the branches of the trees had reminded her of the wailing of women whose husbands and sons had never come home from battle.
But Cape Diablo had been the pathway to her future, the awakening of her dreams. Dreams that had withered and died almost as quickly as the seaweed that washed up on the beach to bake in the noonday sun once the tide had receded.
All because of the events that had transpired one dark night.
The secrets were old and tattered now, threadbare like her white festival dress. And yet they ruled the island like angry demons. The spirits dwelled in every crevice of the crumbling mansion, and had seeped between the tiniest grains of sand.
“Beware, Jaci,” she whispered as she backed into the shadows beyond the courtyard wall. “The curse of Cape Diablo shows no mercy.”
CARLOS PULLED THE WORN fishing hat low on his forehead as he squinted to read Raoul’s letter for the second time that morning. The note hadn’t come by regular mail delivery. His late brother’s only grandson never used the post.
Instead, it had been hand delivered by a courier who’d arrived by speedboat while Carlos was checking his stone crab traps. He’d read it and stuffed it in his pocket while he finished emptying the night’s catch.
Carlos reread the note now, carefully this time, to make sure he had not overlooked Raoul’s arrival date. But no, it wasn’t there. All he’d written was that he was coming for a short visit.
But he would arrive soon, possibly tonight. Raoul never gave a lot of advance notice for his rare stopovers at the island.
Carlos folded the note and stuck it back in his shirt pocket, grimacing as he did. The last time Raoul had been to the island was to tell him that Raoul’s grandfather had died. He’d come and taken Carlos back to the mainland to pay his last respects to his only brother.
Emilio’s death had hit Carlos much harder than he’d expected. Not that he’d seen him much over the last thirty years. Emilio had never understood the ties that bound Carlos to this place after the terrible tragedy, and Carlos hadn’t dared explain.
Feeling torn between his desire to see his great-nephew and his concern for what might have prompted the unexpected visit, Carlos left the shade of the mangroves and walked across the sandy beach behind the big house.
Courtesy demanded he let the señora know that Raoul was coming, though he wasn’t sure she’d recognize Raoul or realize he was Emilio’s son. She seemed confused about a lot of things these days—another source of worry for him.
Occasionally a tenant questioned him about the old woman who stared at them from the third-floor window, or from behind the courtyard wall, yet avoided talking to them even if they encountered her on the beach.
Carlos merely shrugged when they asked, refusing to offer an explanation. The señora belonged to the island and the house. The vacationers were the intruders, and he had had nothing but trouble from them over the last few months. The visitors had become more deadly than the drug smugglers who’d always used the island for their nefarious business.
And now there was a new one. Jaci Matlock. She seemed nice enough, but there was an intensity about her that worried Carlos. Not that she’d asked many questions when she’d arrived last night. It was more the way she’d scrutinized him when he’d carried her things inside the apartment. And the way she’d stared at the villa, as if she was making notes in her mind.
Or maybe he was just growing paranoid in his old age. He was seventy-three and felt it in his joints and bones. Nothing like the days when he’d been strong and daring, fighting for his hero right up until General Norberto was killed and his dictatorship overthrown.
The old memories set in, more comfortable in his mind than thoughts of Raoul or the island’s new inhabitant. The sun grew hot on Carlos’s back as he walked. Even though it was mid-October, the heat penetrated his thin shirt as if his skin was bare.
The heat didn’t really bother him. He’d grown used to it years ago. The sun and the island were like old friends, he thought as he paused to watch a blue heron step along the shore, searching for its breakfast.
Carlos’s heartbeat quickened as he spotted something that looked like a human bone bobbing around in the retreating tide. He waded in and slapped both hands into the water. On his second try, his fingers closed around the wave-tossed object.
Driftwood. Only a piece of driftwood.
He stared at it for long minutes, then flipped it back into the water. Paranoia was definitely setting in.
“Good morning, Carlos.”
He jumped at the sound of his name, and turned around to find Jaci Matlock standing a few feet away. He had no idea how long she’d been there, or if she’d seen him frantically groping for the driftwood, only to return it to the churning waters of the gulf.
“Good morning, Miss Matlock.”
“The island is even more beautiful and peaceful than I pictured it. And the villa is fascinating.”
“It’s a crumbling relic.”
She bent to pick up a sand dollar that had washed ashore. “Your traps were full this morning.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw you empty them.”
“Then you must have been up with the sun.”
“I’m an early riser.”
“I didn’t see you on the dock.”
“No. I was on the beach, using my binoculars to watch a couple of dolphins frolic.”
But at least for a while her binoculars had been focused on him. Paranoia or not, his suspicions about her presence on the island grew. “How did you find out about Cape Diablo?”
“My mother suggested it. She lives in Naples, and apparently some of her friends vacationed here. They raved about the quiet, secluded beach and the marvelous view of the gulf. They also bragged about the crabs. May I buy a few from you? They’d make a nice dinner.”
“I don’t supply food to the tenants.”
Tamale came running up to join them, going straight to Jaci. She knelt in the sand and he jumped excitedly, licking her hands and face.
“Come along, Tamale,” Carlos said.
“Tamale, what a neat name for a dog.”
“It’s just a name. First thing that came to mind when some guys dumped him from a boat a few yards from shore and never came back for him. That was almost a month ago.”
“Lucky for Tamale. He seems at home here.”
He walked away, but Jaci joined him, her willowy shadow dancing with his plumper and slightly stooped one. The silence rode between them until they’d almost reached the cutoff to the overgrown garden and the arched opening to the courtyard.
“How long have you lived on Cape Diablo?” she asked.
He looked at her for a second and met
