Killer Honeymoon Part 14

"I guess the Northrops are those people you're always hearing about who shouldn't throw stones," she added.

"No kidding. Can you picture yourself living in something like that?"

"Not on your life. You can see everything right now, in the daytime. It'd be way worse at night."

"So much for running around in the buff," he mused, "and there'd be nothing left to the imagination when you made love. Even worse when nature called."

"Okay," she said, turning off the key and handing it to him. "Don't say I never gave you nothin'."

"Gee, you're too generous."

"So, are we buddies again?"

"I wanna drive it the whole rest of the day."

She leaned over and puckered up. "Every other trip. That's the rule."

He gave her a quick peck, then glanced at the house. "If we can see in, they can see out. We might lose some credibility if they catch us smooching."

"Point taken."

They got out of the car and walked up to the front door, which was, of course, also gla.s.s.

They watched as a woman wearing a white dress appeared from somewhere in the back of the house and hurried to the door to greet them.

She was a dignified, middle-aged lady, with long brown hair and very large brown eyes. She had a slight accent, which sounded German, when she said, "h.e.l.lo. Won't you come inside?"

She ushered them into the living room and gestured toward a large white leather sectional sofa. "Please have a seat and make yourself comfortable. Mr. Northrop will be with you in a moment. May I get you some refreshment? Something cold to drink perhaps?"

"No, thank you," Savannah said. "We're fine."

But Savannah wasn't fine at all, she decided as the maid left them and walked toward the rear of the house. In fact, she was really dreading this conversation.

It was never easy to speak with those who had recently lost someone close to them. That difficulty was compounded if the loss had been a result of violence. Then, to that terrible mix, was the additional misery that William Northrop himself had recently been a victim of an attack.

Savannah knew all too well what that was like.

But being aware of all these sad factors was little preparation for the emotional jolt she felt when Northrop descended the stairs and stood before them.

He was a tall, thin man, perhaps in his midforties, with hair that had once been dark but was now silver on the sides. It was cut in a gentleman's conservative style, which made Savannah think of high-ranking politicians' hairstyles.

He was wearing black silk pajamas, leather slippers, and a robe of thick, luxurious charcoal cashmere-the exact evening attire she'd imagined that Ryan Stone wore . . . that is, before she'd become a married woman and sworn off such fantasies.

He could have stepped directly from his exotic gla.s.s house straight onto the glossy cover of any men's fashion magazine. Except for his eyes.

They were an unusual shade of pale gray that Savannah had never seen before. But that wasn't what startled her.

What she found unsettling was how terribly red and swollen they looked. If the eyes were the windows of the soul, this man's soul had been destroyed.

When he and Savannah looked at each other, she felt a chill sweep over her.

She could recall a few times-but only a very few-when, for a moment, she might have felt as empty and completely joyless as this man did. But, thankfully, those periods had been brief. Her world had righted itself and life was good again.

But as she looked into William Northrop's eyes, it occurred to Savannah that the damage to this man's life was too great for him ever to recover fully. The wound to his soul appeared totally devastating and permanent.

She held out her hand to him. "Mr. Northrop," she said, "my name is Savannah Reid. This is Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter. We're so very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," he said, his verbal response as weak as his handshake. "I was told you might be coming. Won't you sit down?" He motioned to the white leather sofa.

Savannah and Dirk sat as directed.

Northrop walked over to a chrome chair. He slowly, carefully, and stiffly sank into it. One of his hands was clasped against his belly, on his right side just below his waist.

Savannah knew the routine. She, herself, had moved exactly that way while recuperating from her wounds. As she watched him, it was as though she could feel every searing pain in her own body all over again.

"It'll get better with time," she told him, thinking how lame and trite the words sounded. "The physical pain, at any rate," she added in an attempt to be completely honest.

"So my doctors tell me," Northrop replied.

Dirk cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir, but a moment ago, you said you were told we might be coming around. May I ask who told you that?"

"Charlotte La Cross. Or, I guess I should say, Chief La Cross. It's hard to call her by her t.i.tle when we've been friends for so many years."

Oh, great, Savannah thought. He's bosom buddies with Dragon Lady. Just what we need.

"Did she mention that my wife and I saw your wife . . . saw what happened to her?" Dirk asked.

Northrop grimaced and put his hand quickly to his belly. "Yes. She said you were eyewitnesses."

"We were," Savannah added. "I'm sorry to say."

"I'm sorry for you that you had to see it." Northrop closed his eyes for a moment. Savannah wondered what he might be envisioning behind his lids. "But for Amelia's sake, I'm glad you were there."

He took a deep breath and struggled for his next words. "I don't think I could have stood it if I'd heard she died alone. I'm glad you were with her when she . . ."

Savannah nodded. "If it's any comfort to you, I believe she pa.s.sed peacefully . . . under the circ.u.mstances. She didn't appear to be in pain or in a lot of distress."

A sob caught in his throat and he pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes. "Thank you for that. I was wondering, but I couldn't ask."

"I understand. And there's one other thing," Savannah added, "it may give you comfort to know that her last words were about you."

"Really? What did she say?"

Savannah decided not to tell him that she had been asking the woman for the name of the person who had killed her. Or that she had denied it was him. "Just your name. She spoke it several times."

"I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse," Northrop said. "I should have been there to protect her."

"You can't protect somebody from bullets," Dirk said.

A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment.

Dirk cleared his throat. "Hopefully, your good buddy Charlotte mentioned that your wife didn't die by drowning, like they said on the evening news."

"Yes, she told me what really happened."

