Solomon's Compass

by Carol Kilgore

  “Did you go to the doctor?”

  “The PA at the clinic glued the cuts closed. Four fingers and a short slash across my palm.” She wiggled her cut fingers. “In a few days, I’ll be good as new.”

  “I’m glad.”

  He kept hold of her wrists. Or she didn’t move them. Neither of them broke eye contact.

  Except her heart ran the New York Marathon in those few seconds while she explored the depths of his intoxicating eyes. Her skin sang. He cupped her hands with his, his fingers barely touching her wrists. The skin-to-skin contact ignited a fire that burned from deep inside.

  If she didn’t move, she would go crazy. “I, uh, came in to get some padding and a couple pair of thick rubber gloves.”

  He released her wrists. “More cleaning?”

  “More than you could ever imagine.”

  “Guess I’ll see you around.”

  That was all? Of course. His wife, kids, and the dog waited at home. He might feel an attraction to her, but he wouldn’t act. Even though his expression held a hint of wistfulness. Neither would she. It was probably her imagination.

  “Given our track record, you probably will.” She waved goodbye and went about her shopping.

  After talking with the pharmacy clerk, she walked out with a box of PVC gloves, two pair of bright yellow rubber gloves, and a bag filled with gauze pads and cotton balls to stuff inside them to keep her cuts snug and dry. She didn’t spot Mr. Brooklyn anyplace.

  The smile on her face drooped. Only after she sat behind the wheel of her car did she realize she’d forgotten to ask him his name.

  By the time she reached Randy’s, Dan waited in the swing. “Morning, girlfriend. How are your hands?”

  “Stiff and sore, but I’ve been moving them a lot and the glue is wonderful.” She held up the bag. “I stopped for gloves and padding, so I can pitch in. No lifting or moving yet, but plenty good for sorting.”

  “Don’t push it. Any problem, you stop. Deal?”

  She reached the porch and unlocked the door. “Deal. We need a plan of the day.”

  “Let’s take a peek inside the salvage shop and strategize.”

  “I’ll glove up.”

  A few minutes later, they walked the short distance to the salvage shop, and because she couldn’t feel the key through the gloves and padding, Dan performed the honors.

  When he pulled open the door, a wave of heat rolled over her. “Search for the thermostat and turn on the air.”

  “Found it.” He shoved items away from the wall, and the blower came on seconds later. “Now I know you’re a military officer. That was an order if I ever heard one.”

  “Sorry, habit. Happens when I’m stressed.”

  “No problem. Let’s go back to the house. This overstuffed cavern will take an hour or two to cool.”

  She stared at the mess, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Junk. Everywhere.

  “Don’t worry, Taylor. We’ll clear the house room by room. Wherever we are after an hour, we stop and come back here.”

  “Maybe we’ll have half a room clear in an hour.”

  He raised her chin with a finger. “Oh, ye of little faith. Follow my lead. We’ll come out here and first clear this fairly open space at the front. The aisle to the back is already clear. We’ll start in the back corners and work forward. I’ll show you what to do. Trust me.”

  She gnawed at her lower lip. The clutter-filled area in front was as wide as the entire shop and about ten feet deep.

  Dan pulled the door closed, and they started back to the house. “By doing it this way, we make room to move things straight here without doing double work. Your house will be clear, and we’ll take the shop a step at a time.”

  She stepped over the downed chain links. “If you think we can get it done, I’m for it.”

  He smiled. “Faith, Taylor. It will happen. If it’s all right with you, I’m going to get Will to cut this portion of fence out.”

  “Please. Before someone gets hurt. It’s useless and dangerous.”

  “The last time I talked to Randy was out here.” Dan pointed to the big oak in the backyard. “The day before they found his body.”

  His last day alive. A tiny chill passed through her. “I wish I’d been here for him. He was already buried before I learned he was dead.”

  “My God! What happened?”

  Taylor turned away. She really shouldn’t vent to Dan. Or badmouth her mother. Even if she had notified Taylor immediately, attending the funeral wouldn’t have been possible.

