"I know all about guns. My daddy had guns." She pointed to a small box resting on top of an overnight bag against the wall. "That one's about as small and light a .38 you're going to find. Feels good to a woman. Don't bother with peashooters, that's what daddy called .22s, not enough smack. Take a look." She pointed to the glossy cigar-box-size carton sitting in plain sight.

Ray was startled. "The gun's in there?"

"No, no, that's a different gun, that's my gun. Bought it yesterday. Was going to use it to shoot him but got scared. As it turned out, I didn't need to buy it anyway."

Ray turned on the desk lamp and carefully picked up the new gun box by the corners. On the top was a multi-color picture of a small revolver nestled in the folds of an American flag. Printed across were the words Ladysmith Special. Cautiously he opened the box, handling it by the edges. Inside he saw a small revolver, only about six inches long, wrapped in plastic and nestled in Styrofoam. It appeared the gun hadn't been fired, never even unpacked.

"You say this gun has nothing to do with the shooting. Where's the actual murder weapon-as they say?"

"Guess it's still there, beside Barner. Should we go get it?"

"What's this *we' stuff? Why did you bring that new gun with you here?"

"Would look funny if they found it at my place, I'd have to explain."

"The police could be swarming your place right now."

"Don't need it now. Maybe I'll take it back to the store for a refund. What do you think?"

"You shouldn't go anywhere near that store ever again." He realized the police would construe any advice he gives her as conspiracy.

"What should I do with it?"

"Get rid of it, I don't know how. It screams out premeditation." He thought throwing it off a bridge would be smart, but he didn't say that aloud, didn't want her to repeat those words to the police.

"You could get rid of it for me."

"No thanks, I never saw this gun." He gave the box a symbolic push away with his fingertips. "Why did you phone me? You got me involved in this mess by calling me here and confessing a murder. Now I need help too. What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know, I thought we fit pretty well after the party, and you seemed to like me."

"So, you called me over for old times' sake to see if I might want to get involved in a murder?"

"Well, can't you help? Aren't there certain things you're supposed to do in these cases?"

"Yes, get a lawyer."

"Don't know any lawyers. Tammy sort of knows one. She smashed into a couple of parked cars last year. She gave this lawyer a trade, that's what she called it, for helping her out. No, I mean don't we have to do things about the body, the gun, things like that? Should we move him?"

Ray gave her an eye roll. "You've really screwed me up. You're forcing me to call the police."

That seemed to surprise her. "Hey! That's not right. Don't do that. I was in trouble and believed I was calling a friend. I wouldn't have phoned you if I thought you were going to turn me in. You're not involved."

Ray sat shaking his head. "I now have criminal knowledge of a murder, and I'm helping you-to some extent. That makes me an accessory after the fact."

"I don't know about that stuff."

"Well the police do. Sorry, you're giving me no choice. As soon as they arrest you, they'll come after me. No question about it. The only action I can take now is to report it before your arrest, before my name comes up. I have to appear open and cooperative."

"You don't like me." She squirmed on the bed and folded her arms across her chest.

He didn't think she understood. "You've a good case of self-defense. You were angry about the guy raping your girlfriend, very understandable. You were so infuriated thinking the b.a.s.t.a.r.d might get away with it that you went to his place to tell him off. He had to pay for what he had done. He pulls a gun. Luckily, he's the one that got shot and not you. The defense rests." Again, he had conspired with her by opening his mouth and giving her a feasible script to run with. He could hear her telling the police, "But officer, that's what he told me to say." He was getting in deeper.

"What do we do now?"

"What do we do? We say goodbye. That's what we do. I've listened to your story, now I'm calling the police to report what you told me. I've no choice. There's not a chance in h.e.l.l I'm going to avoid police questioning, thanks to you."

"You'd turn me in? That's a rotten thing to do."

"h.e.l.lo! You got me over here and displayed me to the world. There are a dozen witnesses outside that door ready to testify we met here. If you'd whispered your secret to me out on the street somewhere, I'd have a choice but not now. Don't you get it?"

