking his path.

“Smells like you made muffins,” he said with a smile that reached all the way to his eyes.

She couldn’t help but smile back. “One-handed, no less.”

“Do I get one? I did save your life.”

Kresley tilted her head to one side. “You know this isn’t I Dream of Jeannie. I’m not going to do your bidding for the rest of my life.”

“I am not feeling the gratitude.”

“If I give you a muffin, will you go away?”

“Maybe. Why, you have a big day planned?”

He followed her inside and couldn’t resist asking, “Any more memories or flashes?”

She shook her head. “Sorry,” she said as she took a lemon-and-poppy-seed muffin off a plate and handed it to him.

“Then why so chipper?” He shoved his hands into the front pockets of his shorts.

She turned, her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Having Thor helps,” she admitted.

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