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“In my pocket. I thought it would be safer on me.”
He smiled down at her. “Good.” As he glanced toward the third floor, he couldn’t help but recall the noise he’d heard out in the woods. Someone had followed him back here.
Through the third-floor window he saw a shape cross in front of the lantern light. “I think we’d better pay a visit to the old gal upstairs,” he said, and handed her back the gun he’d taken from her earlier. “Just in case.”
* * *
WILLA DIDN’T LIKE the stormy darkness that had settled over the villa. Or the fact that Landry had given her a weapon. She could see her own fears mirrored in his face as the wind whipped the tops of the palms in a low howl.
Landry thought Henri and Blossom were dead. She had seen it in his expression when he’d checked their apartments.
She glanced up the stairs. It was the last place she wanted to go. But she also knew that Landry wasn’t about to leave her alone while he checked on the old woman. Look what had happened when she’d left Henri alone.
Willa had seen someone upstairs—just a dark shape silhouetted against the lantern light for an instant. The old woman? Was it possible Henri had gone up there? Maybe Blossom, too.
As she started up the stairs, Willa couldn’t shake the feeling that going up there was a mistake. Someone could be waiting for them. What if it was the old woman? With all that digging for treasure, Alma could be stronger than any of them suspected. Strong enough to lift an ancient manual typewriter and kill Odell.
At Alma’s door, Landry tapped softly. No answer. He tapped again. Willa thought she could hear music playing faintly inside the apartment.
Landry tried the knob. The door swung open and Willa was hit with an old musty smell. But what surprised her were the furnishings. It was as if time had stopped in this room thirty years ago.
“Alma?” Landry called. No answer. Willa felt her stomach clench as she and Landry moved through the living room deeper into the apartment toward the sound of the music. Alma must be in the area over Willa’s apartment. She could see a closed door at the end of the room. The music seemed to be coming from behind there.
“Wait,” Landry whispered.
She had reached for the knob on the closed door, but when she turned she saw that Landry had stopped in front of a painting on the wall.
Her unfinished painting! The one stolen from her apartment.
Landry was frowning at the painting, no doubt rocketed back to the night he killed his partner, Zeke Hartung.
Willa closed her hand over the knob to the closed door just before she heard the rustle of fabric off to her right and swung her head in the direction of the archway into the kitchen.
Alma Garcia came flying out of the kitchen, a butcher knife clutched in her fist, her eyes wide and wild.
Willa had just enough time to jump to the side as the woman rushed her. She caught a glimpse of Landry’s surprise as the woman spun on her heel, more agile than Willa would have expected, given her apparent age.
Alma lunged for Willa again, but Willa managed to get one of the living room chairs between her and the knife-wielding woman. She could see that the older woman’s hands were shaking, the knife blade flickering in the light from the oil lamp.
Landry grabbed Alma from behind. He said something to Alma in Spanish. The knife fell to the floor and he kicked it toward Willa who quickly picked it up, her heart in her throat.
The older woman’s eyes filled with tears. She shook her head and answered him in English. “I will never leave you. Kill me so that my spirit might remain here always.”
Landry spoke again in Spanish, cajoling. Alma began to cry. He let go of the older woman.
“Come on. We’ll have to leave her,” he said. “Henri and Blossom aren’t here.”
Willa moved to the door, keeping an eye on the woman and vice versa. She put the knife down as she went out the door, the scent of another time wafting out as Landry closed the door.
They went back down to Willa’s apartment. Landry checked to make sure they were alone before he locked the door.
“You don’t think Alma killed…”
He shook his head.
She saw something in his expression and felt her stomach lurch. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I found that crocheted black top of Blossom’s floating in the water by the old fisherman’s shack.”
