High Jinx

by Shannon Esposito

  Well, it was his house. ‘No, of course I don’t mind.’ It would be nice to meet him finally. Maybe I could get some more information from him about what they’ve been up to. Every time I asked Devon about it his mood darkened and he grew silent, so I’d stopped asking.

  ‘So this is the lass Devon Burke’s broken his own rules for?’ Quinn wrapped me in a hug as Devon introduced us. His beard tickled my cheek and he smelled like whiskey. I blushed furiously. The dogs both went on a sniffing expedition of his jeans, tails wagging. ‘Hello, fellas.’ Quinn grinned down at the dogs without removing his arm from my shoulder.

  ‘That’ll be enough of that.’ Devon grabbed my hand and pulled me into the kitchen, breaking Quinn’s grip. Blue eyes dancing with good humor, Devon dropped a soft kiss on my lips. ‘Quinn fancies himself as a ladies’ man so you’ll be stayin’ right by my side while he’s here.’

  ‘No complaints from me,’ I whispered, getting lost in his eyes.

  ‘Ahem.’ Quinn cleared his throat. ‘A lad could die of thirst while you two make eyes at each other.’

  Devon growled and whispered in my ear, ‘Maybe bringing him home wasn’t one of my better ideas.’ Then, grinning at his friend, he asked, ‘Wine or more whiskey?’

  We decided on a bottle of New Zealand Sauvignon blanc to go with the crab legs Devon was cooking. Quinn turned out to be quite the charming fellow, though I caught the dark circles and grave expression his face settled into when he wasn’t telling me a story. And I couldn’t get enough of those. Hearing about Devon from someone who grew up with him, and in that lovely sing-song way Irish people spoke was priceless. So was their banter as they argued and laughed and gave each other grief.

  At one point in a story about them getting into trouble over taking a car for a joy ride, I was peeling shrimp for an appetizer when the strengthening wind blew one of the outdoor planters into the sliding glass door, causing me to visibly startle. The dogs both scrambled up to investigate.

  Quinn and Devon exchanged a look. Then Quinn grabbed the second bottle we’d opened and filled up my glass. ‘It’ll take some time but your pots’ll settle back down eventually. Was a hell o’ a ordeal you went through.’

  ‘Your nerves,’ Devon offered when I stared at Quinn blankly.

  ‘Oh. Right. Of course.’ I wasn’t sure about that since I’ve never really had settled nerves in the first place, but I appreciated the sentiment. Picking up my glass, I clinked his. ‘To good times with good friends.’

  He nodded. ‘The only times that really matter. Sláinte.’

  We moved to the dining-room table since the approaching storm kept us from eating outdoors tonight. The dogs followed the plates hopefully, settling at our feet beneath the table.

  As we took our seats, the rain came. Sheets of it pelted the wall of glass doors. I closed my eyes. Rain I could handle. ‘One of my favorite sounds.’

  ‘The lass likes the sound of rain? You outta bring her to Ireland,’ Quinn said wryly.

  My eyes popped open and I glanced over at Devon. Much to my relief, he was smiling.

  ‘One day I will.’ He winked at me, which melted my heart.

  I guess my confession about anxiety keeping me from traveling didn’t deter him or make him uncomfortable. I wanted to thank him for not giving up on me. On us. But that would have to wait until we were alone. Between the sheets …

  I cleared my throat and got my thoughts back on track. ‘So, Quinn, is this your first time in Florida?’

  ‘It is.’ He cracked open a crab leg and eyed Devon. ‘Unfortunately I’ve only got a few more weeks on my tourist visa and haven’t even been to Disneyland.’

  From the way his expression darkened, I had to believe he was upset by more than missing out on a day at Disney. Whatever they were doing must not be going very well. I’m not sure if it was the third glass of wine Quinn had poured me or the frustration, but I finally became brave enough to ask.

  I put down my own crab leg untouched and folded my arms. ‘The investigation isn’t going well, is it?’ I stared at both of them.

  Quinn chewed and glanced up at Devon, who was suddenly very still.

  ‘Comes with lettin’ ’em in,’ Quinn said softly, addressing Devon.

  ‘Sorry.’ Devon sighed and the corner of his mouth ticked up into a forced smile as he rested a hand on my knee. ‘I know you’re worried. It’s just … it’s a big burden and you’re not going to be any less worried.’

