The Water Keeper

by Charles Martin

  I read the word Angel over and over. Then I looked at this sparse apartment. That Carrera. Those guns. Everything around me was a cover. When it hit me, I spoke it out loud. “This guy is a broker.” The list caught my eye again. “He’s selling people.” I studied the names again. My guess was that the check marks represented buyers or bids or both—a growing price tag. No doubt he was conducting the business end of these transactions on a computer. A phone. Something that allowed bids and transfers with no footprint. But a guy his age, a guy who’d learned to think and calculate before smartphones and black webs, had a way of doing things that was ingrained through practice and education. I was betting that way of thinking had to do with writing it down where he could see it. At the bottom of the list, I saw: “Takeout recipe: Loggerhead soup. Serves 11. Pickup only.” But there was no recipe.

  I had a feeling there was more to it, but it was too cryptic.

  Before I exited his apartment, I studied the walkway. I wanted to know if he was watching for me while I watched for him. Three minutes suggested I was alone. I closed the door behind me, flipped his breaker back on, and found Summer and Clay poolside.

  “Where’s Ellie?”

  Clay extended an envelope. “She said to give you this.”

  The letter read, “Thanks for trying. You’re probably a good man.”

  I flipped the letter over. “That’s all she said?”

  He extended my Rolex. “She also said to give you this.”

  Something in my heart hurt. Giving back my Rolex rang of finality. “You know where she went?”

  He shook his head. “Wouldn’t say.”

  An airplane lifted off out of Key West International. Flying northwest. I turned to Summer. “She say anything to you?”

  Summer shook her head and stood up. “No, but I’m going with you.”

  “How do you know I’m going somewhere?”

  “You have that look in your eye.”

  I turned slightly. I didn’t want her mother’s intuition to read my face and know there was something I wasn’t telling her. And I wasn’t about to tell her that her date was the broker who had sold her daughter. At least not on this side of the date.

  The Uber driver dropped us off on the curb at check-in. We walked inside and didn’t have to look hard. Ellie sat in a chair studying departure signs. Reading the destinations out loud. Gunner sniffed her out and started licking her hands. I sat next to her. “You found one that looks good?”

  She seemed surprised to see me. “I gave Clay your watch.”

  I lifted my wrist.

  “I didn’t steal anything from the hotel.”

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “’Cept maybe one towel.”

  I waited.

  “Okay”—she motioned to her backpack—“I took the robe too, but—”

  We sat reading departure signs. Somewhere Jimmy Buffet played. She was turning the ring we found in the safety deposit box on her finger. Finally, she turned to me. Her face was angular. Hard. “No such thing as Sisters of Mercy. Least not anymore.” She turned her head, looking away. “Guess they ran out of mercy. Who closes a convent? Like, what, is God . . . closed?”

  I let her vent.

  She wasn’t sure what to do with the silence, so she started talking again. “I don’t know why you’re here. You don’t owe me nothing, okay? You did your thing. You’re a stand-up guy and all that.” She motioned to Summer. “I realize you two have your hands full right now. I am just filling space in the boat.”

  I waved at the signs. “Do you have a plane to catch?”

  “Well, not yet—”

  “Can I show you something?”

  “What? Now?”

  “If you really want to fly out, I’ll bring you back, buy you a ticket, send you wherever you like. Even give you some money for your trip. But this is something you need to see.”

  She looked at Summer. Gunner had settled at her feet and rolled over on his back. Tongue hanging. Waiting.

  She didn’t look impressed. “They only have a few more departures. If I miss it—”

  “I’ll make you a deal.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m waiting.”

  “Hang around another couple of days, then I’ll fly you anywhere you want to go inside the continental US on a private plane.”

  “You’re full of sh—”

  I raised a hand. “I promise.”

  Incredulous, she asked, “You really own a plane?”

  I nodded.

  “I thought you were lying to that girl in the hospital.”

  “I don’t lie. And it’s a jet. Flies close to the speed of sound.”

  Summer looked at me like I’d lost my mind. The word got out before she could filter it. “Really?”

  I spoke to both of them. “In truth, I own two planes.”

