Monica had to follow the orders of her superiors. Edward would never be convinced that foul play had not been involved in his father’s death. Could he point to a suspect? No. Whoever had killed his father had covered his tracks. But Edward was not giving up on his search, and his promise to avenge his father’s death. And he’d discovered that it was impossible to think of giving up on Monica.
People from The Keys Family Center arrived in the late morning on Friday and took the items Edward had marked for donation. He decided to keep some of his father’s most treasured pieces. There was a sheet-music cabinet that locals swore had been used by Ernest Hemingway to store his manuscripts. Edward also left a large round wall clock in his father’s study. Supposedly it had come from a World War II barracks at the naval station in Key West.
What Edward would eventually do with these treasures, he didn’t know, but for now, until he decided for certain to sell the property, he would leave them where they had sat for years. For some reason, perhaps sentimentality, Edward called the Realtor and canceled his appointment to discuss the sale. He didn’t have to decide the fate of the house and property today.
He also kept several dozen of his father’s books—the ones he might read someday, the ones that seemed to hold a light into his dad’s thinking, his dreams, his beliefs. Edward had thought he had known every detail of his father’s character and life, but being in this house for two weeks had convinced him otherwise. He still wondered why his father had a gun. And what did that miniature key from his father’s desk open?
It had been two weeks of grieving, discovery and decisions for Edward. Mostly he’d discovered that a small but determined, and certainly beautiful, police detective had wrapped her capable hands around his heart. If he had any hope of reconnecting with Monica, he had to see her again. He couldn’t leave with bad feelings between them. And he couldn’t leave with secrets untold, especially the one about her brother, Miguel, not to mention his promise to Rosa.
He reached her at her desk in the sheriff’s office. “Hello, Monica. It’s Edward.”
“Edward... What? Why?” She stopped stammering and sighed. “Edward, how are you?”
“I’m missing you. I’d like to see you before I leave for Miami in the morning.”
His announcement was met with a moment of silence. Then she said, “Tomorrow? I thought—”
“Meet me at Tarpon Joe’s. We’ll have dinner, talk. We don’t need to discuss my father’s death. We both know where we stand on that issue. But I feel there is so much more to say.”
He could practically sense her thinking through his proposition through the phone. He stopped breathing until she said, “That would be all right, I suppose. I get off work at five. Give me time to run home, see Emi. I can meet you at Tarpon Joe’s at seven.”
“That’s perfect.” A sweet breath of relief filled his lungs. The meeting would not be perfect however. Tarpon Joe’s would be crowded on a Friday night. Most of the locals knew Monica and would stop and talk. He would be close to her, yes, but still miles away.
“I’ll see you then,” he said and disconnected. How would he fill the hours until seven o’clock? He could pack his car, read a book, give final instructions to A.J., whom he’d decided to let run the marina for a while.
And he could also walk to the bait house, where he’d held Monica in his arms and kissed her and discovered that he was falling in love with her.
* * *
EDWARD WAS A few minutes early. He chose a table in the corner, where he could see the door, and ordered a beer. He didn’t order for Monica. Sometimes she had a beer. Sometimes she had opted for iced tea.
At seven, she entered Tarpon Joe’s. He waved, and she worked her way over to him, stopping to talk to people she knew. She wore a pair of white shorts and a sleeveless top printed with familiar fruits from the state of Florida. She could have been an eighteen-year-old on spring break, she looked so fresh and alive. But to Edward she was every inch the woman who took his breath away and managed her life with maturity and dedication.
He stood. She sat down and he did, as well. He signaled for a waitress. “What would you like to drink?” he asked.
“I think I need a beer,” she said with a smile. “For some reason I feel like I’d be more comfortable pulling over a speeding tourist than I am at this very moment.”
He touched her hand with his index finger. “It’s just me, Monica. A man who is glad to see you for no other reason than because it’s you.”
Her cheeks flushed a delicate rose color. She reached for her nape and pulled her long hair over one shoulder. “Okay, now I definitely need a beer.”
He laughed. “So, tell me how you’ve been. I know I last saw you on Monday, but it seems like it’s been much longer than that. How’s your family?”
“Emilio is still pestering me about when you’re going to take him snorkeling again. You probably kept him in the shallow water, but to him, he thinks he swam halfway to Texas. I have to keep reminding him that he’s still a beginner.”
“He’ll be a natural someday. He has the enthusiasm and curiosity that he’ll need in order to feel at home in the water.”
“And I thought he was all about trucks and dinosaurs.”
“And you? How has work been?”
“The same. No unexplained deaths that required my investigation skills this week...” She paused. “I’m sorry, Edward. I didn’t mean that the way it must have sounded.”
“Forget it. I said we wouldn’t discuss my father, and I meant it. This is just about you and me.”
“In that case, I can tell you that my job has been routine. A few traffic stops, one minor threat of robbery at a convenience store and a lot of paperwork. Mostly that’s what being a cop is all about.”
