The Last Innocent

by Rebekah Strong

  Luke’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen and hit the answer button. “Hey.”

  When he hung up, he had forgotten all about his feud with the doctor. He threw his car into reverse then dialed Thad. It was early on Friday, but Luke needed to tell him he wouldn't be back in the office until Monday.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The brim of his Rockies baseball cap shaded his eyes, but his exposed neck burned in the relentless July sun. He longed for the deep quiet shade of a square back in town. On the phone Tully told him to meet her at the marina and bring a weekend bag. She hadn’t said much else.

  Now Luke stood in the marina parking lot, his conscience sweating as much as his skin. Alex Wynn’s behavior ruffled him. So what if the guy didn’t like him. Plenty of people didn’t like him. But the way the man became so animated when talking about a hitman, that Luke couldn’t shake.

  Then he remembered the receipt from Easton’s pocket and the conversation that went on a little too long in that parking lot, and a sour feeling hit him in the gut. What had that slimy dope slinger found out?

  And then there was his partner. Thad was right. Did any of this matter? He was chasing his tail hoping the evidence he needed would materialize in front of him. If he kept pursuing this, would the real guilty even feel justice? Or would all the wrong people be crushed by it? Easton’s wife and daughter, and his fellow officers. All this time and he still couldn’t get away from that choice.

  He heard her before he saw her. From a hundred yards away the thumping of old school country music reached him. An old beat up green Blazer screeched around the line of parked cars and headed for him. The windows were down and Tully’s hair whipped around her face. She rolled into the parking space next to him, cut the ignition and swung open the door.

  His conscience would have to wait. Whatever Tully had cooked up was all he wanted to think about. Luke forgot his agitation and the sweat rolling down his back. He pushed up his sunglasses to hide his stare.

  Tully’s frayed cutoffs fell below the curve of her butt exposing tanned legs. A white tank top skimmed her chest. She’d traded her favorite motorcycle boots for cowboy boots, and a windswept mess of dark blond fell around her oversized aviators as she slid to the ground.

  “Hey there, G-man.” She smiled at him.

  Luke dropped his bag on the sticky blacktop and grabbed her around the waist.

  “Is that a .45 in your pocket or are you happ…” she teased, but he cut her off when he pressed his lips hard on hers.

  “Wow,” said Tully, straightening her glasses. She reached into the back of the Blazer and pulled out a worn brown leather bag with a gigantic silver buckle. Then she pulled her boots off and tossed them in the back before slamming the tailgate. From the bag, she pulled out a pair of cheap flip flops and threw them on the ground.

  “I couldn’t touch you for three days.” Luke came up behind her and kissed her neck as she slid the flip flops over her toes.

  She lay her head back on his shoulder and leaned into him. “How does two straight days of it sound.”

  “I’m interested,” he murmured.

  “Then let’s get the party started right.” She reached into the bag again and pulled out a mason jar containing clear liquid and a single lemon slice. With a sly smile, she thrust it into his hands and walked away.

  Tucking the jar into his chest, Luke grabbed his bag and followed. “Where are we going?”

  He saw her smile, but she kept walking.

  “Alright, I’ll play your little game.”

  “What’s the matter, G-man? Hate not being in charge?”

  “Yeah. Unless someone makes it worth my while.”

  She stopped and whipped to face him so fast he almost dropped the jar. Her lips were so close to his that he could taste her sweet breath, but she stopped short and hovered. “What makes you think I’m not?” Then she turned and walked down the dock without looking behind. He looked at her swaying hips for so long he had to run to catch up.

  Like a lost puppy, Luke tailed her to a pier marked ‘5’. Two slips from the end of the pier she dropped her bag and leaped onto a white speedboat. The blue stripping down the side twisted into the words ‘Savannah Blue’.

  Snapping off the cover, she wadded it up and threw it below deck, then turned to Luke hesitating on the pier. He knew as much about boats as he did about open-heart surgery.

  “You comin, G-man?”