  “Oh, I’ll bet you were out on the ocean someplace.”

  “When I received the email from my mother, we were in the North Atlantic, three days out from Copenhagen. The email arrived the day after Randy was buried.”

  Dan wrapped his arms around her in the sweetest hug she’d received in a long time. She returned it. After several seconds, he stepped back. “Don’t you worry one bit about missing Randy’s funeral. He loved and respected the Coast Guard. And he loved and respected you. He was so proud of you. He would have wanted you there, I’m sure, but he would have loved and respected you even more for doing your duty. That’s the way Randy was. So stop feeling guilty about that.”

  Taylor nodded and blinked away the sting in her eyes. “I know that, logically. But it’s hard to accept in my heart.”

  “You’ll always love him, but the pain will lessen. I promise. On that last day, we sat under the tree and drank a beer. For the first time in a long time, he seemed like the same old Randy. He said he was sure going to miss this place when he was gone. I asked him where he was going.” Dan took a few more steps in silence.

  “What did he say?”

  Dan glanced at her. “He winked at me and said I had to live in this town after he was gone, and the less I knew, the safer I’d be.”

  A chill spread through her, and she shivered in the muggy heat.

  “He’d been so paranoid—I remember thinking his words were just more of the same. Then I thought maybe he was moving. After seeing his refrigerator, I really do believe he had a premonition.”

  “Thanks for sharing with me.

  He ran his hand over his hair. “You’re his kin. You deserve to know.”

  Jake’s day had been busy. Overnight he placed a tracking device on Taylor’s car enabling him to record her location on his phone—a Class A misdemeanor in Texas. He’d gone in the drugstore while she had breakfast to pick up toothpaste and some protein bars. Taylor surprised him by walking in, sexy as hell and wearing another dwarf tee. Grumpy—bah. Anything but. He wondered if his face had registered the same shock as hers.

  After the drugstore, she drove to Rankin’s, stayed all day, stopped at the same taqueria on the way home. The device only provided the location of her car, but with Kelly back in New York, it was the best of his choices.

  Jake had his own work to do following up on leads Kelly left for him. So far, what he’d learned didn’t point a finger at anyone, but instead became more pieces of the puzzle—Dan Blair’s entanglements, Zia Markham’s affairs, Will Knox’s women.

  The only person he could firmly mark off his list of suspects was the fishing guide in Port Aransas who had purchased Rankin’s boat. The guide had shown him proof that during the week of Randy’s murder, the boat had been getting a bottom job in Ingleside, and he himself had been in the hospital for back surgery.

  Full from another burger at Lulu’s, Jake went back to town for a stroll down to the water. Gentle waves lapped at rocks and boulders lining this stretch of shoreline. He’d walked beside the sea in countless spots around the world. Copano Bay was better than some, not as good as others. Kelly called as a line of pelicans hunted for dinner.

  “How’s Dad?”

  “Still in ICU. They expected different results on some tests, and they want to keep a close watch for at least forty-eight hours.” She sighed.

  “Hang in there. Go pick on an intern when you feel helpless, and don’t worry about Rock Harbor. I’
m getting a good overview and some insight on Rankin.”

  Kelly sighed again. “There seems to be a disagreement between doctors, and they’re running more tests. Simon’s checking with some oncology specialist he knows.”

  “Good. That will keep everyone honest. Knowledge is power. Maybe I should sling some around down here. See who pays attention.” A sand crab crawled to the top of a large black rock and stared at him. Like Kelly watching over their dad, scurrying here and there.

  “You better behave yourself. Dad told you to observe only. I can’t come down and post bail.”

  “Would I—”

  “You have. I don’t want to hear it.”

  Finally. A trace of his real sister had returned to her voice. “What can I do to help you, Kel?”

  “Nothing I can think of. All I’ve done is visit him every four hours and run errands in between. Mom is holding up. We should be half as strong. This afternoon I rode up in the elevator with one of Dad’s doctors, and she talked to me after she checked on him. The doctor confirmed what I read on Dad’s official record.”