"Well, it was your friend," Dirk said, "or somebody from her department, who released that false story to the media. Why do you think she's done something like that?"

"To protect me."

Savannah wasn't sure how she'd expected him to reply. But that wasn't what she was antic.i.p.ating. "Protect you? How?"

At that moment, the maid appeared with a crystal tumbler filled with water, along with a bottle of pills. "I'm sorry, Mr. Northrop," she said. "I don't want to interrupt, but it's time for your medicine. The doctor said it was important for you to take it when-"

"It's okay. Thank you," Northrop said as he put a pill into his mouth and washed it down with the water.

He waited until the maid was well out of earshot before he answered Savannah's question. "Charlotte told me that she's sure you're attributing evil motives to her actions, and you shouldn't do that. Her intentions are honorable."

"I don't know what kind of law books she uses, but in my book there's nothing honorable about covering up a murder," Dirk said with his usual degree of tact.

Savannah gave Northrop what she hoped was a sympathetic, conciliatory smile, though she had to agree with Dirk. Some things you just didn't lie about. And a homicide was one of them.

"Perhaps," she said sweetly, "you can explain what you mean by that."

"It's complicated," Northrop said.

"Why don't you just spell it out and us dummies'll try to follow along," Dirk replied.

"What happened to me," Northrop began, "and, of course, what happened to poor Amelia . . . those are only two chapters in a long, difficult saga."

"Then why don't you start with chapter one," Savannah said.

"It started a couple of years ago when I came up with the idea of building a casino-hotel complex here on the island. Tourism is the lifeblood of Santa Tesla, but it's been steadily declining in the past decade."

With some effort, he stood and slowly walked over to an elegant accent table, which had pictures displayed on it. He picked up one of himself and Amelia and looked at it as he continued. "Amelia and I loved this place, ever since we honeymooned here five years ago. And we wanted to help the island and its people, if we could."

"You thought a gambling joint would elevate the standard of living?" Dirk asked .

Savannah cringed and gave him a reproving frown.

"You'd be surprised how much revenue a casino can bring to an area," Northrop replied. "It would save this island's economy. Something has to be done. The full-time residents are leaving in droves. They love it here, but if they can't keep a roof over their heads or feed their families, they can't stay."

"What does all this have to do with what happened to you and Amelia?" Savannah asked.

"Building the casino isn't without opposition here on the island," Northrop replied as he replaced the photo on the table.

"Imagine that." Dirk gave a little sniff. "Some people complaining that it'll bring in organized crime and political corruption, breed more prost.i.tution and gambling addictions, more broken homes, stuff like that?"

Northrop fixed him with a long, pointed stare before he replied in quite an even tone. "Yes, some have mentioned those things in pa.s.sing. But, actually, our biggest opposition is from some environmental groups that object to us developing the land-no matter what we intend to build."

"What's their major complaint?" Savannah asked.

"They're terribly concerned that we might disrupt a couple of species that are endangered, or whatever. They're all up in arms about something called the island fox and some special jaybirds and flowers called silver lotuses."

"And the groups trying to protect those animals seem stupid to you?" Dirk asked. He always sided with the animals. People, Dirk didn't like so much; but when it came to protecting critters, he was rabid.

"It seems to me," Northrop said, looking annoyed, "that once we brought out the bulldozers, the foxes and birds would simply move to another part of the island. And if the environmentalists are all that worried about the lotus plants, we could dig them up and transplant them anywhere they suggest."

"How upset are these environmentalists?" Savannah asked.

"Enough to threaten me."

"What did they threaten to do to you?" Dirk asked, all ears.

"They said that if I broke ground on the project, they would see to it that I paid the 'ultimate price.' " He looked back at the picture on the table. "Now I have."

"So you've broken ground on the casino property?" Savannah asked.

Northrop nodded. "Seventeen days ago."

Something clicked in Savannah's head, something that Tammy had said. "When were you shot?"

"Sixteen days ago."

"How did it happen?"

Northrop walked back to his chair and sat down. If possible, he even looked more exhausted than when he had first come down the stairs. "We had gone out to dinner at the Lobster Bisque. That's our favorite little seafood hut, down in the harbor. We walked back to our car, which was parked in a lot behind the restaurant. I was opening Amelia's pa.s.senger door and this guy walked up to us. He was wearing a white shirt and black pants, like what the waiters in the restaurant wore. So, at first, I thought maybe Amelia had left her doggy bag, like she always did. We frequently had waiters chase us to our car with her leftovers."

He paused, steeled himself, and continued. "But when he lifted his hand, he wasn't holding a bag. It was a gun. The next thing I knew, he'd shot me."

"What happened then?" Dirk asked.

"At first, I didn't even realize I was hurt. It was more like a weird bad dream."

Savannah nodded, remembering. "Yes. It's sort of surreal. Until the pain kicks in. That jerks you back to reality, fast and furious."

"True. I didn't know how bad it was until Amelia saw the front of my shirt, and she started screaming. She shoved me into the car and drove me to the hospital."

"You have a hospital on this island?" Dirk asked.

"It's more like a clinic. But they saved my life. Once the casino's up and running, I'm going to build them a new facility to say, 'Thank you.' "

"How long were you in the hospital . . . er . . . clinic?" Savannah asked.

"Two weeks. Amelia came to see me every day, and that was quite a sacrifice for her, what with her long LA commute. She was a devoted wife."

"So they released you the day before she was, you know . . . ?" Dirk made an inane wave of his hand.

Savannah had noticed years ago, that Dirk had a difficult time saying the hardest words and often left blanks in his sentences when discussing heartbreaking subjects. Especially when talking to the families of the recently deceased.