by Karen Harper
The ragged rock cistern echoed with light and shadows as well as with their voices. As they reached the lower level and shuffled sideways onto a four-foot-wide rock ledge, Nick put his arm around Claire, and they stared into the shifting water several feet below. When Haze cast the light beam down, the water seemed to glow from within like a sunlit gem. Something mesmerizing about the water, its apparently endless depth, its gold to emerald hues, its subtle, beckoning motion, lured Claire, and she leaned slightly forward until Nick pulled her back.
“I can see why people believe it’s special,” she whispered.
Haze barely breathed the words. “Not just special. Eternal.”
* * *
While the women went out in the screened Florida room facing the canal, Nick and Haze sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and going over a list of possible deposition targets and strategies. Nick could hear Claire’s calm voice asking questions and Maggie’s more strident tones with her long, meandering answers, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“So, have you met Clayton Ames personally?” Nick slid the question in when he and Haze were nearly finished.
“Lately, and years ago. I sure remember him when he was friends with your dad, when you used to call him Uncle Clay. But childhood memories can really skew stuff, right? Lately, I mostly deal with his reps. But know what, friend of mine?” Haze asked, scooting his chair back and slouching down in it to stretch. “I’m betting you or your dad are the ones who first mentioned the artesian well to him and he remembered it, decided to use it. He’s done amazing things with it, and with everything he touches, so I hear.”
Nick set his jaw hard. He wasn’t sure how much to confide in this friend who so obviously was on Ames’s side. Besides, this place was probably bristling with hidden mics just the way other houses had been. He’d had to keep himself from blurting out that Claire thought Ames had a Napoleon complex—some short men lusted for power and control.
So he chose, for now, to say nothing. Haze needed to trust him, not argue with him.
“Like, I mean,” Haze went on, “the guy has the Midas touch. I know you thought he let your father down on bad investments at the—at the end, but he and his people have been nothing but great to us. That’s one reason I insist on paying your regular fee, and I know you don’t come cheap, buddy boy. If I didn’t value my family inheritance of this place, Mags and I could move almost anywhere and live well, not that she’d leave her owl crusade. Maybe if we’d had kids, it would be different, but she’s sure passionate about her cause.”
“It’s good to have a purpose in life. So the burrowing owl colony is not on endangered status, but protected, right?” Nick asked, glad to be off the subject of Ames, though he had to admit he’d started it. But he needed to know the lay of the land with his client.
“Right. Absolutely,” Haze said. “They’re protected under the Birds of Prey and The Migratory Bird Acts. The owls are a so-called Species of Special Concern, though she’s determined to have them declared endangered.”
Nick nodded as he scraped his strewed papers together. Funny, but that’s the way he thought of Claire and little Lexi right now. He was passionate about protecting them, and he prayed they would never be endangered again.
* * *
Claire gave up counting the numbers of owl artifacts, even out here in the Hazeltons’ screened sunroom. Place mats, mugs, a big carving and framed photos galore of burrowing owls. Would Maggie have mentioned the disparaging article Mark Stirling had written about the owls so fast if Maggie herself had had any part in getting rid of Mark? But she did have an airtight alibi that she was in Naples most of the day he died, giving a talk to the Wildlife Conservancy there. She could never have driven back and forth and gotten a boat to dump his body in time—but, the thought hit Claire—could she have made it back and forth all the way by boat? Could she have not spent all that time at the conservancy in Naples?
“You realize that Mark Stirling had a host of enemies?” Maggie asked for the second time.
“He seems to have been a real rabble-rouser on the page,” Claire said, tapping the article on the table between them. “Was he that way in person?”