“I’m glad you’re not a cop in Miami. Your job would probably be much different there.”
“For sure. I wouldn’t want to work in a large city. Sweet Pine Key is perfect for me.” She acknowledged the waitress who brought her beer, and she took a sip. “And what about you? You said you’re leaving tomorrow?”
He looked for some sentiment of sadness in her voice. Tomorrow was so close. “My car is mostly packed. The house is empty of many of my dad’s furniture and things.” He chuckled. “My father had a lot of things.”
“And you’ll be back to work on Monday?”
“That’s right.”
She studied the menu for a moment. “I want to talk to you about my mother,” she said.
“Your mother? Is she okay?”
“Yes, she’s fine, but she told me she came to see you on Wednesday. I didn’t know she was coming, and she didn’t tell me until I was ready to leave to meet you tonight.”
“I was going to tell you myself,” Edward said. “Just waiting for the right time.” He wondered if Monica was going to ask him to ignore her mother’s request. If so, he would probably do it, but he didn’t like disappointing Rosa. “It’s really okay, Monica,” he said. “I don’t mind talking to Miguel if it will ease Rosa’s mind. But if you’d rather—”
“No, no, I won’t interfere. My mother is upset about Miguel, and I don’t like to see her worried. Maybe you can get to the bottom of what’s troubling him. I can give you the latest phone number I have for him if it will help.” She gave him a piece of paper with Miguel’s number on it.
“Thanks. I’ll find time to talk to him this week.”
“One thing, Edward...please don’t give him any indication that I feel the same as Mama does. I don’t want Miguel back in Sweet Pine. I’m still upset about him scaring Emi, not to mention me and Mama. I have to think about Emi. We have a good life here, and all that might change if Miguel were suddenly here again. I feel like I would always be looking over my shoulder and worried for Emi.”
Edward nodded. “I understand.” He paused a moment, wondering if he should say what was
on his mind. He decided to broach the subject that he was sure was often on Monica’s. “I’m curious, Monica. Have you ever thought of petitioning for legal custody of Emilio?”
“More than that,” she said. “I want to adopt Emilio. But Miguel would have to agree.”
“And you don’t think he would?”
“No. I think he wants his position as Emi’s parent to hold over me.” She shook her head. “My brother believes that I had something to do with his arrest years ago. I didn’t, but Miguel has never been one to relinquish a card if he thinks he can play it someday. Unfortunately, Emilio’s the ace he is holding.”
“I’m sorry, Monica. I know how much you love Emilio. You shouldn’t have to be dealing with this kind of stress and tension.”
“I’m grateful for every day I have with Emi. Unfortunately, each day is one where I fear that Miguel will play that card.” She stopped talking, took a breath. “It’s not a good way to live,” she said. “But it is my life.”
Her voice shook. Edward reached for her hand. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “We’ll order and I can tell the waitress to box up our food. Will you come back to the house with me?”
She nodded. “I’d like that.”
Twenty minutes later she followed Edward into the marina parking lot. Theirs were the only cars. The renters had come back to the dock and taken off, and A.J. had obviously pedaled away on his bicycle. The house was dim in the setting sun except for a porch light shining down on the wicker chairs that faced the water. Edward had decided to leave those pieces behind, as well.
He turned on the ceiling fan and went inside to get two more beers and some silverware. When he came out, Monica was seated on one of the chairs. She had leaned forward, placed her arms around her knees and rocked in slow motion back and forth.
“It’s so beautiful here,” she said. “Looking out at the water brings a sort of peace. Maybe it’s a false peace, but there is a feeling of security about this house, this property. It’s been here so long, defying every storm, every plan to tear it down and build something shiny and new.”
“It’s a strong house, Monica, just like you’re a strong woman.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know about that. Miguel...”
He placed his hand on her back. “It will be okay, Monica. Maybe I can establish a relationship with Miguel. Maybe I can help.”
“I don’t know,” she said. She reached up as if searching for his hand and he freely gave it to her. “Sometimes I feel as if it’s all so hopeless. But even so, each day with Emi is a blessing.”
He gently pulled her from the chair and wrapped her in an embrace. She buried her face in his shoulder. She wasn’t crying, but he felt a tremble go through her body. He stroked her back until she calmed. “I want to help you, Monica.”
She looked at him, her eyes clear, reflecting the moonlight in the near darkness. “I know you do. And I wish I could have helped you.”
“Shh. You did help me. You listened. You understood. You wanted to believe me.”
“But it wasn’t enough. And now you’re going away without the answers you need.” She sighed. “Oh, Edward...”
He lifted her face and bent his head. When their lips met, he felt a connection so strong it was almost cosmic. Yes, it had only been two weeks, but he’d never known anyone better than he knew this woman. He’d never felt this way about anyone before.
She clung to him as though he was a lifeline. He wanted to be that for her. He wanted to be the one she turned to. Her goodness made him want to be better for her, to be better than he’d ever thought he could be. To let her know that she didn’t have to be the strong one all the time.
