A Trick of the Light Page 10

  “How did they —” He ran his fingers down his jaw. “They saw her here last night, probably traced her tag.”

  “You also had a call from a reporter wanting to know if Chloe had any leads yet.”

  “Give me that number.”

  “You want me to handle it, sir?”

  “No, thanks. I’ll take care of this.” He snatched the pad and started dialing. His cellular phone rang before he could complete the first call. “McKain.”

  “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from the Lilithdale woman?” Yochem’s voice said on the line, and he sounded cranky. “Someone just handed me the paper. We usually get a load of crackpot calls on these kinds of cases, but now they’re really coming in fast.”

  “First of all, she came to me. I’m going to clear this up with the press, and that should take care of the calls.” He hung up and continued his call to the reporter. When he got the man on the line, he said, “I am not working with Chloe Samms on anything. I don’t believe in any of her nonsense.”

  “So you’re saying she came to you with information, you didn’t solicit it?”

  “Exactly.” Dylan opened a cabinet and found a rack full of spices. “She’s a nutcase, I’m not interested in anything but concrete clues, and that’s all I have to say.” He repeated the conversation three more times with reporters from the other area papers. By the time he’d hung up, he’d alphabetized the spice jars in the rack. He knew it was a way to feel in control of his life, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. By damn, the woman was driving him crazy.

  “And now I’m going to talk to Chloe. She’s going to call these reporters and corroborate that she’s not involved in any way. That should be the end of it. And her.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Dylan had never been to Lilithdale before, never thought much about it until Chloe barged into his life.

  What a mess that woman had created. All day he’d had to fend off reporters, friends and acquaintances who’d thought he’d lost it. He’d been obligated to go to the office and straighten their suspicions too. Dave Wahlberg, his friendly rival, had called to extend his sympathy and offer his help. But even he couldn’t resist asking what the psychic had said.

  It was nearly dark by the time he reached the portion of Marco Island called Lilithdale. During the entire drive he searched for Teddy. He was pretty sure his son wasn’t hidden away in the swampy land surrounding the road to Lilithdale, but he looked anyway. He even tried to peer inside the cars as they came toward him on the two-lane road.

  Fliers. That’s what he needed, fliers. As soon as he got this errand taken care of, he was going to design one and have a thousand, a million, of them printed and distributed. The more people who saw Teddy’s picture, the better chance they’d find where Wanda hid him. Someone had to have seen them — with their eyes, not in their visions.

  He crossed the bridge and took a left on the road that wound back to the small community. Wildflowers lined the road before it became mangroves and water. Did men ever come here, he wondered.

  It looked cozy and quaint. There was a small shanty restaurant called the Crabby Lady that filled the car with the aroma of fried seafood. A pink motel that was called … The Pink Motel. Some of the little houses had pink driveways. Cottages were well-kept, gardens filled with flowers and plants, all the signs of love and attention a woman could bestow on something she loved. If she wanted to.

  Lanterns gave the small, winding roads a festive glow. Women wandered down the sidewalk, sat at café tables or gathered in small groups. In a park on the water were several tables where women played card games.

  He had Chloe’s address, but hadn’t a clue as to how to find Gumbo Limbo Lane. It was a small place, though; it wouldn’t take him long. He knew he was being typically male by not asking directions, but being male was very important to him at the moment.

  Her house was at the end of the lane, all by itself and right on the bay. Her yard was overgrown with trees, bushes and a riot of flowers everywhere. The bougainvillea bushes were trimmed almost too much and contrasted the untamed look of the rest of the yard. Her mailbox was covered with hand-painted birds and flowers. The sound of wind chimes played on the night air. The house also looked loved, like a home, and that thought gave him a strange, warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  Until he saw the plastic bat hanging from the highest pitch of the house in front of a large glass window. Didn’t that prove the woman was batty?