"But no one knows I was there. I can get away with it if you'll just keep your d.a.m.n mouth shut."

"Well, you won't. Murderers always fail to notice something. For one thing your prints are on the murder weapon."

"No, don't think so. I grabbed his hand not the gun."

"You just told me you grabbed the gun. Which was it, his hand or the gun? You see the police will jump on little things like that. Your DNA is on his body if you struggled. I don't know. Or they'll find out you bought a gun. Something. Where did you get his address? Tammy gave it to you, didn't she?"

"Don't remember."

"Police will find out she gave it to you. Bingo, you're tied to Barner. You need to call Tammy. She has to report the rape. Going to her doctor would be good even if too late for treatment. Photos of her bruises would be great."

"The doc will find old bruises."

"Really!" That stopped him. Who are these people? He hadn't considered that kind of reckless lifestyle. "Tammy into drugs or something?"

"She's into showing off her b.o.o.bs."

That didn't answer the question. But drug use would explain the loose s.e.x and the destructive behavior. Toss drugs into this mess and proving rape would be impossible, he thought. And a trial for Loraine would be disastrous. If drugs are involved, the police will not only question him, they'll test him for drug use, and tear up his apartment. No question now, he should run the other way. "Okay, forget the medical exam. But, you do need evidence to support your story of why you lost it and went after him."

"I don't get it. Why is Tammy reporting the rape so important? I still shot the b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

"If there's no rape why did you shoot him? The rape has to be there. The rape is what set you off. The rape is why you went after him. The rape explains everything. Have you tried to reach her?"

"She didn't answer. Don't know where she is, hiding I guess."

"Well, keep trying. Once she reports the rape then your retaliation becomes justified in the minds of most people. Some will even consider you a hero for avenging the wrongdoing. You'll be the darling of the feminists. You'll be on TV. You can write a book." He tried to keep it light, but she didn't seem to get it.

"It'll be tough with the police," he continued, "but your attorney will handle that part. You'll be all right, self-defense with no premeditation. They might even acquit you-but not without a reported rape." He didn't entirely believe everything he was saying.

"Will you at least help me find Tammy?"

"You mean will I delay calling the police and implicate myself?"

She started crying. He moved to the bed, sat beside her and tried to calm her. "With those legs you'll look great on the witness stand," he said trying to make her smile.

She did smile but with a calculating look. She sat up, and as she leaned forward, the bikini top slipped off. She watched his eyes fasten on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She took his face between her hands, drew him closer, kissed him, and slowly ran her tongue across his lips. "I didn't get to do everything I wanted the other night."

"I can't imagine what you overlooked."

"I know you'll help me," she whispered. "Don't call the cops." She pulled his head down. He was filled with the musky scent of her drying perspiration blended with the perfume he remembered from his bed after she left his apartment last week. He pulled back and stood, yet his eyes couldn't leave her.

She frowned, leaned back on the pillows, and studied his face. Then she reached down and pulled on the little bow at the side of the bikini bottom. She slowly raised her hips, and with a bounce, the bottom slid off and dangled around one leg. She raised the leg high, and watched his eyes moving over her body as she reached out and slipped the bikini bottom off her ankle. She laid back and twisted for a moment, as though the movement was necessary to find a comfortable position.

He gazed down at her soft touchable skin. "This teasing routine isn't making it easier."

"I'm not going for easy." She reached out her hand. "Getting you going?"

Could he stop himself if she touched him? He took a step back and looked down at her. Her tan hadn't started yet and she was wonderfully white, naked creamy white, stretched out with her long red hair flowing across the pillow.

She gave him a sweet, pouty look. "I'll let you do anything you want with me." Her tongue moistened the pink gloss on her lips.

He was unable to focus on anything else. He felt his heart beating and a rising wave of heat.

"Come on," she said softly, "whether we play around on this big bed for an hour or so isn't going to make any difference to anybody."

