“Thanks. Should I hold onto my hair?” Chase theatrically felt his head to see if his precious hair was still there but then he sobered. “Still and all, I would like to thank the man for what he did, even if he hates me.”
Joe put a restraining hand against Chase’s chest as he started to get up. “Not yet man. You might feel good but you’re full of painkillers. You’re going to feel like hell in the morning and look worse.”
“Great. I wonder if Shanna will love me ugly and crippled.”
“Not a chance. Any halfway sane woman would run a mile. Of course she should have run in the first place. I must meet this one.”
Chase would not be pushed. “C’mn man I feel good and we need to get going. Did you get a hold of that friend of yours in St. Augustine ?”
“Yep. He’s expecting me sometime tomorrow.” Joe started picking up his workbooks.
“Me? Oh no you don’t. We’re going together on this deal.” Chase painfully swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Nope. You are in no shape to travel. I go alone this time.”
“No chance man. Just give me a couple of hours to get it together and you drive. Okay? I’ll sleep on the way up.”
At that moment one of Joe’s aunts came in bearing a bowl of the best smelling stew ever, accompanied by a huge piece of Indian fry bread. She chased Joe from the room and stationed herself in front of the bed arms folded on her ample bosom until Chase, like a dutiful child, had finished every mouthful. Full to bursting, Chase attempted to give adequate thanks and fell asleep in mid-sentence.
Rousted by Joe a couple of hours later, Chase tottered to the truck, unwilling to admit that he was grateful to be resting while Joe drove, which he promptly did.
Chase awoke about five hours later. It was dark and they had made good time. They were just entering St. Augustine and after some discussion decided on a motel near the fort since Joe’s friend owned a store in the old Spanish town.
The next morning Chase felt much better. He was stiff and sore in every muscle but the inflammation in his arm now hardly bothered him and his face was now recognizable. They had a huge breakfast of eggs, ham, biscuits, OJ and coffee in a small café on the bay front and then wandered into the old Spanish section of town.
Chase was busy taking in the sights so they had been walking for some time before he realized that he had passed one particular house before. He turned around as they passed, just to make sure.
“Joe, old buddy, are you just concerned for my health that I get adequate exercise or are we lost?”
Joe kept walking muttering darkly about smart-ass white men.
Feeling good, Chase shrugged and hurried to catch up. The Spanish section was not big but every available building contained a store, restaurant, café or historical building. It was a rabbit warren of tourist lures. Chase found it charming. Shanna would love this. Each building was a quaint Spanish or English style home that had been lovingly renovated and most had second story porches overhanging the cobblestoned streets. No traffic was allowed, even the horse carriages were prohibited from some areas. This was strictly a pedestrian area.
Occasionally, as they walked along, Chase saw wandering troupes of actors staging sword fights between the Spanish and the English. Each little store and café had a walled garden and at most of them someone was playing a guitar or singing like James Taylor. Most of the young girls who were waiting tables seemed to be wearing Indian cotton, gauzy long skirts so that Chase felt caught between two time warps, the eighteenth century and the 1970s. Chase wished they had time to visit the fort. He would make another trip when he could properly enjoy the place.
They had been wandering for an hour or so and had covered most of the area. Indeed they were circling back toward the motel when Joe let out a war cry. “There it is, just up the street from the English pub.”
“About time.” Chase had been on the verge of mutiny. “At least we can get a beer. That’s his place there? It looks like something left over from the sixties.” Chase wasn’t sure what he had expected, but certainly not this. A time warp within a time warp. The store, like most of the others was a small, renovated Spanish house with a white veranda. It was festooned with tie-dyed tee shirts, hanging plants, beads and beautiful little glass and copper rooting pots. Inside the place was crammed with candles, herbal products and hand blown glass.
Joe and Chase made their way from room to room, eventually ending up at the rear of the house where they found the hippie himself, tending to one of his customers. This room contained everything anyone could ever want to start their own home winery, or brewery as the case may be. There was sawdust on the floor and stuff was hanging from the ceiling. There were glass tubes and coils and strange looking objects around. Some of them looked suspiciously like bhongs. There was even an old ginger cat asleep in a barrel.
Kenny was in earnest conversation with an evident wine connoisseur. Kenny had a bald patch on top, long stringy ginger hair, a drooping mustache and a beard longer than his hair. He wore thong sandals, baggy pants and a Hawaiian shirt and was peering over round granny glasses at his customer. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Joe, gave him a laid back “Hey man,” and went back to his conversation. Joe jerked his head at Chase, who followed him back to the front of the store and while they waited patiently Chase picked out a trinket to take back for Shanna.
After Kenny had seen his customer to the door, he and Joe exchanged greetings while Kenny locked up and put up a “closed” sign. Chase introduced himself and Kenny then led his visitors upstairs and into an office area that was best described as total chaos. Chase listened patiently while the two friends exchanged news, strongly laced with technical jargon. From bits and pieces of the conversation Chase gathered that Kenny, while preferring the laid back lifestyle normally seen in Key West, was actually, a much respected lay-scientist with whom the serious professionals in the wide-ranging field of environmental issues conferred when faced with a problem that stumped them.