They ended the kiss, but remained standing close. “Let’s go inside,” he said. “It’ll be cooler. We can eat in what’s left of the kitchen. At least there’s a table and chairs.”
He opened the door for her, and she went inside. To his knowledge, she’d only been in his father’s house the night of the funeral. Everything about the place was different now. Stark and lonely, with no one to enjoy the fireplace, no one to collect mementos of a life. Boxes were still stacked by the front door. Boxes he would take with him tomorrow.
“It’s a beautiful home,” she said. She glanced at the boxes. “These are all your father’s books?”
“Not all,” he said, chuckling. “Just those I thought I would keep.”
She picked one off the top and opened the front cover. “This is a first-edition Hemingway,” she said.
“Yes. My father was a fan of Papa’s.”
She reverently laid it back down and took another. “This one is so unusual. Tooled leather binding, a tiny brass clasp.” She held the book up for him to see. “Look, Edward, it’s locked. I wonder why. It has no title on the front.”
He’d put that particular volume in with the others just for its unusual appearance and quality. He’d never examined the small lock. He took it from her and tried the clasp that would have opened it. But it was locked tight. “I can’t imagine,” he said and then stopped short. “Oh, no, Monica. I think I know where the key is.”
His mind raced to days prior, when he’d taken the mysterious key from a box in his father’s desk. He’d wondered about the key, but having no answers to its existence, he’d finally left it in his wallet and forgotten about it. Until now...
His hand shook as he reached for his wallet in his jeans pocket. When he withdrew it, he quickly checked the slits where he had credit cards and identification. He felt the key and pulled it out. “I think this will work,” he said.
“Your hand is shaking. May I open it for you?”
He nodded. She took the key from him and opened the clasp. It was not a book at all, but a book-size box. Inside was a single piece of folded paper. Monica took the page from the box and opened it.
“Edward,” she said breathlessly. “This is a birth certificate.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EDWARD DIDN’T KNOW what he expected when Monica had discovered the piece of paper. Perhaps a love letter, a stock of some sort. But never a birth certificate. It must be his father’s.
“Let me see it,” he said, taking the document from her. He read aloud. “‘Ronald Carl Blaine.’ The date of birth is fifty-five years ago.”
“It’s not your father’s birth certificate,” Monica said.
“No, it isn’t.” He continued to read. “Monica, listen to this. The parents of Ronald Carl are a woman named Sophie Isabel Blaine and a man named William Russell Smith—my father.”
“How can that be?” she asked. “You said your father had no other children. When he adopted you, you were his only family.”
“That’s what I thought.” Edward nearly dropped the certificate. He stared hard into Monica’s eyes. “That’s what he told me. He never mentioned a son. But it makes sense. The secrecy, the locked box, the hidden key. He didn’t want anyone to know.”
Monica sat on one of Edward’s boxes and took a breath. “I wonder what happened to this person, this Ronald. And what happened to Sophie? From this certificate it appears that Sophie and your father weren’t married.”
Edward’s mind raced as he tried to recall everything his father had ever told him about his family. “My father was married once,” Edward said. “To a woman named Carolyn. He loved her very much and was devastated when she died of cancer. She was young, only thirty-two, I believe. My father never married again.”
“And possibly he never married before Carolyn,” Monica said. “But he had a child. How old was he when Ronald was born? You said the birth date is fifty-five years ago.”
“Right. My father would have been twenty-one years old. He was in the navy then.”
“Check the signature,” Monica said. “Does it look like your father’s handwriting?”
Edward studied the now blurred name at the bottom of
the certificate. “I think so. The signature is old. My father may have changed it over the years, but it looks like the signatures I’ve seen on some older documents I’ve discovered in the last two weeks. If I had to say, then yes, I would say my father signed this certificate.”
“Wow, Edward. Somewhere out there you have a stepbrother.”
Edward couldn’t get his mind to focus. How could this be happening? Just days ago, he’d discovered two stepsisters that he never knew he had. And now this. A stepbrother who obviously meant no more to his father than to place his existence in a box and lock it away forever. Why hadn’t his father ever mentioned Ronald? Edward had never thought his dad a secretive man. Every question Edward had ever asked him, the judge answered with thought and care. So to hide a son? It didn’t make sense.
“We have to find Ronald, Monica,” Edward said. “Whoever this man is, he doesn’t know that his father has died. He should know.”
“I agree we should find him,” Monica said. “But we don’t know if Ronald ever knew William Smith. He may not know who his father was. Smith is such a common name. Ronald may never have tried to find him.”
Frustration knotted in Edward’s stomach. “And for the same reason, we may never find Ronald.”
“Sophie may still be alive,” Monica said. “She might have some answers about this birth.” Monica stood, took Edward’s hand. “But Edward, there’s an even more pressing reason to unlock this mystery.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Edward, what if there was an ongoing connection between your father and Ronald? What if your father didn’t tell you because the relationship was bitter? What if they hated each other?”
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