  He grinned and tossed his bag at her. She looked surprised but caught it easily and dropped it on the deck. Then with fake confidence, he jumped onto the boat as she unwound the mooring ropes.

  “Ready?” She smiled that awkward smile at him.

  “Ready.” This felt so good he no longer cared if it was right.

  At a flick of her wrist, water sloshed as the engine roared to life. She pushed the throttle forward and the boat lurched. They puttered down the narrow waterway and through the mast pillars marking the marina entrance. As they reached the mouth of the river, the buoys demanding ‘no wake’ fell behind and Tully pressed the throttle. Luke grabbed the seat to keep his balance as the nose tipped up and the boat shot forward.

  The spires of the Talmadge Bridge faded into the background and marsh spread out in every direction. The wide river snaked back and forth cutting through the endless tidal creeks and grassy flats.

  Luke made his way to the back seat and fell into it. He grew up in the mountains of Colorado. Here in the reeds, spires of dead trees and the fishy smells he was a stranger. But it was beautiful the way the sun glinted off the water. Startled by the engine, a flock of cranes rose into the sky. A quick flash caught Luke’s eye, and he turned in time to see a scaly tail slip into the murky water.

  Tully stood at the wheel, her hair streaming in the wind. For a second, he didn’t recognize her profile. Her shoulders were relaxed, and she held her head high. For the first time in their short history, she looked calm, happy even. Luke forgot any apprehension about their destination. This week could only get better.

  They followed the river for an hour. Every now and then Tully would cut the engine and point something out to him. She knew every inlet, outlet, and animal on this river. As soon as Luke was sure they were too far to ever find their way back, they rounded a wide bend and he saw it. It was perfect.

  In front of a scraggly patch of trees on a low island, a small cottage rose up on wooden pylons. A long pier stretched across the front and down to a covered dock on the edge of the island. There was nothing else in sight but the marshy lowlands and the river stretching toward the Atlantic.

  Tully let off the throttle and turned the wheel. The boat swung around, and she slipped it into reverse. She backed the boat into the dock. Cutting the engine, she hopped onto the bow, threw out the bumpers and lassoed the pier. Once she had tied them off, she smiled down at Luke. “We’re here.”

  “I’m not sure where ‘here’ is, but I like it,” Luke said, taking in the water lapping around the barnacle crusted pylons. He heard the low hum of a generator providing power to the remote house. “Where do you go if you need milk?”

  “Taken care of.” She jumped onto the pier. He followed her carrying both bags. They climbed a short flight of stairs that connected to the long walkway running across the front of the cabin. The last three stairs brought them to the screened porch. Wicker rockers and a hammock piled with pillows furnished the porch. Tully put her key into the front door and turned it. Immediately a blast of hot humid air from inside hit Luke. He hesitated. Maybe he could sleep on the porch.

  Without hesitating, Tully swept inside and began opening windows. Luke pretended to check out the porch, letting the hot air clear before following her into the living room. An overstuffed couch and two chairs grouped in the center of the room. The brick fireplace seemed ridiculous in the oppressive heat.

  “Open those for me.” Tully pointed behind him to two more windows facing the front porch. She crossed the large open room into the
kitchen and opened two more. As soon as she was satisfied that all the windows were open, she walked back into the living room and flipped a switch by the front door. In the attic, a fan started with a low hum. A steady breeze rushed in through the screens and back to the unseen fan. Immediately the sweat on Luke’s forehead evaporated along with worries about his overnight prospects. He looked around.

  Old wood paneling that Luke suspected was original had been painted over in fresh white. A dark blue rug covered the wide planked wooden floor and two coordinating throw pillows sat on the couch and chair. Clear signs of a woman’s domain.

  Three portraits hung on the front wall beside the fireplace. One was a grainy color photo of a smiling man in sheriff’s brown with dark brown hair, a mustache, and Tully’s unmistakable blue eyes. The other two were black and white. The last looked like it had been taken around the First World War.

