The sun was just starting to come up, and the pink rays were beginning to light up the small house where the young gators lived. The roof was made of an opaque film that filtered out most of the light. Shar had taken the data and gone in the office to put it into the computer. She and Zell would be keeping an eye on the eggs until they hatched.
Winnerow had already given him hell for getting beat up, as though he could have helped it. “Now folks think you’re on her side,” he’d said. “First interfering with Billy Bob and Clem and then applauding.”
Zell lifted a shoulder. “It was a heck of a speech.”
Winn had dropped a few choice words at that and wheeled out of the incubation room. He hadn’t asked if he was all right, hadn’t given Zell an ounce of sympathy. Well, what had he expected?
When Zell finished in the room, he closed the door and stepped into the hallway between the four large pens where the smaller gators were kept according to size. Dewey, their groundskeeper and handyman, was at the end spraying down the concrete floor. Owen was standing by the wheelbarrow that carried the Purina Gator Chow. The gators learned that the scrape of the shovel meant feeding time. The two-footers were already clamoring on their concrete beach for their daily ration.
As Zell passed, Owen said, “Be careful about that girl.”
Zell paused, wondering if he’d heard the underlying threat. He couldn’t help tense his shoulders. “You telling me what to do?”
“I’m saying to be careful, is all. For your sister and your daddy and the Waddells, too. There’s lots of girls in town who’d be happier than a gator in mud to take up with you.” He avoided Zell’s gaze by scraping the food into the gator holding tank.
Zell couldn’t believe it. Owen was advising instead of kissing butt, which was how he got by in life, how he’d gotten into the Macgregor family. Shar was too strong for most men, for men who had backbone, anyway. Owen must have figured it was worthwhile to set aside his manly pride. Zell didn’t know if he was calculating or beaten down by life and poverty. It was odd and a bit disturbing to see him out of character.
Now Zell, he’d learned that sometimes keeping your mouth shut was the better way to handle things than jumping into a fight mouth and fist first. But if he let Owen get away with that, who knew what else he’d get up to? If Zell had any sleep behind him, he might have tapped Owen on the nose with the stick they used on the gators. Just a quick tap when a gator got full of himself and opened his mouth. Zell let his words do it this time.
“Owen, I’d advise you to keep your nose in the gator business and out of mine.”
Zell headed out into air that was comparatively cooler and closed the door behind him. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed pure animosity on his brother-in-law’s face.
CHAPTER 11
Kim woke up exhausted on her birthday. At first, she thought she’d dreamed the whole break-up conversation with Simon before realizing it had happened the day before. Why didn’t she feel sadder about it? She had loved him, hadn’t she?
As much as you can love someone, Becca’s voice echoed.
Kim pushed out of bed with a grunt. “I can love someone with all my heart.” She glanced over at Oscar, who was waiting beside the bed. “Maybe even you. If you stop rooting through my clothes and shoving your butt at me.”
She slipped on her robe and started boiling water for Jasmine tea. “And tearing up my newspapers.” Shreds of the local paper littered the floor. Some had become spit wads. Soggy spit wads she discovered when she stepped on one. “Ewww.”
She walked out the front door to let Oscar take care of his morning rituals—and take in her present to herself. The used Ford F-150 she’d purchased yesterday in Naples sat where she’d parked it so she could take it in first thing in the morning. It wasn’t fancy like Zell’s, just a simple truck for a gal who lived in the swamp. The dark blue paint looked nearly black in the morning shadows. She’d had running boards installed that would help Oscar climb in and out.
Yesterday she’d gotten most of the house cleaned. Since the bar was closed on Mondays, too, Kim had all day to accomplish the same with the bar. She poured pig food into one of Oscar’s bowls and put fresh greens into another. Her breakfast was a cup of tea and a couple of spoonfuls of peanut butter.
Once she got ready, she and Oscar headed out to Southern Comfort.