  I squeezed his hand. ‘Honestly, my imagination is probably much worse than the truth.’ I watched him cautiously. Was he actually going to tell me what’s been going on?

  He rubbed the dark stubble on his chin, downed the rest of his glass of wine and suddenly looked exhausted. ‘All right then. I think I mentioned Ma was the daughter of a prominent jockey? His name was Colm Carberry. He passed when Ma was nine but she stayed a part of the horse racin’ community. They practically adopted her. That’s why a few years back, when there were questionable rumors around one of the fellas Da had workin’ with his thoroughbreds, Martin, one of the jockeys who’d been like family to them, brought it to Ma’s attention.’

  Quinn made the sign of the cross here. I kept silent so I wouldn’t disturb Devon’s story. He continued. ‘My parents were here in Moon Key at the time but had to fly back for Martin’s funeral shorty after.’

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t know. Supposedly an accident.’

  ‘Me arse it was,’ Quinn whispered.

  Devon nodded in silent agreement. ‘Most likely not. From what I’ve been able to gather, Martin’s death only made Ma dig in further tryin’ to find out if Martin was speakin’ the truth against Rooney. She didn’t want to believe it.’

  ‘Sorry, what is questionable activity when it comes to racehorses?’

  ‘Dopin’,’ Quinn offered with obvious disgust.

  ‘Her da was a big advocate for celebrating the animals as athletes and would not stand for druggin’ ’em. She confronted Rooney at the funeral. Said she was gonna find out the truth.’

  ‘Would he go to jail?’

  ‘He wouldn’t. But Rooney had just won The Breeders’ Cup with November Rain, one of Da’s horses in question. It was a big career boost. He’d not only be stripped of that win but also be banned for a few years. His credibility would be shot and his jockey career would basically be over.’

  ‘Don’t they test the horses for drugs before the race? Or after?’ I asked.

  ‘They can do both. That’s what Quinn brought me. A signed confession’ – he glanced at Quinn – ‘and I do not want to know how it was acquired. But it’s a confession from the Turf Club fella who took a lot of money to replace November Rain’s blood sample with one provided by Rooney.’

  I glanced at Quinn, who was smirking a little. I decided I probably didn’t want to know how he’d acquired that confession either. ‘So, you told me this guy, Clyde Lynch, who’d been in jail for your parents’ deaths, had connections to Dublin. How so?’

  ‘He’s a distant cousin of the Rooneys. Was stayin’ up in Atlanta until three weeks before my parents died, when he relocated to Clearwater with a brand-new bank account.’

  ‘Feckin’ dirtball’s been rubbin’ it in. Knows we’ve been followin’ him so he’s been going to every fancy restaurant in town since he got out of jail. Bought a bloody Corvette, too.’

  Ouch. No wonder Devon fell into a foul mood when I tried to ask him about it. Seeing the man spending his blood money must be hard to stomach.

  ‘Lynch didn’t care that he went to jail for a few years – he was a millionaire when he got out. He made a mistake, though.’ Devon smiled, though it wasn’t the one with the dimple and shining eyes I’ve come to know. This one was fierce and his eyes darkened with the same intensity as the storm outside. ‘With the new evidence Quinn brought, Salma was able to get a subpoena for his cell phone records. The night of my parents’ deaths, he’d texted another number. A local fella w
ith a dodgy past … who just happens to have paid cash for a brand-new fishin’ boat soon after my parents were killed. Salma’s tryin’ to find his old boat to get the GPS data from it, but it seems to have disappeared off the face of the planet.’

  ‘Probably at the bottom of the ocean,’ Quinn growled.

  ‘So, the GPS data could prove this second boat, belonging to this sketchy person the guy who hit your parents called, was in the area when your parents died?’

  ‘It could.’

  ‘And that would prove … I don’t really understand. How would the second boat factor in?’

  ‘Where it happened is a particularly bad blind spot around a small island. My parents were creatures of habit. They took the boat out every Sunday on the same route. We figure the second boat was the lookout. It let the first boat know when they were about to round the blind spot so he could ram them. The second boat could’ve even helped make sure my parents didn’t make it out of the water alive.’

  ‘Wow. That’s big.’

  ‘It is.’ Quinn cracked a crab leg with frustration and sucked out the meat.