  Tully was in the kitchen. She’d flipped on an ancient radio and started unloading two boxes full of groceries as Johnny Cash wafted out of the speakers. They didn’t have a lot in common, but she had good taste in music.

  Luke followed, intending to help. She grabbed one box and hoisted it onto the counter with a grunt. He lifted the other and placed it beside hers. She smiled and before he could stop himself, his arms were wrapped around her waist and he pulled her close. They danced slowly to the music.

  “Is that chapstick in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”

  “Bitch,” he breathed.

  She giggled and twisted out of his grasp and turned to the boxes.

  “You own this place?”

  “Papa Meara left it to me,” Tully said. “I’m named after him. And Papa Meara got it from his daddy.”

  “Do these places last that long? Seems like the water would take its toll.”

  “It does. Takes a lot of upkeep, but William Meara built this place in ’25 to run his whiskey out to the coast. Back then the Savannah River was the only patrolled river in the area. That’s where all the steamers came in. Only moonshiners and locals were on the Bull River, most of them down on Tybee. For forty years this was the only structure sitting on the river. I can’t let it…what?”

  “I should have known you came from a family of bootleggers.” Luke was grinning.

  “You better wipe that shit eatin’ grin off your face, or I’ll do it for you.”

  “Thank you for proving my point.” He ducked as she threw a loaf of bread at him. “It’s pretty impressive, actually. Outlaw to third generation cop in only four takes.” His grin faltered at her smirk.

  “You didn’t go back far enough.”

  “Huh?”

  “William Meara was the Sheriff of Wilkes County for most of his adult life.”

  Luke’s mouth fell open, making Tully giggle again. “And he was the best distiller in the region. He needed this place because his whiskey was in such high demand in New York City. The waterways were the safest and cheapest way to move it up the coast. Papa always bragged about Congressman LaGuardia being a big fan, but no one can seem to verify that for me.”

  “Wow.”

  “It’s part of the reason I moved to Savannah after Momma died. I love this place.”

  She rarely said a word about her family and when she did, it was accompanied by unhealthy amounts of liquor. He had begun to avoid the topic entirely.

  The thought hit Luke at the same time the coffee can did. It bounced off his chest and careened toward his big toe. The top popped off, but the foil seal saved the day. He smiled in spite of his throbbing foot.

  “You come out here a lot?” Luke set the can on the counter and eyed his attacker. She mouthed the word ‘sorry’.

  “I do now. Momma was never a big fan of this place.” Tully opened a drawer next to the sink and pulled out a dishtowel. “She only came out because Dad loved it and she loved him. I came with Granny and Papa as often as I could, but she never came again after Daddy died.”

  “Mom wasn’t a big fan of mosquitoes, huh?”

  “Don’t you start. They’re not that bad.”

  “So that’s how it is? Put on bug spray and shut the hell up.”

  “Or just shut the hell up.”

  Luke grabbed the dishtowel from her and began to twist it in his hands.

  “Do it and die,” she warned as he bladed to snap it at her. He let it loose and it cracked her on the hip. She howled and jumped on him and they fell to the floor.

  By the time they ate dinner, the bed was rumpled, and the sun was going down. They tried watching TV but spent the hour arguing. Tully declared all science fiction ‘total bullshit’, while Luke maintained that aliens were just as believable as a princess kissing a frog, but that girls didn’t have trouble getting into those stories. That earned him a pillow to the head.

  That conversation led to a related argument about what to watch. Luke kept stopping on every sci-fi movie he could find to wind her up more. He settled on a baseball game because when he stopped on it, Tully stopped arguing and watched. An argument soon broke out over the playoff prospects of her beloved Braves, and they agreed to turn the TV off and move to the hammock.

  An hour later, they were curled up on the hammock with her head nestled in his arm. The breeze off the river, combined with the porch ceiling fan, canceled the humid air and made the dark space pleasant. Bullfrogs croaked softly and a crane cried out somewhere down the river. Soon Tully was sound asleep on Luke’s chest.

