Down and Dead in Dallas, page 29
“World’s crazy these days. But that’s really nuts.” He grunted. “Sounds to me like you need a stiff drink. I would.” Captain Dave’s expression turned solemn. “Afraid all I’ve got on board is beer.”
“A beer would be great.” I hate beer. Don’t just not like it, I hate it. But I needed a second of privacy to disable the radio. “I’ll take the wheel.”
“You know how to drive a boat?”
“Sure. My dad had one.” I didn’t like lying, but maybe I wasn’t. He could have a boat. Course, I’d never know it since I have no idea who he is or what he has. And I had no idea how to drive a boat. But it couldn’t be much different from driving a car. Besides, what could I hit? There wasn’t a thing in sight moving but water. The boat passed another channel marker. I looked back to shore and pegged the lighthouse. If I aimed for it, I’d stay on target, swimming back.
The captain took the ladder down and disappeared below deck. I reached for the radio’s wire but hesitated. Like me, he worked hard and worried about paying the rent. I couldn’t destroy the wiring and cost him money. Compromising, I disconnected the cable and wedged it in place so he’d think it just had worked itself loose. Wave action could do that, couldn’t it? Who knew? But any evidence of actual tampering would only arouse suspicion, and suspicion was the last thing I needed. Everyone—absolutely everyone—had to believe I was dead. For my sake and for Jackson’s.
Dave returned with two beers.
I turned the wheel over to him, popped the top on the beer can, heard the little hiss, then sat down in the back of the boat. It was closer to the water than the seats at the bow, and more importantly, I sat at Dave’s back. “I’m not much of a drinker, but after last night...” I took a swig. Nasty! I forced myself to swallow.
“Anywhere special you want to go?”
“No, just ride along the coast. Not too far out.” I’m a lousy swimmer. With my bum ankle, I really wasn’t sure how strong I’d be in the water or for how long, and I wasn’t at all eager to make my fake death a real one.
He turned the boat and upended his beer can near a buoy.
There’d never be a better time.
I dropped off the back of the boat, released my beer can, jammed the muddy hat on my head and made for the buoy.
The boat kept going . . . and going . . . Hanging onto the buoy, using it as cover, Captain Dave got smaller and smaller. He wouldn’t not notice my absence for much longer, and it wouldn’t take forever for him to reconnect the radio. Soon he’d double back with reinforcements and the area would be swarming with people looking for me. I slung my purse strap over my shoulder, and swam hard for the shore.
My whole perspective shifted. In the water, the shore looked distant, and I couldn’t see the lighthouse, but at least I could see land. If I could see it, I could eventually get to it.
Stay calm, Daisy. I stroked, smooth and easy. The hardest part’s over. You’re dead.
I did either the smartest or dumbest thing I’ve ever done. I hung out on a sandbar near the shore until after dark. The lighthouse was nowhere in sight, but the area was populated. I know, of course, sharks feed at dusk, but shark or bullet, I choose shark.
Once the sun set, the cool water felt cold. My arms and legs cramped every few minutes; they needed rest, and frankly, I didn’t think my ankle would make it the last couple hundred yards without it. The distance might be two or three times more than it appeared. Being low to the water messed up my distance judgment.
I stood on the sand bar, my teeth chattering, rubbing the chill from my arms. The gulf temperature had come down from its summer high, but the weather had been warm so far, keeping the water warm, too. Still, the night breeze on wet skin felt cold and had a bitter bite, and when my goose bumps had goose bumps, all I could think about was getting to shore, getting dry and getting warm.
The burning desire stayed with me, and about a half hour after dark it occurred to me to float.
I rolled onto my back, my mouth so dry I was tempted to drink salt water, which even I knew would really kill me, and used my good leg to kick hard and the other to stay stable. I floated in the last of the way, and was never so happy in my life to scrape my backside on sand.
The beach might typically have been deserted, but a big group having a party littered it. I came out of the water downwind of them, blended in, weaving through the group, and skirted the volleyball game and bright lights, then ambled toward the parking lot. So far I didn’t recognize anything or anyone, which was a good thing, considering.