“Always took the anti position. He was fired from the Naples Daily News, you know, for being too aggressive, too confrontational—and that’s saying something for a reporter these days. Look, Claire, I get it that you’re working with Nick to kind of psych people out, so please look into the man’s past. Several folks may have seen Haze arguing with him in Stan’s Idle Hour, but he ticked other folks off in there too, making fun of the Buzzard Lope Festival, saying Goodland was a great place for condo-building, which no one wants here. ‘Goodland, like the rest of Naples, is soon going to be all condos, swimming pools and parking lots,’ I believe I quote him word-for-word in an earlier article. Smart aleck. So that ticks off developers in Naples too, not to mention local rednecks or the biker crowd we get in town here.”
“Which is probably why the police are taking so long to look at other suspects before they arrest anyone—hopefully, not Haze.”
“They told him not to leave the area. The sheriff even said don’t leave Goodland, so neither of us should be going out with you to the site where the body was found. But, as I’m sure Haze told Nick, we know two people who could take you right to it in that mess of tiny mangrove islands out there. Ada Cypress, for one, though she’s stubborn as a mule. She has an old Seminole dugout canoe she paddles everywhere around here. And Fin Taylor, who takes fishermen out in his charter boat, Reel Good Time. His wife’s a good friend of mine. Like Ada, Fin—real name Phineas—knows every drop of water around here. I mean out in the bay and islands.”
“I’m sure Nick will be looking into all that. Now, you mentioned you had some of the Youth Do drinks and Fresh Dew cosmetics I could sample. I’ve never bought any, and I’m curious.”
“Oh, right,” she said, bouncing up. “They sent us a couple of boxes of them. Got them right here, glad you reminded me. And remember, Nick said you’d drive past the owl colony on Marco soon. I’m sure your little girl would love to see those owls. They’re only about nine inches tall—the height of this bottle of Dew face wash,” she said, plopping down a clear, hard plastic bottle that seemed to shimmer in the light. It reminded Claire of the well water, so they’d done a great job with this packaging. And with the rest, she thought, as Maggie kept pulling bottles and jars from a tissue-paper-lined blue box.
“Here’s all of it, I think,” she said. “Face cream, moisturizer, body wash, body splash, body lotion. And here’s a bottle of the drinkable fountain water, though it comes in berry flavors too.”
“The US Food and Drug Administration hasn’t yet added safety warnings for energy drinks or these,” Claire said.
“Why should they?” Maggie challenged. “It’s only fresh springwater from a special aquifer. All the ingredients, in addition to our water, are listed in the print here.”
“I’m excited to use some of this.”
Maggie gave a little snort and bumped Claire’s shoulder lightly with her fist. “You do and you’ll start looking like your daughter, I bet. But, Claire, whether or not you believe in this—and I’ve seen proof it all works—just make sure your new husband believes in Haze and can make everything about my man being guilty of murder go away. Everything, that is, except our precious, magic water.”
12
On the way back to the Sylph, talking over all they’d gleaned from the Hazeltons, Nick took a phone call. Claire could hear it was a man’s voice. Someone from his office, she thought, as she heard Nick repeat the name of a place where he’d meet the man. Spanky’s?
At first Nick had looked surprised at the call, though he was hiding it well now. She had thought she was starting to figure Nick out, his body language, tone of voice, at least. He seemed either excited or nervous n
ow. But it was a truism among forensic psychs that it could be hardest to read someone you were first dating or were madly in love with. Hormones or desire got in the way.
Then her belly flip-flopped as she realized she just put Nick in the “first dating” and “madly in love” categories. They were married, for heaven’s sake, but again she wasn’t sure she knew him at all, or knew how she really felt about him beyond the powerful physical attraction he radiated. And there had to be more than that or all this was a sin and a sham.
“Sounds like a risqué place,” she told him when he ended the call but didn’t say who it was or what it was about.
“Spanky’s? Not really. It’s just a down-home restaurant—man food—on Airport Road, named for that 1930s Our Gang series. You know,” he plunged on, obviously trying to cover something up now, “that old series of reruns on the TV years ago with the so-called Little Rascals.”
“The Little Rascals, huh? Never seen it.”
