Key West Heat
Alice Orr
To my husband, Jonathan—
always my romantic hero To my map artist— Ed Vesneske, who is also my dear son To my editor— Julianne Moore, a true jewel
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Taylor Loyola Bissett—A woman drawn to the tropics and to the danger awaiting her there.
Des (Destiny) Maxwell—A dashing man who could be the greatest danger of all.
Winona Starling—A Key West psychologist who could be Taylor’s savior.
Jethro Starling—Winona’s very nervous son.
Armand Santos—Key West homicide detective.
April Jane Cooney—Proprietor of the Key Westian guesthouse.
Violetta Ramone—Who knows all about Caribbean cooking…and the past.
Early Rhinelander—Taylor’s confidant for as far back as she can remember.
Desiree Loyola & Paul Lawrence Bissett—Taylor’s late parents.
Pearl & Netta Bissett—Taylor’s late aunts.
Madame Leopold—A Key West psychic.
Contents
Prologue
Des smelled it before he saw it. He was not quite fourteen, but he knew right off what it was: the thing you smell a few blocks away or on the breeze and hope won’t come close enough to smart your eyes and chafe your throat. The heavy, old-wood scent of it was almost pleasant at first, like bonfires or leaves burning. But there weren’t that many falling leaves in Key West, except those ripped from branches by a blasting hurricane. And there was nothing pleasant about the way this made him feel. He held his breath, as if doing that could make the danger on the wind go away by magic, like when a little kid closes his eyes and thinks that makes him invisible. Pretty soon, Des had to breathe again, and the smoke smell was still there.
The wind was blowing hard. Tonight’s gale hadn’t been upgraded to hurricane from tropical storm yet, but Des guessed it was on the way there. He’d been feeling funny all day. That happens when there’s a wild drop on the barometer. He’d taken it in stride the way any real conch would, conchs being native Key Westers. He was even a little bit excited, like when a big adventure is about to hit and you don’t know how it’s going to turn out. He liked that in the movies, but he knew there was a big difference between the screen and life. In real life, adventures could mess you up bad. Still, the lurking storm and rising wind had his heart beating fast all day—till now.
What made his heart beat fast now was fear.
He knew where the smoke smell was coming from. For a moment, he did nothing, not because he was scared, even though he was. He just couldn’t believe what was happening. The worst time ever to have a fire is in a high wind. Everybody knows that. The flames blow up twice as fast in a storm, and there was no rain yet. And the smell of smoke was coming from the place he loved best in all the world.
Thinking that got Des started running. In the few seconds of his hesitation, flames had broken through the roof at the back of the tall Victorian perched at the edge of the sea, with so much water so nearby, yet too far away to be of help now. By the time Des reached the veranda steps he could hear the fire, cracking and popping and racing through the long, narrow rooms.
Miss Desiree always left the windows open, especially where they looked out onto the water. That meant the sea wind would be howling inside, feeding the hungry fire and helping it grow. Des caught his breath with a gasp of horror that sucked in more smoke and made him choke. Her room was back there too, where the sea view was best, the loveliest room he had ever been in.
He knew by heart where to find the front staircase, even with his eyes already tearing nearly blind. He took the wide steps two at a time. It occurred to him that the thick, rose-colored carpet would turn into an instant river of fire when the flames reached this part of the house. The only way out after that would be the roof. The back stairwell was sure to be an inferno by now. Des hurried faster against the smoke that wanted to stop his lungs. He would do what had to be done when the time came. He would get her out no matter what. He whispered that promise to himself and to her. Praying he could keep it scared him more even than the smoke and flames.
Then there was a sound, faint against the crack and whoosh of the fire, but Des heard it anyway. Until that moment, he had forgotten there was anyone besides Miss Desiree in the house. Now he remembered the little girl was in here, too. That had to be her crying. It was more a child’s sound than a grown woman’s, so it had to be the little girl. He hesitated another instant. Miss Desiree was along the balustrade in the other direction and all the way to the rear of the house, if she hadn’t already gotten herself out. The girl was down the hall to the right from where he now stood and definitely still inside this house that was being rapidly consumed by flame.
He knew he couldn’t wait to decide. The fire was gaining ground too fast for that. He ran down the hall toward the crying sound. All the doors along the hallway were closed. Maybe she had heard that you shouldn’t open a door in a fire. Even a kid her age might know that. Then, he got to the door with the crying behind it and knew the real reason she hadn’t come out. The door was locked, and there was no key in the hole. The child’s cries were more strangled now, rasping with smoke like Des’s throat. He croaked a reassurance that he would get her out even though he wasn’t sure how.
“Under the rug,” the child rasped from the other side of the door. “I think she put the key under the rug.”
Des dropped to his knees and pawed at the hallway carpet.