Carolina Isle Read online

  “Too bad,” Gideon said. “I have some briefs that need editing.”

  Both R.J. and Sara looked at him in consternation.

  “Just kidding,” he said. “No briefs. Nothing that needs editing. Just fish that need to be cleaned, then cooked.” He walked around the front of the porch and they saw that he was at least six feet two. He was wearing clean jeans and a T-shirt, but both were faded and nearly worn-out. His feet were encased in worn moccasins.

  For all that he was no more than sixteen, seventeen at the most, there was something about the boy that made a person relax around him.

  “It didn’t take you long to find me,” he said over his shoulder as he went to a big rock protruding out of the ground in front of the cabin. R.J. practically ran down the steps to stand beside him.

  Sara watched in amusement as R.J. eagerly took the fish from the boy and started to clean them. She’d had no idea he knew anything about the outdoors. “Do you have a restroom?” she asked.

  “Not inside,” Gideon said, smiling. “The girls refuse to let you use theirs?”

  “Yeah,” R.J. said as his knife expertly split a fish in half. “Real sweethearts.”

  “They’re as mean as their father,” Gideon said matter-of-factly, but with no animosity. He looked back at Sara. “Sorry, but all I have is an outhouse and the creek.”

  “I’ll wait,” she said as she sat down on a bench and watched the two men clean the fish. She was quiet for a few moments, but she couldn’t stand it any longer. “So who are you and why do you live here in this cabin and who are the twins?”

  Gideon laughed softly as he put the cleaned fish on a slab of wood and started toward the house. “Come inside,” he said. “I need to get the twins fed.”

  Gideon held open the door and R.J. let Sara go in first. Inside, it was one room, with a big bed in the corner, a fireplace in one wall, an oldfashioned cookstove beside it, and a few pieces of old furniture with heavy rugs draped over them. It was cozy and homey, smelled of wood smoke, and Sara felt comfortable for the first time since Ariel had arrived at her apartment in New York. She sat down on the couch and propped her feet on the pine coffee table.

  “Put you through it, have they?” Gideon said as he took a chair across from her. R.J. was at the cookstove and he seemed to know exactly what to do as he lifted the iron disk and put in small branches taken from a box on the floor.

  “Bad enough that we’ll do most anything to get off this island,” R.J. said.

  Sara knew he was telling the young man that he’d pay a lot for transportation, but Gideon just looked straight ahead. He wants something, she thought. Whatever he tells us isn’t going to be for free. And until he gets what he wants, he’s not going to help us get out of here. She looked at Gideon. “Are you as nice as you seem or are you an illusion? Are you going to turn us over to the sheriff for trespassing?”

  “You know, don’t you, that you’re not in any real trouble?” Gideon said.

  “No,” R.J. said, “we don’t know that at all.” He gave Sara a look of warning that she wasn’t to get too comfortable and she wasn’t to trust too much. This young man may seem nice, but he was the son of the dead man.

  “The island was alerted that something big might be happening,” Gideon said. “The office of billionaire Charles Dunkirk called a realtor in Arundel, and soon after that we heard that the illustrious R. J. Brompton was checking out every website about the island.”

  When Sara looked at R.J., he raised an eyebrow. She knew what he was thinking: good detective work.

  “Someone from the island called your office in New York,” Gideon continued, “and asked when the meeting on King’s Isle was. He gave the wrong date. ‘The eighteenth, right?’ Something like that. Your secretary said that Mr. Brompton wouldn’t be on King’s Isle until the twenty-second, so we knew when you were arriving.”

  “And your plan was to put us in jail?” Sara asked, eyes wide.

  “Not my plan,” Gideon said. “I had nothing to do with it. I have nothing to do with any of them, but that doesn’t keep me from knowing what’s going on.”

  R.J. was heating a skillet full of oil, about to put the fish in. “Why would they want to make me hate this place? If they went to all that trouble to find out I was coming, they must have known I was thinking of buying land here. Or is it that they like this place just as it is and don’t want to sell?”

  “They very much want to sell. We’re a dying society. The fishing is bad and all we have is a hope of tourism. But people never return to King’s Isle,” Gideon said. “There’s nothing here. There’re no beaches, no hot springs. The idea was to force you to stay here for a few days so you could look around and really get to know the place. They thought that if you spent time here, you’d come to like it.”

  “They scared us half to death,” Sara said. “That man Lassiter—”

  “He’s a real sleaze, isn’t he?” Gideon said. “Fenny’s best friend. The island wasn’t expecting four of you and that threw them off a bit. They were told it was just going to be the fabulously wealthy R. J. Brompton and his secretary. The truth is that the majority of the population had no idea what was going on. We were told to go spend two hours on the west side of the island and anybody who didn’t would be fined a thousand dollars.”

  “That’s a lot of money,” Sara said.

  “The day before you arrived, the underground telephone cable was cut.”

  “Did you go to the west side of the island?” R.J. asked.

  “I never do anything anybody tells me to do,” Gideon said and for the first time the humor was gone from his voice. “Tell me, Mr. Brompton, what were you going to do about King’s Isle?”

  “Tell Charley Dunkirk not to buy anything here.”

  Sara looked at him in astonishment. “You’d already made up your mind before …?”

  “Before we were arrested on a made-up charge? Yeah. I didn’t like the place the second we got off the ferry.”

  “Right,” Gideon said. “There are too many people here, too many houses involved. It’s easier to start from scratch.”

  “Smart kid,” R.J. said. “You want to work for me?”

  His remark was meant as a joke, but Gideon didn’t take it as such. “Yes,” he said seriously. “Anywhere, anytime. As you said, I’ll do anything to get off this island.”

  R.J. slid six perfectly fried fish onto a platter. “Why don’t you just leave? You look big enough.”

  “I’m underage and Nezbit would come after me.”

  “Nezbit? Your father?”

  “I have no proof of it, but I’m sure he’s not my biological father, and the law says he is so I have to stay. Besides …”

  “The twins,” Sara said softly. “Whose are they?”

  “I don’t know. The old man brought them home one day like he’d found puppies.”

  “Didn’t Social Services—?”

  “Here? Nobody on King’s Isle will go up against the Unholy Trio.”

  “Nezbit, Lassiter, and the judge,” R.J. said.

  “Right on.”

  R.J. smiled. “So what happens now?”

  “They’ll fine you over that dog Nezbit used to torture. Poor thing was probably glad to die.”

  “How is Phyllis Vancurren involved in all this?” R.J. asked.

  Gideon shrugged. “She was told to be very nice to R. J. Brompton. They wanted to put him— you—in the jail upstairs in her house so you couldn’t escape. She was told that Brompton was known to be ‘a great cocksman,’ so she was allowed to seduce him.”

  Sara gave R.J. an I-told-you-so look, but he ignored her as he put the platter of fish on the table.

  It was when young Gideon got up from the chair that Sara saw the scars on the back of his legs. His trouser leg had caught on the bottom of the chair and ridden up to expose a few inches of skin. When he saw Sara looking, he brushed his trousers down.

  “I have to get the twins,” Gideon said, then quickly went out th