He had a warm growing feeling that she made perfect sense. The warmer he got, the more sensible she sounded. He wasn't part of this situation anyway. He could do whatever he wanted. They could lose themselves in bliss for an hour and drift away from this d.a.m.n situation.

She ran the palm of her hand playfully around her nipples. "I say when it comes along you gotta take it."

She was right. He'd be an idiot to pa.s.s this up. They'd done it before, so they do it again, would make no difference at all. He'd never be in a situation like this again. Besides, he deserved it. It was the only reasonable thing to do.

"Be smart, Ray. Come closer."

He fought back the intense feeling. He blinked hard and shook his head trying to do away with the thought. At last, he caught his breath and inhaled deeply. He backed up, still shaking his head.

His head was clearer now. It was back to business, the business of getting out of this woman's life. He checked his watch. "Look, it's eleven now. I'll make you a deal. I'll wait until three before I go to the police. That's four hours. You can spend the time squirming around on that bed deceiving yourself about whether they'll catch you. But I suggest you get dressed and go find a lawyer."

Mercifully, she closed her legs, sat up, and brushed her hair back with her hand. "So, you'll try to find Tammy?"

"Okay, I'll try to find her and explain what she needs to do. Then you turn yourself in." That would be one way out of this, he thought, and it might work. Once Tammy reports the rape then Loraine would feel better about coming forward. If she doesn't, then he'll go to the police anyway and explain what he knows.

She seemed to go along with it. "I don't know where Tammy is now. Maybe she's scared, maybe she ran. I'll give you her address and unlisted phone number." She pointed to a motel note pad. "You can nose around. Could be she left a message with a neighbor or something. What's your cell?"

"Let's exchange numbers." He wrote down the information. "Her friend Norma Martin could back this up. How do I reach her?"

"Not sure, I think she's a waitress at the Jardin Cafe."

"You've got four hours, Loraine, until three, okay? I'm giving you four hours."

She grinned. "Hey, if you aren't in the mood now, why don't we get together tonight? I don't want this to affect our relationship."

That senseless offer meant zero to him now-the affair was over. He went to the door and looked back at her. Still enticingly naked, her arms wrapped around her pulled up knees. He felt pity for her. He slowly closed the door and stood at the railing. Fresh air made it easier for him to think beyond the reality of her lying there so easily accessible.

He shouldn't be seen there. He glanced around the balcony and down below at the pool area. Two maids talked at the foot of the stairs, and two other women were now poolside. He took the opposite direction down the back stairs to the parking lot. He held back and waited while an older couple packed the car next to his and pulled out.

This wasn't how he had intended to spend his Sat.u.r.day. Two hours ago, he was going to shop for a lamp, now he was behaving like a fugitive. He'd go along with it for a few hours. If he can't find Tammy and Norma by three, then he'll go to the police and then so long Loraine. He could hear the police saying "Come on, Reid, you aren't really an innocent bystander, now are you?"

Chapter 4.

Ray switched on the radio as he drove away from the motel. Nothing about a murder, at least not yet. Soon the media would be all over the story: s.e.x gone awry and a revengeful hometown killing-hot story of the year. Police might already be looking for Loraine, maybe that's why she left her house and went to the motel. When they find her, he knew he'd be next.

She had confessed a murder to him; he couldn't just walk away as if it never happened. People saw him with her. Better to report it and explain everything before they came looking for him. What if they clear her because of self-defense, and he goes to jail as an accessory?

What he should do is stop worrying about her and drive straight to the police, but he gave her a three o'clock deadline. Waiting a couple of hours shouldn't hurt. Find this Tammy and convince her to report the rape, then Loraine will have her justification for shooting Barner. That's all he's going to do, and then he's out of it. Goodbye crazy Loraine, you're only a one-night stand from h.e.l.l.

He phoned the Tammy Jerrold number given by Loraine. No answer. Good, she had an answering machine. He left a message.

What's next? Norma Martin was a waitress at the Jardin Cafe, so said Loraine. Maybe she can be Loraine's excuse for dishing out instant justice at gunpoint. He remembered pa.s.sing the Jardin Cafe in the sticks on the county's far western edge. He headed there.

