Bloodfire Read Free

laid the photograph on his bare thigh and stared down at it, surprised to see that Elizabeth Ghostly was a black woman. A beautiful black woman. She had high, wide cheekbones, lively dark eyes, a sculpted nose, and full, pouty lips. She was wearing what looked like a cocktail dress that allowed for more than a glimpse of cleavage, had pearl earrings, and wore around her neck a string of pearls that contrasted with her dark skin. Behind her were a wall and an ornate door, and several men in tuxedos. They looked more like bouncers than headwaiters.
    “That was taken six months ago at a sales convention in Miami,” Ghostly said. “The Doral Hotel.”
    “She’s an attractive woman,” Carver said.
    Ghostly looked proud for a moment, but still with the undercurrent of arrogance. His principal possession had been complimented. Then he seemed to remember she was missing, and he frowned.
    Carver said, “Sometimes interracial marriages suffer stress. Cause one of the partners to break and leave. Any of that kinda thing in your marriage? I mean, central Florida isn’t New York.”
    “Well, there was a little of what I guess you’d call discrimination against her—us. Some whispers at the condominium project where we live. But that died down and didn’t bother either of us. And now Beth isn’t even the only black woman living at Beau Capri.”
    “Beau Capri?”
    “Yeah. That’s the condo development. Right near the Orange Blossom Trail.”
    Carver used his cane to raise himself to his feet. He limped over to the breakfast counter, thumping the cane on the floor, and made his way around behind the counter. After fishing in a drawer for paper and pencil, he said, “Better give me as detailed a description of your wife as possible.”
    Ghostly seemed to enjoy doing that, pacing absently, hands on hips, as he talked: “She’s thirty-three, kinda tall, and, well, you know, very nicely built. Dresses well, too.”
    “Any distinguishing marks? Scars or whatever?”
    “Uh, yeah. About a five-inch scar on her stomach. From some sort of operation she had before we met.”
    Carver found it strange that Ghostly didn’t know what kind of operation. “She got family in New York?”
    “No, she’s alone. Her family’s all dead.”
    Carver stared at him, then jotted down that information next to Beth Ghostly’s physical description. “Any habits? Hobbies? Anything that could give some hint of where she mighta gone?
    “She likes dancing,” Ghostly said. “Good times, that kinda thing. Not like she’s wild, though. Not looking for action, if you know what I mean. She just likes her fun.” He added defensively, “Nothing wrong with that.”
    “She take any money when she left?”
    “Not more’n a couple hundred dollars. Woman like Beth, she doesn’t need money to have fun.”
    “What kinda food does she like?”
    “Huh?”
    “Food,” Carver said. “People get on the run, go underground, they still tend to frequent restaurants that serve their favorite food. One way to track them down.”
    “If you can find out what city she’s in.”
    “Yeah, that comes first,” Carver said.
    Ghostly gazed up at the ceiling, thinking. “She likes Italian food best, I’d say. Pasta. Never puts on any weight, though. Amazing.”
    “She use drugs? Anything like that?”
    Ghostly’s face reddened beneath the tan. He seemed enraged that Carver would suggest such a thing. “Maybe I gave the wrong impression. She’s not that kind, Carver, believe me.”
    “So give me some kinda handle, Mr. Ghostly. Someplace specific where she might turn up. There’s lots of Italian restaurants and places to dance in Florida.”
    Ghostly put on a helpless look and raised his shoulders in a futile shrug. “Guess it seems odd, you live with a woman over five years and it’s hard to fill somebody in on that kinda thing. But we spent a lotta time together, in places that didn’t serve pasta or play music. I mean, Beth likes her fun, but she’s