Eventually, gossip updated and news exchanged, the three of them got down to business. Joe produced the objects he had saved from their campsite exploration and Kenny cleared a space on his desk, finally uncovering a microscope and magnifying glass, along with a lighter that had been missing for days. Chase and Joe waited impatiently while Kenny made his examination.
Finally, Kenny sat back looking at Joe, nonplussed. “Fulgurites,” he said and launched into a lengthy explanation of the formation of same. Joe and Chase listened intently but heard nothing of interest until Kenny picked up the larger and darker one and said musingly, “this one is different. I’ve not seen one quite like it before. It seems to be made of a substance that I can’t quite determine, where did you get it?”
Joe explained how he and Chase had come upon both types in the same spot and Kenny questioned them extensively then shook his head. “Impossible. What you are telling me can’t happen to my knowledge. You’re sure about this?” They assured him they were.
Kenny looked thoughtful and stroked his beard in an absentminded manner. He peered up at Joe and Chase from behind his granny glasses, for all the world looking like an oversized gnome laboring over his workbench. “Tell you what, leave this one with me and I’ll do some further tests. You can call me in a few days. Meantime, on your way back I want you stop in here.” He wrote down an address and handed it to Joe. “That’s a scientific station in central Florida that studies lightning. They mostly get their funding from the utility companies. I’ll call them and tell them you’re coming. It’s on your way. Tell them what you told me. They may have some insight that I don’t. And next time man,” Kenny said waggling a finger at Joe, “make sure you make a visit of it. Carole will be pissed that she missed you.” He turned to Chase. “Nice to meet you, man. Come back again and bring your lady, hope she likes that bauble you bought her.”
Chase shook hands. “Thanks. I will.”
&
nbsp; Twenty-eight
Shanna had not heard from Chase and she was not pleased. She had been in trial for a couple of days. One of Dominick’s old breach of contract cases had finally been called up on short notice and they had been forced to scramble to be ready in time. Two days into trial the parties had reached a settlement and Shanna had time to take a breath and realized that she had not heard from Chase. It made her grouchy and Dominick was being a real pain in the ass. Shanna put it down to a full moon, although she didn’t check to see if there was one or not.
Back in the office and trying to play catch up, she couldn’t get a break. She had spent a grueling day divided equally between settling office squabbles, dealing with irate clients, frantically changing Dominick’s calendar after a call from a judge altered a hearing date, racing to the courthouse to deliver some papers Dominick had forgotten and lining up witnesses for another upcoming trial. She still had to organize a cabinet-sized file and get the exhibits ready.
It was six o’clock before she even thought about her promise to Chase and, as luck would have it, Dominick called in that he was stuck in traffic and had a date in the south end of town so he would not be coming back to the office. Perfect. The staff had gone for the day. Shanna locked the door, put the phones on service, kicked off her shoes, made herself a cup of tea and settled down in her office with the Hickman file. She couldn’t have asked for better timing. The only other person with a key to the office was Dominick, and if he should change his mind, she would hear him coming in plenty of time. The door had a set of bells on it that could be heard all the way in the back. Dominick had them put on after a client snuck up on him when he was working alone and didn’t want to be interrupted.
The Hickman file was thick. It would take some time. Shanna wasn’t quite sure what she was looking for but she supposed she could at least get a bio out of it. Anyway she would take notes of whatever seemed of even slight interest. This was a divorce file after all, it would be comprehensive. Dominick liked to know all about his clients. Even so, Shanna was surprised to find a comprehensive narrative biography detailing Hickman’s life. That was unusual.
Two hours later, a picture had emerged. Myles Hickman, while a brilliant environmental scientist, was despised by his peers. They thought his work sloppy and improperly researched. They despised him personally because he was arrogant, self-centered, pretentious and totally amoral. After a series of run-ins with his peers that embarrassed the scientific community, they had banished him to a small scientific station near Albuquerque where he spent some time studying lightning with a group of undergraduates. Although he liked to boast about ancestors that came off the Mayflower, Myles was, in fact, of Polish extraction, from a small and very poor family in the Midwest. His parents, recognizing their son’s intellect, had scrimped and sacrificed to ensure his education, doing without even the basics for themselves. Once away from them, Myles had never looked back. Not once. Not even when they both died.
On the surface a handsome charmer, under the skin, Myles Hickman was insecure to the point of psychosis. He bore a grudge against the ‘haves’ and hated the ‘have nots’, stepping on them ruthlessly to get his way. Once his career was established, Myles discovered it wasn’t going to make him any richer. Not the dedicated scientist, he dropped out as soon as he persuaded the illustrious Alicia Ford to marry him. For a while he kept the illusion going by going on the lecture circuit, until Alicia found out he was screwing every co-ed he could find.
