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Gerda snorted but opened the pack, pulled out the jokers and instruction cards and began to shuffle with all the aplomb of a professional. “Ante up,” she said.
Hannah looked at Horace. “We didn’t agree how much the antes would be.”
Horace picked up a red chip, casino quality clay. “Ten. We’ve each got fifty of these things. Short game.”
“That’s what I wanted.” Somehow she suspected she’d just been told they weren’t going to play only three hands. But she loved poker, any kind, and found it both relaxing and challenging. A slightly longer game would only keep her away from Buck Shanahan that much longer, and she couldn’t find anything in that to be upset about.
She riffled her chips, waiting as Gerda dealt the first three cards, two face-down, one face-up.
She was looking at a seven of clubs face up. Somehow, since Buck had started everyone calling her Sticks because of his sevens, she thought that was a sign of good luck.
She wasn’t superstitious. Of course not. No way.
When she peeked at her hole cards, the two that were face down, her heart began to hammer. Two more sevens. She had trips. An excellent hand, and right off the top with four more cards to come.
Horace shoved in a stack of chips. “Two hundred.”
Hannah, able to see only the four of diamonds he had face up tried to imagine what hand he could be betting so much on. A flush draw? A straight draw? She pursed her lips, then called him.
Another card, this time a Queen of Hearts, more betting, and again, until all the cards were on the table and the last two hole cards were dealt. Hannah looked at the two diamonds on the table, one of them part of Hanratty’s hand, and one of them part of the board cards, then considered that in her hand she already held two diamonds. The likelihood that he had a flush was…small, she decided, and called his final bet. They were both all in.
She lost. Hanratty held a flush after all. He spread out his five winning cards and smiled beatifically. Then he looked at her trip sevens and said, “Oh, bad beat, Sticks.”
“Yeah, right. Well, I guess I have to pay you, because I don’t have any more chips.”
“Oh, I can take care of that. I did say two best out of three.”
“You did.” She agreed reluctantly, sure this old schemer had something up his sleeve. He rose and went to the stack of bottled water. Putting his hand atop it, he said, “Each of these twelve packs buys you…” he paused, thinking about it.
She could almost see the wheels spinning, as if he were deciding how much he thought he could take her for. She was just about ready to get up from the table and pay the four hundred and fifty dollar bill, when he said, “Tell you what. Three of these buys you another five hundred.”
Despite every instinct to the contrary, she settled back in her chair. “How much do they cost?”
“Six bucks apiece.”
“You’re on.”
So he carried the three cases of water to the already overloaded cart, then returned to the table. Hannah reminded herself she really wasn’t risking anything. After all, she’d either pay for the groceries or get them for free. And she could well afford the groceries, little though she wanted them.
Hanratty counted out another fifty red chips and shoved them her way. He smiled. “Ante up, Sticks.”
Two hands later, having added twelve more cases of water to the pile by the door, Hannah decided enough was enough. “Okay, Horace,” she said, walking to the door. “I’ll get it back next time.”
“Nah,” Hanratty said. “Get it from Buck instead, when you sit in his game tomorrow night.”
She turned. “How did you—”
He smiled. “No secrets, remember?”
She shook her head and walked out into the tropical heat. Then froze in her tracks as a woman planted herself directly in front of her. The woman scowled at her.
“Why are you trying to take my man?”
CHAPTER SIX
HANNAH STARED at the woman who confronted her, taking in details swiftly. She appeared to be about Hannah’s age or slightly older, though it was hard to tell since the woman’s skin showed signs of long-term sun exposure. She was athletically built, wearing a blue work shirt, khaki shorts and hiking boots with thick socks rolled over the top. In her hand was a tool that looked like the perfect murder weapon…a strange hammer-like thing with a huge, curved ice-pick in place of the claw.
Hannah instinctively stepped back. “Who are you?”
“Edna Harkin. Volcanologist. And where do you get off going after my man?”
“I’m not going after anyone.”
“Yeah, right. I’ve been hearing stories.”
“Stories?” All of a sudden, Hannah was fed up with this island. “If you’ve been hearing stories they must be coming from the voices in your head!”
Edna waved her hammer. “I’ve been hearing them from everyone in town!”
“Well everyone in town could hardly know what they’re talking about since I only got here last night!”
“And stayed at Buck’s place.”
“And stayed in the hangar in my own plane, sleeping with a freaking alligator!”
Edna nodded. “Right, but Buster didn’t hurt you.”
“Does everyone know everything about everyone on this island?” Hannah asked in exasperation.
“Only about you,” Edna said, matter-of-factly.
“So what are your plans for that hammer?” Hannah asked.
It was as if Edna Harkin suddenly realized the thing was in her hand. She gaped at it, then swiftly tucked it in a leather holster attached to her belt. “Sorry.”
“You should be sorry! Where do you get off waving deadly weapons at total strangers?”
“I forgot I was holding it! And who the hell are you to tell me what I can do?”
“Just a passing stranger who feels as if she’s fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole. What is it with you people? Is there something in the water? In the air? Or were you all sent here by a mental hospital that had had enough?”
“Hey, you don’t have to be insulting!”
“Why not? I’ve been accused of things by people I don’t know, roped into buying supplies I don’t need, and yelled at by a mad woman waving a hammer.”
“I’m not mad!”
“No, but you are furious,” drawled a deep voice.
Hannah spun about and found herself looking into the exceedingly handsome face of Bill Anstin. In that instant, she totally forgot Edna. “Bill Anstin!” she said, feeling a little amazed. “I was at the rail when you won the World Series of Poker.”
