Trouble in Paradise

The man was in designer sweat clothes that appeared as if they'd never been sweaty. His wife had on a te

He held his handgun casually in front of him, aimed more or less at the man's navel. The gun was cocked.

"I have one."

The man had iron-gray hair and a strong profile. He was the semi-retired CEO of something, and he was struggling to be brave and not succeeding. You can be brave, Macklin thought, with a gun in your face, though it's easier when there's no gun. But there's still nothing to do but what you're told.

"Paradise Bank?" Macklin said.

"Yes."

"Stiles Island branch?"

"Yes."

"Get the key."

The man hesitated. Macklin raised the handgun and placed the muzzle a half inch from the man's left eye.

"I'll count to three. Then your widow gets the key for us... One!"

"It's in my bureau drawer," the man said.

His voice wheezed out as if his throat was clogged with dust.

"I'll go with you," Macklin said, and he followed the man into the front hall and up the stairs.

"What are you going to do to us?" the woman said, her voice strained, her teeth clenched in parody of an upper-crust accent from the pressure of the shotgun.

"Nothing we don't have to," Crow said.

"You got a downstairs lav?"

"Yes."

"Let's see it," Crow said and lowered the shotgun.

They walked to the front hall and back toward the kitchen.

The woman indicated a door under the stairs next to the kitchen.

Crow opened the door. It opened outward. He looked in. It was a big lavatory with a wash basin and makeup mirror and no windows.

Macklin came back down the stairs with the man. He held up the safe deposit key so that Crow could see it.

Crow nodded and jerked his head toward the lavatory.

"Here," Crow said.

"Down this hall."

Macklin came down the hall and looked at the lavatory.

"Helps that these houses are all the same, don't it?" Macklin said.

"Okay, both of you go into the lav and close the door and stay there."

The man and woman did as they were told. They're glad to, Macklin thought. Means we're not going to kill them. When the door was closed, Crow went to the living room and got the big gym bag. He came back down the hall and took a hammer and some 12D nails from the bag and nailed the lavatory door shut. Then he dropped the hammer back into the bag, put the shotgun in, picked the bag up, and he and Macklin, who was carrying the canvas duffel bag, walked out of the house. On the sidewalk, Macklin looked at his watch.

"Pretty good," he said.

"We'll have them all by late afternoon."

"What's Fran telling people at the bridge?" Crow said.

"What's that sign say?"

Macklin smiled.

"The sign says "Caution: Blasting,"" he said.

"Any civilians, Fran tells them the island's closed for a couple hours."

They walked up the manicured walkway of the next estate.

Macklin rang the door bell and deep inside the house some chimes sounded. Macklin gri

"Avon calling," Macklin said and set his duffel bag down on the step beside him.

FIFTY.

Abby Taylor lived in a weathered shin home in the oldest part of Paradise. When!

she was married, she had bought it with her husband, and when they had divorced it remained with her. When her doorbell rang, she looked through the peephole in the front door and saw a well-dressed, good-looking, upper-class woman in her forties, who looked vaguely familiar. Abby J opened the door.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello," the good-looking woman said and hit Abby flush on the jaw with her clenched right fist. It was a good punch, and it staggered Abby backward several steps. The woman stepped through the front door and closed it behind her. By the time Abby got her balance, the woman was aiming a.38 Smith & Wesson Chief's Special at her.

"What... the... Christ are you... doing?" Abby said.

Her lip was already starting to puff.

"The punch was to get your attention," Faye said. She felt perfectly cold and steady inside.

"If you don't do exactly what I say, I'll kill you. Do you believe that?"

Abby stared at her. It was hard to process anything. The woman slapped her hard across the face with her left hand.

"Do you believe that?" the woman said.

Abby nodded.

"Okay. We're going to go to your bedroom, and you're going to lie on the bed facedown. You got that? You so much as clear your throat, and I'll fill your head full of bullets."

"What are you going to do?" Abby said. Her voice sounded thin to her and puny.

"Anything I have to," the woman said.

"You do what you're told, you'll get out of this alive. You don't, and you won't."

"Why?" Abby said.

"Why are you doing this?"

The woman smiled without any hint of laughter.

"Love," she said.

"Love?"

The woman jerked her head toward the front stairs.

"Your bedroom up there?"

"Yes."

"Then move," the woman said.