  He took the mossy flagstones to the stairs leading up to the front door. A black and white dog came running down the pathway from the back yard. The dog danced around him, maybe its way of greeting. Dylan decided he’d get Teddy a dog. Every boy should have a dog.

  A painted wood sign on the door read, “May all God’s creatures find refuge here.” Again that strange feeling alighted in his stomach. It was an ache, a gnawing hunger for something. But didn’t he have refuge at work? Hadn’t that always been the place where he found peace of mind? There was another nagging question invading the edge of his mind. Where did he find love? Not at work, and not at home either.

  He’d convinced himself long ago that he didn’t need love to make his life complete. He needed acceptance and success and financial security. He had all of those. Then why did Chloe’s home — even the silly clay love bug doorstop — touch something deep inside him?

  He forced those thoughts away and knocked on the door. The only sounds he could hear was the breeze fluttering through the leaves and windchimes, and beyond that the distant lapping of water. Lights dimly illuminated the interior of the house. Deciding that she just couldn’t hear him, he peered through the mullioned glass window.

  Architecturally speaking, it was an intriguing house. Not unlike its owner. The whole house was open, separated only by partial walls and varying floor levels. The highest point toward the back of the house must be her bedroom. He could barely see swags of fabric that made up a headboard, though he couldn’t see a bed. She had candles and plants everywhere. The sink was half-filled with dishes; no surprise that those dishes were covered with flower designs.

  The half-octagonal living area that faced the large windows was filled with more pillows than furniture. Ceramic lamps were in the form of plants with goofy faces. The couch was a futon covered in beige cushions. A cat was curled up on one of the flowered pillows. Warm tones, with creature comforts — and creatures. Chloe’s place was definitely a refuge.

  He drove back into town and parked the car, then walked along the brick sidewalk that paralleled the stores fronting the bay. Interesting stores such as The Good Vibes Art Shop, the Island Lady Clothier, and Women’s Ecstasy, a Chocolate Boutique. All the shops had tables or benches outside, and every few yards was a ceramic urn with a smiley face asking to pretty please keep Lilithdale clean.

  He had never felt so out of place in his life. Women stared at him with curiosity. Those stares brought back memories of his youth, when everyone in his small town stared. There goes Dylan. His mama’s crazy, you know. But these women didn’t know about his mother. All they knew was he was a man, and here, that’s all it took to be an oddity.

  “I haven’t seen a man looking so lost in a long time,” an attractive woman said from one of the tables outside the Happy Haven Tea House. “Of course, I haven’t seen a man in a long time either. Come to think of it, they always looked lost. Can I help you find something?” She giggled. “Your feminine side maybe?”

  He tried to force a smile. “I’m looking for Chloe Samms.”

  “Our little Chloe? Now what do you want with — oh, you’re the guy whose son is missing?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Call it a lucky guess partly inspired by the fact that Chloe’s been tacking up posters all day about a man’s missing son, and here you are.”

  “Posters?”

  “Well, take a look around.” She gestured toward a post. Then to a telephone pole across the street.

  Dylan couldn’t read the pi
nk posters in the dim light, so he walked across the street. Teddy’s face smiled at him and made his insides twist. Chloe must have gotten the picture from the article in the paper and made posters. Now that he knew what he was looking at, he could see them everywhere. “Missing! Three-year-old boy with autism. If you have any visions, psychic dreams or gut feelings, please see Chloe.”

  The words punched him in the gut. He pushed his way past the warm, cloudy feeling and reminded himself that this was probably why he and the police were getting calls from kooks.

  He walked back to the woman at the table. “Do you know where she is?”

  “She’s helping Marilee at the Blue Moon. Don’t know what we’d do without her, the dear. It’s right over there.”

  He thanked the woman and walked toward a half-moon-shaped building washed in blue lights. Strange instrumental music floated from hidden speakers. The pathway leading to the entrance was flanked by lush gardens dotted with small tables and chairs. Scattered in the courtyard were plants in the strangest pots: they looked like warped heads with plants growing out of the top.