He smiled, a wide, winning smile. No wonder his nickname in the poker world was Handsome Anstin. His looks were too good to be true. Unfortunately, he seemed to know it.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, giving her the kind of once-over that always made her skin crawl. “You must be that pilot who blew away our game last night. Sticks, isn’t it?”
“Umm, no. Hannah Lamont.” She shook his hand, wishing she didn’t feel impressed in spite of herself. Luck might have won him the World Series, but he was still a winner. He still owned the coveted bracelet—which, she noticed, he was wearing.
“Hi, Edna,” Anstin said to the volcanologist. “Come down from the mountain for the storm?”
Edna gave a short nod. “Time to hole up. I also need to get some more people out here. I think the mountain is starting to get active again.”
“Well, nobody’s going to get in here till after the storm.”
“I know that. But I still need to make some calls.” Edna looked at Anstin as if she wished he’d drop from the face of the earth.
Anstin gave Hannah another once-over. “Buy you a drink, Sticks?”
“No, thanks. I’ve got to get back to my plane.”
“Maybe you’ll come play at the casino when the storm has passed. I can give you some tips on your game.”
“Thanks. Nice meeting you.”
Anstin strolled away looking as if he owned the place. Edna sidled up beside Hannah. “Look out for that guy. He never tells the truth when a lie will do. I swear, he lives life on a bluff.”
Hannah nodded. “He seems…oily.”
“Greasy. Globs and globs of emotional grease.”
Hannah looked at her. “Are you really worried about the volcano?”
Edna shrugged. “Prediction is pretty much a guessing game. I need a team out here.”
Hannah hesitated. “This is not making me happy.”
Edna shrugged. “It’s thrilling the heck out of me. But I’m a volcanologist. We’re not wimps.”
Hannah chose to ignore the insult. “What if it erupts during the storm?”
“Then….” Edna shrugged again. “How much trouble we’ll be in depends on the kind of eruption. I mean, this mountain is sometimes explosive, like Mount St. Helens, and sometimes more like the volcanoes in Hawaii…just slow lava flows. You can outwalk those if you need to. But honestly?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t think anything’s going to happen immediately.”
“Thank God. I like excitement, but not that kind.”
“You better not like the Buck kind of excitement either,” Edna said, frowning at her in a way that suggested to Hannah the hammer had not been in Edna’s hands by accident. She took a step back.
Edna left, tossing one more warning glare over her shoulder.
Craig looked at the pallet of supplies when he pulled up in his Jeep a few seconds later. “Are you planning on moving in?”
“It’s hurricane stuff.” Hannah felt embarrassed. “Horace said we’d need it.”
“Oh.” Craig looked dubiously at it. “Buck already has supplies. And he has a couple of cisterns to catch rain water. The town never ran water up to the airport. It was too far.”
Hannah now felt supremely annoyed. “I’m going to go back in and strangle Horace. Wait for me, will you?”
Craig reached out and touched Hannah’s arm. “Don’t do that. We’ll take the stuff up with us. Whatever we don’t use, we can get Horace to take back for credit. Other folks will probably need it after the storm.”
And that’s how Hannah came to be loading a bunch of food, water and paper products onto Craig’s Jeep, muttering under her breath at the lunatics on this island.
“What did you think of Edna?” Craig asked as they drove back up the winding mountain road.
“After she got past wanting to kill me, she merely made me nervous.”
“She’s a weird one, all right. She’s a fruitcake who’s been trying to say for the last five years that the mountain shows signs of erupting. So far the thing hasn’t even vented steam. And Buck hates her.”
“Buck hates everyone.”
“No, he doesn’t. But Edna keeps coming on to him and he’s tired of it.”
Hannah cocked her eye his way. “Doesn’t he like women?”
“Not since his divorce.”
“That explains a lot. What happened?”
“I’m sworn to silence,” Craig said, drawing his thumb and forefinger across his lips as if zipping them. “But get a couple of extra beers in him sometime and he’ll probably tell you.”
Hannah didn’t like the sound of that. “Does he drink a lot?”
“Actually, no. But once in a while…well, sometimes a guy has to howl at the moon.”
BACK AT THE HANGAR, relieved—or so he told himself—to have everyone out of his hair, Buck waded through the schematics of the fuel system for Hannah’s jet and soon had some ideas of what might have gone wrong. There were things even the best mechanic might not spot before they happened, especially if he was working on a plane for the first time, and if maintenance logs had been, well, doctored.
He suspected Hannah had been taken for a ride on this particular plane, insofar as whether routine maintenance had been properly and completely performed all along. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had cut a corner. She was damn lucky not to have ditched.
Of course, he wasn’t going to tell her that. Give Delilah an inch, and she’d take a mile.
But now that he had some ideas, he was itching to get at it. Where the hell was Craig? Was he planning to take Hannah on a complete sightseeing tour of this ugly piece of rock or what?
Rising from the desk, he stretched and headed outside to take a look at the sky. Over in the east it wasn’t pretty at all. Frowning, he went to the office to get a weather update. On his way, even from this altitude, he could see that the Caribbean was probably pushing twenty-foot waves or higher, with heavy chop. Today would not be a good day to be at sea.
Soon enough he was looking at isobars again, noting how they had tightened up. Noting that Tropical Storm Hannah had finally pushed up to hurricane status. Hurricane hunters were posting winds near the center at over eighty miles an hour. Glancing at the clock, he saw he’d have to wait another two hours for the latest update.
Not pretty. Not terribly ugly yet, but not pretty. He sat back in his chair and plucked a fresh cigar from the humidor, tucking it between his teeth. He loved a good hurricane. He just didn’t love a bad hurricane. At this point Hannah was a minor threat in terms of the island. Folks here had been battening the hatches for this kind of stuff for a long time.