“You okay?” A tall guy with a winsome smile asked. His waxed chest looked smoother than mine. “You’re limping.”
I didn’t want to talk to him. I didn’t want to be remembered. “Fine, thanks,” I said, ducking so the brim of my hat hid my face. I kept walking.
Figured. First decent guy to notice me since my breakup with Andy six months ago—not that I was attracted or could ever get past the smooth chest thing—but even if I was and could, I couldn’t do squat to encourage him because I’m dead. In my new life, my luck was holding steady at lousy. Odd, but it seemed kind of comforting to be able to count on something.
The neon lights of a casino came into view. I headed toward them. It wasn’t one in Biloxi. I drove by those all the time. Must have drifted west in the water. Gulfport maybe—I recognized a bank —yes, Gulfport. I really had drifted. Should have thought of the drift, but I hadn’t. It was too far to walk to retrieve the clothes I’d stashed, but at least I’d kept my money with me.
There was something about stashing my purse and money that the woman in me just couldn’t do. So I’d bought a waterproof bag, dumped my old purse in a trash drum and kept my cash with me. Now, I was grateful for the little female idiosyncrasy. I wasn’t without clothes and flat broke.
Tour buses lined up in the casino’s parking lot. I could catch a ride—no records. But where did I go?
I hung out at the edge of the beach until I stopped dripping water, shoved every strand of hair under my hat, then entered the casino to get some clothes. The stores were open around the clock. Approaching the first person I saw, I asked about the shops. She had no idea where they were located. Neither did the second person, or the couple that followed her.
A woman in uniform walked toward me. Not wanting to be seen or remembered, I tried skirting her, but she proved persistent. Running would have aroused more suspicion so I slumped and paused near a bank of slot machines.
Petite and in her forties, she intercepted me. “Why are you bothering our guests?”
“I’m not. I asked for directions,” I said. “I didn’t see you in your uniform or I’d have asked you.” Could she hear my heart thundering? “Where are the shops?” Frowning, I lifted a hand. “Some jerk stole my clothes off the beach.”
“He took your clothes and left your purse?” Her eyebrows shot up on her forehead.
“It was with me. Good thing, as it turns out.”
She nodded. “Hotel won’t cover items left unattended on the beach.” Frowning her thoughts on their policy, she motioned. “All the stores are down the east corridor. You’ll find everything you need. Guests get a discount, but only if you ask for it, so be sure you do.”
“I will. Thanks.” Letting her continue with the assumption I was staying at the hotel, I wound between banks of slot machines to the corridor and then stepped into the first clothing shop.
Within minutes, I walked out wearing a pair of jeans and a Crimson Tide t-shirt, sneakers and a red baseball cap. My next mission? Find a drug store.
A block down the street, I found a Walgreens. There, I bought a box of red hair dye and applied it in the restroom. The smell probably didn’t make the employees happy, but I left the place tidy so they’d have no complaint other than the fumes.
As I left the store and stepped into the night, my stomach growled, demanding food. Considering hunger a good sign—for a while, I thought I’d never be able to eat again—I walked back to the casino and grabbed a burger and soft drink then exited out at the garage near the long row of tour buses.
Lester’s warning to avoid rental cars and public transportation seemed like sound advice, but while his heart had been in the right place on sending me to his friend, Paul Perini, in Dixie, Florida, I couldn’t actually go there. If something went wrong with my drowning death and push came to shove, Lester would know where I was hiding. I didn’t want to burden him with the secret or to give anyone a reason to beat the information out of him. Dead is dead, until it isn’t, you know? So, just in case, I didn’t want to take any chances he or his friend, Paul Perini, would be hurt. And that meant I had to find somewhere to go. Somewhere away from Jackson and Dallas.
I ate the tangy burger while walking between the long rows of buses, gazing up their windshields to their destination headsigns. Jacksonville . . . Dothan . . . Montgomery . . . New Orleans.
