LITMIR.BIZ

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Cape Diablo shimmered on the horizon, a lush emerald green gilded by the dying light. For a moment, as the sun hung suspended in a painted sky, the island seemed bathed in gold. A glowing sanctuary that beckoned to the weary traveler.

      Grabbing her camera, Carrie snapped a few shots, but as they approached the island, the sky deepened and the water turned dark, as if a giant shadow had crept over the whole area. It was a strange phenomenon, a trick of the light that seemed too much like an omen. Carrie couldn’t seem to shake off a gnawing fear. The place seemed so wild and primitive. Anything could have happened to Tia out here.

      As they approached the island, Carrie could just make out the red roofline of the house through the trees and to the right, an old, wooden boathouse nestled in a tiny cove.

      Trawick turned the bow neatly toward the inlet and after a few moments, cut the engine. As they drifted silently toward the pier, Carrie became aware of a dozen sounds. Water lapping at the hull…the startled flight of an egret…an insect buzzing near her ear.

      And, in the distance, a scream.

      Her glance shot to Cochburn. “What was that?” she asked in alarm.

      “A falcon, most likely.” He put up a hand to shade his eyes as he searched the sky. “There it is. See it? Circling just above the treetops.”

      “A falcon?” Carrie asked doubtfully. “Way out here?”

      “These islands are on the migration route. Maybe this one got lost from its cast as they flew north. When I was a kid, you could come out here in the spring and fall and spot dozens flying over Cape Diablo. My father said Andres found a wounded one once and nursed it back to health. He kept it in captivity for a number of years, but I suppose it was released after his disappearance. Who knows?” He gave Carrie an enigmatic smile. “Maybe the one you just heard is a descendant.”

      A wounded falcon seeking refuge on Cape Diablo.

      Cochburn didn’t seem to realize the irony, but to Carrie, it was yet one more clue as to why Tia had chosen such a remote location. If she’d known Cape Diablo was on the migratory route of the falcon, she might have taken it as a sign. She seemed so…mystical these days.

      As the boat thudded softly against the rubber tires hanging from the pier, Cochburn climbed out and offered a hand down to Carrie. Gathering up her bag and cap, she grabbed his hand and let him pull her up.

      They left Trawick unloading the supplies as they made their way along a trail that wound through a jungle of mangroves. In spite of the insect repellant she’d sprayed on before leaving the marina, Carrie had to constantly swat mosquitoes from her face as they emerged into what had once been a landscaped yard but was now overgrown with palmettos, bromeliads and swamp grass.

      The house itself was still magnificent, a Spanish-style villa that appeared untouched by time as the late-afternoon sun glinted off arched windows and turned the white facade into gleaming amber. Carrie caught her breath. She’d never seen such a beautiful place.

      But almost immediately she realized the soft light had created an illusion. A closer examination revealed the overall state of disrepair. Some of the roof tiles were missing and the salt air had rusted the ornate wrought iron trim around the windows and balconies. In dreary corners, lichen and moss inched like a shadow over crumbling stucco walls.

      A subtle movement drew Carrie’s gaze to one of the balconies, and as she lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the glare, she saw the outline of a woman standing at the railing looking down at them. Carrie couldn’t make out her features clearly, but she had the impression of age and frailty.

      And then a strange dread gripped her. As their gazes clung for the longest moment, Carrie suddenly had an overpowering sensation that she was in the presence of evil.

      Whether it was coming from the woman on the balcony or someone else on the island, she had no idea.

      Chapter Two

      Carrie must have made some inadvertent sound because Cochburn stopped on the path and glanced around. “What’s wrong?”

      “I’m…not sure.” Her gaze was still on the balcony, but the woman had stepped back into the shadows so that Carrie could no longer see her. “I thought I saw someone up there.”

      Cochburn glanced warily at the house. “It was probably Alma Garcia. Her quarters are on the third floor. She must have heard the boat.”

      “It was so strange,” Carrie murmured. “For a moment, I thought…”

      “What?” he asked sharply.

      She shook her head. “Nothing. I got the impression she wasn’t too happy to see us, that’s all.”

      He shrugged, but not before Carrie had seen something dark in his eyes. “She’s not exactly thrilled with having tenants on the property, but she’s harmless. Crazy as a bat, but harmless. You don’t need to concern yourself with her. I doubt you’ll even see her again. She keeps to herself most of the time.” He turned back to the path. “Come along. Tia’s apartment is this way.”

      Crazy as a bat, but harmless.

      Hardly a ringing endorsement, Carrie thought uneasily. Just what had she gotten herself into?

      Not that she was in any position to judge. She’d spent more than a few hours on a therapist’s couch herself.

      And Tia…

      Poor Tia had her problems, as well. A precarious mental state was nothing new for her, unfortunately, which was why Carrie was so worried about her.

      Tia had been emotionally fragile for years, but Carrie had hoped that she’d grown stronger since they last met. Evidently not, or she would have stayed and faced Trey herself on their wedding day.

      Unless she had good reason not to.

      Cochburn led Carrie around to the back of the house and through an old gate that opened into a large, central courtyard enclosed on one side by a long L-shaped wing of the main house and on the other by a freestanding, two-story pool house. At the far end was a cracked adobe wall topped with faded red tiles that matched the roof. Terra-cotta pots dotted the stone floor, but the flowers had mostly withered in the heat and the water in the pool was blackish green and opaque.

      In spite of the obvious neglect, however, touches of a once-gorgeous oasis remained in the cascade of scarlet bougainvillea over the walls and in the tinkle of a nearby fountain. A lazy breeze drifted through the palm fronds, carrying the scent of jasmine and the barest hint of rain. And through an arched opening in the back wall, Carrie caught tantalizing glimpses of water undulating in the sunset like yards and yards of russet satin.

      The only thing to disturb the almost total quiet was the sound of the ocean and the distant drone of a generator that supplied the island’s electricity.

      Carrie wanted a moment to take it all in, but Robert Cochburn seemed in no mood to linger.

      “Your friend’s apartment is just over there.” He pointed to the pool house. Like the main house, it was white stucco with a red tile roof and a curving staircase that led up to a shady loggia on the second level. “She’s on the ground floor.”

      “Thank you for taking the time to come out here with me,” Carrie told him. “I’m not sure I could have found the right island without you. You never said, but…how did Tia know about this place?”

      “She saw one of our newspaper ads,” Cochburn said. “The same way most of our tenants hear about the apartments.”

      Carrie nodded. “I assumed it was something like that. Well, thanks again for everything.”

      He smiled. “No problem. Glad I could help.”

      She watched until he disappeared through the gate, then she turned to Tia’s apartment. Carrie had no idea the kind of reception that was in store for her. Tia was hard to predict. She could be warm and effusive one moment, distant and brooding the next. But Carrie understood

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