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She quickly screwed the lid back on and returned the jar to the hole. It didn’t take long to rebury it. She tamped down the earth and then covered the spot with the palm fronds. Carrying the shovel, she walked back to the villa, watching to make sure no one had seen her. She felt like a fool.
After leaning the shovel against the wall where she’d found it, she returned to her apartment, washed her hands and changed back into her nightgown.
It wasn’t until she climbed back into bed that she let herself think about what she’d discovered. Odell had filled a jar with sharp objects and urinated on them, then sealed up the jar and buried it outside the villa.
It was a talisman. Willa knew because of an old woman who lived down the road from her family’s former farm when she was a kid. The woman lived alone and some people said she was a witch. She was always brewing up herbs and poultices. The one time Willa had been in the woman’s house she’d seen books about spells and hexes—and ways to protect yourself against evil. One required burying a jar filled with sharp objects and urine in the backyard to keep you safe from anything—or anyone who might want to hurt you.
What did Odell Grady need to protect himself against? The evil of the house? Or the evil he was about to do?
Willa’s head ached. She couldn’t be sure if it was from a fitful night of sleep or being drugged. She’d been a fool to eat the sandwich, knowing that Odell Grady might be a hired killer who’d been sent to make sure she never testified against Landry Jones.
But would Landry Jones send someone to kill her? Or would he come himself?
The thought sent a shudder through her as she quickly dressed to meet the supply boat, reminding herself that if Odell was a hired killer, he certainly hadn’t acted like one last night.
He could have drowned her. Or poisoned her. He had done neither. In fact, if he was telling the truth, he’d saved her from the pool. Wasn’t it possible that she really had been walking in her sleep, dreaming about that torn-up photograph, thinking she saw a body at the bottom of the pool?
But that didn’t explain why he’d buried a talisman against evil behind the villa. Hadn’t Gator said people came to Cape Diablo because they were running from something? Maybe someone was after Odell Grady.
The sound of the boat motor grew louder. Hurriedly she opened her door on the beautiful Florida sunny day and took a deep breath of the salty air. On impulse, she decided to get rid of the trash on her way. She didn’t want that stupid photograph in her apartment. The last thing she needed was another nightmare like last night.
But as she picked up the small trash basket, she saw with a start that it was empty. Had she taken it out last night?
Not that she remembered.
She glanced toward her empty easel. Had the scraps of photograph gone the way of the missing painting?
The boat motor grew even louder. She put down the trash basket, not even wanting to contemplate why whoever had taken her painting would have also taken the scraps of a photo of nothing more than a murky pool.
As she rushed down to the dock, the supply boat came into view. She was half hoping it was Gator. But as the boat came closer, she saw that the driver was a stranger and he wasn’t alone. There were two others in the boat with him, both women. Visitors? Or new tenants?
“Good morning.” Odell came up behind her, keeping a little distance between them as if wary of her after last night.
“Mornin’,” she said, embarrassed. If he was telling the truth, he’d saved her from possibly drowning in that gross pool last night and she hadn’t even thanked him. In fact, she’d been rude to him. “About last night…thanks.”
“No problem.”
At the memory she looked down at her wrist and saw the bruises where fingers had pressed into her flesh.
“Oh no. I hurt you,” Odell said, sounding horrified as he grabbed her hand and turned her hand palm up to look at the bruises on her wrist. He grimaced. “I’m sorry. You were just pulling so hard. I coul
dn’t let go and let you fall into that pool. In the state you were in I was afraid you would have drowned or at least died of something after being in that putrid water.”
She had to smile. “I appreciate you not letting that happen.” But the suspicious part of her mind still wondered if he was telling the truth.
“I’m just glad you were there,” she said, reverting to the manners she’d been taught. “Thank you. I was so upset last night. I’m sorry if I seemed ungrateful.”
He smiled. “I’m glad I could be of help. It must have been some nightmare.”
She nodded.
Odell looked past her, his expression brightening. “Wow.”
Just then the supply boat banged into the dock. Odell righted her as the dock rocked, then grabbed the bow of the boat to steady it. “Good morning,” he said with much more enthusiasm than he’d shown her.
The greeting, she saw wasn’t for the supply boat driver, who must be Bull. He was a younger version of Gator, although just as weather-beaten and no more friendly.
No, what had brightened Odell was the tall redheaded woman in short shorts and an even snugger red halter top. Thirty-something, the redhead could have been a model. The other passenger in the boat was apparently a teenager. The girl had the sullen Goth look going: her eyes rimmed with black, her nose, eyebrow and lower lip pierced, along with her ears, and her dyed black hair stringy and in her eyes. She wore black jeans and a black crocheted top that revealed a lot of sunless white skin and a black bra.
