It was a very simple, very effective early-warning system. The line was so sheer that it was easily broken; it wouldn't trip a person traveling the stairs, nor would they notice it. But it was strong enough to wake me.
I popped the line from around my ankle and stood. Glanced at the door to the bedroom where Nora was asleep. It was closed.
I was wearing gray boxer underwear. I slipped my boating loafers on and moved quietly to the sliding glass doors that I'd intentionally left unlocked.
The glass doors looked out over the marina basin and a balcony that circled the second floor. The steps were on the opposite side by the road and parking lot. I went through the doorway onto the balcony and circled to my right. Below, the marina was asleep. I was at eye level with the masts of sailboats. I could see No Mas out there, a ghostly white. Could see the porch light of Delia's trailer.
I stopped at the first corner and peeked around. Nothing. Stopped at the second corner and peeked around, expecting to see someone futzing with the door, trying to break in. Nothing.
Who the hell had hit the trip wire?
I retraced my steps just in case my late-night visitor had gone around the other side of the balcony. No one there; still no one at the door… but there was someone coming up the stairs now: a tall, lean shape moving quietly in the dim light. Maybe he'd forgotten something. Had to go back to his car, and was coming up the steps for a second time. That would explain the lapse in time.
I pressed close to the stucco. As I did, I realized I'd left the sap I'd made on the floor by the couch.
Damn it.
I had no choice, now, but to go after him empty-handed.
I waited… waited until he was at the door and hunched over fiddling with the knob. That's when I swung around the corner, driving hard with my legs, planning to smash him into the wall, then overpower him…
… heard a woman scream 'FORD!' and looked up just in time to see Nora's terrified face a microsecond before I crushed her. I twisted hard to my right, hit the railing at full stride, somersaulted over the rail, fell feet-first ten feet or so and landed in a sea grape tree at the edge of the parking lot.
'Jesus Christ, Ford, is that you?'
I didn't want to answer, but I had no choice. 'Yes, it's me, Nora. Out for a stroll, were you?'
'Okay, so now that I know about your little alarm system, no more going outside at night to sneak a cigarette from my car.'
'You said you don't smoke.'
'On Swamp Angel? Not having a lighter, I said that's what I get for not smoking. And I don't. I don't smoke normally. I smoke occasionally. But I got out there and thought, nope, this time I've quit for good. So I didn't have one.'
I was still in my underwear, lying on her bed while she used a washcloth and pan of soapy water to clean out a scatter-gun variety of puncture wounds and abrasions. She'd insisted; had led me by the hand into her bedroom- but not before I'd tied new fishing line and snaked it past the air conditioner, resetting the trip line. When I was back on the couch, I'd attach it to my ankle once again.
And I would get back to the couch, even though she was being attentive beyond expectations. I have no interest in casual encounters.
'My God, that bruise on your side looks awful.' She touched her fingers to my rib cage, tenderly, then got up, went out the door and came back with a plastic sack full of ice. She was wearing a gray T-shirt that read Eldridge Softball. Pearl-white panties, too, which turned her long legs nearly black. Now she combed fingers through her rice-bowl hair and used the pillow to brace the ice against my side.
Ted Bauerstock was right. Through those wire-rimmed glasses, she had extraordinary eyes. As she leaned over me, I could look through the clear corneas into the optic disks. Her irises were a mahogany shade of amber. The amber was three-dimensional with wine traces, flecked with gold. Her pupils were big as a cat's in the soft light, black and flawless.
By moving my head slighdy, I could also take churlish advantage and see down her T-shirt-the flat muscularity of stomach, flat breasts with dark aureole rings around elongated nipples, a hint of tan line. Not much. She apparently liked to spend time outside.
'Know what you reminded me of? You know that old Cary Grant movie, the one he goes running around looking for this jaguar that's escaped? Bringing Up Baby, that's it.'
She had the washcloth again, warm water-sopped, and she was moving her fingers through my chest hair, cleaning the scrapes. To get a better angle, she scooched farther onto the bed; had one foot on the mattress, leg bent, so I could see her pearl panties; the swell of pudenda and oudined curl of hair.
'The reason Cary Grant is chasing the jaguar is, a dog stole this very important dinosaur bone and-how'd it go? — I think they were worried the jaguar ate the dog and, heck, I can't remember, but it was hilarious.' She stopped rubbing my chest with the cloth for a moment, as if she'd noticed something. Her eyes slowly widened, then she stood up fast. 'Marion! You've got the wrong idea about this!'
Hastily, I pulled the blanket over my hips; felt like an idiot. 'Nora, I'm very sorry. I had no idea… I mean, I didn't realize what was happening… don't think for a moment… I didn't even touch you.'
Now she was laughing. 'Don't worry about it. I'm flattered, but no more sponge baths for you, mister.' Her laughter faded; she stood there staring at me in her T-shirt. 'Know something, Ford. I thought you were one of the biggest jerks I'd ever met. And a bookworm. I don't think I've ever misread someone so badly in my life. Now it turns out I like you. Something else?' She waited for a few beats, looking at me before she added, 'You are a very attractive guy. I didn't even realize it at first, now I do. But I'm real slow about this sort of thing. Physical contact, I mean. So it's probably good I'm leaving in the morning.'
That was the first I'd heard it. 'Oh?'
'Yeah. I'm driving up to Ted's ranch tomorrow, but I'm not supposed to say anything because he's had a lot of bad press lately about him and women he's dated, so he's trying to play it cool. Keep it private. Not that it's a date,' she added quickly, 'because it isn't. He wants to talk about the museum, how he can help and the scholarship fund they're going to set up in Dorothy's name.'
'A business trip,' I said.
'Exacdy. To surprise him? I think I'll take Delia along. That way I can interview her on the drive up. No interruptions. But later this week, or maybe next week, give me a call, we'll get together and do something. Fish, hang out, explore some islands. Whatever you want.'
I leaned and gave her a kiss on the forehead before walking to the living room. 'I'd like that.'
Early in the morning, with the first gray dust contrails of light filtering through curtains, I awoke to find Nora kneeling beside me. I felt her kiss my cheek, then touch her lips to mine. Heard her say, 'Move over, big guy.'
I looked and saw that she was naked. Felt her bony rib cage as she slid in close; felt the heat of her nipples through my chest hair as I cupped her in my arm; felt her fingers trace my stomach and spread the elastic band of my shorts, searching. She kissed me hard when her fingers found me, and she whispered, 'It's officially later this week.'
I said, 'I told myself I wouldn't let this happen.'
She said, 'Was that earlier this week or later?'
'I can't remember. It's hard to think because of what you're doing.'
'Really? Then break off that damn fishing line.'
Nineteen
On Monday at noon, the fourth of October, the director of the National Hurricane Center at Miami announced that the third tropical storm of the season had now officially reached hurricane strength, with winds exceeding the required seventy-five miles an hour. Off Jamaica, in fact, one gust was measured at 103 miles per hour by the British Volunteer Observation Fleet, which made it a Category Two hurricane on the Safir-Simpson scale.
They named it Hurricane Charles. It had a regal sound.
I was standing at the bar drinking a Diet Coke, watching television with Tomlinson and a dozen others, when the announcement was made. I heard a man and two women sitting at the bar exchange the standard remark