  I’m sure Salma would’ve mentioned this and I hated to bring it up, but it was important. ‘But, Devon, isn’t there a double jeopardy law that would keep Clyde Lynch from being tried for the same crime again?’

  Devon nodded. ‘Apparently your state and federal laws are separate here. So, although he was convicted of vehicular manslaughter by the state, Salma said murder for hire is a federal crime and he can be retried in a federal court. Plus we’re going after the second fella involved.’

  Quinn swallowed a swig of wine and added, ‘But this other fella, he’s no joke. We’ve tried to follow him but he’s slippery as a fish, that one. Gone in the head, too. Saw him beat a fella bloody behind a bar one night for knockin’ his drink over.’

  ‘Quinn.’ Devon shook his head.

  Quinn looked properly chastised. ‘He didn’t see us,’ he added, like that made me feel any better.

  I tried not to react but my heart was pounding. ‘But this crazy person knows you two have been following him?’

  Devon shot me a weary look. ‘He does. The bartender had tipped us off that he usually drinks with a guy there in the middle of the week who owns a boat lot. He showed up Thursday night so now that we know who he is, Salma’s going to see if she can subpoena his sales records for the year my parents died. Maybe he bought the second boat. It’s a long shot but we’ve got no other leads.’

  Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. He’ll never tell you anything again. I busied myself with crushing a crab leg with the plyers. ‘So, finding this second boat is the key to proving this wasn’t just an accident. Isn’t there some other way to prove their connection? Someone has to know something.’

  ‘There was a possible witness,’ Quinn said.

  I glanced at Devon in surprise. ‘A witness?’

  Devon’s jaw clenched. ‘Not to the second boat. Just to the fact that Clyde Lynch was braggin’ at the bar about all the money he was about to come into not an hour before he killed my parents. When he left the bar, he said, ‘Time to earn my money.’

  ‘The bastard recanted though when he was asked to give a formal statement. Said he was mistaken. It wasn’t Clyde after all.’

  ‘Seriously? Did this guy end up with a new fishing boat, too?’

  ‘No. A broken jaw.’

  ‘I’d like to give this Alex Harwick egit a full body cast,’ Quinn said.

  My fork stopped midway to my mouth as I gaped at him. ‘Alex Harwick? The head of Moon Key Security? That Alex Harwick?’

  Devon’s eyes flashed with a mix of rage and frustration as he nodded.

  The pounding rain was the only sound as I processed this information. Well, that explained Devon’s hatred of the man.

  TWELVE

  Saturday morning we dropped Quinn back off at the hotel and then Devon and I made the drive from the posh beach high-rise inland to my mom’s house. It was important to get there in the morning, before her beer and Twinkie marathon began. As his Jeep pulled into the cracked driveway, I couldn’t help but see the little cracker box house atop sparse, brown grass and sand from his point of view. What a dump.

  This was not a good idea but it was too late – Devon opened his door. I grabbed his arm. ‘Please forgive my mother in advance for anything completely embarrassing she may say or do.’

  Grinning, he leaned over and planted a warm kiss on my lips. ‘It’ll be fine. Come on.’

  I went against every nerve in my body that wanted me to run and instead hopped down and led him to the front door. He carried the bag of groceries we’d stopped for. They were a peace offering so the monster wouldn’t eat us. My idea, not his. He’d had a normal, lovely mother so I knew it was impossible for him to even conceive of the damage a crazy one could inflict.

  Using my key to unlock the door, I cracked it open and peered inside. ‘Mom? We’re here.’

  ‘Come on in,’ she yelled from the vicinity of the kitchen.

  Taking a breath, I forced my legs to carry me inside and closed the door behind Devon. I left it unlocked just in case he wanted to make a speedy exit.

  Trying to rub the chilled, damp air from my arms, I took the grocery bag from Devon and nodded toward the small dining-room table I’d sanded and refinished by hand in high school. There was an unfamiliar smell in the air. Sweet, almost pleasant. ‘Have a seat. I’ll go see what she’s up to.’

  Instead, he moved to the photos of my childhood displayed crookedly in dollar-store wooden frames above the well-worn floral couch. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘No, that would be my embarrassingly dorky evil twin, of course.’ Turning so he couldn’t see how inflamed my cheeks had become, I retreated to the kitchen. And it begins.