Ray drove from the motel across the Intracoastal Waterway Bridge to the mainland. He looked down at the waterway that divided island living and the mainland, from the Georgia line down to Key West. The waterway ran through the middle of Park Beach, leaving the barrier island and the mostly privileged on one side, and the less fortunate on the other. The Jardin Cafe was far out on the less fortunate side.

He drove west past the charming old section of town and through the unremarkable new neighborhoods on into the countryside. Once spread with shady citrus, the area was almost entirely cleared to make way for progress. He was west of town now, skirting the south county line, driving along a ca.n.a.l. Ca.n.a.ls were frequent in this area. Not the picturesque winding boating ca.n.a.ls that lead to the ocean from private docks positioned at the foot of vast sloping lawns behind great houses, as in Fort Lauderdale. Up here, they called the roadside drainage ditches ca.n.a.ls. Designed to catch rain runoff but sometimes catching a vehicle that got too close to the soft shoulder on a Sat.u.r.day night. People can drown driving home.

He found the Jardin Cafe sprawling back from the highway on a narrow and deep lot more valuable than the creaky wood structure sitting there. At one time, it was a tolerated boozing hangout named the Jungle Club for the dense woods nearby. The woods were gone now. There never had been a garden near the Jardin Cafe. There was a new roof and fresh paint however, mandated by the last hurricane.

The restaurant wasn't open, sign said four o'clock. Ray drove around back where a worker was picking up trash around the dirt parking lot. He said of course he knows Norma Martin-she owns the place.

Ray's phone buzzed, a text message, *im at ambasador arms 701 dont tell'.

Very good, he had left a message for Tammy and now he gets a text back. Seems she's willing to talk.

The Jardin Cafe and Norma could wait. He hurried back into town, asked directions, and found the Amba.s.sador Arms: seven floors of apartments converted to condominiums in an upscale, oak-tree-lined neighborhood. The imposing over-done architecture was now out of style, yet the charm was timeless and now priceless. Tammy must have something going for her to find refuge in this part of town.

The street door was unlocked and the inner lobby door locked as expected. He stood reading the Owner Directory, feeling conspicuous even though no one was in sight. This wasn't the sort of building to wander around in, knocking on doors, and asking about some woman he had never met. The directory listed #701 to A. Towson. Ray pushed the b.u.t.ton, heard the door buzz, and was in.

He stepped off the carpeted elevator onto the gleaming restored wood flooring of a wide hallway with mahogany paneled walls and costly framed mirrors. His first impression was of a renovated mansion. This was the top floor and he noticed just one other unit. Before he could knock, the door to 701 opened and facing him was an older man, tall with broad shoulders like a college athlete. Ray guessed that with the gray hair at the temples he was in his sixties. He wore jeans and a loose dress shirt with rolled up sleeves.

The man said, "I was expecting...."

"Sorry to interrupt your morning." Ray stood there feeling stupid with no idea who the man was and no idea what to say next. He didn't dare to explain the situation and decided it wasn't wise to mention Tammy's name at this point. Perhaps she was inside.

The man's face relaxed with recognition. "You're that new guy in town. I was expecting a reporter, come in."

Expecting a reporter? Perhaps about the rape or the murder? Ray's mind raced trying to think of where they might have met.

"Let's go in the kitchen. Still some coffee left. We've met remember? I'm Al Towson. Your name again?"

"Ray Reid. Coffee sounds good, thanks." He followed the man across the living room with its high-coved ceiling, hardwood floors dotted with antique, oriental rugs, and heavy furniture pieces in glowing woods. He glanced around, taking in the elegance. He recognized one of the paintings on the wall, but couldn't think of the artist's name.

Towson ushered Ray on into a dining room adorned with splendid silk wallpaper with matching wainscoting and an ornate chandelier. Just before pa.s.sing into the kitchen, Ray stopped when he noticed a large antique cupboard in the corner. Towson saw him pointing.