it’s Drew.”
He was about to put his shoulder to the oak panel when the lock snicked and the door opened a crack. Cool air whooshed out, then a pale face topped by a towel turban appeared.
“Are you okay?” Drew asked sharply.
“I…I…”
The fumbling response upped his pucker factor another few notches. What the hell had she done?
“The walls are thin,” he said with only slight exaggeration. They were thin—especially with a high-tech listening device transmitting every decibel of sound.
“I heard a scream and the sound of glass breaking. Are you all right?”
She put a shaking hand to her temple. “I think so.”
“What happened?”
“I, uh, dropped something.”
She scrunched her forehead, as if trying to remember what. Worried that she’d fallen and whapped her head, Drew softened his tone.
“Something’s obviously shaken you. Why don’t you unhook the chain and tell me about it?”
She peered through the crack for another second or two, still confused, still hesitant. While she debated, Drew angled his body to one side and surreptitiously removed his earpiece. One way or another, he was getting in to that room.
“Let me in, Tracy. I want to make sure you’re okay.”
The combination of brisk command and gentle persuasion produced results. The door closed, the chain rattled and Drew stepped inside.
Her rooms were smaller than his. A good deal chillier, too, with the breeze blowing in through the open windows. The view was incredible, but Drew spared the brilliantly illuminated casino framed by those windows barely a glance. His quick, intense scrutiny swept over a combination bedroom/sitting area done in brass and flowery chintzes. He spotted no bloodstains, no overturned furniture, no shattered windows.
The bathroom, on the other hand, looked as though a tornado had just roared through it. Wet towels were strewn everywhere. The entire contents of a cosmetic bag had been dumped on the counter. Glistening glass shards decorated the floor tiles.
Drew eyed them, his gut tightening. Had she dropped that drinking glass by accident? Or was the breakage deliberate, a prelude to slit wrists?
His thoughts grim, he faced the target. She appeared to be recovering from whatever had hit her. The dazed look was gone, anyway. Playing with the belt of her lemon-colored chenille robe, she offered an embarrassed smile.
“The mirror got all clouded with steam. I used my sleeve to clean it and knocked the drinking cup off the counter.”
That accounted for the shattered glass. Not the cry that preceded it.
“Did something startle you? I could swear I heard you scream just before the glass broke.”
“Was I that loud? I thought I just let out a small squeak.”
Small was in the ear of the beholder. Wondering if the ultrasensitive listening device had made him overreact, Drew shrugged.
“Maybe it was just a squeak. But something must have generated it.”
“Something did.” Her smile went from embarrassed to chagrined. “After I cleared away the steam, I got a good look at this face in the mirror.”
“Excuse me?”
“Don’t tell me you can’t see the bags under these eyes! And this hair.”
Tugging off the turban, she raked her hand through the strands of dark mink.
“Look at it! As straight as a board. Not the slightest hint of a wave or a roll. I have to get my hands on some bobby pins.”
Bobby pins? Drew had a hazy memory of his grandmother with her head hard-wired into tight curls, but had no idea women still stabbed those sharp little implements into their scalps.
He found Brandt’s sudden determination to acquire some reassuring, though. If she was so worried about her appearance, odds were she hadn’t been planning to slash her wrists. Judging by the angry mutters he’d heard just before she’d climbed into the tub, she evidently hadn’t intended to jump off the ballroom balcony, either.
Okay, maybe she wasn’t suicidal. Just strange. And mercurial as hell. For a few moments there on the pier, her shoulders had drooped with weariness and sadness shadowed her eyes. Now she seemed gripped by a sort of quivering energy.
“Do you want to go with me?” she asked eagerly.
“Go where?”
“To a drugstore, to buy some bobby pins.”
“Now?”
She flipped the ends of her wet hair. “I have to do something with this floor mop. Besides, the night’s young. How about I tie on a kerchief and we see what’s playing at the Roxy? Or grab a stool at the soda fountain and split a dusty miller? It’s been ages since I dug a spoon into one of those!”
Drew didn’t have a clue what a dusty miller was, but he’d dig a spoon into one just to keep his target talking.
“Sure, I’ll go with you.”
“Great! I’ll get dressed and meet you downstairs. Ten minutes?”
Drew let himself out, wondering if Ms. Brandt had popped a few pills or snorted something before getting into the tub. She was wired. Most definitely wired.
Her eagerness to get out and have some fun stirred more than a few unpleasant memories. Drew’s young wife used to meet him at the door when he dragged in after twelve or fourteen hours performing deck drills. Joyce had spent the day cooped up in what the navy euphemistically referred to as junior enlisted housing and swore she had to get out or she’d go stir-crazy. So Drew had traded his uniform for civvies and duly escorted her to a mall or a movie or to the on-base club. Most often to the club.
Consequently Drew had to work to dredge up a smile when Tracy floated down the stairs. She appeared to have no problem with her smile. It was wide and sparkling and hit him with the same wallop it had earlier. Alive with eagerness, she hooked her arm through his.
“Let’s go. I can’t wait to dive into that chocolate sundae.”
Assuming that was the dusty miller, Drew escorted her out of the inn and down the winding walkway to town. He couldn’t quite get a handle on what was so different about her. Maybe it was the hair, tucked into a roll at the base of her neck and accented with a headscarf tied in a jaunty bow. Or the high color in her cheeks. Or her darting gaze that seemed to want to take everything in at once.
“The town sure is dead tonight,” she commented, clutching Drew’s arm. “Where are all the cars?”
“The streets are too narrow for vehicles. Most everyone gets around in golf carts.”
Which she