  Sometimes you have to show people your cards to keep them in the game. I stood and held out my hand for Ellie.

  She looked at Summer, then me, then back at the departure signs. Finally, she stood without taking my hand and dusted herself off. “I don’t believe you own a plane. I’m just saying.”

  Chapter 36

  The Uber wound through the tight streets. Finally, I tapped his shoulder and he pulled over. We stood on the sidewalk, but Ellie did not look impressed. She said, “What now?”

  Summer watched as I held out my hand. “Walk with me?”

  She dug her hands in her jeans and nodded me forward. I knew Ellie was protecting herself. I would too. I also knew I could not protect her from what might be coming. I could only lead her to it. Her heart had hoped for so long that one more dead end was killing what little hope remained. I held out my hand, reaching for hers, but she didn’t take it. I held it there long enough to make her uncomfortable. Surprisingly, she gave in and took my hand.

  The three of us filed out into the street and the growing crowd of people. We walked two blocks, and I bought them both Kino sandals. It’s the Key West version of handmade flip-flops. Leather. Iconic. It’s a thing.

  We passed the bars, the smell of sewer and urine, then crossed into the neighborhoods and the smells of roses and mint. We wound through the island—some fifteen blocks. Much of the way I held Ellie’s hand. The better part of forty minutes. Summer was pensive. Ellie distracted. I doubted she’d ever held a man’s hand. Every few seconds I caught her looking at our hands. I bought shaved ice and we walked three more blocks to the water. Effectively crossing the island. To the less crowded side.

  The gate was overgrown. Vines. No sign. The brick wall was eight feet and ran an entire block. Then another. Inside, opportunistic orchids clung to giant banyan trees. Some sort of brightly colored bird squawked over my head. In the middle of the yard, two peacocks strutted, fanning their seven-foot tail feathers. I lifted the large iron lock and pushed open the gate. A couple of cats scattered. Eight thick-walled, tabby cottages sat silhouetted against the water. Each needed a fresh coat of paint ten years ago. A coquina chapel lay at the far end. Given its relationship with the weather, nothing in the Keys was very old. Looking around, I saw this compound was older than most.

  The cottages were one story and one room. Which probably explained why they were still here. I knocked on the door of the first, but no one answered. Same with the second. And the third. When I knocked on the fourth door, an older woman poked her head around from the back porch overlooking the ocean. She looked surprised to see us. “Hello?”

  I walked the gravel path between the cottages toward the ocean. She was eighty if she was a day, and given the leathery condition of her skin, she’d spent her fair share of time in the sun. Her short hair was shiny white and her clothes were more gardener than nun. Tattered jeans tucked into rubber boots. Apron with pruning shears. Stained white shirt. Despite her age, she stepped down off the porch with relative agility.

  She laughed. “You lost?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re the first visitors to stumble in here in . . .”
She pushed her hat back. “Some time.”

  “Looking for the Sisters of Mercy.”

  She waved her hands across the world around us. “Found it. Or rather what’s left.”

  “What happened?”

  She chuckled. “Celibacy.”

  I laughed out loud. So did Summer. I spoke loudly enough for her to hear me. “Ma’am, my name is Murphy, and this is Ellie.”

  She nodded. Almost bowing. “Sister June.”

  “You don’t happen to know a Sister Margaret, do you?”

  “Did.” She pointed to a small cemetery. “You can talk to her if you want. Old goat loved to talk when she was here. Never shut up. But might be tough to get much conversation out of her now.”

  The cemetery was well kept. Fresh flowers lay at the foot of the headstone. I asked, “How long you been here?”

  She considered this. “Sixty-two years.”

  Behind me, Ellie muttered, “Holy sh—”

  The woman looked at Ellie and smiled. “Tell me about it.”

  I figured I’d just ask what I came for. “You ever know of a Sister Florence? Maybe thirteen years or so ago?”

  She put her hands on her hips. Thought. Then shook her head. “No. Never knew a Florence . . .” She studied me. Walked around the porch, her white hair flowing. She took off her gloves. Brushed the dirt off her threadbare jeans. She stood close. Studying me. Her eyes were the bluest I’d ever seen and matched the backdrop of water behind her. “What, or who, are you looking for, son?”

