need to ask Lloyd for the original one thousand. Georgeâs double-dealing scotched that debt. I was looking forward to 8 A.M. I put the sheet in the envelope and tucked it into the pocket of my slacks.
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I detoured through the garden on my way to breakfast. The garden at Tower Ridge House was almost as spectacular as that at Rosedon with a profusion of poinciana, frangipani, and palmetto trees. I climbed the steps of a pink gazebo that overlooked the grounds. Diana had been right the night before. It was quite obvious in the brightness of the morning that no one could have run away from the tower without being seen. Three lighted paths led from the tower, all of them visible to those of us on the balconies. If anyone had plunged into the flower beds or tried to skirt the shrubbery in the darkness, we would have heard the thrashing, been able to follow the movement.
What about the far side of the tower? The tower sat high on a ridge and just beyond ran a limestone wall. I shaded my eyes. Not a very tall wall. Could someone have ducked away from the tower, run to the wall and climbed over without being seen from the balconies or the garden?
I climbed down the gazebo steps, followed a winding path bounded by masses of crimson blooms. There were delicate camellias, cheery daffodils, pinkand white and red hibiscus. The sweet scent of frangipani mingled with the ever-present salty tang from the ocean.
Frangipaniâ¦I rested for a moment before climbing the far slope. In Hawaii, the tree was known as plumeria. In early days there, it was often planted around graveyards, and its delicate white, apricot, yellow or maroon blossoms were associated with death. Millions of tourists never knew this, so today the blossom is the mainstay of leis and its sweet scent automatically invokes the Islands.
The wind rustled the frangipani. I reached up, carefully pulled loose an apricot flower. I would give it to Connor, if all went well in my interview with George. Success would mean the tower could once again be enjoyed for its view, not avoided as a haven for a vengeful spirit. I wondered if Connor knew the Hawaiian custom. A single flower behind the right ear meant the wearer was available. A flower tucked behind the left ear indicated the wearerâs affections were already engaged. I carried the blossom loosely in my hand, careful not to bruise it.
Once on the ridge, I looked out at the ocean first. No one could attain this clear, sweet, clean eminence and ignore the thrusting black rocks, the crashing waves with foam that sparkled like diamonds, and water so brightly blue it looked like turquoise glass. Bermuda, beautiful Bermuda. I took a final glance, then turned and walked briskly toward the tower. A lawn stretched another fifteen feet past the tower, ending at a limestone wall covered by honeysuckle. The wall curved to the farthest point of land, where a huge magnolia splayed its branches almost forty feet high.
I imagined a figure darting from the tower to thewallâ¦I reached the wall, looked over, and saw a drop of more than twenty feet to a curving road. No one could escape this way without a ladder of some sort. I walked the length of the wall and, near the magnolia, looked down at the pounding surf crashing against black rocks.
As I sauntered back through the garden, I faced facts. Whatever moved briefly in the night sky near the tower, it hadnât been engineered from either the tower or the garden. A beam of light, perhaps? But once again, beamed from where?
It was irritating not to have an idea. But George knew. And George was going to tell me.
It was a few minutes past seven when I reached the dining room. Three tables were occupied, but no one from our group was there. I settled at a table for two with my back to the door. I didnât want to converse with anyone. I drank the freshly squeezed orange juice and enjoyed every bite of my bacon and eggs as I considered what I knew. I needed to be clear in
Â
I detoured through the garden on my way to breakfast. The garden at Tower Ridge House was almost as spectacular as that at Rosedon with a profusion of poinciana, frangipani, and palmetto trees. I climbed the steps of a pink gazebo that overlooked the grounds. Diana had been right the night before. It was quite obvious in the brightness of the morning that no one could have run away from the tower without being seen. Three lighted paths led from the tower, all of them visible to those of us on the balconies. If anyone had plunged into the flower beds or tried to skirt the shrubbery in the darkness, we would have heard the thrashing, been able to follow the movement.
What about the far side of the tower? The tower sat high on a ridge and just beyond ran a limestone wall. I shaded my eyes. Not a very tall wall. Could someone have ducked away from the tower, run to the wall and climbed over without being seen from the balconies or the garden?
I climbed down the gazebo steps, followed a winding path bounded by masses of crimson blooms. There were delicate camellias, cheery daffodils, pinkand white and red hibiscus. The sweet scent of frangipani mingled with the ever-present salty tang from the ocean.
Frangipaniâ¦I rested for a moment before climbing the far slope. In Hawaii, the tree was known as plumeria. In early days there, it was often planted around graveyards, and its delicate white, apricot, yellow or maroon blossoms were associated with death. Millions of tourists never knew this, so today the blossom is the mainstay of leis and its sweet scent automatically invokes the Islands.
The wind rustled the frangipani. I reached up, carefully pulled loose an apricot flower. I would give it to Connor, if all went well in my interview with George. Success would mean the tower could once again be enjoyed for its view, not avoided as a haven for a vengeful spirit. I wondered if Connor knew the Hawaiian custom. A single flower behind the right ear meant the wearer was available. A flower tucked behind the left ear indicated the wearerâs affections were already engaged. I carried the blossom loosely in my hand, careful not to bruise it.
Once on the ridge, I looked out at the ocean first. No one could attain this clear, sweet, clean eminence and ignore the thrusting black rocks, the crashing waves with foam that sparkled like diamonds, and water so brightly blue it looked like turquoise glass. Bermuda, beautiful Bermuda. I took a final glance, then turned and walked briskly toward the tower. A lawn stretched another fifteen feet past the tower, ending at a limestone wall covered by honeysuckle. The wall curved to the farthest point of land, where a huge magnolia splayed its branches almost forty feet high.
I imagined a figure darting from the tower to thewallâ¦I reached the wall, looked over, and saw a drop of more than twenty feet to a curving road. No one could escape this way without a ladder of some sort. I walked the length of the wall and, near the magnolia, looked down at the pounding surf crashing against black rocks.
As I sauntered back through the garden, I faced facts. Whatever moved briefly in the night sky near the tower, it hadnât been engineered from either the tower or the garden. A beam of light, perhaps? But once again, beamed from where?
It was irritating not to have an idea. But George knew. And George was going to tell me.
It was a few minutes past seven when I reached the dining room. Three tables were occupied, but no one from our group was there. I settled at a table for two with my back to the door. I didnât want to converse with anyone. I drank the freshly squeezed orange juice and enjoyed every bite of my bacon and eggs as I considered what I knew. I needed to be clear in
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