  Of course Kelly tapped into the hospital’s medical records. He hadn’t expected less. “Take care of yourself, give Mom a kiss, and tell Dad I’m doing everything exactly the way he would.”

  Jake smiled at Kelly’s laughter. Since childhood, whenever their dad taught them something new, he always said, “Do exactly what I tell you.” They never did, and he always responded with, “If you’d done it the way I showed you….”

  “Thanks, Jake. I needed that.”

  “Catch me up when you can, and call if you need me. I’ll find you if I need anything urgent.”

  They hung up, and he walked back to the street. Midway down the block, he found an empty bench and blended into the shadows. Like the previous evenings, people filled the sidewalks. No one stood out, he didn’t spot a black stainless bracelet, so he took a few minutes to answer a text from the man who took his place in Helsinki. While he reread his response, Zia Markham stepped onto the sidewalk and walked toward the ice cream shop. For the polished, blonde type, she was a good-looking woman. A woman who knew how to work it, as Kelly would say.

  He sent the message and followed the same direction Zia had taken, except he stopped in front of the golf shop. After a few minutes, Zia came out of the ice cream shop with a to-go bag. When they were six feet apart, she made eye contact and rearranged her lips into a seductive smile filled with the promise of sin.

  “Evening.” He inclined his head.

  “Do I know you from someplace? You look . . .” Her inspection of him trailed down his body and back up. “. . . familiar.”

  “I’m here on vacation. Nice town.”

  Kelly said Zia had been involved with one man after another since her husband died. The two names she had were Nate Brady and Will Knox, neither one exclusive on Zia’s side. Kelly said she liked one-night wonder boys. She hadn’t looked into Brady yet.

  She tilted her head. “New York, right?”

  He turned on a bright smile. “Decided to check out someplace new.”

  “We’re pretty quiet. Family or friends here?”

  “A colleague from another lifetime.”

  “What do you do in this lifetime, Mr. . . .”

  Such fishing techniques came straight from Sales 101, but he admired her technique. Had he been willing, he could have shared her ice cream later in the evening. He gave her a grin. “Some of this, some of that. Not as much of anything as I used to.”

  “I’m Zia Markham—ZGM Properties down on the corner.” Her voice lost its warmth and turned businesslike. “Come see me if you decide to stay a while.”

  She was good. Hard to pass up the implied meaning in her words, especially since her nails trailed along his palm when she handed him her card. He turned his wrist as if checking the time. “I’m late for an appointment. Pleasure meeting you.” He walked away, not waiting for her to respond.

  Behind the wheel, he risked a glance along the sidewalk, but she was gone. He’d wanted a closer look, and it had given him enough information. Her directness and confidence told him Zia liked to play with the big boys, but she put herself first and always would.

  He followed the beach road north and parked two lots down from Will Knox’s house. Knox wasn’t home, so he’d arrived in plenty of time. He pulled a beat-to-hell paperback from the glove box and opened it to a dog-eared page.

  The book was his dad’s. Like the beer, it was a tool meant to nail his impersonation. Since the day his dad left for Vietnam back on October 4, 1969, You Only Live Twice had been with him. The torn cover, with part of the skull balloon missing, greeted Jake like an old friend because it had always been on his dad’s desk, his security blanket. Inside, James Bond lurked half a step away from becoming an alcoholic.

  Jake’s father, Jacob Daniel Solomon, was a Coast Guard gunner’s mate in Vietnam. A damn good one. He roamed the rivers on an eighty-two-foot Point boat, the Point Whitebanks. Jake thought he embellished his stories until he did his own research. Prowling rivers and deltas in an eighty-two-footer was one thing. Going it in a thirteen-foot Boston Whaler was a whole other ballgame. Bond and Tiger Tanaka had kept him company. And according to his dad, kept him safe.

  Jake stared unseeing at the print. Waiting for Knox to show was nothing like scanning the horizon for the tiniest movement. People who moved silently in the night were the most deadly kind. Like his dad. Like him.

  Now he was performing due diligence on the locals who had made Taylor part of their circle. Looking for underlying reasons. Seeing if anyone had a motive for killing Rankin.