  I handed her the letter. She hung reading glasses on the end of her nose and read the letter. Nodding. “Uh-huh. Mmmm. Uh-huh.”

  Next to me a peacock spread its fan and spun in a circle.

  When finished, she looked at Ellie, then Summer, back to Ellie, and finally at me. She folded the letter, inhaled deeply, and said, “We hadn’t had anyone join us in over twenty years. The few who did didn’t stay too long. Too hot. Too many mosquitoes. Too much water.” She tapped the letter. “But . . . I remember her.”

  Ellie burst out, “You do?”

  The woman took a long look at Ellie, then pointed at the gate we’d just walked through. “Thirteen, maybe fourteen years ago. One of the most beautiful people I’d ever seen. Walked in here. Looked like somebody’d kicked her in the stomach. Took a look around. Crossed her arms like she was cold. Said she didn’t know what she was thinking. Turned around.” The woman shook her head.

  Somewhat the skeptic, I asked, “How do you remember?”

  “Easy.” She held up two fingers. “Had the most aqua blue eyes I’d ever seen. Like the sea at noon. Only time I’ve ever seen eyes like that—” She looked again at Ellie and pointed. “A lot like yours.” She turned toward the ocean, remembering. “I do remember she said the strangest thing. Apollumi.” She shrugged. “Not every day somebody walks in here quoting Greek.”

  I swallowed. “Any idea what happened to her?”

  She looked to Ellie and back to me. “I’m sorry, honey.” The woman waved her hands across the grounds. “Feel free to look around.” She swept a hand toward the blue canvas rolling in waves beyond the cottages. “It’s pretty this time of day.” With that, she disappeared as quickly as she’d appeared.

  When we returned to the sidewalk, Ellie stood staring. Shaking her head. She kicked the gate. Then again. Finally, she shook it, rattling its rusty hinges. She was muttering, cussing. Soon she was screaming. Most was intelligible. The few words I could make out cut me.

  The last lead had run dry, and Ellie knew it. From here, there was no trail. No bread crumbs. No cryptic letter. As the space between her eyes narrowed and anger blanketed her pain, I knew I was watching Ellie’s hope die. Summer tried to hold her, but she didn’t want to be held. She just walked up and down the sidewalk screaming a string of four-letter epithets. After a few minutes, she turned to me and told me what I could do with my boat and that she wanted to be on a plane. “Right now.”

  I had one card left to play. “Okay.”

  Chapter 37

  I untied Gone Fiction, and Ellie looked at me suspiciously. “I’m not in the mood for any more of your games.”

  “I know.” I pointed. “Private airport has a dock.”

  We circled the island. Slowly. The Gulf was glass, and it felt good to be back on the water. I always thought better out here. We tied up at a dock within eyesight off the gaudy and ginormous marker for the southernmost point of the US. It’s an eight- or nine-foot concrete marker that looks like a giant Weeble-Wobble. I’ve never understood the attraction, but people throng here to stand in line to take a picture.

  I helped Ellie out of the boat, and she crossed her arms. “I don’t see an airport.”

  “I know you’re hurting, but I’m asking you to give me five minutes.”

  “You have no idea how I feel.”

  I never took my eyes off her. “Maybe.”

  We walked up the dock with Gunner on a leash, which he tolerated but didn’t like, and walked to the right of the marker. We stood at a tall, black, wrought-iron fence overlooking a bulkhead and waterline of pieces of jagged concrete.

  We walked up Whitehead Street past a food truck selling snow cones and piña coladas and slipped through a small door in the fence. I flipped the hidden latch, and we walked across a semi-grassy but mostly weedy beach that led out to the concrete seawall. Once there, we climbed up on the wall and then stood staring almost due south out across the invisible seam where the Atlantic bled into the Gulf of Mexico and vice versa.

  I pointed at a large chunk of concrete. About the size of a minivan. Once part of a bridge somewhere, now it lay half buried in the sand. Defense against the storms. “I want to tell you about that rock.”