“Oscar, don’t you even think about it.” He was very interested in the small birthday cake she’d bought for herself at a bakery in Naples that was sitting on the seat between them. “You’re not supposed to have sweets, Zell said so.” The pig snorted at that, as though he didn’t think much of Zell’s advice.
When she pulled down the short road to the bar, her stomach dropped down to her feet. The building was covered in graffiti, most of it unsuitable for even her eyes. Three different colors of spray paint had been used, and the letters were sloppy and large. She used one of those words herself before closing her eyes for a moment.
“What did I ever do to these people?”
Oscar grunted in answer, not offering anything useful. Leaving him in the truck, she unlocked the door and checked inside. Nothing else had been touched, though the graffiti had gone all the way around the building. She called the sheriff’s sub-station and asked someone to come out. When they gave her a fifteen-minute ETA, she decided to go to the hardware store.
She returned with several gallons of brown paint and all of the fun stuff to go with it. The deputy was out front taking pictures with a digital camera. She vaguely remembered him from school; he’d been a few years younger.
“Hi, Dave. Or should I say Deputy DeBarro,” she said, taking in his badge.
He nodded. “Hey, Kim. Got yourself a mess here.”
“A bit of one.” She lifted one of the gallon cans. “I’m going to clean it up as soon as you’re done. Any ideas who would have done this?”
“They didn’t exactly sign their artwork. Or leave any evidence like empty cans.” He touched one of the red letters. “They must have done it sometime during the night; it’s dry. Honestly, there’s not much we can do about it unless we have some evidence or catch ’em in the act. Do you have any ideas?”
She opened her mouth to name the two Bobbsey Twins from the lodge, but closed it before a word came out. No point in sending the law out there to question them. It wasn’t like they would confess, and the visit would rile them up even more. That was the last thing she needed.
Kim had painted the front and one side of the building by late afternoon. Her arms were so tired they felt rubbery. She glanced down to where Oscar sat in the shade and watched her. “You could help, you know.”
He snorted and rolled onto his side.
“Just what I thought you’d say.”
She dragged herself inside where the cool air chilled the sweat on her body. After collapsing in one of the chairs for a few minutes, she pulled herself up and to the file cabinet in the back office. “Hey, happy friggin’ birthday to me. Might as well celebrate the big two-seven. First, we need music. I’m not enjoying my little birthday celebration with George Jones.” She had a few of the CDs she’d brought on the trip. It wasn’t much of a selection: the soulful angst of Sarah McLachlan, Erotica by Madonna, and Nkalakatha by Mandoza. She was definitely in the mood for the more upbeat South African artist. She figured out how to replace some of the CDs in the jukebox. “Sorry, George, but we’ve got like all of the CDs you’ve ever made in here. They won’t miss one or two.”
Once the rhythmic beat started, she lit a candle on the cake and carried it to Zell’s usual table. Only because it was the coziest. She cut a piece of the cake, set it on one of the paper plates, and called Oscar over. “Heck with it, it’s my birthday. Here, have a piece.”
She left the candle burning as she cut another piece for herself. “Gawd, this is so pitiful.” She sunk her fork into the moist yellow cake coated in chocolate. She’d wanted chocolate on chocolate, but this was all they’d had in when-you’ve-got-n
o-one-in-the-world-but-yourself size. “At least there’s no one around to witness it.”
A slash of sunlight swept in as the door opened. Her heartbeat tripped when Zell walked in, a questioning look on his face. He was wearing a tight, white undershirt and a shirt with fish swimming against a black background unbuttoned over that. His gaze went right to her and he walked over.
Embarrassment made her snap, “What are you doing here? We’re closed.”
He took in her cake. “Your birthday?”
She nodded, blowing out the candle and wiping off the icing that was probably all over her mouth. Then she saw the brown paint splattered on her arms and her old Cher concert T-shirt and figured it didn’t matter anyway. Besides, it was only Zell. She started to get up. “I’ll get you a plate.”