  Ten minutes later, Knox’s truck turned into the driveway. Jake left the book on the seat and closed his door without a sound. An old habit. In less than a minute, he rang Knox’s doorbell.

  “Hold your horses, I’m coming,” came from inside. Followed by footsteps across a hard surface floor.

  The porch light glowed, and the door swung wide. “May I help you?”

  Knox stood open to the world, one hand on the door, the other on the frame—barring entrance but showing he had nothing to hide.

  Jake gave him a quick smile. “You don’t know me. My name’s Jake Solomon, and I’m a former shipmate of Randy Rankin. I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes.”

  Knox stared at him a second. “C’mon in. His niece is in town now, too. Do you know her?”

  He ignored the question. “You shouldn’t invite strangers into your home. Likewise, I’d be more comfortable talking to you out here.”

  Knox shrugged. “You’re not from around here. Texas is different, but I can take the heat and mosquitoes if you can.” He stepped outside and pulled the door closed.

  Jake doubted Texas was much different, not in ways that counted. “Thanks. Old habits die hard.”

  “How’d you know Randy?”

  “We were stationed together in Nam. Got into a lot of shit. Bound a lot of us together for a long time.”

  “He served in the Coast Guard. You?”

  “Same. Never thought when I joined I’d find my ass in Vietnam. Thought I’d be out on the Sound, rescuing damsels in distress.”

  “No damsels?” One corner of Knox’s mouth hiked up in a semi-grin.

  “They were around, but they sure as hell didn’t need rescuing. I got to Nam and thought I’d be a big hotshot. Win the war single-handed. I learned real quick that the Coast Guard’s not a place for divas and rock stars. He tell you about his time over there?”

  “Bits and pieces. Usually over a beer or two. Sometimes his stories made sense, sometimes not.” Knox picked at his thumb nail.

  “He ever tell you about any R&R trips?”

  “No.” Knox frowned. “Told me about getting shot at.”

  “A time or two.”

  “He was closer with my dad, Vernon Knox. Dad said Randy was the one person in town he could always depend on to do what he said.”

  “Randy was like that.” Time to get down to busines
s. Jake pulled out an old photo of his dad and the man his dad suspected of Rankin’s murder. The photo had been taken sometime in the seventies on the Spanish Steps in Rome. “Ever seen this man around? The one on the left? Anytime, recent or a while back.”

  Knox took the photo and stepped back into the light. He studied the photo for close to a minute before handing it back. “Not that I recall.”

  “Was Randy involved with a woman? Or anyone who might have been involved in iffy business?”

  “No women since his mind went. And never anyone iffy.” Knox frowned. “He’d been seeing this woman named Jill for a while—year or so. They broke it off—but now I think about it, they broke up a while before Randy started looking under rocks and behind doors. She was the last one I know about.”

  “She live here? Got a last name?”

  He shrugged. “Randy didn’t share much personal stuff with me. I can barely keep track of the women I date, much less any others.”

  “Women always want something. Starts small, then they want the moon.” Except for Taylor Campbell. All she wanted was to make captain. “That happen to you?”

  “I’m divorced. Got a beautiful daughter. I never plan to go down that path again. Rock Harbor has a good supply of women—vacationing women. Know what I mean?”

  Jake knew.

  “Everybody gets what they want. And nobody gets tied down.”

  Jake nodded. “None of them want anything? None of them ever asked about Randy Rankin?”

  “All they want is a good time. Same as me.” As Jake’s words sank in, Knox tilted his head and gave Jake a hard look. “You think Randy’s death might not have been an accident?”

  “I don’t like loose ends. That’s all. If you remember anything I might like to know, here’s my card. My cell’s on it. Thanks for talking to me.”

  Every muscle in Taylor’s back ached, making getting out of bed when her alarm went off an exercise in patience and pain. At least her room hadn’t been one of the ones broken into yesterday. A moment of panic had made her heart race when the manager called with the news. Not that her room contained anything valuable—even her laptop was worthless—but one extra second of turmoil may have sent her over the edge. She had enough to worry about.