  She and Summer both looked like I’d piqued their interest, but disbelief was also there. “I was twenty-three. I’d graduated the Academy near the top of my class. I’d also graduated seminary, which is another story, but it meant I could pass as a priest if needed. And it was needed. I’d taken a job with an agency within the government that didn’t really have a name. There were reasons for being covert. I told folks I worked in Washington, but I’d only been there once. On vacation.

  “Anyway, my boss sent me undercover to a church on the East Coast that had a history of pretty young girls disappearing. Young priest. Wet behind the ears. But six months in I had followed the bread crumbs. Whispers from people afraid to talk. I walked into this guy’s house on the water. Bigwig in the church. Given lots of money. Problem was he had a thing for little girls. I was a bit green then, so I wasn’t expecting him to be expecting me, which he was. I got the girls out but turned my back too soon. Felt the bullets enter and exit. Not my best day.

  “My boss, Bones, threw me over his shoulder and carried me to a hospital with a trauma unit. Then he called Marie and told her our wedding might get delayed. Twelve hours of surgery. Umpteen units of blood. Flatlined three times. She sat through it all. They moved me to ICU. A month. Then six months in a rehab unit where I couldn’t lift a two-pound dumbbell. Couldn’t walk two steps. Couldn’t go to the bathroom. She bathed me. Cut my hair. Changed my bandages. We slept together for six months before we ever got married, and yet we never ‘slept’ together, if you know what I mean. She never left my side. Least not when I was awake. Marie is the singular reason I walked out of that hospital.

  “While it was delayed almost a year, she would not be denied what she’d always dreamed of. The chapel was small, but that was the way they made them back then. I stood at the altar. The room was full of friends and family, priest to my right, groomsmen and bridesmaids lined up in either direction. My best man and oldest friend, Roger, stood just over my shoulder, and then the music started, and I blinked and there she was. I just remember seeing white, and sunshine, and . . . my knees nearly buckled.

  “I wobbled and Roger caught me, bringing a laugh out of the priest and all the attendees. Then she took a step, and I watched in slow motion. It was as if whatever world had been there
before just faded, leaving her. Only her. I’d never seen anyone so beautiful. So . . . She made it halfway down the aisle and her best maid was handing me a handkerchief. Evidently I was crying. More laughter. She climbed the steps, and when she took my hand, hers was trembling.

  “I had graduated the Academy. I was working a job I couldn’t tell her much about—although she had her suspicions because she’d just spent the last six months nursing me back to health. Taught me how to walk again. Bodies don’t react well to bullets.”

  Ellie had pretended not to be paying attention before, but she was locked in now.

  I continued, “She had said she felt like the world had been laid out before us. I told her she was my whole world. She stared at her feet, then at me, back at her feet. She was nervous. I was too. We tried to follow the priest, Bones, but he had to back up a few times and start over, and then when he got to the vows, she leaned across and whispered to me, just low enough so no one else could hear, ‘You sure you want me?’

  “Bones—” I looked at the two of them and held up my phone. “You know him as Colorado. He was clearing his throat, smiling, trying to get my attention. I whispered. Leaned in. My face inches from hers. ‘You are my whole world.’

  “She shook her head once as tears rained down. A pregnant pause. She looked up, pleading. ‘It’s not too late.’ Marie was trying really hard not to tell me something she really wanted to tell me.

  “I smiled and repeated after the priest. ‘I, David, take you, Marie—’”

  At the mention of my real first name, Summer’s face twitched just slightly. She stiffened.

  I continued my story. “‘To have and to hold . . . ’til death do us part.’ I remember my hands sweating. I tried to wipe them on my pants, but she wouldn’t let them go. Finally, Bones turned to her and asked her to repeat after him. Her voice was so low, almost a whisper. Then Bones served us communion, we lit the candle, and then he turned us to face the congregation. She had locked her arm in mine. Just the two of us. We could take on anything. As long as it was ‘us.’ I kissed her, and when she kissed me back, she held me a long time. Her entire body was trembling. Her teeth were chattering. The audience laughed. We almost danced down the aisle. It was November, and the air was cool. The reception was set up beneath a tent on the grass, and when we walked in they introduced us. I remember laughing.”