“Really wholesome compared to the stuff on TV now. It was before our time. Spanky’s is full of old memorabilia and patronized by everyone from truck drivers to the mayor. I need to stop there to see a former client. Can I drop you at your sister’s or your place for a little while? You said you had a lot of packing to do of your and Lexi’s clothes and stuff like that.”
“Stuff like that. Sure. I’ve got food to make my lunch there if you’re going out.”
“Claire, I need to see this guy, that’s all. Won’t take long one way or the other. He’s, like they say, ‘a blast from the past.’”
“I’ll be fine,” she told him, realizing she really was not part of his life yet. Hadn’t met his friends, his law partners, didn’t know his past clients, hadn’t so much as been in his house. She was his wife, but in a way, not really.
“Lock the doors,” Nick was saying. “I’ll go in with you first, though I think we’re in the clear while we cooperate with ‘Uncle Clay.’ Remember, the place is probably still full of listening devices. I’d actually like to hire a bodyguard for you and Lexi to stay on the boat, or drive you around if we’re not together.”
“So you said. Is this meeting about that?”
He turned off the Trail onto Lakewood Boulevard. “Not sure. If things work out. And, if so, I’ll let you have the final say-so, I promise.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” she said, trying to sound jaunty and not annoyed. But in a way, she felt this was their first fight—and even that didn’t make her feel like a wife.
* * *
Nick spotted the big man at a corner table under an old metal Coca-Cola sign the minute he stopped at the hostess station. He told the girl there that he saw his party waiting and headed over.
Bronco Gates was a man from his and Claire’s past, and a man with a past. It was true that he had briefly been a client of Nick’s when everything went weird on their last case in St. Augustine. If this worked out, Nick prayed that he could trust the man with the two most precious people in his life. But what would Claire say when she heard who her and Lexi’s new bodyguard was?
“Mr. Markwood—sir,” Bronco said and stood as if at attention. “Thanks for comin’. Didn’t want to bother you at your law office.”
Though Nick was tall, the brown-bearded man stood half a head taller. He wore a baseball cap advertising, of all things, Gatorade. His nickname was “Gator Gates,” since he hunted alligators annually. His orange Tampa Bay Buccaneers T-shirt stretched over his chest and biceps. His jeans looked like he’d been wrestling on his knees.
Nick extended his hand, and they shook. “Call me Nick, okay? Glad to see you, Bronco, and glad everything worked out okay for you up north.”
“Thanks again to you and the lawyer you got me. Thanks to Miss Claire too. How you two doin’?”
“We’re off to an interesting start. You might want to call her Mrs. Claire now. We got married in the Caribbean just a couple of days ago.”
“Wow. Fast. I mean—good. Wanted to buy you lunch if you’ll let me, tell you I ’preciate what you did for me, like I said.”
Though Charles, nicknamed Bronco, Gates was not the swiftest guy Nick had ever known, he’d seen he was loyal to his employer. He was emotional for such a burly bruiser, but that was good too, because—with one notable exception—Bronco had a gentle, protective streak. Unfortunately, Claire had had a serious run-in with Bronco back in St. Augustine. Nick didn’t know how she’d take it that he thought the guy was a gift from God to protect her and Lexi, which was why he hadn’t told her he was meeting with him.
“Are you still hunting snakes in the Glades?” Nick asked. Last he knew, in addition to his hunting alligators, Gates had been working in the Everglades as one of the infamous Swamp Ape Patrol that hunted the escaped, fast-breeding pythons that were becoming a real danger.
“Sure am. Skeeters worse there than in St. Augustine too. Can’t use a bangstick to stop a python like you can to get a gator—pow!” he said with a gesture to show how pushing a so-called bangstick against an alligator’s head would put a bullet in his small brain.
“Glad you’re helping hunt snakes though,” Nick told him. “They’re breeding out there and then they’ll come here.”
“Moved my Airstream trailer down here to a RV park near the airport. Got planes goin’ overheard day and night, but the price was right. Couldn’t stay at Shadowlawn after all that happened—to all of us.”