  He watched her as she slept. She had freckles. He’d noticed them before, but they stood out now, at home on her pretty nose. He could barely see the scar she hated so much. Back in the real world, she carried it around like a pack mule. Out here it seemed as normal a feature as ears or eyebrows.

  Nothing sarcastic or harsh had come out of her mouth in the last few hours. She still felt the need to argue everything with him, but she had giggled the whole time. Today was the first time that sound came out of her mouth since he met her. He was going to have to get to know her all over again.

  She snored softly, her breath lifting a strand of hair. Hair always found its way onto her face, usually from tossing and turning. Eyeballs darted around behind her closed lids, but for now she was still and peaceful. She only stirred to burrow further into his chest. Life had been brutal to this girl, and she still found a way to let him in.

  The Marshall men were a little more stubborn when it came to love. His dad hadn’t married until he was thirty-six. When he did give up the ship, it was to a hot mess. Marshall bravado made it impossible to resist playing hero to the damsel in distress, or something like that. His mother turned tail and ran as fast as she could away from her demons. Away from Joe Marshall and her two young sons. Luke was in college before they found out what happened to her.

  Here he was doing the same thing. Tully Meara was the absolute wrong call. Then again, Marshall men couldn’t resist a bad idea.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  The next morning Luke woke up to blurry light in the window. Rain plinked on the tin roof. The dim bedroom and soft sheets lulled him back to a doze. He rolled over expecting to bury his face in a mess of hair that smelled like flowers. Instead, he felt a cool pillow. Tully was gone. He reached for his watch. Seven-thirty.

  Slipping out of bed, he pulled on shorts and padded into the living room. It was empty. Outside, past the porch screening, something flashed then disappeared. Luke looked again and saw a fishing pole rise and fall.

  A few moments later, dressed in a tank top and shorts he stepped onto the porch. Hanging next to the screen door he spied an angler hat complete with decorative fishhooks and lures. He grabbed it and headed out. The rain felt good. It cooled him while the marshy air prodded him awake.

  Tully sat on the pier where it crossed the water to the dock, legs dangling over the side. Her tattered t-shirt and rolled up quick-dry pants were soaked. She had a fishing pole wedged between her legs and slouched underneath a hat like Luke’s but with fewer hooks and lures. He grabbed the extra pole lying nex
t to the tub of night crawlers. Fishing he could do.

  Awkwardly, he tried to maneuver into a sitting position without falling into the river. The lure snagged his shorts as he twisted. It made Tully laugh.

  Like the night before, it struck him how different she was. Beneath that floppy hat, with her feet swinging from the pier, she looked young and innocent. Not hard and brittle the way he’d grown to know her. This place drew the poison out of her. Maybe she could stay like this if they never went back. Maybe they both could.

  “Morning.” She smiled at him.

  “Morning. You’re up early.”

  “They don’t bite as good when it gets hot.”

  “It’s even too hot down here for the damn fish,” joked Luke. He brought the pole over his head and cast.

  She laughed again and looked pleased at his ease with the rod. “You fish a lot?”

  “Used to go all the time growing up. Ski in the winter, hike and fish in the summer.”

  “Then you’re gonna love it here.”

  “I believe you. I have a sneaking suspicion your Mom didn’t like fishing. There’s not much else to do here.”

  Tully laughed. “She hated it. Mom always got so bored. But out here, you do nothing. It’s kinda the point.”

  “Works for me.”

  “Hiking the Rockies sounds fun, though.” She eyed him sideways.

  “Yeah? I’ll take you some time.”

  “I’d like that.” She smiled.

  He couldn’t help himself and leaned in to kiss her. “Is this why you brought me out here?” He said when they broke apart. “To fish?”

  “Why do you think I brought you out here?” She pulled her lips away from his.

  “Either fishing or you’re going to make me disappear. I’m still not sure you’ve totally forgiven me. Maybe this is all a ruse to make me pay for my sins.”