They had a major blow out and from there on Alicia jerked Myle’s string. She arranged for the turtle center to keep him close to home and doled out enough of an allowance to make things look good and still keep Myles in line. As long as he attended the Palm Beach socialite functions whenever she wanted him there, paid dutiful attention and charmed the old hags of the old money set, then Alicia turned a blind eye. Indeed, she didn’t seem to care. Myles had misjudged his abilities badly, believing that Alicia was besotted with him and would cater to his every whim. In fact, she used him as little better than a toy boy. This only fanned his rage. The world was against him. Eventually, of course, she had caught him in a situation she couldn’t tolerate and had filed for divorce. According to the file, Alicia held all the cards. Myles had nothing and would get nothing.
There was something odd here though. Shanna had not been aware that Hickman was a client. She had assumed that was because he was a new client and Dominick just hadn’t gotten around to logging the file in. That didn’t appear to be the case. The file was extensive. Dom had amassed an unusually extensive background check on both the Hickmans and all the papers had been prepared apparently by Dominick himself. Certainly Shanna had not done them and Pauline was not capable. Shanna logged onto Dom’s laptop to double check and sure enough. It was all there.
After refilling her cup, Shanna returned to the file. Scanning the pleadings she found nothing further of interest and was about to call it a day when, as an afterthought, she started to read the voluminous telephone messages and handwritten notes pinned to the inside cover. In actual fact, this was often the part of the file where she found the most useful information. Notations and scribbles from everyone involved often turned up something that had been missed.
Glancing at her watch, Shanna saw that it was getting late and she had found nothing further of interest. She was in the act of closing the file when it slipped from her hands and an envelope, which had evidently been slipped in between the pleadings, fell out. It was sealed and she could see nothing by holding it up to the light, but ever thorough, she patiently steamed it open. There was only one sheet of handwritten paper inside. It seemed to contain some type of scientific or mathematical formula. Nothing Shanna could make sense of. There was no name on it or any indication of its purpose. Certainly nothing you would find in a divorce file. It may even have nothing to do with Myles Hickman, but he was an ex scientist. Shanna decided it might be useful. She photocopied it, returned the original to its hiding place and closed up the office, anxious for a hot bath and a quiet evening.
Twenty-nine
Annie was in a savage mood. She sometimes wondered if God had put her here for the sole purpose of tormenting her. It had all started with her neighbor. Annie’s neighbor was an ex marine bull dyke with the very strange habit of keeping a large butcher knife in her purse. Every time she put the purse down, she would take the knife out.
The neighbor kept a wolf in her back yard, which was always getting loose. It was a beautiful wolf, white and silver with a pink tongue, long lollopy legs and that loose, bent-foot walk of a predatory animal. At various times it had scared most of the neighborhood half to death. In reality the wolf was very friendly but right now she was in heat and she had turned Annie’s dachshund mutt, Squawker, into a frenzied mass of hysteria. Forced to keep him indoors, for the last two nights, Squawker had lived up to his name and between his frenzied bark and the wolf’s siren howl the whole neighborhood had stayed awake.
That was just for starters. Yesterday morning as Annie left for the office, she walked out her front door and felt something fall on her chest. Thinking it a leaf, she brushed it off, looked down and discovered a pigmy rattler, which had been lying on top of her door. Generously, Annie just shrugged and left it alone. This morning damned if that stupid snake hadn't done the exact same thing.
This time Annie automatically looked up as she went out the door and the thing had landed on her face. That did it. Furious, she grabbed a nearby shovel and beat it to death. Not satisfied with that, Annie scraped up the remains, walked out to the middle of the street and dropped them. Then she watched with satisfaction as the morning traffic proceeded to squish pygmy rattler into the road. That’d teach it to take advantage of her generosity.
Annie just knew this was not going to be the end of it. The weatherman had forecasted heavy rain and sure enough, no sooner had she started out than it came pouring down. Not your normal rainstorm, but a flash flo
od. By the time Annie turned into the road leading to her office she was looking at a lake. This had happened several times before. The office itself was high and dry but the road was lower and had not been built with sufficient drainage. Sighing, Annie left her bike at a nearby garage and proceeded to slog her way through the water.
She should have just turned around and gone home but Annie was not about to let this day get the best of her. Half way through, where it normally eased up, the water got deeper. Annie was now in up to her hips and madder than a wet hen. Stubbornly she kept going, feeling her way carefully in her high-heeled sandals which she had neglected to take off before starting in.
Bits and pieces of foliage wafted by and just as Annie felt the water start to recede a little something else headed in her direction. Fire ants, thousands of them all in a mass, climbing all over each other in a rolling, floating ball and headed in her direction. This was too much. Annie gave up, kicked off her sandals and started wading at a run. She made it just in time.
Soaked, sour and spluttering, Annie just about kicked in her office door and made a beeline for her favorite chair, shedding clothes as she went. She was already on the move and half naked when she noticed that her favorite chair was occupied. She skidded to a halt, totally ignoring her state of undress. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” She asked belligerently, not even really interested. The only thing that concerned her was that he was in her chair.
The gentleman caller stood up politely. “Brian Cavenaugh, Ms., er, Dickson, I presume? We had an appointment.”
Shit. Annie had forgotten. She got the impression he would have doffed his hat if he had one. “Rose.” Annie bellowed. Get me a robe and bring some coffee.” She looked at the man inquiringly and at his nod added “for two.”
Yokche:The Nature of Murder Page 11