  ‘What are you doing, Mom?’ I put the grocery bag down and eyed her suspiciously. She was standing at the stove in the midst of stacked dirty dishes and empty beer cans. She had on a thin brown dress that passed well enough for clothing, though – I had to give her credit for that.

  ‘What does it look like, silly? I’m makin’ pancakes. Thought you two might stay for breakfast.’

  Stay? Oh, God. Nope. ‘We really can’t but thanks.’

  She waved a pancake turner at me dismissively. ‘Nonsense. Here, grab those and take ’em out to the table before they get cold.’

  I stared at the stack of pancakes among the trash on the counter. Then I looked at Mom and deflated. Well, she was trying. Making an effort to be a little normal for Devon. Maybe she was trying to make up for that whole fiasco with Tommy Mathers. ‘Fine. We’ll stay.’ I plucked a cherry pie wrapper off the plate that’d fallen from the stack of trash. ‘Moving up to the hard stuff, I see,’ I mumbled.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Sliding a full trash bag out of the way with my foot, I opened the refrigerator to find the butter. Oh. Gross. I shut the refrigerator door while my stomach did a flip. Who needs butter?

  ‘You don’t happen to have the number to poison control on speed dial, do you?’ I whispered to Devon as I slid the plate in the middle of the table.

  He stared at the pancakes questioningly. ‘Guess we’re eating then?’

  I scrunched up my nose. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No need. It’s a thoughtful gesture.’

  ‘Devon!’ Mom came waddling from the kitchen, out of breath and holding forks and plates and a half-empty, sticky bottle of honey. ‘So nice to finally meet you. Well, don’t just sit there. Come on up here and give me a hug!’ She dropped the plates on the table and held out her thick, wobbly arms.

  ‘Oh. Sure.’ Devon rose. ‘Nice to meet you, too.’ He patted her awkwardly on the back as she squeezed him in a bear hug. It was so strange seeing him here in this tiny house being squeezed by my mother. He seemed larger than life and completely out of place. He didn’t belong here. Did that mean he didn’t belong with me?

  ‘Well, aren’t you a handsome devil,’ she purred. Then she pinc
hed his cheek. She actually pinched his cheek! I cringed. ‘Elvis, you didn’t tell me what a handsome devil he is. And with that accent? Well, aren’t you just a good catch for my little girl.’ Was she flirting? It was like watching a train wreck. I couldn’t look away. Poor Devon’s mouth was moving but no words would come. Definitely a fish on dry land. I’d made a big mistake bringing him here. What was I thinking?

  ‘Mom!’ I managed. ‘Why don’t we eat before these get cold?’ Please, God, let the woman release him.

  ‘Right. Right.’ She released him with a smack to the behind. ‘Go getcha some,’ she giggled.

  Devon’s eyes met mine with a mixture of shock and humor. I pressed my fingertips into my eye sockets. What was happening right now? Was she trying to humiliate me on purpose? This was not the stand-offish, negative woman I’d grown up with. That woman I had prepared myself for. I watched her like an unpredictable animal as she took a seat between me and Devon.

  ‘So, Devon, thanks for callin’ me when Elvis landed herself in the hospital doin’ God-knows-what that she shouldn’t have been doing.’ She shot me a disapproving look. I grabbed a fork and stabbed a pancake. ‘She’s always been reckless.’

  I dropped the fork. It made a loud clanging noise against the plate. Me? Reckless? Did she even know me? ‘I wouldn’t consider myself reckless,’ I stammered. Who was this woman? It was like the woman was playing the part of a mother instead of being my mother.

  ‘See how sassy she gets?’ she said to Devon with an air of conspiracy.

  He reached over and placed a hand on mine with a wink. His touch took my blood pressure back down from critical. Breathe, he mouthed to me while she went on.

  ‘Did Elvis tell you I was a single mother? That’s no easy task, let me tell you. Hardest job in the world.’ I shoved a piece of dry pancake in my mouth. It was like glue. Perfect for the occasion. ‘I couldn’t give her much but we always had each other.’ I chewed slowly, trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. She wasn’t trying to embarrass me, right? She’s trying to be nice. Have a conversation. I mean, she doesn’t know that the polite thing to do is not to sit there and talk about herself … especially a fictional version of herself. She’s lost touch with society. Possibly even reality. She probably had sugar-and-alcohol-induced brain damage. Maybe I should just help her out instead of being so upset with her.