  As he was taking it all in, and considering waiting outside until Chloe was done with whatever it was she was doing, a woman said, “You don’t have to be afraid to go in. It’s harmless, really.” Her voice was filled with laughter.

  He turned to two women having coffee at one of the tables. “I’m looking for Chloe Samms. Do you know when she’ll be done … in there?”

  “She just started.” She looked at her watch. “We should be getting in ourselves. It’s about to start.”

  “What’s about to start?”

  Both women grabbed up their purses and coffee cups and walked toward him. “The dinner show, silly,” the other woman said.

  The women were in their fifties, he figured. Wearing long, flowing dresses, they looked happy and at peace with the world. They each took an arm and led him down the walkway. “We’ll show you the way, hon.”

  Dylan had a feeling he wasn’t going to like this. But he sure wasn’t going to back down like a coward. He’d find Chloe, tell her what he had to tell her, and leave. Oh, and thank her for putting up the posters.

  A spry, older woman greeted them at the door wearing a bright pink sarong. “Good to see you again, ladies. And what do we have here? Wait a minute, I know you. You’re the fellow from the hospital, the one whose son is missing.”

  He remembered her too. Chloe’s grandma.

  “Wait ‘til Chloe sees you. She’s gonna have her finger-in-a-socket face for sure.”

  “Look, all I need —”

  “Is some relaxation, don’t I know it. You’ve had a tough time of it, and you need to unwind for an hour. Is he with you, Gerri?”

  “He is now,” the woman said, looping her arm through his again. “You poor thing, what you must be going through. You must be tenser than concrete.”

  Marilee led them into an open room scattered with tall tabletops. Around those tabletops were dozens of women, laughing and talking and drinking wine, and every one of them stopped mid-stream when they spotted him.

  “Once in a while couples come in, but we don’t usually get a man by himself,” Marilee said, gesturing to a table. “Don’t worry, they’ll get used to you. And dinner’s on the house. It’s the least we can do for the man who saved Chloe’s life.”

  “You’re the one who saved her life?” Gerri asked, and Dylan had to explain what had happened.

  Lights resembling bubbles floated through the room, giving Dylan the distinct impression he’d landed on another planet. One waitress appeared to be wearing a white nightgown.

  Big band music started, then grew louder until the “wall” on the far side parted to reveal the kitchen. The chef, a tall German-looking woman, stepped forward and bowed to the applause. Then she lifted what looked like a blowtorch and brought flames to life. The staff in the kitchen started bringing her plates, and she browned whatever was on each plate with the blow torch. Fireworks shot forth, spraying white sparks everywhere.

  He leaned toward the woman named Gerri. “Look, all I want is to talk —”

  “Shh! I love this part.”

  In perfect coordination, the waitresses, all dressed in white nightgowns and barefoot, took their browned plates and flowed into the room to deliver the first course.

  That’s when he spotted Chloe. At least he thought it was her. He’d recognize those dreamy blue eyes anywhere, and yet, she looked different. Her hair. Her curls, specifically. Oh, hell. She’d gone butch. Not that it mattered. He didn’t plan to twine his fingers through those curls again. He caught himself lining up the pewter salt-and-pepper shakers.

  Chloe balanced three plates as she made her way into the dim room filled with the bubble lights. She delivered the plates to the first table, then sailed back into the kitchen for more.

  Dylan blinked. Had he actually thought … dreamy blue eyes?

  He couldn’t interrupt her now, so he sat back and watched. Gerri leaned close. “Wait ‘til after dessert, which is always absolutely to die for. They go around giving massages.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Yep, hard as concrete.”

  “Er, I don’t want a massage,” he said, shifting away. “I just want Chloe. I mean, to talk to Chloe.”

  “Hey, hon!” Gerri waved at Chloe, who nodded in response. And then her eyes went right to him and she nearly dropped the tray of plates. Not that he could blame her. He couldn’t believe he was there either.