His hand on her shoulder stilled her. “Don’t worry about it.” Even worse, he must have picked up the rejection on her face, because he said, “I don’t eat that stuff.”
“Everybody eats this kind of stuff once in a while.”
He turned the other chair around and sat backward on it. “Not me, but go right ahead.”
There was something about Zell that made her so completely aware of herself. Which made it hard to eat in front of him. Still, it was cake, so she did her best.
He didn’t seem to notice her discomfort. “My granddad Zelwig spent his birthday alone once, up on Red Ant Camp. You know why it’s called that?” When she shook her head, he rambled on. “Whenever he’d put up on one of the shell mounds for a few days to fish or hunt, he’d set up his skeeter bar, to keep the skeeters out, and look for somewhere to make a bed. Gator nests make a nice soft bed, so he laid his bedding over that mound of leaves and dirt and went right to sleep. Until the red ants got him. Ants also like old gator nests, you see, because of all the unhatched eggs. He was covered in ’em before he realized it. He went screaming into the water and said he looked like he had measles afterward.”
Zell’s voice had taken on a smooth, southern twang when he’d started the story, and Kim enjoyed listening to it.
“Anyhow, his friend Lizard Jones was supposed to come get him in four days. Lizard had gone on to another mound to do some hunting. Well, ole Lizard had a skiff full of gator skins, so he headed on back to unload them, thinking he’d come back on time. But he got the opportunity to sell his skins for a better price to a fellow in Miami, so he drove over there before heading back out to get Zelwig. By the time he returned, a week had passed. Granddad Zelwig spent his birthday on that mound all by himself. He caught some mullet and cooked it up and sang ‘Happy birthday’ to himself. He sure was mad at Lizard, though, and never did let him live it down.”
Grudges. The word hung between them, a reminder that they shouldn’t be there sharing an old story and some laughter at all. Making her feel even worse, his bruises matched some of the colors in the shirt. If she hadn’t returned to town, he wouldn’t have been ambushed.
He reached down and scratched Oscar’s head. The telltale empty plate was bad enough, but Oscar had frosting all over his snout. She didn’t know why she felt ashamed about feeding him cake. It was her pig!
Instead of chastising her, he said, “Whose truck is that outside? Saw the truck and graffiti and wondered what was going on.”
“The truck is mine; the graffiti was a gift.”
“The graffiti’s not very nice, but the truck is. You really are settling in then.”
Her smile faded at the chagrin in his voice at the last part. “Whether anyone likes it or not. It’s going to take more than some smashed winders and paint to chase me out of here.”
“Well, I—” He stopped then and turned to the jukebox. “What in the hell are you listening to, anyway?”
“Mandoza. Some guy from South Africa brought the CD into the club I worked at and asked the DJ to play it. It was so cool, I ordered it.”
He shot out of his chair and started scanning the selections. “You didn’t take out Kenny Wayne, did you?”
“No, but some of George Jones went on vacation.”
He turned around and leaned against the jukebox, looking completely comfortable and all kinds of interesting. “Folks are going to love that.”
She pushed away her plate and walked over. “There ought to be variety. You don’t like that old country music either. Elva put something in there for you. Seems like the owner ought to have something in there for her, too.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Can’t hardly argue with that. Just don’t play this during happy hour. They might toss the juke right out.” He reached out and touched her belly button ring. The small diamond caught the light with his movement. “City girl.”
Her stomach trembled, and she laughed to cover it. “I guess I am, a little. I do miss calling for pizza delivery, I can tell you that.”
When Oscar nudged her leg and gave her the “potty break” look, she let him out. Zell walked outside too and checked out her paint job. Then he wandered around the side that she hadn’t gotten to yet. “Nice.”
“Didn’t know those two could even spell words like that,” she said. “I’m not even sure some of them are words.”
He chuckled. “You think it was Billy Bob and Clem?”
“They’re the most vocal of the I-Hate-Kim Club.”
He swiped at a mosquito. “Sometimes it’s the quiet ones you gotta look out for.”