“I know it was hard for you to lose someone you loved, Bronco.” Gates’s love interest had died tragically, and he was obviously still grieving. The waitress came and took their iced tea orders, chatted and left menus. When she was out of earshot, Nick went on, “I saw how you suffered. I’m going to level with you right away. I have several past enemies—one especially—who I’m scared to death might try to hurt my wife or four-year-old stepdaughter to get at me. I don’t know if you’re committed to hunting snakes, but my girls need to be protected from a big, human snake. Not that I want you hunting him down. I’m looking for someone to live with us on a big yacht I borrowed from a friend, and be a guard for them on land and sea, even sometimes if I’m with them. I’ll top the salary you’re making now.”
Bronco’s brown eyes widened. He hit his chest with his fist. “You mean me? You’d trust me and hire me? Man, I owe you big-time, wouldn’t charge you nothing but a place to live and food. I got me a small settlement to leave Shadowlawn, though I hated to do that.”
“One thing you did there I need,” Nick told him, still ignoring the menus and leaning closer. “Your idea of being a groundskeeper was not being a gardener. You patrolled the grounds at night, and I’d expect you to do the same for us, even though we’re on a boat, maybe docked at a marina, or anchored out a ways on the water. I like the fact you have a gun and license to use it—no bangsticks though.”
Bronco nodded. Nick hit his index finger on the table to emphasize what he was saying. “And two conditions, Bronco. One, yes, I’m paying you. And two, Claire has to okay it first. I need to make sure she’d be comfortable with you guarding her and her daughter. I hope she’ll okay it. I know she spoke out for you when the police came.”
“She spoke to me too,” Bronco said with a big nod. “She calmed me down and made me think about some things. She may not have felt safe with me once before, but you tell her, she gives me this chance, I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
* * *
Claire had four boxes packed when Nick backed into her driveway, expecting to load them in the trunk. She’d eaten a peanut butter sandwich and had called Juanita on the Sylph. She’d talked to her and Lexi, who seemed to be doing well and informed Claire that she was going to call Juanita by the nickname of Nita and she wanted Nita to call her Lex. So everything seemed to be off to a good start there.
When Claire opened the front door for Nick, he motioned her outside and closed the door after them. He kissed her
fast on the lips, a mere peck and said, “Except for the boat, I still don’t trust a lot of places for our sharing important news.”
“Such as what? How did your business lunch go? I smell corned beef.”
“You are good! I had a Reuben and Bronco had roast beef.”
“Bronco? You were meeting Bronco Gates, and you couldn’t tell me that in the car? Great partnership we have going!”
“I had to see and hear him out first. You ended up on his side, didn’t you, saw the good in him?”
“But why is he here? And is he all right?”
“Aha. See. You care,” he insisted putting his hands gently on her fists, which she had propped on her hips, then stroking her waist with his thumbs. “He wanted to thank us for what we did for him at Shadowlawn. He appreciates that you listened to him and talked him down. He wants you to know he’ll keep you safe, though you weren’t safe with him once before, as he put it.
“Claire, I won’t hire him if you don’t agree, but we need a bodyguard-driver, and he’s unemployed except for hunting the pythons in the Glades. I told him we need help from an even bigger snake, so—sweetheart? You and I absolutely, positively are building a partnership, but this one’s up to you.”
“I’m thinking. I’m thinking if we can totally trust him, after he lost control and scared me to death. But of all the people I think Ames could have located and bought off already to spy on us, Juanita Munez and Bronco Gates are our best bets to trust. I’m trying to be rational about this, not all emotional. Give me a minute on this, okay, while we load my boxes?” She reached up and grabbed his shoulders. She had to get along with this man, who was used to getting his way, but she had to assert herself too. “Thanks for asking me, even though you didn’t tell me it was him on the phone. I’m grateful we can work together.”
* * *