  Chloe walked over, plates still in hand. “What are you doing here?” She glanced down at her filmy nightgown, naked toes peeking out from beneath the folds.

  “I need to talk to you.” He looked around. “In private.”

  “I’m working right now.”

  “I can see that.”

  Her chest filled out the nightgown splendidly, and he caught himself noticing just that. He met her gaze again and realized she’d caught him looking by the flush on her cheeks.

  “I thought you were an accountant.”

  “I am, and I can’t talk now,” she said, taking the plates to another table.

  “It’ll only take a minute,” he said after her, wondering if it was Chloe who smelled so good or the food.

  “Are you courting our Chloe?” the other woman asked, a coy smile on her face.

  “They don’t court women anymore,” Gerri said. “I think they call it propositioning now. Besides, he’s got other things on his mind.”

  “Looks like propositioning our Chloe,” she said, and Dylan realized he’d been watching her every move.

  “I’m sorry about your son,” Gerri said. “If there’s anything we can do to help …”

  “Thank you, but Chloe’s done enough.” He wasn’t sure if he meant the posters or her causing the media circus. Maybe both.

  Chloe brought their plates, meeting his eyes with a questioning look: What the heck was he doing there? Good question.

  “What would you like to drink?” she asked instead, perching on the empty chair. She forced her gaze to include the table. “Gerri, Trish?”

  “Why don’t we all share a bottle of Kunde Viognier?”

  “Chloe, can I see you for just a minute?”

  “I can’t. Everything’s timed just so.”

  He started to protest again, but realized it was fruitless. “I’ll have a beer.”

  “Sorry, no beer.”

  “Johnny Walker on the rocks?”

  “No hard liquor either.”

  “Then whatever they said.”

  “The appetizer tonight is conch bollos with mango mustard aioli. The entrees are either Bahamian hummus with yucca toast points, served with mango, jicama and red pepper salad, or sesame tuna with fried spinach and ginger remoulade. Gerri, the hummus?” After Trish ordered, Chloe turned to Dylan. “And you?”

  For the past three days people had tried to get him to eat. At least they’d offered him something appetizing. Something he knew. “I’m not hungry.”

  She touched his arm,
and that simple contact shot heat right up his arm and into his chest. “You need to eat. Try the tuna. I’ll have them hold the spinach and ginger.”

  The way she was looking at him, he would have granted her the world. He blinked. Where had that insane thought had come from? This place was getting to him in a big way. And those dreamy blue eyes, looking at him like she cared, really cared about him. All he could do was nod, and she smiled, coming to her feet. Possibly the cutest feet he’d ever seen. All he’d seen before were her color-coordinated Keds.

  I’ll be right back with your wine.” And then off she flitted to the kitchen.

  “One warning: everything drink-wise may be colored. It’s Marilee’s trademark. Sometimes the food is too. Remember the green chicken last St. Patrick’s day, Trish?”

  Dylan was watching Chloe, who kept glancing over at him and then quickly looking away. “Does she do this a lot?”

  “Chloe helps everyone out. We’re all like that, really, but Chloe, she’s our champ.”

  “And never complains,” Trish put in.

  “Considering …” Gerri said, pity on her face.

  “Considering what?”

  “She has no abilities. Takes it like a soldier.”

  An hour later, Chloe brought out the final act: dessert. It was all he could do to eat the tuna. He particularly couldn’t stomach either the grilled banana split or the chocolate fudge truffle, the one dessert the women had been moaning in ecstasy about. He did not need to hear moaning. It was time to leave.

  He wasn’t even sure why he’d let himself get talked into staying through the whole dinner act. Then Chloe walked out of the kitchen again, and somewhere deep inside he knew why he’d stayed.

  To tell her to stop interfering with his life. Yeah, that was why.

  That was why he felt that strange gnawing feeling inside him. He was sure of it. Positive.