She crossed her arms in front of her and walked to the river’s edge. “I suppose you’re a charter member of that club yourself.”
He slid her a sideways glance as he walked up beside her. “I orta be,” he said, reminding her of another Cypress word she hadn’t heard in a long time. “It’s in the family doctrine, after all.”
Did that mean he wasn’t? She didn’t want to ask, mostly because she figured he wouldn’t answer anyway. “You want me to leave.”
“Doesn’t matter what I want. You’re staying, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Well, there you go.” He walked to his truck, and she caught herself watching his easy-going stride and his easy-on-the-eyes backside. “See you around,” he said when he opened his door.
She waved in answer. He didn’t look too awfully bummed at that prospect. The sky to the east was darkening into the almost-daily storm. She grabbed up the gallon of paint and tray and headed inside. Hopefully it was dry enough to withstand some rain. She should have thanked him for checking on the bar, but for some reason the words clogged in her throat beneath a lump of disappointment. She hadn’t expected him to say happy birthday anyway.
She heard his truck pull away as she headed to the door to call in Oscar. He was waiting on the steps. “Oscar, what on earth have you been into?” Some weeds were tangled in his collar. As she tugged them free, she realized they weren’t tangled; someone had tucked them there. They weren’t just weeds, but weeds with small pink flowers on them. Loose gravel indicated where the weeds had been growing; the broken-off stems were lying nearby. She leaned against the doorway and looked at those tiny blossoms. Redneck flowers.
“Dammit, Zell, why can’t you be a 100% jerk? You’re good at it, after all.” She could hear gratitude thickening her throat now, though she was sure she hadn’t sunk so low that tears were pressing against the backs of her eyes. “Keep doing this, and I’ll start thinking you’re a good person. I know you don’t want that.”
Billy Bob drove in from the lodge to pick up some supplies at the hardware store. When he handed Evan, the owner’s son, the charge card, Evan said, “Somebody painted up the bar last night. Kim was in this morning buying paint to cover it up. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
Billy Bob chuckled. “Nope, but I’d like to shake the hand of the man who done that and the winders.”
Evan’s gray eyes narrowed. “She ordered tempered glass. Harder to break.”
Billy Bob signed the slip. “They’ll figure out some other way to get her out of here. There’s always something you can do to a woman
to send her packing.” He headed out to the beat-up truck and threw the bags in the back. The sky rumbled and started spitting rain. Before long, it would be a downpour. He got in the truck and looked across the street to the corner of the bar he could see.
He bet JoGene had something to do with that. He sure had encouraged him and Clem to give Kim a hard time. Scare her even. JoGene was their boss, after all. Well, Billy Bob bet they could scare her a lot. Yeah, and they’d have a good time, too. She wasn’t bad looking. She’d be lots of fun on a hot summer night.
Kim settled in for an evening of reading, but guilt nagged at her over those hundreds of orchids that required her care and attention. No one had called on her ads yet. She brewed some spicy chai tea and settled in the second bedroom where Elva kept her office. “No wonder I kept putting this off. What a mess.” Elva wasn’t the best housekeeper in the world, but this room far surpassed the rest of the place in clutter. It looked as though she’d been searching for something in a big hurry. Kim threw papers, a broken conch shell, and lots of paperclips into one box. When she started to pull out the top drawer of the filing cabinet, she could barely budge it. When it finally came loose, she could see why: it was in total disarray. Papers were vertical in the folders, making them catch. That was strange, since the drawers at the bar were in perfect order. Elva had always been a savvy businesswoman, and that meant being organized. Or so she’d always told Kim.
All of Elva’s personal files were in here, categorized with neat file tabs. Elva kept paperwork for years, like the pay-off on the house and repair records for vehicles she hadn’t owned in forever. Kim set all the displaced papers on the floor. She was halfway through organizing when she stopped cold at the sight of a small piece of rubber on one of the hanging folders. Kim looked at it. Why would Elva be going through here wearing gloves?
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