I stopped, sipped at my soda. For a while, Jackson’s friend in Dallas, Craig Parker, had worked with Mark Jensen in New Orleans. Mark had been in chef’s school with Jackson and Craig. Unlike either of them, Mark had family money behind him. Going into chef’s school, he already owned a restaurant in the French Quarter, Jameson Court. I could go there. Nothing connected Daisy Grant to Mark Jensen or Craig Parker, but Lester’s Lily Nichols knowing Craig could help me get a job with Mark. Hey, maybe eventually I could somehow get a covert message to Jackson. Not right away, of course, but one day. . . The possibility brightened my mood.
The bus driver came up, dampening it. “Ready to leave already?” He checked his watch. “You’ve got another hour.”
“Tapped out my gambling budget.” Feigning a yawn, I asked, “Do you mind if I wait on the bus?” Standing exposed out in the open gave me the willies. “I’d love to grab a nap.”
“You do look tired.” He motioned to the open door. “Go ahead.”
I got inside and walked to the very back. Hunching down, I begged my ankle to stop screaming its agony, closed my eyes, and took my first half-easy breath since witnessing Edward Marcello’s murder.
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About the Author
Vicki Hinze is a USA Today bestselling author who has written nearly forty books, fiction and nonfiction, and hundreds of articles, published in as many as 63 countries. She’s won a wide array of awards, including novels of the year in multiple genres. All of her novels include suspense, mystery and romance. The focus determines genre. Her works have been classified in nearly every genre except horror, with the majority being suspense, thriller, mystery and romance.
A Vice President for International Thriller Writers, Vicki also served as a consultant to the Board of Directors for Romance Writers of America and multiple other notable organizations. She is the former radio talk show host of Everyday Woman, and a columnist for Social In Global Network. Vicki was the first RWA PRO Mentor of the Year, and the recipient of RWA’s National Service Award. She’s recognized as an author and an educator by Who’s Who in the World.
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Also by Vicki Hinze
Clean Read or Inspirational:
S.A.S.S. Unit Series
Black Market Body Double | The Sparks Broker | The Mind Thief | Operation Stealing Christmas | S.A.S.S. Confidential
Breakdown Series
so many secrets | her deepest fear (Short Read)
Down and Dead, Inc. Series
Down and Dead in Dixie | Down and Dead in Even |
Down and Dead in Dallas
Shadow Watchers
(Crossroads Crisis Center related)
The Marked Star | The Marked Bride | Wed to Death: A Shadow Watchers Short
Crossroads Crisis Center Series
Forget Me Not | Deadly Ties | Not This Time
Inspirational
The Reunion Collection
Her Perfect Life | Mind Reader | Duplicity |
Lost, Inc.
Survive the Night | Christmas Countdown |
Torn Loyalties
Inspirational
* * *
General Audience:
War Games Series
Body Double | Double Vision | Double Dare | Smokescreen: Total Recall | Kill Zone
(out of print)
The Lady Duo
Lady Liberty | Lady Justice
Military
Shades of Gray | Acts of Honor | All Due Respect
Paranormal Romantic Suspense
Legend of the Mist | Maybe This Time
Seascape Novels
Beyond the Misty Shore | Upon a Mystic Tide |
Beside a Dreamswept Sea
* * *
Other
Girl Talk: Letters Between Friends | My Imperfect Valentine | Invitation to a Murder | Bulletproof | The Madonna Key (series co-creator) | Before the White Rose | Invidia
* * *
Multiple-Author Collections
Dangerous Desires | My Evil Valentine | Risky Brides | Smart Women and Dangerous Men | Christmas Heroes | Love is Murder | Cast of Characters | A Message from Cupid Seeing Fireworks
* * *
Nonfiction Books
In Case of Emergency: What You Need to Know When I Can’t Tell You | One Way to Write a Novel | Writing in the Fast Lane | All About Writing to Sell |
Mistakes Writers Make and How-To Avoid Them
* * *
For a complete listing visit
http://vickihinze.com/books
Vicki Hinze, Down and Dead in Dallas
